The options were to either steal an Order craft, or find a way to signal back to base to arrange a transport. Both options had pretty high chances of detection and interception, so Rondel decided on the more immediate option of theft.
Poe was lying on the bed; she'd told him to try to get some sleep. She was pretty sure he wasn't actually sleeping, but his eyes were closed obediently.
If she were someone else, she'd ask the bartender for a damp cloth, and wipe the blood off Poe's face. She'd sit on the bed, rest his head in her lap, stay there until the furrows in his brow eased and he really did slip off to sleep. But a Maid Marian she was not, and having Poe back didn't mean they could rest. They had their titles, but they were soldiers, and it was long past time to report to the base.
She asked the bartender for a mug of whatever heinous brew she'd had earlier, and set it next to the foot of the bed.
"Drink that; it'd better be gone by the time I'm back" she muttered, and slipped out of the room.
As she closed the door behind her, the bartender coughed.
Rondel looked at him warily.
"There's an airfield," he said nonchalantly, smearing grease around a glass, "just under two miles out of town. Not much security between now and sunrise."
She turned back to the bar. "Why are you helping me?" she asked quietly.
The bartender deliberately set the glass down, looking at the dirty glass, on the dirty bar, in the dirty room. He looked up.
"I knew a man, from a ways back. Used to get into trouble together. He's not like that anymore, religious. But he'd come back in here every couple of weeks, and he'd buy a drink for anyone who was thirsty," he picked the glass up again, holding it up to the dim light, "He's dead now."
Rondel nodded slowly. This war touched everyone. "I'm sorry."
"Along with that whole village."
Oh.
"So you hid him," she said, nodding to Poe's room.
He slung the rag over his shoulder and started on the glass with a grubby nail. "Your man looked like the type who'd try to keep that from happening. He made it this far- bartered his way with a scavenger, I understand, pirates were involved. Anyways, I figured you'd be along soon enough."
"Me?"
"Aye. Someone who protects always has someone who follows."
She shifted her weight between her feet. "What happened in Tuanal... that's why I'm here, that's why he's here. To make it right."
"And that," he at last seemed satisfied with the glass, and plucked it on a shelf with a dozen others that were equally not-clean, "is why I'm helping."
Rondel nodded. "Is that airfield east or west of here?"
"West. You could take the sand skimmer but it died a week ago."
"I'm better on my feet anyways."
It was true, and since there wasn't anything else to say, Rondel left the bar. She started out at a jog, and it wasn't long before the shadowy figures of aircraft swam into view in front of her.
There really isn't much security.
There was a guard tower with a few Gamorreans inside, but that was easy enough. Counting haircuts was one of the first tricks she'd been taught, and the principle applied to tusks just as well; there were one-two-three-four-five guards in the tower. Once she snuck underneath the tower, Rondel tapped one of the support beams. Like clockwork, the guards came out one by one to investigate. And soon there was a pile of snoring Gamorreans underneath the tower, five high.
She had her pick of planes, but the pickings were slim.
All the planes in the field looked like they'd seen better days...better decades, even. There was a fine layer of sand covering them, like a giant dusting of desert that meant cranky engines and sputtering starts. It would also mean that no one would immediately notice these. The planes looked as much like Jakku as they possibly could, and they would be perfect camouflage.
Except…
There was an Order Patrol Plane at the far corner of the field. Its metal exterior was gleaming, even in the pre-dawn darkness. Every other plane looked like they hadn't seen the air for months, but this one, the engine was practically still humming. Rondel crossed over to it almost involuntarily, her sand-burned hands gliding over the cool, sleek metal.
This was what they came after Poe in.
Rondel drew her hand back from the wing of the plane.
Any of the other planes would be good cover. They'd blend in, and they could easily slip by any Order soldiers that came after them. They probably wouldn't even be missed. The Order ship stood out, but here she was: they'd taken something of hers, so she was taking something of theirs.
She backed away, surveying the ship.
There was an access panel, but she had a low chance of guessing the entry code. They probably hadn't left their ship completely unguarded, but she doubted she could lure Order soldiers out like she had with the guards. She needed something loud and quick, to draw them out, without hurting the ship.
Rondel circled the plane slowly, eyes scanning for a dashed line: the cut out area. It wasn't like it was thinner metal, but it was a few feet where you could slash away at the hull without worrying about cutting fuel lines or anything. Fuel lines were good; she'd like to keep them around if she could.
All her sharp and pointy objects had been in the plane she and Gaithers flew off the edge of the ravine, so when she found the cut out area, Rondel borrowed a vicious looking knife from one of the downed Gamorreans. She wrenched it through the metal and winced at the horrible scraping sound.
Come out to play, Clankers.
She forced it through the hull a few more times, then she heard the door whoosh open.
Rondel had just enough time to leave the Gamorrean's knife in the plane and throw herself to the ground behind one of the wheels before the Order guards opened fire. They only let out five or six shots off before they stopped. Not that she could blame them; they were firing into darkness.
If they keep this up, we'll wake the Gamorreans.
She felt around for a decently sized rock; once her fingers closed around one, she threw it to her left. The guards fired at that, then again at where she was-rather, where she'd been. Rondel pulled herself onto the smooth wing of the plane, the aerodynamic finish of the ship making skimming across the top easy progress.
She dropped onto the first Stormtrooper and after a bit of a scuffle he went down; two quick shots from his appropriated blaster, and the second guard fell, and the third after him. Unlike the Gamorreans, the Order troopers lay silent.
Rondel stood slowly.
How do I keep forgetting about this snarking wrist.
She tried flexing it a bit, and immediately regretted it. She definitely wasn't helping its healing process. More like the exact opposite. She rolled her neck and wrenched the Gamorrean's knife out of the belly of the plane with her good hand, strapping it to her waist. On second thought, she relieved the Stormtroopers of their blasters; her waist now looked like an old-fashioned holster.
She stepped tentatively inside the plane, pausing for the door to whoosh shut behind her. She kept her back to the wall of the door, waiting. If there was anyone else on board, now would be when they came to make sure the guards had done their job.
No footsteps echoed.
As she settled into the cockpit, it occurred to her that if flying a plane she'd been trained to fly had been a struggle, then this was about to be a herculean effort.
Find the ignition...disengage the brake...manual controls...forget that, definitely not manual...get the shields up, just in case…reset that access code, while we're at it...
She somehow got it off the ground.
The Gamorreans were out for the count, the Order guards permanently so, and the hope was that all she had to do was get Poe out of there before the morning security patrols came to relieve the night guards of their duty. She didn't so much 'maneuver' or 'park' the plane as she did drop it, in a street a plausible distance from the bar.
Which was empty.
And not pre-dawn empty, with some drunkards sleeping off the night, mumbling in their sleep, and someone humming in the corner. Entirely empty.
Rondel pulled one of the blasters, and walked silently toward the door hiding Poe. From beyond the door, she heard an even inhale, followed by a click. It overlapped with another breath, another click. And then an unsteady exhale, not hindered by a mask.
Two stormtroopers, then, and Poe.
She slipped the blaster back in her belt; diplomacy was going to be the way to go. She could see her reflection in the grimy mirror behind the bar, and she yanked her hair out of her braids and pulled it into her face. She always looked younger when it was down. Just before she turned back to the room, she remembered to untuck her tunic to hide the arsenal of weapons in her belt.
She nudged the door with her foot and stepped back out of the doorway as it creaked open. No shots were fired, so she drew a quick breath and stepped in front of the door, hands up, ready to play the part of innocent civilian.
Poe wasn't in the room.
There were two Stormtroopers, the insignia on their arms showing them to be patrols, probably here to investigate the crash. Her crash. One of them had his blaster trained on her, the other was wiping an armored hand with a rag that was red with blood.
The bartender.
He was slouching on the bed, blood spattered on his shirt, one eye swollen completely shut, and his lip busted. He was in rough shape; he hadn't so much as looked up when she entered the room.
"We were hoping you'd be someone else," said one of the troopers casually.
I was hoping you wouldn't be here at all.
"I...I, um," she cleared her throat dramatically, brushing her hair out of her face in a hurried gesture, and staring at the bartender like she couldn't look away. "My uncle was late for breakfast...I came t-to wake him up..."
"What do you know about the crash?"
She rubbed her hands together nervously, ignoring the question. "Why are you doing this to my uncle? What did he do to-"
The Imperial pulled his blaster back and swung the blunt end of it into the bartenders' temple. It was a hard hit, and the bartender's head rolled; Rondel gave exaggerated her gasp of horror.
"Next time we ask you a question," he held his hand out to his comrade, who gave over the rag, with which he wiped the end of the blaster, before casually raising it again, "you should answer it."
"For your uncle's sake," the other stormtrooper added, retrieving his own blaster from a side table.
"I-I don't know anything, anything at all, I swear," she said quickly, wringing her hands and this time bending her wrist. Medical would kill her, but right now she needed tears. If she played her cards right, they'd lower their blasters, leave the bartender alone, and come after her, to take them to the 'pilot' they were looking for. "We heard the crash but i-it's still too dark to see but he might have-"
"So it's a human pilot!" interrupted a stormtrooper, "I think you might know a little more than you let on."
"No!" she protested hastily, too quickly, letting a couple more tears fall. "Alright, maybe...will you promise to leave my uncle out of this?"
They seemed to be considering, when the bartender groaned and lifted his head. "What are you doing?" he asked weakly.
Please, please shut up and trust me.
"Uncle, it will be alright, please don't worry."
The bartender stared at her and then frowned, shaking his head. "I don't-"
"They won't hurt you," Rondel said quickly, interrupting him, willing him to understand.
His eyes narrowed, and he sniffed. Blood was leaking from where the blaster had hit him, and she could see he was trying to think through everything she'd said. She didn't need it to make sense to him; she needed him to stay quiet so she could get them out of this.
He coughed, drawing shaky breath. When he spoke, his voice like gravel. "I don't know what you're playing at, but I didn't hide your spy so that you could..."
He trailed off when the stormtroopers' suddenly turned back to him.
Oh I wish you hadn't said that.
For a moment, the room was silent.
"Spy?" intoned one of the stormtroopers, "What spy?"
The bartender was still staring at Rondel, then looked between the two men.
Rondel didn't have a choice.
I'm sorry.
She shot the bartender between his eyes.
When the Imperials turned back to her, she had a blaster pointing at each of them. "I promise I'm a faster shot than both of you," she said quietly, "and I didn't enjoy doing that, so my patience is a little thin. How many are in your patrol?"
On her left, the storm trooper drew himself taller. "We wouldn't tell-"
A shot rang out, he crumpled, and both blasters were now trained on the remaining Order member. "How. Many."
"Two," he said quickly, "Just the two of us, I swear."
"Thank you."
She fired again.
Rondel sheathed both blasters, and walked out of the room. Across the empty bar, to the washroom she's used the night before; she pulled her hair back into the braid. The water was tepid and she splashed some of it over her face, splattered with the bartender's blood. She didn't want Poe to see it.
Over the running faucet, she heard a faint click and hollow echo.
Shavit. Of course the Imperial lied.
The door was closed and they couldn't know she knew they were there. She left the water running and mopped her face with her sleeve, backing away from the sink. She drew a blaster yet again, checked it's charge, and switched it.
Crouching next to the door, Rondel slowly reached up to open it.
The second the knob turned, shots blasted the door. The frame splintered and Rondel grimaced, covering her eyes with her arm as the firing continued, pressing up against the wall. When the door fell off its hinges the shots paused and she rolled, firing from the ground. There were two more stormtroopers in the room, and her angle caught them by surprise. They both fell; one instantly, the second, reached for his radio.
"We've got them; they're at the bar. Not the prisoner, but-"
She shot the radio, the hand that held it and then the soldier.
She registered that these stormtroopers bore a different insignia from the patrol men who'd interrogated the bartender. It matched the armor of the ship she'd stolen...the whole of the Order knew she was at the bar.
You've got to move, Aves.
Sure enough, even as the last Imperial stilled, she heard the clatter of footsteps outside, setting up formation outside the door. She dropped her blasters next to the bodies and ran out the back door, locking it and wrenching the handle off.
In the alleyway, the sun was rising.
She blew out a steady breath, turning in a circle slowly. No one in the alley, no one on the roofs above, nobody in the bar. Yet.
She suddenly felt cold.
It was an indescribable feeling, knowing she was being watched. Her first thought was 'sniper', but no, they would've taken the shot by now. She rescanned the storefront windows until a ripple of a curtain caught her eye.
Rondel retreated back to the wall of the bar, pressed her back against it, hiding in its shadow, and waited. She only had so much time before the Order took the bar, and she had to find Poe, but whoever was behind that curtain...
Small fingers peaked out, curled around the fabric, and pulled it back ever so slightly.
A little girl.
Rondel met her eyes and tried to smile. The girl didn't react, just stared. Then, her head tilted slightly to the side, and she raised her thumb. She flicked her wrist.
Left.
Was it a warning or direction? What was to the left? More soldiers? The ship?
Rondel wished she hadn't left her blasters in the bar, but drew the Gamorrean's knife. Holding it in front of her, she walked to her left, slowly. As she neared the corner of the bar, she felt the weight of the little girl's gaze on her back. Her footsteps were silent, and she held her breath as she got closer.
Click.
Too late, she registered the sound and recognized the figure of a stormtrooper, holding a rifle, concealed in the shadows. He emerged from around the corner, and she backed up quickly, her hands raising.
"Drop it," he said, gesturing with his rifle to the knife she still held.
They were in the bar now; she could hear them beating against the door with the back of their rifles. They'd be through it in a matter of seconds, and she couldn't let that happen.
"You know I can't do that."
Before he could register her words, she kicked, her foot catching his stomach and he buckled. She sprung forward, using the height to her advantage, twisting away as his gun fired into the sand. She pivoted beside him, drawing the knife back, then plunging it into the gap between his helmet and armor. He sunk to the ground, and she wrenched the knife out, wiping it on his arm, and grabbed his dropped rifle. As she darted around the corner and she heard the door give.
"Over there!" she heard someone yell, and then she started to run.
So we're doing this.
She ran out of the alleyway, through the village vaguely in the direction she'd set the craft. Her steps echoed on the ground and she looked down in surprise when the sand gave way to the stone of a market place pavilion. She darted behind stacked crates in a row of stands, steadying her breathing and looking disappointedly at the rifle in her hands.
Why couldn't he carry something with a little stronger kick?
She heard footfall clamber into the marketplace, but no one fired. There was some chatter as they set up shop but she realized they didn't know where she was. She could wait for them to stumble on her, getting closer and closer, or she could give away her position now, but keep them at bay.
Screw this.
She turned and rose, firing at the first two soldiers she saw before crouching back behind the crates. Only one of her shots found their target, but she immediately felt the crates shudder as they were wracked with stormtrooper fire. At some point they'd need to recharge, then she could go about picking them off.
As long as they didn't try flanking her.
From the echo of the fire, they hadn't started moving yet. Some shots were more hollow than others, and she guesstimated there were no less than a dozen.
The crates were giving way.
And I still have to find Poe.
She checked the charge on her own weapon before peaking out of the crates and firing a couple of shots- not to hit anything but to give her more time.
Maybe something in the crates is flammable.
If she could get it to blow up, it could cover her to the next pile of crates, or at least give her space to think, or send up some sort of homing beacon for Poe to find her…
She started rifling through them, and was disappointed to find nothing but filler. Sure it'd blow, but it would need something to burn first, to give it a chance to smolder. The next crates revealed...syrup.
She noticed absently that the firing was easing, which probably meant that they were starting to circle.
She smashed the necks of couple of bottles of the thick liquid on the ground, breaking them open and tossing them into the holes the stormtroopers' fire had carved in the crates. The liquid seeped into the hay, glistening in the early sunlight, crystalline sugar that meant it'd burn something pretty.
"Running out of juice here, Aves; sure hope you're doing something useful."
She spun around.
Sure enough, Dameron was crouched behind a pile of crates a couple of stalls down. No wonder the shooting had slowed down; he was covering her.
Relief washed over her and she grinned at him stupidly before he rose again to fire across the pavilion and she snapped out of it.
"How about some target practice?" she called, smashing another bottle, spilling it carefully.
"What do you think I'm doing?" he yelled, and another gun silenced .
Another bottle against the paved stone, and then she had just one more left in the crate. "Fun as this is, I think I've got one even better."
Poe ducked back down and even from this distance, she saw his teeth flash. "Pull," he called.
She tossed the last bottle in the air, and it floated up towards the sky. The Imps went silent, and she knew they were watching in confusion, then she saw Dameron take aim. She ran away from the crates, towards him. She felt the warmth of the blaster shot as it ripped through the air beside her, concentrated heat racing towards its target.
The arced at the top of its path, then shattered a moment into its descent.
It burst into flames, shattering, glass and fire raining into the crates around. She slowed as she reached the crates where Poe was crouched.
"Can you run?"
He clasped her extended arm and hauled himself up. "Beats the alternative."
She grinned and they started sprinting. They slipped out of the pavilion and into another alleyway just as the crates exploded. Even though they were out of the direct path of damage, flames and ashes rained around them.
"Nice shot."
"Nice bomb. Left?"
"Straight."
There was shouting from the marketplace, and Rondel knew she'd only bought them a couple of seconds. They burst into an open street with several Order craft, all deserted.
"Where's our ride?"
"She's right here." Rondel ran over to the appropriated craft, punching her code into the side of the ship. "I'm sure she'll appreciate an actual pilot at her helm. Can you fly her?"
Poe was at her back, scanning the street with his blaster. "I can fly…"
The door whisked open, and she darted inside, before realizing Poe wasn't behind her.
"Dameron, you coming?"
"Anything." He turned sharply, his jaw clenched. "I can fly anything."
He wasn't looking at her, and she stepped aside to let him into the plane.
Nice, Aves. Ask him about flying after he crashed into this planet.
But there wasn't time for that now.
"We'll have company soon; you get us off the ground, I'll keep them there," she said quickly, as the door whisked shut. She slipped down the narrow passageway in the opposite direction of the cockpit.
The ship shook beneath her as she made her way to the turret. It was either an uncharacteristically rough takeoff or-
"They're early, Aves!"
She registered his yell as she settled into the seat, swinging around and locking into the guns.
"That's fine, I'm in a mood," she muttered, leaning hard to her right and drumming her fingers to flip through the settings. Landing on heavy artillery, she started spraying.
It wasn't like she got high off watching Stormtroopers fall and stay down.
But.
This was for the bartender. For San Tekkar. For the little girl who would live in terror for the next week. For Poe, who, just a few hours ago, didn't believe it was her. For Tuanal.
She didn't realize she was yelling until she gasped for breath. Her face felt hot. The street was entirely still and she saw she'd ripped the wing off one Order plane, and tore a hole in the hull of second. They wouldn't be followed.
She eased back in the seat, letting the anti gravity measures kick in as they neared Jakku's atmosphere. She held a hand to her wrist, waiting for her pulse to slow; it wasn't until they'd cleared the atmosphere that she was breathing evenly enough to unbuckle and head to the cockpit.
She paused before she entered. Poe was still, she could see Jakku looming in front of them, a desolate sphere of sand. His shoulders were rigid, and she couldn't hear him breathing. After a moment, he leaned forward, pulling a lever. With a stubborn whirring, the ship turned from Jakku, the view shifting from the planet to the constellations.
Poe's hands were a blur over the control panel; she recognized some of the motions. Turning off their beacon, disabling tracking, tucking shields back down. Making them invisible.
"I figure," he said casually, over his shoulder, "we drop this tank off at Daxam IV, and catch a ride from there back to base."
Rondel entered the cockpit, "Best plan I've heard in a while."
She input the coordinates on the panel, then sank into the copilot chair on his right. She pulled her feet up under her, resting her chin on her knees.
"How's that wrist?" Poe was still busy with the controls, and she just watched, rather than getting in the way.
"Broken."
"Hmm," he was fiddling with something on his left, out of her line of vision. "Any other injuries I should be worried about?"
"Pretty sure I'm supposed to ask you about that."
He stilled, then shook his head, blowing hair out of his eyes. "Be-Kylo just had some fun in my head. Nothing too serious."
"Probably a little more serious than a broken wrist," she said carefully.
He huffed, maybe on a laugh.
When he didn't say anything else, Rondel's gaze fell to their reflection is the front windows. "What a pair we make."
He grinned for a moment, "Yeah."
Things were quiet then, just the beeping reactions of the controls. Poe's right hand missed the panel in front of him, hovering in the air between them. She stared at it for a moment, and then up at him. Over his shoulder, Poe gave what she thought was supposed to be a brave smile, but it was just a little too tight around the eyes. He flipped his hand over, palm up. "Come on, Rondel, give me this."
She blinked, surprised. Then her hand slipped into his, and his eyes relaxed.
"Did the Lorr have it?" she asked, after a long moment.
"He did."
More of a pause, more controls, more beeping.
"We'll find BB-8," she said firmly.
"We will."
"And then the General's brother."
"With any luck."
"Which means..." Rondel paused for a moment, marveling at the thought. "We're a step closer to ending this thing."
Poe flipped a final switch on the panel, and leaned back in his chair to face her. "Guess it's a good thing you talked me into coming along, then."
"Guess it's a good thing you were pretty easy to convince."
They stared at each other for a long moment, and Poe smiled, turning momentarily back to the controls again.
His thumb traced idly over the back of her hand. "A pair, yeah?"
The stars blurred and Rondel stilled. For the second time in her life, she'd missed the jump between reality and hyperspace.
She turned her head to the man beside her.
Poe's face was still filthy, still caked in blood and the grime of the planet. Nose still broken, face still cracked and raw. But his eyes were aflame, reflecting the dancing lights of the stars.
At the end of the galaxy, they'd drop out of hyperspace. They'd find the General, find BB-8, find Luke. Start a new mission, then a new one, however many it took.
That's as far as she always thought.
But now...now the unfamiliar cockpit glowed from the streaming illumination of stars. Now, her heart was held steady by the same grip that held her hand. For the first time since she could remember, Rondel let herself think beyond.
At the end of hyperspace there was their mission, soon to be complete. At the end of their mission, there'd be another, and another, and all those added up to a war. At the end of the war there was victory, and peace. And at the end of that...well at the end of all endings, there was a beginning.
Rondel closed her eyes, lights dancing behind them, and she smiled.
A beginning as strong as Gamorrean knife in her belt, as warm as the hand holding her own, as beautiful as the stars that raced by their ship.
A/N : a HUGE thank you to everyone who messaged/reviewed to let me know the editing was off! It was fine when I uploaded last night; then when I checked this morning, I saw all that html craziness. Thank you to everyone who read, followed, reviewed as this story progressed! Leave me one last review, so I know what you think?