... fifteen hours later... far, far away from the First Order…
I wasn't entirely sure how I survived, but that was nothing new. For now I filed that away under inexplicable-and-possibly-force-related and focused on more immediate problems.
The escape pod I was stuck in did have communication equipment which was technically good news. It meant I could call out for help and hope any Resistance vessel that might be within hailing distance won't take one glance at me in my First Order means of transportation and my First Order uniform and… But I had to risk it. I was left with no other options. I typed in appropriate series of orders, took a deep breath and waited for whoever was out there to tell them the good news. They were about to take the most obnoxious prisoner of war in the history of the rebellion.
Considering my future prospects I almost wished I behaved in a way that didn't get me thrown out. Oh who was I kidding – it wasn't as though I had any control over the stuff coming out of my mouth, so it was always only a matter of time before they got sick of me.
But before I could get too far in analyzing all the mess on the Finalizer there were beeps coming from my console trying to get my attention. "I know, I know, I look just like one of the bad guys. But would a bad guy ever say Supreme Emperor Snoke looks like he needs to change his plastic surgeon," I was saying before I was even done taking in the face that just appeared on my screen.
"I guess some things never change," said Freya.
"Why cousin," I replied as a smile completely took over my face, "has no one ever told you orange is not your color?"
"Grandma…! I found her! And she immediately made me forget why we wanted her back in the first place," said Freya half-turned away from the screen. But smiling. Smiling with relief I had hard time reconciling with people who were seeing me on their screens. "We'll be in your location in about an hour, there are some asteroids in the way… it will require some careful maneuvering," said Freya turning back to me.
"Shouldn't you let someone else do it then?"
"You know, they thought that being a captive of the First Order would mellow you a bit," she replied shaking her head. "But I told them – it would take a lot more than a bunch of power-hungry sociopaths to make that one to tone it down. And here you are. Still so thorny…"
I thought I was going to reply, but her last word made my witty retort die on my lips. I forgot what it felt like being called anything other than the fixer or hey you. True, Phasma called me a nuisance once or twice, but I was pretty sure it was not meant as a term of endearment.
"Look, I'm going to switch you over to grandma so I can focus on navigating, alright?" said Freya giving me one last I'm-still-glad-to-see-you-though-I-can't-explain-why smile.
And then I was looking at another familiar face.
"You look a mess, thorny."
"Thanks grandma," I grinned. "You on the other hand… I mean you're really pulling off the big-deal-in-the-resistance look."
"That's because I am," she said half seriously. "So are you going to tell me how you got away…?"
"No. I need to do a lot of thinking before I can even begin explaining that one. But I am going to tell you why the resistance will be really pleased to have me," I said unable to keep from glancing down at the blood smeared on my palm. "I come bearing gifts."
"This is when I'm supposed to say you're the only gift we could ever wish for, but… You know it would be nice to have a good reason for why we commandeered a ship without asking permission just to come chase after one wayward girl…"
"I don't think wayward is synonymous with abducted, gran," I said with a frown.
"So they did take you then. You didn't… you know… join up…"
"Grandma…" I said with outrage that was at least halfway genuine. I knew she was only joking... well... I was almost sure she was. "I didn't join up. I was just being my usual awesome self and apparently you don't want to do that in the view of the First Order. Also there was this thing with Kylo Ren – but I am not getting into that, I honestly just want to forget all about it so I can pretend I live in a sane galaxy where people can't dig through your mind."
"They told us you completely ignored there was a shootout going on around you," said grandma with a frown. The why-are-you-like-this-I'll-never-understand frown I knew so well. I've been seeing it a lot growing up.
"Yeah. That was my first mistake. There were others. Long story short, I still don't quite understand how I'm in one piece."
"It's almost as though something wanted to keep you alive. Something very powerful."
"Did you just try to blame it on the force? You know you can't use that thing to explain away everything that's just a little inexplicable," I said, faking exasperation. It felt safer than admitting that for once she might not be entirely wrong about force interfering with our lives.
"Of course I can. Now – you said you come bearing gifts…"
"Well, yeah. Depends on what you consider a gift. How much does the resistance want a sample of Sith blood…?" I said raising my hand so she could see the dried blood darkening it. "Because this isn't mine."
"I'm almost scared to ask…" began gran.
"I didn't do anything too suicidal. But he was bleeding… I mean that's pretty much the sum total of what he's up to right now. So I decided to take advantage of the situation. I mean, I'm pretty sure we can't use it to clone a better, less moody version – but we should still try because the original is just…"
But my words died right there. Considering that I spent the entirety of my stay on Starkiller making less-than-kind comments about him it should be no problem for me to go ahead and add another one, especially now that I was no longer risking my life doing so. Except that was another Kylo Ren. That was this shadowy figure in a clearly unnecessary mask and attitude problems on the scale of my own. Unfortunately that person no longer existed… I tried to recall him and simply couldn't, because his place was taken by the other one. The thoroughly beaten one. So I forced that whole train of thoughts off the rails and turned my attention back to the present.
"Well, if that's not enough, I have a list for you," I said dropping my bloody hand out of sight.
"A list?" replied grandma doubtfully.
"Of names."
"Still not sounding like the secret weapon the resistance always wanted…"
I grinned and begun typing, because the only way of convincing her seemed to be actually showing her. It didn't take long – but in my defense I was on the Finalizer for less than fifteen hours before they decided they were officially sick of me. "Sending it to you now."
I saw her expression turn to frowning confusion as she read it. "What are these? Stormtrooper designation numbers…? And the last one is general…"
"Yep. He's definitely on the list," I said, feeling my smile turning evil at the very thought. "Look, it's a list of people you want to take alive given the chance. You do that and I can make them talk. Let me have a go and the resistance can maintain the moral high ground and still get all the intel they want. No torture involved."
"You forget I know how you talk to people. I think it might actually qualify as torture. It is scarring enough."
I gave her an alright-grandma-you-win-this-round glare and sat back just watching her familiar wrinkled face for a while. Considering how quickly everything happened I didn't yet take the time to really let it sink in. I was being rescued. I was safe from the First Order, as unbelievable as that was.
But the First Order was by no means safe from me.
… one asteroid field later…
To say I wasn't a fan of group-hugs would be an understatement. I was not a very touchy-feely person – more of a stabby-stabby one as my mom liked to say. But just this once I was going to make an exception. So when the doors of the escape pod opened and I saw relatives in numbers greater than our family gatherings usually attracted I let them draw me into one all the same.
Of course it didn't last long.
"Freya… what are you trying to…" I said, stepping back from the huddle of my relatives. I was no longer wearing my jacket and Freya was looking at me as though she was looking for… what? Bruises? Cigarette burns?
"Is that blood?" she said murderously seeing the red smear across my palm.
"It is. It's also not mine."
"Told you she put up a fight," said my uncle – a man who never called me anything other than that troublemaker – sounding curiously proud.
I didn't have the heart to tell him that I didn't get blood on me by breaking noses, but by helping disoriented Sith back to the med bay before he passed out from blood loss. I wasn't entirely sure that was a safe thing to admit to now that I was surrounded by rebels – even if most of them were family. Plus it was really hard to explain even to myself. Pretty much everything that happened aboard the Finalizer in the few very long hours since the destruction of Starkiller Base was a series of perfectly twilight zone moments.
"They didn't…?" said Freya uncertain how to even formulate that question.
"Torture me? No. Not physically, anyway," I said, making a face to let everyone this wasn't just me being brave. "I guess you've been imagining all kinds of worst case scenarios, huh? Truth is it wasn't that bad. I mean the food was terrible and those uniform are possibly the least comfortable pieces of clothing in the galaxy, but…"
"Wasn't that bad…?" repeated one of the resistance pilots standing outside of our family circle. I wasn't sure if he sounded amazed or doubting my sanity. Either way it seemed to be the appropriate reaction.
"I have high tolerance for evil," I shrugged. "I admit I was kind of losing it by the end… Might have been cabin fever. They didn't exactly take me out for walks."
At that grandma begun laughing and drew me into another hug. I let her. Maybe I even enjoyed it a little, though I wasn't going to admit it. We weren't that kind of family. We pretty much used up our year's quota of affection in the last two minutes.
"So what do we do now?" I said when she let me go.
"We go home," announced Freya in a very serious tone. And ruined it immediately by adding, "I mean not your home. That burned down. Oh, you know what I mean. We're off to the home base."
"I better change then. No way I'm arriving in the middle of a rebel camp dressed like a First Order… lieutenant…?" I guessed studying the sleeve on the jacket Freya handed back to me after she made sure I wasn't purple underneath it. "Or whatever these squiggles mean. I never understood where I fit in within their hierarchy anyway. They called me a civilian consultant sometimes, but that was just because it sounded better than captive."
"She seems to be dealing with it well," said the rebel pilot as he followed Freya to the cockpit.
"Yeah, that's kind of her thing," I heard Freya reply before she got out of hearing.
Smiling to myself I looked around to see if there was anyone feeling like another hug. Didn't look like it. "Clothes…?" I repeated since no one seemed to catch the previous hint. "Preferably something that's not monochromatic…"