The Force Awakens (Star Wars) (13 page)

In the cockpit, Han was hitting one control after another, bringing the
Falcon
back on line. With each green
telltale that lit up, a little of his own life did, too. He was startled when Rey arrived and, without waiting for an invitation, settled down in Chewbacca’s seat.

“Hey, what are you doing?” He gestured back in the direction of the lounge. “Passengers back there.”

Sliding her fingers over console controls, she spoke while barely glancing in his direction. “Unkar—the guy who last had your
ship—installed a fuel pump, too. If we don’t prime it, we’re not going anywhere.” She looked across at him sympathetically.

“I hate that guy,” Han muttered. “I don’t even know him and I hate him.”

“No need.” Rey continued to bring instrumentation to life on her side of the cockpit. “I’ll hate him on your behalf. Meanwhile, you could use a copilot.”

Han frowned at her. “I got one. He’s
back there.” Raising his voice, he yelled toward the lounge.
“Right? I’ve got a copilot?”
A bellow of pain greeted his query.

“C’mon, Chewie: It’s just a flesh wound!”
Han heard Finn say. This observation prompted further bellowing, considerably more stressed, and carrying with it overtones of something approaching annoyance.

“Fine!”
Han shouted back.
“Be that way!”
Han’s hands flew over
the controls. “Fuel pump’s primed. Watch thrust from your end: We’re gonna jump to lightspeed.”

She knew a lot about ships, all kinds of ships. But in all her studies she had never come across the maneuver he had just proposed.

“From
inside
the hangar? Is that even possible?”

He was wholly at one with the
Falcon
now, focused intently on the instrumentation. “I never answer that question
until after I’ve done it.”

Further discussion regarding the viability of making the jump from stationary position to post-lightspeed was interrupted by something enormous, ravenous, and bilious landing on top of the ship. Heavy thumping penetrated the cockpit, indicating that something was moving in its direction. This was confirmed a moment later by Rey’s scream in response to the appearance
of a giant radial mouth that all but covered the forward port. The tooth-filled mouth belonged to a rathtar, which, perceiving the presence of living non-rathtars inside the craft, was chewing its damnedest to get at them. Designed to protect against high-velocity meteoric impacts, the port suffered no immediate damage. Rathtars were notably persistent, however, and frustration only led them to
redouble their efforts. Like the rest of them, their mouthparts were exceptionally robust. Design or not, Han had no intention of waiting around long enough to see whether the material of which the port was composed was tougher than rathtar dentition.

“This is
not
how I thought this day would go,” he muttered. “Shields up, and angle ’em.”

Rey worked the controls. “Got it.” She glanced
over at him. “Pretty muscular shields for a Corellian freighter.”

“The Corellians build ’em the way I like ’em.” Under his skillful hands, more instrumentation and equipment came on line. “Of course, I have had a little tweaking done here and there. You may not believe it, but there are some people out there who don’t like me.”

“Hard to imagine,” she murmured.

Seeing that the
Falcon
was powering up, a quartet of gang members took a chance in emerging from cover to fire at the ship. Though their shots were handled by the
Falcon
’s shields, the detonations resonated within.

As far as Han could tell, everything was in readiness. There was nothing more to do but try it. He yelled in the direction of the medbay. “Hang on back there! We’re leaving—in a hurry!”

Having dealt
with the basics of Chewbacca’s injury, Finn was rummaging through the depths of the medkit he’d found in search of something stronger than a primary painkiller.

“No problem!” he called back, fully aware that, based on the preceding events of the day, there was likely to be one. So while expecting nothing less, he kept searching for something to mitigate Chewbacca’s distress even as the ship’s
shields absorbed additional blasts from the Guavians’ weapons.

“Come on, baby,” Han was murmuring, “don’t let me down.” He pulled on the main hyperdrive control.

Nothing.

“What?”

Reaching across to his side of the console, Rey calmly activated a control he had not touched and spoke matter-of-factly. “Compressor.”

He glared at her, but only for a moment. As he pulled slowly
back on the drive control for the second time, he half smiled at her.

An enormous, overpowering
thunder
filled the cargo hangar as the
Falcon
’s engines came to life. In deciding to rush the ship, the surviving gang members had chosen an unfortunate angle that put them directly behind the engines. When these came on, the Guavians disappeared. So did the corridor behind them, and the walls surrounding
it, and a good deal more. In all, a respectable quantity of
metal, plasticene, and ceramic alloy, comprising a modest chunk of the big freighter, vanished in the energetic backwash of the
Falcon
’s swift departure. As for the rathtar, it fell apart as the
Falcon
jumped through it, leaving tell-tale smears behind.

In another part of the vessel, safely sealed off behind the blast doors that slammed
shut immediately following the breach of hull integrity caused by the
Falcon
’s unorthodox departure, a battered and infuriated Bala-Tik took time out from bemoaning the loss of his men and equipment to activate a deep-space contact via the freighter’s still-functional communications system. Caught in the
Falcon
’s explosive departure, his own vessel was in no condition to pursue. Neither was that
belonging to the Kanjiklub. But…others might be. If he couldn’t collect what Solo owed him, there remained the possibility of a reward for information.

Contact established, he spoke into the pickup. “My name is Bala-Tik. I am a Guavian trader. My personal history is available for general assessment by any who care to research it. My reputation is verifiable. I am letting it be known that the
individual Han Solo is likely in possession of the droid that is the subject of a search by the First Order. And that it and Solo together with an unknown number of allies are presently aboard the vessel known as the
Millennium Falcon:
destination unknown. I hereby lay claim to any reward that has been established for information leading to recovery of said droid by the First Order.”

He closed
the contact. It was out there now: what he knew, and his claim. He could do no more. And until he could either get his own vessel up and running or pay for someone to come out to this hulk of a freighter and pick him up, he was stuck here.

With, he reminded himself uneasily as the sound of a distant banging and tearing of metal reached him, an unknown number of surviving rathtars.

T
HE INFORMATION ARRIVED
at the Resistance base on D’Qar coded and encrypted. Ordinary transmissions were simply ported directly to the relevant parties. Those intended for general distribution were not even encoded. But when something of specific importance intended for a highly restricted audience came in, it loaded at only one location. Sometimes something as simple as mere physical
separation provided the best security.

Lieutenant Brance saw the telltale come to life on his workstation. It took scarcely a second for it to flip from red to yellow and then to green as the transmission was received, decrypted, and reduced to a comprehensible hard copy. Pulling it, he scanned the message. His eyes widened.

Leaving the station, he took off on foot, down one tunnel, into
another corridor, ignoring everyone else as he searched for the message’s recipient. This time of day he was confident he knew where to
find her. The passages through which he ran were crammed with all manner of equipment: Sometimes carefully installed, other times slapped together in haste, it was nonetheless all functional. Despite the crowding, Brance knew there was not nearly enough of it.
There was never enough. The indigenous growths that pushed their way into the tunnels were only a reflection of the camouflaging forest above the base. Mindless and unthinking though it might be, the native plant life was in its own way an active participant in the Resistance.

He found the general where he expected her to be, conversing quietly with Captain Snap Wexley and an attendant droid.
Leia Organa wore a dark vest over a simple blue-gray jumpsuit that was devoid of any indication of rank. Folded sleeves halted at mid-forearm. The color of her boots matched her vest, and a belt of some dark material was threaded neatly through a silvery buckle. Save for a single longer braid, General Organa’s gray hair was bound up in a ring that outlined her head. Despite her lack of uniform,
no one would mistake the petite woman for anything but what she was: a princess and a general.

All three looked up at his arrival and he passed her the hard copy. He knew that if the general wished to keep the information restricted, she would have said so the instant he had handed it over and would have already dismissed Wexley.

After giving her a moment to scan the content, Brance said,
“General, as you can see from the details in this recent transmission, the community on Jakku was wiped out. First Order stormtroopers.” Brance glanced at Wexley. “Lor San Tekka was killed.”

She did not respond, but instead continued to study the readout. There was additional information: time of the attack, duration, number of assailants, descriptions of the weaponry they had employed—all
of it incidental to the sobering consequences. The tactics team would break down the details and note anything useful.

What really mattered was what
wasn’t
there.

“If they get to Luke first, we don’t have a chance,” she murmured.
A new thought forced her to ask, “Anything else? Anything I’m not seeing here? What about Poe Dameron?”

“They found his X-wing destroyed. Angle and depth
of the blaster marks suggest it was blown up while still on the ground. Definitely First Order: The locals don’t have access to that kind of weaponry.” His expression tightened. “There’s no indication he survived. It looks like we’ve lost him.”

Leia’s expression tightened. If they continued to lose fighters like Dameron, the Resistance would have no hope against the First Order. She forced
herself to continue reading through the other half of the detailed report. “There’s no mention of Beebee-Ate.”

Brance nodded at the readout again. “No, General. He wasn’t recovered. Our people on Jakku who prepared the report say that he likely perished along with the X-wing.”

She looked up. “Never underestimate a droid, Lieutenant.” She looked to her right. “While some of them are specialized
to an extreme degree—say, in linguistic capabilities—others may converse in simple mechanical languages but possess hidden skills. Beebee-Ate is such an example. In the absence of identifiable remains, we may retain hope.” She fixed him with a gaze that had withered the less resilient. “Or are you ready to give up now?”

“No, ma’am,” he said zealously.

General Organa turned to the droid
in attendance. In sharp contrast to one arm that was a dull red, the bipedal machine’s reflective golden torso gleamed from a recent cleaning.

“See-Threepio, you’ve heard the information from Jakku. Locate Beebee-Ate immediately— you know what to do.”

Nodding slightly and gesturing with the red arm, the protocol droid responded without hesitation. “Yes, General! Of course! The tracking
system. Oh dear, this is a calamity!”

In another room, Korr Sella, Leia’s personal envoy, awaited the general’s arrival. The young woman wore her hair back in a severe bun
and her dark green uniform contrasted notably with the general’s more subdued attire, as did the badge that identified her as a commander. As usual, Leia did not waste time on small talk.

“You need to go to the
Senate right away. Tell them I insist that they take action against the First Order. The longer they bicker and delay, the stronger the Order becomes.” She leaned toward the other woman. “If they fail to take action soon, the Order will have grown so strong the Senate will be unable to do anything. It won’t matter what they think.”

Sella indicated her understanding. “With all respect: Do you
think the senators will listen?”

“I don’t know.” Leia bit down on her lower lip. “So much time has passed. There was a time when they were at least
willing
to listen. And of course, the Senate’s makeup has changed. Some of those who were always willing to pay attention to me have retired. Some of those who have replaced them have their own agendas.” She smiled ruefully. “Not all senators think
I’m crazy. Or maybe they do. I don’t care what they think about me as long as they take action.”

The emissary nodded. “I’ll do all I can to ensure the Resistance gets the hearing we deserve. But why don’t you go yourself, General? An appeal of this nature is always more effective when delivered firsthand.”

Leia’s smile thinned. “I might make it to the Senate, yes. I might even be able
to deliver my speech. But I would never, never get out of the Hosnian system alive. I would have a terrible ‘accident,’ or become the victim of some ‘deranged’ radical. Or I would eat something that didn’t agree with me. Or encounter someone who didn’t agree with me.” She composed herself. “I have total confidence in you, Sella. I know you will deliver our message to the full extent of your considerable
abilities.”

The emissary smiled back, grateful for the confidence the general was expressing.

In a little-used conference room, C-3PO leaned into the shadows to murmur anxiously.

“I’ve never needed your help more than now—Artoo.”

The squat droid he was addressing sat quietly in minimum maintenance mode, without so much as a single telltale blinking.

“How can I have committed
such a devastating oversight?” the protocol droid continued. “When we sent Beebee-Ate off, it was my responsibility to perform his final checkout. Which I did, in most excellent and approved fashion. Except—except…” If a droid could have fallen to wailing, C-3PO would have done so on the spot. “I forgot to activate his long-range tracking mode! I must have assumed he would always be in the
presence of that pilot and that therefore there would be no need. I deserve to have my memory wiped. Oh, Artoo, what am I to do? I wish you’d finally wake up, I need you now.”

Only an occasional beep sounded from the smaller droid, indicative of his present dormancy.

“What
would
your advice be? No doubt you’d have an opinion about sending a general alert to all our associate droids, in
the hope that one of
them
might encounter Beebee-Ate or his ident signal.” Two hands, one gold and one red, rose slightly in realization. “Why, that’s brilliant! I will do just that. Artoo, you’re a genius!”

Pivoting, he rushed off to implement the concept, leaving behind a very quiet droid.

The fleet of Star Destroyers stood off the white world. Spectacular and isolated, with a
mean surface temperature varying from merely cold to permanently arctic, the planet had been altered: its mountains tunneled into, its glaciers hacked, and its valleys modified until it no longer resembled its original naturally eroded form. Those who had remade it had renamed it.

Starkiller Base.

Hollowed out of one snow-covered mountain was a central control facility. At its heart was
a great assembly chamber that held hundreds of workstations and their attendant seats. At present, it was
occupied by only three figures. One was Kylo Ren. The second was General Hux, who wore his particular mask internally.

Seated on the raised platform that was the focus of the chamber was the blue-tinted holo of Supreme Leader Snoke. Tall and gaunt, he was humanoid but not human. The hood
of the dark robe he wore was down, leaving visible a pink, pale face so aged it verged on translucence. Poorly reconstructed, the broken nose added to the asymmetry of the damaged visage. So did the position of the left eye, which was situated lower than the right. Beneath wispy gray eyebrows, they were a startling cobalt blue. Long since healed over, old cuts and wounds marred the chin and forehead,
the latter scar being particularly noteworthy.

Seated in shadow, the tall, slender form loomed over the other two men. Other than the face, only long, spindly fingers showed from beneath the dark robe. “The droid will soon be in the hands of the Resistance,” Snoke declaimed, his voice deep, soothing, and very much that of someone in complete control, “giving the enemy the means to locate Skywalker
and bring to their cause a most powerful ally. If Skywalker returns, the new Jedi will rise.”

Ren sat impassive, neither commenting nor visibly betraying his thoughts.

Hux dipped his head by way of apology and took a step toward the dais. “Supreme Leader, I take full responsibility for th—”

Snoke cut him off. “Your apologies are not a strategy, General. We are
here
now
. It is what
happens next that matters.”

Aware that he had just been spared an unknown but certainly unpleasant fate, the redheaded officer spoke up immediately. “I do have a proposition. The weapon. We have it. It is ready. I believe the time has come to use it.”

“Against?”

“The Republic. Or what its fractious proponents choose to call the Republic. Their center of government, its entire system.
In the chaos that will follow, the Resistance will have no choice but to investigate
an attack of such devastating scale. They will throw all their resources into trying to discover its source. So they have no choice but to investigate fully, and in so doing…”

“Reveal themselves.” Snoke was clearly pleased.

“And if they don’t…we’ve destroyed them.”

“Yes,” Snoke said in satisfaction.
“Extreme. Audacious. I agree that the time for such measures has come. Go. Oversee the necessary preparations.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader.” Bowing stiffly, Hux turned and exited the chamber. He took long strides, walking briskly, clearly pleased with himself.

Snoke and Ren silently watched the general go.

When next Snoke spoke there was an intimacy in his voice, a familiarity that stood
in sharp contrast to the commanding tone he had used with Hux.

“I have never had a student with such promise—before you.”

Ren straightened. “It is your teachings that make me strong, Supreme Leader.”

Snoke demurred. “It is far more than that. It is where you are from. What you are made of. The dark side—and the light. The finest sculptor cannot fashion a masterpiece from poor materials.
He must have something pure, something strong, something unbreakable, with which to work. I have—you.” He paused, reminiscing.

“Kylo Ren, I watched the Galactic Empire rise, and then fall. The gullible prattle on about the triumph of truth and justice, of individualism and free will. As if such things were solid and real instead of simple subjective judgments. The historians have it all wrong.
It was neither poor strategy nor arrogance that brought down the Empire. You know too well what did.”

Ren nodded once. “Sentiment.”

“Yes. Such a simple thing. Such a foolish error of judgment. A momentary lapse in an otherwise exemplary life. Had Lord Vader not succumbed to emotion at the crucial moment—had the father killed the son—the Empire would have prevailed. And there would be no
threat of Skywalker’s return today.”

“I am immune to the light,” Ren assured him confidently. “By the grace of your training, I will not be seduced.”

“Your self-belief is commendable, Kylo Ren, but do not let it blind you. No one knows the limits of his own power until it has been tested to the utmost, as yours has not been. That day may yet come. There has been an awakening in the Force.
Have you felt it?”

Ren nodded. “Yes.”

“The elements align, Kylo Ren. You alone are caught in the winds of the storm. Your bond is not just to Vader, but to Skywalker himself. Leia…”

“There is no need for concern.” Despite the Supreme Leader’s cautioning, Ren’s assurance remained unbounded. “Together we will destroy the Resistance—and the last Jedi.”

“Perhaps,” Snoke conceded. “It
has come to our notice that the droid we seek is aboard the
Millennium Falcon
, once again in the hands of your father, Han Solo. Even you, master of the Knights of Ren, have never faced such a test.”

Ren considered his reply carefully. “It does not matter. He means nothing to me. My allegiance is with you. No one will stand in our way.”

Snoke nodded. “We shall see. We shall see.”

It was a dismissal. Turning, wholly preoccupied now, Ren followed General Hux in exiting the vast chamber. When he was gone, a grotesque smile twisted across Snoke’s countenance. Then it vanished—along with the rest of the holo of the Supreme Leader.