The Force Awakens (Star Wars)

by Alan Dean Foster

  She was alone.

  Something squealed that was not shifting sand.

  Rising quickly, she removed the helmet. The sound could not have come from within its long-dead electronics. Even as she inspected the headpiece, the noise was repeated. A hysterical, panicked beeping. Whirling, she ran back into the dwelling and emerged a moment later clutching her staff. The beeping was sounding continuously now, no less frantic for its frequency.

  Reaching the top of a nearby dune, she found herself gazing down at a sight as curious as it was unexpected. Trapped in a net of local organic material, a small spherical droid was attempting to escape its prison, an effort rendered extremely difficult by the fearful mechanical’s total absence of limbs. Mounted atop a squat, four-footed, square-helmeted luggabeast, a native Teedo was struggling to constrain and reel in the legless but overactive and insubordinate droid.

  When uncertain as to anything taking place on Jakku, Rey knew, it was always reasonable to assume that something untoward was happening. At least until she understood the particulars of the confrontation she was witnessing, it was only right to call it to a momentary halt.

  “Tal’ama parqual!”

  Motion ceased as both the Teedo and BB-8 stopped wrestling and turned to peer up at her.

  “Parqual! Zatana tappan-aboo!”

  Making an effort to simultaneously control both its heavy-headed mount and its captive, the Teedo yelled back through the mouthpiece of the goggle-eyed helmet that covered its reptilian cranium. Its attitude was decidedly unconciliatory, even threatening. Meanwhile the hovering head of the imprisoned droid swiveled rapidly back and forth, trying to watch both Teedo and human simultaneously.

  Rey immediately took offense, not only at the Teedo’s tone, but at its speech, which far exceeded the bounds of common courtesy that existed between fellow desert-dwellers and made difficult coexistence possible. The luggabeast rider knew better, and its intemperate words were enough to decide her on a course of action. Descending the far side of the dune, she drew her knife and began hacking at the netting.

  “Namago!” she growled. “Ta bana contoqual!”

  Observing that it was on the verge of losing its prize, the Teedo unleashed a stream of indigenous invective. None of it had the slightest effect on Rey, who continued cutting away at the mesh until the native promulgated a slur that would have been vile in any language. Pausing in her work, she turned to face the tightly clothed creature, gesturing with her knife and fairly spitting a reply.

  “Noma. Ano tamata, zatana.”

  Long and drawn out, the Teedo’s response to this would have been unprintable on any of a hundred civilized worlds. Turning the metal-enclosed head of its mount, the unpleasant scavenger departed in the opposite direction. As soon as the native was a safe distance away, BB-8 rolled clear of the netting and began beeping loudly and challengingly in its direction.

  “Shhh,” Rey hastened to quiet the droid. “Don’t tempt it. Enough insults can override anyone’s common sense, even a Teedo’s.” BB-8 instantly went silent. Together, the two of them tracked the luggabeast until it and its rider had vanished from view.

  An electronic query drew her attention. Rey knelt down beside the questioning droid.

  “He’s just a Teedo. A local. Not so unlike me, really.” Her expression twisted. “Except this one was particularly impolite. Wanted you for parts.” Leaning forward slightly, she studied the top of the droid’s head. “Your antenna’s bent.” As she examined the scored markings on her softly beeping new acquaintance, her interest continued to deepen. “Where’d you come from?”

  The droid beeped a reply. Pursing her lips, Rey shook her head.

  “I don’t know what that means.” A string of beeps followed. This time, she smiled. “Oh. Classified. Really? Well, me too. Big secret.” Rising, she started back toward her dwelling. “I’ll keep mine and you can keep yours.” Raising an arm, she gestured. “Niima Outpost is that way. Stay off Kelvin Ridge. Keep away from the Sinking Fields up north or you’ll drown in the sand. Otherwise you should be okay. The closer you get to Niima, the less likely you are to run into a marauding Teedo.”

  Beeping softly, the droid started to follow, halting only when she turned on it sharply.

  “Don’t follow me. You can’t come with me. I don’t want anyone with me. You understand?” More beeping, distinctly anxious this time. She grew angry. “No! And don’t ask me again. I’m not your friend. I don’t have any friends. This is Jakku. Nobody has friends here. Just fellow survivors.” Turning once more, she moved off with longer strides.

  The beeping that sounded now was laced with unmistakable desperation, poignant enough to make her stop. Turning once more, she looked back at the imploring droid. She didn’t like it—him. Her fondness for most machinery extended to its trade equivalent in food. But she found herself feeling sorry for this small, helpless droid. At least, she told herself, this one seemed harmless enough. And notwithstanding her warning, there was no guarantee that the Teedo might not come back.

  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.

  III

  THE 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 de
al 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.