New fic - "Star Wars: Per Exasperatio Ad Astra - Ch 18"
In which Rey learns new things and the Senior Officers' Meeting goes in an unexpected direction
Nimbus City was huge. Niima Outpost could have fitted into it…Rey could not even think how many times over. She had never been among so many people in her life, and apparently this was nothing compared to Cloud City, since Nimbus City was a guests-only, restricted facility. Everywhere were more species of people than she could identify, even with her new knowledge, walking or sitting together in bright, high-ceilinged concourses and indoor gardens, all decorated in more colours than she had ever seen in her life, and designs that she had never even imagined. Small open vehicles (“we call them ‘trolleys’”) sailed overhead along designed float-paths. Deenine escorted them through at a brisk stroll, pointing out interesting bits of art and infrastructure. There were other groups like them, being shown the facilities available for their needs by escorting protocol droids.
She found it easier than she had feared, being among so many minds. It helped that none of the organics was paying much attention to their group, busy with their own concerns (the droids all know, though, the new knowledge whispered; the alert, suspicious voice that was closest to her own habits of thinking; sometimes only the unfamiliar information it offered let her distinguish it from her own thoughts). She had discovered on board the Millenn…Stellar Envoy that Human minds were painfully clear, practically shouting for her attention. Non-humans were just that bit more…blurred; they had that little, comfortable padding of alien-ness to soften the edges. Droid minds were clear but needed conscious attention. Rey’s attempt to focus on Deenine had her tripping over her own feet and almost taking a header into an ornamental pond filled with bright blue aquatic flowers. Deenine was much bigger than she looked.
Everyone around was from a species that could tolerate human-comfortable gravity and atmosphere, but according to Deenine there were secure levels in both Cloud City and Nimbus City that were calibrated for the major non-oxygen-dependent species that did business with Bespin. As a specialised facility for meeting and negotiation, Nimbus City could also, given sufficient notice, customise environments within a wide range of tolerances. But even this was not its major offering to its guests.
”Mistress Rey, Master Finn, as people new to the wider galaxy, you should be aware,” Deenine said, ”Both your security and your privacy are guaranteed in Nimbus City. We don’t allow visitors to make audio or visual records of anyone they meet or see here, let alone publish it on any external network. This is not necessarily the case elsewhere.”
Both Finn and Rey looked at her blankly, Finn because he was accustomed to living under permanent surveillance, and Rey because she didn’t understand what Deenine was talking about. Seeing her obvious confusion, Poe said, “People like to make records of where they are and what they doing, and share them on-net. A lot of people use public records to do personal surveillance of anything or anyone that interests them. In some places, anyone, including the First Order…,” "or the New Republic,” Deenine murmured sardonically, ”or someone trying to sell you habitat insurance,”…
“could just search for your face on public recordings and find you.”
Rey tried to understand this. Trillions of people, watching trillions of people. Being watched by trillions of people. She thought about being watched by Unkar Plutt wherever she was, whatever she was doing. The thought made her want to vomit.
"Of course,” Deenine said in her cool, tranquil voice, her sensors obviously having registered physical signs of stress, ”In a galaxy with quintillions of sentients, trillions of whom are Human, it’s still very hard to find someone who doesn’t want to be found, especially on worlds where Humans are fewer, and local surveillance systems are optimised for other species.”
Finn looked doubtful. Rey said nothing. There was every possibility that as their connection strengthened, as was clearly happening (and why was it happening, if Snoke was dead and he had created it?), Ren would be able to find her anywhere, lost among the trillions or not (and you could find him too. If you want).
After a couple hours of ‘sight-seeing’, (apparently exerting yourself for nothing but entertainment was something completely normal in the galaxy) Rey ventured to ask as they strolled along if she could go and see the repairs on the Millenn…Stellar Envoy.
”Yes, ma’am,” Deenine said, then without more than a moment’s pause,
“Captain Chewbacca is overseeing the refit and is happy to meet you at the Stellar Envoy at Secure Maintenance Bay Besh 97. I have ordered refreshments. We can take a trolley; it will take approximately 20.75 minutes to reach the maintenance bays from here, and another 2.04 minutes to reach Bay 97.”
Poe preferred to stay behind and show Finn his first bar; since it was run by and for Sullustans, Rey wasn’t sure quite what Finn was supposed to get from the experience, but presumably Poe’s intentions were good, and a bar in Nimbus City would be safe. The place that had called itself a bar in Niima Outpost…well, might as well expect to walk into a steelpecker roost and come out alive. She had no reason to object, anyway. She wanted to talk to Chewbacca, and not with an audience.
. . . . .
Of course Ren had to … teleport into the meeting, or whatever he had done, instead of just walking through the door like a normal person (couldn’t he at least pretend? Just for a couple of hours?), thus destabilising everyone all over again just as Hux had managed to get them all calmed down, and focused on their jobs. Rather than on, say, mutiny.
The Head and Tiekte were already standing (he needed to know more about Tangrians, without delay). Hux shot to his feet and saluted, deploying his best parade-ground bark in a desperate attempt to get everyone back into the proper mood. “Supreme Leader, Sir!”
Ren nodded. “Grand Marshal-designate. Be seated all, please.”
“Sir.” Hux sat, followed by everyone else, civil and military. As if he had read Hux’s thoughts (ha), Ren’s next words were happily mundane.
“I understand from both Housekeeping and Engineering that it will be at least 17 days before Supremacy is fully evacuated and all assets and personnel are redistributed to the rest of the Fleet. We’ll have the formal promotion ceremony for you, and everyone else in the current promotion round before then.”
Since both the evacuation and re-distribution of assets were safely on schedule, the Acting Assistant Deputy Chief of Engineering, and the Acting Chief of Housekeeping and Maintenance only had to nod dutifully. The Chief of Human Resources (military) and the Director-General of Personnel (civilian), on the other hand, looked utterly horrified, but in a regular (he wants us to settle promotions and reassignments for the entire First Order in how much time?) way. Hux drew in a cautiously hopeful breath; perhaps this meeting would be relatively normal after all.
Proving that hope is a false jade, Ren promptly added, “We should also address the issue of the First Order’s orientation with respect to the Force.”
That rather set the tone for the rest of the meeting.
It was agreed that the promotion ceremony should be part of a formal memorial ceremony for the dead. Personnel and Human Resources had their caf refilled, their backs patted gently, and reassurance given that promotions could come first, and reassignments could be done step by step as the Order reorganised itself to deal with the loss of a significant fraction of its active members.
The explanation of the circumstances of Snoke’s death came and went in a fog of mystified acquiescence, although Hux was pleased to see the Head of General Administration’s left eyelid twitch visibly when Ren mentioned “the praxis of the Department of Force Affairs”. At least someone else knew how it felt to see Ren doing his Ren thing, casually taking over for his own purposes a situation that she had thought she controlled. It helped that no-one had, as it turned out, exactly supported Snoke. He had just been ... useful. And then Supreme Leader. Grand Admiral Sloane’s brief, death’s-head grin at that point in the discussion caused a certain, just-barely-visible, embarrassment among some of the older officers.
Strategic Communications (civilian) and the Morale Unit (military) were tasked to jointly roll out a revised, comprehensive, internal and external media campaign, based on the plan already approved by Grand Marshal-designate Hux earlier. They would also jointly draft the Supreme Leader’s speech to the whole Order, to be delivered tomorrow. Hux resigned himself to a sleepless night; still, it would be an excellent opportunity to get to know Tiekte better, and find out who was prescribing her stims. Surely if they were working together all night she could be persuaded to share, in the interest of good civil/military relations.
Science (civilian) and Technical Research (military) would jointly be given full access to the technology found in Snoke’s quarters for research and development purposes. That was well-received. No-one argued when the Supreme Leader said that Snoke’s library was only accessible to Force-users, and he and the Knights of Ren would share the data within with the relevant departments of the Order on an ongoing basis.
The Supreme Leader politely declined to answer any questions about kyber crystal deposits or the locations thereof, beyond the assurance that the Order had more than enough reserves for any conceivable miltary or financial need. The persistent Brigadier-General retired from the lists, baffled.
By this point the SOM was suffering serious mental space-sickness, as the meeting yawed uneasily back and forth between the reassuringly procedural and the alarmingly mystical, depending on whom of the Grand Marshal-designate or the Supreme Leader had control of the agenda at the moment. The Head of General Administration, who had worked with both Palpatine and Darth Vader, saw the signs of stress and signalled for refreshments. The small distraction, as another round of caf and tea was served, with the addition of some calming, micronutrient-reinforced biscuits, let everyone catch their breath, and allowed the meeting to continue without collapsing entirely into nervous hysteria and outright mutiny. Through the holos, it looked as if the rest of High Command was sensibly doing the same in their offices.
The Supreme Leader had a cup of tea and a biscuit; he praised the biscuit. The Director of Nutrition (and Deputy Chief Medical Officer) looked gratified, and described its excellent nutrient content. Hux tried one and it was indeed surprisingly good: spicy and not too sweet. He sent a note to AK-49 to get some for his office staff, to keep up morale, and some for Ren’s office as well (Captain Keltor’s morale could always do with a boost).
Focus restored, the meeting continued.
Rear-Admiral Telatten received with admirable self-control the news that she was in charge of the health and welfare of Snoke’s aliens until further notice. “They like you,” Ren said. “They don’t think that you are hostile.” No-one ventured to ask how he knew. “They need time to recover from what Snoke did to them. Get them comfortable, and let them talk to you about anything they want. They will be useful later.”
“Yes, sir.” If Telatten objected to being appointed trauma counsellor to a bunch of species-unknown aliens, she did not show it. Her suggestion that the scan data that Harbinger’s Medbay was accumulating about them be shared with Science (civilian) and FSB (military), was approved by the Supreme Leader. Garmuth looked visibly relieved that Security’s concerns were being taken into account; good, if FSB could be reliably on side it would be one less personnel problem.
Hux added to his list of queries to raise with Ren later, since no one was asking the reasonable questions (such as ‘Useful, how?’). Even Quinn the sceptic seemed to have given up for now, perhaps daunted by the sheer number of possible questions that the meeting was throwing up along the way.
Grand Admiral Sloane was given command of Base Fleets 4 and 5, and tasked with watching the Order’s back in the Unknown Regions.
“You are the founder of the First Order, Grand Admiral,” Ren said soberly. “It was built upon your ethics and ideals. Even before our . . .final disagreement, it had become clear to me that Snoke cared only for his own ambitions; my Knights and I are still investigating the secrets that he kept from us and from the Order. Now that he is dead, the Order has the chance to return to our true course. But as we proceed with our campaign, we cannot forget to guard our home base. We are not the only power in the Unknown Regions.”
That went down pretty well, too. Even Hux had to acknowledge his own swell of gratification at the recognition granted to his mentor, while making a (mental) note that Ren was obviously better at propaganda than he had thought.
I see much more clearly now, the Supreme Leader said in his head. It makes things easier. He sounded far less stressed than he had been after Starkiller Base. Obviously killing his authority figures was something Ren got better at with practice.
Sloane tilted her head in acknowledgement, smiling gently, which for Sloane was the equivalent of fireworks and a victory dance. “Sir. Have you…become aware of any threat to the First Order that we have not accounted for in our planning?”
Ren was managing . . . decently, Hux thought, in terms of being impassive but visibly attentive and focused (much easier without the ghastly helmet); a perhaps subconscious reassurance to everyone who, unlike Hux, couldn’t see the . . . eye thing that he had going on.
“The Force has not yet shown me an explicit threat, Grand Admiral. But there is a sense of danger to the Order, and it lies in the Unknown Regions. Be alert for anything…anomalous.”
After that, the announcement that Snoke’s specifically Force-related technologies would be investigated later once the Department of Force Affairs was up to strength was received with interest rather than horror, at least initially.
“Are we going to be, ah, actively recruiting Force-users, then, Supreme Leader?” Grand Admiral Pellaeon asked cautiously, after Hux’s silent nod and serenely indifferent demeanour made it clear that (a) he knew what this was about; (b) didn’t object; and (c) wasn’t going to explain either, the sneaky, sadistic bastard (and all right, so maybe he wasn’t such a bad choice for Grand Marshal, if it had to be one of the young ones).
For the first time since he had arrived…appeared…joined the meeting, Ren’s face showed an expression: a small, unsettling, upward curve of the lips.
“The First Order has been actively recruiting Force-sensitives for more than twenty years,” he said. “Though only the original Knights of Ren were Force-users, and within the Order now, only I and the present Knights of Ren are in that category. But a significant percentage of Capital Fleet officers and enlisted, and a smaller percentage of those in our other Fleets, are Force-sensitive.”
There was uproar, calming biscuits notwithstanding.
Hux sipped his tarine tea and offered Grand Admiral Sloane as sympathetic a glance as he could persuade his features to adopt. He had had . . .some difficulty maintaining his equilibrium too, when Ren had told him. Only the fact that they had been in Hux’s head at the time had prevented his outrage from being audible all the way back to the Unknown Regions. Listening to his colleagues now, he could practically feel their panic and paranoia rising. That was understandable, but couldn’t be allowed to go too far.
He fixed Ren across the table with his sharpest stare, the one that made senior officers wilt and junior officers shrivel entirely. It had no discernible effect on Ren, but would at least hopefully get his attention. You need to do something about this, Ren! Sorry. Supreme Leader.
Ren waved a hand (the one wearing Snoke’s black ring), and a grudging silence fell. “Force-sensitives are common,” he said, as prosaically as if he were reporting the day’s prices for fish on Pantolomin. “Every speck of matter in the universe has a baseline presence in the Force, and living beings have more, even non-sapients. Among sapient species, on average, the Jedi assessed that about one percent of a given population could be considered Force-sensitive, that is, with sufficient presence in the Force beyond baseline to both affect and be affected by it at an unconscious level. Among Force-sensitives, perhaps 0.0001% might be Force-aware, able to detect the Force on a conscious level, though not to manipulate it consciously except in extremis. Among the Force-aware, perhaps another 0.0001% might be Force-users, able to sense and manipulate the Force at the conscious level, to any degree at all.”
The atmosphere eased a little, as the SOM absorbed this information. It was certainly more than either the Emperor or Snoke had ever bothered to share. Before anyone could speak, Ren went on,
“High-level Force-users are very rare indeed. The Jedi at their height, among a galactic population of quintillions of sapients, and with an active search and recruitment programme, numbered fewer than a million. Imperial search programmes found no more.”
“The Inquisitorius,” Pellaeon said, thoughtfully. “They were active in the early Empire, hunting Jedi mostly, and then they just…faded from view. None of their records made it out with us after Jakku.”
“Project Harvester, too,” Hux put in. “Designed to identify Force-sensitive Imperial cadets. Run out of the Arkanis Academy, though not under the Commandant’s direct control. No-one was retrieved during the fall of Arkanis, though.”
Vice-Admiral Ree said bleakly, “There was nothing and no-one to retrieve. The Academy took a direct hit during the early orbital bombardment by Rebel forces.”
“The relevant question,” said General Quinn, recovering his animal spirits, “is, who are the ones in the First Order now? We need to know!”
Ren tilted his head upwards, meeting Quinn’s agitated stare. Quinn tensed, but didn’t back down.
“No, you don’t,” the Supreme Leader said flatly. “They’re Force-sensitives, not Force-users. None of them even knows it of themselves, nor do they need to; it would not improve their performance, and might even damage it. They are loyal men and women who are good at their jobs. Intelligent, competent, good at systems, coordination, and co-operation, good at winning the freely-given loyalty of their colleagues and subordinates. Promoted unusually fast.”
Domaric Quinn had been the youngest full General in the First Order, until Armitage Hux was promoted. Everyone looked at him. He turned an alarming shade of puce. “I am not Force-sensitive!”
“You wouldn’t know, and I wouldn’t tell you anyway,” Ren said with something of a snap, sounding more human than he had all day. “It’s a talent like any other, no different from good hand-eye coordination or analytical ability or any other aptitude the First Order selects for and trains to improve. It’s not magic.”
Into the ensuing unconvinced silence, the Head of General Administration was heard to say, quietly but firmly, “And before anyone asks, the Civilian Arm doesn’t have those records either.”
. . . . .
Deenine left Rey at the entrance to Maintenance Bay Besh 97, with the assurance that a trolley would be there to take her back to her quarters when she was ready. A food-service float-tray bearing an assortment of plates, cups, flasks, and mysterious utensils hovered by the entrance, and followed Rey into the bay.
The Millenn…Stellar Envoy floated in a repulsor field, connected to the floor of the bay only by its lowered ramp. Repair droids swarmed around it, and steady streams of equipment and tools processed in and out. Chewbacca was waiting at the top of the ramp, and waved her into the crew lounge, which to her relief still looked much the same as before, minus Dr Kalonia’s medical gear.
“We’re leaving crew quarters for last,” he said. “So your books are safe.”
Rey felt the easing of a tension of which she had not been aware.
“Thank you for looking after them. I suppose I should take them with me…”
She felt oddly reluctant to do so. Grubby and creaky as it was, the Millennium Falcon (at least while she was on board she should call it by its proper name), felt somehow safer than the beautiful garden rooms far above. For the books, but also for herself. It was not just that Chewbacca was non-Human. It was that he had as far as she could tell, no expectations of her at all. There was none of that hopeful, frightened, wary, hungry attention that she sensed from the Resistance. He didn’t dislike her, and he didn’t blame her for Han Solo’s death, but there was nothing he wanted from her, which made him, as far as Rey could tell, absolutely unique in the universe. Even Luke Skywalker had actively wanted her to go away and forget about the Force.
He sat, and waved her to a seat as well. “Have something to eat,” he said. “And we can talk.”
Rey sat down in the other seat by the dejarik table. The float-tray approached her cautiously, keeping her between the Wookiee and itself.
“Master Chewbacca,” she said. “I don’t know what to do.”
. . . . .
The minute it occurred to Hux (purely in passing) that the SOM had not in fact got round to discussing the orientation of the First Order with respect to the Force, he tried to unthink the thought. Too late. There was no going back to actual topic under discussion, which was whether to start work on Starkiller II immediately, or whether to wait a bit to see how the conquest of the galaxy went without it; a subject about which Hux, naturally, had strong views.
Thank you for reminding me, Ren said, apparently sincerely. Hux forced his teeth to unclench, and took slow breaths.
“I will discuss the Starkiller question with the Grand Marshal, Engineering and Finance later,” the Supreme Leader said, tapping at his pad. “But now we must discuss the orientation of the First Order with respect to the Force. Join me in meditation, and I will show you our path.”
“What?” said Telatten, startled into indiscretion, echoed almost instantly by Pellaon, Daala, Quinn (of course), and several others, especially the older officers. This was outrageous. Even Darth Vader ...even the Emperor had never required his officers to go so far.
“Trust me, in this if in nothing else,” the Supreme Leader said, his voice deep and soft, and suddenly he was no longer just a young man, in a position for which he had neither training nor experience, trying to convince his elders to follow him. This was the Force incarnate, barely contained in a human form. Hux shuddered at the power flowing over his skin, and from the looks on the faces around him, quite a lot of the SOM were feeling it too.
Ren’s voice said in Hux's head, Put your left hand under the table. She needs to touch your wrist. Please don’t cut off her hand.
What?
Do it.
He did it, keeping his eyes fixed on the darkness where Ren’s eyes should be. After a moment he felt a light, skittish touch on his forearm. It slipped down towards his wrist (he felt a moment’s relief that he hadn’t changed the location of his knife yet), under the sleeve of his tunic, and closed cool, dry fingers around his wrist. Tiekte had been wearing gloves, like everyone else. He wondered when she had taken them off.
When the biscuits went round. All right, you’re covered. Don’t panic.
“Hear me,” Ren said, with sudden weighty authority, undeniable, unstoppable. “What you know of the Force, is not the Force. For millennia both Sith and Jedi have walked false paths, each denying the other, and each therefore never free of the other. Light and Darkness are only names. There is one Force, and we choose our names for it as we will. The First Order is not the Empire, and it will follow neither the path of the Sith nor the path of the Jedi, but the path of unity, the path of victory. Meditate with me.”
With almost his last coherent thought, Hux hoped that the recorders were capturing all of this.
Hux knew the feeling of an irresistible will over-riding his own. Snoke had subjected him to it regularly. The experience was familiar and held a certain amount of rational fear, and a much greater level of fury. But this time was different, and his mind screamed under Ren’s will as it tore him away from awareness of his immediate surroundings, and impossibly deeper into awareness of. . .everything. Every life on board, from the dianogas in Hydroponics (an old alliance that the First Order had kept up, for mutual benefit) to the Humans to the smallest micro-organisms that lived on every individual eyelash, every speck of matter, every cell that went to make up the substance of Supremacy. The stellar inferno of the reactors, the massless flicker of the shields, the cool, orderly thoughts of droids…
As the cellular membrane, the outline/interface that separated Hux from…not-Hux was gradually thinned to erasure, that obdurate core of self that had brought him alive and sane(ish) through the long nightmares of his life, through Jakku, and Brendol and Snoke and Ren. . .that small, tough, hard-clenched kernel of irreducible Huxness raged against its oncoming obliteration, beat furiously at the walls of Ren’s will, and through no strength of its own… endured.
The fingers around his wrist tightened with vicious intensity, and Hux. . .remained Hux. The line that preserved him from oblivion in the all in all faded almost to vanishing, but it stayed. Somehow, safe behind the shelter of...what, exactly? It wasn’t the twilight shadow that Ren had used to protect him from the Jedi girl’s unshielded Force. This was more like a fog-grenade, used to blur the vision of eyes and sensors alike. Everything was quieter and dimmer, but Ren’s deep voice filled the universe, tolling like a great bell heard through all of space and time, echoed by all the voices of the First Order, here and everywhere.
In grief, courage.
In fear, resolve.
In anger, strength.
In loyalty, the end of loneliness.
There is no darkness. There is passion.
There is no light. There is clarity.
In clarity and passion, there is the Force.
We are one with the Force, and the Force is with us.
Nimbus City was huge. Niima Outpost could have fitted into it…Rey could not even think how many times over. She had never been among so many people in her life, and apparently this was nothing compared to Cloud City, since Nimbus City was a guests-only, restricted facility. Everywhere were more species of people than she could identify, even with her new knowledge, walking or sitting together in bright, high-ceilinged concourses and indoor gardens, all decorated in more colours than she had ever seen in her life, and designs that she had never even imagined. Small open vehicles (“we call them ‘trolleys’”) sailed overhead along designed float-paths. Deenine escorted them through at a brisk stroll, pointing out interesting bits of art and infrastructure. There were other groups like them, being shown the facilities available for their needs by escorting protocol droids.
She found it easier than she had feared, being among so many minds. It helped that none of the organics was paying much attention to their group, busy with their own concerns (the droids all know, though, the new knowledge whispered; the alert, suspicious voice that was closest to her own habits of thinking; sometimes only the unfamiliar information it offered let her distinguish it from her own thoughts). She had discovered on board the Millenn…Stellar Envoy that Human minds were painfully clear, practically shouting for her attention. Non-humans were just that bit more…blurred; they had that little, comfortable padding of alien-ness to soften the edges. Droid minds were clear but needed conscious attention. Rey’s attempt to focus on Deenine had her tripping over her own feet and almost taking a header into an ornamental pond filled with bright blue aquatic flowers. Deenine was much bigger than she looked.
Everyone around was from a species that could tolerate human-comfortable gravity and atmosphere, but according to Deenine there were secure levels in both Cloud City and Nimbus City that were calibrated for the major non-oxygen-dependent species that did business with Bespin. As a specialised facility for meeting and negotiation, Nimbus City could also, given sufficient notice, customise environments within a wide range of tolerances. But even this was not its major offering to its guests.
”Mistress Rey, Master Finn, as people new to the wider galaxy, you should be aware,” Deenine said, ”Both your security and your privacy are guaranteed in Nimbus City. We don’t allow visitors to make audio or visual records of anyone they meet or see here, let alone publish it on any external network. This is not necessarily the case elsewhere.”
Both Finn and Rey looked at her blankly, Finn because he was accustomed to living under permanent surveillance, and Rey because she didn’t understand what Deenine was talking about. Seeing her obvious confusion, Poe said, “People like to make records of where they are and what they doing, and share them on-net. A lot of people use public records to do personal surveillance of anything or anyone that interests them. In some places, anyone, including the First Order…,” "or the New Republic,” Deenine murmured sardonically, ”or someone trying to sell you habitat insurance,”…
“could just search for your face on public recordings and find you.”
Rey tried to understand this. Trillions of people, watching trillions of people. Being watched by trillions of people. She thought about being watched by Unkar Plutt wherever she was, whatever she was doing. The thought made her want to vomit.
"Of course,” Deenine said in her cool, tranquil voice, her sensors obviously having registered physical signs of stress, ”In a galaxy with quintillions of sentients, trillions of whom are Human, it’s still very hard to find someone who doesn’t want to be found, especially on worlds where Humans are fewer, and local surveillance systems are optimised for other species.”
Finn looked doubtful. Rey said nothing. There was every possibility that as their connection strengthened, as was clearly happening (and why was it happening, if Snoke was dead and he had created it?), Ren would be able to find her anywhere, lost among the trillions or not (and you could find him too. If you want).
After a couple hours of ‘sight-seeing’, (apparently exerting yourself for nothing but entertainment was something completely normal in the galaxy) Rey ventured to ask as they strolled along if she could go and see the repairs on the Millenn…Stellar Envoy.
”Yes, ma’am,” Deenine said, then without more than a moment’s pause,
“Captain Chewbacca is overseeing the refit and is happy to meet you at the Stellar Envoy at Secure Maintenance Bay Besh 97. I have ordered refreshments. We can take a trolley; it will take approximately 20.75 minutes to reach the maintenance bays from here, and another 2.04 minutes to reach Bay 97.”
Poe preferred to stay behind and show Finn his first bar; since it was run by and for Sullustans, Rey wasn’t sure quite what Finn was supposed to get from the experience, but presumably Poe’s intentions were good, and a bar in Nimbus City would be safe. The place that had called itself a bar in Niima Outpost…well, might as well expect to walk into a steelpecker roost and come out alive. She had no reason to object, anyway. She wanted to talk to Chewbacca, and not with an audience.
. . . . .
Of course Ren had to … teleport into the meeting, or whatever he had done, instead of just walking through the door like a normal person (couldn’t he at least pretend? Just for a couple of hours?), thus destabilising everyone all over again just as Hux had managed to get them all calmed down, and focused on their jobs. Rather than on, say, mutiny.
The Head and Tiekte were already standing (he needed to know more about Tangrians, without delay). Hux shot to his feet and saluted, deploying his best parade-ground bark in a desperate attempt to get everyone back into the proper mood. “Supreme Leader, Sir!”
Ren nodded. “Grand Marshal-designate. Be seated all, please.”
“Sir.” Hux sat, followed by everyone else, civil and military. As if he had read Hux’s thoughts (ha), Ren’s next words were happily mundane.
“I understand from both Housekeeping and Engineering that it will be at least 17 days before Supremacy is fully evacuated and all assets and personnel are redistributed to the rest of the Fleet. We’ll have the formal promotion ceremony for you, and everyone else in the current promotion round before then.”
Since both the evacuation and re-distribution of assets were safely on schedule, the Acting Assistant Deputy Chief of Engineering, and the Acting Chief of Housekeeping and Maintenance only had to nod dutifully. The Chief of Human Resources (military) and the Director-General of Personnel (civilian), on the other hand, looked utterly horrified, but in a regular (he wants us to settle promotions and reassignments for the entire First Order in how much time?) way. Hux drew in a cautiously hopeful breath; perhaps this meeting would be relatively normal after all.
Proving that hope is a false jade, Ren promptly added, “We should also address the issue of the First Order’s orientation with respect to the Force.”
That rather set the tone for the rest of the meeting.
It was agreed that the promotion ceremony should be part of a formal memorial ceremony for the dead. Personnel and Human Resources had their caf refilled, their backs patted gently, and reassurance given that promotions could come first, and reassignments could be done step by step as the Order reorganised itself to deal with the loss of a significant fraction of its active members.
The explanation of the circumstances of Snoke’s death came and went in a fog of mystified acquiescence, although Hux was pleased to see the Head of General Administration’s left eyelid twitch visibly when Ren mentioned “the praxis of the Department of Force Affairs”. At least someone else knew how it felt to see Ren doing his Ren thing, casually taking over for his own purposes a situation that she had thought she controlled. It helped that no-one had, as it turned out, exactly supported Snoke. He had just been ... useful. And then Supreme Leader. Grand Admiral Sloane’s brief, death’s-head grin at that point in the discussion caused a certain, just-barely-visible, embarrassment among some of the older officers.
Strategic Communications (civilian) and the Morale Unit (military) were tasked to jointly roll out a revised, comprehensive, internal and external media campaign, based on the plan already approved by Grand Marshal-designate Hux earlier. They would also jointly draft the Supreme Leader’s speech to the whole Order, to be delivered tomorrow. Hux resigned himself to a sleepless night; still, it would be an excellent opportunity to get to know Tiekte better, and find out who was prescribing her stims. Surely if they were working together all night she could be persuaded to share, in the interest of good civil/military relations.
Science (civilian) and Technical Research (military) would jointly be given full access to the technology found in Snoke’s quarters for research and development purposes. That was well-received. No-one argued when the Supreme Leader said that Snoke’s library was only accessible to Force-users, and he and the Knights of Ren would share the data within with the relevant departments of the Order on an ongoing basis.
The Supreme Leader politely declined to answer any questions about kyber crystal deposits or the locations thereof, beyond the assurance that the Order had more than enough reserves for any conceivable miltary or financial need. The persistent Brigadier-General retired from the lists, baffled.
By this point the SOM was suffering serious mental space-sickness, as the meeting yawed uneasily back and forth between the reassuringly procedural and the alarmingly mystical, depending on whom of the Grand Marshal-designate or the Supreme Leader had control of the agenda at the moment. The Head of General Administration, who had worked with both Palpatine and Darth Vader, saw the signs of stress and signalled for refreshments. The small distraction, as another round of caf and tea was served, with the addition of some calming, micronutrient-reinforced biscuits, let everyone catch their breath, and allowed the meeting to continue without collapsing entirely into nervous hysteria and outright mutiny. Through the holos, it looked as if the rest of High Command was sensibly doing the same in their offices.
The Supreme Leader had a cup of tea and a biscuit; he praised the biscuit. The Director of Nutrition (and Deputy Chief Medical Officer) looked gratified, and described its excellent nutrient content. Hux tried one and it was indeed surprisingly good: spicy and not too sweet. He sent a note to AK-49 to get some for his office staff, to keep up morale, and some for Ren’s office as well (Captain Keltor’s morale could always do with a boost).
Focus restored, the meeting continued.
Rear-Admiral Telatten received with admirable self-control the news that she was in charge of the health and welfare of Snoke’s aliens until further notice. “They like you,” Ren said. “They don’t think that you are hostile.” No-one ventured to ask how he knew. “They need time to recover from what Snoke did to them. Get them comfortable, and let them talk to you about anything they want. They will be useful later.”
“Yes, sir.” If Telatten objected to being appointed trauma counsellor to a bunch of species-unknown aliens, she did not show it. Her suggestion that the scan data that Harbinger’s Medbay was accumulating about them be shared with Science (civilian) and FSB (military), was approved by the Supreme Leader. Garmuth looked visibly relieved that Security’s concerns were being taken into account; good, if FSB could be reliably on side it would be one less personnel problem.
Hux added to his list of queries to raise with Ren later, since no one was asking the reasonable questions (such as ‘Useful, how?’). Even Quinn the sceptic seemed to have given up for now, perhaps daunted by the sheer number of possible questions that the meeting was throwing up along the way.
Grand Admiral Sloane was given command of Base Fleets 4 and 5, and tasked with watching the Order’s back in the Unknown Regions.
“You are the founder of the First Order, Grand Admiral,” Ren said soberly. “It was built upon your ethics and ideals. Even before our . . .final disagreement, it had become clear to me that Snoke cared only for his own ambitions; my Knights and I are still investigating the secrets that he kept from us and from the Order. Now that he is dead, the Order has the chance to return to our true course. But as we proceed with our campaign, we cannot forget to guard our home base. We are not the only power in the Unknown Regions.”
That went down pretty well, too. Even Hux had to acknowledge his own swell of gratification at the recognition granted to his mentor, while making a (mental) note that Ren was obviously better at propaganda than he had thought.
I see much more clearly now, the Supreme Leader said in his head. It makes things easier. He sounded far less stressed than he had been after Starkiller Base. Obviously killing his authority figures was something Ren got better at with practice.
Sloane tilted her head in acknowledgement, smiling gently, which for Sloane was the equivalent of fireworks and a victory dance. “Sir. Have you…become aware of any threat to the First Order that we have not accounted for in our planning?”
Ren was managing . . . decently, Hux thought, in terms of being impassive but visibly attentive and focused (much easier without the ghastly helmet); a perhaps subconscious reassurance to everyone who, unlike Hux, couldn’t see the . . . eye thing that he had going on.
“The Force has not yet shown me an explicit threat, Grand Admiral. But there is a sense of danger to the Order, and it lies in the Unknown Regions. Be alert for anything…anomalous.”
After that, the announcement that Snoke’s specifically Force-related technologies would be investigated later once the Department of Force Affairs was up to strength was received with interest rather than horror, at least initially.
“Are we going to be, ah, actively recruiting Force-users, then, Supreme Leader?” Grand Admiral Pellaeon asked cautiously, after Hux’s silent nod and serenely indifferent demeanour made it clear that (a) he knew what this was about; (b) didn’t object; and (c) wasn’t going to explain either, the sneaky, sadistic bastard (and all right, so maybe he wasn’t such a bad choice for Grand Marshal, if it had to be one of the young ones).
For the first time since he had arrived…appeared…joined the meeting, Ren’s face showed an expression: a small, unsettling, upward curve of the lips.
“The First Order has been actively recruiting Force-sensitives for more than twenty years,” he said. “Though only the original Knights of Ren were Force-users, and within the Order now, only I and the present Knights of Ren are in that category. But a significant percentage of Capital Fleet officers and enlisted, and a smaller percentage of those in our other Fleets, are Force-sensitive.”
There was uproar, calming biscuits notwithstanding.
Hux sipped his tarine tea and offered Grand Admiral Sloane as sympathetic a glance as he could persuade his features to adopt. He had had . . .some difficulty maintaining his equilibrium too, when Ren had told him. Only the fact that they had been in Hux’s head at the time had prevented his outrage from being audible all the way back to the Unknown Regions. Listening to his colleagues now, he could practically feel their panic and paranoia rising. That was understandable, but couldn’t be allowed to go too far.
He fixed Ren across the table with his sharpest stare, the one that made senior officers wilt and junior officers shrivel entirely. It had no discernible effect on Ren, but would at least hopefully get his attention. You need to do something about this, Ren! Sorry. Supreme Leader.
Ren waved a hand (the one wearing Snoke’s black ring), and a grudging silence fell. “Force-sensitives are common,” he said, as prosaically as if he were reporting the day’s prices for fish on Pantolomin. “Every speck of matter in the universe has a baseline presence in the Force, and living beings have more, even non-sapients. Among sapient species, on average, the Jedi assessed that about one percent of a given population could be considered Force-sensitive, that is, with sufficient presence in the Force beyond baseline to both affect and be affected by it at an unconscious level. Among Force-sensitives, perhaps 0.0001% might be Force-aware, able to detect the Force on a conscious level, though not to manipulate it consciously except in extremis. Among the Force-aware, perhaps another 0.0001% might be Force-users, able to sense and manipulate the Force at the conscious level, to any degree at all.”
The atmosphere eased a little, as the SOM absorbed this information. It was certainly more than either the Emperor or Snoke had ever bothered to share. Before anyone could speak, Ren went on,
“High-level Force-users are very rare indeed. The Jedi at their height, among a galactic population of quintillions of sapients, and with an active search and recruitment programme, numbered fewer than a million. Imperial search programmes found no more.”
“The Inquisitorius,” Pellaeon said, thoughtfully. “They were active in the early Empire, hunting Jedi mostly, and then they just…faded from view. None of their records made it out with us after Jakku.”
“Project Harvester, too,” Hux put in. “Designed to identify Force-sensitive Imperial cadets. Run out of the Arkanis Academy, though not under the Commandant’s direct control. No-one was retrieved during the fall of Arkanis, though.”
Vice-Admiral Ree said bleakly, “There was nothing and no-one to retrieve. The Academy took a direct hit during the early orbital bombardment by Rebel forces.”
“The relevant question,” said General Quinn, recovering his animal spirits, “is, who are the ones in the First Order now? We need to know!”
Ren tilted his head upwards, meeting Quinn’s agitated stare. Quinn tensed, but didn’t back down.
“No, you don’t,” the Supreme Leader said flatly. “They’re Force-sensitives, not Force-users. None of them even knows it of themselves, nor do they need to; it would not improve their performance, and might even damage it. They are loyal men and women who are good at their jobs. Intelligent, competent, good at systems, coordination, and co-operation, good at winning the freely-given loyalty of their colleagues and subordinates. Promoted unusually fast.”
Domaric Quinn had been the youngest full General in the First Order, until Armitage Hux was promoted. Everyone looked at him. He turned an alarming shade of puce. “I am not Force-sensitive!”
“You wouldn’t know, and I wouldn’t tell you anyway,” Ren said with something of a snap, sounding more human than he had all day. “It’s a talent like any other, no different from good hand-eye coordination or analytical ability or any other aptitude the First Order selects for and trains to improve. It’s not magic.”
Into the ensuing unconvinced silence, the Head of General Administration was heard to say, quietly but firmly, “And before anyone asks, the Civilian Arm doesn’t have those records either.”
. . . . .
Deenine left Rey at the entrance to Maintenance Bay Besh 97, with the assurance that a trolley would be there to take her back to her quarters when she was ready. A food-service float-tray bearing an assortment of plates, cups, flasks, and mysterious utensils hovered by the entrance, and followed Rey into the bay.
The Millenn…Stellar Envoy floated in a repulsor field, connected to the floor of the bay only by its lowered ramp. Repair droids swarmed around it, and steady streams of equipment and tools processed in and out. Chewbacca was waiting at the top of the ramp, and waved her into the crew lounge, which to her relief still looked much the same as before, minus Dr Kalonia’s medical gear.
“We’re leaving crew quarters for last,” he said. “So your books are safe.”
Rey felt the easing of a tension of which she had not been aware.
“Thank you for looking after them. I suppose I should take them with me…”
She felt oddly reluctant to do so. Grubby and creaky as it was, the Millennium Falcon (at least while she was on board she should call it by its proper name), felt somehow safer than the beautiful garden rooms far above. For the books, but also for herself. It was not just that Chewbacca was non-Human. It was that he had as far as she could tell, no expectations of her at all. There was none of that hopeful, frightened, wary, hungry attention that she sensed from the Resistance. He didn’t dislike her, and he didn’t blame her for Han Solo’s death, but there was nothing he wanted from her, which made him, as far as Rey could tell, absolutely unique in the universe. Even Luke Skywalker had actively wanted her to go away and forget about the Force.
He sat, and waved her to a seat as well. “Have something to eat,” he said. “And we can talk.”
Rey sat down in the other seat by the dejarik table. The float-tray approached her cautiously, keeping her between the Wookiee and itself.
“Master Chewbacca,” she said. “I don’t know what to do.”
. . . . .
The minute it occurred to Hux (purely in passing) that the SOM had not in fact got round to discussing the orientation of the First Order with respect to the Force, he tried to unthink the thought. Too late. There was no going back to actual topic under discussion, which was whether to start work on Starkiller II immediately, or whether to wait a bit to see how the conquest of the galaxy went without it; a subject about which Hux, naturally, had strong views.
Thank you for reminding me, Ren said, apparently sincerely. Hux forced his teeth to unclench, and took slow breaths.
“I will discuss the Starkiller question with the Grand Marshal, Engineering and Finance later,” the Supreme Leader said, tapping at his pad. “But now we must discuss the orientation of the First Order with respect to the Force. Join me in meditation, and I will show you our path.”
“What?” said Telatten, startled into indiscretion, echoed almost instantly by Pellaon, Daala, Quinn (of course), and several others, especially the older officers. This was outrageous. Even Darth Vader ...even the Emperor had never required his officers to go so far.
“Trust me, in this if in nothing else,” the Supreme Leader said, his voice deep and soft, and suddenly he was no longer just a young man, in a position for which he had neither training nor experience, trying to convince his elders to follow him. This was the Force incarnate, barely contained in a human form. Hux shuddered at the power flowing over his skin, and from the looks on the faces around him, quite a lot of the SOM were feeling it too.
Ren’s voice said in Hux's head, Put your left hand under the table. She needs to touch your wrist. Please don’t cut off her hand.
What?
Do it.
He did it, keeping his eyes fixed on the darkness where Ren’s eyes should be. After a moment he felt a light, skittish touch on his forearm. It slipped down towards his wrist (he felt a moment’s relief that he hadn’t changed the location of his knife yet), under the sleeve of his tunic, and closed cool, dry fingers around his wrist. Tiekte had been wearing gloves, like everyone else. He wondered when she had taken them off.
When the biscuits went round. All right, you’re covered. Don’t panic.
“Hear me,” Ren said, with sudden weighty authority, undeniable, unstoppable. “What you know of the Force, is not the Force. For millennia both Sith and Jedi have walked false paths, each denying the other, and each therefore never free of the other. Light and Darkness are only names. There is one Force, and we choose our names for it as we will. The First Order is not the Empire, and it will follow neither the path of the Sith nor the path of the Jedi, but the path of unity, the path of victory. Meditate with me.”
With almost his last coherent thought, Hux hoped that the recorders were capturing all of this.
Hux knew the feeling of an irresistible will over-riding his own. Snoke had subjected him to it regularly. The experience was familiar and held a certain amount of rational fear, and a much greater level of fury. But this time was different, and his mind screamed under Ren’s will as it tore him away from awareness of his immediate surroundings, and impossibly deeper into awareness of. . .everything. Every life on board, from the dianogas in Hydroponics (an old alliance that the First Order had kept up, for mutual benefit) to the Humans to the smallest micro-organisms that lived on every individual eyelash, every speck of matter, every cell that went to make up the substance of Supremacy. The stellar inferno of the reactors, the massless flicker of the shields, the cool, orderly thoughts of droids…
As the cellular membrane, the outline/interface that separated Hux from…not-Hux was gradually thinned to erasure, that obdurate core of self that had brought him alive and sane(ish) through the long nightmares of his life, through Jakku, and Brendol and Snoke and Ren. . .that small, tough, hard-clenched kernel of irreducible Huxness raged against its oncoming obliteration, beat furiously at the walls of Ren’s will, and through no strength of its own… endured.
The fingers around his wrist tightened with vicious intensity, and Hux. . .remained Hux. The line that preserved him from oblivion in the all in all faded almost to vanishing, but it stayed. Somehow, safe behind the shelter of...what, exactly? It wasn’t the twilight shadow that Ren had used to protect him from the Jedi girl’s unshielded Force. This was more like a fog-grenade, used to blur the vision of eyes and sensors alike. Everything was quieter and dimmer, but Ren’s deep voice filled the universe, tolling like a great bell heard through all of space and time, echoed by all the voices of the First Order, here and everywhere.
In grief, courage.
In fear, resolve.
In anger, strength.
In loyalty, the end of loneliness.
There is no darkness. There is passion.
There is no light. There is clarity.
In clarity and passion, there is the Force.
We are one with the Force, and the Force is with us.