The Force Awakens (Star Wars)

by Alan Dean Foster

  Moving forward and into the three-dimensional representation, he tracked system positions and locator stars. One finger traced the outlines of a particularly bright and well-known nebular cluster. Like everything else in the map, it was brilliantly depicted.

  It was also only half there.

  He turned to the others. “This is accurate, but it’s not complete. It’s just a piece. I can tell from the location of the breaks and from what’s only partially shown.” He grunted softly. “Ever since Luke disappeared, people have been looking for him.”

  Rey spoke while drinking in the details of the marvelous but imperfect chart. “Why’d he leave, anyway?”

  Han pursed his lips; thinking back, remembering.

  “He was training a new generation of Jedi. There was no one else left to do it, so he took the burden on himself. Everything was going good, until one boy, an apprentice, turned against him and destroyed it all. Everything Luke had worked toward: gone. Luke felt responsible. He walked away from everything.”

  Finn’s tone was respectful. “Do you know what happened to him? Does anyone?”

  Han turned to him. “There’ve been all kinds of rumors and stories. When people don’t have access to facts, they invent what they’d like to believe, or what they think others would like to hear. The people who knew him the best think he went on a personal quest, looking for the first Jedi temple.”

  Rey had been quiet for a while, absorbing everything in awed silence. She could no longer contain herself.

  “The Jedi were real?”

  Han half smiled, to himself as much as to her. “I used to wonder that myself. A bunch of mumbo-jumbo is what it sounds like. Some magical power holding together good and evil, light and dark.” He paused, his voice fading. “Crazy thing is, it’s all real. The Jedi, the Force—it’s true. All true.” He brought himself back to reality.

  “Just as it’s true what Finn here said: The First Order will kill all of us for that map.”

  An alarm sounded, but this one was different from the flurry that had preceded it. Chewbacca started to rise, but Han put out a hand to prevent him.

  “No. You relax.” He glanced at Finn. “Don’t risk the good work of our friend here by stressing what he’s done.” He headed for the cockpit. “This is our stop.”

  XI

  THERE MAY HAVE been more beautiful worlds in the galaxy than Takodana, but if so, they were unknown to Han. Verdant and mild, flecked with bands of white cloud and necklaced with small seas and brightly reflective lakes, it appeared before them as the Millennium Falcon dropped out of hyperspace. With him in the pilot’s chair, Rey copiloting, and Finn and BB-8 standing behind, the cockpit was crowded. Within Finn, expectation mixed with uncertainty as he gazed at the unfamiliar world ahead.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “You wanted my help, you’re getting it,” Han told him. “We’re going to see an old friend.” At the same time he noticed Rey staring fixedly out the foreport. She seemed on the verge of tears.

  “Hey—y’okay?”

  “I didn’t know there was this much green in the whole galaxy,” she said in awe.

  He watched her for a moment longer, then sent the Falcon into a shallow dive, heading for a well-remembered location. Speed stripped away the clouds around them, revealing what looked like endless evergreen forest. As he slowed the ship to suborbital velocity, other features lingered in his passengers’ gaze: rolling hills, rivers, and lakes that glistened like sheets of silver foil.

  A towering stone castle came into view as he prepared for touchdown. Looking at it, Finn could not tell by whose hands—or other manipulative appendages—it had been raised. The study of architecture was not a subject on which incipient stormtroopers tended to focus. One side of the castle was dominated by a long freshwater lake. Of more interest to him, the other side featured a landing area crowded with small freighters not unlike the Millennium Falcon. Like the Falcon, the majority of parked craft looked worn and heavily used, but well maintained.

  Disembarking, Rey and BB-8 marveled at forest, lake, and castle. Limping slightly but otherwise disdaining his wounds, Chewbacca ignored the rustic panorama in favor of inspecting the underside of the Falcon.

  Still on board, Han popped a storage unit and began rummaging through the contents. From among the jumble he withdrew one used blaster after another, placing them carefully to one side. He was still at it when Finn came up behind him.

  “Solo, I’m not sure what we’re walking into here. A few details would be welcome.”

  Half turning, Han looked back at him, said quietly, “Did you just call me ‘Solo’?”

  “Sorry—Han. Mr. Solo. Look, I’m not asking for information lightly. I’m a pretty big deal in the Resistance. Which puts a real target on my back. I just need to know that there won’t be any conspirators here, okay? No First Order sympathizers? ’Cause they’d be looking out for me now, and I don’t need any surprises.”

  “Surprises,” Han echoed thoughtfully. “Yeah, you’re right. No matter where you go, no matter who you happen to run into, the galaxy’s just full of surprises.” His expression turned serious. “Listen, big deal, you’ve got another problem. A bigger problem. Much more serious than worrying about First Order sympathizers. It’s this: Women always figure out the truth.” He handed over a blaster. Finn took the weapon and turned it over in his hands, giving it a professional examination. It was a substantial piece of ordnance. “Always,” Han concluded.

  Rising, he brushed past the younger man, heading for the exitway. Finn watched him go, wracked with guilt. But there was nothing he could do about it. Not now, anyway.

  Outside, Han interrupted the sightseeing. Rey was barely able to contain her delight at their surroundings.

  “I can’t believe this place is real. It doesn’t even smell real.”

  He nodded understandingly, gesturing at the surrounding forest. “You got all this greenery pumping out all this oxygen. Makes a big change when all you’ve been sucking is recycled ship atmosphere.” He offered her a blaster. “You might need this.”

  Rey looked down at the weapon, then back at him. “I’ve been in one or two tough situations. I can handle myself.”

  “I know you can, and that’s why I’m giving it to you.” He pushed the weapon toward her. “Take it.”

  She contemplated the blaster, drawn to it as she was to any piece of new and unfamiliar tech, and finally accepted it, hefting it carefully.

  “It’s heavy” was her appraisal.

  He considered. Had he guessed wrong? “You do know how to fire that?”

  “Trigger,” she shot back. “You aim it and pull the trigger.”

  “A bit more to this model than that. Put a little more effort in, get a little more result out. You’ve got a lot to learn. You got a name?”

  “Rey.” She raised the weapon and aimed it at an imaginary target, careful to keep the muzzle pointed well away from Han or anyone else.

  “Rey,” he repeated. “Rey, I’ve been thinking about taking on some more crew.”

  She smiled at him. “According to what you told us earlier, that didn’t work out so well for them on your last job.”

  He brushed it off. “Needed a bigger crew for a bigger job with a bigger ship.” He pointed to where Chewbacca was continuing his inspection. “Not so much with the Falcon. Maybe bring on one more. A second mate. Someone to help out. Someone who can keep up with Chewie and me and who’s smart enough to know when to keep out of the way. Someone who appreciates the Falcon and her hidden qualities.”

  She cocked an eye at him. “Are you giving me a job?”

  He met her stare without blinking. “It doesn’t pay right away and I’m not going to be nice to you and—”

  Pleased as well as taken aback, she interrupted him. “You’re offering me a job.”

  “I’m
just thinking about it,” Han corrected her.

  “Well…if you did, I’d be flattered.” Rey paused. “But there’s somewhere I need to be.”

  “Jakku,” Han said knowingly.

  Rey nodded. “I’ve already been away too long.”

  Han put a hand on her shoulder. “Let me know if you change your mind.” Turning, he called toward the ship. “Chewie! Check her out the best you can. With luck, we won’t be here long.” His gaze returned to the girl standing before him. “You smile too much, Rey.”

  Rey nodded obligingly. “I’ll work on it,” she said with a wide smile.

  —

  Once Han was satisfied that, if need be, the Falcon could depart in a hurry, they started toward the nearby castle. While Chewbacca remained behind to attend to a number of minor fixes and nurse his injury, the rest of them were able to enjoy the forest and the occasional glimpse among the woods of examples of indigenous wildlife. These invariably proved small and nonthreatening. Approaching the impressive structure and its odd, trapezoidal stonework, Finn found himself unable to estimate its age.

  “Why are we here again?” he asked as they started up a wide, curving stone staircase.

  “To get your droid on a clean ship. Do you think it was luck that Chewie and I found the Falcon? If we can find it on our scanners, the First Order’s not far behind.” Han indicated the soaring walls now rising before them. Colored flags representing numerous cultures and tribes hung from the battlements, some banners more faded and frayed than others. “The galaxy’s full of watering holes, but nothing like this place. It’s been run by an old smuggler named Maz Kanata for a thousand years. Want to get Beebee-Ate to the Resistance? Maz is our best bet.”

  Gently but firmly taking the blaster he had given her out of Rey’s hands, Han pointedly holstered it for her at the back of her belt. “Not an establishment to walk into holding a gun. First impressions are important.

  “The most important thing here is to keep a low profile, stay under the radar. Maz is a bit of an acquired taste. So let me do the talking. And whatever you do, don’t stare.”

  Rey and Finn replied almost simultaneously. “At what?”

  “Any of it,” Han warned them.

  The entrance was open. A corridor led to a sizable open hall of neatly finished stonework where a hodgepodge of humans, humanoids, and distinctly nonhumans were engaged in what struck Finn as a perpetual round of eating, drinking, gambling, scheming, negotiating, arguing, and occasionally attempting to split one another’s livers. Or some equivalent organ. Leading the way, Han alternately shoved, requested, or cajoled assorted occupants of the hall out of their path, until at last he halted.

  The figure standing in front of him and currently blocking the way was short. Very short indeed, and by the look of what skin and flesh was visible, very old. Abruptly, this decidedly unimpressive humanoid whirled, as if sensing something without seeing it.

  What could be seen of the hairless pate beneath the simple gray cap was a withered, weathered yellowish-brown. Huge lenses that were as much goggles as glasses folded forward over both eyes. The nose was small, almost petite, and the mouth thin and drawn. She—for Han had told them it was a she—was dressed simply and practically: baggy dark maroon pants tucked into handmade boots. A vest of some charcoal gray material was fitted over a blue-green sweaterlike shirt whose sleeves were rolled up to just beneath the elbows, exposing skin that was almost gold-colored. A buckle of some silvery material fastened a leatherine belt from which hung an assortment of tech. In contrast to the plain clothing, the collection of bracelets and rings she wore bordered on the ostentatious.

  Catching sight of Han, she let out a shriek that reverberated off the walls and belied her size.

  “HAAAAAAAN SOLO?”

  All activity in the hall immediately ceased as everyone, regardless of species or aural acuity, turned to look in the newcomers’ direction.

  “Maz…,” Han said wearily.

  Finn shook his head. “Under the radar,” he muttered. “Perfect.”

  “You still in business?” Han asked her.

  “Barely!” she snapped back at the much taller human. “Thanks to a certain mooch who still hasn’t paid me back after nearly twenty years. Can you imagine something so horrible?”

  “I might be able to,” Han admitted.

  Whoever she was—whatever she was—Finn had already decided that here was someone who could deal with Han Solo on an equal basis, at least as far as casual sarcasm was concerned.

  Maz peered up at Han, her goggled eyes wide. “Where’s my boyfriend?”

  “Chewie’s repairing the Falcon,” Han told her.

  Maz nodded. “That’s one sweet Wookiee. I’m so sorry,” she abruptly said to Finn and Rey.

  “For what?” Rey asked nervously.

  “Whatever trouble he’s dragged you into,” Maz said. “Come! Sit! I can’t wait to hear what you need from me this time,” she said to Han.

  The new arrivals headed off, trailing Maz out of the main hall. Being unremarkable specimens of sentient life, they drew only the occasional passing glance.

  Among those who watched them go were an enormous hairless mass of slovenly dressed Dowutin muscle called Grummgar and a svelte slice of skin who went by the name Bazine Netal. In contrast to her hulking companion, Bazine was fully human. Exquisitely if severely clad in a long-sleeved dress patterned in an optical illusion of black and gray, complete with black leather skullcap, neck piece, shoulder covering, and a belt that held a long, lethal blade, she also boasted lips and forefingers painted black. Unlike those whose eyes lingered but briefly on the new visitors, this mismatched couple tracked Han and his companions until they were out of sight. As soon as they had disappeared, still following Maz Kanata, Netal slipped away from the crowd.

  The communicator she employed was capable of sending encrypted messages via the central planetary communications booster. With that much power at her disposal, it did not take long to establish a long-range connection.

  “Yes. It’s Bazine Netal. I’ve got them.”

  —

  It was a very private place. There was no need to mark it as such. No need for signs or audible warnings or protective devices. Everyone on the ship knew what it was, who it belonged to, and what lay within. None would think of violating the sanctuary. That way lay censure, possibly pain, and quite likely worse.

  The lighting within was subdued. There would not have been much to see even in the presence of brighter illumination. A pair of consoles dominated by red lights flanked the doorway. A single projection console sat in the center, attended by a lone chair. Otherwise the room was sparsely furnished. The individual who claimed the space had no need of the usual accoutrements favored by sentient beings. He was content within himself and with who he was.

  The alcove where Kylo Ren was kneeling and speaking was darker than the rest of the adjoining chambers. He kept it deliberately so, as seemed appropriate for its function. He spoke now in a tone different from the one he usually employed when conversing with others. There were no orders to be issued here, no pathetic underlings to command. The one with whom he was presently communing would understand everything Ren chose to say, in whatever voice he chose to employ. No need here and now for intimidation, for fear. Kylo Ren spoke, and the object of his words listened in silence.

  “Forgive me. I feel it again. The pull to the light. The Supreme Leader senses it. Show me again the power of the darkness, and I will let nothing stand in our way.”

  Alone in the room, Kylo Ren—saturnine of aspect, lithe of build, tortured of mien, and troubled of eye—gazed at the silent recipient of his confession.

  “Show me, Grandfather, and I will finish what you started.”

  Trembling slightly, he rose from where he had been kneeling and strode off to another portion of his private quarters. There was no resp
onse from the one to whom he had been talking: neither argument nor agreement. Only silence from the shape that had been the object of Ren’s fervor: a ghostly, deformed mask that had once belonged to another. To a figure of rumor and legend and fear.

  Misshapen and malformed as it was, no one who had once laid eyes upon the countenance that had belonged to Darth Vader would ever forget it.

  —

  While Finn’s appetite had been sharpened by a trooper’s customary diet of synthsust, it was nothing compared to Rey’s. In spite of himself, he could only marvel at the amount of food the girl downed. It was as if she had never eaten real food in her life. Origins didn’t seem to matter, either. She grabbed and consumed examples of anything within reach without bothering to ascertain its genesis. Han also ate energetically, but he was considerably more decorous. Finn found himself envying the nearby spherical form of BB-8, for whom such messy organic calisthenics were merely an excuse to meditate on the superiority of mechanical life.

  “A map leading to the first Jedi temple!” Maz was marveling as she puttered about the kitchen. “To Skywalker himself! I’ve never given up hope for him.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear, because I have a favor to ask,” Han said.

  Maz looked at him knowingly. “You need a loan. I heard about the rathtars. King Prana’s not happy.” She stopped and looked at Rey. “How’s the food?”

  “So delicious,” Rey said enthusiastically between bites.

  “I need you to get this droid to the Resistance…,” Han said.

  “Me?” Maz said archly.

  “…and the loan sounds good too.”

  “I see you’re in trouble,” Maz said. “I’ll help you find passage—avoid Snoke’s hunter squads—but this journey to the Resistance isn’t mine to take, and you know it.”