Author's Note: This is it, guys. Hold onto your butts.
Song of, and the theme for this entire story, Atoms for Peace - Default.
Lyrics at end so you can skip that (but if you listen to it, and read them, you might know why I chose it)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

I flew down the mountainside, holding the steering grips so tightly that my fingertips were beginning to lose feeling. All I could think about was leaving the planet. Not that I actually had a concrete plan to do so.

Through the cloud cover, I could just make out the bright line of sun fire on the horizon, and it troubled me. It was a monument to everything standing in my way.

Soon this system's sun would be another death to add to the tally. The name Starkiller had once seemed an abstract threat. Now the base was fulfilling that threat with horrific literality.

The voice of the General, familiar yet alien and frightening, echoed in my head. Hux, my slender, submissive plaything, the handsome officer with cold eyes. This same man would now forever be known as the harbinger of death to countless millions, perhaps billions, of sentients that had called the seat of the Republic home. I wondered if the pale, changeable color of those eyes had shone red in the light of the blast. I knew what he was capable of on a smaller scale: vicious diversions, callous ambitions, the assassination of a superior officer. But somehow, I wouldn't have thought him capable of the cold-blooded murder of an entire system.

I was naïve to think the superweapon he'd so adamantly championed would not see use, but perhaps I'd hoped that once built, the fear of the thing would prove more effective than its operation. I had no doubt that Snoke had given the order, perhaps to hedge some imminent attack. Hux had merely carried it out, and he had done so to perfection. Still, I could not reconcile the man I knew with the screaming sycophant that had given the order to fire.

There was a cold logic to it; take out the most powerful adversary and no others would dare to rise up against the war machine. Now, who was left?

My musings had at least served to distract me from the perilous descent. By the time the bike emerged from the other side of the highland valley, my under armor was damp from the chill fog that clung to the upper peaks. My skin burned from the cold barrage of air that slipped between the armored plates of my suit.

Tree-covered cliffs rose up from the highland landscape to the right, and dropped off to the eastern lowlands on my left.

My path lay straight ahead, back the way I'd come, toward the streak of sun fire. I descended into the basin between the cliffs. The bike carried me dutifully over jagged hills and smooth dips as the cliff faces to my right sloped downward, tall trees coming into view as the land dropped below the layer of mist.

Far ahead of me to the left, I could see a shape on the edge of the drop. It looked like… a ship.

I heard the scream of a projectile. A flash of heat on my back. And I was violently flung forward.

When I hit the ground, I rolled end over end before sliding to a breathless stop face down and entrenched in a pile of snow. My mind struggled to catch up with what had just happened. Had they found me?

Someone was approaching.

"You hit the bike, you old bishwag. Now we can't use it."

My first thought was that I'd been found by a snow patrol. But the voice was unfiltered, and the language… uncharacteristic. Without thinking, I tried to turn to look.

I heard what could have been the growl of a beast and I froze, forgetting to breathe, wondering if I would have a chance to see the one that would kill me.

"Still alive? What are you waiting for, shoot him!"

I heard that bestial sound again and I realized it sounded like speech in a language and format alien to my ears.

"Who cares what kind of armor he's wearing?"

I heard an answering growl, followed by the approaching sound of ponderous, heavy footfalls. A moment later, something hard, a foot, nudged me in my side and I didn't resist as I was rolled onto my back. Towering above me was the owner of the foot. I'd never seen a wookiee in person before, but its shaggy-coated appearance was unmistakable. It was much taller than I expected and it was armed with a type of weapon I'd never seen before.

There was another of those guttural groans and I saw a flash of teeth. The wookiee gestured with a free hand. I tried to rub my eyes and instead hit my helmet. Of course, I looked like a stormtrooper.

"Fine then, I'll do it."

"Wait! I'm not a soldier," I said suddenly, my voice coming out as a croak from disuse, my throat dry from exertion.

"Sure you're not," the male voice said, clearly disbelieving.

I heard more footsteps in the snow, but my attention was arrested by the wookiee's weapon, which I could see through the limited sight of the un-augmented stormtrooper helmet, was still aimed at me.

"Solo, wait." The timbre of the new voice filled my chest with warmth like a hug. But it wasn't new, not really. I knew that voice. "Something's not right. A regular trooper wouldn't be this far from base."

Yes, I thought, hoping that the other would listen to this voice of reason.

"Look kid, we don't have the luxury, or the time, to take prisoners."

"I'm serious, Solo." And then, to me, "show me your face."

I sat up slowly then, fighting against the sharp and sudden headache that rocked me with the motion, and complied. I lifted the helmet from my head with shaky hands and dropped it into the snow beside me. I searched for the speaker and when our eyes met, I was paralyzed.

FN-2187, a ghost in a black synthwool poncho, gaped at me. My lips moved, but I had no voice. The young man came to me and knelt in the snow beside me, his hands out as though he didn't believe what he was seeing.

"Riala?"

I couldn't believe my own eyes as I looked upon him. But there was his strong jaw, his clear, dark eyes, his guileless mouth, and his focused brow.

"What are-" I started, but was immediately bowled over by his infectious enthusiasm.

"Are you hurt? What are you doing out here?"

"What am I doing? I thought you were-"

"Dead? No! I thought you were on the-"

A throat cleared.

"Friend of yours?"

FN-2187 looked to the other man, whose weathered face bore an expression of wry interest. The wookiee standing to his side rumbled a comment.

"Guys, this is Riala. She's definitely not a soldier. I know her. From before."

The man leaned forward, pointing at me. "That's not very reassuring."

FN-2187, at a loss, looked at me then, and suddenly I found myself the center of attention. It was not a comfortable feeling, nor was the snow melt seeping into my under-armor, but I dared not move.

"You'd better talk fast," he said, leaning back slightly, distancing himself.

Where could I even begin?

"I'm trying to run away from the Order," I said. Simple, concise.

"Looks like you were running toward it," Solo uttered.

"I was going to find a hangar. I want to get out of here," I said. I hoped that I was convincing as I pleaded my case. The wookiee still held his weapon, and judging by the smoking pile in my peripheral vision, being fired upon from this close would obliterate me.

"You can fly?" This came from FN-2187.

Despite the cold, I felt my cheeks burn.

"No... I haven't figured out the details yet."

"If you're trying to escape, what are you doing out here?"

I searched his face as I tried to conjure the words to reply. He needed to know.

"Running," I said. The crease between his brows deepened. "I turned on him, FN-2187. I rose against my teacher."

His eyes widened. He knew of whom I spoke. He understood everything.

"You fought him and lived? But… how?"

"I don't know. I just know that he wanted me to fully join the Dark Side. I… couldn't do it."

"A Force-user? She's a Force-user?" Startled, I looked toward FN-2187's human companion. He was nearly beside himself with incredulity. "What are you doing to me, kid?"

"She can't read minds, Solo, it's okay," FN-2187 said in a misguided attempt to placate. Solo threw up his arms, exasperated.

"Oh, it's okay. Well if it's okay, then I won't worry."

"You got away," FN-2187 said, ignoring his companion. he was in disbelief.

"Yes," I said. "But I lost everything."

There was a moment of silence, and I found myself lost in the memory of it. It was mostly true. I'd lost everything but my life, and in return I got a vision I didn't understand. I still didn't know if it had been worth it.

"The question is, what do we do with her?" Solo asked, leaning into FN-2187. A similar question was in the younger man's eyes when he looked at me again.

And to my surprise, I felt moisture gather in the corners of my eyes as the hopelessness and stifled emotions of the last few days began to resurface. I looked away, swiping at the shameful tears with the soft part of my glove.

A hand was offered to me and earnest eyes communicated untempered acceptance. I allowed myself to be hoisted to my feet.

Without saying a word, FN-2187 unfastened the black poncho he was wearing and pulled it from his shoulders. He wrapped the warm cover around me. One hand lingered on my shoulder plate. I clutched the fabric close, almost crying for the sensation of his residual body heat as it brought life and feeling back to my limbs and soothed sore joints. I wanted to lean into him and close my eyes and live inside of that warmth forever. But then I remembered where I was. He smiled at me and motioned his head toward the others.

"This is Han Solo and Chewie." I looked at his companions. The wookiee, easily over two meters tall, warbled something that could have been a greeting. The other man seemed to be more concerned with watching the horizon ahead. He seemed unable to stand completely still.

"You've been busy, FN-2187," I remarked.

"You have no idea. And just call me Finn."

I looked at the former cadet. He had a name.

"Finn," I repeated, a smile threatening the corner of my mouth. His expression was terse now, almost urgent.

"You told me once that I was a good man. Not a good soldier, a good man." He looked down, his lips working, soft, boyish. "It was the first time anyone's said something like that to me. And for once, I believed that I could be more than just a soldier." He was practically overflowing with enthusiasm as he motioned to the others. "I have friends, now, Riala. I'm with the Resistance."

"What are you doing, Kid?" Han interjected. "You can't just blab our business to anyone."

I had already guessed as much, but it was clear that the nature their 'business' was covert enough to warrant caution.

"I don't care what you're doing here. I just want to get out of First Order space."

"Hope you weren't hoping for a ride from us," Han said without humor.

I looked toward the shape I'd seen before, the ship. It was perched precariously on the edge of a steep drop, and from the look of the swathe of disturbed snow and ruined trees behind it, the landing had been less than optimal. I spared the older man a questioning look. Finn cleared his throat.

"We have some business to take care of first."

There was a bestial moan from the wookiee. It was strange, but I was beginning to understand his intonations, if not his words. He was anxious.

"Chewie's right," Han Solo said. "We need to get going, kid. Patrols are probably headed this way."

"Good idea." Finn met my eyes. I knew what he was going to say before he said it, and everything inside of me rebelled. "Riala. Come with us. Help us stop the First Order before they can hurt anyone else."

My mouth opened as if to speak, but I didn't have the words. I didn't want to say no, but I couldn't bring myself to say yes. Two parts of me warred and between them there was a standstill. Han Solo sighed.

"We don't have all day. You coming or not?"

That was as much of an invitation as any. I sensed a grudging acceptance in the older man, but beneath it a deep caution. He didn't wait for my confirmation, he simply waved the wookiee to him and walked off.

Finn was waiting.

I relented, signaling my concession with a slight nod of the head. Thrilled, he bent down and picked up my helmet. We hurried to catch up, our path taking us far from the ship's landing site.

Behind us, the brisk wind disturbed the powdery snow and served to soften our footprints. In this weather, our tracks would be covered for us.

Finn and I caught up to the others, though it wasn't easy. The wookiee's stride was long, and Han's age was no deterrent.

"Why don't you want to come with us?" Finn asked me after we fell into step behind the others.

I didn't know how to answer him. All I could think about was having to face Kylo Ren again. If I joined the Resistance, or helped these people it could very well happen. Who better to fight off the powerful Force wielder than his former student?

I couldn't do it. Not deliberately. I knew he would sense me through our connection when I came near enough to him. By entering the base at all, I ran the risk of running into him again, and I had to accept that if I wanted to escape. But I could not seek him out. I couldn't face his anger. And I wanted no part in the forces that had urged me to kill him either. How could I possibly explain all of this to Finn?

"I want to," I said finally. "But I can't." His smile died. I walked close and touched his arm, a silent apology.

"You could help us," he said.

"He'll be able to sense me, Finn. We're connected. He's been able to find me before. I can't put your operation at risk."

I didn't need to say who 'he' was. He seemed to be considering my words.

"I wish you could come with us. But I understand. It's nice to see you anyway."

Finn's disappointment seemed to have passed for the most part, but the conversation was over for now.

Before long the conversation picked up again. Slowly at first, as we tried to get a sense of who we were to one another, in bits and pieces. But then it came more easily. His optimism and strong sense of duty to his new friends was refreshing. It helped that he seemed unable to contain his questions. I welcomed relief from the desolate sounds of wind and boots crunching in snow.

He was insistent about hearing what had happened to me, so I tried to oblige him. As soon as I began I knew that I would have to omit much of it. Some aspects were still too fresh, too personal to share with him. He wouldn't be able to understand. Some of it might only cast doubt on our new alliance, such as my original intentions toward Poe Dameron. And after Han's reaction when he learned that I was sensitive with the Force, I decided to downplay that aspect of it. What I ended up sharing was a heavily-edited and very different version of events. But it was enough. The kyber crystal remained tucked into my pouch and out of the narrative completely.

Han Solo listened to every word. I even heard him give a low whistle when I recounted my escape from the Finalizer. Then it was Finn's turn.

As he spoke of his chance encounter with Poe's droid and everything that followed, I listened raptly. Everything that had happened to me was nothing compared to Finn's first experiences as a free man and all the friends he'd made. Especially Rey. I did not miss that when he spoke of the young woman, a subtle but steady warmth seemed to grow in him. The girl was capable, extremely so, and from the way he spoke about her, I could tell that he had begun to develop feelings for her.

I immediately brushed aside the small pang of jealousy when I realized this. In my selfishness, I almost missed the turn of his voice, the urgency and anxiousness of his words.

"We got separated on Takodana. Kylo Ren, he…" his voice trailed off. I was almost too scared to ask.

"Is she…" I couldn't finished the question. He looked at me, the intensity of his worry burning in his eyes.

"He took her. I tried to stop him, but I was too late."

"Don't blame yourself, kid," Han Solo said from a few paces ahead. "You couldn't have stopped him if you'd tried. He's too powerful."

There was something almost fatherly about the way he spoke, and I sensed a soft side to the older man that hadn't been apparent before.

"I know. But she's here now, and we're going to get her out."

"I can't believe he'd do that," I said, more to myself than to Finn. I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"He's a cold-blooded killer, Riala," Finn said with sudden force. "He's evil and he'll do anything to get that map. We have to stop him. If he touches her, I'll kill him myself."

I believed him. There was murder in his eyes. I didn't know what to say. Any doubts might be seen as opposition, or taking the side of the enemy.

I fell silent, unsure how to confront the frustration building in him when it felt so personal. He wouldn't hurt her, I told myself, though I wasn't sure. In his sudden anger, he had struck me, but I didn't sense that he gained any enjoyment from the act. In fact, through my shock, I sensed the distinct bite of regret. But how could I justify this? Had I ever really known him? Could I really say what he would do to achieve his ends? Worse, I worried that my rebellion may have influenced his actions, spurred him into desperation. I shook away such thoughts.

Time was short.

Around a rocky ridge was a small comms tower, and beyond that, the flooding tunnels. If I wanted to seek out a hangar where I might find a way off of Starkiller Base, our paths would need to diverge now.

Finn stopped me in a place that served to shield us from the unrelenting wind.

"They'll be able to see the stolen ID in your armor. I can help with that."

He reached for my helmet and, curious, I gave it to him.

I watched as he reached inside. After a moment of feeling around, he apparently found what he was looking for. With a twist of his wrist and the sound of snapping connectors, he produced a small piece of hardware from the inside. He returned my helmet to me and tossed the hardware, a short, thin cylinder, behind him where it disappeared between some snow-laden boulders.

"If they scan you, they won't immediately know who you are. But you need to be careful. Stay out of sight as much as possible, Riala. And be careful."

My throat tightened. On impulse, I moved in and embraced him in a hug. After a moment, he returned the hug, breathing deeply and exhaling a white cloud of vapor.

"If … when we get out of this, promise me you'll look me up?"

I agreed even as I knew that I couldn't make such a promise with any degree of certainty.

Han nodded a farewell and I watched the trio make haste toward the comms tower and the structure past it. I walked the other direction.

I expected that entering the base would be the hardest part. I was wrong. I simply accessed an outer door and stepped through. In my full plate, I blended instantly with the passing groups of snow and stormtroopers. My first priority was to find a way to stay out of sight. If anyone noticed that I was lacking an ID, it might lead to questions. I had no time for questions. But I did have a general idea of where some of the hangars were.

"Fifteen minutes to weapon charge," a mechanized female voice announced over the comms in the main space. My heart skipped a beat, but to my surprise, the announcement garnered no reaction from anyone that I passed. I could tell without using the Force that tension was high.

I turned down a side corridor, thinking to use the turbolifts to one of the smaller hangars. The corridor was empty. Overjoyed with my apparent fortune, I walked forward.

"You, there," a sharp voice startled me out of my musings. "What are you doing?"

Behind me, standing by the corner I'd just taken, was a fully-armored stormtrooper. He held a blaster rifle in his hand, and the single red pauldron indicated his position in command.

"Patrol," I answered quickly. "Sir."

Behind him, I could see more passing troops.

He took a few steps toward me. Blank, dark eyeholes examined my appearance from head to toe. I thought only of the blades strapped to my belt.

"Your armor is filthy and your ID signal appears to be damaged. What is your designation?"

"FN… two… three… one-zero," It didn't even sound convincing to my own ears.

Somehow, the suit of armor in front of me seemed to draw up and become more imposing. He shifted his grip on his blaster rifle, and then he gestured at me.

"Take off your helmet," he ordered, calm. Fear leapt into my throat. I thought of the vibroblades, looked at his blaster.

My stomach and heart seemed to trade places. I felt energy begin to gather in my hands, but then a deep unease spread inside of me. I felt like that voice, genderless and hissing, still lurked in the back of my mind, waiting for another chance. The prickling power seemed to dissolve away on its own.

Instead, I did as he asked, keeping my movements slow as the blood drained from my face. I dropped the helmet and raised my hands.

"Hold on. Brown hair… eyes…" he raised the white blaster rifle and aimed it at me. "Are you the one we're looking for?"

He tilted his head. I heard the chirp of comms.

"HQ, I've got a suspicious female, in whiteplate with no ID… Brown hair, brown eyes, age nineteen or twenty. She fits the description, please advise."

They were looking for me? It couldn't be. That made no sense. A moment later, he nodded, listening to the other end of his conversation.

"718? That's on the other side..."he looked at me. "Better safe than Force-choked."

Without lowering the gun, he checked behind him. A patrol of three stormtroopers came around the corner and stepped in behind him.

"Reporting."

"Restrain her and accompany me to central processing," the leader ordered the other three.

I was dead. White suits of armor approached and surrounded me. Glossy blaster rifles glinted in the low lighting, barrels trained on me, as I was turned around. My hands were pulled in front of me and I heard the whir of the mechanized lock of the cuffs as they locked my wrists together.

Once immobilized, I was disarmed of my vibroblades. It was a mercy that my pouch was not searched; inside, the kyber crystal lay nestled. Strong hands seized my upper arms and ushered me back toward the busy hallway.

Bare-faced and exposed, my captors marched with me through the base. The one with the red pauldron led the way. Few even spared a glance toward the procession. Apparently the prisoner and her escort was not worth any attention.

If I lagged, I was rewarded with the sharp jab of a blaster rifle to my lower back. My mind scrambled for recourse, but came up blank. Walls of black rock gave way to black and grey metal plating the farther from the exterior that we went. I thought about Finn and Han and Chewie, and silently I begged their forgiveness if their plan was discovered when Kylo Ren probed my memories again.

We entered what I assumed to be Central Processing. I was ushered toward a workstation and my vibroblades were passed to the tech behind it. As the leader explained the situation, I looked to windows set into the wall high above. Through them I could see overcast daylight.

Just then, the lights flickered. Distant, percussive sounds, like pops filtered through the structure of the ceiling above us, and for a moment, every person stopped what they were doing and listened.

Through the workstation, an announcement was broadcast.

"Alert level Alpha, all available troops to assigned battlestations. Shields are down. We are under attack."

The men holding me wasted no time. I was unceremoniously hauled through a door and then I was pushed backwards through a smaller doorway.

The door closed, sealing me into relative silence. Through the walls and ceiling, however, I could hear the sounds of distant blaster canons. The assault had begun.

Weakly, I kicked it and rested my head against it, tugging at my restraints. The base was under attack. Finn had succeeded, and the Resistance was here now. Somewhere on base were three new allies, maybe four. A chance for a future. With any luck they were already heading back to their ship with Rey. And I was trapped here in this cell.

So distracted was I by my own abysmal situation that I didn't notice that I was not alone. I sensed the presence of another behind me. Someone familiar.

I turned.

Seven was sitting on the bench to the right, his bare head leaning against the wall, his eyes closed. Like me, he wore his armor, minus a helmet. His hands were also in cuffs, resting loosely between his knees. If he noticed or cared that he had a new cellmate, he gave no indication.

"Hello again," I said, forcing calm.

His eyes were on me like a shot. And then he stood, his mouth agape.

"Riala. This… is a surprise."

Once he recovered from his shock, he granted me with a slow smile. The lurch I felt in my lower belly was not unwelcome.

"The feeling is mutual," I said dryly.

He looked me over in a way that made my body suit feel too constricting and overly warm.

"You look good in that armor," he said. "It almost looks like it belongs to you."

His seamless change from flirtation to accusation caught me off guard.

"You're locked in here with me," I pointed out, motioning to his wrist restraints, unable to conceal my indignity. "I suppose you turned yourself in willingly?"

His face softened as if maintaining a brave front had drained him. He turned away from me and raked his gloved hand back through his short hair, both arms moving together.

"'Loyalty assessment'," he said without humor. "I'm to be questioned. If I'm found lacking, I will be reconditioned."

"Loyalty assessment? What happened?" I forgot my own peril for the moment.

"I was told, by Kylo Ren himself, to guard his prisoner until he returned. I was warned that she might attempt to escape. That she might try to use the Force to do so."

That caught my attention. "Who was she?"

He looked at me, his expression unreadable. "A young woman, close to your age. A scavenger from Jakku. That's all I know."

Rey. He was speaking of Finn's friend; I was sure of it.

"You're sure she used the Force?"

He nodded.

"He thought that with my training, I might be able to resist her. He was wrong."

"She attacked you?"

"No, she… told me to let her go. I thought she'd lost her mind. The next thing I knew, I was halfway to the mess hall with no gun and no memory of how I got there. She got free, and somehow she made me do it." He turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to quell a headache.

"It sounds like you couldn't have done anything," I said, a bad feeling growing in the pit of my stomach. If what he said was true, then not only was Rey Force sensitive, she was gifted.

"Tell that to the Commander. I was found and thrown in here." When he looked at me next, all bravado was gone. It looked as though he had aged a few years over the duration of this conversation. "I don't think I can survive another reconditioning."

I felt nothing but sympathy for him, but at the moment I was in no position to offer comfort or help.

"I'm sorry," I said, though it was an empty sentiment. He shrugged.

"I'm glad she got away," he said. "She didn't belong in a place like that." The admission surprised me.

"They thought I was her," I said, remembering the description. Brown hair, brown eyes, roughly my age.

"I could see how they might be mistaken," he said. "But there was something about her. She wasn't just any prisoner, not to him. When he discovered her missing, I was told that he destroyed that room."

I couldn't help but snort, despite the fact that I was feeling no levity. His temper, likely already frayed by my betrayal, would not have taken another failure well. She was Force-sensitive, and he knew. Such traits had value to him. With that, a piece fell into place.

I thought back to Finn, and my assertion that Kylo Ren must have wanted something from the woman. There had to be some other reason than the map that would compel him to capture her. But what was it that he wanted from her?

A student, an unwelcome voice offered. A hateful flash of anger flared inside of me and I clenched my eyes against it. When I opened them again, Seven was watching me.

"The last time I saw you, he seemed to be angry with you," he stated as though he'd been reading my thoughts.

"It wasn't the first time," I said in a neutral voice. "But it was the last."

He nodded, understanding. My relationship with Kylo Ren as a teacher and a lover had been tumultuous and sometimes dangerous. I was his experiment, and he'd failed. The thought that he might already be seeking a replacement for me made me feel ill and enraged, both for the young woman's sake and for my own. Stranger still, though she was described to be around my age, I couldn't help but think of her as being so much younger than me. The scavenger from Jakku. Who was this girl that everyone was suddenly talking about?

"I turned against him, Seven. When he finds me here, he will kill me," I said. And then, remembering his impassioned claims that my ability to connect with Ilum could help Snoke, and his apparent willingness to use me without my consent, I added, "or worse."

"So here we are, then. A traitor and a thief," Seven said, breaking me from my heavy thoughts. I looked up to see his blue eyes dancing and a subtle smile on his lips. Some of my anger cooled.

"A fine pair we make."

"Wish it were under different circumstances. But I can't complain about the company."

I smiled and brushed aside his compliment as the words of a doomed man. I couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't right, however. My vision hadn't shown me being stuck on the inside of a cell. It hadn't shown me running to safety, either. I needed to go. I didn't care what my nightmare vision showed, if I had a chance, I would leave this star system as soon as I could.

"If only I could get my hands on a ship," I said, looking toward the locked cell door, grey and black durasteel like everything else. "And a pilot."

"I can help with one of those, at least," he said with wryness. "Not that it will do us any good in here."

I turned to him, stunned.

"You're a pilot?"

"Class B," he replied. "Troop transport, mostly. But I have some experience with freighters, carriers, and programming navcom AIs."

"So… if I can get you a ship, you can get us away from this star system?"

His face read as skeptical, but I had grabbed his attention at least.

"The base is on alert, the hangars are on lockdown, and we're in here. Unless..." his eyes narrowed and I could almost see the gears turning in his mind. "Riala, you can use the Force. Can you do what she did?"

I shook my head, as the aversion rose again.

"No. I can't control it like that. It's too dangerous. We'll have to get out of here another way."

He fidgeted with the cuffs.

"We might not have much choice."

"I have combat training," I said without thinking. "We can fight our way out."

He looked me over. "I can probably hold my own against one or two regulars, even with these. But are you sure you can?"

No, I wasn't, and I wasn't sure what had compelled me to assert something like that. I started to answer, to suggest we think on this further, but then the door gave off a muted beep. I stepped back, words forgotten, as it slid open.

Three fully armored and armed guards stood on the other side. Behind them, I could see the effects of the Resistance assault on some distant part of the base as the lights flickered intermittently.

"Get the girl," the one in front said, pointing at me. "General Hux wants her brought to him immediately."

Two men entered the cell, one of them with his hand on his blaster, watching me, the other reaching for my wrists.

Seven and I exchanged glances. His jaw tight, he gave a terse nod.

Suddenly, he rushed into the two stormtroopers in front. I followed suit, throwing my weight forward and slamming a foot into the third one's stomach. He stumbled back. Seven took one guard down with a double fist to the throat and tangled with the other as both tried to get the blaster on the floor beside them.

My stormtrooper had recovered. He raised his rifle. I couldn't tell whether or not it was set to stun. I moved in. I planted my feet against the floor and rammed a shoulder into his chest in an attempt to knock him down. Seven and his stormtrooper struggled, his arms locked around the other's neck as they crashed around the front room.

A fist cracked into the side of my jaw in a spray of stars and I fell back into something solid, a wall. I moved out of the way of another strike, but just barely. The room was tipping and my legs were having difficulty holding me up. My entire face felt like one throbbing center of pain. Seven was back to fighting against two stormtroopers, but he had managed to disarm them both and was using both his fists and his feet to full effect. I had a second to appreciate his combat prowess.

"Riala! Use your power! Use the Force!" Seven shouted from across the room as he struggled with his assailants.

At that moment, the light coming through the windows at the ceiling went out.

"Weapon charge complete. Prepare to fire."

The stormtrooper guard took advantage of my distraction. A fist to my gut forced the breath from me. I smashed into a wall and then an armored forearm pressed into my throat. Black, soulless eyes stared at me as the pressure increased. I choked, struggled.

"He wants you alive," he growled. "He didn't say 'conscious.'"

I tried to push him away from me but my arms were losing strength, the wrist restraint kept me from utilizing my full range of motion. The edges of my vision were beginning to blur. My lungs screamed for air. I felt my energy begin to flicker. A cold presence then moved up to the surface of my mind.

Do it.

My life was failing. So I reached for his.

The sound of struggle beside me faded beneath the heartbeat in my ear. Time slowed and the world dropped away. My universe shrank until it consisted of nothing but myself and the soldier in front of me.

I felt everything. The entire range of human emotion, complex and nuanced, tangled together into one man-shaped vessel. I felt him. I knew him. I was him.

Anger, sadness, jubilation, fear, amusement, boredom, aggression. Everything passed through him, and into myself. Moods and emotions tied to memories were no longer locked away. Every subtle turn of feeling and emotion that had shaped him as a person became known to me. I knew his heart as well as if we'd spent our lives together. He was spiteful and wracked with self-doubt, but throughout it was a vein of humor and surprising sensitivity. The feeling of really knowing someone in this manner was intoxicating. I felt endless, powerful, omniscient. I wanted more.

Do it… a little more. Just a little more.

The voice troubled me, gave an edge of danger to the utter ecstasy of this siphon, but I didn't wish to argue with it now. It was easier to do as it said than to resist.

I could feel myself expanding. A low roar began to rise, constant, irregular, with different intonations and pitches. Voices. Thousands of voices, merging together into a wall of sound. I listened. I found that if I tried, I could pick out one and better understand what it was saying. Someone was screaming, crying. I passed it. As if by some instinct, I followed the trail of one that was familiar to me.

'He's dead.' The voice was Kylo Ren's.

'So why do I not feel stronger? I did as I thought I should. Master, help me. Guide me. Please.'

There was a spike of recognition.

'Riala?' He'd sensed me. And then a fierce, blinding burst of agony sent me hurtling back into my own head.

My skin felt too tight, my vision bright and blurry, my limbs restless and uneasy, yet all of this paled beside the completeness I felt at that moment. The energy I'd taken from the soldier was now fully integrated with mine. I looked at my hands. I could sense my skin beneath the gloves, and beneath that, the incredible power.

I listened to the pounding of my heart, and the expansions and contractions of my lungs with each breath, willing the overwhelming sense of frantic energy to go away.

My mouth tasted like ash.

"Riala," a breathless voice said to me. "Your face. Are you hurt?"

I looked to its source and was stunned by the beauty of the man's eyes and the energy that I could see flowing through him. He was worried. Scattered around the room behind him were the two white-armored soldiers. Both alive, but unconscious, one had lost his helmet at some point. I looked down at the form laying at my feet. In stark contrast it was inert. Dark.

Where there should have been an energy signature, there was nothing. It was an empty vessel.

I stumbled back, gasping, trying to fight through the rushing of blood to my head to realize what that meant, but the residual emotions that did not belong to me clouded my thoughts. Though his body lay there, I still felt him in me.

"Why isn't he there?" I heard myself ask, my voice sounding strange to my ears.

"Riala, we have to go."

A hand took mine and I heard the low tone of the maglock disengaging. The cuffs fell to the floor and the hand holding mine pulled. I wanted to sit down, to process the overload of emotional and sensory information, but there was no time, because we were moving. I didn't resist as Seven lead me to the exit. He leaned out to check the corridor outside.

"I killed him," I said. I was having difficulty understanding the words as I said them. Dead. Everything felt as though I were in a dream, soft around the edges and disconnected. My heart thudded, sent energy and power coursing throughout my body. A hand squeezed mine and I looked at it numbly.

"Don't think about it now. We might not get another chance. The main hangars are heavily guarded," Seven said, checking around a corner. "We need a plan."

"Waste processing," I said, pushing down the unpleasant thoughts.

"Yes, the receiving hangars might be overlooked. We'll have to make sure we don't get caught in the crossfire on the surface." he said. I heard what he was saying, but was having trouble remembering where I was, and the urgency of the situation. The incident that I was not allowing myself to think about was still there, taunting me to examine it further, threatening to distract me from the present. I couldn't shake the creeping feeling on my spine and the sense of intense dread that I had let something in.

I felt faster, lighter. My senses were sharpened. I couldn't seem to turn off the Force-bolstered perception. What resulted was the constant awareness of the locations, and feelings, of everyone in the vicinity. Every group of techs and soldiers that passed us, even with walls in between, was a universe of feeling and potential distraction. Seven seemed to know that something was wrong. He kept a guiding hand on me, kept us close. Somewhere between the confusion and the glowing, shimmering high, I felt intense gratitude toward him.

The dark, creeping feeling only grew stronger, and despite my efforts, the unpleasant thing could not be suppressed for long. I thought of the inert body back in central processing. It shouldn't have bothered me. If Kylo Ren had been right about one thing, it was that people would die while I cam to grips with my abilities. But it should not have felt so good. The hissing voice was silent, perhaps sated for the moment, but irrational paranoia clung to me. I felt as though the soldier's hollow body were following me. I could almost see those blank eyes in the helmet watching my back. Seven and I took advantage of the chaos to make a clean escape toward the very hangar where I'd found berth, but after every turn, I felt the need to look behind me.

I saw nothing, sensed nothing to confirm my fears.

Groups of TIE pilots ran past us, no doubt headed for the military hangars, and paid no attention to the two helmetless stormtroopers going the opposite direction.

It seemed that the search for me, or Rey, had ended for the time being, but I still made use of the slave access tunnels to avoid base personnel as much as possible. In there, the lights flickered intermittently.

A door opened ahead and to the right, letting in light from the hallway outside in a moment of darkness. I could see the shapes of figures.

I recognized Greta's energy before I saw her. She was amongst a group of others. When she saw us, a pair of stormtroopers, a spike of fear from her told me that she was doing something she wasn't supposed to be doing.

"Greta!" I called to her. Confusion. "It's me, Riala. 221784-R."

Recognition. The woman and those with her approached us with caution. It was then that I realized that there was definitely something more to their sudden appearance. Greta's slender form was clothed in padded combat training armor. The others, a group of six male and female slaves and servants, some of whom I remembered seeing in Phasma's quarters, were similarly attired. They wielded various makeshift weapons, pipes and kitchen knives.

"Riala?" she said, confusion in her smooth voice as she examined my armor. "I thought you defected."

"I did," I said. I felt the tension of the group lessen slightly. "The Resistance is-"

"I know," she interrupted, an edge of nervous impatience to her voice. I heard the sound of radio. They were listening in on troop reports. I found this strange, but there was no time to puzzle over it.

"We're leaving. We're going to try and steal a ship." I motioned to Seven. "Seven is with me. He can fly."

She looked him over carefully and he gave a courteous nod.

"It sounds like you two have a better plan than we do," she said finally. I considered that more people meant a higher risk of being caught, or that we might not even being able to find a ship that could carry so many. But at this point, there were so many factors that I couldn't keep track of them all, and this venture already had a fairly small chance of succeeding.

"Want a ride?" I offered with a small smile. Seven gave me a look, which I ignored. His emotional read was clear enough: are you insane?

"I wouldn't turn it down," she replied with an elegant smile.

"Waste processing and receiving," I said, meeting Seven's look of stoic disapproval. Greta, the apparent leader, rallied the others and together they began to move ahead in the direction we'd been going.

"We can't save everyone," Seven said to me in a low voice. "Some might be better off staying behind. At least they would be alive."

I had to use quick judgment to decide what to tell him, or if he would even believe me if I did. The urgency of the timeframe made the decision for me.

"Seven, this isn't just any attack. They are going to succeed, and they're going to destroy the base."

"How can you know that?"

"I've seen it," I answered without wavering. Time was short, and there was no room for doubt. I had to tell him. "I've lived it many times. In dreams, or visions, whatever you want to call them. It's going to happen, and anyone still on Starkiller when it does will die with it."

"We'd better hurry, then," he said after considering it for a moment. I could have kissed him. Instead, together we rejoined the group where Seven and I assumed the lead.

Mercifully, the adverse effects of the energy siphon had been fading steadily. Perhaps due to my experiences with the sensation, I was able to overcome the most troublesome aspects of it. Encountering new company served to distract me from the unsettling feeling that we were being followed. Greta kept pace with me. I caught her looking at me out of the corner of her eyes and got the sense that she wanted to say something to me, but was holding back. I was startled by her apparent readiness for combat. It was possible that I was not the only one that Captain Phasma may have instructed in combat maneuvers. In truth, I actually knew very little about Greta herself. I hoped we would live long enough for me to learn everything about this fascinating woman.

We emerged into a main corridor and then to the ramp leading down a passageway toward waste receiving. Greta finally spoke what was on her mind.

"Riala, you haven't heard from Phasma, have you?" the question was unexpected.

"Not in awhile," I admitted. Thinking of the last time that I did speak with her pained me.

"No one has been able to reach her," Greta said then, worry creasing her brow. I started to puzzle over what this could mean when the group emerged through a door and into a wide open space. The hangar.

It was in chaos.

A desperate battle was being waged between stormtroopers and a smaller group of non-military personnel. The fight was unfolding before a docked freighter ship, apparently undamaged. There was no cargo container attached, but the ship itself, likely a salvage vessel as well, appeared large enough to house a couple dozen people. It seemed that both of the parties currently engaged in the fighting had arrived in the hangar with the same idea we had. Personnel wearing the attire of couriers and higher-level messengers were clashing against the stormtroopers and a couple of officers. Blaster bolts struck rock and durasteel debris, and the sounds of melee altercations could be heard over the distant explosions. Small utility vehicles and mover droids littered the battlefield before the ship. Past it in the distance, I could see a firefight against the dark grey sky, red engine flares swirling with green.

Greta pushed past me and she and the other slaves rushed ahead and began attacking the white-suited soldiers whose opponents now outnumbered them and were starting to gain ground. Seven and I followed after them. I threw myself into the fray, hurling myself at a soldier that was in the midst of attacking an older male in a neat messenger uniform. Together we managed to knock him to the ground. Before I could act, the messenger grabbed the soldier's blaster pistol and fired it point blank into his helmet.

I heard a scream behind me. I turned away from the violent scene and looked straight into a pair of molten golden brown eyes. Armata. She was struggling against an officer, who had one hand wound tightly in her hair while the other pressed a gun to her temple. Seven was right behind her with his back turned.

"Seven!" I shouted over the clash, no time for more words.

He turned around and followed my eyes. He saw Armata, he raised his blaster. He fired. Blood splattered the warm, tan skin of Armata's face. The top of the officer's head was gone.

The corpse tipped forward, perfectly pressed uniform in contrast with the gore that had been his face, and she crumpled beside it, sobbing. Before I could go to her, Seven had rushed to her side. He helped her to her feet. She wasn't a fighter, I knew. She must have come with the other messengers.

A colossal explosion in the distance drowned out all other noise. An accompanying tremor rattled the floor and walls and a massive chunk of rock dislodged from the ceiling and crashed to the floor, crushing the body of a fallen stormtrooper. Everyone, even the soldiers, stopped what they were doing to look out the hangar opening. Outside, in every visible part of the base, fires were erupting. The floor shook beneath us. A siren had started going off within the hangar and in the distance.

"Time to go!" Seven yelled, helping Armata to her feet. Galvanized into action, the insurgents took down the last of the stormtrooper soldiers and everyone left standing, and some that needed help walking, converged toward the freighter.

I caught up to them, but still had the nagging feeling that I was not considering something. My vision. In it, I was running into the base. But why?

Movement shifted the chrome bar around my neck. Phasma. No one had heard from her or had been able to contact her, according to Greta.

"What are you guys doing here?" Seven asked, his arm around Armata's waist.

"We all saw the communiques and the missives," Armata said, her voice tremulous as she went up the ramp ahead of me. Tears and smoke streaked her face as she looked back at me. "After what happened to the Republic..." she trailed off.

"We couldn't be a part of this anymore," another courier, an older man, finished. "But they knew we were coming. They got here first. Killed our pilot."

Seven gave me a look of bemused irony before answering, "it's good that we found you, then."

I waited before entering, and helped usher the rest in, watching entrance to the hangar. I could sense that no one else would be coming to either join us or stop us. Just then, a great crack appeared along the wall and snaked up to the ceiling.

"Everyone in, we need to leave now," Seven shouted, jumping into the cockpit at the front of the freighter once the last of the group had entered the ship. From where I stood in the doorway, I could see him starting to flip control switches and power the engines up.

A flash of imagery froze me mid-step. Red flashing light, fires, the sounds of sirens. Distant screams. This was all so familiar. I took a step backwards.

"Riala, what are you doing?" Armata called from her place at Seven's side over the roar of the engines flaring to life. Inside the freighter's small cargo hold, slaves and servants sat close and held one another, nursing wounds of their own, or of each others'. Some of them were now looking at me with desperate fear. But where was Phasma? The sudden fear that she might be injured somewhere and unable to call for help twisted in my gut. And then the nature of my vision revealed itself. My mouth was dry as I took a step back.

"Go without me," I replied, feeling as though the words being spoken were not mine. A great tremor caused a support wall to crack, and the crack spread to the floor and toward the freighter. I backed down the ramp, meeting the eyes of every person inside of the ship. "Now! Leave!"

"What are you talking about? The base is falling apart!" Armata's face was twisted with fear and confusion. I could easily take two steps forward until I was safely in the ship, the ramp folding closed behind me, sitting amongst the others as the freighter took off. Instead, I found myself moving back until my feet touched the duracrete floor of the hangar.

I didn't answer her question. Instead, I turned and went the other way. The last thing I saw were Armata's golden eyes glistening in the hot, smoky air as the docking ramp rose. My heart sank like lead as I got farther away from them.

It occurred to me that Phasma could already be dead, that I might not find her. The sound of the ship's engines flaring as it rose from the floor was overtaken by the rumbling and deep, resounding snapping sounds of the base's support structure being rended apart. I kept running.

Scattered explosions, some far, some sounding too near, peppered the ambient noise. In a monitoring room ahead and to my right, a burst of heat and light was followed by an agonized shriek. I raced past without turning to look. I dodged beneath dangling, sparking circuits and around burst environmental conduits spewing mists of coolant from the ceiling.

The irregular but steadily-increasing vibrations in the walls and floors were a constant reminder that even a base as massive as Starkiller had its breaking point. I thought of my vision, and how it had ended in an apparent explosion of blinding white light.

I rushed into the corridors. Distant booming cracks rippled through the durasteel walls and floor. Metal plating buckled. The red lights in the slave tunnels were now flashing as I raced through them to avoid collapsed sections of corridor and impassable fires. But still, there was no detour I took that was unexpected. I followed the route by heart.

Deeper into the base I flew. I felt that there was something terrible at my back, but if I turned to look, I would falter. I rushed to a walkway bordering a deep expanse perhaps five meters across. Walls lined in pill lights stretched far above and below, though I tried to keep my eyes ahead to prevent any dizziness.

However, I did happen to glance over to the other side.

A pair of eyes, appearing dark in the diffuse light, looked back at me from a fine, pale face. The black cap and heavy charcoal overcoat couldn't disguise the shape of General Hux. He was surrounded by a contingent of snowtroopers and his emotional read was anxious and frustrated. He stopped to stare at me, but the troopers urged him on. I exited the open area as quickly as possible.

I descended three levels. The dead littered the halls and occasionally a stray soldier would race past me, always in the opposite direction. When I smelled the garbage, I knew that I was coming close. I turned past a gibbering protocol droid and into the garbage compactor access corridor. Dingy walls a few stories high were labeled with numbered designations. It was otherwise empty of human life.

I stopped and listened.

The consistent rumbling of the ground had only been increasing in volume and urgency since I'd left the hangar. Within smaller access tunnels and enclosed areas such as this, a low, regular tone sounded the critical alarm.

And then I heard something. Beyond the rhythmic pulse, beneath the sounds of the base falling apart… I heard someone screaming for help. A spike of panicked recognition coursed through my veins and gave me speed.

I followed the sounds and pressed my ear to the door where it was coming from. Quickly, I gripped the hatch wheel and began to loosen it, fighting the flashbacks to my own experience with such a door. A grinding metallic sound accompanied the lock mechanism, and then the door popped open with a rush of warm, foul air.

Straight ahead of me, a flash of gleaming metal grabbed my eye amongst the garbage. A suit of chrome-plated armor was tangled in it. Its owner looked to me, her bare face flush and filthy, and she was partially submerged in the black, filthy liquid at the bottom of the compactor.

"Riala!" she screamed when she saw me. Hope was chased immediately by uncertainty. And then she groaned, bending forward, her lovely face straining into a grimace of pain. She was injured. I wasted no time.

Wading in garbage water up to my knees, climbing over debris and refuse, I made my way toward her. She was a shining jewel amidst a sea of refuse and filth. I moved as quickly as I could, and when I drew near, her movements became more frantic as she struggled to push something away from her. I could now see that a heavy chunk of the metal plating the ceiling had fallen on top of her leg and she was now trapped beneath it. Her helmet was just out of her reach, the silver face smashed in by a chunk of metal.

"Please," she said in a plaintive tone that was painful for me to hear. "Riala, I-"

"I couldn't leave without you," I said to her, holding her pain-dilated grey eyes with mine. I tried to communicate to her without words that our last conversation was no longer relevant, that nothing else mattered at this moment except for her. Without telepathy, she seemed to understand and her uncertainty slipped away. I examined the mess she appeared to be tangled in.

"My leg, I think it's broken," she grunted, tugging at the durasteel sheet. "If we push together we might be able to loosen it."

I gripped her hand briefly, and then together we pushed. Every muscle strained. My feet began to slide backwards in the rancid liquid. I had to readjust my angle, try again. Tears streamed down my face from the concentrated garbage fumes irritating my eyes, blurring my vision.

Then the metal shifted. She cried out in pain, a sound that shot through my body as though I could feel it, but she was free. At that moment, the floor began to rumble beneath us. The lights flickered and the garbage around us moved, sloshed, swayed with the motions. I helped her to her feet. It was not an easy task; even without her armor, Phasma was taller than me and heavier from sheer muscle mass alone. With it, I knew that had both of her legs been broken, we would not have made it.

With my help, she grabbed her helmet, I carried it for her andwondered that such an item was so important to her but didn't question it, and we limped together toward the exit.

The way I'd taken to come in was now impassable; a cave-in of tangled wires, pipe, and rock eliminated the route to the levels above. I didn't know what to do, so, supporting Phasma, we hobbled together straight ahead. I knew that there were multiple hangars connected to this part of the base. I hoped that the one on this level was still there, and that perhaps there was a ship inside. Some part of me accepted that there were mere minutes left, perhaps seconds.

"Riala, leave me," Phasma groaned when a false step nearly made me lose my footing. Struggling to help her walk, I didn't have any patience for her plea.

"I would rather die with you than by myself," I grunted between steps. She said nothing to that, too overwhelmed with the pain in her leg. We focused on the task ahead of us, one step at a time. Dead bodies were more prominent here. Mostly slaves or low-level waste management techs. I sensed in the base structure around me a few sparks of life, but many of them faded before I came upon them. I ignored the one persistent life sign I sensed in an adjacent room and tried not to bring the terror I felt in that person with me. All I could think about was breathing, urging my muscles to continue through their exhaustion, to keep moving forward.

The halls were mercifully passable on this level. The route to the hangar was wholly free of any blockages, but I was aware of a growing sense of pressure coming from beneath me and outside of myself.

When we emerged into a lower hangar, I was not entirely surprised to see that, apart from some flaming vehicle remnants and scattered debris, it was empty. If there had been any working ships, they were long gone. We kept moving forward.

Our steps slowed as we crossed the cracked and trembling floor. Beyond the open hangar bay, we could see nothing but flaming wreckage where the solar heat array surrounding the superweapon had once been. I felt numb as I looked at it, too exhausted for fear.

In a way, it was beautiful. The way the gouts of fire illuminated the sky, smoke tinged purple and red obscured the stars far above. An entire level of the base to the distant left where the interior wall of the equatorial rift curved around into view, snapped and fell into itself, sinking into fire.

Together, Phasma and I came to the edge of the hangar bay's open ledge. The drop from here to the bottom was easily six stories or more.

I thought about throwing myself off of it, ending my life on my terms. A hand on my face brought me back. I looked up into Phasma's eyes, and in them I could sense that she had known what I was thinking. Even dilated with the pain of her crushed leg and the effort it took to stand, she managed an expression of pure longing.

"Riala, I-"

I silenced her with a kiss. Her lips tasted like sweat and she smelled like garbage, as did I, but all I could think about was how grateful I was that my vision was false and that I was not alone. I didn't want to be alone. Our kiss broke. Phasma now had tears streaking the dirt on her cheeks. Our foreheads touched, and quaking with quiet sobs, we sank to the floor clutching each other as the planet fell around us.

Bright white light flashed behind my lids. For a brief second, I thought the end had come.

But then I heard voices shouting.

Shouting my name. I looked past the light, front lights of the freighter, and saw the faces of Greta and Armata. I dragged Phasma toward the edge. Arms grabbed us, pulled us inside.

The door of the freighter closed behind us, but not before I heard the massive, rumbling crash of the hangar collapsing in on itself behind us.

"We couldn't leave you," a voice, Greta, said. I saw that there were more faces in the hold of the ship than there had been before, some in white armor like mine. I couldn't examine them further.

Greta, Phasma, and I held onto each other as the g-force of the rapidly rising freighter pulled down on us. Seven was ahead in the cockpit, Armata at his side, gripping his shoulder as he jerked the yoke back as far as it would go.

Through the front window, I could see a bright hot light flaring from underneath us. I felt its heat coming through the floor.

The pressure I had felt earlier was growing. A firm hand lighted on my arm but soon the pain swallowed any other sensation.

The feeling expanded inside of my chest until I thought it would burst.

A voice said my name, but a screaming sound in my ears drowned everything out and I clutched my head in effort to stop it. I forgot myself as my skin seemed to transform into smoldering ash, my blood to molten fire.

My world became white, hot, shrieking oblivion.

And then… there was nothing.

Epilogue

Dappled sunlight played across my bare legs. A warm breeze passed between the towering, ancient trees, rustling the foliage in the canopy above. Birdsong permeated my surroundings, a tuneless musical chittering that was once familiar, but was now alien to my ears. The scent of life, green and fresh and earthy, enveloped me. Familiar smells, sounds, sights, once relegated to abstract memory made themselves known to me once more. I should have felt something, but as it had been for the past weeks following our arrival on Yavin IV, I felt nothing.

All of it felt empty. My regular senses could not bring depth to a universe that had lost its fundamental substance. Without the Force, my waking moments had become a constant struggle between accepting the nature of my new reality and rebelling against the apparent façade of it.

In one hand I held a datapad, a loan from the new settlement's archives, the other toyed with the chrome necklace at my throat. A thumb passed over the cloudy grey crystal set into the custom bezel on the front, but I sensed nothing from that either. Droll data on the Republic's return to power after the destruction of the Empire was interspersed with involuntary mental images of my last sight of Captain Phasma.

It was the only time I felt something now, remembering the look on her face when she said goodbye to me, when she said she would not forget what I had done for her, when I refused to respond. Maybe that was why I found myself lingering on it often. Because even feelings such as pain and regret were better than nothing. I shook it away and watched with detachment as a small forest animal rooted through the fallen leaves on the forest floor a few yards away from me.

I was not whole.

Something had happened to me the moment Starkiller Base fell. I learned later that, by some process of the thermal oscillator's destruction and lack of functional failsafes, a chain reaction had been triggered that caused all solid matter to be swallowed by the stolen energy of the sun. Fusion and fission at an atomic level had transformed the former planet, and everyone and everything in it, into a new star. The moment I lost consciousness, my ties to the Force had been severed.

I had never realized how much the Force, and my connection with it, had given depth to the universe around me, even before I'd known that was what it was. Without it, everything felt flat. False. The people in it were more like characters in a holovid than actual human beings. And Captain Phasma… while the person I'd woken to see on the freighter with me looked and sounded like the woman I knew, and perhaps even loved, she hadn't felt like her.

And so I did not say goodbye.

It wasn't until days after our group of survivors had parted ways at a neutral spaceport that I considered the possibility that this was not a dream. Which meant that I had been undeservedly cruel to Phasma. And meant that I might never see her again to make amends.

So she had left, with help from others, to contact and rejoin the remnants of the First Order's forces. I knew that by saving her life, I had only strengthened the very organization from which I had defected, but I didn't care.

I closed the datapad, unable to concentrate. Even by myself as I was, the ambient noise of my surroundings was difficult to tune out when my life had been spent within durasteel walls with nothing to hear in my quiet moments but the hum of distant electronics and the deliberate silence of other slaves.

I stood up and brushed myself off. In a disconnected sort of way, I enjoyed the clothing I'd been assigned by refugee services, shorts, sleeveless tunic, long duster. No shoes. Nothing else was necessary in such a temperate climate, and I enjoyed the rough, sharp surface of the ground beneath my feet. The pain of a twig or rock poking the soft, uncalloused soles of my feet served as a welcome reminder that I was alive.

My walk back to town, or the section of town that the local authorities had set aside for refugees, was too short. I was soon amongst the busy populace as it went about daily life. This was not the same settlement where I'd been born. This town was larger, and further into the day side of the tidally-locked forest moon. Someday I might visit the ruins of my past life, but today I simply wanted to refill my rations and request another datapad from the archives. Perhaps one on introductory astrophysics.

But as weaving my way through the crowds became more difficult, I could see that a sizable collection of colonists and refugees had gathered to see something. I used my height to peer between two people. Far ahead, before the large, domed structure that was the colony's starship hangar and repair facility, I saw a group of people facing the crowd. I could make out no more detail than the bright orange of a flightsuit. I could not hear what was being said over the dull murmurs of the crowd.

Despite my better judgment, I found myself creeping closer to listen. When there were no more than half a dozen people between me and the focal point of the gathering, I halted and observed.

"General Organa knows the loss you feel," a male voice said. Part of me began to wake up as I realized that I knew this voice. "This war brought destruction to the galaxy on a scale that hasn't been seen since before the Empire. No matter what side you were on, we are now united in our grief."

Unable to stop myself, I rose to my full height, peering around the Rodian in front of me to see the speaker. A shock coursed through me when I saw the intense brown eyes and thick, dark curls of Poe Dameron. As I'd suspected, he was far more handsome without blood and sweat on his face. My heart began to race, and while I tried to conceal myself, I couldn't look away.

"The Resistance needs your help now more than ever," he continued. "To bring peace to the galaxy once and for all."

"The First Order's gone!" someone shouted from the back of the crowd. Poe turned toward the voice, his brow knitting, his eyes smoldering with resolute fire.

"The First Order is still out there," he said. "Snoke's shadow has retreated, but it is not gone. He's just waiting for the right time to return. He's done it before, and he'll do it again." A murmur passed through the crowd. Poe's eyes moved over the faces as though addressing every person individually. In a moment of terror, I saw them land on me, but then he looked past.

"That is why General Leia Organa and the remaining members of the Republic council, has offered a pardon to any and all former members of the First Order that are willing to join us." The murmurs rose to a low roar. Poe gave it a moment before continuing. "Any information you have, no matter how insignificant it might seem, could help us prevent more tragedy."

The crowd began to speak amongst itself. I spotted the faces of Seven and Armata standing some distance away from me, together as they always seemed to be now. In the center of the crowd, I could see that there were others with Poe Dameron, but I could not see them for the onlookers standing in my way. I rose to my full height again to get a better look. Two women, including a Resistance officer and a Republic official, stood on either side of him. A tall man in robes stood behind him, but I couldn't see his face as his back was turned. Poe continued speaking, and the crowd seemed to quiet automatically, as taken in by this man's natural charisma as I was.

"It doesn't matter who you were before. It doesn't matter what you did. If you're here, that means that you escaped the destruction of Starkiller Base. It means that you have a chance to do some good." I heard whispers break out.

"How?" someone called. I recognized the voice as Seven. It sounded closer.

The Resistance officer held up a datapad in her hands. "All you have to do is sign up here with your former First Order designation, name, and position. Your case will be reviewed for pardon immediately and someone from the Resistance will be in contact with you as soon as possible."

"What if you're just trying to hunt us down?" another voice cried out from the back. Discontent erupted around me. I was bumped by an elbow and hemmed in tighter as agitated crowd members began talking amongst themselves.

"No one is going to make you sign up," Poe raised his voice over the crowd, his eyes zeroing in on the source of the dissenting voice somewhere behind me, and the noise lessened. "Whether you do this is your choice, and your choice only. But I promise you this: the Resistance is only interested in ending the war. We want peace, for everyone. We want our lives back."

Poe began walking slowly, his face becoming more impassioned as he spoke to the now silent, raptly attentive audience.

"For some, war is all you've ever known." His eyes flickered to me again, but instead of moving on, this time they remained on me. My face burned, and my heart skipped a beat. "I can tell you that there is so much more out there." And just like that, he looked away again. I shrank back and tried to slink away but came face to face with an impassable wall of spectators. "But we have to stand together. Please, help us stop Snoke and the First Order from rising again. Please, help us bring peace to the galaxy once more."

With that, the voice of the people began to rise again. The figures around me began to move as some in the crowd made their way to the front, to the officer with the datapad. I was jostled and pushed forward despite my efforts to sneak away and leave, and the movements of the audience threatened to knock me down and force me to the fore.

I stopped trying to be careful and just began shoving people aside, swimming against the current to get myself away as quickly as possible, my plans to visit the archives forgotten.

The crowd thinned toward the back, and I took a deep breath, my eyes on the tree line behind the nearest buildings.

"Hey, you," a voice said behind me. "Water girl."

I froze where I stood, feeling the blood rush away from my face. Slowly, I turned to face him, my mind blanking in fear. A small, crooked smile was on Poe Dameron's lips as he regarded me with cool eyes.

"Aren't you going to sign up?" he asked me, brushing the hair away from his forehead. Blood returned to my face with such alarming alacrity that I felt faint.

I stuttered, my voice coming out choked. Rapidly, I looked around myself for a quick exit, but saw none. My palms sweated and my mouth was dry. Seeing my fear, Poe's smirk dropped away and his eyes softened.

"Hey, it's okay," he said in a calming tone of voice, raising a hand in a placating gesture. "It's alright. Don't be afraid. No one's going to hurt you. I just saw you in the crowd and I thought you might want to help us."

I forced my mind to slow, swallowed hard, blinked once slowly as I willed my panic to go away. I took a deep breath and when I opened my eyes again, the subtle smile had returned to his face. A small, unexpected flutter in my stomach only added to my unsteadiness. He looked like someone who smiled often.

"What's your name?" he asked me, his posture relaxing. Behind him, I could see most of the crowd begin to disperse while others gathered more tightly around the center.

"Riala," I answered, and then amended, "I mean… that's what it was. I don't know what my name was before. That is, what it was before the Order-" My words tumbled out and I closed my mouth to stop the flow. He granted me with a small laugh, and I felt a wave of warmth pass from my scalp to my toes.

"Is it okay if I just call you Riala?" he asked. I nodded. "Look, you don't have to do anything. Like I said, this is your choice. But I think you might know something, about Snoke, about Kylo Ren, that could be valuable to the Resistance." His voice dropped and his eyes seemed to become larger, more intense, and I felt the bustling town fade around us. "Riala, we need you."

I remember nodding mutely. I remember him offering his hand, and me taking it. I remember feeling his warm, dry palm against my sweaty one, and that he didn't seem to care. I let him lead me back toward the crowd. I was less scared now with his hand on mine. At that moment, helping the Resistance fight Snoke seemed like the only thing I could have done, especially when confronted with the force of nature that was ace pilot Poe Dameron.

A data pad was placed in my hand and as I poised to input my slave designation, I heard an exclamation of shock. I looked up to see that the tall man in the robes was gawking at me. His skin was fairer than mine, his face bearded, but his eyes, brown edged with a ring of grey, were like looking into a mirror.

"Necerii?" he uttered in a deep voice. A wave of shivers passed over me when I heard the name. "Necerii Rho? Can it be?"

Beside me, I saw Poe look back and forth between myself and the man.

"Garot, do you know her?"

Garot. Where did I know that name?

My brother.

"'Cerii, it is you!" the man exclaimed, stepping forward suddenly and then stopping as if uncertain. I was frozen in place but my mind was hurtling forward into a thousand different directions. Garot. But the bodies. The corpse pyres. Now I couldn't be sure of what I saw all those years ago. My mother, I definitely saw her get shot in the chest by a blaster bolt. But everything else seemed shaky, uncertain. Garot, my older brother. He was fourteen years old when I was taken, barely a man. Certainly not as tall, not as bearded. Tears were forming in his eyes, but he was hesitant, looking at me as though I were a ghost, or something insubstantial that might vanish when touched.

"I thought she looked familiar," Poe said. His voice was muffled over the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears.

I didn't understand the words. I didn't understand anything. Without the Force to give my senses substance, it still felt like a dream. I didn't want it to be a dream.

"Where were you?" I asked. My voice sounded harder than I meant it to be, but then I could feel a small spark of anger flaring inside of me. "Where were you when I was taken away?"

Garot's eyes softened. Moisture spilled over, and he fidgeted with the long, draped sleeves of his fine robes. They looked expensive. Important.

"'Cerii, please understand, it was so long ago. I was so young. I've… never forgiven myself. For not stopping them from taking you. Or Helia."

"Helia? She died with everyone else," I said sharply. Garot shook his head. I felt my anger flare at this, but without the Gaze it was inert and toothless, just a scowl.

"No, Necerii… she didn't. It wasn't like that at all. Please, let's go somewhere quiet." His round eyes grew larger, fat droplets trailing down and collecting in his neat brown beard. "I… can't believe it's really you."

"Maybe it's not me," I said, spite making my words barbed. "I died that day. I am not Necerii."

I didn't understand what I was feeling at that moment. It was too much. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to curl up and cry, I wanted to scream, I wanted to touch his face and see that he was real. I wanted to wake up. Everything that had been missing from me over the last couple of weeks came rushing back with intensity that I couldn't handle.

A large, warm hand touched my shoulder and I turned my anger toward its owner. It was Poe. The pity in his eyes was too much. I shrugged out from under his hand and took myself away as quickly as possible, feeling myself grow hotter and more frantic with each step. My family wasn't dead. Garot. Helia? What had he meant? What if he were lying? What if it were a trick? I tried to remember that day, but aside from what I'd managed to dig up in my meditations, I could remember no specific details. I knew my mother was dead. But the others? Father? Garot was alive. Poe had known him. Maybe they'd grown up together.

I found myself standing at the edge of the trees. I wanted to run into them and keep running until I found the border between day and night. And then I thought of Garot. He had my eyes, the same eyes that had seen the burning of our settlement, the slaughter of its citizens. I've never forgiven myself, he said. I swiped away the hot tears streaming down my face as I imagined his grief and his loss. I could see that he did not resemble my father, but he was unmistakably my brother.

I leaned against the wall of the building, sobbing. The crack of a twig made me turn around.

Garot stood there, a few yards away, looking the picture of helpless guilt and grief. We looked at one another for a long moment.

"'Cerii," he started. Without meaning to, I found myself going toward him. His arms opened and then he folded me into them. His warm, soft robes surrounded me as he embraced me tightly, and I began to cry against his chest, quaking with the force of it. My sadness began to swell and change into something else. Taller than me, he easily kissed the top of my head as he held me close.

"Somehow," he said in a measured, even tone meant only for me. "Somehow we were meant to find each other. I can feel it."

All I knew was that at that moment, nothing else mattered.

For the first time in sixteen years, I felt safe.

I was home.

Dedication: thank you to my secret editor and fellow rabid fangirl bff who always demanded more sweaty kylo, JB-007, and always managed to pull me out of the mire of writer's block on so many occasions and who helped write this story. She helped make it waaaay better than it was going to be, believe me. Thank you to Lucasfilm and JJ Abrams whose vision of the Star Wars universe gave me new life and new inspiration and ladyboners for days. Thank you to Domhnall Gleeson for being beautiful and for Adam Driver for making Kylo Ren so delightfully slappable. And thank you, dear readers, for offering encouragement both in the forefront in the comments and in the background with faves and subs and kudos and view numbers. You've helped me finish what I started.
Even if it took me 9 months. (I guess this really is my baby)

I guess now that it's actually finished I can say without shame that I fully intend to keep writing in this universe (that is, the *mostly* canon universe where Riala exists) though I may not only stick to this period in galactic history, or exclusively to her story or POV. *cough*rogueone*coughcough* There are so many questions that will be answered in the upcoming period between episodes, so basically, I fully intend to tie up all of the loose ends I've put in there. I just might need to take a break first.

thank you again.

3

Default by Atoms for Peace

It slipped my mind
And for a time
I felt completely free

A world of trouble
Silent double
A pawn into a queen

I laugh now
But later's not so easy
I've gotta stop
The will is strong
But the flesh is weak
I guess that's it
I've made my bed
And I lie in it

I'm still hanging on
Bird upon a wire
I fall between the waves

I avoid your gaze
I turn out of phase
A pawn into a queen
But it's eating me up
It's eating me up