lehon | v. @adtenebras | incomplete
Kylo burned through pilots almost faster than they could be supplied to him. While most were competent enough in the cockpit for his purposes, they tended to be more curious than their infantry counterparts, quicker to question orders, and invariably useless once removed from their flight controls for ground combat. For their insufficiency, they’d been either blithely dismembered or ejected into space, depending on his mood.
Sure, he could fly his own shuttle, but as the newly minted Master of the Knights of Ren he ought not have to do menial things himself when he had other tasks to accomplish. It didn’t befit his title. It didn’t befit his power.
When he arrived in the small hangar bay where his shuttle (and TIE fighter, though that wouldn’t be of much use to him for the immediate future) resided, troopers were in the process of trotting up the boarding ramp with the supplies he’d need for the weeks-long assignment Snoke had designed for him. Sealed, unmarked crates of machinery and food, mostly, though one particular piece of equipment was of much more substantial importance to the Knight. He scanned the hangar for what was to be his latest pilot. Give me no less than your best, he’d growled at Colonel Hux, or I’ll continue to burn through your air troops until I find what I’m looking for. Soon, he’d find out if the greasy weasel had delivered.
A glinting flash of red on black caught his attention immediately, the hallmark helmet of a special forces pilot. Already, Ren was pleased. Hux didn’t like to spare the more highly trained fodder for Ren’s purposes if they were merely going to be eviscerated anyway, which meant this one wasn’t expected to fail. He strode forward until he was half a meter from the pilot, mask tilted in curiosity as he felt how the Force wove around the man, testing his mettle before anything else. “Your designation?”
Colonel Hux had probably meant for it to be a short conversation. A quick yes sir, despite whatever apprehension a pilot might have felt. A snapped salute. Hux would then dismiss the pilot, before getting back to whatever it was he really did around here. It was one of the greatest cases of nepotism Poe would ever witness in his lifetime. So really, it’d been just a little satisfying to watch those distinct brows leap in surprised when the order was questioned.
And not just the order, but the command’s judgement.
The problem was they had all heard the stories. Despite regulations created to specifically discourage and dispel, there were just some things you couldn’t keep the pilots from doing. Gossip was probably the least of the Order’s worries, anyways. After all this time, Poe wasn’t interested in becoming another statistic.
He’d spent years carving his place in the navy. He’d become irreplaceable. So why take the risk? He didn’t exactly share the colonel’s confidence that this would be a successful match.
But had he actually been able to get out of this assignment? No. So he’d spent the morning preparing for the trip, from packing his ready bag to making sure his affairs for the week were in order. Someone else would have to take over training the promising young pilots accepted into the program, and you could bet he’d be checking in on those same pilots the moment he was back.
The First Order had made an art form out of conditioning soldiers, sure, but Poe still knew he could do better. Not only that, he’d proven it. His pilots were the best, and he wasn’t excited to place them in someone else’s hands for whatever amount of time he’d be chauffeuring Snoke’s favorite around the galaxy.
Lord Ren’s initial approach wasn’t totally unlike a fighter to its target, a demand immediately on his lips. Provided the guy had lips.
“SP-3477.” Colloquially, Poe. Hux provided hadn’t provided that information, it wasn’t really officially on file.
In the meantime, he didn’t give away much. His answer had been polite, although he couldn’t help tipping his head towards the shuttle while he spoke. There was a curiosity nagging at him already. He’d piloted several craft like this one, the old imperial style that the Order liked to drag around for officers; but Poe could see that this one was different.
A simple answer for a simple question. It suited Ren just fine. The mask remained trained on SP-3477 for a moment longer and the air grew noticeably heavier around the pair, but it was gone the instant he brushed past and continued forwards. “We leave now.” The troopers, having completed their task, scuttled away like beetles before him as he ascended the ramp, though not so hurriedly as to appear unprofessional. SP-3477, for the moment, went ignored.
He’d upgraded the weapons and hull armor of his Upsilon-class shuttle specifically for this mission based on rumors about his destination; even someone who thrived on chaos as he could learn to prepare for the worst. Upon reaching the cockpit, he entered several nondescript coordinates into the nav computer, a path that would avoid the popular hyperspace lanes through the core worlds in favor of a meandering route hugging the outer rim that would take much longer, but offer superior anonymity if needed. Minimal manpower meant even Kylo Ren would have to be careful. The path terminated at a planet named Lehon.
Satisfied, he crossed his arms and waited for the pilot to catch up.
He had to admire how those troopers could hustle once they’d been dismissed, their boots clicking against the floor as they departed the hangar bay.
SP-3477 had been itching for a little adventure for a few months now, but he probably should have been careful what he wished for. Things had been quiet, and the First Order had a way of laying low when it wanted to. It often wanted to.
There was so many details to drink in now that he’d ducked aboard the ship. Little tweaks, screens in places he hadn’t seen them before, and those supplies crammed in every nook. It wasn’t really a vessel meant for a journey this long, but it’d have to do. Poe had already staked out a chair that might be comfortable enough for the long series of naps that’d replace his normal sleep cycle.
“Did upper management provide you with any of my background?” He stood somewhat respectfully in the back of the cockpit, waiting to be invited further within. From here, he could see that their route had already been dropped into the nav-computer- something he’d usually like to be consulted on, but he figured it was a little early to nitpick Lord Ren’s plans.
Though his arms were tightly crossed, Ren leaned against one of the chairs in the cockpit and let his head tilt to the side, still measuring the worth of this pilot. “Nothing,” he said with a dismissive shrug, pushing off of the chair and retrieving a datapad inset in the wall of the cockpit to comb through whatever information happened to be relevant at the time. He noted SP-3477’s distance, and let it continue. “I only care if you can complete the tasks I give you, nothing more. You’re not to change any of the coordinates I’ve programmed unless otherwise ordered, and you’re not to touch the cargo. Your cabin is port, mine is starboard.”
Having been given this shuttle to do with as he pleased, Ren had taken it upon himself to refit the craft as a vessel for personal use. Taking advantage of the deceptive roominess this class of shuttle possessed, he’d had two tiny, but functional, cabins installed, and the resulting corridor between them could even have been called a common room, with a half-moon booth and a large table with bits of errant machinery still scattered on it from whatever Ren had been tinkering with last.
He wasn’t really sure what he’d expected.
Alright, maybe that wasn’t entirely accurate. He’d expected to be dead by now, organs lodged under a crate in the hangar bay before Ren had even taken off. It wasn’t a stretch to wonder why he was even here when the man was such an adept pilot. Poe had witnessed first hand what he was capable of.
Colonel Hux hadn’t really bothered to explain when asked, either. He’d seemed content to remind SP-3477 that it was his duty to do as he was told, without question.
Cabins, though. That was cozier than expected, maybe he wouldn’t have to resort to the chair after all.
“Does she have a name?” All he had to do was complete the tasks given to him. Well, he hadn’t been tasked with shutting up just yet.
Ren ignored the question, largely because the answer was no. He’d named his fighter easily, but even though he’d owned this shuttle for a standard year and a half, it only had its standard factory designation to go by. The fact that he’d accidentally modeled it after a certain Corellian freighter lent to the problem, more than likely.
This new train of thought was enough to distract him from the fact that SP-3477 was already far chattier than the Knight would have liked.
He raised the ramp and didn’t even bother to conceal the curt sigh that hissed through his modulator. “Get us under way.”
“Yes, sir.” The fact that Ren had said nothing at all, well. It said plenty. He’d be traveling in style, but it was likely also in silence. As he dropped into the seat, he realized it was probably better this way; after all, he was lucky his mouth hadn’t gotten him killed yet.
“This is SP-3477, departure code has been submitted for evaluation. En route to,” A glance downwards, before he thought better of it. “A classified location. Acknowledge.”
At least the launch itself came to him as easily as breathing. A mild mannered ship, launching from the complete safety of a friendly hangar, into familiar space. They had sheltered in the harbor of this system, heavily populated with inhabitable celestial bodies and not much else.
At least the launch itself kept the pilot busy for awhile, and minimized the number of curious glances he’d sneak Ren’s way. Eventually, even that had run its course. His gloved finger tips wandered the panels, summoning and dismissing the ship’s status over and over.
“Are we planning on making any stops along the way, or is this a straight shot?
SP-3477’s discretion over the comm didn’t go unnoticed, even though Ren had retreated to the booth to busy himself with the motley collection of tech there - it wasn’t terribly far away from the cockpit. He hadn’t partitioned the interior of the shuttle exactly to his liking yet, another project in the growing pile of busy work he kept for himself. The cargo space led into the “commons” which led directly into the cockpit, with no style to speak of. All function.
The brief seconds between the destroyer’s artificial gravity tapering off and that of the shuttle’s kicking in was always an unpleasant sort of float in the pit of his stomach, but it was still the familiar, welcome experience of flight.
At some point, a soft click indicated that Ren had grown frustrated enough with the limited visibility his helmet afforded him to do away with it. He swiped his hand through his hair a couple of times out of habit immediately after, vexed by something entirely unrelated to the pilot’s constant questioning, though he was sure that would start to grate on him within the hour. “No stops. Time is... somewhat of the essence. It will take us five days to reach our destination as it is.”
Five days.
No wonder even Kylo Ren had needed a primary pilot. With the ship now comfortably navigating one of the quieter hyperspace channels, he figured it was alright to put a few meters between himself and the cockpit. And if it wasn’t, he’d probably hear about it from his new and temporary boss.
There were more surprises to be found here than there had been on the exterior. It was more reminiscent of someone’s personal work space rather than a tidy military craft. A soldering tool lay on top of a small pile of wires and a computer board, a project that wasn’t anywhere near recognizable. Some swatches of dark fabric. A trunk with ornate hinges shoved half behind a week’s worth of food.
And an unfamiliar face.
He was surprised, but decided against commentary. He didn’t know what he’d expected to ever see beneath that mask, but it wasn’t anything like that.
Five days. He glanced into his cabin, surveyed it momentarily, and gently half rolled, half kicked his ready bag through the doorway.
Ren wasn’t that old. That was the first thing. Somehow he felt a little safer thinking about it out of sight. He was probably younger than the pilot, even. It’d take a few more looks to figure that out for sure. Those thoughts persisted even after Poe had pulled his helmet off and washed down his face and the back of his head. No matter what the Order promised, the damn helmets just wouldn’t breathe.
Where even was Lehon? With a towel around his neck, he wandered back out to find where the star charts projected against a bulkhead, flipping through them in what was increasingly beginning to feel like a vain pursuit.
“Rakata Prime,” he muttered abruptly, never taking his focus off of his work yet following the pilot’s every movement all the same. Movement, general vein of thought, the stronger emotions that flickered to the surface; every facet of SP-3477’s existence within this ship was being monitored, whether it was made obvious or not. Ren clarified his statement. “The charts will call it Rakata Prime. Quadrant H14. We’ll stray close to Wild Space to get there.” Never a sentence any pilot wanted to hear.
Finally, Ren opted to lift his eyes to get a more literal look at the man he’d be spending these next weeks with. A mop of curly dark hair and quick, deep-set eyes that hid little. He may have encountered SP-3477 in passing at some point, he realized, but couldn’t place the time. The drilling stare that followed SP-3477 didn’t waver. “I trust that won’t be a problem.”
“Not a problem, sir.” There was a little restrain behind the reply. If they planned on dropping out of this channel and just beyond the edge of civilized space, Poe couldn’t hang back and make chit chat with his delightful host.
“I’ll be in the hot seat if you need me.”
And so for the next forty eight hours, the cockpit became his home away from home. Ren seemed insistent on the fact he had enlisted Poe’s service for a reason, and that he was too busy to monitor the systems.
They barely spoke, and that might have been the most difficult aspect of this for him. Alright, maybe it was second to constantly having to stay glued to the screens watching for unfriendly contact, but it was a close second. Even among the ranks of the First Order, Poe’d managed to build comradery; sometimes, even dangerously close to friendship.
“We’re nearly there,” He called as he wandered back into the common area, although he lingered close enough to keep an ear out for any alerts.
Did Ren ready know that? He probably already knew that. Poe rubbed one hand against his face, already well aware of just how strained his eyes were from watching the scanners. “Have you been here before?”
Nothing happened at first. An eyebrow cocked in what seemed to be amusement while the curious particles still danced between Ren’s hands. “Actually, yes.”
He hadn’t moved a centimeter, but a phantom hand began to close around SP-3477’s throat, slowly yet inevitably. Ren took his time as he stored his project in a small wooden box and swung his boots off of the table to regard the strangling man. “I wanted to remark on how quickly you seem to have forgotten your place - if you knew it to begin with, pilot.” Thinly veiled rage hid behind a mask of boredom as Ren spoke, as much as he tried to keep his voice low and level. Just before SP-3477’s face had a chance to turn uglier shades of purple, he allowed the man breath.
“And to think we were getting along so well.”
People had always told him that he was lucky. There was no denying that he had unmatched skills as a pilot, sure, but there was something else to it. He’d been born under just the right star, and therefore had a _way_ of getting himself out of situations that no one should have survived.
Once the vertigo began to ebb, Poe realized he could definitely chalk this up as one of this situations.
His knees ached, and he now realized he’d ended up on them. His hands braced against the cold metal of the floor, struggling to hold himself upright as he took one greedy gulp of breath after the other. There’d been a time like this before, his canopy cracked and split in a foreign atmosphere, the planet trying to strangle him before he’d even set foot on it.
Still, he’d never felt a hand close around his throat like that. Even if it’d been in his head, it’d been a human hand. It’d been the most personal attempt at his life yet.
He had to fight off a smile, something that was relieved and tired all rolled into one. “Permission to prepare for arrival on Lehos, sir?” One of those hands struggled to find purchase on the back of that booth so that he might pull himself back up, trembling even then.
No panic. Not even a remotely worthy amount of fear emanated from the pilot, and oddly, Ren found himself almost impressed. Most of those on the receiving end of such treatment wet themselves at least a little. His previous anger returned to its customary simmer when it became apparent he’d made his point. "My Lord was nice, keep using that one,” Ren drawled. He stepped around SP-3477 to take a seat in the cockpit before the pilot could recover.
Rakata Prime glittered bright as any jewel. Its seas and archipelagos came into view as Ren eased the shuttle into atmosphere, briefly surveying a map he’d thrown up on the display before choosing to land on a fragmented slab of duracrete that had once been a proper landing pad. It remained serviceable enough, despite the havoc the elements had wrought. The palms surrounding the pad shuddered with the impact and sent golden birds tumbling into the sky.
Even from the cockpit, one could see the abuse the planet had suffered; the landscape had not been formed by natural means, but rather systematically destroyed over millennia by ancient civil wars and conflicts much more recent. The history of it Ren knew intimately, but it hadn’t prepared him for how the planet felt. The very air was steeped in the Force, something that gave Ren more dread than reassurance, thanks to previous experience with this sort of world. Snoke had failed to mention that he’d be contending with this.
After powering the shuttle’s systems down and ensuring security protocols were in place lest any surprise visitors think to take a joyride, Ren shoved himself out of the cockpit and towards the hold, hardly glancing towards the pilot to see how he was faring. “Prepared to disembark?”
