I woke to a string of Droidspeak. As I struggled to open my crusty eyes, I realized I must have fallen asleep crying. I wiped my face with the back of my arm and blinked at my surroundings. The light of the day cycle filled the room. The BB droid watched me from the ground right beside the bed.
"So, you're back," I said, pushing myself to the edge of the mattress. I rested a hand on my strangely tender stomach. Is this normal?
9-E beeped a terse greeting, keeping his red eye steadily on me. He then let out a string of familiar beeps that indicated it was time for a meal.
I sputtered in surprise. "Dinnertime?"
9-E merely rolled out of the room with a mechanical hum, and I stood to my feet. The morning's events entered my mind almost immediately. Vegas' face appeared, and I shook my head to clear the image. I glanced at the communicator on the bedside table.
I need to talk to him about John.
In the refresher, I splashed some water on my face to clear the fog of unplanned sleep. The guilt of knowing that Vegas was sitting in a cramped, uncomfortable cell without proper medical attention ate at every centimeter of my mind. It made me feel sick. I buried my face in a towel for several long moments.
Will he listen to me?
I followed the droid out into the corridor like always. The young Stormtrooper, who had been a nice distraction from my mind-numbing routine, was gone. I moved some food around on my dinner plate until I eventually took it to the disposal.
Back in the room, I paced around my apartment. The droid chirped nervously as he followed me around. The more I wracked my brain for pretenses to contact him, the more anxious I became.
My first idea was to hurt myself and make it look like an accident. But the baby. Hurting the one thing keeping me alive was far from ideal. My second thought was to reswear the Oath of Obedience and pledge myself to the First Order again. Ren would never buy that act.
Finally, I gave up on making an elaborate plan. I sat on the bed with the communicator strapped to my wrist, watching the blue light flash at a steady pace. I recalled our second conversation and all the insecurities he had laid bare. All the sadness. All the pain. And then our third conversation—how tired he had been. How at ease he seemed to be in my presence. How vulnerable.
I pressed the button.
I squeezed my eyes shut when the com opened.
"This is Ren," he answered. I realized with a start that he'd answered without checking the frequency.
"This is..." Caltrel? Lucia? That one prisoner you like?
"Lucia," he finished for me in a deadpan tone. "What is it?"
"I, um..." My heart raced out of control as I waved my hand around, trying to conjure words to say. "I need to see you. Urgently."
"Why?"
"I just need to see you. That's all."
There was a long pause. "This is a bad time."
I let out a tense sigh. "I'm sorry, I just...I—I need to talk to you," I murmured, sticking to my story like hot glue.
After another pregnant pause, the com closed. I lowered my wrist slowly, feeling the suspense of the short exchange linger. There was no telling whether he would come or not. I removed the communicator with wooden movements.
Just in case, I tidied myself up in the fresher as the orange hue of sunset began to fill the room. My fingers detangled my hair until it fell nicely past my shoulders. I fussed with my baggy orange clothing until deciding it was a futile endeavor.
I then sat on the ground outside with the door to my cell fully in view. My anxiety eventually waned as the minutes dragged on. The bright orange of the room began to fade to a deep ruby red as the evening dragged on. Before long, the force field powered down and the door swooshed open.
Two Stormtroopers entered. Each wore a red plate on their shoulder, just like Vegas and me used to. "Prisoner," one said pointedly. "Follow us."
My head didn't begin spinning until we left the familiar hallways of my private area. The main corridors of Supremacy were wide and grand and much chillier than Finalizer's. My eyes darted over unfamiliar serial numbers as we passed through multiple sectors of the ship. Finally, we approached a small speed lift that was locked with a biometric reader.
The ride was painfully silent. I clasped my hands together nervously as we ascended dozens of levels. This ship is enormous. I made a mental note to look up the schematics on the database. Finally, the lift slowed to a stop and the doors opened.
The room was impossibly cold and large. So large that thick shadows obscured much of the perimeter. The rear wall was red, the same color as the Praetorian Guards who were standing watch in the shadows. When I felt something nudge my back, I realized I was frozen in place. Stepping off the lift, I glanced down at my own reflection on the polished black floor. At the far side of the room stood a towering throne—Snoke's throne.
Its occupant sat with his chin resting on a gloved fist, with no mask in sight.
I walked forward with a sinking feeling in my stomach. The throne seemed even bigger than it had in the holograms. As I neared it, Ren waved the Stormtroopers away. I stood before him alone, just close enough to make eye contact.
He gestured to one of the two benches flanking the massive throne. I climbed a series of shallow steps and took a seat. The coldness of the stone sank into me, and a shiver ran down my spine. I raised my head and looked up at him.
"What do you want?" he droned, his eyes fixed ahead.
I wet my lips anxiously. His icy demeanor was completely different from before. He was not the vulnerable and insecure man from my cell. He was a man who wielded great power. A kingslayer.
This is the Supreme Leader.
"There's..." When my voice shook, I breathed in a crisp lungful of air. "Something important I need to speak with you about."
He remained as still as stone, but his eyes went to the ground. "Then speak."
Feeling my nerves get the better of me, I cast my eyes across the room. The two Stormtroopers were now guarding the lift, blasters armed and ready. I counted six Praetorians, whom I had only seen in training vids, standing along the perimeter like ominous statues. Strangely, I got an uneasy feeling when I looked directly at them.
My eyes skitted back to Ren's face and saw his eyes, like glimmering coal in the darkness. I felt a pang of fear.
He silently studied my face. "Look at them," he said softly, lowering his hand.
My gaze knowingly returned to the statues.
"They respect me because they fear me. They follow because they fear me," he said. When I sensed him shifting, I looked up to find him leaning forward. "Do you fear me, Lucia?"
It took every ounce of my willpower just to maintain eye contact.
"Mm. You do," he murmured.
As my heart rate accelerated, my body confirmed it. His very presence was oppressive, like he was the predator and I was the prey. Sitting there, stupidly.
His idle gaze suddenly grew intense, and his voice echoed in my mind even as his lips remained still. But not as much as I fear you.
I turned away immediately, feeling the icy tendrils of his influence leaving my mind. I suddenly couldn't get enough air into my lungs. I can't take much more of this. "Ren, I'm..." I paused, disoriented. "I'm here to talk about John."
With a regretful hum, he withdrew to the same position as before. "Sergeant Vegas. What about him?"
I stared at the ground at his feet, unable to bring myself to look at him. The knot in my stomach felt like some invisible hand squeezing my abdomen. "He's being held under terrible conditions," I said with sudden bravado. "It's sick. It's inhumane."
"He's being treated very well," he countered. "I need not remind you that the First Order's punishment for treason is execution."
"E—Execution," I breathed. I wrapped my cold arms around me in an attempt to retain body heat that was no longer there. The image of Vegas' wounds still haunted me.
Ren's voice suddenly became gentle, almost whimsical. "What is his life worth to you?"
"A lot," I said immediately.
"What would you offer in exchange?"
My back straightened. "Anything," I said with determination, shaking my head. "Everything."
"I've heard you say that before, nomad girl."
My mind immediately went back to the firing squad, their blasters whirring to life as they aimed at the back of my head. The terror I felt that day rushed into my veins like liquid fire. Then the events of the following year played out in my mind, and I sought his gaze. Our eyes locked.
"I meant it then," I said calmly. "I mean it now."
Ren drew back slightly, and his hand came down to his lap. His face was an unreadable mask. "Then swear an oath," he said, his normal volume sounding like thunder. "To never forsake me again."
I nodded. "Alright."
"Say it," he pressed. "Verbatim."
Saying words to save Vegas' life seemed almost too easy. I drew in a much-needed breath. "I swear to never forsake you again."
His eyes stayed on my face for a long moment, flickering down to my lips. He then fully relaxed into his seat. "Then you have my word," he murmured. "Vegas lives."
A relieved sigh tumbled out of me. Then, I remembered. "And—"
"He will be moved," he confirmed.
He abruptly summoned the Troopers with a flick of his fingers. Taking that as my cue, I stood to my feet. Ren looked up at me with only his eyes, and I instinctually lowered myself down a couple of stairs so that we were at eye level.
"Thank you," I breathed.
The Stormtroopers stopped behind me and snapped a salute, their fists pounding their plastoid breastplates before jutting into the air. Ren's eyes remained fixed on me. When they wavered ever so slightly, I caught a glimpse of the war raging inside, visible to none but me.
Bowing my head, I gently placed a closed fist on my chest and said, "Supreme Leader."
A satisfied smirk played on his lips. "Go rest," was his final command.
