Far Away From Nowhere

Chapter 21: Mirrored in Your Eyes

Ben Solo had been here before.

Granted, that had been eighteen years ago. With much different company. But the cantina had stayed relatively the same. Perhaps more paint chipping on the brown walls, which revealed stains of various colors. Perhaps fewer patrons. But it was still the same dive. When he closed his eyes, he recalled it like it was yesterday.

"Remember, Ben," Skywalker said. "Whatever happens in there, don't be afraid, and follow my lead."

The eleven year-old Ben Solo gulped. "I-I will, Uncle Luke."

The Jedi's face became an expressionless mask, probably preparing himself for the inevitable confrontation.

Part of Solo longed to be able to control his emotions like his uncle could, to step free of the label of CHILD and become something more. Yet, another part of him still craved attention and longed for the comfort he could not always find from a mother who was too busy trying to save the galaxy and a father who enjoyed racing from one corner of it to another.

Before they stepped inside, Ben tugged on his uncle's cloak.

"Is it necessary?" he asked.

Luke paused, softening. "Yes, Ben."

"But what do you expect to find in there?"

"What do you sense?" Skywalker threw back at him.

Ben closed his eyes and let his emotions dip into the dwelling like a sponge. There were flashes of humor, deep pools of depravity, touches of another emotion he didn't recognize until years later—lust. There was nothing "happy" in the sense of compassion or kindness, emotions that Ben had been thoroughly taught to appreciate in others. It was mostly awash in…

"Greed," he said, licking his lips.

But Ben didn't reveal the flickers of evil he had felt hidden underneath that greed. It was the same evil that permeated the artificial roots of the entire moon of Nar Shaddaa.

An unexpected smile caught the edges of Luke's lips and turned them upwards, his eyes looking through Solo and into the past.

"Good. Greed is what we will use to bargain for information the Rebels desperately need."

Solo sighed wistfully, resigned to go along with his uncle and obey orders.

As they opened the doors to the café, Skywalker muttered, under his breath, "I trust it would be harder to find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy…"

"BEN!"

Solo sucked in his breath and found himself back in the present, seated at a table in the corner beside the traitor. He felt more awake, the neural inhibitor blocking his powers, yet not encroaching upon the clarity of his thoughts. Still, best to keep Finn believing that he was one reactor short of a Death Star. His feigned incompetence would come in handy before the end of the mission.

"All right, all right," he mumbled as Finn let out a frustrated sigh and ordered two drinks. As they settled into their surroundings (dim lighting, sticky table, an unidentifiable stench), Finn maintained a steady frown on his face. Ben forced himself not to laugh. The ex-stormtrooper was a decent actor, but he had a lot to learn about gathering intel from lowlifes. Then again, he supposed having a conscience would hold sway over one's ability to lie and play a false role. For Ben Solo, it was easy.

Or was it?

"Take a deep breath," said Ben to the other man, "and grip your drink like this." He demonstrated with his own hands, folding them together in front of the frosted blue container. "It won't stop your hands from shaking, but it will make them less noticeable."

Finn glowered at him then mirrored Solo's gesture. "Thanks," he said curtly.

Ben shrugged, meaning to show disinterest, but the gesture hid his own surprise at how he had helped Finn. Since when did he care about the traitor?

Since the traitor had elected you to do all of his dirty work for him. And if he gets blasted to bits, you get blasted to bits.

Solo audibly sighed.

Just get the whereabouts of the holocron and deliver them to Snoke. Order will be restored to the Galaxy, and you will be the next Supreme Leader.

But Rey… And Dameron…

Now that Ben was away from the Falcon and his mind was thinking more clearly, he began to drift back to former glories and aspirations. He was still the most powerful Dark Lord in the galaxy. What Snoke had taught him to crave—the power of the Dark Side of the Force—still lingered in his conscious mind. It was as if his dreams were riding upon a seesaw; would this inner conflict never cease?

And it all came down to forgiveness. Would his mother ever truly, despite her love and attention to him over the past few months, forgive him for killing his own father?

Ben Solo swallowed. He was an outcast. Born an outcast, and destined to forever live as one too.

It was Finn's enormous, jaw-cracking yawn that brought Ben back to the present once more, rather than an admonishment for daydreaming from the other man. Finn's eyes were glassy, and his face was drawn, exhaustion clearly causing him to lose focus at this crucial moment. Solo fleetingly thought that he should take advantage of Finn's waning energy to get a message to the bar owner, a stooped and slender creature with a trailing aquamarine proboscis and flitty tangerine eyes.

"I have to…" Ben mumbled, indicating the nearest loo. "Freshen up."

Finn's eyes narrowed. "Fine. I'm going to get the bartender over here. Start digging for information."

Solo began to slink away when he felt a hand tug on his sleeve. He whirled around in annoyance.

"Don't try anything," Finn said, and indicated the blaster attached to his belt. "I'll be watching the door. If you're not out in five minutes—"

"I don't need reminding that I'm your prisoner," Solo said, venom thick in his voice before it dropped to a lethal whisper. "Let me go."

Finn's eyes glared daggers as he released Ben's arm, and the man who used to be Kylo Ren stumbled across the tavern. Although he seemed oblivious to those around him, Solo was keenly aware of every creature in the establishment, from the being behind the bar to the two humanoids grumbling over winnings in the back, to the ancient Cerean with enormous spectacles, who was writing in a dense tome with thin blocks of graphite.

The writer sat adjacent to the toilets. Ben slinked into the safety of their shadows and waited until Finn left his seated position in the corner and sauntered over to the bartender, beaming.

He plays a good Han Solo, Ben thought humorlessly. Better than I ever could.

When Solo was assured that Finn was completely preoccupied with his conversation, he hunched over by the cone-headed humanoid. His right hand spread out as he had seen his uncle do in the exact same spot so many years ago, reaching into the mind of the other being, bending its will to acquiesce.

You will give me the information I seek.

"You will give me paper and a writing utensil."

The old creature's response was delayed. It wheezed, its eyes blinking owlishly behind the thick oval glasses. And then, hesitantly, it placed a sheet of crinkled tan paper in his hands, followed by a thin rectangle of black graphite.

Ben glanced at Finn to make sure the transaction went unnoticed. Sure enough, the ex-stormtrooper was headed back to the booth in the corner, bartender in tow.

"You could have asked me for the paper."

Solo looked down in shock at the wrinkled old face of the Cerean, its conical cranium cocked and examining him curiously. Ben felt a strange blush creep over his face.

"Sorry," he murmured, though it sounded more like a cough, and he shuffled into the lavatory.

The inside of the loo was dirtier than the café itself, if such a thing was possible. The grime was caked on thicker, the smell more noxious. The only thing that was improved upon was the lighting, which shone blindingly down on the sickly green walls of the lavatory, casting odd shadows. Once inside, Ben Solo checked the stalls for occupants, and when he was sure he was alone, he gripped the edge of the sink and gazed at himself in the chipped mirror.

His appearance was fractured, but he saw himself clearly enough. And what he saw surprised him: a clarity in his dark eyes, a hint of color in his cheeks. With a finger, he traced the almost invisible line where Rey's (Luke's) lightsaber had sliced through his cheek. The movement made him shiver because he could still feel the hiss and burn of the saber against his flesh, contrasting with the icy chill of snowflakes melting upon his skin.

Another shudder ran through him as he recalled the first time he had ever touched his uncle's lightsaber. The first time he had visited Nar Shaddaa… It had been in this very building…

"We're here for some information."

The café was very dark and smelled very bad. Ben buried his nose in the collar of his jacket and tried to breathe through his mouth. Why did his uncle insist on taking him along on these errands? He wanted nothing more than to be back on Yavin 4, running beneath the canopy of trees so tall they could have reached the stars.

"I have no information," the proprietor said with a sneer. He was an old man with cruel amethyst eyes and tufts of grey hair sticking out of his nose. It made Ben want to gag.

The Padawan expected Skywalker to retaliate. That is what he would have done if someone acted so insolently to him. Therefore, it shocked Ben when his uncle only smiled softly, and his voice dropped into a low purr, left hand circling almost imperceptibly out of its large sleeve.

"You will give me the information I seek," Luke said, as unconcerned as if he was telling R2-D2 to run some routine diagnostics. The fingers on his left hand wavered, like playing an invisible harp.

Ben stood behind his robed uncle, just tall enough at this point in his rocky adolescence to peek over the older man's shoulder, mouth slightly agape. The trick had been so quick that he might have missed it had he not been paying close attention. And so gentle. Surely it wouldn't work without a physical threat.

But the proprietor's lavender eyes widened, and his hands quickly fumbled for a small disc in the folds of his robes.

"Here is the information," he said, dazed.

Skywalker immediately snatched the disc from the proprietor and beamed. Out of the side of his mouth, he said to Ben, "Walk to the door in a hurry. But don't look like you're in a hurry."

Ben complied, shuffling his feet, and that's when the situation got a bit….dicey.

There were about five of them. Regulars or Empire sympathizers or bounty hunters. Solo didn't really get a good look at them—only the way their jaws clenched, muscles rippled, snarling noises emanating from their throats, and how they towered over the Jedi.

Perhaps his uncle had been getting rusty or just overly confident. Or perhaps it had been a test for him all along.

"Run!" he heard Skywalker shout gruffly amid the tangled bodies and pummeling fists.

Ben Solo surprised himself when he didn't obey his uncle's command. Instead, his hands found the smooth cylindrical weapon, kicked around and discarded in the fray. And when his hands touched the lightsaber, it was as if the sound in the establishment immediately cut off. Energy sang through his body, unlike anything he had ever felt before. It caused the hairs to stand up on his arms, his muscles to tingle. There was a sweet taste in the back of his throat.

It was Ben's first taste of power. And he quite enjoyed the feeling.

He was vaguely aware of his uncle's eyes, shining through the darkness of the café. And if he had only waited a few minutes more, he might have been able to witness the Jedi's full control of the Force. But there was no time. Ben felt a blind panic that his uncle was going to be hurt, and once Skywalker was out of the way, his young apprentice would be next.

The lightsaber droned. Its green beam cut through the dimness of the bar like a spotlight. Solo remembered the way its glow reflected in the eyes of his uncle's attackers. The saber sat heavily in his palms, as if trying to slow him down. But Ben's mind fixated on the task at hand.

He didn't recall much of what followed, only that it happened in a matter of seconds, and when he was finished, the attackers were gone; some fled, some remained at his feet. Ben was only vaguely aware of the heat of the weapon in his grasp and the dark liquid that now covered his hands, arms, speckled across his face. The lightsaber's emerald ray flicked off with the softest touch, and the weapon clattered to the floor.

The next thing Ben knew, his uncle gripped him by the arm, bending over. His eyes were… terrible.

"What have you done?"

But Ben couldn't form words. He was confused at first then he felt the familiar twinge of anger rush over him, hot and consuming. He grit his teeth. This was not supposed to be his mentor's reaction.

"I…j-just saved you…"

His indignation swiftly gave way to tears. All at once, it seemed that his entire face was wet, and his jaw was tight and aching from trying to suppress feelings.

Instantly, Luke's face changed to one of worry, and his voice softened. "Are you hurt?"

A small little sound escaped from Ben's throat as his uncle scanned him then unceremoniously bundled him into his broad arms. Ben remembered his surprise when he felt the muscles in those arms—the copious folds of his Jedi robes hid them well. Skywalker delivered him to a small space that made his nose wrinkle with its smell—a bathroom, most likely—and placed him on a sink.

Silently, his uncle began using a damp cloth to wipe the blood from his face and hands as Ben cried all of the tears that he believed existed in his eleven year-old self, until he was dried-up. And when his emotions were spent, he rubbed his nose with one clean fist and took a deep shaky breath.

"Better?"

Solo stared at the wall, numb.

"I did not intend for this to happen."

Ben glanced at his uncle, realizing that it was Luke's form of an apology. That he was taking responsibility for the incident. And that irked him.

"I saved you," Ben repeated, wondering why his uncle didn't understand what had happened when it was so simple. Moreover, Skywalker seemed displeased with him.

"Yes," Luke said, a sad smile drifting across his face, "you did."

Solo huffed. A small admission of the truth was better than none at all.

"Do not tell your mother what happened here."

Ben nodded.

And then Skywalker led him out of the café they had entered. The bodies had miraculously disappeared where the duo had left them, only a bright stain of blood to remind Ben that they had even been there in the first place. The establishment had thinned considerably since the fight, but a hush covered them as they emerged from the bathroom.

His uncle tossed a few coins to the bartender. "Sorry for the mess."

Ben Solo emerged into the polluted air of Nar Shaddaa a different person. He couldn't help feeling that he had done something taboo, that he had overstepped his bounds as a Padawan.

His mentor muttered to him before departing: "We will speak of this back on Yavin 4."

"Yes, Uncle."

Luke gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, but when Ben looked up into the Jedi's eyes, he did not see encouragement. In its place, he saw a flicker of fear. At the time, the emotion merely confused him, but it would soon grow to a sense of power that he longed to tap into.

Ben Solo stared at the cracked mirror and saw his fragmented image as a metaphor for his childhood. Luke Skywalker never got around to that conversation in the weeks and months after Ben's first memorable trip to Nar Shaddaa. Instead, his mentor barraged the young Padawan with numerous defensive techniques and meditation, never once mentioning the Jedi's most powerful weapon. In fact, Ben didn't touch a lightsaber again until two years later…

Hastily, Ben placed the sheet of paper he had obtained on the edge of the sink and began to write out a message in black chalk with a shaky hand.

TO: SUPREME LEADER SNOKE & GENERAL HUX OF THE FIRST ORDER

RE: RESISTANCE WEAPON

SEEKING HOLOCRON ON NAR SHADDAA. AWAIT MY COMMAND.

REN

Solo sighed heavily and tore the message from the sheet, crumpling it up and sticking it up his sleeve. Then he went about writing a duplicate message. This time he focused on keeping his hand steady. This message he hid in a jacket pocket.

He left the restroom in a hurry, passing the bespectacled Cerean only to backtrack and place the borrowed chalk on the table before him before rushing off. The Cerean blinked, bemused, in the young man's wake.

When he approached Finn, the ex-stormtrooper was speaking in emphatic low tones with the bartender.

Better have gotten all the intel we need so we can get out of here.

Solo didn't wish to spend another second in Hutta Town if he didn't have to.

Finn made hasty introductions. "Ben, this is Cor Bofis." While his lips remained in a thin neutral line, Ben was starting to register subtle hints of emotion that the other man displayed in his eyes—now they were brimming with excitement.

The bartender's orange eyes glowed evilly. "I know where you can find your holocron… for a price."

Ben instinctively leaned forward to threaten the blue-nosed buffoon, his fingers splayed, eyes wide, when he felt a boot kick his leg sharply underneath the table.

Finn stifled Ben's expletive yelp with a cough, never missing a beat, and produced a small leather pouch full of gold coins.

"You will be paid handsomely for any useful information."

Solo glared venomously at the ex-stormtrooper but held his tongue.

Bribery? Really? Amateur.

Cor Bofis licked his lips, a long pink tongue darting out between sharp teeth like a lizard. "Your holocron was likely taken by Grakkus the Hutt."

Both Finn and Ben let out a burst of disbelief.

"Impossible!" Finn exclaimed.

Bofis flipped his nose from left to right. "No, I swear. He's back on Nar Shaddaa. For good."

"Wasn't he arrested by the Empire?" Finn asked.

Solo mumbled, "Must have been released."

Bofis laughed, a nasally guffaw. "Didn't get off for good behavior, that's for sure."

Ben's mind whirled as he exchanged glances with Finn. He could tell the ex-stormtrooper was thinking along similar lines. If Grakkus was the one who stole the holocron, their mission had just become ten times more dangerous.

The bartender hunched over after scanning his cantina for any eavesdroppers. "As you know, Grakkus was known as a collector of Jedi artifacts. He would pay any price to add to his collection. Word is that after Grakkus returned to Hutta Town, he began to reclaim all of the items Darth Vader took when the Hutt was arrested. Now, there are two possible locations where you can find your holocron."

"Continue," Ben said, annoyed.

A poisonous grin flashed across Cor's face. "My bet is that Grakkus has the holocron in his private collection."

"Which is where…?" Finn asked.

"The palace of Grakkus, of course," said Bofis. "It's the largest, most heavily guarded building on Nar Shaddaa. So good luck trying to infiltrate it without first getting an audience with the Hutt."

"You said there might be a second location," said Ben.

Bofis nodded. "Word is that when Grakkus heard Darth Vader was on his way to arrest him, the Hutt ordered numerous Jedi artifacts to be smuggled off Nar Shaddaa and stored in a secret place, on another world."

The bartender paused, and Finn leaned forward. "Where?"

Bofis whispered, "I don't know."

At this, Ben reached forward, plucking Cor's dangling nose like a daisy and establishing a firm grip, eliciting a high-pitched gurgle from the bartender.

"Listen, Bofis. I am quickly losing patience—"

"Ben!" Finn shouted crossly.

"—with your lack of information—"

"Ben, let him go!"

Finn smacked his hand down, and Cor gasped, frantically massaging his nose.

"Th-The information would be s-stored in the Hutt's databanks, on board his ship. A Ch-Chelandion fleet. Y-you can find it in the flight records."

Solo knew the creature wasn't lying. He nodded to Finn, and the ex-stormtrooper tossed Cor the pouch of coins.

"You have been most helpful."

"Yes, thank you," Ben said, faking a smile and reaching his hand out.

Bofis looked at Solo's hand as if it was a venomous snake, but then slowly extended his own. As they shook, the expression on the bartender's face changed into confusion.

"Wait a minute."

Finn caught the bartender's hand before he recoiled and pried the scrap of paper loose, barely skimming its contents before crumpling it up and pocketing it. He glowered at Solo before standing.

"Nice try."

Ben smiled brightly. "It was worth a shot."

"C'mon."

As the two men sauntered out, Finn yawned furiously, swaying as he walked, and Solo saw his second chance.

The second scrap of paper dropped from his sleeve as he continued walking. Ben didn't even have to turn around to hear Bofis scramble to pick it up as they left. Because Solo knew what type of creature Cor Bofis was, and he wasn't the type to pass up any opportunity for profit. Kylo Ren's message would be on its way to the First Order in a matter of minutes.

As they stepped into the dry dust of Nar Shaddaa, Finn was already on his communicator to Rey.

"You were right; Grakkus the Hutt has it…. You and Poe can stick to the original plan. Ben and I will pick you up after checking out Grakkus' fleet… And Rey—be careful. This Hutt has an obsession with Jedis."

TBC

A/N: Anyone still with me? Confession: I started getting really worried that I didn't have much time to write the past couple months, and that caused me to stress out even more, which caused me to stop writing altogether. So my new mantra is to constantly remind myself that this is something I DO FOR FUN and not to freak out about nonexistent deadlines. Of course, I still want to keep readers interested and make you folks happy, but finding balance is important too. ^_^ Thanks so much if you're still reading/reviewing this little fic. The next chapter is going to have lots of Poe and Rey—and it's gonna be awesome!