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The Stormtrooper - Day 15, Part 2

"Emergency teams report no causalities. The ship seems to have been flying unmanned."

Crouched next to a large broken window, both his attention and thoughts so set on Cloud City's night skyline that he didn't hear the Sergeant approach, Finn found himself almost jumping to his feet to salute the officer, the hard wired reaction nearlying beating out his brain's survival instincts screaming 'don't do that,' and resulting in a strange up and down twisting maneuver as he forced himself to remain still.

"It couldn't get here alone, Sir—geant!" he said, rapidly waving one arm in the general direction of the deep scratches and destroyed floor panels they were standing on to cover his error, quietly sighing with relief when the officer looked away from him. "Didn't anybody see anything?"

The Sergeant raised his blaster, adjusting the scope and running it up and down the wall of illuminated buildings Finn had pointed towards.

"This is a business area, Sir. At night and in the present climate—well even if someone saw something," he trailed off, shaking his head and dropping the blaster before facing Finn. "It is possible some of the neighboring buildings have video surveillance. If you want, my men can get hold of it."

Fingers running over a set of deep scratches, Finn made a nervous but affirmative gesture with his head. Then, doing his best to look as 'Knightly' as possible—something that apparently meant trying to act like Ren, talk like Phasma, and fail miserably at both—he got to his feet, turned towards the destroyed wall behind him, and entered the adjoining room. Feet sinking between piles and piles of destroyed electronics, Finn stopped next to the pair of stormtroopers standing guard over a large overturned ship, its blinking exterior lights the only source of light in the destroyed room.

This is so not good.

Shoulders growing tenser the longer he looked at the markings on the side of what was clearly an Atmospheric Assault Lander, he was forced to come to grips with what it all meant. Finn stepped inside the wrecked ship, looking around the empty interior and entering the cockpit.

He might know nothing about how the ship had ended up crashing into the building he was presently in, but he knew where it came from—the Finalizer. Given that the computer system showed no flight path or clearance, whoever had piloted it to Cloud City had somehow managed to evade the Star Destroyer's cannons, survive the TIE patrols, enter lightspeed, and, inexplicably, then ended up destroying three floors of a building and the vessel itself crashing into the same city the General was presently—he hoped—getting his flagship towed towards.

It makes no sense.

"Have we looked into anti-aircraft fire?" Finn asked, looking to the ship's commands in hopes of seeing something the soldiers might have failed to notice. "Both the Order's and Rebel's?"

"All the anti-aircraft positions were recaptured according to your instructions, Sir. Our soldiers haven't shot down anything since."

Finn nodded, turning his back on the pilot's chair and exiting the ship.

"We need to remove this as quickly as possible." He noted, facing the Sergeant. "Preferably without anyone noticing. Can we dismantle it or…?"

The question ended on an uncertain note. Being able to hear his own voice inside the helmet, Finn felt like cringing. His commands sounded more like questions than anything else. His voice held no conviction, much less any of the authority he had learned to wield during training in the Order or whilst being with the Resistance. Were it not for the distorter making him sound threatening, there wouldn't be a person here who wouldn't be raising eyebrows at his behavior and slips of tongue.

Sir-geant. I called him Sir-geant.

And that wasn't even the worst slip up. He had been falling behind the officer, catching himself looking for permission to speak, eagerly listening to his insights, and too often doing little more than agree with his suggestions rather than put his own forwards and acting them out. He was behaving like a stormtrooper; it was a miracle no one had noticed yet.

I'm a complete disaster!

Even so, he knew—in a not so vocal part of his mind—that he was not being entirely fair with himself.

Amid the absolute strangeness of being 'Nephys,' he seemed to have at least been doing a decent enough job for the officer's initial reservations about serving under him to have disappeared. The Sergeant had clearly been—for whatever reason—attempting to curry favor with Ren. His over eagerness to be useful, to find solutions to every single problem facing them, to meddle into matters he knew less than nothing about, were all part of his effort to gain favor—not that Ren seemed impressed or even conscious of what was going on. As far as Finn had been able to tell, the Enforcer was both far too preoccupied with something else to be paying full attention to him and becoming increasingly annoyed by the officer's efforts. What possible motive he had in leaving Finn responsible for the city, however, was something he could not fathom and that the officer had obviously taken personally.

The instant Finn had stepped away from the TIE's launching ramp after seeing Rey's fighter following the rest of the TIE group, he had been hit by a less than friendly 'Your orders?' coming from the Sergeant. It had taken almost a day and the recapture of nearly all of the enemy held anti-aircraft positions for the 'Sir' to reappear in the officer's vocabulary.

Finn had chosen to take that as a positive sign. It was the only one he had, since he really did believe he was leaving a rather poor impression of himself.

I'm a far better soldier than this.

He had been a hell of a good soldier in the Resistance. He knew how to lead and there was no way of refuting that when Phasma herself had constantly picked him for the command position during training. One look at the white helmet and red shoulder blade of the officer, however, and, somehow, all of that amounted to nothing.

I need to get it together.

He did wonder how the true Nephys would be behaving, what he would do in his position. More than that, he wondered what the hell had happened to him and where he was. The last thing he wanted was for the Knight he was impersonating to appear in front of him.

I can already imagine it: the double take, ensuing murder over identity theft...

Finn shook his head, stepping away from his fears and into the blindingly white elevator both he and the Sergeant had been making their way towards.

"How long until we have the surveillance footage?" he asked as it started descending. "Whoever was on that transport—"

"We will have their identities as soon as possible, Sir."

That didn't answer my question, Finn thought. There seemed to be something broken between his mind and his mouth stopping him from saying it out loud, however. Instead, feeling the elevator stop at the atrium, he found himself asking:

"Did we inform the Governor about this?"

"No, Sir, we—" A pause whilst the door opened and then, in an extremely displeased voice, "Permission to speak freely."

"Yes?"

"We didn't, but someone did."

Finn turned his eyes to the large atrium, attention going first to the large glass wall over and around the door and then to the shrubs aligned at both sides of the path leading to the entry. A second later, a tall elderly man came into his line of sight.

"There's no one?" Calrissian's voice echoed against the high ceiling, multiplying into thousands as the Governor, now dressed in brown, a beige cape flapping behind, joined them, two soldiers flanking him. "Have you searched the building?"

"Governor." Finn saluted, seeing the Sergeant's shoulders tensing as he tried to find a safe enough middle ground between what the officer was obviously seeing as someone questioning his competence—again—and the Governor's need for information. "Have you been briefed?"

"I have been informed that a ship was seen flying over the business area," Calrissian began, looking over the atrium and then at Finn with a deep frown. "That it opened fire against this building before making its way inside. There are also reports of an undetermined number of passengers leaving the crash site, but not the building."

Finn felt his jaw drop.

This man knows more than us.

That was something that also hadn't gone unnoticed by the Sergeant.

"How?" he inquired, suspiciously.

"This is my city," Calrissian said simply, his voice calm, cautious. "More importantly, there are some breaches in the perimeter you might want to take into account. Mostly service corridors no longer in the blueprints and—"

"I advise you to keep away from the Order's military operations, Governor."

"This is my city, Sergeant," he repeated, politely, eyes settling on the white helmet. "If I say there are breaches in the perimeter, you would do well to listen."

"This city belongs to the Order, Governor, consider that before—"

Finn raised one hand, his imperious gesture silencing both the men with such speed he actually found himself thanking his incredulity for making him act completely against his nature.

"You're willing to share the location of these service corridors?" he inquired, the question filled with more curiosity than actual desire for information.

Calrissian raised an eyebrow at the question, looking almost surprised by it, then nodded. Finn felt absolutely dumbstruck.

"With the Order?"

"If it pleases you."

This makes no sense.

"It would."

It would also please me to know what the hell is going on!

It wasn't the first time that thought had popped into his mind. In fact, it had taken center stage from the instant he had recognized the man. He knew of Lando Calrissian. How could he not? History as taught by the Order was mostly used for propaganda purposes and, that being the case, was unsurprisingly partial, but even if the amount of cherry picking used to polish the Empire's image, actions, and ideology into a highly sanitized version of what had happened had shocked him—he had never dreamed it would be as extensive as it had proven to be when he left the Order—that wasn't saying he hadn't suspected something was off with the Order's version of history. If one paid attention—or better yet, didn't zone out during instruction like Nines had—there were things that really didn't make sense, facts that didn't connect, actions that seemed to contradict each other, and people that one would think had a lot more to gain by siding with the Empire who had instead joined the Resistance.

Calrissian's position in particular had been extremely confusing, even if not as bizarre as it was proving to be now. The man was an Alliance War Hero and yet, here he was, alive when he should have been killed, free when he should have been jailed, working with the Order, feeding it information, running down the local Resistance cell in a far more merciless way than even the Order was. As much as Finn had believed him to be playing double agent when first coming face to face with him—he had been absolutely exhilarated, thinking that against all odds he and Rey had found an ally—now he was not so sure, and the longer he interacted with Calrissian, the less sure he was.

This man is a Resistance Hero, Finn reminded himself, studying the Governor as the wrinkles around his eyes deepened as the man frowned at the detailed holographic blueprint of his city the Sergeant had turned on and he started sharing the location of the entryways to the old service tunnels. He fought against the Empire. He was at the second Death Star. He can't be siding with the Order.

"A word of advice before you put your soldiers inside," Calrissian said, stopping himself midway through his explanation to face Finn. "The structure is a maze; there might be better options than searching the interior."

"We seal it," the Sergeant offered, indifferently, but still sounding suspicious.

"Or you can have it gassed."

"That could take days," the officer retorted, not caring enough to hide his displeasure.

"A simple precaution, Sergeant."

Calrissian's eyes had turned cold, so much so, in fact, that Finn found himself swallowing.

People don't change this much, do they?

No one could possibly go from fighting the Empire to being this close to its ideological heir in thirty or so years, could they?

He has to know what the Order is!

Even so, whatever his side, Finn found himself not only admiring Calrissian, but wishing he had even half the Governor's confidence. With no allies and surrounded by troops that were either suspicious or downright hostile towards him, he still behaved like he was the one in charge.

"Your preference, Sir?" the Sergeant asked, breaking the flow of Finn's thoughts.

"Seal it," Finn said, giving thanks once again for how distorted his voice was. He really had no love for helmets, had had enough of them after being forced under one for half his life, but he was truly beginning to love the distorter. He might not feel any confidence whatsoever, but that thing had it for him. "Put all accesses under surveillance until the operation is finished."

"Sir."

"Any other recommendations, Governor?"

Calrissian made an affirmative gesture with his head.

"Might I point your attention towards—"

Finn found himself distracted. Some strange system in the helmet's visor had turned on, silently directing his attention towards a dark corner leading to the emergency access behind the lift. Not turning his head, hands closing tightly over his weapon, Finn followed the warning with his eyes, stomach twisting as he saw a group of humanoid figures amidst the shadows.

"A stray."

A what?

"There's a stray."

The unknown voice seemed to be echoing inside the helmet, cold and hostile. He could see weapons drawn, the unmistakable signs of aggression, and yet they remained hidden, observing, apparently not conscious of being stalked themselves. There was hesitation. They hesitated.

I found the ship's crew.

And whoever they were, one thing was certain, they weren't stormtroopers. He had but to look at them, at the way they stood, to know that.

"Hostiles at 8 o'clock," Finn whispered, not taking his attention away from the group even as he saw the Sergeant discreetly moving his trigger hand, clearly signaling the soldiers flanking Lando Calrissian to take offensive positions. "Confirm visual."

"Confirmed." The Sergeant's voice was even lower than his. Finn took a deep, steadying breath, unconsciously letting the officer yet again take charge. "On my command."

Finn would never know who moved first, only that the instant they started firing, the unknown group had stepped out of the shadows. They approached fast, two of them falling behind to cover their colleague as she charged, evading the barrage of blasts or intercepting them with staffs that couldn't look more different from the one Rey used while still being called staffs. They were far longer and thinner, ending in a sharp blade that seemed to be electrified.

If that thing reaches us…

It ceased to be an 'if' in about a second. One of the attackers giving her cover threw something in Finn's direction, a round object that opened the instant it hit the ground, filling the air with a disorienting high pitched noise that nearly caused Finn to drop his weapon and rip the helmet off of his head to cover his ears.

The woman ran past him, twisting the sharpened staff in a wide arc that caught one of the soldiers in the throat, blaster fire from her group catching the second soldier in the chest. Turning to fire, Finn saw Lando Calrissian being spared a deathly strike as the second soldier's dead weight sent him to the ground. The attack, however, still found a target, cutting right through the Sergeant's arm plate, splattering blood all over the white protections. An instant later, he was caught in his side by a blaster shot.

It was as if the world had stopped, time slowing as the armored figure fell, knees hitting the ground before the rest of his body did. In that moment, Finn, head still ringing, was no longer seeing the officer; he was seeing Slip and he was back on Jakku, amidst the flames, back to back with him, hearing an abnormally close shot hit something, turning to discover that his friend was dying. Only this time, instead of freezing him, the shock put him on the offensive. He was firing against the woman before he even had time to think about what had happened or what he was doing.

It was a bad move from the start. The first shot grazed her shoulder, causing her to drop her weapon. Then, turning to him with an expression of hatred that only fell short of competing with the one Kylo Ren had given him while in Starkiller's oscillator room, she picked up the weapon again, throwing herself at him.

The attack was brutal.

Having once been hit by Rey's staff and, in a far more unpleasant memory, by Ren's lightsaber, Finn had long decided to keep as far away from beings wielding anything of the sort as possible. It took about three seconds to remember exactly why. The staff slashed in a rapid up-down movement, hitting not him but his weapon as he tried to get a clear shot at her. The next instant, his weapon had choked, refusing to fire, forcing him to use it as a sort of shield when the staff twirled and its sharpened end tried to reach for his throat time and time again.

Finn clenched his teeth. He couldn't survive her attack for long, not while being forced to defend himself with a weapon that was never intended for close quarters combat and that was far heavier than any blaster he had ever wielded. What was infuriating, however, wasn't that he knew he had to find a solution to get out of the current situation and wasn't seeing one, but that she wasn't that good—she wasn't Ren. If he had Skywalker's lightsaber with him—!

She kicked him in the stomach, throwing him down, and using the momentum to swing the staff behind her back and intercept a bluish blast aimed for her head. Hitting the floor hard, Finn felt a strange sense of victory, his eyes going to the place where Lando Calrissian was lying, one of the dead soldier's blasters in his hands. That had been a disruptor shot. The electric field around the staff collapsed.

Finn didn't wait a second longer to jump to his feet, rapidly advancing towards the woman, not willing to let her take the offensive again, only to see her raise her hand, followed by Calrissian being dragged across the atrium by one of the flower pots.

Oh, come on! Not this!

It was hell. Revealing what she was seemingly meant all gloves were off. The reason she wasn't all that impressive with the staff was revealed in about a second—the thing was a defensive weapon. Her attack of choice was the Force.

You must be joking!

Everything was moving—ripped shrubs being throw his way, large flower pots coming from every side—making Finn jump over them as he ran, trying to lead her attention away from the place the Sergeant his mind believed was Slip was, trying to reach the rest of her group, the only place where he could get a weapon and the only thing remotely similar to safety that could be found in the atrium.

Or, at least, so he thought.

Finn threw himself to the ground, evading by inches the absolutely monstrous reception desk thrown his way, only to see both of the unknown men jump away from it as it tumbled down in their direction.

"Rhyase!" the taller of the duo, an extremely muscular man sporting a large scar that had cost him one eye, shouted. "Stop!"

Either she didn't hear or she didn't care.

The third member of the group, a tall man with a round young face Finn could have sworn he had once seen on the Finalizer, was throwing away the weapon he had been using until now, taking out two pistols from his belt and pointing them at Finn. Before he could shoot, his expression changed, eyes moving to the ceiling as a menacing groan filled the atrium.

"Lyr!" he shouted, and Finn could have swore that for a moment his face changed, turning lizard like. "Up!"

His colleague didn't even look, raising both his arms and collapsing to one knee as one of the atrium's huge candelabras fell on top of the three of them and stopped just a few meters before it could crush them against the floor. All the while, Finn didn't stop running, attention focused on the weapon his attacker had discarded, bent on claiming it. He jumped out of range of the candelabra. The third element of the group mimicked him, diving away from the candelabra and right onto Finn's back.

They collapsed to the floor, something slippery making contact with the back of Finn's neck and leaving him completely paralyzed. He could see the man named Lyr tossing the candelabra aside, making his way to where Finn was being rolled onto his back and pinned to the ground.

"Back, Essen!"

And now she too was there, standing over him, raising the sharpened end of her staff, aiming it towards Finn's unprotected throat. Before she could stab him, though, Lyr's hand closed around her wrist. For a moment, they did little else than face each other, then Rhyase's dark, almond shaped eyes turned to the wall of glass behind her. Something strange went through her expression as she looked past it and then, abruptly and incomprehensively, she stepped back. All of them did.

What the…?

It took several moments before Finn was able to move again. When he could, they were gone and Lando Calrissian, limping but otherwise miraculously unscathed, had somehow managed to liberate himself from the gigantic flower pot, stopping next to Finn as he forced himself into a sitting position.

"Who was that?" the Governor asked, blaster still in hand.

Hell if I know. Not that a rather disturbing hypothesis about the provenience of at least two clearly trained Force sensitives wasn't already taking shape in his mind. This day just keeps getting better and better.

"Raise the alarm, report—"

Finn didn't finish, his eyes had found the three fallen stormtroopers. One of them was moving, taking off his helmet, checking the bleeding wounds on his abdomen and arm as he did so.

Slip.

Finn forced himself to his feet, having to almost drag his still reluctant legs towards his friend.

"Slip, are you—?"

He stretched his arm out to help him stand, relief washing over him as the stormtrooper began turning to him and—the illusion shattered; he remembered.

Slip died.

And the brown skinned, dark eyed man staring in confusion at his offer for help—his fingers still pressing the wound in his limp arm—couldn't have looked less like him. He was older, some ten years older than Slip would ever be. He was an officer. He was a stranger.

Finn stepped back, feigning indifference as he let his hand fall, looking at just about everything in the half destroyed atrium whilst fighting to keep his attention away from the people it. His mind was screaming at itself.

I saw Slip dying. What's wrong with me?!

His attention went over the broken candelabra, vaguely acknowledging the dirt covered floor, and then going over the ripped shrubs. It finally settled on the glass wall, resting on the bit of dark sky visible between the skyscrapers. He could see the stars, they were—

His stomach fell.

"Sergeant, gather the soldiers."

Checking his two dead subordinates' pulses, the Sergeant turned his still uncovered face to Finn.

"Sir?"

"All of them. Quick."

Calrissian, now joining them, looked around.

"What—?"

Finn pointed upwards, mind filling so quickly with defensive battle tactics that he couldn't remember anything but stormtrooper jargon with which to answer the Governor.

"The sky is falling."

Notes:

Next up - The Scavenger.

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