Chapter Three: Flight
Kylo Ren typed in the coordinates with a rushed, frustrated punch he had to repeat twice before jumping them to hyperspace. He had maneuvered the ship out of the hangar bay while debris rained down with startling ferocity. The amount of damage and lurching ground fissures made it seem like the entire planet were coming apart, instead of a nonvital subsection of the Ilum-consuming construct, and he only realized the full scale of the girl's sabotage as he'd soared into orbit.
A Resistance fleet was attacking Starkiller Base—one he hadn't sensed approach at all—aiming their fire on the opened hole her explosions had rent in the thermal oscillators. The Millennium Falcon was among the throng, adrift beside a rescue frigate, and he felt his father's usual mix of frustration and roguish determination across the star-strewn expanse. The Falcon's scorched underside showed Solo had tried infiltrating the base, but been thwarted by the shields, skimming off them in a harrowing pull Kylo could almost hear Chewbecca roar about.
Han had evidently come for the girl—or the oscillators—after all.
Too late, and without a true plan, as usual.
As Kylo checked the cockpit console a final time, he glanced back at the slumped mound who had singlehandedly demolished the shields and rendered the galaxy's deadliest weapon defenseless.
She was no thorn. The girl was carnage and chaos in big-eyed, bipedal form.
She was still breathing, and Kylo could see now most of her burns were superficial. Part of her filthy tunic and trouser disaster had been blackened, but none of it appeared melted or fused to the skin underneath.
I'm a goddamn hero, he thought mirthlessly. She'll barely even have a scar.
A violent urge to ensure she bore marks of her heinous crime suddenly swelled, and he stormed towards her.
Almost as if Kylo's thirst for vengeance had been aloud – alerting her to peril in an urgent shake of a shoulder – a great inhale rose her chest, and her eyelids fluttered open.
Rey blinked blearily, and the terror he thought would satisfy only enraged as she caught sight of him. "S-Stay… back…," she rasped. Clawing at the floor, she groped and flailed in a pitiful scramble, half-dragging herself away with a hiss of pain.
Kylo bent down and grabbed the front of her shirt, wrenching her up on her knees. She cried out, wincing as her inflamed legs protested the sudden pressure.
Now was the time. She was injured. Weak. She would relinquish the map, and he'd leave her to die wretchedly in a corner.
"Give me Skywalker," he ordered.
Long lashes fell, and her features went suddenly smooth. Kylo felt the Force buckle and swirl within the cockpit. An odd pressure started in his fingers, fighting to open his grip at her collar, and he realized she was doing it, summoning power where her physical strength had failed.
Half-alive, this wretched creature had enough backbone left to challenge him. In the arena he had mastered.
Such audacity was only outstripped by the depth of her stupidity.
Didn't she know who she was dealing with?