FN-2187 made a choice. Or more truthfully, after he’d considered all his options that didn’t involve interrogation, imprisonment, or execution, the choice made him.

He couldn’t have stopped the massacre on Jakku if he’d wanted. His squad mates would’ve turned their rifles on him. But there was something he might be able to do. Someone he might be able to save from Kylo Ren.

The junior officer manning the detention center control station looked bleary-eyed from having to do multiple shifts while the raid on Jakku was in progress. He didn’t object when FN-2187 entered and said he’d come to relieve him of his duty. Eager to be released, the young man forgot to hand over his security badge until FN-2187 asked.

Once the junior officer had left, FN-2187 went to the cell number that he’d overheard two troopers in the mess hall mention. He passed the badge over the sensor. The cell door swished open.

A single trooper stood guard in the cell. The dark-haired Resistance pilot, manacled to a chair, appeared to have taken both a physical and mental beating.

“I’m taking the prisoner to Kylo Ren,” FN-2187 told the cell guard.

Mere mention of Ren’s name provoked the guard to action. He freed the prisoner from the chair and lifted him to his feet. FN-2187 did the rest, shoving the pilot through the doorway. He kept his blaster muzzle trained on the man’s back and prodded him out of the detention center. “Turn here.”

When they were in a dark, vacant corridor, FN-2187 grabbed the pilot and steadied him. “Listen carefully and pay attention. You do exactly as I say. I can get you out of here.”

The pilot gaped at him, still out of sorts. “If…what—who…are you?”

FN-2187 took off his helmet. “Would you be quiet and just listen to me? This is a rescue. I’m helping you escape. Can you fly a TIE fighter?”

Some life returned the pilot’s eyes. “What’s going on here? Are you…are you with the Resistance?”

FN-2187 checked himself from impulsively reaffirming his allegiance to the First Order, which was how he’d been trained to answer such a question. “No, I’m just breaking you out. Can you fly a—”

“I can fly anything,” the pilot said. “But why are you helping me?”

FN-2187 peered down the corridor to scout for impending trouble. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

The pilot eyed him skeptically. “Buddy, if we’re gonna do this, we have to be honest with each other.”

FN-2187 looked back at the pilot, exhaled, and told the truth. “I need a pilot.”

The pilot grinned. “Well, you just got me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We’re gonna do this.”

FN-2187 nodded back, put on his helmet, and pointed his gun at the man’s back. The pilot resumed being a prisoner, lowering his head in submission as if heading to his doom.

They had no trouble until they arrived at the hangar. A few deck officers strolled past them, giving them sideways glances. “Stay calm, stay calm,” FN-2187 murmured.

“I am calm,” the pilot muttered.

“I was talking to myself,” FN-2187 said.

“Oh, boy.”

FN-2187 didn’t take offense at the pilot’s sarcasm. First Order pilots exhibited similar arrogance. He took it as a sign that his prisoner was returning to normal.

He scanned the starfighters in the bay. Maintenance crew were working on most of the craft. But there was one that stood alone. Thick pylons mounted two hexagonal wings to the orb of its cockpit. Its chassis was painted black, with red marking one half of the cockpit and chrome glossing the wings’ solar panels.

It would be the perfect getaway vessel. A Special Forces TIE fighter.

Once he saw the TIE fighter, Poe Dameron forgot about his pain.

Here was something he could handle. Two wings attached to twin ion engines. Built out of metal, held together by bolts. Nothing mystical about it, all mechanical.

They crossed the hangar deck, avoiding a maintenance droid, then climbed through the TIE’s upper hatch into the command pod. Poe dropped into the pilot’s chair while the trooper removed his helmet and took the gunner’s seat on the other side, positioned back-to-back with Poe.

“I always wanted to fly one of these things.” Poe studied the controls. “Can you shoot?”

“Anything designed for ground troops I can,” the trooper said. “Like blasters.”

“The ship’s guns work on the same principle. Only the results are a lot more expansive.” Poe pointed out the primary parts of the weapon systems. “Let the autotargeting help you, and the triggers to fire.”

The trooper’s hesitation didn’t inspire confidence. “This is…very complicated.”

Poe would have to wait to give a full tutorial. They needed to get out before the Finalizer’s crew discovered he was missing—if they hadn’t already.

Poe activated the repulsors, but thick cables tethered the ship to the hangar deck.

Poe jostled the flight stick to try to pull free of the cables. Some snapped, but there were many more to go. Meanwhile, sirens began to blare throughout the hangar. The nearest stormtrooper patrol went into action. They rushed into the hangar, bringing heavy weapons to bear on the TIE.

“Now would be a good time to start shooting,” Poe said, ripping the ship free of more tethers.

The trooper experimented with the controls. “I’ll do my best. I’m not sure I can—”

Streaks of green erupted from the TIE’s belly turret, laying waste to the hangar. Other TIEs tumbled off their racks to crash on the floor. The docking operations center went to pieces. The attacking patrol didn’t even fire their heavy weapons before a blast flattened them.

“Sorry, boys,” the trooper said.

Poe issued the command to switch off the magnetic shield that protected the open port from uninvited guests and unapproved departures. Since the TIE’s lasers had obliterated the control room, the emergency circuits obeyed remote activation. Switching on the ion engines, Poe burned free of the last cables and the TIE rocketed out of the hangar.

He spun the fighter in barrel rolls, dodging turbolaser fire from the Star Destroyer. “This thing really moves!”

Having gotten the gist of the guns, the trooper poured cannon fire back at the destroyer. His aimless shots were like those of a child playing his first hologame, sure to perplex the First Order crew inside the larger ship. The shots would have to start dismantling the turbolaser banks before enemy fire dismantled the TIE fighter.

“A target is coming to you—my left, your right,” Poe said. “See it?”

“Hold on,” the trooper said. Poe heard him fumbling with the controls. “I see it.”

A beep indicated the crosshairs had a lock, then the trooper triggered the guns. Less than a second later, the destroyer’s turbolaser bank exploded.

The trooper whooped. “You see that?”

“Told ya you could do it.” It struck Poe that the stormtrooper had saved his life twice, yet Poe didn’t even know who the man was. “What’s your name?”

“Eff-Enn-Two-One-Eight-Seven.”

Poe glanced behind him. “‘Eff-Enn’ what?”

“That’s the only name I was ever given,” said the trooper.

Hearing that rankled Poe. As a soldier himself, he was offended that the First Order would attempt to erase the identities of the very individuals who were willing to die on the front lines. “If that’s the name they gave you, then I ain’t using it,” he said. “Eff-Enn, huh? I’m calling you Finn. That all right with you?”

The trooper hesitated. “Yeah, ‘Finn,’” he said, trying out the name. He grinned. “I like that.”

“I’m Poe. Poe Dameron.”

“Good to meet you, Poe.”

“Good to meet you, Finn.” Poe banked the TIE around for another attack run. Fleeing to jump to lightspeed was what the First Order would expect him to do. And that would be suicide. The time and distance necessary to manage a safe jump into hyperspace would supply plenty of free shots at the TIE.

Instead, Poe skimmed the fighter along the gigantic Star Destroyer’s hull, presenting a more difficult target. The destroyer gunners risked hitting their own ship when shooting at the TIE. Finn also needed to be as close as he could to inflict maximum damage.

But after wreaking more havoc across the hull of the Finalizer, Poe didn’t turn around for another go. He accelerated toward the only object in the vicinity that was larger than the Star Destroyer.

Finn turned in his seat to grab Poe’s shoulder. “Where are you going?”

“You mean, where are we going.” Poe pulled down on the flight stick. A glowing tan orb appeared in the cockpit canopy. “Back to Jakku, that’s where.”

“What? Jakku? No, no, no,” Finn protested. “For me and you, Jakku is another word for death. Poe, we gotta get out of this system!”

“And I have to get to my droid before the First Order does,” Poe said. Space around them bloomed with laser streaks as the Finalizer retrained its guns on them.

Finn sounded confused—too confused to return fire. “Your…droid?”

Poe banked the TIE to starboard and port, eluding destruction by the slimmest margins. “He’s a BB unit. One of a kind. Orange and white.”

“I don’t care what color it is. No droid can be that important!”

“This one is, pal.” Poe pushed the engines for every last ion. “My droid’s got a map that leads to Luke Skywalker.”

The name hung in the air like a ghost. A ghost everyone in the First Order, from the lowest tech to the most decorated admiral, had been taught to loathe. They blamed the man with that name for the murders of their beloved Emperor and his most trusted envoy, Darth Vader.

“I never should have rescued you,” Finn said.

A tremendous blast of energy coincided with Finn’s words. It buffeted the TIE, overwhelming the shields and killing an engine. The two passengers were shaken in their seats while their consoles sparked and smoked.

“All weapons systems are down—my controls are neutralized!” Finn said, coughing. “You?”

Poe wanted to respond. He wanted to tell Finn to press the seat ejector. But his mouth wouldn’t move. Neither would his hand. The pain he had forgotten about returned. Real pain. Physical pain. In his chest. Even his eyes. All he could see was the planet expanding before him, brighter and bigger until it blotted everything else out.

Perhaps Finn was right. Perhaps Jakku was death.

Poe blacked out.

One hundred portions. It was a number Rey couldn’t refuse. It was a number that would change her life.

She stared at the little droid that would fetch such a tidy sum. BB-8’s round body lay still, his dome resting in the dirt, like a deflated bounce ball discarded by some rich kid. Yet one person’s trash was another’s treasure. Unkar Plutt eyed the droid greedily—which caused Rey to again question the transaction.

“What are you going to do with the droid?”

Plutt stuffed the booth drawer with ration packets. “Certain parties have been asking around for a droid like that.”

Certain parties? Who was Plutt talking about?

The drawer popped open on her side of the booth. At the sight of so much food, she reached down for a handful of packets.

“That’s my girl,” Plutt said.

Those words made the rations look less than appetizing. Rey would lose something if she went through with the exchange, no matter how many portions Unkar gave her.

“Actually,” she said, taking none of the food packets, “the droid’s not for sale.”

The junk dealer’s eyes bulged. His tone became less generous. “Sweetheart, we already had a deal.”

“Conditions have changed,” Rey said, relishing his displeasure. The fat Crolute had changed his offers so many times in the past, turnabout was fair play.

She bent down to BB-8 and keyed the reactivation command. The droid’s dome lit up and slid back atop his sphere.

“You have nothing,” Plutt bellowed at Rey. “You are nothing!”

Rey didn’t deny that as she walked away with BB-8, leaving the dealer to a tantrum in his stall. Yet the respectful looks from other scavengers made Rey certain of one thing.

She wasn’t Plutt’s girl.