I do not own Star Wars or its characters. It will be updated with its sister story "Lonely Dyad'. Please enjoy and leave a review.
Chapter Two
Dancer's first impression of Jakku was not positive. It was a barren, desolate, junkyard of a planet with no semblance of any kind of culture. Frankly, it amazed her that people had lived their entire lives on the sandpit. Regardless of personal opinions, Dancer needed to work up a plan to 'possibly' steal a freighter. As a professional bounty hunter, Dancer was used to tracking down people or small personal items, never anything as large as an actual ship. Dancer had to admit that it was her own fault that she was doing this. She had been double-dealing between a couple of clients, and they were beginning to catch on. Wanting to distance herself from the situation, while hoping it would defuse itself, she went to Maz for a change of pace. Dancer had initially declined the job offer until Maz called it as a favor, and if Maz Kananta calls in a favor, you're inclined to accept it. And so here she was, two weeks later, tracking down the latest 'procurer' of the Falcon. She was beginning to believe this bounty was nothing more than a bootless errand. She forces herself to take a breath and calm herself. It wasn't just this job that was frustrating, but she's also been having visions in her sleep. It begins with a vibrant green island in the middle of a vast ocean, then a familiar voice calls her towards a man whose face she can never clearly see. Put all distractions out of your mind and focus on the job. As one of the main rules to bounty hunting, it had certainly helped Dancer survive the past decade. Leave out everything not relating to the job for afterwards, then move on. To the next job, the next planet, the next look. Landing near a small town called Reestkii, that put her about four hundred kilometers away from where she needed to be, Niima Outpost. Shutting everything down, she quickly grabbed all her essentials in the likelihood that the ship gets scrapped while she's gone. As she leaves the cockpit, she catches her reflection off a monitor and grimaces. While white is not the worst hair colour she has worn, it's certainly not one of her better choices. That, along with her temporary new wardrobe of beige and grey clothes with light brown boots, she looked like a dead tree. Moving on into the small cargo hold where her speeder waited, she double-checked that all her weapons were securely hidden in her vehicle. Putting on her goggles and wrapping a scarf around her head, she locked down her ship and took off. The sun was in the middle of setting when she landed, therefore at her current speed she should arrive at Niima in the dead of night. If she's lucky, everyone will be asleep, and nobody will be guarding the shipyard. A noise suddenly cut off her train of thought. Slowing to a stop, she waited to hear anything else. After a minute, she could hear a droid loudly cussing out somebody. Skimming towards the ruckus, she soon came upon a BB unit being dragged in a net by what seemed to be a local scavenger riding some creature. As Dancer considered herself something of an advocate for droid independence, it would go against whatever honor she had left if she left the droid to its grim future. Grabbing a blaster from her speeder, and tucking into her belt behind her back, she strode towards the droid. The droid continued to insult the scavenger, until it saw her approach. Kneeling down next to the snared droid, Dancer pulled out a knife from her boot and began to cut the mesh. The scavenger, clearly unhappy at the prospect of losing its prize, reached for its cattle prod. Just as it was about to use it, Dancer whips out her blaster and shoots the prod out of its hand. Dancer keeps her blaster aimed at the scavenger while she helps the droid out of the snare. As both she and the droid back away from the local, her aim still fixed on it, it begins to scream what she can only assume are obscene profanities before nudging its ride forward. Neither Dancer nor the droid stopped moving until both parties were several meters away. Putting away her weapons, Dancer uncovers her face and looks over her rescue. The droid is white with orange markings and is relatively clean, with minor damage to its antenna.
"Your antenna's bent, let me fix it." She offers, waving her hand forward. "So what's your name?"
"beep-beep boo-BREEP."
"Beebee-ate. Well, tell me Beebee-ate, did you run away from home, or did your thoughtless master leave you here to the mercy of scavengers?"
"breep boo-bop-bee-boop bre-boop!" BB-8 explains.
"You're on a top-secret mission, and you're waiting for your master to come back for you." The droid slides a nod in confirmation. "Well, as I mentioned before, this planet isn't really a great place for droids on their own, so how about this? I'm here for a job that's eventually going to take me off planet, and I wouldn't say no to some help. If your master still doesn't show up by the time I have to leave, then I can take you home and help you complete your mission. Sound fair?"
The droid starts to roll around in a circle like it's pacing. Calculating the pros and cons of its choices, and the odds of success. It finishes calculating after thirty seconds and accepts her offer. Grabbing the mesh net that had just held the droid, she led it to her speeder and made it a make-shift seat. Making sure that the droid is secured, Dancer recovers her face and continues towards Niima. The sun is nearly halfway under the horizon.
"BREE-ohh beep-bo-boop?" The droid inquires, making Dancer smile underneath her scarf.
"I'm a bounty hunter, here to retrieve the bounty of one Corellian YT-1300 light freighter on behalf of its rightful owner. Someone I have never personally met mind you, but that's another problem I'll worry about later." Dancer explains.
"bee-bo-boop?"
"No, this isn't typically what I do as a bounty hunter, but I was more-or-less coerced into doing this by a very powerful person."
The droid comments on how similar their situations are, to which Dancer chuckles at. The rest of the drive is silent, with an occasional nasty remark from BB-8. As the sun completes its descent into the ground, submerging them in total darkness, Dancer turns on the night vision in her goggles. The next hour is spent in silence until they reach the outskirts of the outpost. Scouting around the outpost, Dancer comes across, what she can only assume is, a make-shift shipyard. There's one ship she can't quite clearly see due to a sheet that might be her ship.
"Think you could keep watch while I check to see if that's my ship?" Dancer asks the droid.
It beeps in acquiesce, and Dancer helps it down. The two sneak up to the rear of the ship, halting at the sight of a patrol guard. When the guard finally move far enough away, the two silently rush up the walkway.
"Wait here, I'm going to check the ship's registration in the cockpit." Dancer informs BB-8, pointing at the corridor. "If you see about to come in here, come to me right away. Okay?"
The droid beeps back in affirmation. Dancer jogs into the cockpit. The moment she enters, she is almost taken aback the number of modifications she sees. The latest one appearing to be a compressor on the ignition line. Who in their right mind puts a compressor in a light freighter? Do they know nothing about ship mechanics? Focus, you're here to verify the ship's registration. Eventually finding it in an uncomfortable spot underneath the console, Dancer compared it to the registration she was looking for. It's a match, finally I managed to catch up to you. Having found all that she needed, she pulled herself out of the tight spot. As she reached BB-8, the droid started trilling a warning of someone approaching. Looking down the walkway, Dancer could see a shadow approaching. Motioning the droid forward, Dancer and BB-8 ran to the other end of the wall. Watching from the edge of her vision, Dancer sees the guard from earlier look down both ends of the hallway before heading towards the cockpit. Taking the chance to escape, Dancer and the droid rush off the ship and back to the speeder.
"Okay, now that we know it's my ship, let's come up with a plan."
It was in times like these that Poe was amazed with his own stubbornness. Granted, they were probably going to kill him before he could come up with an escape plan. He had gone through every type of physical "interrogation" he could think of, but he hadn't said a single thing about BB-8. Resting against the bench they strapped him to, Poe just focused on breathing through the throbbing pain that was currently his body. He wasn't sure how long he'd been at this, but he could feel the exhaustion baring down on him, threatening to put him to sleep.
"I wasn't aware we had the best pilot in the Resistance on board." A digitized voice commented.
Poe opened his eyes to see the infamous Kylo Ren only a few feet away from himself. Fourteen years ago, rumours spread about this mysterious man rising through the ranks of the First Order. Some even call him the Supreme Leader's right-hand man. Nobody knew anything personal about him, not his real name or voice, or even what he looks like under the helmet. There are speculations that Kylo Ren was the student who burned down the fledgling Jedi academy, but they were never confirmed since Luke Skywalker disappeared shortly after. There were only two certainties Poe knew about Kylo Ren, that the man is dangerous and did whatever it took to get what he wanted.
"Are you going to ask me anything, or are just going to stand looking at me?" Poe suggestively inquired, straightening his posture as best he could.
"I'm impressed." Ren admitted, taking a few steps towards Poe. "No one has been able to get out of you what you did, with the map."
"You might want rethink your technique." Poe quipped.
Ren slowly nodded before raising his hand to Poe's face. Poe suddenly felt a digging-like sensation in the base of his skull. The sensation then had a piercing feeling to it at the same time. Poe had heard stories of powerful Jedi who were able to probe minds of weak-willed individuals. Was that what this invasive feeling was? Poe threw his head back against the bench, steely all of his willpower against the probe. The feeling didn't go beyond the back of head.
"The Resistance will not be intimidated by you!" Poe confidently spat at Kylo Ren.
"That's fine, the Resistance isn't here right now. Just you Poe Dameron, and me, the man who will change this galaxy for the better." Kylo Ren declared.
Poe then felt the probe push into the rest of his brain. The sensation was overwhelming now, it is taking everything Poe has to keep his mouth shut. Poe can vaguely feel his lips purse as he leans towards Ren, all of his secrets threatening to spill out at Ren. The pressure in his head is constantly growing, and Poe swears he can feel fingers squeezing his brain. Stop! I need to make this stop! Poe begins to scream, about the map, BB-8, the last place he saw the droid, anything that will make the pain in his head go away. The pain suddenly stops, and Poe collapses against the bench. Relief floods every part of his body. Poe is barely paying attention to anything else, only just registering Kylo Ren's words. Then shame quickly replaces relief as Poe realizes what he just did. He gave Ren everything, BB-8, the map. The General, the whole Resistance, had counted on Poe to fulfill his mission, and he failed in the worst way possible. Poe closed his eyes and felt tears leak out the corners. Sorry little buddy, guess I'm not gonna be able to get you.
FN-2187 didn't need to receive his results to know that he was being sent to rehabilitation, he just focused on finding the fastest way off this ship. Word spread that the Resistance pilot was slated to be terminated before the next work cycle. That left FN-2187 about two hours to rescue and recruit the pilot. He really hoped the pilot would be ready to help him and not shoot him at the earliest opportunity. Thanks to the conditioning process, the only thing FN-2187 was able to do was be a custodial ground trooper. Not having any flight capabilities meant he either had to spontaneously develop some, or convince someone to smuggle him off this destroyer. Since the last one would be easier to accomplish, FN-2187 reasoned that the pilot who is about to be executed, would be willing to help a stormtrooper in exchange for freedom. Entering the cell, he saw the prisoner strapped to the bench with another trooper guarding the man.
"Ren wants to see the prisoner." FN-2187 declared.
"I didn't receive any orders about this. I'm going check this first." The other trooper proclaimed.
"Fine by me. I'm not the one who has answer to Ren about questioning his orders." FN-2187 added.
The other trooper paused his action to reach his communicator. He couldn't blame the other trooper's hesitation, testing Ren's patience was practically a death sentence that Ren could execute from anywhere. After a minute, the guard unlocked the binders and FN-2187 grabbed the pilot. Waiting for the guard to rebind the pilot in a pair of cuffs, FN-2187 made sure not to rush out the room. Briskly, he led the pilot down a few hallways before finding an alcove the two of them could briefly hide in without anyone noticing.
"Listen to me very carefully and we both might make it out alive. Can you fly a TIE-fighter?" FN-2187 anxiously interrogated.
"Wha?" The pilot replied, shaking his head in confusion. FN-2187 yanked off his helmet, dropping it and his blaster to the floor.
"I'm helping you escape. Can you fly a TIE-fighter?" FN-2187 reiterated.
"Yeah, wait, are with the Resistance?" The pilot retorted.
"What? Do honestly believe that any Resistance sympathizers would last more than an hour around here? I'm breaking you out, can you fly-"
"I can fly anything." The pilot cut in. "But if you're not with the Resistance, then why are doing this?"
That was a fair question. Why was he doing this? It would be easier for him to just keep and head down, go to reconditioning, and just remain oblivious to everything else. FN-2187 thought back to his first battle on Jakku, watching his platoon murder innocent people then burning down everything that was left. They even left the bodies of the fallen troopers to either burn or rot. His new-found awareness was allowing him to see everything he once knew in a new perspective. Like how the First Order was a cold, indifferent, ruthless organization. FN-2187 couldn't stop himself from seeing the First Order as wrong, nor could he allow himself to support any longer.
"Because it's the right thing to do." FN-2187 replied. The pilot's eyes widened with clarity and excitement.
"Alright then, let's get off this tin can." The pilot declared with a smirk.
"Really?" FN-2187 asked, stunned.
"Yeah, you got yourself a pilot. However, I can't fly with my hands cuffed." The pilot pointed out, raising his hands.