what remains of the fire

Summary: "Why should I help you?" –"Because." General Organa takes Poe Dameron to meet an old acquaintance. OneShot- Leia, Poe. A day trip of sorts. (Commander Poe Dameron is Not Happy With The Situation at all.)

Warning: -

Set: Post The Last Jedi.

Disclaimer: Standards apply.

A/N: Yajiri are traditional Japanese arrowheads, Naginata polearms with curved, single-edged blades (glaive-like, I guess), and Katana, of course, swords. (Anybody's guess where this is going?^^)

"I don't like this."

Commander Poe Dameron was Not Happy With The Situation. Like, at all. He probably was the last one who should speak out against something as simple as adhering to rules, he was very aware of that fact. Proud of it, even. Still, there was a difference between disobeying orders for a greater good, and – this. Whatever this was supposed to be. Insanity? Stupidity? Some people were expendable, and some were not, it was simple as that. There were lines, and some of them even a Poe Dameron – hotshot, fighter pilot, occasional mutineer – did not cross. Very unfortunately, his companion did not seem to share his concern in the least.

"So you've said."

The Mirrorbright's co-pilot's chair felt strangely large. Maybe it was the cockpit in itself, so much larger than an average X-wing's one. Maybe it was the fact that Poe was not actually piloting the ship. Usually, he did not mind – but the tension was getting to him. Whether his general liked it or not, he was a fighter pilot through and through. He needed to be in control of the situation, and here, he was definitely not. But then, maybe, the reason why he was so nervous was that this was General Organa. Despite his near-insubordinate behavior, despite the number of her orders he might or might not have re-interpreted very creatively; despite everything he might have said and might just now be trying to talk himself out of: he could not look at her without seeing everything she had achieved, without hero-worshipping her just so. Of course, the fact that she, despite her more than fifty years of age, looked far more beautiful than many women in her prime (some exceptions made), did not help the least.

But.

Poe Dameron might talk fast and shoot even faster, but his brain still was functioning well enough to see that this was pure and utter foolishness. And, in his opinion, that meant something, coming from him.

"I don't like this at all."

Next to him, General Leia Organa chuckled. She had discarded her elegant robes for the flight and yet failed to look plain in the simple pilot's garb she was wearing. Her air of authority and experience was hard to discard, he guessed.

"Relax, Commander. You've been nagging me for the past two days. Why don't you just enjoy the trip?"

Her statement made him snort in disdain. "Maybe I wouldn't nag you if you actually answered my questions! How am I supposed to relax when I don't even know where we're going? And why didn't you take Lieutenant Commander Sonnel?"

The General's voice was a mix of sorrow and weariness. "Commander Seastriker is missing."

"Oh."

Poe knew Greer Sonnel by sight, only. As General Organa's personal pilot and assistant she often was away on special missions, and, if the grapevine was correct, was less than inclined to let anyone else besides herself and the general pilot the Mirrorbright. So Joph Seastriker, her husband, was one of the many resistance fighters that still were missing after the last, devastating confrontation with the First Order. Poe didn't know the man personally, but that didn't lessen the sensation of helpless rage that swept over him at the memory of their last fight. So many lost. He would never understand how people could give an order that would lead to other beings' deaths, and feel nothing. But that probably was the reason why he was there, co-piloting General Organa's personal yacht on a trip to Force-knew-where: Poe was a fighter pilot without a fighter. A shipless pilot wasn't worth much, especially now while the Resistance once again was in hiding, regrouping after the crushing defeat. He could be spared easily. It might have been a stroke of luck that had him being elected as the General's co-pilot. It might have been more. Who knew? Who cared? Fact was he was here, and while he still was pretty sure that it was insanity that had one of the most important leaders of the Resistance traipse around through the galaxy instead of being with the newly regrouping rebellion, he was determined to protect her at all costs. Maybe whomever had selected him had done it with that in mind, maybe not, but Poe had a mission. He might be expendable, but General Organa clearly was not.

Droids, on the other hand…

"Princess, I have to agree with Commander Dameron. The mere thought of the dangers that await us out in the open space, only seventeen-point-three-oh-five parsecs away from First Order space, makes my subroutines –"

Poe had heard far too much about subroutines and doom in the past standard days. He interrupted the droid, causing the golden figure to sputter. "And as much as I hate to agree with Threepio, but he is right. It is too dangerous, General."

Organa winked at him. "And here we are, and the trigger-happy flyboy is lecturing me about risks and danger."

His temper flared. "We are close enough to First Order space, General, that they could see even a small yacht like the Mirrorbright if they cared to look for her. But the personal risk you are taking aside, what's left of the Resistance is a loose scattering of people and even fewer resources and we cannot risk to lose even one of our ships, much less the most influential and experienced general we have. And yes, if you're wondering, that's you I'm talking about. We might have survived the encounter with that madman Ren once before, but nothing guarantees us that we'll survive a second time –"

The Mirrorbright's sensors beeped, shrilly.

Poe stopped mid-rant, turning to his General, alarmed. "What was that?"

Something fled her face, something that had not been there before when she had teased him about his hotshot attitude not seconds before. Something his words had put there; and he, for the life of him, had no idea what it had been.

"General?"

Her fingers danced over the controls, gnarled and bent and yet agile and sure. "They are scanning us," she said, lightly, no trace of shadows on either her face or in her voice.

Poe shot forward on his seat, scanning the displays around him. "Who?! Why can't we see them?" The shields were up and at maximum capacity. His hand moved to engage the weapons' console – and a hand clamped around his wrist, vice-like.

"They could have shot us right out of space before we even knew they were there, Poe. Just relax." The twinkle in her eyes was back, but he was not fooled. The lines of tension around her lips told him she was as taut as a grappling cable stretched to maximum tension. Nevertheless, her hands rested on the controls, relaxed and calm.

Leaning back in the co-pilot's chair and breathing out quietly, he followed her example.

Oh yes.

Commander Poe Dameron was decidedly unhappy about the entire situation he currently found himself in.

Poe always had loved space.

The darkness of it, the infinite vastness lit by a myriad of suns and stars. The openness of vacuum had scared many a being, time and again, but he could not grasp the concept of it: how was it that this beauty was something that invoked fear and terror in some hearts? Incomprehensible, at least to him: how anyone could be afraid of something so beautiful.

It was not space that was dangerous, but the stupidity and carelessness of the beings living in it.

In the time of his average life span, he had seen many things in the galaxy that were fear-inducing, and, at the same time, awe-inspiring. From the crystal waterfalls of Naboo to the Jundland Wastes on Tatooine and the jungle on Dathomir, there were miracles in their galaxy he might not even dream of ever seeing. All those small and larger wonders, he had taken in and carefully filed away their memory. And still, his awe at them had never abated. His friends had often laughed at his perhaps child-like amazement.

And yet.

Not many things had stunned him like the image that now unfolded in front of his eyes: in the velvet black of space that was visible from the Mirrorbright's cockpit window, three Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers appeared. Not there one second, there the next. Barely a ripple accompanied their arrival. Their hulls, almost invisible against the equally black background of space, gleamed slightly; their long, hammer-like bodies shifting like deadly predators.

Poe stared.

The sight was… mesmerizing.

Then, of course, so was the danger. The three Dreadnoughts – capital warships in their own right, built for both space combat and planetary occupation – with their massive weapon's array bristling along the hull and their spear-like appearance, were a veritable threat. Just one would not have batted an eyelash blowing the Mirrorbright out of space with a single, well-placed volley of their quad cannons.

"Commander Dameron," General Organa said, her voice thick with humor. "Meet the Katana and her sisters, the Naginata and the Yajiri. And no, they are not under the First Order's command."

To his ever-lasting shame, Poe only managed single-syllable words.

"What… How… Who?"

Soft laughter answered him. Anyone else he would have cursed at, but General Organa's voice was devoid of any mockery. "These are the last three ships left of the legendary Katana fleet, a fleet of 200 heavy cruisers that was lost on their maiden voyage. They were later recovered, you might remember that General Bel Iblis' fleet consisted of six of them. More than half, I regret to say, were captured by the Empire in their last days and, subsequently, lost or destroyed. The rest served under the Galactic Alliance until they were decommissioned, save for these three. One man was of vital essence in their discovery, many years in the past, and in return for handing over the coordinates to us he asked for three of them. As you can see, the Galactic Alliance complied with his request. You will not have heard his name, though you might have heard of him: he built up the largest smuggling empire aside from the Huttese, and later transformed it into the most successful information brokerage business that ever existed. Talon Karrde was not known for doing things half-way."

Poe still was unable to tear his eyes away. From the corner of his eyes, he registered the communication console's lights were blinking, but he still was too stunned by the beautiful sight in front of him.

"So we're here to talk to smugglers?"

"Don't let them hear you call them that," General Organa warned, amused. "They take their business very serious."

He scoffed. "Of course. Smugglers always think they're special–" Too late, he remembered whom he was talking to, and spluttered. "General Solo was an exception, of course–"

For a second, sadness swam in Organa's eyes and she busied herself by checking the comm. "Don't say that. Han Solo was proud of being a smuggler. They're not bad, you know."

Except that they run and hide instead of joining the fight, Poe thought, disdainfully. Except that they pick the winner's side, choose profit over ideals. General Solo had left the Resistance a long time ago. He might have been a hero once; these days, he just was an old story. Another legend to tell little children.

"But why…" He cleared his throat, tried again. It still did not come out more respectfully, but if General Organa wanted respect, he figured, she would have taken someone else with her. "Why are we here, General?"

He half-way expected her to dodge the answer, just like she had for the past three days. But this time she answered, distractedly.

"We're meeting an old friend of mine."

She looked up towards the main screen, her eyes lost in memories, and repeated herself softly.

"Just an old friend."

Poe sank back into his chair and suppressed a groan.

"Unidentified yacht, state your ID, affiliation and objective."

The voice from the comm sounded calm and vaguely female.

"Katana, this is the Mirrorbright," General Organa returned, calmly. "Transmitting our ID code now. No cargo, two passengers only, Leia Organa, Commander Poe Dameron. We kindly request a meeting with your boss."

"Running identification," the voice replied, unfazed by the fact that one of the most famous figures of history of the Galactic Alliance and de-facto leader of the Resistance was knocking on their front door. "Do you have an appointment?"

The general threw Poe a glance and rolled her eyes, but her voice, when she replied, was perfectly civil. "Negative, Katana."

The voice sounded emotionless. "Sorry, then you will have to make one first. Just get in contact with our customer service."

Poe shot forward, indignantly. Customer service, are they kriffin' kidding me? "Did you not hear–"

A hand shot out and pushed him back into his chair with surprising strength. The general threw him an amused glance.

"Katana, I have no appointment with the Captain. I have a business proposal, though, that I am sure will be worth your while."

A long pause. Then:

"Stand by, Mirrorbright."

"What is it, Poe?"

Two security checks, one background scan and a one-sided conversation with a very unfriendly – customs officer? – and they were following a small group of what Poe could only imagine were security men – only they did not wear any uniforms or badges – through a long corridor along the port side of the dreadnought. Poe could not stop staring.

He shook his head. "This is…"

"Amazing?" Organa suggested. "Unbelievable?"

"Both?" He stretched out a hand to touch the paneling of the walls stretching out around them. It looked so… "So old. I mean, the Katana fleet! Two hundred ships, lost on their Maiden Voyage! Drifting through space for decades! Every kid who ever heard of it dreams of finding it!"

One of the security officers – whatever – shot him a pitying glance. Poe glowered back.

"And how do they – whomever they are – staff three full Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers? They must need – how many is it? 20.000 crewmembers?"

"16.000," the General corrected. "The normal dreadnoughts, that is. These three were rigged together. I don't know the complete numbers, but I think they run with a minimum of 1.600 crewmembers."

The glance the leading security man shot at her – suspicious, angry, wondering how she knew – made Poe grin widely. He winked at him and was rewarded with an angry huff as he turned away again.

So much for military-style discipline, eh? Though, of course, here was the pot calling the kettle black. Poe injected some disdain into his voice.

"I bet half of the weapon' systems are offline."

General Organa shook her head. "I wouldn't count on that. Karrde was meticulous when it came to his resources, he'd have outfitted all three ships completely."

Their guide's smug expression was a dead giveaway. Good thing that man was not part of the Resistance. Poe was pretty sure he wouldn't have lasted a standard month, much less some years. He knew grass-green recruits who had a better poker face… Not to mention, of course, hardened veterans like Cassian Andor.

But stang, these ships were enormous!

They walked a whole while until the people in the corridors became fewer and fewer and small, private housing and office units replaced the public halls, store fronts, tap cafs and odd repair shops. Finally, Mr. Smug A-hole stopped in front of a plain blast door. When he turned just so, the contours of his blaster holster were visible against his dark jacket, Poe noticed again and again cursed the General for forcing him to leave his own blaster on the yacht. He felt slightly naked – even with the vibro knife stashed away securely in his boot.

"Boss's expecting you."

"Thank you," the general said, gravely, nodded at the man and waved at Poe to follow her. At her touch, the door opened, and they stepped inside.

The first thing Poe Dameron saw was an office: neat, tidy and spacious. A desk curved, sleekly, against the far wall, unobtrusive and yet giving out a clear message. Datapads and flimsiplast documents were stacked meticulously. The walls of the room were alternately covered with shelves – rows upon rows of datapads – and pieces of art. Poe recognized none of it – he did not have the patience for such things. But when he glanced at the general, her eyes wandered over some of the pieces, a curious mixture of sentiments clouding them. It lasted for a second and was gone again.

"Looks like you kept Talon's collection."

From the chair behind the desk, a tall figure rose, cat-like; uncurled from the shadows much like the three ships this person was commanding.

"I don't care for art. I kept them for him. Feel free to take any piece you like, provided you do not attempt to sell it to fund your dying resistance. I'd know immediately."

The words were spoken almost light-heartedly, but there was an undercurrent in the voice he could not place. Poe looked at the speaker more closely, followed as it stepped around the desk and into the open space before it, and couldn't suppress a gasp.

The leader of the galaxy's currently largest smuggling and information brokering empire was a woman.

At his unconcealed surprise, the full force of said woman's attention focused on him.

"What did you drag along this time, Leia?"

Disdain dripped from her voice like honey from a trap. A brief thought flitted through his brain – how many powerful men has she cowered with nothing but her sharp tongue and haughty glance? Dark green eyes bored into his. The woman was tall, but not as much as Poe himself was. And yet she managed to give him the sensation of being stared down at, something that made him vaguely uncomfortable. His first impulse was to back a step away – which he rudely suppressed, not wanting to appear like startled prey. Stang. The woman had presence. Her red-and-gold hair was liberally streaked with silver. Her devastating glare ran over him, up and down and up again, while she addressed Organa over her shoulder.

"He doesn't look like he'd be of use to me. Too idealistic. But you like them that way, don't you? Maybe, when you're finished with him…"

"Don't scare him off, Mara," Organa said, drily. "The Resistance still is in need of his services. Mara, Commander Poe Dameron. Commander Dameron, Captain Mara Jade. Head of what once was Talon Karrde's smuggler alliance, and now is the largest intelligence agency aside from First Order Intelligence."

"And FOI has nothing on us, despite its size," Jade said, matter-of-fact. She made no attempt to reach out. The way she held herself, icy and calm and so full of confidence and ill-concealed weariness, could not hide her attractiveness – what was it with women in power? Mon Mothma, General Organa, now Mara Jade. But wow. While Mon Mothma and the General demanded respect, they still appeared… approachable? This lady was plain scary. "Which, I suppose, is why I have the dubious pleasure of your visit."

The general's face was a study in mildness. "Can I not visit an old friend unannounced from time to time?"

Jade snorted. "I have no idea why everyone says you're a diplomat."

Organa chuckled. "It's good to see you, Mara." She sank down into one of the chairs surrounding the desk, and her gaze flew back to the pieces of art arranged on the wall. Jade walked towards a small storage cabinet and pulled out two glasses and a bottle of expensive-looking liquor. Poe, noticing very well that she did not intend on offering him anything, lingered behind the general. Was he supposed to act as her bodyguard? If he was not mistaken, the general was well able to take care of herself – he'd seen the evidence, clear as a day. On the other hand: why had she brought him with her, if she did not need anyone to protect her?

As if reading his thoughts the general addressed him without looking at him. "Commander?"

"Yes, General?"

"I have some things to discuss with my friend. Do you think you could find the mess and wait for me? I apologize for the inconvenience."

She was sending him away like a dog. Poe clenched his jaws. "Of course, General."

Jade, who had followed their exchange while filling the two glasses, the left corner of her lips twisted in what could equally be a grin and a mask of disdain, snorted.

"You train them well."

Poe wanted to glare at her. Keeping his temper in check, he kept his gaze fixed on his superior, waiting to be dismissed.

General Organa took one glass and held it against the light, sampling the contents of what he suspected was Corellian whisky. "Commander?"

This time, her voice was soft.

Poe's fists relaxed. "General?"

"If I remember correctly, Captain Jade had a sizable flotilla of space crafts, one of the largest private collections of shuttles and gliders in the galaxy. Some of them are the last of their types that remain. I am sure you would enjoy a detour." She looked at Jade. "Hangar bay six-oh-five, if I remember correctly?"

Something sparked in the other woman's eyes, a brief flash of emotion quickly buried again.

"Your memory is impeccable."

The door hissed closed behind him, and Poe found himself back in the corridor of the Katana. Face to face with Mr Smug A-hole.

"Back already?"

Poe ignored him.

As soon as he had left the semi-emptiness of the private living and working quarters behind him, his annoying guard disappeared miraculously. Poe had no doubts that someone would still be watching his every move – he waved at a security camera sarcastically – but it seemed that as long as he stayed on the public decks, he was free to do whatever he pleased.

His first stop, indeed, was the mess.

Not that it was a mess in the broadest sense of it. Nothing on these three ships, he guessed, was normal. Instead, he found a huge, vastly open space, something that, during other times, probably had been a shuttle hangar and had the appropriate dimensions. Poe walked right into it. As if someone had switched on a radio, suddenly, his ears were assaulted by noise; a multitude of different languages, laughter, shouts, the sizzling of hot fat, even the one or other live animal. The scents came next; and, finally, the colors. Poe had seen his fair share of market place culture, but the main food court of the Katana beat everything. He bet he would be able to find anything here; from green thakitillo to the sugary, dried insects the avian species of Hiitian preferred. Between the small stalls and kitchens, beings of all origins sat, crouched, stood and walked; eating and conversing. It was not packed, but it certainly was not empty, either, and every vendor's stall seemed to be happily occupied. Did all these beings belong to Captain Jade's information empire, Poe wondered. On the Raddus, every crew member had been a member of the Resistance, there had neither been the necessity nor the wish to involve civilians. Consequently, the meals had been simple and functional, and the atmosphere – despite the one or other drunk celebration – grim and expectant. But the Katana could house a lot of beings, he supposed, and why not use the space?

Was Captain Jade actually influential enough to keep FOI away from her organization, not to mention the First Order itself?

Speaking of Captain Jade. She was, no doubt, the old friend General Organa had wanted to talk to. She wouldn't have needed his help with getting there, so he supposed his general had indeed planned for some kind of mission for him. If he wanted to be ready and back at the shuttle at the agreed time, he better start looking.

While snacking on some unidentifiable chops with blue potatoes, Poe hatched a plan.

Obviously, the general had wanted him to go and have a look at that hangar bay six-oh-five. It probably would contain space crafts, as she had said it would, anything else would have been too suspicious. If his gut instincts about Mara Jade were right – and Poe's pilot instincts had seldom failed him in the past – then there would be more to her little "private" collection than anyone expected. Evidently, General Organa thought that there had to be something that would catch Poe's notice. It might even be a vital part of their quest to rebuild the rebellion; who knew?

The warm feeling of pride – that she trusted him that far, that she relied on him despite of him having shown poor leadership skills in the past – made him sit up straighter. Draining his cup of juice, he brought his tray to the recycling station and returned to the corridor.

There had been decidedly too many incidents, Poe thought, a short time later and rather annoyed, that he had been brought up speechless by the sight before him that day.

This, again, was no different.

Hangar six-oh-five was a hangar, as the name implied. What the name failed to transfer was the sheer size of it – the mess hall must have been a droid storage space or something, if this was a shuttle hangar – and the sight of more than four dozen different shuttles and space fighters neatly parked, row after row.

A scratched and battered, rubberduck-yellow N-1 starfighter, like the ones Poe had seen on children's holonet series as a child. Something that looked like a Delta-7 Aethersprite–class light interceptor, next to an Eta-2. A HH-7 starhopper, a TIE Reaper and what looked like to be one of the TIE/ad x1 – that prototype must be worth millions of credits, not only to collectors. B-Wings. A-Wings. Y- and X-Wings. And, in the far corner, something he could not quite see but could not place –

Glancing left and right, he crossed the hangar, craning his neck to see all the ships that surrounded him. In the far corner stood a ship, small in comparison to some of the surrounding crafts, and of a drab, lifeless grey. It had a roughly three-pronged shape, like a three-clawed, symmetrical hand, with the middle claw ending in a longish, snout-like end and the left and right ones, apparently the maneuvering wings or whatever, were shorter and sturdier. On top of the small pyramid was the cockpit, covered by a dirty, equally grey dome that seemed to have filmed over with time. Poe rounded the last corner to get a complete view of it and ran smack into someone.

His head banged against the hull plates of the strange craft with a painful thud.

"What the kriffin –"

The male humanoid – it was a human, alright – reacted even more surprised. With a yell, he jumped up from the console he had been sitting at, knocking over the pile of datapads and scattering roasted nuts everywhere. Stopping for a second, he surveyed the mess, then dropped to his knees to gather his belongings again, shooting one accusing glance at his assailant and mumbling under his breath.

"Sorry." Poe felt like an idiot. "Wait, let me help."

He kneeled to help the young man – it was a boy, actually, he couldn't be much older than fifteen or sixteen – and collected a set of micro-tweezers, a datapad and a comlink.

The boy carefully received his belongings and stashed them in his shoulder bag, and only then blinked at Poe again. His dark eyes behind even darker hair held an expression that did not suit his physical appearance – wary beyond his age – but there was no anger or threat in them. Not exactly fearlessness, but a certain… Well, whatever.

"This deck isn't open to the public."

"I have Captain Jade's permission," Poe said, reflexively. At least, she had not contradicted the general when she had suggested he come here. That was a permission as good as any, wasn't it?

The boy brightened. "Oh. Well, then. Who are you?"

Poe offered his handshake. "Poe Dameron."

"Ghent. Did you arrive with the latest batch of tourists?"

"Tourists?"

"Huh? Oh, that's what we call the people that come here to look at the Katana and her sister ships. Travelers, the like."

Poe couldn't help his grin. "I didn't come for the Katana, specifically. I didn't even know she existed. But now that I'm here I find her rather intriguing."

Not to speak of the people staffing her.

"You know Captain Jade, then?" Ghent continued on. "She rarely lets people down here. That's why I am here, to be honest. I work better without too much people around me, but I like the space."

Poe's eyes roamed over the boy's shoulder bag, over his clean trousers and jacket, his un-grease-stained hands and face. "You're not a mechanic," he said, narrowing his eyes.

Ghent shrugged. "No. I do software, not hardware. I've been working for Captain Jade since my parents were killed by the First Order."

"I'm…"

Another shrug. "It's been a while. And at least I can earn my keep. I'm the best software engineer there is."

An underage software engineer, working for the most influential information broker… Poe had an idea what kind of work this boy did, now and then. The calm surety the boy emanated made him smile. But it hurt, too. This was their world: a world in which children grew up without their parents but continued their fight. Though, of course, he could not speak for Ghent's work.

"I bet."

"So what do you do?"

"I'm a pilot, actually."

Ghent's eyes sharpened. "Freighter or civilian transport?"

Poe hesitated for a second and instantly could have kicked himself. He just wasn't cut out for intelligence work, dammit. What had the general thought when she had chosen to take him along?

"Transport."

But Ghent's eyes already roamed his overall for signs of his affiliation. When he could not find any – thank the Force for small mercies, as Rey would have said – they returned to Poe's, sharp.

"If you were First Order, Captain Jade would never have let you come here."

"Well, I –"

"Of course, you could be an undercover spy –"

Another voice interrupted him, coming from directly behind Poe. And Poe – he couldn't help himself: he jumped. Despite his increased alertness, he had not heard anyone approaching.

"Stop talking, Ghent."

Ghent – blushed heavily and clamped his mouth shut, instantly.

Poe turned to look at the woman who had snuck up on him. She was approximately his age, average-sized, with wheat-blonde hair, fair skin and the bluest eyes he had ever seen. She wore a plain pilot's uniform, much like Poe's, her hands were grease-stained and her hair was escaping her ponytail, and she looked striking.

Of course, she had nothing on Rey –

Stop that, he told himself rather pointlessly.

"Who are you?"

He reached out to offer her his hand. "Poe Dameron."

The woman made no notice of his outstretched hand. "This area is not open to public."

He felt his brow crease. Nice to meet you, too. "Captain Jade gave me her permission." Now where had he heard this conversation, before?

At the name, the woman looked upset, then angry, and then quickly banned any sentiment from her even features. For a second, her eyes glazed over, as if she was looking at something past him. Then, the full force of them was directed onto him again.

"Touch anything in here with even your little finger, and I'll gut you."

Ghent, behind her, shifted as if nervous, but the grin he flashed Poe held nothing humor. All bark and no bite, he mouthed, and the pilot just frowned. The woman turned and speared the young software tech with an icy glare, which – miraculously – just seemed to dissipate at the moment of impact. They were friends, Poe deduced, and had known each other for long enough to read each other's moods easily. Though the woman, he very strongly suspected, did not let anyone off as softly as she let off the hacker.

"I'll keep that in mind," he replied, unable to keep the irony from his voice. The gaze she shot him would have frozen over Hoth.

Without another word, she made a one-eighty and attempted to stride away.

"Oh, but, hey, wait!"

He caught her as she turned, and immediately dropped her wrist again, holding both hands into the air to show her he meant no harm. It was the right thing to do. His instincts clamored with the force of her animosity as she whirled around to face him, her eyes livid.

"I am sorry," he said, again. "I just – there is this fighter back there, I've never seen one like it before. Where does it come from?"

She looked like she was seriously contemplating throwing him out of an airlock. And then Ghent reached out and put a hand on her arm, gently, and she relaxed enough to show at least a grade of politeness.

"Which one?"

"The one that looks like it is made of stone."

Behind her back, Poe saw Ghent pull a face. The boy's hands clamped around his own wrists, as if he wanted to hug himself but was too proud to do so.

"We found it on one of the Outer Rim planets, almost in the Unknown Regions. It seems to be grown from some living material. The control interfaces seem part biological, too, but whatever it was died long before we found it. The Captain kept it. It's been here ever since."

"What, you mean, it's actually made from stone?"

"Coral, more likely. Far lighter."

Poe frowned. "And you don't know who built it?"

The woman shook her head. "It definitely wasn't from the planet we found it on. And we haven't been able to determine the molecular structure of the hull material. I mean, we can determine it, but there is nothing that it is comparable to. It's like it is from an unknown world."

She seemed… more relaxed when talking about ships. The severity of her features was lightened fractionally, and, for a second, she looked like someone he knew. Poe wracked his brain and came up with – nothing. Maybe she just had this kind of face?

He glanced into the cockpit.

"Seems like the designers were at least partly humanoid."

"Likely, but not necessarily."

She was right. There were a myriad of different species in the galaxy, and while some were bipedal and vaguely resembled humans, they still could be far from humanoid.

"There are no controls."

"There must have been bio-organic interfaces. See the round stone on the console? Maybe that was a living control device. It's fascinating, really."

Poe felt a shiver run down his spine. "Freaky, too."

The glance he received in return was almost amused. "Alien."

Poe's comlink beeped.

Almost regretfully, he glanced at it.

"That would be my call." He shook Ghent's hand. "It was nice to meet you. Maybe next time, you can give me a tour."

The woman only nodded, and disappeared behind another space craft. Ghent grinned at him. "She's always like that. Likewise, Poe. Safe travels, and may the Force be with you."

"And with you," he said, almost reflexively, and then Ghent was gone, too.

Poe left the hangar bay and wondered, the whole way back to the Mirrorbright, whether he had actually met the people the general had wanted him to meet, or whether it had just been about the ships.

Or had he just failed a test?

"That's quite a hotshot you found there."

Mara Jade leaned back in her chair, taking a hold of the glass with its golden liquid, her eyes not leaving Leia.

"He's a good boy," the general replied, smiling wistfully. Of course, Mara noticed.

"Why do you keep caring for them, Leia? You know how this is going to end."

For a second, Leia felt old. Mara was right, always had been. It was what she did: put her heart and her faith in certain people, young, idealistic and impatient ones, only to watch, helplessly, as they got consumed by their own fire. And yet… Hope, the told herself. What a strange concept. How was it that she still hoped, even after all these years?

"I guess I'm still willing to believe that one day, it will end differently," she said, lightly, and lifted her glass. "You look good, Mara."

Mara snorted, but there was a glimpse of her rare smile playing around her lips. "I wish I could say the same of you, but you look old."

"I am old," Leia quipped. "And there's the reason why I am the diplomat and you're the smuggler."

Mara's lips twitched, which was as good as a laugh from anyone else. "It's good to see you."

The admission brought a playful frown to Leia's features. "What's that? Did you miss me?"

"I heard about the Supremacy."

Her smile turned bitter. "Of course you did."

"Kylo Ren was unanimously elected Supreme Leader three days ago."

"So the Moffs did not oppose."

Mara snorted. "You know the Moffs. Give them money and power and then threaten to take it away, and they'll agree to anything. Two Council members are already plotting an assassination. Of course they won't be able to pull it through – they're far too incompetent. Ren is volatile, but he's not stupid, and he's fully trained…"

Her voice tapered off, her eyes soft, suddenly.

"I can't imagine, Leia."

Mara never had pretended anything else. It had always been soothing: no false empathy, no pity, no fake understanding. Mara saw the galaxy as what it was, and said what she thought. Leia shook herself.

"I am not surprised that you know everything that happened after Ren took over the First Order. But you don't know what happened on Crayt."

There was a quickly suppressed spark in her friends' eyes. Information: the most valuable thing they had for trade, nowadays. Leia intended to make good use of it – later.

"I don't suppose you are going to tell me for free."

"Mara." Leia emptied her glass, felt the burn of alcohol down her throat. "I won't insult you by pretense." She closed her eyes. The warmth of the Corellian whisky was pleasant, but did not last. It also reminded her of Han. Oh, Han. "This is no information you will be able to sell for anything of value. It might even be something you never wanted to know. I am telling you, anyway, and I don't expect your gratitude. But you need to know."

When she opened her eyes again, Mara's green gaze was drilling into hers. Her hands were wrapped around her glass, unmoving.

"Say it."

Without breaking eye contact, Leia told her what she had come to tell.

"He's dead."

For what felt like eternity the words hung in the air between them, tangible like poisonous flowers.

Then, the glass shattered in Mara's hands.

She did not flinch, did not move, did not even blink. Leia took a deep breath.

"Four hundred, Mara. Four hundred of us managed to jump into hyperspace after the attack on Hosnian Prime. The First Order tracked us through hyperspace. We had not enough fuel, no chance to escape. They picked us off like mynocks from a ship hull, one by one. Crayt was our last stand. Of the four hundred members of the Resistance, only one hundred and sixteen were left. Seventy-two gave their lives defending us against the First Order's walkers. And all of the remaining fifty-four would have died had Luke not saved us."

The pain was constant, ever-present. Not even fifteen years of separation had been able to break their twin bond; the moment he had allowed himself back into the Force it had blazed back, like a supernova. A world without him was unthinkable. As unthinkable as a world without her parents. And her husband. And her son. And yet, a voice whispered, deep within her. You are alive, and they are not.

Mara's voice sounded like she was light years away.

"Where did he hide for the past fifteen years?"

Leia felt her voice soften. It was almost easy to forget how much she had resented Luke on particularly bad days for just leaving like that in the face of Mara's still ever-present bitterness. "A planet named Ahch-To. You were right. He cut himself off the Force."

Something flashed in the woman's eyes, fiery and desperate, before she caught her emotions again, hauled them back in violently and locked them down.

"Did you talk to him?"

"Briefly. He apologized."

"Okay."

"He confronted Ren all by himself. He bought us enough time to escape. It burned him out. I –" She took a deep breath, but it did not lessen the weight on her chest. "I felt him die."

From the first moment they had met, Leia had known that Mara Jade was a fighter. With everything she had lived through, everything she had experienced – she had become strong, tempered. Like a steel blade, folded over and over again, strengthened to the point of no return. She had survived the Empire, she had survived the Galactic Alliance, she would survive the First Order and the Resistance. Mara Jade was a survivor.

Yet now, she looked…

Leia stretched out her hand, touched her wrist.

"Mara." The woman's skin was cold and clammy. "He died. You felt it, too."

Silence between them, breathless, bottomless. None of them moved. Nobody moved, not even as much as breathed, until Mara's hands balled into fists, violently. Her voice was light, but there was no disguising the pain in her eyes, nor the depth of her grief in her Force presence.

"I wasn't sure. He didn't –"

Of course he hadn't. Leia closed her eyes, feeling her best friend's pain. Letting it wash away her own pain, replacing it by anger with her beloved brother, just for a moment. Because she could love him and be angry with him at the same time, couldn't she?

You are alive, and they are not.

Mara caught herself first. She had always been good at compartmentalizing. Leia could imagine that she would grieve when she was by herself, alone and unseen. Maybe she would also not grieve. Mara Jade never had possessed the healthiest coping mechanisms. But then, who was Leia to judge? She was no better, after all. Burying her grief with work had worked for her for her entire life.

"Was that why you came here?"

"Also." Leia looked at the polished surface of the table between them. "I also came to ask for help."

Mara leaned back. "You are here for the Resistance."

Leia held her gaze. "Yes."

The smuggler's green eyes flashed. "You've helped birth one rebellion, and birthed a second one. Both times, they failed to create long-lasting peace. Why would you want to try a third time?"

Leia laughed, hollowly. "You mean, with my stellar track record as a mother?"

At that, even unflappable Mara was taken-aback. "That's not what I meant."

Leia waved away the other woman's words, feeling the familiar crack in her voice and, for once, letting it through. "I know, I know. I want to give up, really. Mara, you can't imagine how much I want to just lean back and let all of this go to hell. I mean, why am I still doing this? I lost Han, Ben, and now Luke, too. Not to mention the many people who believed in me, and whom I let die. I'm so tired, Mara. At this point, I just want to lie down and never get up again. I would have done it, too. Had Luke not intervened and bought us time, I wouldn't have bothered. All these children we're sending out there? They're dying. I don't know how I was able to stand it in the past, but it's not getting better. That boy, Dameron. He almost killed himself various times, not to mention his friends. And Rey. You should see her, Mara. She went to meet Ren on the Supremacy, completely convinced he could be saved. It was the most foolish thing I ever saw, anything that Luke did in the past excluded."

She was tired. And old. So terribly, terribly old. The grief weighted her down, invisible, choking her from the inside. Making her die a little bit more, every day. There was no scale for pain: whenever it became overwhelming, beings grew. And the pain grew, as well. But call it stubbornness: Leia never had been in the habit of letting pain win over her.

"But they're fighting so hard. Sometimes I think they're fighting harder than we ever did. And I can't just sit back and watch them go down."

Mara looked at her, unblinking. Leia looked back, smiled.

"They're not like us. We were bitter and stubborn. They're better. They make mistakes, but they get it right the second time. That's more than we can say about us. I can't just leave them to fight on their own, and I know you: neither can you. You'd understand, if you met them. Rey's the complete opposite of Jaina, Mara. But they're also very much alike. I'm sure they'd be fast friends, if they ever met."

Mara had not moved at all. Her gaze was focused on Leia, unwavering.

"What do you want from me, Leia?"

Leia leaned forward and held herself very, very still. "I need your resources. All of them. Your ships. Your contacts. Your access to credits. Information. People. Whatever you can give me, I'll take. Honestly, I am desperate right now. I still have some contacts. I can recruit children. I can even shake loose some credits if I call in every last favor the galaxy owes me. But whatever I can get from you, I'll take it happily. Because I trust you. You actually are the only one I still trust."

Mara snorted. "Trust. So overrated."

Leia almost smiled. "And yet here I am."

Mara stood from her chair and walked to the window, briskly. Outside, the vastness of space was both overwhelming and soothing. The information broker spoke without turning around.

"Why should I help you?"

There were, Leia thought, many answers to that question. Because you care. Because you want to. Because you loved him, too.

But she did not say anything, opting to just wait.

They had been friends for a long time now, even if they rarely saw each other. Even if they had chosen different paths: they had loved the same people, in the end. Mara understood her without the need for words. Her silence was answer enough.

"How are you planning on paying me back?"

Leia laughed, giddily, and thought that, for the first time since Han's (Ben'sLuke's) death, her voice did not sound hollow to her own ears.

The next hour they spent planning, arguing and discussing. When Mara finally leaned back in her chair, she was frowning, her forehead creased deeply.

"Maybe we have a chance."

Leia very carefully did not point out that Mara had said "we" instead of "you". Maybe, had they joined forces long ago – maybe all of this wouldn't have happened?

No.

That they had come here, today, wasn't only consequence of their own failures. Consequently, they could only set things right by working together. And maybe, maybe… Maybe they would be able to leave all those children a better world when they finally left.

Maybe.

Mara knocked down the last golden whiskey in her glass and leaned back. "This is insane, Organa."

Leia smirked. "Insanity was always more your style than mine, Jade." She daintily picked up the last sandwich, ignoring Mara's glower regally, and ate it. "There is one last thing."

The smuggler sighed warily. "Of course there is."

"The First Order can track us through hyperspace now. So there is one more favor I need from you."

The Mirrorbright looked exactly the same as she had when Poe had left her; not even three standard hours ago.

And yet.

Something was off – he couldn't put his finger on it. Probably Mr. Smug Face's men had sniffed around without the general's permission? He hoped they'd found the same few traps as he had, right at the beginning of their journey. It was so satisfying, thinking of cursing security men cradling their numb hands.

From the co-pilot's chair, he surveyed the cockpit and controls. All lights were green, the system technically ready for take-off.

"Mirrorbright, Katana Control," a voice emerged from the speakers. "Your clearance is being delayed due to software issues. Stand by."

"What's wrong with their system?" Poe asked, annoyed. The general was focused on going through the pre-flight checklist, and did not deign to look at him.

"Oh, that's not a system error. They're just saying that."

"What? Why? How do you know?"

Aggravatingly patient, General Organa leaned back and wrapped both her hands around her walking stick.

"We're taking up passengers."

He shot up from the co-pilot's chair, banged his knee on the console and cursed.

"We are what?"

She chuckled. "Calm down, Poe, or you'll not live to see my age. All these young people these days – so tense and high-strung!"

Poe opened his mouth to argue that, if anyone was high-strung, it sure as kriffin' hell wasn't him – and closed it again, thinking twice of it. The amused glance he caught from the corner of his eyes told him that the general knew exactly what he was thinking. Instead, he huffed and leaned back.

Passengers. Great. Here he was, stuck on a civilian transport ship for another three standard days, and they were about to take up more people –

A shrill sound interrupted his musings.

"Would you be so kind as to greet our guests?" The general said, again focused on the controls.

With a sigh, Poe went to do just that.

Five minutes later he was back, his wariness having completely turned into shock and the urge to shout questions at his commanding officer stronger than ever before.

"Ghent!" General Organa smiled warmly over the back of the pilot's chair and then swiveled to shake his hand. "It's good to see you. I am sorry to take you away from the Katana."

"That's fine," the boy said, the tips of his ears turning suspiciously pink. "Captain Jade said you asked for my help; that you had a task only I could fulfill." He smiled, shyly, and General Organa smiled back.

"Your assistance will be invaluable."

"That's alright," Poe said, annoyed, and waved at the hacker. "I can see why we're taking him on board. But why her?"

"Because Ghent's not going anywhere without me," the blonde woman from the hangar, who had been glaring at him since he had allowed her and Ghent onto the Mirrorbright, said acidly.

The general laughed. "Protective as always, I see."

"Aunt Leia." The woman leaned down to kiss the general's cheek, and her aggravation and impatience disappeared so completely Poe would have wondered whether he was only imagining things, had he not met her before already. "It's good to see you."

"You, too. You've gotten even more beautiful. I'm glad you decided to come along," Organa said and accepted the woman's greeting. "I want to introduce you to some people."

"Well," the woman said, with a so disdainful glance at Poe that any normal man would have felt this small with a hat. "If all of your people are like him, it's gonna be rather unspectacular."

Poe glared at her. "Who are you, anyway?"

General Organa took this as her cue to turn away from the woman and the Mirrorbright's controls and to smile at Poe. Its brightness made him shiver in foreboding.

"Commander Dameron, meet Jaina Jade, my god daughter. Jaina, Commander Poe Dameron. I'm sure you will have an enjoyable time on the journey, getting to know each other. I have the feeling you'll work together often in the future. Jaina is a brilliant pilot, Commander. I'm sure you can learn a lot from each other."

The woman – Jaina Jade, Captain Jade's daughter, General Organa's god daughter – rolled her eyes in exasperation.

Poe suppressed a groan.

It was going to be a very, very long flight.