The Force Awakens (Star Wars)

by Alan Dean Foster

  Edging forward while keeping close to the wall, she soon found herself at the end of the corridor and near the start of the walkway. A cautious glance over the side and down revealed a seemingly bottomless pit; its sides were molded panels that were softly lit with hundreds of lights extending down, down, until even those lights were not sufficient to illuminate the shadowy depths. How to get across without alerting the hangar guards on the far side presented a seemingly insurmountable problem. The walkway itself was flat and completely open, offering no cover to anyone trying to cross.

  She couldn’t go back. This might be her only chance to get offplanet. And no matter what she had managed to do previously, she doubted Kylo Ren would allow her to manipulate him, or any lesser minds, again.

  The decision was made for her. The echo of approaching booted feet made her turn to look back the way she had come. A clutch of stormtroopers was coming up the corridor, heading her way. There was no chance they would fail to notice her standing within the shallow alcove.

  Breaking from cover, she ran to the near end of the walkway. But instead of continuing across and certainly drawing the attention of the troopers on the other side, she slipped over the edge. And just in time: The fast-moving squad coming up the corridor reached the walkway as she dropped down. Hanging there by her fingers, just out of sight, she reflected that what she was doing was no different from climbing the interior walls of derelict starships back on Jakku. The difference was that there it was a lot warmer, and here the passersby were inclined to shoot at you.

  If she let go or otherwise lost her grip, of course, it would solve all her problems. Permanently.

  How many troopers were there in the squad? she wondered as they continued to pass above her. How long was it going to take them to get across? Hanging there, waiting, she had time to study her immediate surroundings. What she saw suggested another way out, one that would not involve a possibly suicidal attempt to blast her way past a cluster of hangar guards.

  Working her way sideways, hand over hand, while methodically locating shallow footholds, she made it across to a service hatch slotted into the wall of the atrium. It opened, silently and without the need to enter a code, at her touch. While still yawning to depths unknown beneath her, the inner workings of the base that she was able to reach through the hatch provided access to better handholds. If she was lucky and didn’t lose her sense of direction, much less her grip, she felt she might be able to work her way across to the corresponding service area that ran underneath the TIE fighter hangar, avoiding the guards above. Then she would have to find a way to access the hangar deck itself and without drawing any attention. Assuming she could do so, she could try to steal a fighter.

  One simple predicament after another, she told herself.

  First she had to get across. Once, she encountered a small service droid coming toward her. She held her breath, but it ignored her, intent only upon its programmed tasks.

  Good thing, she thought with relief as she resumed the crossing, that not all droids had the cerebral capacity of one like BB-8.

  —

  The stormtrooper who waited for the doorway to open expected to see an empty transport compartment. Instead, he found himself confronting two humans and one Wookiee, none of whom were inclined to engage him in casual conversation. Sensing this, the trooper reacted quickly and reached for his blaster. Reactions still sharp from years of experience, Han fired, sending the trooper to the ground. As Chewbacca dragged the body out of sight, Han and Finn peered warily around the corridor’s first corner.

  “The less time spent here,” Han quickly decided, “the better luck we’re going to have. In fact, the less time we linger anywhere, the better luck we’re gonna have.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Checking the corridor outside the transport compartment, Finn gestured to his right. “I got an idea about that.” He started off, Han and Chewbacca following.

  With Finn leading the way, they managed to make it a considerable distance into the base. Spotting a figure coming toward them, Finn’s eyes grew wide. The advancing officer’s armor was highly reflective and the black, red-fringed cape that hung down the left side very, very distinctive.

  “Here comes our key,” Finn whispered.

  Han took note of the oncoming figure, then glanced at Finn. “You know this one?”

  Finn’s expression was tight. “Yeah, we’ve met.”

  Reading the other man’s tone, Han nodded understandingly. “An old friend, huh?”

  “Something like that.” Finn’s expression didn’t change. “As much as I’d wish otherwise, we need her alive.” He started fumbling with his blaster. “I’m not real familiar with this model. Is there a setting to stun?”

  Han grinned. “We’ve got something else that’s always set to stun.”

  Far down the corridor a squad of troopers came into view and the three intruders tensed. But the troopers did not turn to follow the advancing officer, marching off instead down a separate passage. Preoccupied with other matters, the officer failed to see the hairy mountain that plowed into her until it was too late. His massive arms wrapped around her, Chewbacca dragged his captive into the narrow cross corridor where his companions were waiting. As she struggled in the unbreakable grasp, she found herself turned around to confront a blaster pointed directly at her face.

  An unsmiling Finn had to restrain the finger that was resting on the weapon’s trigger.

  “Captain Phasma. Remember me?” He moved his weapon slightly. “Here’s my blaster, ya still wanna inspect it?”

  Phasma held on to her dignity. “Yes, I remember you. FN-2187.”

  Finn shook his head curtly. “Not anymore. My name is Finn. A real name for a real person. And I’m in charge now.”

  From behind the former trooper, Han spoke up. “We’re just visiting. Finn’s been giving us a quick tour and it’s been real fun, but we haven’t seen the planetary shield control room yet.” He broke out into a broad, pleasant smile. “We’d really like to see the planetary shield control room.”

  “Now,” Finn added menacingly.

  Phasma sniffed derisively. “Why should I show you anything?” Behind her, Chewbacca let out a threatening moan and tightened his grip. She let out a little gasp.

  “Because if you don’t,” Han told her, “we’ll eventually find it anyway. But you won’t know that, because you’ll be dead.” He nodded toward his copilot. “Chewie here doesn’t like people who threaten his friends.”

  She managed a slight shake of her head. “Even a Wookiee can’t crush First Order armor.” In response, Chewbacca tightened his grip further. Her mask emitted a slight but perceptible wheeze.

  “Well,” Han said nonchalantly, “there’s one way to find out.”

  “Or,” Finn added, pushing the muzzle of the blaster in a little tighter, “I can simply shoot you. I’m well trained, you know. I know exactly where to put a kill shot. Especially at this range.”

  “What are you up to here?” she countered. “Are you with the Resistance? Independents?”

  “Maybe we’ll answer your questions,” Finn told her. “Later.” Taking a step back, he gestured with the blaster as Chewie disarmed her. “Right now, you’re our tour guide. Let’s go.”

  They managed to avoid the few technicians and troopers they encountered by ducking back into concealing alcoves or small passageways. There was one guard stationed outside the room they had to enter. Stepping out into the open, Finn waved and smiled as he walked toward the man.

  “Hey, hi! When are you off duty, mate?”

  “Not for another…” The trooper outside the door peered at the newcomer. “Why are you out of uniform? In fact, why are you even in this sector?” He started to bring up his rifle. “Put your hands out where—”

  A single blow from the Wookiee’s massive right hand put the trooper down on the floor, out cold. Han gestured
with his blaster as he murmured to Phasma, who was standing in front of him. “What was that you said earlier about First Order armor and Wookiees?” The captain did not reply.

  The shield control room was not large. With everything functioning normally, there was no need for technicians to be on duty. The instruments monitored themselves. If a problem arose that they could not self-correct, appropriate notification would instantly be flashed to Central Command. If the difficulty could not be fixed from there, a tech or two would be dispatched to deal with the trouble in person. A planetary shield being a fairly straightforward thing, there was hardly ever a problem with the system.

  One such problem was about to be artificially induced.

  Taking a seat before the main console, Phasma paused. What was happening right now made no sense. Still, with her chest and shoulders throbbing from the Wookiee’s attention, she was not about to offer what would amount to pointless resistance. The fools presently holding their weapons on her would meet their inevitable fate soon enough. She felt something hard push against the side of her helmet.

  “Do it,” Finn ordered her. Chewbacca added a few choice moans and grunts for emphasis.

  Reluctantly, she worked the controls. Accompanied by an appropriate succession of sounds, a sequence of telltales came to life. A readout flared, bright enough for everyone to see it clearly.

  SHIELDS DISABLE INITIATED

  Leaning toward Han, Finn murmured worriedly, “Solo, if this works, and if I remember correctly what they told us about the shield system, we don’t have a lot of time to find Rey.”

  “Don’t worry, kid.” Han replied without shifting the muzzle of his weapon a millimeter away from Phasma. “We won’t leave here without her.”

  The stormtrooper captain sat back. “I can’t do this by myself. It requires two security codes to access the full system and shut it down.”

  “I’ve been in the business of dealing with liars and thieves my whole life. I know when someone’s telling the truth—and when they’re not.” Pressing the end of his blaster against one side of Phasma’s helmet, Han lowered his voice. “How well can you hear with one ear?”

  More telltales came to life. When she was finished, a second message appeared before them.

  SHIELDS DISABLED

  “You can’t be so stupid as to think this will be easy,” Phasma said. “My troops will storm this block and kill you all. Whatever you’re planning, it won’t work.”

  “I disagree,” Finn replied without hesitation. “I was told escape from the corps was impossible, yet here I am. I was told that training prevented anyone from turning against the Order, yet here I am. I was told that I was going to die on Jakku, yet here I am. And here you are.” He glanced over at Han. “What do we do with her?”

  Han pondered a moment. “Is there a garbage chute? Trash compactor? I have a pretty good idea how they work.” When Finn threw him a quizzical look, Han shrugged. “Let’s just say I’ve had hands-on experience.”

  Finn nodded. “Yeah, there is.”

  —

  The warning alert that appeared on the console in the Central Command control room was new to the monitoring technician. Though to the best of his knowledge it had never come to life previously, he knew perfectly well what it signified. After a quick check to make certain it was neither a system fault nor a test, he felt confident in announcing its activation to those officers who were present.

  “Main planetary shields have gone out. Not localized: right across the board.”

  The officer who happened to be conversing with Hux narrowed his gaze. “General, did you authorize this? I certainly didn’t, nor did any of my subordinates.”

  Hux turned to regard the alert. “No, I most certainly did not.” He barked at the technician. “Cause? Possibly external?”

  “It doesn’t show here, sir,” the tech replied.

  Hux frowned. “Send a tech squad over to shield control. Could be something as simple as a bad relay, or…”

  “Or, sir?” the officer inquired. The general didn’t respond.

  —

  In another command and control center, on another planet in another system, there was a spontaneous outburst of excitement, followed by a hurried response.

  “General,” the head tech cried out, “their shields are down!”

  “Oh my.” Threepio leaned toward the relevant console. “So they are!”

  “You were right,” Leia said to Statura. “Send them in!”

  “Give Poe full authorization to attack,” Ackbar informed a junior officer stationed at another console. “All available ships, no hesitation. He knows he’s not likely to get a second opportunity.”

  “Black Leader,” the officer declared to the pickup that would send out the command via the identical set of relays, “go to sublight. Attack, attack. On your call.”

  —

  It was the order Poe had been waiting for. While unsure it would come, he had nevertheless run over the strike schematics in his head a dozen times. Timing was critical. Having plotted the vector to the planet that was home to the Order’s Starkiller Base as an arc, both to deceive any long-range sensors as well as to delay arrival and emergence from lightspeed, now they could revise the route and head straight for the target.

  “Roger, base.” Hitting the controls necessary to alter course within a lightspeed run, Poe addressed the rest of his flight. “Red squad, blue squad—follow my lead.” At his touch, their revised vector entered the flight computer of every ship in every squadron, and the X-wings promptly adjusted as a single unit.

  “Copy, Black Leader,” Wexley replied, as his own craft changed direction.

  —

  Within Central Command on Starkiller Base, there was rising concern. Hux refused to pace, regarding it as a waste of energy.

  “The tech squad,” he muttered. “Haven’t they arrived at shield control yet?”

  “Just getting there, sir,” replied the officer who was monitoring the situation. He went quiet, listening, and a strange expression came over his face. He looked back at Hux. “Sir, the lead technician reports that the doorway has been sealed.”

  Hux grimaced. “Sealed? Sealed how? By whom?”

  “He doesn’t know, sir.” The officer listened. “Heat sealed, all the way around the edge. Possibly by a blaster. Should they get a cutter?”

  Hux shook his head. “Tell them to blow the door.”

  “Sir?” The officer’s reply indicated he was unsure he had heard the order correctly.

  “Blow the damn door!” Hux shouted. “Tell them to get in there!”

  “Yes, sir!” The command was relayed. Moments later a reply was forthcoming from the tech repair team. The officer swallowed, hesitating.

  “What?” Hux snarled.

  “Sir, the team leader reports that there is—some damage to the shield control system.”

  “How much damage?” an increasingly irate Hux demanded.

  A longer pause this time, following which the officer experienced a sudden intense wish to be anywhere other than where he currently happened to be.

  “Destroyed, General. The tech team leader reports that the operational capacity of the entire center has been reduced at least ninety percent by blaster fire.”

  Hux had not achieved his present rank and position by deferring problematic situations to group consultation. “Bypass the shield center. Where redundancy doesn’t already exist, port all controls here.”

  “Yes, sir.” The officer’s fingers flew over the console. “It will take a moment, sir.”

  Hux all but scraped skin from the palms of his hands while waiting.

  “Shields?”

  “Not yet,” the officer told him, still working.

  “Why not?”

  “Have to block any remaining possible directives from the shield cente
r so that they can’t override our efforts here—sir.”

  “Hurry. In the name of the Order, hurry.”

  “Yes, sir. I should have it soon, sir.”

  Hux knew there was nothing more he could do. Further haranguing would only rattle the officer and the other techs in the command center. He could barely stand the silence as they worked.

  Because he feared it was deceptive.

  —

  Set down on the snowy surface, two TIE fighters and a troop transport flanked the battered, half-buried disc of the Millennium Falcon. That the ship’s landing had been less than precise was plainly evident. Industrious troops were cautiously concluding their inspection of the ship’s interior. One never knew when even a seemingly harmless freighter might be rigged to blow up in the face of an uninvited visitor. Eventually a noncom spoke into his comm unit.

  “Ship’s clear. No one on board. No antipersonnel traps encountered.” Startled by the sudden appearance of a tall, caped figure, the trooper stepped aside and came to attention. “Sir!”

  Kylo Ren ignored him as he strode past, his eyes raking every corner of the crashed vessel, looking for—he wasn’t sure. Something that might speak to him. Something recognizable, perhaps.

  There was nothing in the deserted cockpit, but he delayed leaving anyway, settling down in the pilot’s seat. Something…

  His deliberation was interrupted by a thunderous roar as squadrons of X-wings dropped from the sky, rocketing toward the hexagon-shaped bulk of the containment field and oscillation control system. Rising from the seat, he rushed out in time to see the Resistance fighters drop toward the massive structure—and begin their bombing runs.

  —

  Within Central Command, officers looked on in horror as one strike after another shook the hexagonal structure. Didn’t the attackers realize what they were risking? Watching the aerial assault on the center’s monitors and through its sweeping windows, a grim-faced Hux knew they probably did—and that it didn’t make any difference to them. Turning, he snapped at a mid-level officer.

  “Dispatch all squadrons. Take out every attacking craft, no matter the cost. When this is over I don’t want to see a single X-wing aloft.”