2. Father Figures
No one does anything from a single motive.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge – Biographia Literaria
x X x
2.1. BREAKING NEWS: NEW RUMOURS, BECHTAAR FALLEN
HoloVid Transmission, ABY 30/05/30, 01:00 GST
And the battle's just begun
There's many lost, but tell me who has won?
The trenches dug within our hearts
And mothers, children, brothers, sisters
Torn apart.
And it's true we are immune
When fact is fiction and TV reality.
And today the millions cry
We eat and drink while tomorrow they die.
U2 – Sunday, Bloody Sunday
"In a head-turning communication last night, the Senate publicly admitted for the first time, that the shadow organisation called the 'First Order' has conquered Bechtaar, the galaxy's third largest ship-manufacturing world. As late as yesterday morning, the speaker still denied even the possibility of former Empire troops having recovered enough strength to dare coming out of the Unknown Regions, let alone be the ones responsible for the unending string of raids and bombing that increased in number, intensity and viciousness over the last ten months.
The speaker announced their plan to call an investigation into life and asked for calmness. 'This is not a time for panic,' First Senator Krebbich Sandos is quoted. 'These people are simple terrorists, no matter what emblems they paint on their flags, and we will deal with them like we have dealt with all other criminals before them.'
The leader of the opposition, Senator Eprac Meid from the planet Gravlex-Med criticised the leadership for their passivity so far. In their own communique, the opposition accused Sandos of 'wilfully closing his eyes to the truth' after the recent months must have made it clear for anyone not blind, or stupid, what has crept back from the shadows. 'This isn't a question of crime but of war,' Senator Meid said, 'or, if you will, of war crimes, active war crimes and those of omission. The blood of Bechtaar is on your hands, First Senator, the blood of Dulathia, the blood of Walentta, the blood of Churruma and Grenolaver and Hays Minor and any other world attacked by the foe you were too terrified of to even acknowledge!'
Meid has been widely criticised for this stance and been called a 'war-monger'. It was also imputed that he and his allies are only playing up the situation as a manner of protest for the recent exclusion of former Senator Organa. It is notable that Senator Organa was the first to point out the possible danger and also the first drawing the conclusion that the 'First Order' could be the Galactic Empire's successor organisation. This opinion was what ultimately led to her expulsion, an opinion which now seems all but vindicated.
Into this uncertain situation, we were just alerted of another possible First Order attack on the Outer Rim planet of Jakku two days ago, when sixty-eight people were killed. Some commentators have pointed out, however, that Jakku is of neither strategic nor economic value to anybody, and that the so-called incursion pertains to only one village. Sources close to the Resistance insist the attack was carried out by First Order troops, but there has been no official confirmation.
We're going to keep you up to date but for now – back to Talulah in the studio."
x X x
2.2. The Blame Game: aboard the Finalizer, ABY 30/05/30, 01:53 GST
If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. What isn't part of ourselves doesn't disturb us.
Hermann Hesse – Demian
Even before all systems went into alert, Kylo was sure something had happened and hurried up to the bridge.
"General Hux, is it the Resistance pilot?" he asked, for once using the silly man's proper rank. Usually he made a point of getting it wrong to rile Hux up, but this wasn't the right moment for further antagonising. If Dameron managed to flee, he might find his droid before the First Order did – in other words: the map to Luke Skywalker that Kylo had believed to be already holding in his hands, might be lost.
It must not be so.
"Yes. And he had help from one of our own. We're checking the registers now to identify which Stormtrooper it was."
"The one from the village. FN-2187," Kylo muttered, not noticing he was saying it out loud. Darn it! He had sensed the young man's proximity to the Force so clearly, he had looked him up as soon as he'd been back on the Finalizer. He could have prevented all this! If only – if only –
"How would you know?" Hux asked mistrustfully.
Kylo turned around as haughtily as he could. "When will you ever learn, Hux? I just know."
Privately though, he cursed himself. In his eagerness to get that map, he had made one mistake after the other. First, he had killed Lor San Tekka rather than subject the old man to a thorough interrogation. Then he had allowed Hux's men to question Dameron first, with their ludicrous drugs, and it had taken ages until he was fit enough again to be interviewed by Kylo himself. But maybe the worst oversight was not reporting that Stormtrooper when there was still time.
Because you pitied him!
No, that wasn't it. Not pity. A certain kinship, perhaps, to another Force-sensitive person who found it hard to make his first kill. Killing wasn't easy as people pretended, especially the first time.
That is the very textbook definition of compassion.
Yeah, well, maybe. But how was he supposed to have foreseen this?! Only because someone had a little bit of the Force in him and didn't feel immediately inclined to execute civilians, it didn't necessarily follow his next step would be springing an enemy from jail!
Around him, the officers ramped up their activities yet another notch. Without even trying, Kylo was almost swamped by their feverish excitement; some were angry or outraged, a few genuinely shocked. The vast majority though was thrilled, either with schadenfreude to see Captain Phasma fail (like Hux, she was unbearably smug), or with simple bloodlust. Still, Kylo stayed were he was, smitten to hear first-hand what was going on.
Eventually, he learnt that the two fugitives had been shot down and crash-landed on Jakku. Damn Jakku! Knowing his luck, Dameron might very well survive, and what would he do next? Recover his droid, of course! Heaven knew when Kylo'd ever get another chance then of finding Skywalker!
"I want that droid!" Hux screamed into his comlink. Kylo exhaled. At least the idiot had his priorities right. "I don't give a damn how! Carpet-bomb the area for all I care!"
Kylo had shut down the comlink with a wave of his hand. "Do not damage the droid!"
"Mind your own business, Ren!"
"I do. I need that droid." Realising what he'd just said, he added with deliberate coolness, "The Supreme Leader wants the map."
"I know the orders, Ren. Capture the droid if we can, but destroy it if we must."
"That is not what he told me."
"You're no soldier, Ren, you haven't got a clue –"
"Talking of it! How capable are your soldiers, General?"
"I won't have you question my methods!"
"They're obviously skilled at committing high treason. Perhaps Supreme Leader Snoke should consider using a clone army after all."
Hux's sallow cheeks turned an ugly crimson. "My men are exceptionally trained! Programmed from birth!"
Ah, yes. It was so easy to talk Hux into a corner, it was almost embarrassing.
"Then they should have no problem at all retrieving the droid unharmed, without destroying the area whole-sale."
But Hux didn't give up easily. "Careful, Ren, that your personal interest not interfere with orders from Leader Snoke," he huffed, and took great care to make Kylo understand what he was hinting at.
"I. Want. That. Map," Kylo replied dangerously and stepped closer. He knew how uncomfortable this made Hux, all the more because he was taller than the general. "For your sake, I suggest you get it."
x X x
2.3. Thirst for Life: in the desert on the planet Jakku, ABY 30/05/30, 03:17 GST
He had discharged his destiny; now, perhaps, he could begin to live.
Arthur C. Clarke – The City and the Stars
Jakku! Damn Jakku!
Removing the last piece of his armour and using it as a visor, he blinked into the sun, trying to gauge his approximate position. It didn't bear contemplating if he was walking in circles after all.
For approximately two hours, FN-2187 – no! Finn! He was going to be Finn from now on! For two hours or something like that, Finn had made his way through the desert by now, and he could have sworn that he was exactly where he had started. There was nothing but dunes here, sand and dunes, dunes made of sand. They all looked alike and he couldn't spot even the vaguest point of orientation anywhere.
The only piece of his armour that might have come in handy in this godforsaken place would have been his helmet. It would have provided him with a timekeeper, a compass, maps, prevented him from getting a heatstroke and kept that blowing sand out of his eyes. Alas, it had perished with the TIE.
He swallowed, even though he had scarcely any saliva left. That poor pilot! Finn had tried to get him out, he really had. But the only thing he had got hold off was the guy's jacket. He was going to honour the man and bury the jacket in his stead, once he got out of here. If he ever got out, that was.
At first, he had still taken care to bury the discarded pieces of his armour in the sand. Otherwise, the inevitable patrol sent after him would have had it too easy, just following his traces like a deadly game of hare and hound. But by now, he was too exhausted for that. How much longer would he last here, like this?
Calm down, he told himself. The human body can go on without water for three days.
But did that apply in a desert, too?
What had he been thinking! Facing a firing squad, or the executioner, would have been far better than perishing like this! At least it would have been quick! Maybe he should just sit down and wait for them to find him. And they would. They wouldn't rest before they'd got him, and punished him. Captain Phasma herself would see to that.
But that was just the thing, wasn't it? It was better to waste away alone in the desert than die in captivity. He was free, for the first time in his life free. That alone was worth it.
Scaling yet another dune (the fiftieth, in fact; he had counted), he thought he could make out a dark shape on the far horizon, a very flat trapezial shape of a reddish brown, possibly the crest of a mesa. At last! Something he could reliably head towards! And if he didn't find anybody on the way, he could climb up, and take a look around from a great height, and maybe that would show him some settlement, or oasis. Oases were a real thing, weren't they? Or were they just those figments of imagination that wanderers dying of thirst saw flittering in the heat?
No, he decided, those were called fata morganas.
Maybe that crest was just a fata morgana, too…?
Once more, he felt overwhelmed by despair and fell to his knees. The puce trapezium was still there though. And he realised it was better to die following a dream than not moving at all.
x X x
2.4. Garbage: in Niima Outpost on the planet Jakku, ABY 29/08/16
Lovers of air travel find it exhilarating to hang poised between the illusion of immortality and the fact of death.
Alexander Chase – Perspectives
Jakku was known in some circles as the 'biggest junkyard west of Corellia' and today it once more paid homage to that epithet. Approaching Niima Outpost on her speeder, Rey spotted from afar a huge heap of what could only be called scrap metal. Getting closer, she realised it was a ship, though her trained eye let her wonder how it had even managed the journey here. That thing couldn't possibly be spaceworthy.
When she wanted to trade her day's meagre findings, she found the exchange closed and because she was really hungry, she went around to Unkar Plutt's office.
"– think I'm daft, Snapper, do you? Where'd you really get it?" she heard the old scrapdealer's voice.
"Nicked it from the Irving Boys," another voice answered petulantly.
"The Irving Boys! That useless band of suckers! And where did they get it?
"Nicked it from Ducain, we think."
"Ducain? That wily trickster from Dantooine?"
"That the feller."
Rey didn't like to eavesdrop and knocked on the door.
"Go away!"
She opened the door regardless and by habit evaded the spanner thrown at her with which Plutt greeted anyone entering his office unbidden. He was slouching behind his desk; on the other side sat one human man with an awful squint and a Twi'lek with half a lekku missing. She raised the coil of Rhodium cable which she had brought.
"Get out, fry, I'm busy!"
"One and a half portions?" she asked nevertheless. She knew it was worth a quarter at most, but she also knew Plutt well enough to remember that one always had to start high.
"One and a half portions!" he scoffed. "How much is it?"
"Twenty-nine metres."
Plutt grunted. "Half a portion."
"Don't let him fool you, child," the Twi'lek cried. "Fifty yards of Rhodium cable go for eight credits over on Rakata Prime."
"How many portions are that?" Rey asked back. Jakku had an economy based entirely on food rations and booze.
"Shut it, all of ye, and ye in particular, Huau!"
"You shut it, Unkar Plutt," the Twi'lek barked. "I knew you tricked us with the price for the –"
"Shut it!"
"– and this proves it!"
"Did you actually buy that piece of garbage outside?" Rey asked, astonished. This entire conversation wasn't going the way she had expected.
"Oy, kid! Is that how you thank us for putting in a good word for you?!"
"What do you need a ship for?" Rey went on, unfazed.
Plutt grinned broadly. "Hear her, boys? It's a piece of garbage and I have absolutely no need for it. Me's doing ye a favour taking it off yer hands."
"Favour! Well, if that's how you see it, we're off."
"Yeah, get off, Snapper, I've had enough of yer stupid mugs. Ye know as well as I do that ye couldn't sell it anywhere else, because no one ever comes to Jakku, and also ye've sold it ter me already and got yer money, so that's that."
"It'll fall apart as soon as starting," Rey went on. She couldn't help herself. Unkar Plutt was an old fogey, but she'd be sorry to see him die all the same.
His grin became even wider. "And that's where ye come in, my fry. Ye'll fix it with me."
Rey narrowed her eyes. "What's in it for me?"
A ration a day, that's what was in it for her. The two thieves jeered and left, and on the next day, Plutt and she set out to work. The freighter – a Corellian YT-1300f – was in horribly bad shape, so much was obvious from the start. Rey had spent the last ten years dismembering ships, not building them back together, but Plutt had a good idea what needed to be done as well as how to do it and she, too, soon discovered in herself a certain skill. It was almost – fun. At least some bits. Others were very frustrating indeed, and spending so much time with Plutt in such close quarters made her nasal passages shut down, perhaps forever.
"Ye know, fry, ye really ought not to be so damned stubborn. Come back to Niima Outpost. In the desert, all on yer own – that's no way of living."
"I like it."
"But there's no future in scavenging. People have gone over those ships for twenty-five years, there's not much else to find."
"I found two perfectly fine sapor plugs only last week. You said yourself, they don't build them like that anymore."
"No, they don't, which is just another way of saying they're not building ships any longer needing them plugs either. Even if they did, a whole box of plugs goes for five credits. Do ye have any idea what two of them are worth?"
"A quarter portion," she retorted pertly. Probably more. Unkar Plutt was a cheapskate, after all.
He rolled his eyes. "The future," he said bumptiously, "is in repairs, fry. And ye and me both know ye've got a knack for fixing stuff."
"But I don't need to live here for that. I'm fine where I am."
"All by yerself?"
"Yes. All by myself. It's a lot safer, too."
"Safer!" he snorted. "And what if, one day, ye're bitten by a Black Vipera?"
"I won't be."
"Ye wouldn't be the first!"
"They don't attack humans, or any other species as big. They only attack in order to feed, or because they're in danger. So, as long as I watch where I'm going, I need not worry."
He groaned and went back to his work.
"What are you doing?" she cried when she saw him welding a sheet of solid Thorilide to the compensator. "That's putting far too much stress on the compressor!"
"Will ye look at yer. A week ago, ye didn't even know what an FDG was, and suddenly ye're an expert?"
This really was unfair. She'd known exactly what an FDG was, she only hadn't fathomed they also came so small. She was used to star destroyer size.
"But –"
"This is my ship and I'll bloody well do what I like with it. Get that?"
It was a good job with one ration a day; but seeing Plutt ruin the ship proved to be not only hard but impossible. This freighter was a bit of a disaster alright, but making it worse?! And then selling it to some unsuspecting fool who had no way of knowing they had bought their own death, just before the hyperdrive blew up in their faces? She couldn't do that. She just couldn't.
She put the oil can she was holding down and wiped her hands. "That's it, I'm out."
"What?"
"I won't stand by and help you con some poor souls into buying their own doom."
"What the hell are ye talkin' about?"
She told him in great, unflattering detail what she was talking about. They had a huge row and Rey went back to the desert in a huff, swearing she'd never talk to him again and already knowing that her good resolutions were in vain. Plutt had a monopoly on the scavenging business, so if she wanted to eat ever again, she'd see him again soon enough.
Oh, she could hardly wait for her parents to come back and get her, then she'd tell the old blob what she really thought of him! In Basic!
x X x
2.5. An Offer She Can't Decline: in Niima Outpost on the planet Jakku, ABY 30/05/30, 07:35 GST
People are more inclined to believe in bad intentions than in good ones.
Giovanni Boccaccio – The Decameron
Unkar Plutt had offered her a little job, fixing a number of compressor parts so he could sell them for a higher price. And while she despised the old ogre with a passion, she liked doing the odd job here and there for him. She was good with repairing things. It was far more gratifying than her usual routine of wandering through crashed star destroyers on the (too often futile) look-out for some potential item that no one else had found before her in the last twenty-five years. And a steady provision of food wasn't to be sneezed at either.
This was the reason why shortly after dawn, Rey had strapped BB-8 to the side of her glider and travelled to Niima Outpost. Unkar Plutt, that lazy slug, didn't care to get up early, so he had left some boxes with broken parts for her in the shack behind his office. When he did pull up the blinders to his counter, she had mended three pieces and went over (he had a tendency to be more generous straight after breakfast).
He inspected each part with a magnifying lens and finally grunted, "Half a portion."
"What? Last time, you gave me half a portion for each!"
"Yeah, because I'd received an order for twenty forged cranks. This stuff is on spec."
"What's that got to do with me? I've worked hard on these."
"And I offer ye half a portion for them. Take it or don't, I don't care."
She told him what she thought of him in Correlisi and Aargauese, but he just gave her a blank stare.
"I take it," she muttered at last and tapped on the side of BB-8's head to indicate he turn. It wasn't safe for him to go anywhere without her among all these professional scavengers.
He beeped his understanding and they made their way back to the workbenches, but they hadn't gotten further than five metres when Plutt called, "Oi! How much for the droid?"
It was time to pay back that bored, blank stare. "Forget about it. You'll just dismantle him for parts."
"Are ye crazy? I won't. I'll give ye twenty portions for it."
"Ph!"
"Fifty!"
"Two hundred."
"Are ye out of yer head, fry? Fifty-five."
"A hundred at least."
"Sixty, and that's my last word."
He heaped more food on the counter than she'd ever seen in her whole life. Her eyes got wider with every stack he added. So much food! She'd never be hungry again… Only then, she noticed BB-8's agitated beeps. There was a note to his protests that struck a very wrong chord in her mind.
"Actually…" she said quietly, summoning all the spine she possessed. "Actually, the droid's not for sale."
"Sixty-five! Merciful Atoona be my witness, seventy!"
"No."
She turned around once more and walked back, with Plutt shouting increasingly higher numbers at her. Ironically, the more he offered, the more her resolution hardened. She wouldn't sell the poor thing, she'd help him find its owner and go back home. That was the right thing to do. The proper, the decent thing. She wasn't like Plutt, she'd prove him!
x X x
2.6. Damage Control: in Niima Outpost on the planet Jakku, ABY 30/05/30, 07:39 GST
It began as most thing begin. Not on a dark and stormy night. Not foreshadowed by ominous here comes the villain music, dire warning at the bottom of a teacup, or dread portents in the sky. It began small and innocuously, as most catastrophes do. A butterfly flaps its wings somewhere and the wind changes, and a warm front hits a cold front off the coast of western Africa and before you know it you've got an hurricane closing in. By the time anyone figured out the storm was coming, it was too late to do anything but batten down the hatches and exercise damage control.
Karen Marie Moning – Darkfever
It had to go. And fast. Bleenea the Plentiful knew where the silly scrod had picked that thing up, or why she had suddenly taken it into her head to adopt it. But he'd soon put a stop to that.
"I want that droid. Now."
"Aye aye, boss," Slypher grunted and elbowed Deenomon into motion.
"Try not to –"
But the door had already slammed shut. Ah, bah. The kid was able to look after herself. No sweat.
He dragged himself to the back-room and cranked up the radio. There was a horrific backcoupling noise until the line was clear, except for the usual static crackling of course. "Golo? This is Plutt. PLUTT! Yes, may the All-Powerful Gangar be with ye too. How's the fry? Now listen. First Order still searching for that BB-unit? Yeah? Well, then ye better get in touch with them and tell them I've got it."
Golo expressed his disbelief very impolitely.
"Never ye mind how I got it, suffice to know I do got it, damn it! No, this isn't a joke. Get a move on and call them!"
He listened to Golo jabbering about the reward for a minute, then cut him short, "Yeah, yeah, fine. Just doing me civic duty and all that."
Golo's guffawing mixed most unfavourably with the static, so all Plutt could do was shout "Send my regards to Gatta. Praise to the Merciful Atoona. Over and out!" over the din and push the mic back into its holder.
He sighed, leant back and wiped the sweat from his brow. That ought to do the trick. He'd get rid of that damned droid before anybody came looking for it. Or worse – started combing through the desert for it. He shuddered, sending all of his chins in a jiggle.
That fry was going to be his death one day.
x X x
2.7. At First Sight: in Niima Outpost on the planet Jakku, ABY 30/05/30, 07:42 GST
Encounters between strangers in the desert, while rare, were occasions of mutual suspicion, and masked by initial preparations on both sides for an incident that might prove either cordial or warlike.
Walter M. Miller, Jr. – A Canticle for Leibowitz
When he had allayed his thirst and his capacity to grasp a rational thought had returned, Finn looked around. He'd never been anywhere before other than as a part of an occupying army, which tended to give a very different complexion to a place's atmosphere. Also, small villages were of no interest at all to any strategically minded officer (i.e., all of them); they didn't send troops to dwellings that didn't have at least half a million inhabitants. To make it short – never had he seen a place so small, so ostentatiously unimportant, so happy to mind its own business and nothing else. It was some kind of reverse culture shock.
How was he supposed to get away from here? Did these people even know what a spaceship was? How long until the First Order hunters had caught up with him?
A noise woke him from his cogitations. Looking over, he saw a young girl attacked by two thugs at once; one was holding her from behind while the other was stealing her droid and pushed it into a sack. Finn's training and sense of duty kicked him into action before he could think twice; he jumped to his feet and started sprinting over, only to see the girl turning the tables on her assailants without any need for outside assistance. She kicked, she bit, she boxed, she made admirable use of her quarter staff, and before long, Finn felt almost sorry for the two robbers, especially when she grinded the staff into the groins of the one on the ground with her right and at the same time slammed her left elbow into the face of the other one still standing. Oooh. That must have hurt. Badly.
She freed the droid, then suddenly turned her head and seemed to look with a very hostile expression straight at Finn. Without noticing it, he put out a protective hand to cover his private parts, and looked over his shoulder to see which villain had incurred that amazon's wrath now.
The problem was – there was no one. He checked, just that by now, she had covered thirty metres already; she was running towards him, teeth bared in an angry snarl, quarter staff at the ready, and sheer self-preservation made Finn turn on his heels and beat it as fast as he could, even if he hadn't got the faintest inkling why this stranger was persecuting him.
He ran and sidestepped until he was certain to have lost her. Then, out of nowhere, she hit him. Literally. With her staff. In the back. He went down like a ton of ammo.
"What's your hurry, thief!"
This must be a case of mistaken identity. It happened all the time among Stormtroopers. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but she raised her staff once again, so for a start, he rolled himself into a ball in order to protect the most sensitive areas.
Only then, he blurted out, "I'm not a thief!"
The droid zapped him for his troubles and beeped so fast that Finn didn't understand half of what it was saying, the only codes he could positively identify were 'master' and 'stolen'.
"What?!"
"The jacket!" the female warrior growled. "The droid said you stole it!"
Unsafe as it was, Finn had always prided himself on his unimpeachable honour and raised his head in defiance. "I've had a pretty messed up day, alright? I'd appreciate if you did not accuse me of – ouch!"
Another zap, right into his buttocks.
She raised the staff another ten centimetres. "That jacket you're wearing – it belongs to his master."
Oh, shoot! This droid must be the droid. What a terrible irony!
"Its master – his name was Poe Dameron, right?" he asked. The droid looked at the girl in utter bewilderment. "He was captured by the First Order. I helped him escape, but our ship crashed." He swallowed hard. "Poe didn't make it."
The droid lowered its head and made a plaintive sound. Honestly, Finn had never seen a machine so expressive.
"I tried to help him. I'm sorry."
The droid averted its head, then slowly rolled away. It made it look as if it was hanging its shoulders without having any. This was some serious piece of programming to be sure!
"So you're with the Resistance," the young woman said with unveiled curiosity. Now that she was no longer scowling at him, Finn thought he had never seen anyone so pretty.
He got to his feet and squared his shoulders. "Obviously," he replied, wondering if he had lost his mind or what, but unable to stop himself. "Yes, I am! I'm with the Resistance, yeah."
His reward was pure, unadulterated admiration in the pretty girl's face, making her even more pretty, so he repeated as if he was sharing a great secret with her, "I'm with the Resistance."
And why ever not, eh? He had helped a Resistance fighter, after all. And in this dump, who could tell the difference?
"I've never met a Resistance fighter before," she said and smiled, and if he hadn't been so utterly bedazzled by that smile, Finn might have congratulated himself on his excellent assessment of the situation. "I knew it!"
"Yeah?"
"BB-8 said he mustn't reveal his mission, but I knew it must be that." She nodded, satisfied, and did not notice that Finn's shoulders slouched a little. For a second there, he'd flattered himself into believing she'd pecked him as a natural Resistance fighter.
He might have tried for an answer to gently steer her back into admiring him some more, but his gallant efforts were nipped in the bud by a distant, but all-too-well-known sound. There was nothing in the galaxy sounding quite like a twin-ion-engine.
"Oh no," he whispered, cursing himself for forgetting, however shortly, how ultimately futile any planning for the future was going to be.
He snatched the girl's hand and tried to pull her away, but she, unwitting of what was aiming towards them there, merely yanked har hand away.
"What are you doing!" He grabbed her hand once more. They had to get away, and there was no time to explain. "Stop taking my hand!"
Then the first blast hit a warehouse not fifty metres away.
x X x
2.8. Just Do It: in the Graveyard of Giants on the planet Jakku, ABY 30/05/30, 07:50 GST
They can because they think they can.
Virgil – Æneid
Living either in the desert or among ruthless scoundrels had honed Rey's instincts for survival. As for coming up with three different plans off the cuff of her head, her love for story-telling had done it.
Never would she have fathomed though that one day, she'd be sitting in the pilot seat of Unkar Plutt's favourite heap of garbage, trying to outrun a couple of TIE-fighters. In her nervousness, she hadn't even found the ignition at first.
During the last ten years or so, she had managed to talk a number of pilots into allowing her to fly their crafts by baiting them with spare parts they urgently needed. Naturally, those had been very tame test runs with the apprehensive owner sitting beside her, ready to seize the steering column at any given moment. Never had she needed to find out what a particular button was doing by actually pressing it, with two fighter pilots on her tails and firing with frightening accuracy.
Somehow though, she managed to get them airborne (which was already more than she had given this ship credit for) and escape into the Graveyard of Giants. She knew her way around there, so she hoped they might find cover. Maybe even give them the slip.
Of course, the easiest way would have been a jump into hyperspace, but she didn't trust the module to work. As it was, it needed warming up for minutes already without much progress. This was all Unkar Plutt's fault! If only he hadn't put so much pressure on the compressor –
The young man proved himself to be a competent shooter and took down one of their pursuers, but then the gunner turret got stuck the wrong way round. In a blind panic, Rey steered the ship into the innards of one of the tanked destroyers. She instantly knew this was the final bad decision she'd ever made in her life.
"Are we really doing this?!" the man screamed. Trying to navigate through the narrow confines of what had once been an exhaust system (not meant to be flown through in a freighter, that was!) and wildly swerving to avoid the blasts from the TIE right behind them, Rey hadn't got the mind to spare for any answer. The alert indicating that the TIE had them in its crosshairs was shrilling. Also, this passage was going to end in less than two hundred metres. Either way, this would end in fiery, speedy death.
At least, BB-8 wouldn't even know what was happening. But the poor Resistance fighter was stuck in a glass case. No matter which way he turned, his was staring his end right in the eye.
And then, she suddenly knew, rather than saw, a possibility. There was a narrow crack in the hull that she never would have contemplated flying through with anything bigger than her speeder. But with inevitable death awaiting her otherwise, she saw no reason not to at least give it a try. And not only that…
Ignoring all the alerts warning her, she tore the steering column around. Even she was surprised that she'd chosen exactly the right moment. One microsecond more or less would have been fatal. A turn of even one degree more or less would have been just as terminally bad. As it was, she shot out into the desert horizontally and once more yanked the control around to make them rise at a ninety-degree angle. Then she made a full U-turn, heading straight for the ground. Either the stranger would hit the TIE like this, or they'd hit the ground. If they didn't straight crash into the TIE first. For some weird reason though, Rey was certain it'd all work out perfectly, and it did. He hit the TIE, she managed another crazy turn, and almost jauntily, the pile of garbage sailed away towards the horizon.
Some minutes later, they met in the main corridor, both bubbling with excitement to be still alive.
"That was amazing!"
"How did you do this?"
"I have no idea. How did you?"
"Not a clue! I thought we were done for!"
She knelt down to look after BB-8, whose antenna had once more suffered. She straightened it.
"This is BB-8, by the way."
He looked mystified. "Alright…"
Only then she realised that even now, she had never introduced herself. She got up and smiled. "And I don't know your name."
He smiled back. "Finn," he replied with some emphasis. "And yours?"
"I'm Rey."
x X x
2.9. Go Go Go: in Niima Outpost on the planet Jakku, ABY 30/05/30, 07:51 GST
No limits but the sky.
Miguel de Cervantes – Don Quixote
The inhabitants of Niima Outpost usually knew better than to stick their noses into other people's business lest they'd get cut off, and enough of them vividly recalled the days of the Empire to seek cover as soon as spotting a Stormtrooper, let alone a TIE-fighter in attack mode. But, seeing that living in Niima Outpost also was uneventful and lethally boring, they scrambled out of their hideaways as soon as open fighting had relocated away from their direct surroundings. They ran towards the desert in the wake of the old junk pot closely chased by the two TIE-fighters, hollering and cheering for 'their girl' who, as they were all too aware, didn't stand a chance against her pursuers, but had done remarkably well so far and they'd always applaud an underdog, because they were underdogs themselves.
"No, no, no," Unkar Plutt whined as he, too, tried coaxing maximum speed out of his much-abused vehicle, which simply wasn't built to support a creature of the Crolute's dimensions, not to mention Slypher's, who'd jumped into the sidecar unasked.
"Girl stole your ship, boss," that one remarked and was hit over the head for that superfluous contribution.
"No, no, no, no," Plutt went on, occasionally thumping the steering wheel. "Why couldn't she just sell me the effing droid!"
"Uh…"
Unkar Plutt growled, "Don't bother answering. She's just a meddlesome – headstrong – annoying –"
"Stupid –"
Slypher received another wallop. "Ye're stupid!"
A big whopper of an explosion behind one of the dunes made the Crolute flinch. "Nooo!"
"At least you didn't pay very much for her."
"What?!"
"I mean, ninety creds for that old heap of scrap metal –"
"Ye don't even know what that ship is, do ye! Bleenea give me strength! That's the doshin' Millennium Falcon, that is!"
"What! That tinpot –" Instinctively, Slypher lent to the side to evade receiving another thump, thus nearly derailing them both. "I just mean – in that case, you made a real bargain, boss!"
"Ye think?" Plutt jeered, pointedly underscored by the sounds of heavy missiles shredding metal somewhere very close by. They made it over the last dune just in time to see the Millennium Falcon disappear inside a crashed destroyer, still hotly pursued by a TIE-fighter. Plutt squeezed his eyes shut in horror and consequently tanked the speeder.
"One gets you ten the TIE-fighter gets her!" one of the other spectators cried.
"Don't you mean the other way round?"
"I mean you give me ten creds or two rations if the bastard doesn't get our girl!"
"I don't have two rations!"
"You don't have ten credits either, Bucky!"
Plutt cursed them all under his breath and stared at the destroyer with a dry mouth. The inhabitants of Jakku had more pressing problems than bothering for politics; half of them probably thought the Empire was still ruling, most of the other half had never heard of the First Order before. Unkar Plutt though had. Like Spaken the barman, he owned a radio, but unlike Spaken, he didn't use it to listen to music. That's why he had known that the First Order was looking for a BB-unit with distinct orange markings, that's why he had wanted it and had been willing to buy it for outrageously many rations, or if need be, obtain it by force. He would have known what to do with it.
Suddenly, the Millennium Falcon shot out vertically from the destroyer, the TIE right on its tails, then did a 180 and headed straight back to the ground. Plutt clasped his hands to his eyes, unable to face the impending crash, and sent a prayer to Gangar the All-Powerful, thereby missing the brilliant manoeuvre which allowed the Falcon to shoot down its pursuer just before hitting the sands and pull up in the very last second. It was a splendid piece of piloting that drew raucous applause from the assembled onlookers.
Hearing the merry cheers, Plutt dared lowering his hands only to see the victorious ship disappear in the cloudless skies and a nightworm diving out of the sand to claim what was left of the loser. He had lots of competition; at least fifteen scavengers were trying the same.
"Bless ye, scrod, may Atoona guard ye on yer way," he mumbled and wiped a tear from his eye before Slypher could spot it.
x X x
2.10. Revenge: on the planet Canto Bight, ABY 29/02/13
The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference. Because of indifference, one dies before one actually dies.
Elie Wiesel – 27 October 1986
"For Hays Minor!"
"For Hays Minor," Rose confirmed into her comlink, and added quietly, "and any other world destroyed by them."
She had placed the last of the detonators inside the distribution box regulating the entire electricity of the upper floor, and quickly crawled back into the air vent. Pearl said it served those bastards right to be blown up by their own merchandise, but truth be told, Rose didn't entirely appreciate the irony. To her, it did not make any difference where the bombs came from that were going to send this entire convention center full of arms dealers to oblivion. She would happily have strangled them with her own hands if it came to that.
Only that, of course, she wouldn't. As Pearl often remarked, partly affectionate, partly exasperated, her youngest sister couldn't hurt a fly. And she was right. Flies were innocent creatures, annoying perhaps, but not doing it on purpose. For that matter, she wouldn't have killed any animal other than in self-defence. Because even a Raaltiir tiger didn't kill out of malice. Only sentient creatures knew malice. Only sentient creatures knew greed. And only a very few sentient creatures were so out of touch that, in order to satisfy their greed, they cared not how many they killed only so they could buy another flashy space yacht. Or whatever it was they did with their bottomless wealth; Rose wasn't entirely sure on that point. She couldn't imagine what one would do with one's money after one was fed, and clothed, and had a roof over one's head. A bigger roof, probably. More expensive clothes. More refined food. But there was only so much of even the most exquisite food in the galaxy that one could eat, only so many elegant clothes one could put on.
She wriggled along the shaft in good time, so good that she even allowed herself a peek or two whenever she came across another grill. How flashy and ostentatious these people were! And how self-important. She saw glossy folders presenting the merchandise of death. One guy, otherwise rather unimpressively made-up, was unrolling a large poster of something resembling the Death Star (or what Rose imagined that to have looked like). Spurred on by a fellow engineer's curiosity, she goggled at the immaculately fine drawings of a very elaborate oscillator the size of a small continent, fascinated by the guy's megalomania. It'd never work. An oscillator of that size needed far too much energy.
One girl though caught her eye. She wasn't one of the conference attendees but a waitress, and she was crying in a corner, anxious that no one could accidentally spot her. Well, she clearly hadn't taken an observer in the air conditioning into account.
In spite of herself, Rose slowed down. What had upset her so? But regardless what her current troubles were, that girl would be killed alongside with the rest in less than ten minutes. That couldn't be right.
"Psst," she made and was shocked by herself.
Panicked, the girl whirled around, looking this way and that and hastily drying her eyes with her apron.
In for a screw, in for a lathe, her old master had taught Rose. She tried to make sure nobody but that girl was around, then pushed out the grill. The girl stared at her like a ghost covered in cobwebs and black combat gear.
"You – what's your name?" Rose asked with the nicest smile she could muster.
"K-k-kaydel," the girl stammered, pressing against the wall as if she hoped it might open up behind her.
"You want to live, Kaydel?"
Eyes wide, the girl nodded very slowly.
Rose stretched out her arm. "Then follow me. This whole place will blow up in a minute."
"What?!"
It took some more persuasion (persuasiveness was one of those talents that Rose was totally without), but then the girl finally saw the light. Rose helped her clamber into the air shaft and together they crawled forwards. By now, there wasn't all that much time left, but Rose thought it more prudent not to tell the girl that.
Instead she panted, "I'm Rose Tico, by the way."
"Kaydel Co Connix."
"Is Co part of your first name, or your family name?"
"It's a patronym."
"I'm sorry?"
"It's my father's name."
"Your father's not around here, is he?"
"My parents are dead," Kayel said, sounding once more perilously close to weeping.
"Mine too. That's why we're doing all this."
"What are you doing, anyhow?"
"I'll tell you once we're out."
"How much longer –"
Her comlink crackled into life. "Abort!" someone shouted. Rose thought it sounded like Summer. "Ushar and Ruby've been caught!"
"What's that mean?" Kaydel asked breathlessly.
Good question. Rose came to a halt, turned on her flashlight and consulted the blueprint. If Ushar and Ruby hadn't been able to fulfil their mission, their escape route through the garbage chute was blocked.
"We will not abort!" another voice, Brook's voice, clanged. "We'll meet in sixty seconds on the roof!"
Rose stared at the blueprint. They'd never make it up there in sixty seconds. Not even in a hundred and twenty! And now she had dragged that poor girl into all this! Was the last thing they were going to see in this life this silly air shaft?! Outside, some kind of alarm went off.
"Rose?" The girl was pulling on Rose's leg.
"I'm so sorry, Kaydel, I –"
"Shut up and listen. I know how we can get to the roof in time. Through the service staircase."
"But –"
"I work here, remember? I've got a key card."
So they did make it to the roof, but only Brook, Violet and Jade were there. "Where are the others?"
"Caught, or stuck. They already started evacuating. If we don't ignite the bombs in the next thirty seconds –"
"But –"
Brook waved at her to shut up. The other two were deadly pale behind their scarves. Apparently, they'd already had this discussion. He yanked out the igniter.
"You wanna blow up a building you're standing on?!" Kaydel gasped.
Brook turned to her, visibly mystified. "Who are you, anyway?"
"A person who doesn't want to die!"
Rose, usually hating to speak if there were more than three people present, felt obliged to chip in, "This is Kaydel. She was working here."
"You brought along a spy?!" Brook shouted.
"She's not –"
"There's Pearl already," Violet said and pointed at an incoming small freighter. There wasn't much space to land between all the air-conditioning blocks and fancy bit of architecture, so Pearl had to hover and threw them a rope ladder. Jade, the most limber of them, climbed up first, followed by Violet. Rose pushed Kaydel forwards, suddenly frightened that otherwise, they might leave this stranger behind whom Brook had already labelled a spy. Brook gave them both a death glare, hung the igniter around his neck and went up next. This was the moment when the security details showed up on the rooftop, too, and started shooting at the freighter.
Rose and Kaydel were halfway up the ladder. Rose had taken a hit in the left shoulder and was barely holding on, the other girl had a badly bleeding leg injury when the ship started tumbling. Pearl was a really good pilot, but she couldn't hold the position with half of the engine on fire, so she tried to steer the freighter away from the convention center and towards street level.
And Brook finally blew the whole thing up.
x X x
2.11. Just Doing His Duty: aboard the Finalizer, ABY 30/05/30, 11:26 GST
I do oppose
My patience to his fury, and am arm'd
To suffer, with a quietness of spirit,
The very tyranny and rage of his.
Antonio – The Merchant of Venice
Lieutenant Dopheld Mitaka was one of four Intelligence officers assigned to directly assist General Hux. Out of these four, he regarded himself to be the unluckiest by far. Usually, they followed a strict protocol to organise the job between them, with the only exception of having to deal with Kylo Ren – in such a case, they drew straws (as a matter of fact, each of them carried a set of four short pieces of metal just for such an occurrence, one of those marked with a befittingly black spot), and Mitaka held the record of being the poor bugger forced to handle what they all considered to be a madman. Ren was awesome alright, but even more awful.
He'd drawn the short straw once again today, and even before entering Ren's office, he felt his tunic sticking to his back for all the cold sweat.
He doffed his cap. "Sir," he said, trying to keep his voice calm, "we were unable to acquire the droid on Jakku. It escaped capture on board of a stolen Corellian YT-model freighter."
Slowly, menacingly, Ren turned to face him. "The droid – stole a freighter…?"
Lucky for them those two TIE-fighter pilots sent to pick the thing up were dead already, or they'd have been in some serious peril of being murdered by Lieutenant Dopheld Mitaka, for having to explain their inexplicable failure to the galaxy's most ill-humoured superior.
"Not exactly, sir. It had help. We have no confirmation, but we believe FN-2187 may have helped in the escape –"
Ren whirled back round and whipped out his dreadful red lasersword. In terror, Mitaka watched him slashing the consoles with the blade, over and over and over. The smell of burning metal and molten plastic clogged Mitaka's nose and provoked his gag reflex. 'Oh stars, please don't let me throw up in front of Kylo Ren!' he prayed inwardly, instantly followed by 'Please don't make him turn around and kill me!'
Eventually, Ren calmed down (he always did, but that was only of little comfort for the young lieutenant) and turned back as pleasantly as if he hadn't just destroyed tech worth 30,000 credits. "Anything else?"
"The two were accompanied by a girl –"
Mitaka didn't know what was happening to him as he felt an invisible hand snatch him by the throat and drag him through the air towards Ren, his feet hardly touching the floor.
"What girl?!" Ren snapped.
What girl? What girl! Heck, he didn't know!
"I – don't – know," Mitaka choked, thinking his last hour had dawned at last. Even in his nightmares, it hadn't been as horrific as this.
Ren let go, but at the same time stopped Mitaka from falling over as he surely would have otherwise. He did something else with his hand and the young man suddenly felt as if some strange power entered his head. He knew enough of Ren to understand what this was, and got even more scared. Ren mustn't know what he thought of him, stars, he'd murder him for real if he ever learnt just how –
But Ren didn't seem at all interested to find out what Mitaka, or anyone else he'd ever talked to, said about him behind his back. Instead, he forced him to recall in minute detail his conversation with General Hux on the subject of the escaped droid and any other mention of the girl in question. She had been nothing but an also-ran, hardly mentioned in fact – just another pesky civilian blinded by grand notions of heroism and the Republic, they had automatically assumed. According to another civilian who had been interrogated on the spot, she was just a young scavenger, without any political affiliations of her own, who'd gotten into all this by accident because she had found the droid in question in the desert and felt responsible to return it to its owner. The interrogatee had appeared quite solicitous and begged the interrogating officer to return her, or 'at least do her no harm, she's a good scrod'.
When Mitaka returned to be solely in charge of his own thought-processes, he found himself standing in the middle of the wrecked room with Ren half-way out already. He kept standing there, frozen and counting his lucky stars, until he could no longer ignore his desperate need to go to the bathroom and throw up.
x X x
2.12. An Awakening: aboard the Supremacy, ABY 30/05/30, 13:15 GST
He liked to observe emotions; they were like red lanterns strung along the dark unknown of another's personality, marking vulnerable points.
Ayn Rand – Atlas Shrugged
There has been an awakening. For a minute or two, the Force itself was shuddering with its power; not even Skywalker (junior) outlined so strongly against its background. And it happened on Jakku. Jakku! There are houses on Coruscant inhabited by more people than that ridiculous excuse for a planet! Yet one of these base desert-dwellers has spewed out a child of sheer magnificence. Or as the erstwhile Guardians of the Whills would have said: The ways of the Force are unfathomable.
This is definitely worth keeping an eye on, but first things first. I summon my two wonderboys (it is somewhat degrading having to plan a coup with children scarcely old enough to have grown a beard, but a smart general can spin aurodium out of hay) for an audience. Hux junior is eager as ever, but the boy is too pensive for his own good (or mine!); his mind is only half there, which is never a good sign, and makes for some difficulties in controlling him.
"Supreme Leader, I take full responsibility –"
"General!" I interrupt him before he can deliver more of that dishonest nonsense. He says he'll take the responsibility because he thinks that is the proper thing to say, but in fact, young Hux has never in his short life encountered any unpleasantness that he didn't blame on someone else. He thinks he's the sole sun of his own solar system, when in fact he's the black hole in the middle of a dying galaxy.
"Our strategy must now change."
"The weapon," Hux goes on, perfectly undeterred, "it is ready. I believe the time has come to use it."
Ah, but the boy doesn't think so. His aversion is so strong, I can feel it despite his mask, even though I'm lightyears away. He has a strange attachment to heavenly bodies.
"We shall destroy the Republic. Without their friends to protect them, the Resistance will be vulnerable and we will stop them before they reach Skywalker."
Speaking of strange attachments – any mention of the Resistance, or the Republic, triggers a similarly strong response. Naturally, that one isn't hard to penetrate – his dear mother embodies both, and while there is lots of resentment in the boy to work with, there are also intractable remnants of affection, inextricably linked with each other. I've been labouring for years trying to straighten him out, and yet, he remains dogged.
I turn to Hux junior. "Go. Oversee preparations."
"Yes, Supreme Leader," he replies oilily, and casts his rival a triumphant glance. This kid would cut off his own nose to spite his face. I wouldn't want to imagine what he'd sacrifice only get one over Kylo Ren. All the same, that petty competition between these two fatuous juveniles has propelled the First Order forward more effectively than years of faithful service from more level-headed men.
As soon as Hux is out of the door, I mention that there's been an awakening. "Have you felt it?"
"Yes," he says simply, but his feelings say a whole lot more. I'd expect smugness, or curiosity, but for some reason, there's mainly contrition, which in turn arouses my curiosity.
"It happened on Jakku. Did you perceive any uncommon occurrence while you were there?"
The boy is squirming as if he was tied to a torture rack. "Yes, master. I… I know I ought to have informed you sooner, but I let myself be distracted by the search for Skywalker."
"Distracted from what exactly?"
"There was a very young Stormtrooper – the one who freed the Resistance pilot, as it turned out. I sensed him through the Force, I also sensed his – scruples. But I paid him only little attention. Too little. Forgive me."
Oh, that imbecile! I could have won my Empire back three times over if I wasn't constantly surrounded by tender-hearted, weak-willed and even weaker-minded nincompoops! And the worst thing is – I cannot even punish him. Not now. Not when I'm so close to finally getting him where I need him.
"There's something more: the droid we seek is on the Millennium Falcon." I pause to gauge his reaction – oh yes. The boy is in dire need of all the supportiveness I can muster, even though I'd like to kick him all the way into Hutt space and beyond! He's almost twenty-five, damn it! At twenty-five, I'd killed my entire family without losing any sleep over the deed. What am I saying, I did that aged nine! But there he is, far and away the mightiest warrior of his generation, and he goes all wobbly only because he hears the name of his father's ship!
This is not a good omen, I don't mind telling you.
Time to put on the thumb screws. "In the hands of your father, Han Solo."
He needs to collect himself for a few moments before he can bring himself to whimper, "He means nothing to me."
Ha! He's not even a good liar – well, he never was, it's a kind of compulsion with him. Incurable chronic truthfulness!
"Even you – master of the Knights of Ren – have never faced such a test," I go on probing with the most sympathetic face I can muster (don't take this as sarcasm; I can do sympathy like a port side madam on payday night, it's one of my favourite disguises. But with this face, it's not easy). And he laps it up. He always does.
"By the grace of your training, I will not be seduced," he blurts out. It's hilarious; I need to muster all my self-control not to laugh out loud.
"We shall see. We shall see." All ominous. Let him know I've got my doubts if he's got it in him. Make him want to prove himself.
x X x
2.13. Show Me, Grandfather: aboard the Finalizer, ABY 30/05/30, 16:31 GST
Every man has at times in his mind the ideal of what he should be, but is not.
Theodore Parker – Critical and Miscellaneous Writings
Kylo Ren had no official role within the ranks of the First Order, as they kept pointedly reminding him. All the same, he was the Supreme Leader's apprentice and on occasion, warlord, so he didn't have to share quarters with any common soldiers. On every ship he stayed, he was assigned special quarters, usually consisting of an office, a bedroom and a small bathroom to himself. Being them, they made sure it was the smallest available space, the kind of quarters usually reserved for very junior officers. They hadn't got an inkling in what circumstances he had lived for more than half of his life, and that these rooms struck him as preposterously luxurious.
Well, he'd unfortunately just wrecked his office, so when he returned to his quarters, he carefully carried his most prized possession over to his bedroom and placed it on the nightstand.
He needed to calm himself, he knew, and meditation was the best way to do that. So he stretched out his hand and with great veneration touched the mask of his grandfather.
"Forgive me," he whispered. "I feel it again. The pull to the light… The Supreme Leader senses it, too."
'The Supreme Leader is wise. You're lucky he is your master.'
He told the mask all his troubles, beginning with the darned deserter and his own inglorious role in that debacle, followed by his horror of the planned destruction of the Hosnian system – he understood it must be done, but frankly, he would have given anything to prevent it from happening.
'Don't you want to see the Senate punished for stealing away your mother from you?' the mask replied understandingly.
"Yes! But there's got to be some better way than that!"
'This is war, my boy. Sacrifices have to be made, even if they're hurtful. They wouldn't be sacrifices otherwise.'
Speaking of sacrifices – the thing weighing even heavier on his mind was the sacrifice expected of him, just that it wasn't even supposed to be a sacrifice, and he dared not call it that even to his own grandfather. He told him of Han Solo having the darned droid, and how fearful he was of not having the strength to confront and kill him. Again, his grandfather was both sympathetic and supportive, assuring him he did have the strength, and once he'd overcome his childish qualms, the path to total control and power would be free also.
Kylo so wanted to believe him, but his doubts lingered regardless. All his life, people had had such high hopes for him, and he'd let them all down. He'd eventually let his grandfather down, too, he was sure of it.
"Show me again, Grandfather, the power of the darkness," he beseeched him. "and I will let stand nothing in our way. Show me, Grandfather, and I will finish what you started."
And his grandfather did oblige him.
x X x
2.14. Getting Too Old for This Game: aboard the Millennium Falcon, ABY 30/05/30, 19:44 GST
The fleeting shapes
So many years ago
So young and beautiful and brave
Everything was true
It couldn't be a story
The Cure – The Drowning Man
He was getting too old for this crap.
Maybe there had once been a time when he could have pulled it off, playing the Guavian Death Gang against Kanjiklub in order to smuggle live rathtars over to Gelombang, but those times were long gone, and poor old Chewie had almost got killed over this plan that, when you stopped to think about it, wasn't just foolhardy but downright reckless. Suicidal, really. How had Leia always said? 'You've got a secret death wish, and I want nothing to do with it!' Back then, he had dismissed the remark as rich coming from the very woman responsible for most of his troubles, but in moments like this one, he wondered if she hadn't hit the nail right on the head.
Just now, it had been that kid from the back of beyond who had saved the Falcon from exploding, not him, her captain of nigh fifty years. He simply hadn't got it anymore. At his time of life, he should probably be sitting on some veranda or other, pipe in hand and a cold glass of whiskey nearby, watching the grandchildren play… Alas, that particular ship had flown.
Or had it? Maybe Ben did have some children of his own…? Nah. You couldn't become the next Vader and entertain a family on the side, Han was sure. For heaven's sake, he hadn't managed so much, and his ambitions had been so much humbler.
"Han Solo?"
Speaking of children, the kid had come back in with that disconcertingly broad smile of hers.
"Or shall I call you General Solo? Finn said you're a hero of the Rebellion…"
Back of beyond? Scratch that. On Jakku, they hadn't even heard of one of the Rebellion's most famous protagonists yet. If only he had known that earlier!
"I'm Han. Just Han," he muttered, trying to harden himself against that infectious smile. She struck him like a ray of sunshine.
"Han, I think we'll get a problem with the exhaust port, but I've had this idea how to fix it. You see –"
She pelleted him with rapid-fire suggestions how to mend the exhaust port that he had been meaning to fix for years, each smart and workable. Damn it, why hadn't he thought of either of them?!
She was back half an hour later, the boy claiming he was 'Resistance' in tow. "That'll do for now. I think we can make it all the way to the Illeennium system without further trouble. At least as far as the exhaust is concerned."
"The Illeennium system," Han repeated hoarsely.
"We need to get BB-8 to the Resistance. He's got the map to Luke Skywalker."
"Luke Skywalker." He slumped onto the nearest bench without even noticing. All of a sudden, his knees had turned very weak.
"Oh, right! You must know him, don't you?"
"Yes… I knew Luke…" Knew him! Loved him like a brother! Loved him so well, he trusted him with their boy, even! He ran his hand over his face and feebly beckoned at the droid. "Well, then. Show us what you've got."
It rolled to the middle of the room and projected a very detailed star chart of what looked like the Mid Rim. Han got back to his feet, hoping no one had noticed his little lapse. He closely inspected the map.
"This map is incomplete, it's just a piece" he pointed out. But the two youngsters marvelled at it regardless. "That, over here, is clearly the Lamda sector, but half of it is missing. This is where Xandil I ought to be, you can tell by its planet's orbits. Over there, the entire Horos system isn't there either. My guess is it's one half of a map, and you need to project the second piece over it to get a full picture."
"So it's useless?"
"On its own, pretty much, yeah. But who knows, maybe Leia's got the other half already."
"Leia?" the silly boy asked like an idiot. Resistance, eh? In his life, Han'd heard lots of men tell lots of tall tales and do lots of stupid things only to impress a woman. Heck, he'd done half of them himself. But getting involved with the war against the First Order only to get laid seemed a bit over the top, even if the female in question was as enchanting as this one. She really was enchanting, in the most literal sense; there was an oddly mesmerizing quality to her, and also something strangely familiar. But perhaps that was just due to her having a certain similarity to Leia when she was still very young.
"General Organa," he clarified archly.
Oh, her the boy'd heard of, clearly. Han wondered what kind of stories about his estranged wife were making the rounds, seeing that this kid looked as if he was talking of the famous monster Nharqis'Al.
"So you'll help us, getting BB-8 to her?" the girl asked brightly.
"I'll help you alright. We're near Kenn Sicor, an old pal of mine's got a tavern there. We'll find you a reliable pilot to take you to D'Qar, don't worry."
"You mean you won't come with us?"
"That is exactly what I mean."
He couldn't face Leia, he simply couldn't. She'd suffered enough. And so, incidentally, had he. No need to open old wounds.
He felt the girl's eyes on him and made a show of studiously inspecting the star chart. But she seemed to change tack. "Why did Luke Skywalker leave?"
Or maybe she didn't.
"Ever since Luke disappeared, people have been looking for him."
"But why did he leave?" she asked again.
Han had never worn his heart on his lapels, and he sure as hell wouldn't relate his family's personal tragedy to these strange children. "He was training a new generation of Jedi. One boy…" He swallowed, finding the girl hanging on his every word. "An apprentice turned against him. Destroyed it all. Luke felt responsible and he just walked away from everything."
There you go, he thought grimly, every word of that was true.
Apparently, it was the boy's turn to ask questions. "Do you know what happened to him?"
Han knew exactly what had happened to him; he'd become Kylo Ren, scourge of the galaxy. Only then he realised the kid was talking of Luke, not Ben.
"There were a lot of rumours. Stories. Those who knew him best –" Insert: Leia. "They think he went looking for the first Jedi temple."
"The Jedi were real?"
The girl, again, and once again smiling that broad, worrisome smile.
"I used to wonder about that myself. I thought it was a bunch of mumbo-jumbo – a magical power holding together good and evil, the dark side and the light… The crazy thing is: it's all true. All of it. The Force, the Jedi, it's all true."
How he wished it wasn't! He'd have a son still if only it wasn't!
x X x
Author's Note: Special thanks to civilwarrose!