Author's Note: This is an AU of The Force Awakens, exploring what would've happened if Dark Leia was in the picture instead of hot mess Kylo Ren. Not a totally original concept I know, Leia succumbing to the Dark side, but it's one that wouldn't let me go. This should take about four chapters to tell.
Leia… The voice is soft, calm and familiar. Her home is erased from the maps of galactic history. Tarquin had coldly watched as the oceans of Alderaan were scattered into stars. The weight of a million souls bears heavy on her shoulders. The voice speaks again, a whispering wind in her ear. Leia, your pain is real. Do not ignore it. Let it flow through you…
She comes to a stop, tilting her head to find the eyes of the Commander. "We have no time for sorrows, Commander," she says, sucking in a breath and hurrying on. There is a battle to be fought, other planets and other lives to save. The voice fades away.
The explosion's heat deflects off the heat of their backs. Her breaths are hard, sharp, against her chest. Her legs pound into the sand. The fighter whistles through the air.
"Hey! We need a pilot!"
"We've got one!" Rey snaps. Sweat beads against her forehead. Damp strands of her hair stick to the back of her neck. She runs.
"You?!" the man shouts over the sound of the fighters. He stumbles as they run towards the quadjumper. It's barely big enough to carry two, let alone them and a droid, but it's fast, nimble. "What about that ship?"
Rey shakes her head as they pass it, grey and unused.
"That one's garbage!" Flames erupt in front of her eyes, black smoke carrying the thick scent of ochre. Rey stumbles to a stop, shielding herself from the heat. Her choice gone.
Only one choice left.
She nods, already turning on her feet. "The garbage will do!"
Fighters still scream through the air. The three of them hurry onto the ramp into the belly of the ship.
"Gunner position's down there," Rey throws over her shoulder, hurrying towards the cockpit. She'd memorised the layout of this ship years ago, when she'd thought it was abandoned and hollow, like all the other ships on the burned yellow deserts of Jakku. (A compressor, a fuel pump, and a beating from Plutt's men had told her different.)
"You ever fly this thing?"
"No – this ship hasn't flown in years!" Rey replies, settling into the pilot seat. Her fingers flick over the switches and dials before her. Her stomach twists into knots. It's bigger, so much bigger, than her quadjumper, assembled from old parts found in the belly of ships. She sucks in a breath. She can do this. Gives a nod, mutters under her breath. She can definitely do this. She draws the calm in, focusing on raising the ship into the air.
The ship falls onto its side. It's heavier than she thought.
"Holy—!" Rey glances back, shakes her head. Tightening her grip on the controls, she pulls the ship higher into the air. The outpost boundary crashes underneath the underbelly of the ship.
A loud thud, another loud curse. "Kriffing – who the hell is flying this thing?"
"I am!" Rey shouts. Green laser beams shoot past the cockpit window. "Are you ever going to fire back?"
"What? I haven't got the chance yet!" the Resistance fighter yells. His voice crackles over the aged radio. "Hey, wait – don't go high, go low, go low! It confuses their tracking!"
Rey nods. "Okay! BB-8, hold on – I'm going low!"
A shrill beep tells her the little droid is far from ready, but willing.
"Like hell you are!"
Rey twists her head. "What do you mean, you just told me to—"
The ship jerks high up into the air away from the ground. Rey gasps, staring. Two hands gripping hers, warm from the effort. She tilts her head up. A man stands over her. Pale, tall and cumbersome, hair black and eyes brown. He takes up more room than she thought possible, and he has a tight grip on her controls.
The radio crackles again. "I said go low!"
Her new co-pilot is silent to the order, his dark hair pulled messily into a bun at the back of his head, his clothes grey and white. His hands still on hers. Growling, Rey slams her hands against the controls in front of her. But his knuckles turn white and he brings them back up. The ship creaks against the force of two opposing commands, struggling to sink lower towards the endless sands.
"Hey! What's going on up there?!"
"I – I don't really know!" Rey blurts, her face red with effort. The man forces the ship further upwards. Shots from the fighters whip past.
"Go low," Rey yells, "you'll kill us!"
"Better that than hurt this thing!" her co-pilot snaps. He reaches up, flicking an overhead switch. "C'mon baby, don't fail me now—"
"They're shooting at us, we need to go low!"
A shot hits the underbelly. The ship jerks to one side. Her irritating co-pilot quickly rights it, flying ever higher.
"Uh, the cannon's stuck in forward position," the Resistance fighter says over the radio, "I can't move it. You gotta lose 'em!"
Her hands are still imprisoned by his grip. Rey glares at the black-haired man stood over her. Still he flies the ship in high arcs over the Starship Graveyard, a field of broken ships and sand. "Now will you go low? I don't think you understand the situation we're in!"
"I know exactly what the situation is kid," the black-haired man replies curtly. Rey shifts her gaze towards the outside of the cockpit. Three fighters still follow them. If he truly understood this situation, he'd do the right thing.
"Then you'll – let—" she strains to keep hold of the heavy ship, shoving all of her effort into pushing forward, "me – fly!"
The black-haired man stumbles back, his hands flying from the controls. A brief smile on Rey's lips. She tilts the ship onto its side, swooping through the air, curving round. Shots still come from everywhere. Diving down towards a scuttled Destroyer, peeled of its parts, Rey threads the ship into its dark belly. It isn't the best idea she's ever had, but shelter in Jakku is a rare thing to find.
"Are we really doing this?!" comes the voice on the radio. Rey weaves through the ship, but the fighters are following, shooting without hesitation or pause. The space becomes narrower and narrower, light flickers over her face—the ship launches sideways, back out into the harsh sunlight.
Rey blinks. She whips her head towards the black-haired man standing back behind her, his hands once again over hers. He lets go of the controls at her glare, but leans forward until they are nose to nose and Rey has to lean back. His brows draw together into a hard frown.
"Don't hurt my ship."
He straightens up. Rey looks back at the switches and dials before her. A lever stands to the right side of her. Another not good idea. She reaches out, grabs it. Tugs it down. The ship tilts up, up, up. It curves round.
Everything seems to hang there for a moment. The world of Jakku, a planet of broken ships and desperate survivors, upside down. All she can see is yellow and dusty grey.
Three heavy shots shake the body of the ship.
Three fighters, billowing smoke and flame, crash to the ground.
"Your last shots were dead on, you got them all with one blast—"
The Resistance fighter beams a bright smile. His skin is dark, his hair black but it's his eyes she focuses on. They're terrible liars, filled with kindness and excitement. "You set me up for it—"
"Hey!" The two turn their heads. Rey's excited grin vanishes. The black-haired man ducks under the cockpit door, storming towards them. A blaster hangs against his belt. His shirt, a muddied white, is rumpled. His trousers, his fingertips, are streaked with oil stains. More oil stains streak his temple and the line of his jaw. His angular features seem made for frowning.
He comes to a stop in front of them.
"Anyone who goes against The First Order like that – they're either trouble, or in it. So you're both going to tell me your names and where you came from."
Rey glances to her companion. His smile is gone too but he's the man who'd held her hand. He's the man who asked her if she was okay, and had never given his name to her. Just protected her without a thought. She holds a breath. The world goes still again.
"Finn," the man answers.
Rey breathes. Her eyes hold onto Finn. "I'm Rey," she says, flicking her eyes at the last moment towards the black-haired man.
"Hm. You're from Jakku," he affirms, pointing at Rey. His expression changes when he finds Finn. He gets an impish curiosity in his eyes. It's the kind a scavenger gets when they find a piece they know they can negotiate hard for. "You – I'm not sure of."
"He's with the Resistance," Rey says. She nods to BB-8, rolling to stand in front of her, and looking up at the black-haired man. He beeps a proud hello. "This droid needs to get back to his base."
The man's shoulders sink. He turns away, stalking down the ship's corridor. His right hand finds its way to the blaster at his hip. "Then it's nothing to do with me. I don't deal with Resistance. I'll drop you off at the Ponemah Terminal, but from there on in—" He turns to face them. "You're on your own."
A low blue light stands before the dark figure on deck. Her hands, gloved, are folded in front of her. Her robes are a smooth black, the material of her cloak gathered at her left shoulder. Her saber is at her right.
Lieutenant Mitaka keeps his eyes on the saber as he approaches.
"My lady," he begins his words with learned assurance. He receives silence. He swallows. "We were unable to acquire the droid on Jakku. It escaped capture aboard a stolen Corellian YT model freighter. We believe it had help. From an enemy of the First Order."
Two words break the taut silence. "From who?"
Mitaka wishes, all at once, for that same taut silence to return. "An enemy, my lady."
A hum fills the air. Sarhu Ren slowly turns, her free hand clenching tight into a fist. She holds the lightsaber close to his face. The single smooth red beam of it floods Mitaka's eye line. The lower half of her face is covered, but her deep brown eyes lie exposed. Their expression is calm. (It takes little to change it. Rumours abound among Stormtroopers yet to learn that she can hold people with those eyes, cause them to do whatever she bids.)
"We are the First Order, Lieutenant." Ren's voice is small and even. "Which enemy?"
"FN-2187."
White hot heat sparks across his features. Mitaka screams. Blood and sinew burning against him as the lightsaber carves into his skin, the hollow of his cheek. He drops to his knees, collapsing, crumpling onto his side. He holds his cheek and whimpers. The blood is already cauterised. A metallic scent burns in the air.
An invisible hand cups his cheek. Suddenly tender, like a mother cradling a child, its palm moulds against his wound. He closes his eyes and begs to bleed.
The invisible hand grabs him by his throat. Sweeps him up until he is held there, hovering high in the false air.
"Who else?" she asks, certain of his answer.
He chokes it out. "A girl."
He crashes onto the deck's cold floor.
Lady Ren stands over him, lightsaber still humming, that thin red beam still burning his eyes. Her eyes do not flicker or change.
She leaves him to be found.
"You can't take us to Ponemah Terminal." Rey storms into the cockpit, and stops without warning. Finn, following in after her, uses up all his effort not to crash into her and send her flying. The black-haired man is sunk back into the pilot's seat. His eyes closed, arms folded over his chest, one leg crossed over the other. On the dash, a white light slowly flashes, the ship locked into autopilot.
Rey tries again. "We need your help."
The black-haired man's eyes remain closed.
Outside, a large black ship hovers a short distance away, surrounded by stars. Doors are already opening. A red light guides them towards a boarding hatch. Finn finds his breath catching.
"That doesn't look like a terminal."
"Relax kid. It isn't." The man shifts in his seat, sitting up and flicking a switch. The white light fades. With lazy ease, the man steers the ship closer towards the opening boarding hatch.
Low, wide arches line the high roof of the hangar. Unmanned ships, some old, some new, dot the open space. Catching sight of the cargo, Finn narrows his eyes.
"That's a SF-01 B-wing heavy assault starfighter," he says, the fact coming to him as easily as it is to breathe. "Didn't the rebellion use those?"
"Yeah," says the black-haired man, distracted. "Why should you care?"
Where his friends (friends, he thought with an ache) had spent the rare snatches of time alone playing, discussing simulations and upgrades, he had been with others in the barracks and absorbed history of his universe, of the galaxy he was going to help repair. He had spent nights dreaming of his first battle. He had dreamed of villains with lightsabers. He had dreamed of defeating them with a single blast.
The boarding hatch doors close as the man guides the ship down towards the floor of the hangar. He lands the ship in the centre of the large hangar. The doors close behind him. Waiting at a console outside the ship is a large creature, like a humanoid covered in fur, holding a bow blaster in its arms. The black-haired man stands and gives a wave, turning and heading out of the cockpit. Rey aims a questioning frown at Finn. He can only shrug in return.
"Bacca," the black-haired man calls, heading down the ramp, "put these three on a pod, direct it to Ponemah Terminal. We'll make our stop afterwards."
The giant furry figure grumbles but nods. Rey rushes forward, BB-8 speeding down the ramp after her.
"You have to help us!" she calls to the black-haired man. One last attempt. There's desperation in her voice, an edge of a certain fear. The black-haired man's already got his back turned on her. Finn stops at the end of the ramp and watches Rey's hands. Her fingers curl flat against her palm. "This droid has to get to the Resistance base."
The black-haired man comes to a stand in front of a console. His eyes sweep over it, deliberately searching.
"You said," he remarks, briefly glancing at Rey, "and I told you: I don't get involved in any of that. I know better."
Finn steps forward. "The droid carries a map that leads to Luke Skywalker."
The black-haired man stiffens for a second. His body suddenly tight, as if holding a breath. The tall furry figure raises its head, growls. Rey gasps and hurries towards the furry figure.
"You know him? You know Luke Skywalker?"
"You understand that thing?" Finn asks, taken aback.
"That thing can understand you too, so watch it." The black-haired man, speaking up so suddenly, shoves his hands into his pockets, turning away from the console. He stalks past Finn, heading back up the ramp. A short roar from the furry figure makes him stop. He turns. There's a benign look on his features, a hint of a long-term defeat. He shrugs.
"What do you want me to do?" he asks, the question directed to the furry figure. "We got the Falcon back. I'd call that a day's achievement."
"The Falcon?" Rey rushes forward. She stares at the grey ship with a renewed awe in her bright brown eyes. She's slender, a warrior's form, but three buns in her hair and that same awe makes her look as young and new as Finn feels. "This is the Millennium Falcon? You're Han Solo?"
"Han Solo?" Finn blinks, even more taken aback. "The Rebellion general?"
Rey's nose wrinkles into a frown. "No. The smuggler."
The black-haired man scoffs.
"Do I look like Han Solo?" He cuts off a nod from the furry figure with a point of his finger. "Say that I do Bacca, and I'm leaving you here."
"But this is the Millennium Falcon?" Rey interrupts, reverence for what she stands before still etched in her face. "This is the ship that made the Kessel Run in fourteen parsecs?"
"Twelve!" The black-haired man snaps, turning on her. He immediately closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Thirteen, fourteen, it doesn't matter. You three are going on a pod and going to Ponemah Terminal."
He stomps back up the ramp into the ship. Finn is the first to follow him inside. BB-8 brings up the rear, speeding along behind. The furry figure heads straight past all of them, walking down the cylindrical corridor into the cockpit. An indignant roar follows.
"I don't know who it put it on there either!" The black-haired man glances back at Rey over his shoulder. "Did you put that compressor there, on the ignition line?"
"No. It was Unkar Plutt."
"Huh." The man turns to face her fully. He moves deliberately, every movement measured. "What happened to Ducain?"
"The Irving Boys stole it from him," Rey answers. "Then Unkar Plutt stole it from the Irving Boys."
An amusement crosses the black-haired man. "Then you stole it, before I could steal it back."
Steal it back. Finn shifts on the spot, tucks his hands against his hips. He presses his lips together, aiming a searching look at the black-haired man. "What were you doing on Jakku anyway?"
"Doing what everyone on Jakku does – getting parts."
"Why do you care about the Millennium Falcon?" Finn asks, glancing around the cylindrical corridor before focusing back on the black-haired man. His answers are short and to the point. Training had taught him never to trust short answers. It may not have been the sign not of a liar, but it was a sign of someone omitting truths too dangerous for them to confront.
The man's eyes shift, growing dark as they sweep towards Finn. "You sound like a Stormtrooper."
"He's every right to be suspicious," Rey says fiercely. Finn takes a step back. He's seen that look on her face once before, and he had ended up with a stick to the face. (He struggles to hide a smile.) "We don't even know your name."
The man stares down at her, a mixture of curiosity and offence in his study of her. Rey stares up at the man in return. The man's fingers flex.
"Ben," the man answers finally. He turns on his heel back towards the cockpit. "Hey, Bacca, anything we can do about that compressor?"
A thoughtful, conversational growl is the reply. Finn leans towards Rey.
"What is that thing?"
"He's a Wookiee," Rey replies, turning towards him. She gives a light, gentle smile. "He speaks Shyriiwook."
A muffled, extended, painful roar sounds from far away, buried away in the freighter. Finn gulps. He knows that sound. He's heard it in too many training simulators, too many tests to not know. It's a long way from the warm roars and growls of the Wookiee. Ben curses under his breath.
"A Rathar better not have gotten loose." He runs past Finn and Rey, ducking under the ship's low ceilings. The Wookiee appears soon after, still carrying the bow blaster in his arms.
Already moving, Finn motions for Rey to follow him.
"You're not seriously hauling Rathers on this ship are you?" he asks, heading down the ramp, into the high-arched hangar.
Ben stands at the hangar console. His eyes trace the multiple screens. Catching up to him, Finn follows his gaze. The pictures are grey. The images show a dozen narrow corridors. An old stain covers the lens of one camera, obscuring its image of a large, deserted break room.
"Great." Ben sighs. He turns to the Wookiee as he points to another screen. "It's the Guavian Death Gang."
Finn watches the image, feeling Rey at his shoulder, doing the same thing. On it, a scrawny male human, armed with a single percussive cannon, taps at the window of a blast door. An eye, large and alien, slams against the dirty glass. Finn jumps. Throughout the ship, an angry roar echoes. On the screen, the scrawny man laughs.
"How did you even manage to get Rathars on this ship anyhow?" Finn asks.
"Used to have a bigger crew. C'mon." Unhooking his blaster from his belt, holding it between his hands, Ben hurries out of the hangar.
The four of them run into a long, narrow corridor. BB-8 rolls up behind them and settles between Ben and Rey's legs. He gives out a bright series of beeps.
"Ssh!" Rey whispers, but her features catch in a frown, raising her eyes towards Ben. Her eyes are warm, with a new kind of curiosity. Ben raises an eyebrow.
"What is it?"
"He says – he says he remembers you."
Ben's eyes lighten as he looks down at the droid. The turned down mouth twists with the hint of something. "Does he now? The droid stays with me," he announces. He bends down and grabs at a grate cover with one hand. He pulls it away. "You two, get down below."
"And the Death Gang?" Rey asks, climbing inside.
"I'll talk my way out of it," Ben replies, dragging the grill back over their heads with ease. The Wookiee barks a laugh and growls. Ignoring the laugh, crouching down low to see them, Ben's hand moves over the safety of the blaster. He flicks it off.
"When I give the signal, do as I say." He stands. Hidden underneath the floor, Finn looks to Rey.
"What did the Wookiee say?"
"'You've got as much diplomacy as your father'."
Above them, a blast door opens. Heavy footsteps, indicating an arrival. Finn is just behind Rey as they crawl towards the end of the corridor. Finn tilts his head up. Red-suited, tall figures march through the blast doors. The scrawny man, recognisable from his encounter with the trapped Rathtars, shoves his way to the front. Black hair cropped, he's got a face like a rat, his nose turned up and nostrils flared with his mouth turned down.
"You're a bloody dead man," he spits. Finn counts the faceless red-suited figures. Ten of them, and they all have blasters.
"Bala-Tik." Ben sounds bored with just saying the name. "I take it you've got a complaint."
"We loaned you 50,000 for this job," the scrawny man says. He rolls onto the balls of his feet, cracks his neck. He doesn't stand like a soldier. He stands with his feet widths apart, his hand always at his cannon as he spits out words with venom. "So did Kanjiklub."
"Hunting Rathtars is expensive work, Bala-Tik." Ben speaks the words with familiarity, as if he's repeated the conversation many times over. He avoids the subject of whoever, whatever, Kanjiklub is. "I spent the 50,000 you gave me."
"So you admit it?" snaps Bala-Tik.
"That I made a deal with Kanjiklub? Never even met them."
Blast doors from the far side of the corridor open with a low hiss. Finn turns, crawling towards the new arrival. Another group, the same number of people, more blasters. Kanjiklub.
"Tasu Leech – guess you've got a complaint too?"
Their leader's anger comes in smooth considered sentences. His features are pointed, his skin a light brown. Finn looks to Rey at the sound of the foreign language spoken. She is as lost as him.
"Look," comes Ben's voice, as if an instructor to children, "you'll both get exactly what was promised. I've already got the Rathtars on board—"
"Your time's run out Solo," Bala-Tik interrupts. "There's no-one left in the galaxy for either you or your father to swindle. We want our investment back, and we want it now."
Solo. Finn glances up at Ben through the grated floor. Ben's hand grips his blaster tight and the resemblance is uncanny.
"You'll get it back, both of you. As soon as I deliver the Rathtars." He clears his throat. A broken, jagged sound which is interrupted by another. A second wave of coughing. Finn realises. It's a word.
"Fuses," Rey whispers.
"What?"
"Fuses." Rey crawls over to a set of pressure pads which cover thick black wires snaking against the metal body of the ship. "If we can close the blast doors in that corridor, we can trap both gangs."
Her hands hover over the switches. They freeze when Bala-Tik speaks again.
"Wait. That BB unit. First Order's looking for one just like it." Finn's chest tightens. "And two fugitives."
Rey's palm trembles. Swallowing, she slams her hand against two of the switches.
Silence. Roars, screeching roars, reverberate through the high, narrow corridors. Closer than ever. An alarm blares. Red light floods Rey's face.
"Oh no."
"Oh no, what?" He already knows the answer. The low dread worms its way, transforming into a pulse that beats at his temple and the back of his head. He feels as if he's going to be sick. Rey lets out a breath.
"Wrong fuses."
Screams are left in their wake as Rey runs into the hangar. The memory of the Rathar, tentacles flying and wrapping themselves around terrified bodies, around Finn, teeth sharp and hungry, threaten to overwhelm her head.
In the hangar the Wookiee is leaning over, whining and growling in pain. Damn blasters, he says in Shyriiwook. Knew they'd get me one day. I'm sorry Ben. I'm so sorry.
"Don't be stupid Bacca, you're hardly hit. Hey!" He looks up as Rey runs into the hangar. Finn is close behind her. BB-8, beeping madly with fright, rolls up the ramp. "Scavenger, make sure the door's closed behind us. Finn, kid, you look after Bacca."
Rey whips round at the sound of another roar and crunching. Heart in her throat, pulse thrumming, she follows Finn and the Wookiee up the ramp, shutting the ship door behind them. Turning, she sprints into the cockpit. She slips into the pilot seat, automatically flicking switches. She can get them out of here.
"Unkar Plutt installed a fuel pump – if we don't prime that, we're not going anywhere—" Two large, already familiar hands land on her slim waist and they grip her tight. Rey gasps. Hoisted up into the air, she's set on the ground. Ben pushes past her, slamming himself down into the pilot seat. He points to the co-pilot seat.
"There," he says, gruff, possessive. "No-one's flying this thing but me. Get working on that fuel pump."
Rathar teeth slam against the cockpit glass, the round inner body slathering against the glass, long tentacles wrapping around, snarling and spitting. Rey stumbles back, screaming in fright.
"This is the last time I ask Han for a recommendation," Ben mutters, pulling levers and grabbing the pilot controls. "Watch the thrust – we're going to get out of here at lightspeed."
"From inside the hangar?" Rey asks, clambering into the co-pilot seat. "Is that even possible?"
"Angle the shield and we'll find out," he replies. He grasps both controls and pushes forward. "C'mon, c'mon—"
The ship judders to a halt.
"Compressor," Rey says gently. Ben glares at the red monstrosity that sits at the top of the flight controls. His palm slams against it. Their bodies thrown back, the Rathar falls away into pieces, grinded into blood and bone. The stars stretch into endless blue.
She meets a boy already her height, with eyes far older than they deserve to be, under stars and in the middle of wet green. Rain comes but once a year to the sunny isle, and it comes in a torrent. Water drips from the tip of a nose too big for his face. Salty tears catch at the corners of a too full mouth. He wears robes that are too big, borrowed from some other time years past.
She sits down in the wet, leaf-strewn dirt beside him and takes his hand. It is warm, dry and in desperate need of comfort. If she looks behind his left ear, beyond the growing dark hair, she sees the destruction of an ambition. She strokes the remnants. The strands come to pieces underneath her touch. The boy draws his knees to his chest and sobs harder.
"Oh Han," she sighs, "what have you done now?"