"Where is everyone?" Hux asked, glancing around the empty, darkened ready room. He wasn't used to critical areas being entirely unstaffed. He was also used to a horizontal layout, designed around people, rather than this peculiar vertical orientation, designed around manufacturing. He'd barely seen anyone on the way over from the Ferrule, although given the layout, they might have just been on other floors.

Dameron powered up the holo projector. "War's over, Hugs. There's only one work shift and we're synced up to the planetary cycle since it's fairly close to standard day." He swiped off the trade routes and started bringing up lists. He grumbled, "Kind of surprising you found me here at all, after hours."

Hux moved to the other side of the table, scanning the names of ships and commanders. He ignored the coordinates that showed to the right. "You were working late, preparing a report. Tell me about that report."

He didn't take his eyes off the list of First Order vessels that had defected to the Republic. There weren't as many as he would have expected, given the media reports, but they skewed to the larger ones. Dameron paused, resting his hands on the edge of the table as Hux read the information. "It's just what I said earlier – figuring out how to stop the pirate attacks. Interstellar trade has almost crawled to a halt." That was concerning – very concerning. Money was what made the galaxy spin, after all. He shot Dameron a look that led the man to emphasize, "Almost."

"I had no problems flying here from Exegol." It hadn't been a direct route, either. He'd had multiple legs of flight to have potentially been subjected to piracy.

Dameron shrugged. "They're not hitting passenger vessels. It isn't political. At least, not really. As far as I can tell, they're just robbing because no one can stop them. And it's increasing."

"It will be political soon," Hux said, his eyes going back to the list. If it wasn't already. "Politics is about power. Money is a representation of it. They're all tied together."

Dameron made a frustrated wave of his arms. "I don't know politics or money. What I know, is how to fly, and how to fight, and maybe something about how to win people over. What I need is to figure out what's going on so I can apply the things I'm actually good at." The look he gave Hux said he suspected Hux had answers.

Hux decided not to provide them for now. His value would plummet once he had. "Do you have anyone in your staff who is better equipped for the task?"

"We're a little thin on the ground after everything. You know?" Dameron met his gaze steadily.

They'd both lost so many. Was Dameron, too, as lonely as Hux was? That was too much to hope for. "I know," Hux said soberly. "Can you show me the ships you've seen in pirate raids?" He still wasn't explaining anything, but Dameron complied anyway.

"We've only had confirmed sightings of a few of yours." The list appeared. They were fast, short-range vessels that didn't carry enough food, water, air, fuel, or recycling units to be in space for more than a week. They had a support ship somewhere, or a base, or a friendly planet. Maybe more than one. Now he looked at the coordinates – the locations for where these ships had been seen mattered more than wherever Dameron had stationed the friendly units. These were scattered, but close in time, which meant multiple base ships and possibly an organized attack pattern.

Dameron went on, "We have other cases where cargo ships have gone missing or were found derelict, the crew dead. I suspect First Order ships for that, because that was your standard procedure for the last twenty years."

Take no prisoners; leave no witnesses; a strategic decision. Speaking of which: "Major shipping lines, or minor ones?"

"Minor. So far."

Ah. Well, mystery solved. Probably. He acknowledged the limitations of his data.

Dameron continued, "The main transport guilds are hiring mercenaries and some are upgrading their internal security with bigger guns. It's … not legal given the Disarmament Act, but it's not like we have enough ships to replace them as escorts, or the government reassembled enough to prosecute them. So far, people are just telling them they can't do it while they do it anyway."

"Commandeer them. Immediately."

Dameron sighed. "We … we don't do that."

"You have to do that." Dameron winced. Hux straightened and spread his arms to gesture around them. "You have already done that. We stand in ships you commandeered!"

Dameron shook his head. "They were idled – no crew, not in use. We didn't have to fight anyone for them. We haven't even moved them. The Guild had just parked them while they waited for the conflict between the Order and the New Republic to calm down."

"And now the conflict has calmed. Do you intend to fight the Mining Guild if they try to take them back?"

Dameron sighed. "We would … try to avoid that."

Hux narrowed his eyes at the man, studying him. "How much of a soldier are you, Dameron?"

Dameron shut his eyes. He had to know what Hux was asking: was he such a fool that he thought conflict could be avoided when talking about dozens of operational mining ships that didn't belong to them? Millions of credits worth of inventory, plus the denied economic activity lost due to Resistance occupation – it was incentive for the Guild to use whatever means they thought would work. If that meant fighting, then there would be fighting. "Yeah," was all Dameron said.

"All these corporate interests are your enemies," Hux said sternly. "They are taking up arms in defiance of the law and your government and they are holding interstellar trade hostage. Or have I misunderstood things?"

Dameron winced again but didn't argue.

"Show me where these attacks have occurred."

Dameron brought up the map of the galaxy Hux had seen earlier, marked with trade routes and incident sites. Some of them blinked out as Dameron changed the settings. "I'm removing the ones I can trace to legitimate governments trying to collect taxes, or to known pirate groups staking out territory and running a hustle. It might be illegal extortion in either case, but we can deal with those. It's these others …"

Dameron waved at the remaining markers. "These. Few witnesses. Sometimes ships go missing entirely and we have to guess where they disappeared. Attacks are on major trade routes, but to small companies who don't have hired security. The cargo just disappears, too. Those other two groups both turn around and resell. These guys don't."

"Well of course. They don't need to. They can sell to their established customer base at cut rates, who have a vested interest in not disclosing." He looked at the pattern. They were using the First Order hyperspace lanes in a coordinated fashion, which meant someone at a high level had convinced the Order ships to cooperate with their agenda. It could be another Sith, but the likelier suspect was perfectly mundane.

"You know what's going on and how they're pulling this off." It wasn't a question. Dameron was focused on him, waiting, obviously hoping Hux would tell him. "We won the war. Why would these guys turn on each other like this? Everyone suffers from trade interruption."

"'Everyone'? Oh no. For them, it's just numbers." Hux had no loyalty to these fat cats. Quite the opposite, so he ratted them out. "Your large shipping companies, directed by the Commerce Guild, the Corporate Alliance, or agents of theirs, are arming themselves for a takeover of interstellar trade, recruiting whatever warships they can and destroying any competitors who decline to join them. That is what's going on."

Dameron leaned back, lifting his chin. He didn't speak, so Hux continued, "Once they consolidate their monopoly on shipping, their next step will be to resume or continue trade at inflated prices, establishing an economic stranglehold on the entire galaxy, and using this control to dictate terms to whatever government you manage to put together. Your entire existence from that point onward will serve only to fill their coffers with the wealth of all worlds. They will enslave the entire galaxy. It has always been their goal."

Dameron blinked a few times and gave a curt nod. He leaned forward. He wasn't as surprised as Hux had feared, which was good to see. Dameron must have suspected, at least. "Are you certain of who you're accusing here?"

"Absolutely."

"I mean, is this just supposition or are you sure?"

"Dameron, I've been in stasis for months, but yes, I am sure. These corporate interests, along with the remains of what was once the Techno-Union, Banking Clan, and Trade Federation, funded the First Order. Where do you think our ships came from? Our materiel? Supplies? They built us. Until we destroyed the Hosnian system, they owned us in every way that mattered. I have no doubt they were involved somehow in the turnout of your civilian navy. Curious, isn't it, that so many arrived to fight at Exegol when none did at Crait?"

"I've wondered about that, yeah." His voice was flat, his expression hard.

Hux shrugged. "Since then, it would appear they've upgraded to those of the Order who didn't hear or respond to your propaganda pieces. Once you start commandeering the corporate interests' mercenaries, you'll have to face their real guns – warships, possibly star destroyers, planet-killers, or dreadnoughts."

"How many?"

"Ah," Hux said, "that is the crucial piece of information, isn't it?"

"The thing that only you know," Dameron said wistfully. He looked at the galactic projection again, eyes going unfocused.

"You knew the trade embargo was just a pretext, didn't you?" All of this, then – this claim of ignorance about what was going on in the galaxy – was just a pretext.

Dameron shrugged. "We thought it was likely. It's why … it's another reason why we're here, in these ships. We thought we'd find incriminating information in their databases. We didn't."

"They're not that sloppy. And the Mining Guild isn't the core of it. They're a subsidiary, unless the organization chart has changed."

"Yeah," he said sourly. "I don't think it has. But I can't get the politicians to do anything based on rumors. I need hard numbers and a credible witness willing to go on record." He looked at Hux, not asking, just stating what he needed.

"Is that all I am to you?" Hux's tone was teasing. He was pleased, in a way, to have it out in the open as to what his use was. Also pleased Dameron was duplicitous enough to string him along, trying to weasel the information out of him, and maybe get him to testify publicly about what he knew.

Then again, why was Dameron telling him? Why was he telling him now, before it was locked in, before he'd given him the hard numbers he needed? If Dameron was a conniver, then the timing was wrong. So there was an element of the teasing question that was genuine, for all that Hux tried to hide it under jest.

Dameron didn't take it as a joke. He looked Hux up and down in an obvious assessment. He took one solid step forward that put him inches from Hux. The man's expression was intent, his eyes sharp and serious and almost grim in how they regarded Hux. In response, Hux stiffened. He drew himself up the half inch extra he could and looked down his nose at the shorter man, inwardly prepared for some withering remark or maybe a threat. Instead: "No," Dameron said. "No, you're not."

That sounded uncomfortably like a compliment. "Then what else am I?" Hux asked, an edge of frustration in his voice as he struggled to figure out what else there was to this.

"I've looked at your history," Dameron said in what sounded like a tangent. He hadn't moved away, but he took on a conversational slouch. He chewed his lip briefly. "And I've tried to think of what I would have done if I were in your position from the start. Every time I learned something new about your life, it seemed less likely I would have done anything different." He made an aborted shrug. "I mean, I couldn't have pulled off the engineering for Starkiller Base, but the decisions are what matter to me more than smarts. And the decisions made sense."

"Even the decision to blow up the Hosnian system?" It was his biggest sin as far as the rest of the galaxy was concerned.

"I blew up Starkiller Base." Dameron shrugged it off, as though their planet-killing was equivalent.

"That was a military target."

"Wasn't the Hosnian system?"

"Well, yes, but I can't imagine most of the galaxy sees it that way."

"They do now."

He was right, but that was because of Dameron's stupid propaganda. That was what upset Hux about the whole thing. "They also think Snoke ordered it."

"Didn't he?"

"Well, yes, but I could have refused!" Not realistically, but it was so hard not to see it as he thought others would, or should. Hux clung to that illusion of free will.

"Why would you have?"

Hux moved away restlessly, giving ground. "I- We only needed the one planet destroyed. That's all I asked for. Snoke ordered the system, not me."

Dameron nodded. "I didn't know that, but I don't see how you think that undermines my point."

"What is your point?" Hux snapped irritably.

Dameron smiled slowly. It was maddening. And charming. Hux's nose wrinkled in an annoyed scowl. Dameron said, "You wanted to know what you were to me. You're a man who followed orders, tried to win for your side, tried to protect your people, and make the galaxy a better place. I can get behind that, even if, you know," he waved between the two of them, "we come from wildly different starting points."

He wasn't going to win this argument. He wasn't even sure why he was arguing. The smarter thing would be to simply agree and take advantage of Dameron's rose-colored glasses. But he just couldn't. "I'm not the hero you crafted for your story."

Very slowly, Dameron tipped his head forward conspiratorially and said, "I'm not the guy … my reputation would indicate … either." He dropped his voice, not a trace of humor now. "I am personally responsible for more dead Resistance members than anyone in the First Order, ever. Even you. I've gone through some stuff." He returned to normal. "Give me a chance."

A chance for what? He had to mean he wanted Hux to trust him and tell him what he wanted to know. Maybe getting the goods from Hux would help Dameron's own redemption in some way, assuming he needed one. "And if I chose not to give you this information?"

Dameron shrugged helplessly, confused. "I … I don't know. I guess I'd go commandeer those ships without any idea of what I was walking into. Not a good way to do it, but I'll do what I have to."

Getting Dameron killed would be inconvenient. Plus, he'd be inevitably less interested if Hux was holding out on him. That was only reasonable. "Show me how many Order ships you're certain have been destroyed."

Dameron searched back and forth between Hux's eyes one last time, then turned to the console. The designations appeared. Hux studied it. It wasn't short. But then he saw how many were the ice-bound Sith ships gifted to them by Palpatine. Many of those had been incomplete on the inside. Some hadn't even been staffed, entirely automated for the simple act of getting them out of Exegol's gravity well. That was why they'd performed so badly in battle. He counted – nearly all the Sith ships had been lost. Good riddance, he thought. He'd never trusted them. He was sorry for whatever skeletal crews had gone down with them.

There were others on the list that mattered more to him, original First Order ships, picked off here and there across the galaxy. He didn't know the circumstances, but he felt a cold sensation in his stomach as he tallied the casualties. So many young people, dead. Lost due to bad leadership and Sith insanity. Small consolation: the Finalizer was not on that list.

He needed to focus on those who survived, to make sure they continued to survive. He needed to free them from corporate overlords intent on using them to secure a profit and enslave the galaxy under the guise of 'freedom' and 'capitalism'. This was the opportunity, the moment. He gave Dameron the numbers of probable survivors, able to give ship names and commanders for the larger vessels and a breakdown of classes for the smaller.

Dameron pored over the information, inputting it to his simulation. "Finally!" he muttered as it came together. He finally knew what he was up against, in both the big picture and the details.

"Mm." Hux assumed his usefulness had ended. "So you're done with me?" It was late at night by this point. He hoped he could still find somewhere to put him up. If they had a restaurant, then they likely had a hotel, or something that passed as it. A quartermaster, at least. But would they still be awake?

Dameron interrupted his musing. "What? Not on your life!" He was excited. "You know all those media hounds after you for interviews? Now you have something to tell them. Bring those ships in! As many as you can – we'll find a way to get signals to these ships. Why would I need to commandeer the shipping security forces if you can just tell the Order ones to stand down and switch sides? Once I have them, there won't be a fight with mercenaries if I have enough on my side. I don't have to win this by fighting."

"You can't threaten conflict without being ready for it to happen."

"Exactly! Which is why I need you to help me add to your story, something that makes sure everyone knows …" Dameron paused, leaning forward theatrically, "… that no one owns the First Order anymore."

Hux laughed. He couldn't help it. It was so spot-on with his motivations. Dameron was good at manipulating people. He was very good.

"Yeah?" Dameron laughed with him. "Come on!" He slapped Hux's arm. Hux jumped. The laughter stopped from both of them, instantly. "Oh," Dameron breathed, "that was bad."

Hux stared at him for a long moment. It hadn't been that bad. It was no different than the stuff on the speeder bike, which he'd liked once he settled down and let himself enjoy it. "No. No, it was fine. Just surprising." He reached out and whacked Dameron clumsily on the shoulder, trying to mimic the action.

Dameron smiled at him, patronizingly amused. "Okay, then," he accepted, and that was good enough for Hux. "I could still use your help with this."

"Then you'll have it."

Dameron pulled out one of the flatbreads and passed it to Hux, rolling the other one into a tube. "You said it was important to restore the Republic. Let's get into that, so I know exactly how to tweak this so it plays really well with the Order guys." He took a bite of his bread. They got to work.

They worked late into the night, late enough that Hux regretted having not had something caffeinated at dinner, and was grateful Dameron had had the foresight to hang onto the bread. It was Dameron who finally decided they were done, saying, "As much as this stuff about the Absolution is really fascinating – I mean, you've told me so much more than I was ever able to get out of Finn – I have got to get some sleep if I'm going to be worth anything tomorrow."

"Ah. Yes. Well, I suppose I should head back." Dameron had been an excellent audience for all things Hux's past and First Order history (and he'd probably told him far more than he should have), but he had a point. Then again, how was Hux to get back to the Ferrule if Dameron didn't come along to return the speeder bike?

His perplexed expression must have been evident. Dameron telegraphed and then carefully patted him on the shoulder. "Come on. I'll help you out."

"You will?" He meant it to be arch, but it came out sounding merely tiredly curious.

"Yep. Finn moved out just after we got settled in here and they've never assigned me a new bunkmate."

"Oh." What did that mean? One bed they both bunked in? Two bunks in the same room? A bed per room like officers? A barracks situation where he'd be sleeping in the same room with twenty other Resistance members? Would he be safe in any of these situations? He was tired enough that he didn't bother with asking. He just followed along to find out.

Dameron's quarters were two decks below, a cluttered room that had two bunk beds, a small table against the wall, an empty area in the middle, and a combo sink/toilet refresher. The enticing presence of the comfortable-looking horizontal surfaces drove all other considerations from his mind. The bottom bunk was mussed. The top was perfectly made to Order specifications. Hux smiled wanly, imagining Finn making the bed before moving out to wherever. He climbed the ladder pegs.

"Yep," Dameron said in answer to nothing that had been said. He yawned noisily as he sat on the lower bunk and took off his boots. "We never did talk about business. Do I even get paid for this agent gig?" Hux didn't dignify the question with a response. Instead, he laid down and pulled the light blanket over his fully-clothed form.

"Lights out," Dameron said. They were plunged into darkness, with just a little starlight filtering through the room's tiny window. There was more rustling and some shifting from the lower bunk as Dameron disrobed further and settled in.

Hux stayed dressed, his back to the wall. He would go to sleep here because he had to sleep (and he might as well sleep here as opposed to any other unsecured area), but that didn't mean he'd lowered all his defenses.

He pulled a knife from one of his boots and laid it on the mattress before him, his hand resting loosely over the handle. The monomolecular blade on his forearm had its uses, but this wasn't one of them. That one would lose him a finger or two if he grabbed it carelessly in the dark, while addled with slumber. Or cut holes in the sheets – a rude payment for Dameron's hospitality. Besides, he didn't need anything fancier than the simple tool steel of his boot knife if Dameron decided to climb the ladder and accost him.

But would Dameron accost him? Would Hux put a knife in him if he did? Neither felt right. Dameron still needed Hux's cooperation for several stages of their plan. Attraction aside, he didn't strike Hux as so stupid as to make a move on him that was unwelcomed. The modification of how Dameron touched him casually had made that clear. Pensively, his fingers stroked the grippy polymer of the knife handle.

But did he want to have his defenses up for this? Perhaps he should just put the knife away? He gripped it. Moved it a little. Fretted as he imagined how stupid and disastrous it would be for him to put a blade into the one person in the galaxy who was willing to fake interest in him as a person. (Or potentially, possibly, was interested.)

No. If Dameron did scale that ladder … Hux imagined sliding the knife to his throat, hearing the blade rasp along the man's stubble, lifting his chin with the tip, seeing his dark eyes flash in the dim light, leaning close with his teeth bared …

He didn't know what would happen next in this fantasy tableau he'd come up with. What did people do together? What did Dameron want to do with him? What did Hux, himself, want? Sleep found him before answers did. His fingers stayed curled around the knife just in case.