Star Wars: Division

I cannot apologize enough for the huge delay in Chapter Fourteen's release. Last chapter I mentioned in the opening blurb that I was sick and dealing with some head cold/sinus problems. Well - they just about knocked me down dead the past month; I was having so many headaches, chest congestion, body aches - you name it. It was like having the flu and bronchitis, and I was barely able to get out of bed let alone write up the chapter. Sorry guys. I never expected to get so sick and have such a huge derailment from my posting schedule. I feel awful about it, really. Thanks for the messages, though; it was really great seeing them while I was feeling ill.

Chapter Fourteen

"Get down!"

With an instinct that was being progressively honed and sharpened by battle after battle, Rey immediately dropped to the ground when she heard the call without a moment of hesitation. Overhead, the tell-tale whistle of an artillery round soared through the air, and then came to rest with its usual explosive finish somewhere to her right. Grit and rocks went flying upwards, as well as a couple of bodies of the native rebels who had been unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Their screams were muffled amidst the rest of the cacophony of battle, but she felt their sparks of pain and death through the Force, tugging at her as if her entire body were just a web of strings for events - either good or bad - to pull on.

But there was never any time to examine how she felt things around her through the Force, or to let those things affect her, when in the middle of battle a moment's pause could mean death. With a large, fortifying inhale, she pushed herself back up to her feet and tightened the grip on her lightsaber. A line of stormtroopers had been ordered to advance after the explosives, expecting their enemy to be disoriented and injured. But the quick call from their spotter had minimized physical injuries. The disorientation, however, had definitely taken over for some of their forces; she could tell which of them had ringing ears because they kept looking left to right, desperately trying to see what they couldn't hear, or otherwise shaking their heads as if that would magically restore their eardrums. The stormtroopers, trained their entire life for combat, saw the same signs she did; they went towards the rebels that were clearly struggling to make sense of what was up and what was down.

It wasn't a moment too soon when she came between a trio of troopers, raising their blasters, and some of her comrades, who were stuck on their knees. With an angry cry, she cut across the torso of the first, and deflected the blaster fire of the second. The third, startled by her sudden arrival, changed his position to aim at her, but was quickly shot down by blaster fire from over her shoulder. She took that moment to finish off the remaining trooper with a quick stab through the chest, then turned to see how had had her back. One of the Resistance's newer members, who Rey hadn't had much chance to get to know, yet, gave her a quick wink. Then she spun left to help with another small skirmish, and Rey turned right to do the same.

The past week had been much like this - skirmishes peppered the surface of Shu-Torun as Resistance forces joined with the native rebel groups scattered in hiding across major habitable areas of the planet, and the newly fortified bands of rebels and comrades engaged the enemy. This morning, First Order reinforcements had landed on the planet, and it was those reinforcements Rey, Poe, and their group of rebels were battling now. It was difficult. The new First Order troops were fresh faced, energetic, prepared; they relieved their tired, hungry, wounded comrades who were only too happy at the chance to take a proper rest and eat a proper meal. The problem being, of course, that neither the Resistance nor the rebel natives could do the same. They just simply didn't have the numbers to afford the luxury. Like Rey, most of them were doing their best to stay focused and fighting on a meager ration of broth and tack bread, and two or three hours of sleep. Some of them sported injuries, and though they were superficial, they were still physical burdens further weighing them down; blood soaked bandages around upper arms and upper thighs were extremely common.

Rey hadn't sustained any injuries herself, but she was exerting a different kind of energy that was draining her beyond her physical limits; using the Force was wearing her down mentally. The inner exhaustion easily mirrored her outer exhaustion, but as many of the rebels looked to her as a hero and guiding light, she couldn't allow herself the reprieve of showing it. She truly believed that if she couldn't remain strong, none of them would. So, she'd stay strong. It was the only way, she knew, as she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth to clear away the beading sweat and dirt. At her feet lay two bodies - a stormtrooper, and one of her own she'd been too late to save. She looked down at the rebel's face and grimaced quickly at the hole in his right eye - cauterized all the way through, right out the back of his head. His other eye stared skyward with a mixture of pain and disbelief.

Things continued like this for another hour or two, she wasn't exactly sure. Time passed in often surreal moments during battle, moments of pain and loss that were quickly strangled as one returned to the present, faced again with the knowledge their own life could be ended just as quickly. There was never time to mourn. That had to be pushed away. It was only now, when the First Order had been kept at bay and their forces had been able to hold their position, that Rey watched the faces of those who had lost loved ones crumble, the emotion they'd forced down suddenly rising up to overwhelm them. She never knew what to say, so she opted to say nothing, offering nods and sorrowful looks whenever a suffering member caught her eye. What could anyone say? Words simply weren't enough in times like these.

Overhead, the roar of X-Wing engines deafened the skies as the squadron came in for a landing at the impromptu fuel stations that had been set up alongside the rebel encampment. As ever, while most of the pilots slowly climbed from their cockpits, looking haggard and weary, Poe and BB-8 came bursting from their fighter, all adrenaline and cocky smiles. Well, in BB-8's case, cocky beeps and whirrs.

"Did you see us, buddy," Poe was saying as he climbed down the ladder from his cockpit. "Aw, man, nothing gets the blood pumping like a good air fight!"

BB-8 rolled himself forward and backward with excitement, beeps firing off in quick succession.

"Yeah, good thinking on that one," Poe said with a nod. "I'll have to keep that in mind for next time."

By the sound of his friend's beeping, BB-8 was in agreement.

When he was finished un-suiting - his helmet, gloves, and other outer equipment were left on a stand near his plane - Poe headed Rey's way, the usual lopsided grin stuck to his stubbled face.

"Hey, how was the fightin' out there?" He pointed with his chin to the terrain at large just beyond the line of their camp.

"Good," she said with a small smile. "I mean, even with the reinforcements, I think we did all right. They had to retreat after the bomber arrived."

"Yeah, that was a good stroke of luck, that was," he said nodding, then quickly gulped down the water she'd offered him.

"There were casualties," she said with a heavy undertone, "but I guess war makes it impossible not to lose people."

Poe looked down at her, hearing the disillusionment and sorrow in her voice and feeling sympathetic for the innocence he knew she was fast losing out on the battlefield, where violence and pain and suffering were just the every day routine. Rey was young, still; sure, she was a strong fighter, and she was a good Jedi, and she had been dealt a hard knocks fate in life that had left her an orphan and a slave on a desolate, nothing planet. But that didn't mean it had stripped away all her innocence, and all her hope. It was getting stripped away now, though, in the throes of war. He remembered his early days as a pilot - as a Resistance fighter - how seeing men and women spiral to their deaths in the cold vacuum of space as their fighters spun out of control from engine combustion or burst pressure valves had quickly torn away whatever wide-eyed heroic aspirations he'd had. It didn't mean he'd given up on the romantic notions of heroism and bravery, but he certainly had come to understand the value of a life.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. As if the weight of war wasn't enough, Rey carried so much more than the rest of them. Several times he'd spied her training, off in corners and alcoves that were far removed from the others, working for hours at a time. Occasionally he caught her reading from some very old, very dusty books. And still other times she seemed to be coming out of a trance, as if her mind had been cast out into the Galaxy and had left her body behind. He wasn't an expert on Jedi matters, or Force-user matters, but he could certainly see it was a lot for one person to shoulder. And unlike the other Resistance or rebel fighters, who shared their experiences with friends and had an understanding of each other's pain, Rey did not have another Force-user to confide in. Perhaps aboard the Radiance she had been able to speak with Leia, but here on the ground there was just her - the lone Jedi hero.

BB-8 came to a stop at Rey's feet and beeped sadly.

She flashed a quick smile. "I'm all right, BB-8, thanks."

Poe exchanged a quick glance with his droid, before giving her another squeeze. "Why don't we relax a bit with some cards? You've still got a lot of tricks to show me."

Well, she supposed it was better than sitting on a crate, wallowing. "Yeah, okay." She stood, but then turned quickly and gave him a playful poke to the chest. "But bring the good stuff."

Poe gave a pilot's salute with his fingers touching his forehead. "Yes ma'am."

She followed after him to the small space that had been set aside as a common area. It was mostly just a space with a couple tables and chairs and was separated from the sleeping quarters by blue tarp. Not the least bit glamorous. It was certainly a change up from the cool silver walls of the common room aboard the Radiance, a space about ten times larger with refined, modern furniture, and a half-wall of windows that looked out into the starlit expanse of space.

Something bothered her. It was sort of like having an itch at the base of her neck, except it was underneath the skin. She tilted her head to the side in the same way people do when trying to clear water from their ears, attempting to twitch it away, but it persisted. It made her feel queasy, sort of disorienting like feeling a ship blast off into space for the first time. It had that same unexpected quality of feeling one's stomach plummet to their feet while velocity forced them back into their seat. But Rey had been weaving and moving between ships her entire life, sometimes hanging upside down to acquire parts, sometimes having to hold herself sideways, and she had never once known herself to have a weak stomach, or motion sickness. Something just didn't feel right, though; she couldn't shake it.

"Rey," Poe questioned beside her.

"Hm?" She said, distracted.

Poe smiled a little, recognizing her faraway look. She often wore it. "Thinking," he said.

"Ah," she was startled from her thoughts. "Yeah, a little. Sorry."

"Nah, don't be. There's a lot to think about for someone like you, I'm sure."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Someone like me?"

"Yeah, the last Jedi and all? I know you're training. I see you sometimes. It must be pretty difficult juggling everything on your plate."

She shrugged ruefully. "You could say that."

"Well, hey," he said, giving her shoulder a playful, but intimate bump. "I'm always around if you need to talk, you know?"

She smiled at him, full on smiled. "I appreciate that. Thanks."

He had a soft look in his eye. "Yeah, sure. Anytime."

They reached the common area and Rey went immediately to a small box they kept up against the side of the rock face that was the mountain where the mines were built. Poe pulled out the drink. They were at the table with drinks poured and cards shuffled, just about ready to begin, Poe all laughs as he commented on the last time they'd played and Rey had schooled him worse than any card shark he'd ever met, when Finn came bustling into the area with food.

"Hey, they're passing out rations now," he said, throwing a gesture over his shoulder, his thumb pointing in the direction he'd come from. "You two better get over there before it runs out."

"How'd we miss that," Poe asked, giving Rey a look of confusion.

She shrugged. "I don't know, but we better do as Finn says. Come on," and she rose from the table.

But she nearly tripped when Finn suddenly exclaimed, "Rey!," rather angrily and jumped up from his own seat. He drew level with her and placed a hand on her right shoulder, she supposed to keep her steady, while he examined a spot on the left side of her back. There in the faded grey of her tunic was a slash some good seven inches long. The edges of the rip in her tunic were stained dark red with blood. It was a cut from one of the natives, but not the ones the Resistance were supporting. Some of the Shu-Torun had sided with the First Order, just as they had at one time sided with the Empire. The ore-dukes of old were back to their old, treasonous ways, defying their Queen's wishes. They didn't use blasters like the First Order, and instead opted for more old-school weaponry. One must've caught her across the shoulder when she wasn't looking.

"Do you know you've got a nice gash back here," Finn asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

She twisted to try and get a look at it over her shoulder, but the gash was just beyond her eyesight. "No," she said in mild surprise.

"Adrenaline numbs the pain," Poe quipped, taking a peek at the wound himself. "Honestly, it's not deep. But you'll want to get patched up real quick."

She didn't see what the big deal was, but seeing as they were both pressuring her to hurry along to the med-bay with their stares, she gave a shrug and a nod and said, "Okay. I'll head over."

"It shouldn't take long. I'll grab your portion and meet you back here, all right," Poe said.

"Sure," she agreed. And they went their separate ways.

As she headed for the only properly erected tent in the area - because the medical station was by far the most important, and needed to be the most organized and clean - she gave her left shoulder several experimental wiggles, moving it up and down and up again in an odd half-shrug. It didn't even sting. It really couldn't be that deep if she wasn't feeling it while moving her arm, but then again Poe could be right, and the remaining adrenaline in her blood could be keeping the nerves dulled. If Finn hadn't noticed, she may have started to feel the ache while sitting down to cards, but all the same at least it would get dealt with now. Like Poe said, it shouldn't take long to do a quick stitch up.

She entered the tent and the attending medical personnel quickly turned to her. The doctor was looking frazzled, to say the least. All the cots in the tent were full; Resistance members and native rebels alike groaned and ached as they lay in their meager beds from their various ailments. Of course, she thought while biting her lower lip. The injured from the battle. She didn't want to take up the doctor's time when he and his two assistants were already scrambling between their current patients, trying to assess damages and provide relief.

"Can I help you," the doctor barked. Rey knew he was normally a good-mannered person; it was the stress making him grumpy and irritable.

"Ah, yes, I just have a minor cut," she said, pointing over her shoulder. "I can come back. It's not a big deal."

The doctor shuffled over and gripped her back similar to the way Finn had. "Not too serious," he mumbled, "but it should be cleaned and stitched up before it gets infected. One of the med droids can do it easily enough." He whistled and, sure enough, a med droid answered the summons and came over. "Clean the wound and administer stitches," he advised the droid.

"Right away, doctor," came the droid's mild-mannered reply.

"But do it outside," the doctor said as he hurried away, back to the patient he'd been standing over when she'd first walked in. "It's too crowded in here."

"Yes, doctor," the droid said. The droid gestured to the tent opening, "After you, Miss."

Rey exited the tent, and the droid followed. It walked around to the back of the tent, where there was a clear view of the landscape, and also where it was completely hidden from the rest of the camp. She supposed it was for privacy. The table, tray, and chairs already waiting behind the tent told her the medical staff had already needed to use the space when other battles had left the tent crowded. That or they used the space to take breaks. Or both.

"Please sit down, Miss."

She sat and removed her tunic vest.

"Oh, it looks all right," said the mild-mannered voice of the droid behind her. She'd turned her back to it so it could get a good look. "Let me begin cleaning it." And then she felt the distinctly cold sensation of liquid being applied to her skin, which was still rather warm from the physical exertion of battle. Oddly enough, it didn't even sting, then. She must be so preoccupied with other things that some small cut was the least of her problems.

Like the nausea feeling, the itch. That was certainly preoccupying her. Why wouldn't it go away? What did it mean? It was a bad feeling, plain and simple. The feeling one gets when they're expecting something bad to happen. Just - pit in the gut. But the battle was over. There was no more fighting. Most of the time when she had ill feelings it was because she was sensing oncoming attacks through the Force, or oncoming blaster fire. But everything was so still and peaceful, now. And they'd pushed back the First Order. What could she be sensing, she wondered in mild irritation as she rubbed at her temples to try and dispel the nausea.

Though the wound itself wasn't sore, she did feel the needle prick her skin as the droid began sewing her up the old fashioned way. But as was usual with med droids, its programming kept it very gentle and mild and polite, and that extended to its sewing technique; it wasn't hasty, as it wove the strong sutures through her skin, and it didn't pull or yank. It was careful, methodical, and calculated each stitch so that they were in an even line. "All done," it chimed as it finished the final loop and then made a careful, precise knot at the end. It trimmed off the excess thread.

"Thanks," Rey said.

"Oh dear," it said. "It appears in the rush from the medical tent, I forgot to grab an appropriate bandage. Please wait one moment, Miss. I'll go get one and be right back."

"Of course," she said, flashing the droid a quick smile.

She heard it slowly shuffle away, its metal 'feet' causing the gravel of the earth to scrape. As expected from a planet whose main source of economy was mining, Shu-Torun's landscape was volcanic, the soil rich in minerals and, of course, metals. It had the kind of grit she'd always associated with Jakku, but instead of the never ending sand dunes and blistering heat, Shu-Torun had mountainous hills and craggy formations that dotted much of its surface. And while Jakku was largely one-note with its vast sea of beige sand, Shu-Torun's soil was dark due to its enriched nature. Dispersed amongst the rock formations were often volcanic lines, where the molten rock flowed freely down the hills and mountains, burning clear pathways as it patiently oozed in bright reds and oranges and yellows. It was this constant flow of lava that kept the rest of the planet bursting with useful material. The minerals and metal particles in the lava cooled and joined with the soil, and then the natives mined it and created fortified, desirable chunks of ore.

Rey looked up, squinting at the horizon. There seemed to be something close by, but nothing looked amiss. The itch at the base of her neck had become so unpleasant she had to roll her neck backwards in an attempt to shake it off. The Force wanted to tell her something, but she didn't know what. Could it be…?

Kylo, she thought suddenly. Was he… trying to reach out to her? Their connection had been flimsy at best after the destruction of the Redeemer, and for good reason, of course. She wasn't sure how she felt about that whole tragedy, let alone the moment they'd then shared on the battlefield. There was a growing ache within Kylo Ren, one she felt steadily more and more through the Force, and it thrilled her. And that scared her. For the past week she'd had to survive training sessions with Master Skywalker, ever fearful he was going to see right through her and uncover her dirty, dark secrets. It was getting so difficult to hide, and not just from him. The number of near misses she'd had when her friends came looking for her made her shudder; there had been so many chances for her to get caught.

Get caught. As if she were just a rebellious teenager. What she was doing was nothing short of betrayal.

She hung her head. Maybe the itch was simply exhaustion. Maybe her mind and body were finally giving way under the pressure. You don't have that luxury, though, she admonished herself. It was her job to keep fighting. Rest could come later.

The only warning she'd gotten was the smallest shift in a volcanic pebble near the assassin's feet before it came dashing at her from behind a nearby rock, blade raised. Battle had certainly honed her reflexes, as she had time to grab her lightsaber and raise it to catch the assassin's blade, but caught off guard, her mind racing with guilt, she had forgotten to ignite the blade, so that in her clenched fist was merely the lightsaber hilt and nothing more. The assassin's blade cut through the air, but instead of cleaving her down the middle as she was expecting, the assassin flipped their wrist at the last second so the flat of the blade touched the bare skin just above her chest wrap. Just the touch of the blade to skin was enough.

With an agonized yell, she fell from the chair, writhing on the ground as the assassin cruelly pressed the blade further into her skin. She was a cruel killer, it was so. Her blade was the perfect extension of her philosophy, as it helped her realize the distinct satisfaction she got from watching her target squirm and screech in pain. She was not the emotionless, calculated sort who killed the mark quickly and took their reward. No. Every kill was personal to her, every mark needed to suffer before they died. And this? This was a Jedi. This girl could suffer for eternity, her pretty mouth screaming for eons, and it still wouldn't be enough.

The assassin lifted the blade, and the agony that had so suddenly pierced Rey's entire being stopped, leaving her a panting, quivering mess on the ground.

For the assassin, this was the sweetest part. The part in which her victim thought the suffering was over, when the relief was so good it brought them back from the sheer insanity of having to endure such torment. The Jedi was strong and resilient; she opened her eyes to gaze at her attacker, even as her muscles still convulsed. But that was good. Resilient ones were always so much more enjoyable to torture than the weaklings who were reduced to bumbling, crying, mewling piles of flesh. This was going to be good.

She pressed the smooth side of her blade to the Jedi's skin once more.

It was like existing in a constant nightmare. Rey knew nothing else but the pain. The horrible, festering pain that seized her muscles and deadened her brain.

"Miss?" came the confused, gentle voice of the med droid.

The assassin spun and cursed in her native tongue; it wasn't just the med droid who had noticed. Several others were beginning to search for the source of the terrible screams. With a quick flash of movement, she lunged at the Jedi and cut clear across her chest, from shoulder to shoulder, then spun and disappeared.

Rey continued to the scream, though the blade no longer touched her.

"What the hell is going on," yelled the rebel Commander. He looked down at Rey's shrieking, writhing form and paused, completely unsure of what he was seeing.

The med droid approached the Commander. "She was attacked," it said with its usual calm, relaxing cadence. "She was attacked by an assassin with a Devaronian edge."

Aboard the Finalizer:

"Excellent," Armitage Hux said with a sideways, smug grin. "If the assassin can attack her in the middle of the battle, no one will be the wiser as to what happened."

"Precisely," Carise Sindian purred from her purple velvet chaise lounge. "She'll report back to me once the job is complete."

"Brilliant. Then," Hux said with a sly smile, "I'll see you in three cycles' time for the banquet."

"Yes, darling," she cooed. "See you then."

They ended the comm-link.

Once Hux finished up their personal business, he made his way to the bridge. He was due to meet with the First Order's revered Supreme Leader to discuss the elimination of the Radiance, which had become the new flagship for the Resistance and which contained Ren's ever meddlesome, despicable mother - General Organa.

The doors to the bridge opened and he walked in, hands clasped austerely behind his back.

At the helm, standing in his usual all black with his shining, black helmet, Kylo Ren didn't make the slightest movement but said half-robotically, "You're late."

"Yes, forgive me Supreme Leader. I had some matters to finish up."

"Matters concerning the First Order," he questioned without turning.

"Personal matters, Sir," he said evenly, "regarding my mother."

If Kylo Ren sensed it was a lie, he made no indication, but turned around and moved towards the holo-display in the center of the bridge which was broadcasting a map of the Galaxy. "What is our progress on finding the remaining Republic forces?"

They ran through the data that had been compiled. They discussed the politics of the Senate and the unrest some of the planets were experiencing now that it was becoming very clear to the public at large that the Republic as they knew it had fallen, and the First Order was poised to take over. As always, Kylo Ren showed his agitation at having to discuss public image and politics, but he acquiesced many points to Hux's counsel of advisers, who had mapped out a strategy for appeasing the planets before there was mass hysteria. Then, there was the matter of Shu-Torun - another ever-present irritation that Hux was certainly eager to get rid of. Kylo Ren felt the same.

"What updates from the battlefield? And from the reinforcements," Kylo Ren asked as the holographic image of the planet came up on the grid.

"Reports are coming in now, Supreme Leader," said a communications officer tapping away at their screen. "It appears an initial altercation with the South-west camp has ended. Casualties on both sides, but a bomber unit under rebel control arrived and pushed our forces back."

A bomber unit, Kylo Ren thought as his hands gripped the edge of the display. The South-west camp was where she was located. "Why were our forces unable to shoot it down?"

"It was heavily guarded, and Resistance fighters made getting near it impossible. Further South, our forces did manage to overtake a - "

Kylo Ren stood and turned back to the windows that opened up to the twilight of the Galaxy. As the officer continued to report the status of First Order forces across Shu-Torun, he let his mind wander to Rey. She was upset because of the Redeemer. Perhaps that was why she'd gone to the mining planet - to try and prove herself to be the hero the Resistance and the Republic needed. Perhaps she was feeling inadequate and guilty, though the loss of the Redeemer was hardly her fault, and it hadn't been in her power to save it. Still, what worried him more was her mental exhaustion; constant battle was taking its toll, and using the Force regularly even more so. She was still learning, still training, and yet she was pushing herself and her abilities to the heights of which no Padawan would ever be able to accomplish safely. She was going to wear herself thin. It was her mental exhaustion that kept them apart, not her resentment. He knew that. She wasn't petty or vindictive. She would never shut him out willingly.

"We'll need to send another full squadron of TIE fighters to Shu-Torun. The bomber must be destroyed," he said firmly.

"Yes, Supreme Leader. I will contact the Fleet and choose the optimal squadron."

"See that you do," he intoned gravely.

He paused - sensing… something. Something was wrong.

And then without any other warning his heart felt ready to burst from his chest. Pain. Pain. Endless pain. It echoed to him through the Force. Rey. She was being tortured. Tortured? On Shu-Torun? By whom? He may not know by whom, but he could certainly guess the person - or people - responsible. It was his all-consuming rage that kept the pain being fed to him through the Force from making him double over. Instead, he reached out a clawed hand and summoned his General directly into his grip. Hux immediately sputtered as the grip tightened on his throat. "What have you done," he hissed with menace.