XI

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

“What are we doing here?”

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

“Hey—­y’okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s heavy” was her appraisal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jakku,” Han said knowingly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Any of it,” Han warned them.

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

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

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

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

“HAAAAAAAN SOLO?”

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

“Maz . . . ,” Han said wearily.

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

“You still in business?” Han asked her.

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

“I might be able to,” Han admitted.

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

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

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

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

“For what?” Rey asked nervously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So delicious,” Rey said enthusiastically between bites.

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

“Me?” Maz said archly.

“. . . and the loan sounds good too.”

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

“Leia doesn’t want to see me,” Han said uneasily.

“Who can blame her!” Maz exclaimed. “But this fight is about more than you and that good woman. Han, go home.”

“What fight?” Rey asked.

“The only fight: against the dark side. Through the ages, I’ve seen evil take many forms. The Sith. The Empire. Today, it’s the First Order. Their shadow is spreading across the galaxy. We must face them. Fight them. All of us.”

Finn snorted. “That’s crazy. Look around. There’s no chance we haven’t been recognized already—­I bet the First Order is on their way right—­” He broke off as Maz adjusted her goggles, making her eyes grow even larger than usual. “What?” Finn asked indignantly.

Instead of answering right away, Maz’s eyes somehow grew even larger within the goggles, impossibly huge. Then she climbed up onto the table and made her way to stand directly in front of Finn. He started to feel nervous in a way he hadn’t since entering the castle. “Solo, what’s she doing?” he asked.

Han shrugged. “No idea,” he said, “but it ain’t good.”

Maz finally spoke. “I’ve lived for over one thousand years, son. Long enough to see the same eyes in different people.” She adjusted the goggles again, and to Finn’s relief the pirate’s eyes went back to normal. “I’m looking at the eyes of a man who wants to run,” she said solemnly.

“You don’t know a thing about me,” Finn said in frustration. “Where I’m from. What I’ve seen. You don’t know the First Order like I do. They’ll slaughter us. We all need to run.”

Maz considered him, then pointed back into the main hall area. “Big head, red shirt, shiny gun. Bright red helmet with ear flares. They’re bound for the Outer Rim. Will trade transportation for work. Go.”

Awkwardly, Finn rose from his seat. Everything had happened fast. Too fast. The last thing he had anticipated was the fulfillment of his request.

Reaching—­slowly—­to his service belt, he drew the blaster Han had given him and offered it to its owner. “It’s been nice knowing you. Really was.”

Han didn’t look at him. “Keep it.”

Finn hesitated, but there was nothing more to say. Pointless words wasted atmosphere. Turning, he walked away.

Watching him go, Rey was confused and hurt by the abrupt turn of events. They had been through a great deal together, she and this strange but agreeable youth, and his sudden, somewhat inexplicable leave-taking was hitting her hard.

Though his thoughts were churning, Finn managed to keep them under control as he approached the table Maz had pointed out. There were no humans in the group, save possibly the red-helmeted captain, but they eyed him without prejudice. Even the top-heavy, warty, one-legged Gabdorin first mate waited politely for him to state his business. Having been pushed to this point, Finn didn’t hesitate as he addressed the captain.

“I’m told you’re looking for help. I’ll work for a lift to any civilized world on the Outer Rim.”

The first mate replied to him, but Finn didn’t understand a word of whatever language the Gabdorin was speaking. The captain remained silent.

“I don’t know what that was,” he responded, “but it’s a deal.” He smiled, hoping the expression was not found wanting. Or hostile.

The exchange was interrupted by Rey’s arrival, accompanied by an anxious, softly beeping BB-8. She was confused and angry all at once.

“What are you doing?”

Finn smiled anew at the leader of the alien crew. “Give me a second. Or your equivalent time-part.” He edged Rey away from the table, leaving the aliens to mutter incomprehensibly among themselves.

“You heard what Maz said,” Rey hissed at him. “You’re part of this fight. We both are.” She searched his face. “You must feel something . . .”

“I’m not who or what you think I am. I’m not special. Not in any way.”

She was shaking her head slowly, not comprehending what she was hearing. “Finn, what are you talking about? I’ve watched you, I’ve seen you in action, I’ve . . .”

His voice tightened as he finally blurted out the truth. “I’m not a hero. I’m not Resistance. I’m a stormtrooper.”

That silenced her. He might as well have hit her across the face with the business end of a blaster.

“Like all of them, I was taken from a family I’ll never know,” he continued rapidly. “I was raised to do one thing. Trained to do one thing. To kill my enemy.” He felt something that should not have been there, that was not part of his training, well up in him. “But my first battle, I made a choice. I wasn’t going to kill for them. So I ran. As it happens, right into you. And you asked me if I was Resistance, and looked at me like no one ever had. So I said the first thing that came to mind that I thought would please you. I was ashamed of what I was. But I’m done with the First Order. I’m never going back.” Suddenly he found it hard to swallow, much less to speak. “Rey, come with me.”

She shook her head. “Don’t go.”

“Take care of yourself,” he begged her. “Please.” He turned and headed back to the group of waiting aliens.

The red-helmeted captain looked up at him. Finn nodded once, hoping the gesture was as universal as he had been told. “I’m ready whenever you’re ready.” The first mate replied in his stumbling language and Finn nodded a second time. “Whatever.”

The crew members rose and headed for the main doorway. As Finn started to go with them, an anguished Rey pivoted and turned her back on him, ignoring BB-8’s troubled beeping.

Finn had wanted to say something more before realizing anything he could come up with would be worse than superfluous. Better to leave it as it was, he told himself. Clean break, no scene, no yelling and shouting. He went with the members of the alien crew, pausing at the hall exit to glance back just once. She was still walking away, not looking in his direction. Just as well, he thought as the doorway closed behind him.

That was what he told himself. But it was not what he was feeling.

So preoccupied and bewildered was Rey by Finn’s completely unanticipated confession that she failed to notice the lumbering figure and accompanying henchmen who were making their way through the crowd toward her. She was utterly blind to their approach until one thick hand reached out to grab her. A second later BB-8 noticed what was happening and let out a series of alarmed beeps.

“Hello, Rey.”

She recognized the voice before she even saw the face.

Unkar Plutt.

There was no mistaking that repulsive countenance. After sparing a quick glance for his oversize minions, she turned her attention to him, astonished.

“How—­how did you find me?”

He smiled. It did not improve his appearance. “The ship you stole. The Millennium Falcon. You can’t really track a ship while it’s in hyperspace—­but when it emerges, and particularly after it sets down somewhere, there are ways. Expensive, but in the case of valuable property, often worth it. Definitely worth it in the case of the Falcon. It happens to be fitted with a covert Imperial homing device. Old technology, but still quite functional. To which my presence here can attest. Didn’t take much to get the necessary relays working.”

No one in the hall was paying them the least attention, she noticed worriedly. In a place where everyone minded their own business, she found herself wishing fervently for someone to butt in. She twisted defiantly in Plutt’s grasp.

“I suggest. Kindly. That you let go of me. Now.”

Despite her attempts to pull away, he drew her steadily closer. She could not avoid the fact that his breath was a suitably aromatic match for his visage.

“I suggest, less kindly, that you come quietly with me. Otherwise we’ll begin right here, where you can provide some entertainment for this galactic rubbish.” Putting his face so close to hers that they were almost touching, he lowered his voice. “I’m gonna make you and that wearisome droid pay for what you’ve done.”

This close in, he could see her expression—­but not her hands. Whipping out her new blaster, she plonked it right up against his nose. His underlings started forward, only to be waved off by their master.

Rey growled softly. “I’m seriously thinking about adding another hole to your face.”

He chuckled unpleasantly, then in a single swooping motion grabbed the blaster and wrenched it away from her. Her expression fell. Before he had managed to grab it, she had pulled the trigger—­she was certain she had. But for some reason the weapon had malfunctioned.

He shook his head in mock sympathy as he held up the blaster. “You’d need to take off the safety first.” One finger moved toward the almost hidden switch in question. “Here, I’ll show you how. You just flip this little—­”

The upraised blaster vanished from Plutt’s hand, yanked away by a much bigger set of fingers. Startled, Plutt looked back—­and up, into the furry face of a deceptively calm Wookiee.

“Urrrrrrr . . .”

Not especially eloquent of Chewie, a relieved Rey thought, but it got the point across.

Plutt wasn’t impressed. Noticing the bandaged shoulder, he poked at it with the same hand that had swiped Rey’s weapon.

“Half a Wookiee ain’t much to worry about.” He started to retreat into a fighting stance. “Not against all of me.” He lashed out.

Grabbing the thrusting arm, a roaring Chewbacca twisted and ripped it off at the shoulder, throwing the dismembered limb clear across the room. Looking down at himself, Plutt let out a scream of agony as his underlings hurriedly fell back.

The arm landed on a table where a group of four-armed, long-snouted Culisettos was gambling. With an annoyed huff, one of them picked up the amputated limb and absently tossed it aside, allowing the game to resume. Nearby, a small bipedal GA-97 droid who had been monitoring the pastime turned curiously to check the source of the excised limb. Though it initially focused on Rey, its attention was immediately drawn away from her and to the rotund droid at her side. Visual recognition ignited a small but very important internal sequence that concluded with the GA-97 sending out a compressed signal that was bounced around, coded, decoded, encrypted, and flashed out into deep space.

Where it very soon was picked up, decoded, and decrypted, to become the impetus for an electronic shout of joy.

Only on very rare occasions did C-3PO encounter a need for forward speed. This was one of them, but his ambulatory programming restricted him to a gait that was less than satisfactory. If only, he mused, he could move as fast as he could talk.

Despite his motive infirmity he eventually found General Organa deep in intense conversation with a tactical specialist. Ignoring the fact that they were engaged in serious discussion, the droid started speaking without prefacing his arrival.

“Princess—­ I mean, General!” At the sound of the protocol droid’s familiar voice, Leia turned and waved off the tech. “I hate to brag—­as you know I was fitted with a humility circuit during my last rebuild, though I cannot imagine why anyone would think I would require such an accessory—­but I must risk taking a moment of your time to sing my own praises!”

“Threepio!” She didn’t try to hide her exasperation. “No one has this kind of time!”

“This kind of time was made for precisely this kind of intelligence, General,” the droid insisted proudly. “I believe I have successfully located Beebee-Ate! According to the information I have just received through our scattered but attentive network, Beebee-Ate is presently within the castle of Maz Kanata on Takodana.”

Leia let out a gasp of excitement. “Maz—­I knew you could do it, Threepio! Good work! You deserve an extra oil bath.” Murmuring to herself, she started off, the tactical tech in tow. “This changes everything.”

Left behind, the bearer of good news had no one to converse with except himself. As usual, this did not inhibit him.

“Finally! Appreciation so long overdue.” He paused a moment, not thinking but instead checking on something internal, before again murmuring aloud. “Oh dear. I think the humility circuit may be malfunctioning.”