Descent of Death Watch
EPISODE TWO: THE STRANGER, PART ONE
Planet Thirty-three.
Finn remembers learning about the history of Jedha as a stormtrooper cadet. The First Order taught all of the troopers a tilted view of the Empire's conquests, attempting to spin them as something good or even inevitable. Jedha was one of the stories that their instructors told with great pride; the Death Star destroyed NiJedha, the Holy City of Jedha, because it had become a breeding ground for a terrorist group known as the Partisans. A place that contrasted everything the Empire stood for.
Finn still doesn't know the full, true history of the galaxy-and Poe never judges him for not knowing; his friend had the privilege-well, the right-of learning the truth, and he doesn't mind answering Finn's questions.
"Jedha used to be chock-full of kyber-"
"The stuff that Rey's looking for?"
He nods. "The stuff that Rey's looking for."
They're walking through a narrow, crowded street in the city of Akara. So far, the planet has been unremarkable: it's cold and sandy, the sky overcast with gray clouds. They entered Akara not too long ago, after walking two hours in the wintry desert from where the Falcon dropped them off; it's a tiny town bordered by a long plateau, the sand-colored buildings going no higher than four stories. Above them is a canopy made out of mismatched cloth patches, probably meant to protect them from a sun that decided not to come out today.
They turn a corner and find a stormtrooper standing diligently on the other side of the street. Poe shoves a scarf higher up the bridge of his nose, and Finn tugs his hood over his eyes.
"It was also the stuff that powered the Death Star," Poe continues, lowering his voice. "The Empire raked the whole planet of kyber, then used the Death Star to destroy NiJedha. Akara is sort of their second Holy City, but they can't really erase the damage that the Empire did to their planet."
Finn looks down, as if he would be able to see the remains of NiJedha under his feet. "Who's 'they'? The Partisans?"
"The New Partisans," Poe says. "The little that was left of the old organization disbanded after the Rebellion won the war. But once the First Order came into the picture, so did the Partisans."
They turn a corner and enter a market square. The crowd is more spread out here, and canvas booths are crammed along the square; fruits, fortune telling, fake kyber crystals, handmade shawls and scarves. BB-8 whirs longingly at a booth that's advertising fresh paint jobs for astromechs.
"C'mon, Beebee." Poe turns right, walking along the line of booths.
They ignore the shouting of vendors as they pass by; it seems like all of them are playing a game called who can be the loudest?
"One more question," Finn says, shoulder to shoulder with Poe.
"Shoot."
"If the Resistance and the Partisans both hate the First Order...why exactly do we not have an alliance with them?"
Poe wrinkles his nose at the thought. "Although our goals are the same, our methods differ. In almost every way. And neither of us are willing to change."
A woman holds up a purple and red scarf to them and shouts in a language that Finn doesn't understand.
Poe shouts back in the same language, putting his hand over his chest apologetically.
The vendor crumples up the scarf and blushes, nodding. Poe has a propensity for charm that Finn doesn't quite have (unless intense and scatterbrained counts as charming).
"What are their methods?" Finn asks.
Poe thinks for a moment. "They think their ends justify their means. They hit civilian targets, have an affinity for torturing the hell out of people...and," he looks at Finn, "they have no forgiveness for former First Order members."
He raises his eyebrows.
"They won't kill you," Poe says quickly.
"I wasn't worried about them killing me." Although now he kind of is.
"They just won't like you," he says. "But their opinion means nothing. You know who you are."
Poe may be sure of Finn's commitment to the Resistance, but he has a feeling that he doesn't view him as all that capable. After all, he didn't want him on this mission in the first place.
Finn looks at his profile. "And we're dealing with extremists because…"
"...Because they owe me a favor. I was hoping to spend it on something a little more valuable but," he spreads his hands, "I need a ship."
"We need a ship."
"Right." Poe scans the market, and his eyes settle on a booth that's selling holo-maps of the galaxy. "That's our entry point," he murmurs, picking up his pace as he cuts across the bustling square, BB-8 at his heels.
Finn starts to follow Poe when he gets the feeling that someone's close behind him, eyes boring into the back of his neck.
He turns around sharply, his hand instinctively hovering over the holster on his hip.
No one's directly behind him, but he sees a stranger in the distance, standing at the entrance of the market square. They're wearing a banged up blue helmet with a T-shaped visor, the chin angled to a point, with three long scratches across the front; it's the same kind of helmet that Finn saw in his dream, except that one was black and gold and undamaged. None of the stranger's face is visible, but Finn is sure that they lock eyes. He's frozen in the bustling square, mind reeling.
The stranger tenses and turns, disappearing into the street.
Finn feels a hand clap down on his shoulder and startles, quickly pulling himself out of its grasp and spinning around.
Poe stands there, holding his hands in front of him. "It's just me."
He realizes that his hand is still by his holster and crosses his arms. "Sorry."
"You alright?"
"Fine. I just-I thought I saw someone watching us."
A crease appears in between Poe's brows. "Someone probably was. Stay on the lookout."
Finn swallows and nods.
"You sure you're alright?" he asks.
"I'm sure."
The man behind the booth is a weathered-looking Togruta with albino skin, red bandages laced around his tan and white head tails. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, watery eyes half-asleep. His booth is one of the least busy ones in the market.
Poe taps the metal counter with his fingers, and the man startles awake.
"Slow day?" Poe asks in Tagruti.
He grunts and responds in the same language, "What do you want?"
Maybe he'd sell more maps if he was a little more personable, Poe thinks. He looks both ways and pulls his scarf down.
Recognition washes over the man's face.
"I'm in need of a map of Alderaan." Of course Poe doesn't actually need a map of Alderaan-this phrase is an access code.
"I'm afraid Alderaan doesn't exist anymore," the Togruta responds rhythmically, like he's finishing a song. The man obviously has better mastery over this language than he does. Poe's vowels are too short, and the Togruta's head tails tremor as he talks-an aspect of the language that's impossible for a human to do.
"I know, but my father would like to remember it." Poe hopes he said that last phrase right. Get one word wrong, and they'll leave you out in the cold.
He nods knowingly. "I might have something."
Poe sighs in relief.
The man rummages under the counter and sets what looks to be a small data-tape on it, when in actuality it's a key.
Poe slides it into the inside pocket of his jacket and puts a single credit into the man's outstretched palm. "Thank you," he says to him.
The Togruta man looks a little disappointed at the meager amount of money in his hand, but his fingers enclose over the credit. He nods with a set mouth.
They make their way through the square toward a street on the opposite side of where they entered. Finn is on a diligent lookout; he was troubled by whatever he saw at the market, Poe can tell, but he won't say why.
But there's something Poe's learned over the course of their three-ish month-long friendship; Finn doesn't have a reserved personality by any means, but there's certain things he really, really doesn't want to talk about. Poe doesn't mind, because there's some things that he really, really doesn't want to talk about either. It's not keeping secrets; it's...a respect of unspoken things.
They keep to the shady edge of the sidewalk until Poe stops short at an alley. "Down here," he says.
Finn checks to see if anyone's watching them for the fifteenth time (no one is) and follows him, BB-8 close behind.
They walk quietly, going deep into the alley, until they reach a dumpster at the very end.
BB chirps curiously, its orb-shaped black eye looking up at Poe.
"No, the Partisans don't live in a dumpster," he responds. Poe looks to Finn. "Stay on the lookout."
Finn turns to face the mouth of the alley, his hand resting on the handle of his blaster.
Poe throws back the lid of the dumpster and hoists himself into it.
Finn glances at him over his shoulder. "What exactly are you doing?"
"You ask a lot of questions. Flashlight?"
Finn squints at him, apprehensive. He unhooks the one from his belt and tosses it to Poe.
Poe catches it and turns it on, crouching down into the dark inside of the dumpster. It's free of garbage, but it still smells like a Hutt's armpit. Don't ask him how he knows what a Hutt's armpit smells like. Poe takes off his right glove and feels around at the grimy metal surface beneath him.
He sees Finn's back lean against the outside of the dumpster. "You know I love you, but I think you might be losing it."
"Just-trust me." He finally finds what he's looking for: a small sliver in the metal. Poe rummages through his pocket and pulls out the date-tape-shaped key, sliding it into the sliver.
Almost immediately, the wall-facing panel of the dumpster slides open, revealing a short entryway that leads to a narrow, dimly-lit staircase. Poe takes out the key, puts it back in his pocket, and stands back up.
Finn turns around and peers into the dumpster. His gaze switches back and forth between the staircase and Poe, looking dumbfounded.
"See? Not crazy." Poe hands Finn his flashlight back then tugs his glove back onto his hand.
Finn cocks an eyebrow. "No, you're still crazy."
Finn reaches the bottom of the narrow staircase, trailing behind Poe and BB-8, and enters a room that looks like a cantina. Red brick lines the windowless walls, the only light being flickering yellow candledroids that hover close to the ceiling. Two large, arched doors are on the wall across from them, planetary designs etched into the wood. In the far right corner is a circular bar, but it's completely empty.
All of the occupants of the room are concentrated to the left side of it, sitting at round wooden tables and watching a woman speak passionately in front of them on a dais.
She's pretty, probably Poe's age or younger. An oval face with deep brown skin, heavy-lidded dark eyes, hair buzzed close to her head and died pure white. What catches his attention most, though, is the way she talks; her voice carries across the room without a mic, but she's not shouting-it's more like she's singing.
"...We are the real Rebellion. But we are not just rebelling against the First Order. We are rebelling against the past."
Clapping and shouts of agreement from the audience.
"If the Resistance wins-" She eyes Poe and Finn for a millisecond, looking apprehensive, but then dives right back into her speech. "-if the Resistance wins, they're going to implement the same system that got us into this mess in the first place." She paces around slowly, her arms moving with every word she says. "They're not fighting for change, they're fighting for restoration of a Republic that has been a continual failure, that has given way for Imperial values to rise. We can't let that happen again. We won't let that happen again."
More clapping and shouts of agreement, this time louder. Finn is enraptured by the words, although he doesn't agree with most of them.
"But in order to win this struggle, we're going to have to fight fire with fire. We have to use the First Order's own tactics against them. We have to be fearless, ruthless, unapologetic, willing to sacrifice and struggle and bleed-in honor of the Partisans before us, with the hope of a new galaxy in which we will never let an organization like the Empire, nor the First Order, ever rise from the shadows again!"
The crowd erupts into the loudest uproar yet, people whistling and hollering and slamming their hands onto their tables as she steps off of the platform.
She makes eye contact with Poe, and he gives her a small nod. The woman starts making her way toward the two men and the droid, clasping hands with the people at the tables and sharing brief remarks with them as she walks.
She crouches down to greet BB-8 once she approaches the group, rubbing the spherical top of his head.
BB-8 chirps happily.
"Really? That's very exciting."
Poe crosses his arms as she stands upright. "Nice speech," he says.
She smirks. "I'm sure you loved it."
"Oh, I did. Agreed with every word. I'll touch with home base and let the Resistance know that we're pieces of shit and should disband immediately."
"Would you do that for me? That'd be great," she says, without missing a beat. "I'm assuming you were expecting my mother."
Poe shrugs.
"Bloodburn is getting the best of her," the woman says, eyes darting to the ground. "She resigned from her position and gave it to me."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Poe says, the first non-sarcastic thing he's said in this conversation.
She smiles sadly. "It's made me respect the hell out of her. And it's made her significantly more pissed at me." Her eyes fall on Finn.
"Finn, this is Ana Syrla. Ana, this is Finn." Poe says, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"I know." She holds out her hand, and Finn shakes it. "You've got quite a track record. Defecting, blowing up Starkiller, killing Captain Phasma-I need to buy you a drink for that one. She gave the Partisans nothing but trouble."
Finn didn't know that other people were aware that he killed his old First Order captain. Maybe that's why his bounty's gone up. He's also surprised that she isn't looking at him in disdain, like Poe said she would. "She gave all of us nothing but trouble."
Ana turns to Poe. "I'm assuming you're here for business."
"I'm hoping you can return that favor."
She frowns deeply. "Let's sit down."
They follow her toward the bar, distancing themselves from the noise to the left of the room. Everyone's so involved in their own vehement discussions that they don't even notice their leader is gone.
Poe glances over his shoulder at the noisy group. "Seems like you're inspiring people." He says this like it's a bad thing.
"People need something to believe in right now," Ana says. "The changes I've made...the old members aren't too pleased. But it's bringing in a wave of new members."
"What kind of changes?" Poe asks.
She swings her legs over the bar and hops behind it, turning to face them. "Well, the anti-defectors policy, for one. And I've started an underground educational program, limited campaigns to ground attacks…"
"...Still hitting civilian targets?" Poe says, obviously unable to help himself.
Ana sighs. "I've had this argument with you before, I'm not having it again."
Finn slides onto a bar stool, thinking the woman is hypocritical too. Seemingly intelligent, but hypocritical. How can she make moves to educate people while at the same time viewing them as collateral damage? But he doesn't say this out loud, because they're not here to get into ethical arguments.
Ana ducks under the bar. "About that favor…" she says, voice muffled a little as glasses clink beneath the counter.
Poe leans on the counter with his forearms, still standing. "It's not a big one. We just need a ship, ideally one we keep or can destroy without you yelling at us."
She pops back up and sets three glasses and a bottle of dark liquor on the counter. "What happened to the one you borrowed from the Hutts?"
"He destroyed it," Finn answers flatly.
She chuckles. "For the 'best pilot in the galaxy', he wrecks a lot of ships."
"Mm hm."
Poe scowls. "Anyway."
Ana starts pouring the liquor into the glasses. "I'd love to help you, but I'm sorry to say that I already returned the favor."
Finn and Poe glance at each other, then back at Ana.
"What do you mean?" Poe asks, furrowing his brow.
"About two months back, you landed on Iziz, Onderon's capitol."
"How did you…?" Finn starts.
"That city's a Partisan stronghold. You know that, Poe, don't you?"
Poe nods.
Ana slides us our drinks and takes a sip of her own. She swallows. "You stayed there for three weeks. You put a target on our backs. But I didn't say a word."
"That was very kind of you," Finn says, "but we still need a ship." He leaves his drink untouched, wanting his head to be clear.
She rests her elbows on the counter, her brown clear eyes looking at him intently. "I'm not interested in giving things to the Resistance for free. The only reason why I helped you out on Onderon is because I owed him one." She points her chin at Poe.
He notices that she's talking the way she did when she was in front of a crowd, when she was trying to convince people of something.
"You're our only option," Poe says. "Not to brag, but we're wanted men. We can't really hitch a ride from a stranger. " He isn't touching his drink either-Finn guesses that he probably had too much of his "secret" Corellian whiskey last night, though Poe blamed his headache this morning on hyperspace being "too bright."
"How about this…" Ana crosses her arms. "You do something for me, and then I'll give you what you need. A fair exchange. Nothing hanging over either of our heads."
Poe narrows his eyes. "Depends on what that something is."
"Before my mother resigned," she says, "there was an assassination attempt. The person got away, but there's reported sightings of them hanging around Jedha."
"You want us to hunt down an assassin." Finn tilts his head.
"In exchange for a ship," Poe says.
"Let me finish." Ana holds her hand out. "I have reason to believe that you could benefit from capturing this person."
"Sounds like more trouble than it's worth," admits Finn.
She ignores him and looks flatly at Poe. "They're a Mandalorian."
The color drains from Poe's face, and he stares intensely at nothing. Finn recognizes the expression as remembering something you don't want to remember. It lasts for half a second, then his eyes flicker back into focus. He clears his throat. "Death Watch?"
Finn doesn't know what either of the terms mean, but Ana and Poe are saying them with a lot of weight.
She shrugs. "Maybe. Most likely."
"You know I'm not the Death Watch hunter…"
"I know you're not. But there's rumors going around that they've made a partnership with the First Order."
"They've-what?" Poe's eyes go wide.
"We don't know for sure." She's speaking slowly and deliberately. "But since the assassination attempt, we've been trying to keep track of the organization's hunts, and we've seen a trend." Her gaze goes over Poe's shoulder, as if the assassin might be here now. "They've been exclusively going after dissenters. People that might be trouble to the First Order or people that are trouble to the First Order."
"Makes sense," Poe says, nodding. "Death Watch is hired by the rich and powerful. The rich and powerful tend to like the First Order."
"It's exclusively dissenters, Dameron. No competitors in business, no corporate whistleblowers, no investigative journalists...nothing to trace them to other organizations besides the First Order. But we need proof. We need to get one of their members in for questioning."
Poe leans back in his barstool, silent.
Finn's eyes have focused on the reflection of the dark liquor in his glass without him realizing it. The sight of the stranger in the mask keeps replaying in his head on a loop. "What does this person look like?" he asks.
"They look like every Mandalorian," Ana says.
"Can I have a napkin?"
She squints. "What?"
"A napkin. And a pen."
Looking a little confused, she digs under a counter and finds one, setting it in front of him.
Finn grabs it and starts drawing his recollection of the stranger he saw in the market square. The T-shaped visor, the three scratches, the pointed chin. He flips the crappy drawing around and pushes it toward Ana.
She looks down at the napkin. "That's them. You've seen 'em before?"
"In the square." He drums his fingers on the bar. "This is good. This is good. This is a jumping off point. This is good."
Poe snatches the drawing and looks at it.
"They were watching us," Finn says. "At least, I think so. You can't really see their eyes with the…" He waves his hand in front of his own eyes, suddenly forgetting the word visor in his excitement.
"And you're sure this is the assassin?" Poe pulls the napkin close to his face.
"I'm sure. There's not a whole lot of Mandalorians wandering around Akara," she says.
Finn didn't even realize that his heart had started racing. Not only did he see the mask he saw in his dream, but now he knows what people, what organization, that mask belongs to. It has to mean something. It has to.
He looks at Poe, and Poe looks at him; his friend's expression softens, silently asking him if he's sure about this.
Finn's sure. He gives him a nod.
Poe turns to Ana. "We'll do it." He sounds more resigned than determined.
"On one condition." Finn holds up his index finger. "We want two thousand credits."
"We do?" Poe murmurs.
"You're ambitious, kid," Ana says. "Fifteen-hundred."
"Nineteen-hundred."
"Fifteen-fifty."
"Seventeen-fifty."
"Sixteen-hundred."
"Sixteen-hundred and…" He spots BB-8, who's watching the back-and-forth attentively. "...and a paint job for the astromech."
"He'll do this all day," Poe says.
"It's true. I will."
Ana narrows her eyes at Finn. "Fine."
BB-8 makes a sound that resembles a cheer.
Finn looks at Poe again. Poe smiles for a brief moment, then his face falls and he has that same expression he had earlier-remembering something you don't want to remember.
Poe feels like he drank three cups of caf and then forced himself to lie down. He's been staring at the same strip of light on the ceiling for an hour, feeling miserable.
Anger has been biting at him all day. When he called Leia with an update, she picked up on his edge (like she picks up on everything). The fact that he has to deal with Death Watch and his home system on the same mission is like hitting the personal trauma jackpot.
And the fact that Ana knows his history with this organization and is using him anyways is also infuriating.
Leia seemed sympathetic, but didn't advise him to call off the manhunt. If Death Watch is under the First Order's wing, it's valuable that the Resistance knows about it.
They spent the day looking for the stranger, but they couldn't find anything-not even a lead-so they took the cheapest room they could find at an inn on the west side of Akara. Two small rickety beds are on either side of a space about the size of a roomy prison cell, with one window and a cramped bathroom behind a curtain.
They need to do this quickly. Tahreen didn't give them a time frame, but he'd imagine that he wants them to come to the Yavin system sooner than later. If they don't find this person in one or two days, they'll have to turn to a currently unformed Plan B.
Poe rubs his eyes and turns on his side. BB-8 is powered down by his bed with a fresh paint job, and Finn is fast asleep, lying on his back. Poe watches Finn inhale and exhale, the silhouette of his stomach moving up and down. For some reason, seeing the stillness of his friend settles him down a little. Maybe he'll actually be able to get some sleep.
He notices something moving behind the curtained bathroom entrance at the end of Finn's bed, but he doesn't think anything of it. There's a small window in the bathroom too, and there's been shadows shifting in and out all night.
But the shadow begins to take shape, and Poe's sure that he can hear footsteps. He focuses hard on the tiny gap between the curtain and the door frame, eyes settling on the bit of the bathroom mirror that he can see; in its reflection, he sees a mask with three prominent scratches across the front, dimly lit by the light of the bathroom window.
His limbs go cold, colder than they already were in this freezing room. He feels glued to his bed-but he forces himself to move, to take action. He gets up slowly, careful not to let the bed creak. He arranges his pillows to make it look like his body is still beneath the blankets-it might be a juvenile trick, but it could potentially buy him a few seconds. Then he grabs his blaster from the bedside table, cocks it, and pads his bare feet over to the bathroom entrance's wall; he pins himself to the space between Finn's bed and the door frame, holding his breath, taking advantage of the shadow he's in.
The fingers of the stranger grip the curtain. They push it away slowly, the rings that hold it up scraping against the curtain rod. The noise of it makes the hairs on Poe's skin prickle up.
The stranger walks into the room.
Poe grips his blaster so tight that his knuckles are white.
They step forward once, twice, their boots barely making a sound. Poe gets the feeling that they've done this before.
The stranger takes one look at Finn and draws what Poe recognizes as a dart gun.
It's almost like his body did it before his mind told him to-he lunges forward and throws his arm around the stranger's neck, pressing his blaster into their helmet.
The stranger struggles, but Poe grips harder, forcing the crook of his arm against their throat.
"Drop the weapon," he hisses. "Now."