The Force Awakens (Star Wars)

by Alan Dean Foster

  Poe’s droid.

  As the girl spoke to it reassuringly, it shook itself, turned its head, and saw Finn. Whereupon it twitched to one side and began beeping like someone had pulled its rationality chip. This cybernetic disputation did not unsettle Finn half as much as the expression that came over the girl’s face. She ought to have been pleased by his attempt to offer assistance. Instead, he sensed as well as saw nothing but rising hostility.

  “Hey, what’s wrong? I just came over to help. Not that you needed my help.” He indicated the pair of insensible thugs. “That doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t have…”

  Wordlessly raising the staff she carried, she came at him.

  He dodged, barely, and began to run, trying to find a path through the marketplace, wondering what he had done to set her off, and more than a little bewildered at the turn of events. All he had done was move to render aid. Then the droid had seen him, had said something to upset her, and now he was running. Again.

  As he bumped into displays and knocked over goods, he drew the ire of one merchant after another. His flight finally came to an end when, after turning several corners and thinking himself in the clear, he ran into the end of that staff. It collapsed him to the ground. Not that it took much of a blow to bring him down. He was completely drained from his trek through the desert.

  Lying on his back, out of breath, and not much caring if he passed out, he looked up at her. She held the staff over him, ready to strike again if necessary.

  “What’s your hurry, thief?”

  Blissful unconsciousness would have to wait, so shocked was he by the unexpected accusation. “What… ?” Before he could elaborate, BB-8 rolled up fast alongside him, extended a telescoping arm, and transmitted a sizable electric shock. It was powerful enough to sit Finn bolt upright.

  “Ow! Hey, what…don’t do that, woman!” He looked up at the girl.

  “Stay down or I’ll have to hit you again. The jacket!” She prodded him with the business end of her staff. “This droid says you stole it!”

  Badly in need of food and clean water, Finn was forced to settle for taking a deep breath. “Listen, I don’t want to fight with you. I’ve already had a pretty messed-up day. So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t accuse me of being a th—Ow!” He glared at the droid, who had zapped him a second time. “Stop it!”

  “Okay then.” Rey was both unimpressed and unwilling to give the traveler the benefit of the doubt. “Prove it. If you didn’t steal it, how’d you get it?” She gestured at BB-8. “It belongs to his master.”

  It took Finn a long moment to process what he was hearing. As he did so, he found it meshed perfectly with what he was seeing. The girl, the agitated droid, the jacket he was wearing…They deserved an explanation. He considered embroidering the news, or somehow softening it. In the end he made a hard decision: to tell the truth. He stared evenly at the distressed droid, then up at the unyielding girl.

  “His master’s dead.”

  By their reaction, it was plain that neither the droid nor girl had expected quite so blunt a response. Nor one so definitive. When Rey lowered the tip of her staff, Finn continued.

  “His name was Poe Dameron.” He focused his attention on BB-8. “Right?” Not a single argumentative beep came from the now-silent droid. “He was captured by the First Order. I helped him escape.” Finn spoke dispassionately, evenly. “Broke him out of his holding cell. Together we stole a TIE fighter, did some damage to the Order.”

  He gestured at BB-8. “We couldn’t flee outsystem, he said, because he insisted he had to find you.” A soft, almost mournful beep issued from the droid. “We got shot down, crashed. I ejected safely. I know Poe didn’t, because I found his jacket still inside the fighter. I tried to help him, but I couldn’t get to him. This rotten sand sucked the ship right down. Would’ve taken me with it if I hadn’t scrambled clear. I tried to help him. I’m sorry…”

  The only difference in depression between an organic and a droid is the lack of flexible expression on the part of the latter. Saddened, moving slowly, BB-8 rolled off to one side. Rey watched the little droid go, then turned her attention back to Finn. Her hostility had given way to subdued admiration.

  “You escaped a First Order ship and stole a TIE fighter?”

  Finn nodded vigorously. “A Special Forces fighter. Poe was a pilot. I handled the gunnery.”

  She studied him more intently. “So—you’re with the Resistance?”

  Taking into account the way she gripped that lethal staff and how her dark brown eyes were burning into him, it was easy enough to know how to reply: This time he lied.

  “Obviously,” he told her, drawing himself up. “I’m with the Resistance, yes. I am. I’m with the Resistance. Who else would have helped a Resistance pilot escape the First Order except another member of the Resistance? I’m surprised you have to ask.”

  She relaxed, leaning lightly on the staff. “Most visitors to this part of Jakku are traders and troublemakers. I’ve never met a Resistance fighter before.”

  It was difficult to strut in place, but Finn managed it. “Well, this is what we look like. Some of us. Others look different. Now that you have met one, what’s your opinion?”

  Rey pursed her lips. “You may be great behind the guns of a TIE fighter, but your hand-to-hand skills need a lot of work.”

  He slumped slightly. “I’m out of practice.”

  Though she thought that strange, she let it pass and gestured in the direction of the mourning droid. “Beebee-Ate says he’s on a secret mission.” The droid promptly pivoted on its axis and beeped at her. “Says he needs to get back to the nearest Resistance base.”

  That much, at least, Finn could understand. “Yeah. Apparently he’s carrying a map that leads to Luke Skywalker, and everyone’s insane to get their hands on it.”

  A frown crossed her face as she pondered this explanation. She eyed him dubiously.

  “Luke Skywalker? I thought he was just a myth.”

  VI

  FINN GAPED AT the girl. Was she serious? It was true that Jakku was a backwater world, but still…

  “Really?” was all he could think of to say. He might have added more if not for the sudden interruption from a stream of excited beeps.

  Rey turned to the droid. “What is it?” She looked up, past the now concerned Finn. “Over there?”

  Trailing her gaze, he was able to make out in the distance the hulking forms of the two thugs who had attacked the girl and tried to steal the droid. They were not alone. The sun gleamed off the bright white armor of two stormtroopers. One of the banged-up hooligans was pointing in Finn’s direction.

  Grabbing Rey’s hand, he started backward into the maze of tents and temporary structures that formed the marketplace.

  “Hey!” she protested, but allowed herself to be pulled along. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Beebee-Ate, come on!” Finn yelled. Unlike Rey, the droid needed no urging.

  A moment later a pair of blaster explosions obliterated the spot where they had been standing. A third struck a cleaning unit, which immediately began spewing smoke and corrosive fumes. Still holding tight to Rey’s hand, Finn darted in and out among the flimsy structures, dodging outraged owners and piles of goods alike. By now Rey was struggling with his grip.

  “Let go of me!”

  “We gotta move! I know how they…” Mindful of what he had told her, he backed up and began anew. “I mean, as a Resistance fighter, I’m familiar with stormtrooper procedure. We in the Resistance have to be knowledgeable about such things.” As he ran, he nodded back the way they had come. “Those two would rather identify us from smoking bits and pieces. Saves the trouble of having to ask questions.”

  “I’m not disputing that!” She finally managed to free her fingers from his. “I know how to run without you holding my hand!” Skidding to a s
top, she gestured sharply to her left. “No! This way.”

  Another blast from behind just missed them. By now a general panic had seized the denizens of the marketplace. Those who weren’t scattering in every direction were doing their best to shield their stock. Their efforts slowed but did not halt the pursuing stormtroopers.

  Rey and her companions hunkered down inside a larger tent crammed with machine parts, crates of salvage, and other mechanical detritus. Peeping cautiously through a gap in the scrap pile behind which they’d taken cover, she muttered urgently at Finn.

  “They’re shooting at both of us! Why are they shooting at me? I haven’t done anything!”

  Finn knew exactly why they were shooting at her, and he felt terrible about it. But there was nothing he could do. Not now.

  “They saw you with me. You’re marked.”

  Her lips tightened. “Thanks for that. Marked as what?”

  He didn’t respond directly. “I’m not the one chasing me around with a stick!” While staying hidden, he tried to scan their surroundings, searching desperately for something useful. “Anyone sell blasters around here?” A trained stormtrooper, he felt naked without a gun. Though he had been on the receiving end of the girl’s staff, as far as he was concerned, it qualified as a local curiosity and not a proper weapon.

  Behind them, BB-8 was quivering slightly. Both antennae were fully extended and inclined slightly eastward. Rey frowned at the droid. “Are you okay?”

  While Finn’s sensory equipment was less sensitive than the droid’s, it was no less sophisticated. Man and machine were both listening to something that escaped the girl. Puzzled, she shifted her attention from one to the other.

  “What is it? What’s going on? I don’t hear anyth—”

  Finn shushed her with a gesture, listening intently. She started to object, thought better of it and went quiet. Behind him, BB-8 was growing increasingly agitated. Without a word, the droid spun and raced toward the rear of the storage area. Finn responded almost as quickly, grabbing Rey’s hand and pulling her after him. As before, when she tried to pull away, he maintained his grip.

  “Hey! Not again! Stop taking my hand!”

  The explosion ripped up the storage area, its contents, and the ground just behind the fleeing trio as one of the two diving TIE fighters BB-8 and Finn had heard coming in unleashed its weaponry in a low pass over the town. The concussion threw Rey hard to the ground. She came up fearful and spitting out grit. The desert was full of dangers, and scavenging had its own risks, but she was used to those. An occasional encounter with thieves was an occupational hazard. So was dealing on a recurring basis with the hostile and hungry creatures of the wastelands. The realization that First Order TIE fighters might be sent to locate and eradicate a single Resistance fighter suggested that she was well and truly out of her depth. This Finn must be more important than he seemed, she decided.

  Where was Finn, anyway?

  She found him nearby, unconscious. Getting a grip on his jacket, she rolled him over. The spherical white and orange droid joined her a moment later.

  Should she shake him? Use her emergency bio-injector? She was no physician: Her medical training was restricted to what she had learned during a life of having to take care of herself. The wrong application, she knew, could leave him worse off than he was now.

  She was saved from having to make a decision as he came to, blinking at his surroundings before his attention settled on her. Swallowing, he managed to gasp out, “Are you okay?”

  It struck her that in her entire short life, this was the first time anyone had asked that question. “Yeah,” she murmured. Her attention flicked between the fallen figure beside her and the blue sky that had turned abruptly deadly. “I’m okay. You?”

  He peered down at himself as he sat up. Everything of consequence appeared to be intact and in place. “Think so. Too close.”

  She stood and extended a hand. He glanced at it, his dark gaze rising to her face, then gratefully accepted her offer of assistance.

  “Follow me,” Rey said. She turned and broke into a run, the grateful Finn allowing himself to be guided.

  Around them, Niima Outpost was in complete disarray. Explosions had torn tents and other buildings apart, scattering merchants, traders, scavengers, maintenance workers, and every other innocent bystander in a panicky search for cover. Staff strapped to her back now, Rey led her companions onto the sand-scoured clearing that served as the town’s port. Looking back, Finn saw the pair of TIE fighters bank and turn. He had no doubt what they were looking for.

  “Isn’t there any shelter around here?”

  As she continued to lead him on, Rey shook her head and yelled, “Nothing strong enough to withstand TIE fighter weapons!”

  “We can’t outrun them!” That’s right, he told himself. Boost her confidence in you by stating the obvious.

  She pointed to the four-engined craft toward which they were running. “We might in that quadjumper!”

  Finn shook his head. “I’m a gunner. We need a pilot!”

  “We got one!”

  He gaped at her. “You?” While her youth and probable lack of experience troubled him, he knew he was in no position to argue. Anyway, what was the worst that could happen? That they would crash on takeoff instead of being pulverized by the pursuing ships of the First Order?

  They were still dangerously far from the quadjumper and terribly exposed on the bare landing area. Another craft loomed off to their right, nearby.

  “How about that ship, it’s closer! If nothing else, we can get out of sight!”

  Rey scarcely glanced in the other vessel’s direction. “That one’s garbage! We need something that’ll move, not just get off the ground—if we’re lucky!”

  They ducked simultaneously as the two TIE fighters roared past overhead. But instead of firing at the tiny figures, their gunners directed bursts of energy at the fugitives’ destination. The quadjumper came apart in a ball of flame, flinging bits and pieces of itself in all directions as the detonation scorched the landing area. Throwing up their hands, Finn and Rey shielded their faces from the heat and flying debris. When they lowered them, nothing was left to be seen of the quadjumper but a smoking pile of rubble. Rey’s reaction was immediate and realistic.

  “Okay—the garbage it is!”

  Changing direction, they raced for the other craft. Though it was partially covered by several protective sand tarps, the loading ramp was down. Finn paused only briefly to glance at the ident plate sealed flush inside the airlock wall.

  “Mi con,” he read aloud. “What the hell does that mean?”

  Ahead of him, Rey yelled without looking back. “Some con man’s private craft, probably. That might be a good thing. It might be built to travel faster than a crippled skimmer!”

  “If we’re lucky,” Finn muttered, echoing her early observation as he and BB-8 followed.

  Rey hit a wall panel even before her companions were safely aboard. To her great relief, it responded. The ramp behind them rose and the lock sealed. The vessel’s layout was straightforward and they found the cockpit immediately. Tossing her staff to one side and throwing herself into the pilot’s seat even as she was scrutinizing the instrumentation, Rey activated several controls. Much to her surprise, the console in front of her immediately came to life. She tapped a visualization.

  “Gunner’s position is down below!”

  Turning, Finn headed for the indicated area. “You ever fly this thing? Or anything like it?”

  As BB-8 looked on, she shouted back to him, “I’ve piloted all kinds of craft, but nobody’s flown this old crate in years!”

  “Then what makes you think it’ll get off the ground?” he called.

  Her reply was grim. “If you prefer, we can leave and try running across open tarmac while being shot at!”

  Having no comeba
ck for that, Finn slipped down and buckled himself into the gunner’s seat. To his shock, it responded to his weight by whipping to the left. Hastily he grabbed hold of the controls.

  “Whoa, easy!” Manipulating the intuitive controls allowed him to quickly take full control of the turret’s movements. “I can do this, I can do this.” If anything, he saw quickly, the track and fire controls were simpler and more primitive than those he had handled in the Special Forces TIE fighter.

  Rey rapidly ran through a standard pre-lift sequence, activated the full panoply of relevant instrumentation, and sat back. A low whine rose from the rear of the craft. She reached for the control that would, she hoped, bring all her hurried preparations to fruition. One of three things would occur when she thumbed it, she knew: They would lift off, the ship would blow up, or nothing at all would happen. Not good odds, but the only ones they had. She took a deep breath and punched the control. “I can do this, I can do this—”

  At the stern of the old ship, long quiescent engines flared to brilliant life. Fully powered up now, it soared into the bright blue sky of Jakku—but not efficiently. Shedding tarps as it rose, it spun and careened wildly, nearly crashing back to the ground. Wrestling with the unfamiliar controls, Rey managed to level off just in time to crash into and through the town’s entry archway: Niima Outpost’s sole example of architectural pride.

  Below, the puffy-faced figure of Unkar Plutt emerged from a collapsed structure to scream at the sky. “Hey! That’s miiiiine!”

  Finding the oddly named craft surprisingly responsive to manual control, an increasingly optimistic Rey spun it around and accelerated, blasting away from the port. The pair of TIE fighters that had been shooting up the town immediately gave chase.

  Rey headed skyward, relieved to feel the ship’s increasing power as they soared away from the surface. Trying to interpret the weapons systems, Finn yelled to her, hoping either his straining voice or the turret’s audio pickup would permit at least a modicum of inflight communication.

  “Stay low! It’s our only chance! If we go extra-atmospheric, they’ll outmaneuver us and run us down before we can make lightspeed—assuming this thing can still do lightspeed. And put up the shields—if they work!”