The Patron Saint of Lost Causes

Chapter 1

The communications terminal was flatlined. No transmissions. No secret communiques. No alerts. Nothing. Not for good long while now. It had been hours, and they were starting to get more than a little bit uneasy at all the radio silence.

Rose looked from the one console to the other, from Destroyer schematics back to the receiver relay.

"Any word?"

She glanced up Commander D'Acy, sitting back in her chair. "No," she admitted, running a hand down her face, trying to massage the fatigue from her eyes. "Nothing from the Falcon. I haven't heard anything since they touched down on Pasaana. Not a word."

The air around the base was already tense. She didn't want to add to how on-edge everyone was feeling, but it was the truth.

"Do you want me to take over?"

"No," Rose smiled, though it was strained. "I'll be fine."

"You've been at it all day," D'Acy urged, brows pulled with concern. "Perhaps Lieutenant Connix could man the radio for a few hours. While you got some sleep at least."

"I- I appreciate that Commander, but—"

"Oh, don't take her away from that terminal, Commander." Connix called from behind one of the map displays. "Rose hasn't heard from her boyfriend yet either."

Rose flushed.

D'Acy looked confused. "Boyfriend?"

"The spy," Connix clarified, drawing out potential strike patterns on the pad in front of her without looking up.

"That's right," D'Acy mused. "You've been the primary contact for our First Order spy since Finn and Poe left. With all the excitement I'd almost forgotten. No word as of late, you say?"

Rose shot Connix a look, even if the other wasn't watching. "No," she admitted, "no word. And he's not my boyfriend. He's just… we have a rapport." From across the room, she heard Connix snort. Rose threw up her hands. "That's how you build trust with assets! That's literally all I'm doing! It's just text anyway," she added with growing embarrassment. "It's not like we've talked about anything other than the bare essentials. Troop movements and cargo drops and where to hit essential First Order supply barges—"

"He refuses to talk to anyone else," Connix quipped, tipping up enough to drape her arms over the top of her console, looking over at the two other women. "And you laugh at his jokes."

"I'd hardly call some barbs directed at Kylo Ren 'jokes'."

"And you think his formality is charming."

"It's annoying," Rose countered.

D'Acy gave her a pensive look. "He knows Kylo Ren?"

Rose pressed her lips together, sending a glare in Connix's direction but nodding all the same. She pulled her chair forward to click through a few files, bringing up the spy's messages she'd received over their recently established secret channel. "It seems so. Higher rank, but obviously not at the top of command. Very unhappy with how things in the First Order are going. They seem pretty determined to throw a wrench into the Supreme Leader's operations."

D'Acy read over her shoulder. "So, he's an Officer?"

"That's more than likely, given the quality of information."

"How long has it been since the last transmission?"

"A few days."

D'Acy pursed her lips. "If they've been keeping in regular contact but have suddenly gone dark… not a good sign. Keep an ear out. If anything comes across the radio, let me or General Organa know immediately."

Rose nodded, sitting up straighter in her chair. "Yes, ma'am."

D'Acy gave the two women a small smile before ducking out toward the makeshift airfield to check on their fleet's readiness. As soon as she was out of earshot, Rose swiveled her chair in Connix's direction.

"Could you please not tease me in front of the Commander!?"

"Everyone's so tense." Connix gave her a sheepish grin. "And it's just so easy."

Rose rolled her eyes. "I'm trying to be useful, because apparently I'm not important enough to be out there," she gestured to the sky.

Connix frowned. "Hey, you are important. Don't say that. The spy's information has been really useful. It has," she emphasized at Rose's disbelieving look. "I didn't mean to make it sound like it wasn't a serious job. I'm sorry. I just… I think it's funny the things we know but don't know about this guy. I get that you have to build trust with little bits of personal information but… Like, we know they own a cat but we seriously don't know if they're male or female? It's so weird."

Rose sighed heavily. "Who knows if we'll ever find out, either."

They both fell silent.

"D'Acy's right," Connix muttered after a long, heavy moment. "Everything going quiet all of a sudden. It doesn't bode well for our informant."

"Yeah, I know." Rose closed the past communiques on her terminal. "I hope nothing's happened to them. I hope at least they're alive. They gave the Resistance some vital information. It would be a shame if they were caught and jettisoned out an airlock before we could even thank them."

With a sharp, lung-stinging inhale, Armitage Hux jerked awake, body twisting amongst the debris he'd been so unceremoniously tossed upon. With a keen bolt of terror, before he could even get ahold of his bearings, he realized couldn't breathe. The dented armor plate was crushing into his chest. Although his coat was missing, his crumpled, singed-though jacket was still clipped on by the belt. He ripped off both, unclasping the straps of the thin, now ruined, Beskar steel dual-plate around his chest and abdomen. As the weight came away, he sucked down a lungful of air, coughing and groaning at the pain.

"Damn it," he muttered, unbuttoning his undershirt enough to reveal black and blue bruises blooming along his upper abdominal muscles.

Another inhale. Another sharp pain.

Perhaps a cracked rib as well…

Battered and broken he was, but undoubtably, miraculously, alive. More than once it had paid to be unabashedly paranoid.

Hux wrinkled his nose, casting his gaze about the small, dimly-lit room in which he found himself. Lazy bastards, he thought bitterly. They'd thrown him into one of the ship's garbage compactors instead of tossing his body out into space. It was lucky the recent confusion and chaos had led to such serious lapses in protocol, even if the principle of such carelessness irked him.

He tried to find his footing among the slight soupy whatever was down here with him— he tried not to think about what he'd been lying in— and pain lanced up his leg.

Oh yes, how could he forget where he'd also been shot.

The damned traitor.

You're a traitor now too, a small voice in the back of his mind had to remind him, it's how you ended up here, after all.

Well, here was exactly where he couldn't stay. Not if he wanted to make it off the Steadfast alive. Hux shrugged on his coat, giving the jacket up for lost, probably pilfered, and half stumbled, half crawled over the broken bits of machinery and more… organic bits of trash, to the emergency metal rung ladder leading towards the garbage chute's inner hatch. He was panting by the time he ascended to the top, head swimming and a sheen of sweat beading on his brow.

The slight ringing in his ears was another warning sign. With his luck, it probably meant he had a concussion too.

Leaning on the inside of the door, recouping his strength, Hux listened for signs of movement and contemplated his next course of action.

He had to get off this ship. He could turn right, try and steal back to his quarters. There he could grab an extra firearm, try and gather Millicent and a few other provisions before fleeing for good. Or he could go left, towards the escape pods. The Officers' crafts were even fitted with hyperdrives. He could be zipping away before they even caught on.

The latter was the more logical option, but there was a tug of regret and pain at the thought of leaving that cat, waiting for dinner that would never come, holed up in his quarters without him.

Well, if he tried and got caught, it wouldn't matter anyway. He'd be a dead man in his quarters rather than a presumed-dead man chucked down a garbage chute. At least if he got away, there was a chance of rescuing her sometime in the future.

Steeling himself, he made the decision, swinging open the chute's maintenance door and exiting into the deserted hallway. With one last look back towards the direction of the bridge and his quarters, he limped off toward the escape pods.

hope ya'llr ready for this ill-conceived roller coaster, whew boy