For a while, I lay there with my eyes closed listening to the sounds of their breathing. I was wide awake, an island of alertness laying in the center of the stationary vortex of Kylo Ren and General Hux's naked bodies. Hux was nestled against my left breast, curled around me on his side, Kylo Ren curved over me on the other side with one arm under my head and the other draped over my torso. They weren't quite asleep, but neither were they fully awake.
I wondered if they could feel the power vibrating underneath my skin. I was having increasing difficulty laying still the longer that I tried. Though I should have been in a state of utter contentment, snugly cuddled between the two men as I was, I was feeling anxious. No, not anxious, just brimming with nervous energy. The fog of sexual torpor had begun to settle, and now I thought back to what I'd just participated in with slightly more clarity. It was a jumble of images, of bodies writhing together, lips and teeth and fingers. I hadn't been thinking of anything except riding that physical release, fulfilling my selfish desires, drinking the essence of both of them without care or caution.
It had felt much like inebriation, as though by opening myself to their sensory feedback, I'd ingested some intoxicant which made me act like a mindless rutting animal. I felt ashamed, somehow. In the midst of it, I'd felt like nothing would ever be enough to alleviate that want, that anything was worth that sense of unity. But now… my vagina and anus were sore, my muscles ached, and though I'd washed myself, I felt as though a film of corporeal disgrace born of giving in to my thoughtless base desires clung to my skin.
I shook my head. I was being ridiculous. I needed to stop thinking like that. Whatever we'd done, it was worth how I felt now. Whatever I'd taken from them during our carnal interlude was something to be savored. My theft of their essence had gone unnoticed, it seemed, and I felt that I needed to use such an achievement toward more productive ends, something other than laying there and appreciating the high. The way it made sounds seem sharper and made the sensation of touch nearly overwhelming for the abundance of information it seemed to deliver through my nerve endings. I felt their hearts beating, felt the blood rushing through their veins. I even thought I could feel their hair growing.
When I opened my eyes, the lights, still at around 70%, seemed so bright. It was as though I could see more depth of color beneath the greys and blacks of Kylo Ren's room. His bed cover was surprisingly soft against my bare skin, of finer quality than the standard issue blankets, I could tell. It seemed as though I could detect more elusive scent in the air. Steam from the refresher carried with it the scented washes we'd used, and underneath was the nearly indetectable, but heady, smell of sex.
I lightly stroked Kylo Ren's arm which lay limply across my body, his hand just barely touching Hux's face.
"Master," I said softly. He roused slightly, stretched his arm and hands, then settled again and made a noncommittal noise. His skin was warm and soft and still slightly damp from the shower. I continued. "I thought that perhaps we might discuss my vision. When I was meditating, the Force showed me something. It was... confusing."
"Later," he muttered. I scowled, and he must have felt my irritation because a finger lazily started to circle my navel. "Tell me all about it later, Riala. Fucking you both took a lot out of me."
"You're tired, Ren?" Hux interjected, too worn out to speak with any heat. "Try being on the receiving end of that ridiculous bludgeon you call a cock."
"You've always been such a tightass. Even Riala couldn't loosen you up."
I felt the stirrings of anger peeking through the sluggishness in Hux as he tensed up, and decidedly interrupted the brewing argument.
"General, perhaps we should check the progress of the interrogation. Your men might have gained some ground with the prisoner," I said with some hope. Hux grunted and the irritation seemed to drain out of him. He curled down a little further and sighed, his breath hot against my skin.
"There's no need. I would have been told immediately. We have time, and I fully intend to use it to recover." He behaved as though the very act of speaking required more effort than it was worth, and soon I heard his breathing become slow and deep. He'd fallen asleep already.
With a long, drawn out sigh, I realized that I wasn't going to get anywhere with these two. Gently, I shifted the arm draped over me and slid Hux's head so that it lay on the bed, and then I sat up. I walked into the refresher, stretching my body, trying to relieve the soreness in my muscles. My Darksight had not yet faded. In fact, it seemed to be lingering much longer this time, and it made everything around me glitter faintly like the texture of water catching sunlight.
In front of the sink, I splashed water on myself, and then with a glance in the mirror, I was momentarily struck with my reflection. I took in the sight of the bruising on my body. Faint circles, darker than my skin, peppered my hips and breasts where Kylo Ren had grabbed me. Bite marks mottled the skin of my shoulders and neck, and there on one side was the dark brown and purple bruise where he'd bitten and sucked me so hard. At first, I felt embarrassed about these conspicuous imprints, proof of my indecent activities. But then, with a growing sense of confidence, I realized that there was no real reason to be ashamed.
Before, when I was still considered property, my body, and the marks upon it, had not been my own; they were the designs of my abusers and oppressors, marks born of my weakness and powerlessness. But now… gingerly, I touched the darker spot on my neck, a kiss of passion. Now, I bore the signatures of my lovers. Men whom I'd chosen for myself, who I'd seduced and used for my own gratification. Men whose very vitality was mine for the taking. Now, these shallow injuries were a mark of my freedom, my power.
I met my eyes. In my reflection, I could see a kind of beauty that I'd never really noticed before. It wasn't elegant and feminine like Armata's, nor was it imposing and stunning like Phasma's. Mine was a sort of harsh beauty. With my hair the way it was, and my skin covered in the testament of rough sex, I looked almost savage. Fierce. I smiled at myself. My eyes looked far older than they were. I saw a wisdom in them and a fire that had not always been there. I breathed deep. I set to work untangling my hair. It was so much easier with its current style. Rifling through Kylo Ren's toiletries, I found the same hair product that I'd used before and combed it through my hair until it fell in layered, silky brown waves on one side. The glow of my Darksight started to fade, but the feeling of elation did not.
I felt that I could accomplish anything.
I went back into the bedroom. Without me as a buffer, the two men were almost touching. Hux was snoring softly with an arm thrown over his face and Kylo Ren had rolled over onto his stomach, pulling one side of the cover with him.
Looking on them now, I couldn't remember why I'd been so nervous before. The two most powerful men in the First Order after Snoke, I thought with a smirk. Naked and sleeping, they seemed so harmless, so vulnerable. I wondered, with sudden morbidity, if I could, if I chose, drain them completely. If it were possible to consume every last spark of life energy until it was completely depleted. Until, I assumed, death. It seemed fully possible. Did even the Supreme Leader possess such an ability? I knew he was powerful, he had to be, but the way the Force worked through me was, by most accounts, unique. There had been whisperings, myths and rumors, that Darth Sidious was able to heal himself by stealing the energy of others. Supposedly, he had enslaved an entire planet of primitive sentients for this purpose. The notion seemed ridiculous, but still, I had to wonder.
I left them alone and entered the main room where I dug through the pile of clothing and I began to dress myself. If Snoke knew of this ability of mine, to take the vitality of others into myself, would he then consider me a threat or an asset? I felt better not knowing the answer to that. He seemed to think I was inconsequential, and for now, that seemed like a safe place to be. The more I thought back to my meeting with him and Kylo Ren, the more I remembered Snoke's utter lack of concern with me. Oh yes. The slave, he'd said in his raspy voice, filling the chamber, and myself, with dread. Snoke was, at the very least, unimpressed with me. He didn't seem like the sort of being that suffered useless underlings. The way he'd made me feel diminished in only a few words and a probing larger-than-life stare… Kylo Ren may not have noticed, but to me, Snoke's disregard was clear, and it felt dangerous.
Perhaps it was time to show him what I could do.
I made sure to wear every component of my armor now. With a final look in the refresher mirror, I could see how impressive the effect was. I hooked the veil over my face as a final touch, and then left Kylo Ren's quarters. My destination: the detention block and the holding cell where Lor San Tekka waited with the key to my advancement locked away in his head. When I managed to extract the information that Snoke wanted, he would have no choice but to recognize my potential. If accepted into the Knighthood, I could fully train my abilities and become a conduit for the Dark Side. It wasn't an ideal future, and the idea of participating in the subjugation of the galaxy didn't sit well with me, but at this moment, I could only see two options before me: advancement or death. If discovering the location of the map was the only way to secure my survival, I would do whatever it took. So, I made my way through the ship, toward the detention level, making sure to walk with purpose.
On the way, I mentally went over the advice I'd been given before my last interrogation. For a moment, the memory of the Bothan stayed my ego. Guilt caused me to falter in my steps, but only briefly. It was a useless emotion, guilt. Once something was done, it was done. These people were the enemy, and empires weren't built on a foundation of compassion, they were built on the backs of the opposition.
An image came to me, then, of my harrowing, blood-soaked vision. I'd walked upon the bodies of the dead. And they had even lifted me up, pushed me forward. Had that been a symbol of things to come? Perhaps the bodies I'd seen beneath the surface were those of the Resistance and the Republic. But as soon as it occurred to me, I knew it couldn't be. I'd known those people somehow; their deaths and their vast numbers had saddened me. Without Kylo Ren's guidance, I found the vision no less incomprehensible. No matter. I had arrived at my destination.
The officer at the detention console listened to my story, that Kylo Ren wanted me to interrogate the prisoner from Jakku myself. After confirming my identity, she directed me to the correct holding cell without further question. I followed her directions, projecting the confidence of someone who wasn't lying.
Standing guard outside the holding cell door were two white-armored troopers. With the HUD on my visor, I could see their designation overlays and I recognized a familiar ID. It was Seven and a trooper I didn't know.
"JB-007," I greeted.
"Ma'am," he said, straightening to attention at the same time as the other. His voice was calm, all formality, but I felt the flush of recognition beneath his helmet. "We've been alerted to your arrival. The examiners are finishing now."
From behind the door, I heard a mechanical high-pitched whine that sounded like a drill followed by a muffled male voice crying out in clear agony. Outwardly, I held steady, but inside I felt as though my stomach had sunk into my feet, giving them extra weight.
"How long have they been interrogating him?" My eyes were fixed on the door.
"Two hours, this time. Before that, four." Seven's voice through the vocoder in his helmet sounded neutral, but I could feel the underlying tension in it.
While I'd been taking pleasure in the company of the two commanders, Lor San Tekka had been living through hell in the Finalizer's detention level.
"Please inform the interrogators that I have arrived. I'm in a hurry." I didn't know if I even had the authority to do such a thing, but I heard Seven's com pip as he relayed the message. The drilling sound, and the vocalizations, stopped. Seven straightened his head and addressed me.
"They're cleaning up. Will you need assistance?" Seven managed to sound as though he were hoping and dreading at once that I might say yes, and I shook my head, trying not to imagine what exactly needed to be cleaned.
"I am going in alone."
"We'll be outside the door if you need anything."
Before too long, the cell door opened. Two men wearing nondescript black uniforms, caps, and surgical masks exited in single file. One of them continued on. The other handed me a datascreen with information readouts, technical monitoring and logs of their session. I saw something about a droid armament called a bonedrill and looked away from it before I could read any more.
"Extraction serum was administered an hour ago," the man said, gesturing to the datascreen as if this information were uninteresting. "Not that it's done much good. He's locked down tight."
"Lor San Tekka?" I asked, dubious that an old man would be able to resist such methods. Really, I was shocked that he hadn't succumbed yet. The man looked confused for a moment, studying my face suspiciously.
"No. The prisoner from Jakku. Some pilot."
I kept my confusion to myself and nodded, trying to act as though I knew this but it had merely slipped my mind. When the man left, I glanced back down to the screen. It held little information on the subject himself, not even a name. I at least knew he was a pilot.
I urged my fluttering stomach to be still and took a deep breath. My mouth felt dry. I requested that Seven have water brought in, and then I stepped into the dark room. The room smelled like blood, sweat, and fear. A small wave of dizziness hit me as I momentarily forgot where I was, thought I might have found my way back to the mine in Pressy's Tumble. I closed my eyes against this confusion until it passed. I detected a chemical bite to the air that I couldn't quite place, and the smell of burnt hair which only made my throat feel drier. The light along the edge of the ceiling was subdued, and my eyes were immediately drawn to the island of light in the center of the room which illuminated the harness and the figure strapped into it in cold bluish-white light. For a long moment I stared and listened to the sound of his ragged breathing. A soft mechanical whirring noise, emanating from a hovering black spheroidal droid to my side, was the only other sound.
He was not an old man at all, but a considerably younger one. His head rested on the harness and his eyes were closed. His dark curls were plastered with sweat against his forehead and his tan skin had a pallor of exhaustion to it. His brows were furrowed and a sheen of sweat was visible on his face, mingled with streaks of red blood. I didn't immediately know what to do. I scanned the room around him. Coffin-shaped alcoves were built into the walls. One was illuminated so that the trays of torture instruments and prepped syringes were in full view. I noticed an empty syringe laying on its side, a drop of cloudy pink fluid clung to the tip of the needle as if it had been set aside in haste. I could assume that this was the "extraction serum" of which the interrogator had spoken.
When I turned back toward him, I had a minor shock when I realized that he was watching me. His gaze was smoldering beneath a fringe of long, thick black lashes which only emphasized the dull bloodshot cast to the whites of his eyes. A crease seemed permanently affixed between his brows and his square jaw was set firm with defiance. I could see a spot of blood on his right ribs, staining through his beige shirt. It looked dark and wet. Fresh.
Just then, a detention guard entered with a tray in her hand, eyeing the prisoner. Upon the tray sat a metal pitcher and cup. Chill condensation clung temptingly to the silver-colored exterior of the pitcher. There was no furniture in this room, so I just had her set it on the floor by the wall. I dismissed her. The man swallowed dryly and closed his eyes.
"Hey," he said. I looked at him dubiously. The voice that spoke was tired and hoarse, and at first I thought I'd misheard. He cleared his throat and spoke again. "You think you could hand me my jacket?" I was too surprised to immediately respond. He opened his eyes and looked at me, then gestured with his head to the side. In a heap on the floor lay a red and brown leather jacket. "The greatest firepower in the galaxy at your fingertips and you people can't afford proper heating."
I was a little taken aback by his nerve, to not only ask for his coat but also for that crack about the stinginess of the First Order. He didn't know who I was, but I wore the emblem on my sleeve like anyone else. I glanced toward the door of the cell and then at the jacket, and finally, to him. Sizing him up, I quickly determined that he was in no state to attack me or try to escape, and even if he did try something, I had no doubt that he would be susceptible to my wrath. Besides, Seven and the other guard were right on the other side of the door. He was breathing hard still, and I could hear a faint rattle in his chest. Broken ribs I thought, not wanting to probe with my empathy to know for sure. Whatever he was feeling, I didn't need to experience it myself. I picked up the coat and inspected the pockets and the interior lining for any hidden tools or implements that might assist an escape or be used as a weapon
"I'm not going to try anything, I promise," he said wearily as if he could read my thoughts. "I'm just cold." As if to emphasize this, he shivered and closed his eyes. I didn't miss how he wore a mantle of calm like a man who'd accepted his fate. upon closer inspection, I could see that he was in worse shape than I'd initially realized. The pallor and sheen of sweat of his face gave proof to the low-grade fever that seemed to be afflicting him. His lips were dry and cracked.
Jacket in hand, I pressed the controls that would unlock the arm cuffs. My empty hand hovered over the vibrostilleto's handle, the fastener already open for quick access if necessary. If General Hux or Kylo Ren saw me now, I would likely find myself thrown into one of these cells along with this man, whoever he was.
He hesitated before reaching for it. Then he tried to pull it on, but every movement seemed to pain him. When he grimaced, I could see a set of white teeth, webbed with blood. He probably had a very charming smile, I thought. Of course, I would never get to see it. When the act of putting the jacket on himself proved too difficult, I assisted him, holding it up so that he could slip his arms through the sleeves one after the other. I could see easy muscles beneath the material of his shirt. He was quite handsome overall, really, despite being in such poor condition.
I allowed him to straighten it and get settled again before, without any opposition from him, I returned his arms to their restraints. He sighed appreciatively and closed his eyes, returning his head to the position it had been in when I'd first entered. Either he was unafraid of me, or he was too pained and tired to care.
"Thanks." He said without looking at me. I remembered what Kylo Ren had said about speaking as little as possible when interrogating a subject, so I said nothing and just looked at him for a moment. He was strong, I thought, allowing just enough of my perception to touch him to get a read on him. And no, he was not afraid. Not of death, anyway. Something else, perhaps, but survival didn't factor into it. He was looking at me with one eye open, his head still reclined against the headrest. He swallowed dryly. I tried to remember how I'd begun on the Bothan spy, and I was stabbed with another unpleasant pang in my chest.
"I'm in for it now, aren't I?" he said.
I spoke before I could stop myself. "What?"
He exhaled slowly. "I just figure that if you're who they sent after those other guys, I'm in for a whole new level of hurt... I'll tell you what I told them: I'm not giving you anything. Just kill me now and save the trouble."
I didn't know what to say. Of course, they hadn't exactly sent me, but in a way, he was right. What I had done to the Bothan, what I was planning to do to him now, was far worse and deeper-cutting than any physical torment that Hux's interrogators could devise.
"I'm not going to kill you," I said quietly.
"Is that right?" He sounded utterly skeptical. His eyes took me in from my head to my toes before returning to my face. "What are you, special ops? Elite inquisitor corp?"
"Neither," I said finally. "I don't care about the map." The look he gave me was equal parts confusion and suspicion.
"Well you're not here for the company," he quipped.
"I was sent to help you recover before the next session," I said on impulse. His brows furrowed as he considered this and then the meaning set in. His forehead relaxed some and he stared blankly past me to the door, appearing for all the world to be a man devoid of hope. The lie had been hastily concocted, but he seemed to accept it. His deliberate bravado seemed to fall away leaving blank resignation. Already, I was breaking Kylo Ren's instructions, to not speak more than was necessary. But it seemed necessary in this case. He'd done well against the interrogators and the extraction serum, locked away information about the map fragment behind layers of mental barriers. If I wanted to bring that guard down, I'd have to try something else first. Gain his trust, perhaps. A friend among enemies. That, combined with my emotional Force projection, could be the way to break him. I tried not to think about that part yet. I needed to make him comfortable first, perhaps even get him to relax somewhat.
I walked over to the pitcher of water and poured a cup. When I turned, I could see that he was watching me closely. When I came closer, his eyes moved to the sloshing water almost involuntarily. I gestured it toward him, an offering. It was in my best interests that he be healthy enough to question, I rationalized to myself. It had nothing to do with how I'd winced to hear him cough so hoarsely. Slowly he turned back to look at me. His eyes were narrowed suspiciously, but still he swallowed and licked his cracked lips with a dry tongue. I could see the conflict behind his eyes as he tried to work out whether his pride or his thirst would win.
Finally, he seemed to give in to his thirst and nodded subtly. I brought the cup to his lips and slowly tipped it. The cold water seemed to shock him at first, and he shuddered and coughed after the first swallow, but then he wanted more and I delicately tipped the cup in small increments until it was empty. He coughed again and breathed, feeling some amount of relief now.
"More?" I asked, motioning toward the pitcher. He shook his head and closed his eyes. I could tell that he regretted giving in to that, but already some color was returning to his face, some strength returning to him. He almost felt something like hope.
"So you're a pilot," I said conversationally, setting the cup back on the tray.
"Not just a pilot. The best pilot in the Resistance," he answered with measured bravado. And then a moment later, "I know I don't look like much now, but I clean up nicely."
"I can imagine," I said. Despite myself, I smirked under my veil. His demeanor was admirable against such odds. He wasn't afraid of death. Something else, yes, as I distinctly sensed fear in him, but it was not the fear of survival.
After seeing firsthand who the Order considered their enemy, I couldn't pretend anymore that the threat we faced was some anonymous rabble. There was no great evil that sought to send the galaxy into chaos and disorder, which the First Order alone could correct. This man was just a man; an interesting, willful man on the wrong side of a conflict that was incomprehensible to me. As arbitrary as it might have been, I needed to do whatever I could to secure my future, a future which, as of right now, was not guaranteed.
It wasn't enough to just exist. I needed to try and prove my worth to Snoke. The Dark Side and those that followed its tenets did not look with mercy upon those that did not serve its ends. I thought back to my vision, how, when I'd stood upon that blood red mire above the bodies of the fallen, I had begun to sink. It was only when I moved forward that I stayed above them. The meaning of that seemed clear to me now.
I sighed quietly to myself, trying to gather the will to progress this process to the next step. The man was watching me with his head back again, tired. His lids were half open. I could sense that he knew something was about to happen. His apprehension spoke volumes, but I couldn't let it distract me.
I breathed in deeply through my nose and let it out slowly through my mouth, counting to ten each time until my heart slowed. To his credit, the man said nothing, not did he display fear of any kind.
I thought about tapping into my feeling of vigor and power and the life I'd stolen from Kylo Ren, but that wasn't the kind of emotion I needed. I knew myself well enough and my limitations to see my doubts and conflict as potential interference, and I didn't want to infuse him with confidence and reinforce his barriers accidentally. I needed to find something pure, and I thought I might know where to find it.
I let out a long, slow breath until my surroundings faded. I gently pushed aside the sound of my own heartbeat. When I smelled the wood smoke, I knew I'd found my deepest emotions and the childhood memories they were tied to. What was it about that particular scent that seemed so significant?
I started to feel the warmth from the little ball of flickering light expand to fill me. It felt as though I were sitting before a small fire, and that my life force comprised the sparks that it produced. Calm overtook me, and I made sure to spare some for the prisoner. He was still tense, but I felt the first hints of relaxation when my calm radiated and moved over him like a warm breeze in this chill room.
Slowly, a memory came to the surface, drawn up by the emotion like an anchor being pulled up from dark waters.
There was a fire. It crackled and put off heat and light. And yes, the scent of wood smoke was clearer now that I had found its source. This was a fire which had been lit with some frequency, I remembered, so well was it ingrained in my childhood. But not by me. A woman with a tinkling laugh and sad, liquid eyes. My mother.
Mother. My breath caught in my throat. The wood smoke was never alone, it was always accompanied by other smells, fresh, pungent, green things. Herbs. Medicinal ones.
She had been an artisan of some kind, a cook or… a healer. She was making a poultice, I thought with sudden clarity, though I could remember no other detail. I thought that perhaps, if I concentrated, I might be able to recall her face… yet no matter how I tried, her features remained obscured and out of focus, all but the memory of pale eyes which held a depth of sadness.
I breathed deeply again, the scent of wood smoke fading. I took in a breath through my nose and then I released it through my mouth, opening my eyes as I did so. With that breath I radiated the feeling of love and safety. My stolen vigor gave it strength.
The prisoner's eyes were distant, his brow tensed slightly. His breathing had calmed. He was no longer in the holding cell. Wherever he was, it was easing his stress incrementally, and I wondered what he was experiencing.
"How do you feel?" I asked, keeping my voice low. The man seemed to shake out of it a little, his eyes moving around the room as though he'd forgotten where he was for a moment. He glanced at me, confusion briefly creasing his brow.
"Pretty good actually," he said, sounding puzzled. "I was thinking about being someplace else."
I studied his face, genuinely curious. "Where?"
"The cockpit of my mom's fighter," he answered. Then his eyes flickered to mine as if he just realized he'd spoken aloud. His jaw tightened and he looked away. The extraction serum was doing its job, I thought with a grim sort of satisfaction. Most interestingly, the emotions which had conjured the lost memory of my own mother seemed to have had the same effect on him.
"Your mother was a pilot, too?"
"Yes," he answered more readily.
"Your father as well?"
"He was a soldier," he answered with a pang of sadness. "Both of them were war heroes."
I absorbed this information, and his use of the past tense, with silent understanding. If this man was in his early to mid-thirties, that would put his birth not so long before the fall of the Empire. His parents must have fought against the Imperial forces on the side of the Rebellion. That was very interesting to me and something about it gave me pause. I'd suspected that my home town had been raided because it was inhabited by Resistance sympathizers. For all I knew, my mother and father had been part of the Resistance themselves. It would explain the harsh clearcut style of the raid in which I was captured as a child. Depending on their ages, maybe they'd even fought against the Empire alongside this man's parents. Anything was possible.
"I know what you're doing," he remarked then, interrupting my musings. I looked up to find smoldering eyes looking on me with scrutiny. "Thanks for the water. But this buddy buddy thing you're doing? It won't work."
I kept my eyes blank while inside my thoughts churned. He was sharp, I realized. There was real intelligence behind that hooded, bloodshot gaze. It seemed that he didn't buy my story about being here to help him recover.
"Do you want me to leave?" I asked. He paled slightly and turned away, his jaw tensing.
"Stay. Leave. I don't care. I'm not telling you anything, so forget it."
I couldn't read thoughts, but the emotional read I'd gotten from him when I asked if he wanted me to leave belied his apparent indifference. He didn't want to be alone right now.
"I'd like to stay if it's all the same," I said, moving over to the water pitcher and refilling the cup. "To be honest, my superiors don't know that I'm here."
Measured, careful doses of the truth to build up trust, I thought. It had nothing to do with the fact that I wanted to know more about him, wanted to confide in him, just a little bit. When I walked up to him again, he was looking at me once more with a baffled expression on his sweaty face.
"Who are you?"
"I'm just a person, like you, who ended up on one side of a conflict greater than myself," I answered, offering him the cup. After a moment's pause, he accepted and I carefully tipped it between his lips a little at a time, allowing him to catch his breath in between sips. "Just trying to survive."
"You're nothing like me," he said sharply, meeting my eyes without blinking. The hand holding the cup slowly lowered and I tilted my head, feeling heat rising on my face. "Not if you can be complicit in…" he looked around the cell pointedly, and then rested his eyes on the interrogator droid. "This."
I tried to shrug off his judgement, but his words had struck a nerve. My mind wandered to the mine, the settlement on Jakku, my former home on the forest moon. Doubtless there had been countless other attacks and raids and oppressed people just like those throughout the history of the First Order, stretching back to before I was even born. It was impossible to think of life outside of this efficient military machine. From my perspective, it seemed very much like the rest of the galaxy didn't stand a chance, and if I intended to survive, I was on the right side of the blaster barrel.
"You're not afraid of death?" I asked. He closed his eyes and sighed wearily.
"Not if I die for something worth dying for. Not if my death helps to protect the lives of the countless billions that would suffer under the First Order's rule." This was spoken with such conviction and such sincerity that for a moment, I could form no rebuttal. This was getting too deep, I thought, feeling my heart beat a little harder. His cause seemed so noble, but I didn't understand it. I couldn't comprehend feeling so strongly about something that I would lay down my life for it. It seemed like such a foolish waste. No one could do any good if they're dead.
I needed to step back. Why had I thought that I could do this? I was getting nowhere. It was time to try again, to make him open up to me, to accidentally say something which would give away the map's location. I finished the water in the cup and set it on the tray, trying to calm my thoughts. He needed to trust me. Perhaps I could dredge up the feeling of security, like I'd done before.
When was the last time I'd felt safe? Truly safe? For sixteen years, I lived with the understanding that, at any moment, I could be punished for doing or saying the wrong thing, and I knew the nature of those punishments with great intimacy. The closest thing I could think of was the way Captain Phasma made had me feel when she'd come to my rescue. Those times, the very sight of her had filled me with such hope. I felt more secure in her arms than I did in anyone else's. Thinking about her was helping me relax and find that feeling of security.
I thought about her gleaming armor, so pristine, as though her surroundings couldn't touch her. Even the dank, damp darkness of the mine caves hadn't tainted her. The way her chrome trooper suit had reflected the green and red lights so that they twinkled like stars when she stood outside of the meeting room on level 77 alpha… even after she'd ordered the cadets to fire on the negotiators, she'd somehow managed to avoid getting blood on herself…
The lightness in my stomach soured.
Something had definitely changed since that deployment. I had known, but I had never seen, exactly how ruthless she could be. Reading about successful missions in her personnel log was very different from experiencing what one looked like firsthand.
My heavy heart threatened to weigh me down. Desperately, I sought something that I could use. The pilot watched me with mute curiosity while I tried to get control over my emotions. I needed something… something from before the Order. Something pure.
Something like strong arms, wrapped around me, an embrace that could deflect all of the horrors in the world. There seemed to be something there of that nature deep in the recesses of my mind, and I honed in on it eagerly.
A deep voice, booming, large as the sky. I recognized it from my last attempt to access this sense of security. It was my father's. He would show me something sometimes, I thought, knitting my brows in concentration. Something of his work. It had to do with the military, though I couldn't quite…
If you don't take after your mamma, you could always be a mechanic like your old man, the deep, gentle voice intoned. I remembered looking at something so technical and impressively complicated, while strong, dark arms held me up so I could see. I felt so safe with him. Truly, my father could make anything seem fascinating. Even… an engine. An X-wing engine.
I was so startled, I came close to losing the thread of memory, and I scrambled to regain it. Despite my efforts, it slipped away and I gradually became aware of my present surroundings once more. My heart was pounding and my eyes felt itchy. I wiped them with the back of a sleeve and smeared the moisture that had been collecting in them. The prisoner hadn't noticed. As before, his eyes were distant. I cleared my throat, regained my composure, steadied my breaths.
"What are you feeling?" I asked in a low, soothing tone, perhaps trying to mimic my father's and the way it made me feel untouchable.
"Just remembering how my mom would take me up in her fighter sometimes," he said vaguely. "She would even let me 'fly' the ship, but of course she'd held the controls the whole time…"
It was sweet, I thought, the way he spoke of her. I felt a spike of envy that he got to know his mother so well. "She must have taught you everything you know."
"She's the one that made me want to be a pilot. I only really feel at home when I'm in a cockpit. I remember how she'd take me over the tops of the trees… how they looked like they were on fire in the red light."
I was only half listening, distracted by the thought that he might actually be close to ready for the next phase of the interrogation. If I didn't want to sink, I had to move forward, I thought. "Red light?"
"Yeah… of the planet. When the sunlight hit it just right and the moon was in the right position, it set the green leaves of the forests alight."
Something about what he was saying was significant. A voice at the back of my head nagged me to think, to piece it together, but my mind was moving sluggishly. A hollow ache began to build in my chest. It was impossible.
"What planet?" I asked, sick with anxiety. He didn't notice my tone. He was gone. His barriers were down, I noted. He was completely relaxed. He might have been susceptible to my wrath at this moment, enough to accidentally reveal the location of the map, but I didn't care about Kylo Ren or Supreme Leader Snoke or the First Order. I cared about one thing. "What moon?"
"Yavin," he answered simply, as if the answer were obvious. "Yavin 4." His thoughts likely still far away on those fiery treetops, soaring through the sky in his mother's X-wing.
My head reeled. I felt as though the floor had been taken away, as though I were on the verge of falling.
I felt cold, clammy, like I was going to be sick. I couldn't breathe. Numbly, I unhooked my veil and turned away, using every ounce of my willpower to keep my breathing steady. Now, a malicious voice in my head urged. Strike now and he will tell you everything.
"What is your name?" I asked, struggling against the tremor which seemed to want to creep into my voice.
"Poe. Poe Dameron," he answered. I didn't know the name, there was no reason that I would, I didn't even know my own name before I was Riala, but it seemed important that I know his name, this man from my homeworld. I turned back to him to find him watching me. He was still calm, but now more alert. I'd missed my chance to strike, to corrupt his memories of security, of being loved, with a lash of wrathful pain. The fact was, I didn't want to destroy his memories, memories of a life I'd never had and would never have. His parents were dead now, and he would never have them again, the memory was all he had of them. His brows furrowed. "You look like someone I used to know once. A long time ago."
I couldn't think about that. He was wrong. He would have been a teenager when I was born. The thought that he and I could have possibly living on the same moon, perhaps the same colony, when I was born was too much for me to wrap my head around. Perhaps, though… I'd had siblings once. An older brother. I couldn't think.
"Your superiors really don't know that you're here, do they?" He asked me quietly. I met his eyes and then looked away toward the door to the cell. Surely by now Kylo Ren and General Hux had noticed my absence. The thought of them, specifically of my Master, coming now, was unbearable. I felt desperate. My palms felt like they were sweating through my gloves, and my leather tunic felt too tight.
"No, but they are coming soon and…" I started, my mouth working faster that my brain could. What was I saying? I just knew I needed to tell him something. "You don't stand a chance against them, Poe," I stated, fear clenching in my chest as I realized what was happening, what I was doing. Concern furrowed his brow and his lips parted. My genuine anxiety was starting to bleed into him. Consciously, I withdrew it and tried to get a hold of myself.
"You don't understand-"
"No you don't understand. You have no idea what you're up against. Who you're up against." My words were coming fast, my voice hard. "If you resist him, he will rip it out of your mind. Nothing will matter then, nothing except what he wants."
I was speaking from experience, and I tried to impress upon him the seriousness of what I was saying. His face hardened and his lip twitched as he looked away. He didn't ask who I was referring to. He knew Kylo Ren.
"Don't resist him. Please," I said, more softly. I heard the tremor in my voice. I didn't want this man to die. I didn't want him to be subjected to the agony of a forced mind probe. I wanted to help him, but there was nothing I could do. Nothing except warn him, prepare him. "You will fail."
He was afraid now, unnerved. But as I read him, the only thing that was stronger and clearer than the fear was strength of his will and his resolve. He was stubborn, and he was not going to willingly give up anything, no matter the personal cost.
He didn't understand.
"If you're done here, I could use some shut eye before the next round." His voice was hard, but I didn't miss the small break in it. He was exhausted, but more than that, he wanted to face his death alone. I felt as though my chest were caving in. Why wouldn't he listen to me? I swallowed. I reattached my veil so that it covered my face, and I turned to grab the tray of water off of the floor.
I thought about pleading with him further. Perhaps trying again with the memories and the projected emotions, to try and get the information out of him more gently, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Not now that I knew more about him, I couldn't be the one to make him break like that and betray his people.
As I pressed the button on the door panel and it opened, I glanced behind over my shoulder. His eyes were closed and his face turned to the side slightly. I could sense the emotions roiling in him, but more than that, I could sense the intense fatigue. I paused in the doorway and tried to find a mote of stillness, of calm, somewhere inside of me, something left of the memories I'd dredged up. I gave him a small measure of it, felt it sink into him, and then I stepped into the hallway. The door closed behind me.
Seven was staring at me without guard, and when I saw him, he turned away quickly. Awkwardly, he reached for the tray I still held and I gave it to him.
"Ma'am," he said uncertainly, and then on a private channel, "Riala. Are you alright?"
I didn't feel like answering him, so I waved him away dismissively and then stepped across the hallway to lean on the wall opposite the holding cell door. I think he went off with the tray, confused, but I couldn't spare the soldier any thought at the moment. My head was spinning, and I felt like I needed to lean my forehead against the wall to keep from losing my footing.
The odds that the prisoner and I were from the same homeworld were, well, astronomical. Either he had to be wrong, or the First Order's records were, but I was as sure of the Order's efficiency with their acquisition data as I was of that man's sincerity. He'd spoken of the light from the red planet so descriptively, and as he'd said those words, I could picture it in my mind, as if a seal had been broken. The way half the sky would look red, and how it seemed that the days were so long… of course, as a child, everything seemed to last far longer than it did, but from my research, I'd learned that Yavin 4 was tidally locked with its parent planet. I remembered something about a night edge. It had seemed like a distorted, nonsensical child's dream, being able to run from day to night, but if the moon was tidally locked, its days would last a month. I was starting to re-examine so many things that had seemed like fantasy, a lonely child's inventions, stories to make the quiet hours seem less desolate.
My mother… I felt a sob threaten, and I pushed it down with such force that I might have made a sound. Self-consciously, I looked down the hallway, both ways. Far on one end, a two-soldier patrol was approaching. From the other end, Seven was returning, and his fellow guard was still standing stoic at the door. The other guard was not paying any attention to me, however. I sucked in a deep breath, filled my lungs to capacity, and I held it there. I held it until I thought my lungs would burst, and then I let it out again, slowly.
Seven said nothing to me after resuming his position, but something told me he was concerned. I turned around and faced the cell door, utterly expressionless over my veil. I examined my glove, brushed a speck of dirt off of my forearm. I affected well-practiced nonchalance while my brain raced to process how my world had been rocked on its axis.
My mother, a healer. My father, a mechanic. If Poe's mother was an X-wing pilot, and my father a mechanic, it was very possible that they'd met each other, assuming that they'd lived on Yavin 4 at the same time. Already the limits of probability were being stretched, but I couldn't stop the thought from occurring. Had one of them been Force sensitive? I had no idea. The blood of the mothers bathes the sisters and the brothers. The old woman from my vision. Whatever the true meaning of the riddle, one thing I got from it was the part about mothers. Mothers' blood.
I reached up and pinched the bridge of my nose against the headache that loomed on the horizon. This was too much to process right now. I felt like my skin was crawling, like tiny imaginary insects were dancing along my nerve endings.
No, I wasn't imagining it. Kylo Ren was coming. And he was angry.