((Marie, thank you so much for all your comments! I tried to reply to you and send you a private message but unfortunately, it wouldn't work for me. I really do appreciate all your kind words though!))
Keir had a choice to make.
Did he: A) Take Lucy's com device and contact the pilot that had brought her to Coruscant and therefore wait and delay.
Or
B) Take matters into his own hands.
In his paternal panic and his daughter wilting like a parched flower against the wall, Keir jumped at the second option.
"Luce..." Keir tried to brace her weight by winding an arm behind her waist and draping her own arm behind his shoulder; all the while trying to keep calm for her sake. If she could even hear him. "It's okay, Luce; I'm gettin' you outta here..."
Whether he returned her to Supremacy or brought her to the Resistance base, he would have had to make the jump to hyperspace either way. So it came down to where she would receive the best care. In that resolve and feverishly trying to secure her in the passenger seat, Keir decided to bring her home.
"This craft has been identified as being associated with illegal Resistance activity." Keir couldn't be sure if the blaring, uninvited transmission that rang in the pilot's console was automated or not; it erupted a few clicks from Supremacy.
"Yeah, yeah, I hear ya." Keir grumbled before his head swivelled to the passenger seat again; his own arrest not troubling him as much as his nearly-unconscious child.
"You have invaded First Order suspension space." Came the smug, nasally drone almost stereotypical of a nameless, faceless First Order officer. This one was not an automated recording. "We know this vessel to be associated with Resistance activity. Identify yourself."
"There's somethin' wrong with my daughter!" The smuggler spluttered, oblivious and uncaring if there was a pleading tone to it or not; the impatience for the recording dropping instantly when he was faced with someone who could possibly help. "I need to get her to-!"
"Injured rebels are no concern of ours." The interception was merciless and Keir's face (understandably) fell. "You should have thought of that when you chose your side."
"You don't understand!" Frantic now, the overwrought smuggler chanced one more look beside him and felt his desperation peak but the officer on the other end had no interest in an apparently wounded rebel that, as it happened in reality, was his superior's heavily pregnant wife. "Lemme talk to General Hux!"
"The General is in a conference and not to be bothered by the likes of you!" Came the spat retort, insulted that the enemy would have the audacity to make such a request. "You have wasted enough of my time, Resistance scum." The officer (trying to make a name for himself) chimed with a bite of viciousness; a Tarkin trademark. "Your vessel is about to be terminated. Good day to you, sir."
In immediate succession to that sweetly sarcastic parting, the com line went dead. In immediate succession to that, from one particular patch on the gargantuan hull of Supremacy, exploded a dozen Tie Fighters in attack formation; as quickly as if they had been ready and waiting on standby.
"Right." Keir hissed, teeth gritted and fingers flicking with astonishing dexterity over the controls in priming preparation for something amazing. "Come on!"
Poe Dameron, the finest X-Wing pilot in the Resistance, was born with acceleration fuel in his blood. He had skills honed through training to perfection, but training is only an extra layer to natural talent and pure instinct. He had inherited it from his mother, almost directly through his umbilical cord. His mother was Lieutenant Shara Bey, once a pilot in service to Princess Leia Organa and a veteran of umpteen battles throughout the Galactic Civil War; not to mention the assault on the second Death Star during the Battle of Endor.
Lucky for Lucilla, however, her aunt Shara hadn't hogged all the flying flair between her and her younger brother, Keir.
Keir had to keep going; to fight through the Ties and enter Supremacy where they had left it. To turn back would (presumably) mean the introduction of a tractor beam that he knew the ship wouldn't be able to counter; it would serve him (or rather, Lucilla) better to enter the skirmish than to flee. So he did.
With his joints more spritely and electrified than they had been in years, they punched the controls and slipped the throttle with nimble accuracy; that was the easy part. To fire at the right millisecond for a Tie Fighter to burst into expensive smithereens was not the part he feared. Keir fought to keep his vision ahead of him and not allow it to deviate to his right; to where the sight would overwhelm and distract him. Should that happen, the whole exercise would be pointless; they would all be killed.
Ageing eyes kept sharp from years of scanning for Imperial interference nailed one target after another; select, aim, dodge, fire, dodge debris, move onto the next one. The formula was flawless.
One at a time, the Ties fell into the endless void of space while the beat-up little freighter kept on chugging through; much to the embarrassment of whatever officer that had sent them, probably. Even with the explosions right beside her face and warming her window, Lucilla did not stir; her only movement forced when she rocked with the ship. Close calls were a given in a scrap like this and Keir made a mental note to re-paint the wing when it became scorched with blaster fire that lurched the entire console; but the illegal modifications came very much in handy. Over-the-top payment in kind; burning the paintwork on the freighter was rewarded with a proton torpedo directly into one of the twin ion engines until it ended up the same as the rest: useless and defeated.
Despite the battle that raged around her; quick swerves, booming detonations, blinding flashes and her father's incessant, goading cursing, Lucilla was oblivious to all of it.
"I thought these lads were trained." Keir mused softly to himself; four more to go. Two of those approached in sync; one in front, one behind. The sensible solution?
Plummet.
The (seemingly) more experienced pilot killed the engine, only very briefly. One. Two. Three. Fo-
The sudden drop in altitude was beautifully timed. Enough for the Ties to fire on each other without noticing the freighter was gone but also sufficient for the vessel to fall without (much) damage to the exterior. Having slipped from the crosshairs of the two remaining ties with the fall and hidden among the smoke and debris, Keir reignited the engine once more and roared to the opening in Supremacy; before reinforcements could gather.
Well… Before they could exit.
The smuggler had been so focused on getting into Supremacy that he hadn't exactly considered what was going to happen once he'd gotten them in there. He assumed that Lucilla would be recognized, the situation would be diffused and that would be that.
No such luck.
Naturally, a squadron of Stormtroopers had been rushed to the hangar; armed and ready for a tussle with "a band of Resistance scum"; their superior's words. What they were met with, however, was something of an anti-climax.
The tiny freighter, battered and scraped, was dwarfed in the hangar; if it carried a threat, it could not have been a substantial one. Then the boarding ramp collapsed, harassed, and the "threat" became apparent. An older man, scruffy and tired, straining to carry something or, rather, someone that may or may not have been familiar. It certainly twigged with the officer who had ordered the strike, the officer whose colour had drained from his face when he recognized the limp form in the arms of a stranger.
Everything suspended for a moment while implications registered, and what implications they were. But the heavy silence was broken by the last one to arrive on the scene; dragged from the bridge by an apparent, attempted invasion but only to be faced a nightmare instead: Lieutenant Mitaka.
"MEDIC!"
Relieved of his daughter's weight from his arms in a less than gentle fashion, before Keir could protest, the butt of a blaster rifle to the gut silenced and incapacitated him. Somewhere in the flurry of struggle, resistance and a winded attempt at explanation; Keir found himself in the bowels of Supremacy's prison deck. Arrested for "abduction", among other things, he could barely sit or stand without some form of agony; be it from the blaster butt to the stomach or being dragged, semi-conscious, to his cell. More coherent now, Keir could assess his situation; alone, bruised and at a loss for answers, all he could do was wait.
Subtlety. It had always been on of Lieutenant Dopheld Mitaka's best professional qualities; particularly with the delicate role he had been entrusted with that was not typical of his rank.
Now was a time for subtlety and now was not.
He was not calm and composed in how he trundled the corridor towards the conference room where a dozen high-ranking officers sat around a table, reviewing the trial data of the Dreadnought. He was hardly concerned with how he would be perceived, zipping past superiors, when there was so much at stake. The door was too slow in opening; no slower than usual but still, he willed the access cylinders in his uniform to work faster. He had no heed whatsoever for Imperial decorum as he scrambled sideways through the gap and every head turned in his direction and his rapidity continued; scarcely hindered by the door.
He had one target; seated at the head of the table. Eyes wide, nostrils flared and teeth sandwiched between clenched jaws, if only momentarily, General Orion Hux's icy glare never left his subordinate as he stumbled towards him. He had specified not to be disturbed, this meeting was of too great importance. But this…. This had to be important, Mitaka would have the sense not to interrupt if it was not.
No one else at the vast conference table was privy to the hushed, frenzied message but saw the effect it had on the redhead. In an instant, his expression changed and in the place of incredulous scandal, sheer terror took over. There was no apology, no asking to be excused, no explanation; the two took off together, leaving the schematics of the Dreadnought: Lucilla and a group of bewildered officers with no regard. Not when the med bay was so far away and their feet could not carry them quickly enough.