The Force Awakens (Star Wars) (4 page)

She nodded reluctantly in the droid’s direction. Immediately, it rolled up beside her. Together, they headed for her abode.

“In the morning,” she said firmly, “you go.” A responsive beep acknowledged her decision. “Fine, you’re welcome.” Another beeping, which made her laugh. “Yes, there’s a lot of sand here. Beebee-Ate? Okay. Hello, Beebee-Ate. My name is Rey. No, just Rey.” Still more
beeping, and her smile disappeared. “Look, you’re not going to talk all night, are you? Because that won’t work. You know how humans
recharge. We don’t plug in: We sleep.” A second acknowledging squeal. “Good. Keep that in mind and we’ll get along ’til morning.
Quietly
.”

A single beep left hanging in the dry desert air, they disappeared behind the dune.

T
HE HOLDING CELL
had no bars. They were not needed. There was nowhere aboard the ship for a prisoner to go. Even had there been, the single occupant was shackled tightly to his chair, unable to do more than turn his head. Poe knew he should have been flattered. They were taking no chances with him. But all he could think about was how he had failed his mission.

So sunk was he
in depression that he scarcely reacted when they beat him. Delivered with practiced skill, designed to hurt but not result in permanent damage, the blows fell intermittently, at different times of the day on different parts of his body. He did his best to shut out the pain, much as he succeeded in shutting out the questions. What he did not know was that they were merely a softening-up, an introduction
to his principal interrogator.

That formidable individual arrived in due course. Recognizing him from the attack on the village, Poe threw himself against his bonds in
a final, supreme effort to break free. Demanding the last of his strength, the failure left him completely exhausted. It was just as well, he consoled himself. Fighting against the figure now standing before him would be counterproductive
at best. Fighting and resistance, however, were two different things, and he resolved to focus what remained of his energy on the latter. Doubtless his inquisitor could sense his determination. Was the masked figure smiling? There was no way to tell.

While his interrogator’s greeting was far from challenging, the sarcasm underlying Kylo Ren’s words was plain enough.

“I had no idea we had
the best pilot in the Resistance on board. Revealing yourself through your futile attempt on my life was foolish. Revenge is little more than an adolescent concession to personal vanity. Even had you not been slow and ill-prepared, Tekka was already dead. Comfortable?”

Poe did his best to sound nonchalant. “Not really.” He gestured as best he could with a shackled hand. “The accommodations
leave something to be desired.”

“I regret the necessity. They are gratuitous in my presence. But those others who have made your acquaintance possess only the most primitive abilities, and further defiance on your part would demand their unnecessary exertions.” He bent toward the prisoner. “None of this unpleasantness need be necessary. We both wanted the same thing from the old man. Perhaps
he was more forthcoming with you than he was with me.”

Poe made a show of seriously considering the proposal before replying phlegmatically, “Might wanna rethink your technique. Hard to get cooperation from a dead man.”

Ren stood back, looming over the prisoner. “A truism on which you might personally wish to reflect. It is pathetic, though. Is it not? You and I, both in pursuit of a ghost.”
His tone darkened. “Where did you put it?”

Poe stared up at him innocently. “Where did I put what?”

“Please. All time is transitory, and mine especially so. This will go more quickly and less awkwardly if we dispense with childish nonsense.”

Poe readied himself. “The Resistance will not be intimidated by you.”

“As you wish, then. There is no ‘Resistance’ in this room. Only the
pilot Poe Dameron. And I.”

A hand extended toward the shackled prisoner. Silent agony followed soon after.

“Tell me,” Ren murmured. “Tell me.”

General Hux was waiting for him. As expected, the interrogation had not taken long. The senior officer did not have to ask if it had been successful. No matter how determined the prisoner, no matter his or her individual resolve, Ren’s
questioning invariably produced the same results.

The metal-covered face regarded the general, the voice that emanated from behind it dispassionate. “The pilot does not have it. The map to Skywalker’s location is in a droid. An ordinary BB unit.”

Hux was plainly pleased, though that meant nothing to Ren.

“That makes it easy, then. The directions are in a droid, and the droid is still
on the planet.”

“Even a single planet offers innumerable places for concealment,” Ren pointed out.

Hux did not dispute this. “True enough, but the world below us is primitive. A simple droid will gravitate toward support facilities for its kind. Of these, Jakku has few enough.” He turned away, planning. “With any luck we may not even have to search for it ourselves.”

Even to
a droid, Niima Outpost was unimpressive. BB-8 took it all in, recording every visual in detail for possible future reference. Nothing the droid saw was encouraging.

Having unloaded him from her speeder, Rey once more hefted the satchel that bulged from a new day’s scavenging. Eying the indecisive droid, she nodded toward one part of town.

“There’s a trader in Bay Three name of Horvins.
Don’t be put off by
his appearance—he’s actually a pretty decent sort. Might be willing to give you a lift, wherever you’re going. So…” She paused a moment, considering, and then shrugged. “Good-bye.”

She had only taken a few steps when a series of beeps caused her to look back and laugh. “Oh, really? Now you can’t leave? I thought you had somewhere special to be.”

Plaintive and anxious,
the electronic response was nothing like what she expected. Retracing her steps, she knelt to stare into the droid’s dark eye.

“Don’t give up. He still might show up. Whoever it is. Classified. Believe me, I know all about waiting.”

The droid beeped questioningly.

“For my family. They’ll be back. One day.” She tried to smile and failed miserably.

BB-8 moved as close to her as protocol
permitted and beeped softly. It caused her to rise suddenly, plainly annoyed by the query.

“
What?
No! I’m not
crying
.” This time when she started off she did not look back.

She didn’t have to. Ignoring her admonitions, the droid tagged along, beeping continuously, irritating her with distressing consistency.

“I was not!” she continued to insist. “Just because a little water flows from
a human eye doesn’t mean it’s crying. Check your info dump.” She rubbed at the eye in question. “Nothing but a piece of grit. This whole world is nothing but a big piece of grit.” The droid’s comment on this left her not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

“No, Beebee-Ate. I don’t have a world in my eye.”

But her eyes continued to water as she made her way deeper into town, and she gave up
trying to persuade the droid to leave her alone.

Maybe one day things will change
, she told herself absently as she waited her turn in the line. Like the hot, dry desert wind, reality cut in as she stepped up to the front and unloaded her goods. She hid the wave of revulsion that swept through her. Maybe one day, before the universe died, Unkar Plutt would take a bath.

The merchant made
his usual show of inspecting her salvage, but
his attention was actually on the rotund droid that had parked itself behind her and slightly to one side.

“Two interlifts. I’ll give you one quarter portion. For the pair.”

She reacted immediately. “Last week they were a half portion each, and you said you were looking for more.” She indicated the two devices. “Here’s two of ’em.”

Plutt’s
flesh rippled. “Conditions have changed.” He hefted one of the components and squinted at it. “Besides, this one is missing a membrane. I don’t like paying for incomplete equipment.” Before she could object further, he leaned forward. “But what about the droid?”

“What about him?” she asked guardedly.

“Is he with you?” Plutt smiled. Which, if anything, was worse than his usual expression
of indifference. “I’ll pay for him. He looks functional.”

Behind her, BB-8 began to beep apprehensively. Rey ignored him, intrigued.

“He might be.”

“Why then didn’t you offer him up together with the interlifters?” Plutt was drooling. Normally that was a cue for her to flee while she still had control of her stomach. This time she ignored the bile.

“As you say, he’s functional.”
She spoke with studied indifference. “I can always use a functioning droid around the house.”

Plutt begged to differ. “This one? Of what use could it be to someone like yourself? It has no service limbs.”

“Maybe I enjoy the company. You said you’d pay. How much?”

His pleasure apparent, Plutt could not contain himself. “Sixty portions.”

Somehow she managed to restrain her reaction
to a single muscular twitch. Sixty portions would feed her for…for…for a very long time. Time enough to do other work that had been long neglected. Time enough to relax and rest her bones. Time enough for—
leisure
was a word that had long ago been dropped from her vocabulary.

Beeping furiously, BB-8 nudged her from behind. The droid had been following the conversation from the beginning and
was not liking the turn it had taken, not at all.

“Quiet,” she muttered.

Either the droid didn’t understand or else he was willfully ignoring her instructions. Having little patience with obstreperous mechanisms, she reached over and thumbed a sequence on his head. Immediately, that portion of the droid slid sideways until it made contact with the ground. No further beeps issued from its
speaker. Artificial consciousness was absent now, and it was just a quiescent piece of machinery, a spherical piece of junk.

But apparently one that held some value, she told herself. How much value? Before agreeing to anything, it behooved her to find out.

“One hundred portions.”

Plutt was patently surprised by the counterdemand, and just as obviously unhappy. Not that he was a stranger
to argument. Scavengers wouldn’t be scavengers if they didn’t frequently dispute the value of their finds. It was just that he had not expected it from this one, especially considering what he had already offered. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered right now except gaining possession of the droid. So he smiled anew.

“Your audacity always has exceeded your size, Rey. I’ve always admired that
about you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m wonderful. Do we have a deal or not?” She stayed expressionless.

“How can I resist the force of your personality?” he replied in mock alarm. “One hundred it is.” Atop his battered throne, he turned. “As you can imagine, it will take me a moment to assemble your payment. Please be patient.”

Rey could hardly believe it. He’d accepted the counteroffer! She
had only made it to see the expression on his face, never dreaming he would readily accede. A hundred full portions! Eagerly, she opened her satchel in preparation for receiving the expected bounty. This was one heavy load she was not going to mind toting. Her elation extended as far as making small talk with the detested Plutt.

“What are you going to do with the droid? He travels well, but
as you pointed out, he doesn’t have any service limbs.”

“Oh, I’m not going to keep him for myself.” Plutt spoke absently as
he continued to stack full nutrition portions beside his seat. “Certain parties have been asking around about a droid like that. None of my business what they want it for. Smart traders don’t delve deeply into their customers’ motivations.” He glanced over at her. “If
I find out, I’ll do you the courtesy of letting you know. Meanwhile, I’d like to think this exchange’ll be good for both of us. That’s the best kind of business, after all.” As he started placing packets into the transfer drawer, she moved to take them.

“That’s my girl.” His tone oozed something more than false possessiveness. There was an eagerness in his voice that was something new even
for Unkar Plutt. An eagerness that all but translated into triumph.

It took a real effort for her to let go of the first pile of food packets and draw her hand back. She glanced down at the inert droid, thinking hard. At last she looked back at the merchant.

“Actually—the droid’s not for sale. I made a mistake.” Willing herself to do so, she shoved the brace of food packets to the back
of the transfer drawer.

Plutt was beside himself, any thought of restraint gone. As his voice rose, other scavengers in the room looked up from their work. Even for the irritable merchant, the outburst was exceptional.

“Sweetheart,” he bellowed, his tone belying his choice of words, “we already had a deal!”

Grinning tightly, she echoed his earlier observation. “Conditions have changed.”
Reaching down, she reactivated the droid. BB-8’s head immediately swung up into its natural dorsal position. Had the droid possessed eyelids, it would have blinked.

“Conditions have…” Plutt looked like was he going to explode. “You think you can be snide with me, girl? You think you can play games here? Who do you think you are?”

She drew herself up with as much pride as she could muster.
“I am an independent operator, scavenger of the metal lands, free of debt and beholden to no one. Least of all to a small-time trader named Plutt.”

“You are…you are…” The merchant tried to control himself. “You have nothing. You
are
nothing!”

“On the contrary,” she shot back, “I just told you who I am. As to what I have, that would be my freedom and my pride.” Murmurs of assent rose from
behind her, from the vicinity of the worktables. She had said aloud what her colleagues and compatriots, regardless of species, all wanted to say but dared not. At least not to Plutt’s ugly face.

All pretense of deference gone, Rey took a step toward the chair and shot the merchant behind it so steely a glance that he visibly flinched. BB-8 reacted with a beep of admiration. Resisting the
urge to give the sphere a reassuring pat, Rey concluded the day’s dealings with Unkar Plutt.

“The droid is not for sale.”

With that she turned and headed toward the big tent’s exit, the excitedly beeping droid pacing her effortlessly.

Plutt watched her go. He was starting to calm down, his mind working systematically. The confrontation had almost escalated beyond repair. Such loss
of control was not like him. In the course of negotiations he would often shout, yell, occasionally pound the service shelf in front of him. But all the time, he was calculating. It was all about the business, all about the profit. Never personal. Not even now, when it involved the lovely but disrespectful Rey. That was something of a pity, he mused as he picked up a communicator.