Chapter Text
I can see it in your eyes
You're a spirit I recognize
Feelings I cannot explain
And I don't even know your name
Do we only live to die
Or is it that our hearts are magnetized
And our worlds collide for a reason…
Johhny Hates Jazz – Magnetized
Ben – Age 9
Chandrila
The Voice had always been with him. There were other voices—Mama, Dad, people nearby—but those all went along with the people. The Voice was only in his head, and since it wasn’t his own voice, that meant it had to be somebody else. He didn’t know who. Just that it was always there, talking to him, telling him things.
But this was the first time the Voice talked to him in his sleep. It was louder now. Stronger. Maybe because of the way he’d felt when he went to sleep.
You’re angry, child, the Voice said. You’ve been treated unjustly.
Dreaming, Ben stood in the woods watching what happened this afternoon all over again.
“Brant hit me. With a stick,” he said. “A lot of times. And he’s bigger than I am. Was I just supposed to let him keep hitting me? After what he did to the squall?”
The agonized screams of the little animal ripped through his dream. He clenched his fists and tried to make them go away. There was the blood, the way the little creature writhed and flopped and twisted, trying to escape the stick skewering it to the ground.
And yet you are the one punished, the Voice said. You were simply protecting yourself, trying to protect a small, helpless creature.
Dark anger welled into Ben’s chest. It was suddenly hard to breathe. “They all acted like I was trying to break Brant’s stupid back. I wasn’t. It’s not like I meant to throw him that hard. He was hitting me! It’s not fair.”
No, it isn’t. Would you like to make it so they can never be unfair again?
“Yes.”
Get up. Go into the kitchen.
Ben opened his eyes to his dark bedroom. Was he still asleep? He felt funny, sort of far away from himself, like he was still dreaming. Maybe he was, then.
He got up, padded across his bedroom floor and down the hall. The house was completely quiet. Even the droids were on standby. In the kitchen, moonlight and streetlight danced across the floor and counters as the wind moved the leaves of the trees outside.
Ben stood blinking in the uneasy dimness, wishing he would wake up. He didn’t like this. It was scary. It wasn’t right. He reached out through the Force. That helped a lot of times. He could feel the life outside the house. The Voice was only a thread of darkness that wove through his thoughts.
Do you see a knife? the Voice said.
Ben looked around. “There’s a vibroknife on the recharger.”
That will do. Take it.
Ben wanted to ask why. He wanted to ask what he was supposed to do with the knife. But the darkness tangled up his thoughts.
He crossed the kitchen, the floor smooth and cold under his bare feet. He had to hop up on a countertop, the way Mama scolded him not to do, to reach the knife. He unclipped it from the charging bar and hopped down again.
Now go to your parents’ bedroom, the Voice said. When Ben started to put the knife down on the counter, it said, No, take the knife with you.
That seemed wrong. Ben hesitated, straining to wake up.
Be still, child, the Voice soothed. Soon such things won’t matter. Now do as I say.
Darkness eased through him, quieting his struggles. The Voice had always been his friend. It cared about him and understood him better than anyone else. Ben left the kitchen and crossed to the wing of the house where Mama and Dad’s room was.
Careful now, the Voice warned outside their bedroom door. You mustn’t wake them.
Ben used the Force to make sure the door didn’t make noise when he opened it. He often pretended to be a hunter when he played in the woods—that was how he ran across Brant torturing the squall this afternoon—so his steps on the carpet were silent now.
Mama and Dad were two long lumps under the covers. He couldn’t see it in dark room now, but in his mind he could see the beautifully embroidered comforter with the vivid blues and soft yellows and gentle pinks of a cloud-filled sky. Dad had given it to Mama before Ben was born. A little leftover piece of Alderaan I happened to run across, he’d said as Ben smoothed his small hand over the intricate, silky threads.
You know what you have to do, the Voice said. Use the knife.
Plasma hummed along the blade as Ben activated the knife. The blue glow lit the soft curve of Mama’s cheek, the dark tumble of her hair on the pillow. The bristles on Dad’s face reflected tiny sparks of blue.
Ben stared down at his parents, the soft hum of the blade interweaving with the sound of their breathing. “What am I supposed to do?”
He didn’t speak aloud, only in his mind. He learned a long time ago not to talk out loud when he talked to the Voice. He didn’t like people thinking he was crazy just because they couldn’t hear it.
The darkness wrapping his thoughts grew prickly. Put an end to their heartlessness. The Voice was annoyed. It will have to be the throat. Just two quick slashes, and it will be over.
Ben stiffened. “What?”
They were so unfair. So unfeeling. The took the part of a bully and torturer over their own son. They shamed you in front of everyone. They left the authorities to question you before even tending to your wounds. I know how you suffered! Would any caring parent do such a thing to their only child?
“But Dad and Chewie—”
You know your father is afraid of your power, your strength. Your own father. He was only attempting to mollify you, for fear you’d do to him what you did to the bully. Your mother’s only concern is for her reputation.
“No—” Ben began.
Yes, the Voice interrupted. You know it’s true.
It was. Ben had heard Dad’s thoughts when he learned what happened: Why couldn’t he just hit the guy like any other kid? He couldn’t hear Mama’s thoughts, but he sensed her deep dismay. And the way she’d looked at him… Even thinking about it made him cringe.
“But I—”
You did nothing wrong today, the Voice said. The guilty must be punished. Injustice must not be allowed to stand.
Ben’s guts were a knotted mess. The dream was turning into a nightmare. He just wanted to wake up, no matter how awful everything was in real life, no matter how much trouble he was in, no matter how many people looked at him like he was a monster.
In his dream, Ben slowly turned his head to look at the knife in his hand. The darkness in his mind twined with his own anger, burning outward from a knot in his chest and down his arms. He remembered how good it had felt to use the Force to throw Brant into that tree, how satisfying Brant’s scream of terror and pain had been. How strong he’d felt.
If he did what the Voice said, he could feel that way again. No one would ever hurt him again. No one would chew him out or lecture him. No one would make him feel small and strange and disappointing. No one would say, You know better, Ben; How could you, Ben; I’m ashamed of you, Ben.
He looked back at Mama and Dad, peacefully sleeping in the blue glow of the vibroknife.
If he did what the Voice said, he would be a monster.
Ben jerked awake. He blinked hard, looking around to see where he was.
He was in Mama and Dad’s bedroom. A vibroknife hummed softly in his hand.
“No!” he shouted aloud. “No, no, NO!”
He sensed Mama and Dad startle awake before they shot upright in bed. Ben was already running out of the room. He flung the knife away, in the direction of the kitchen.
Boy, stop! the Voice commanded. You must—
“Go away!” Ben shouted. His voice echoed through the house. Lights blinked on behind him now. “Go away, go away, go away! Leave me alone! I hate you! You’re bad! Don’t you ever, ever talk to me again!”
Reaching for the Force, he slammed his mind shut. The dark tendrils that wound through his mind shriveled and fell away, parasitic tentacles cut off from their source.
The darkness that reached across the galaxy for him flailed in frustrated rage. It brushed Leia as she scrambled up and pulled on a robe. She shivered and shrank away, instinctively reaching for the Force to shield herself and her family. The darkness blindly careened away, groping for a mind that had suddenly vanished from its perception.
Leia rushed out into the hallway, following the raging storm that was her son’s horror and fear.
Rey – Conception
Jakku
The Force always seeks balance. As powerful darkness tore across the galaxy, an equally powerful wave of light was triggered. It sped outward, finally washing over the junkyard planet of Jakku.
In the wreck of the star destroyer Inflictor, a man and a woman were celebrating in the oldest way. They’d uncovered a stash of booze and rations deep in the collapsed rooms of the officers’ deck. The woman, small and thin, had scraped past crumpled bulkheads and crushed beams before finally spilling into a surprisingly intact corridor. A mummified body, still in uniform, lay crumpled on the floor in front of her. Kicking it aside, she went to work with a prybar and a handheld electrotorch to open up a passage for her partner. They spent hours going through the officers’ quarters, an untouched treasure trove.
Now, bellies actually full for a change, flying high on good fortune and some Imperial general’s well-aged liquor, they fumbled each other’s clothes off there on the General’s bed. The bed was tilted at the same angle as the rest of the wreck, but since it was tilted toward the wall, it just meant they were well-braced as they groped and wrestled and pumped, the dark, dusty space echoing with grunts and moans of pleasure.
Theirs was an arrangement of convenience. The man got a clever helper able to get into spaces smaller than he could (plus an enthusiastic lay whenever he wanted one), and she got to share in the fruits of his hauls.
His hauls were almost always good. Everyone called him Hound. And Hound had a knack for sniffing his way right to the best stuff. For the woman, Gilee, life was a lot better with Hound than it had been before.
A couple months after the celebration in the General’s quarters, Gilee told Hound what had happened that day. She knew what would come next—she’d be on her own about two minutes later. If she was lucky, she could trade something to get the thing taken out of her. If she wasn’t, she had two choices: join one of the brothels in Niima Outpost, or die. A pregnant woman couldn’t keep herself by scavenging for very long, and no partner wanted to take on that kind of burden.
Hound surprised himself. He always got rid of women when they got pregnant. Not his problem. Nothing to say it was his, anyway. This time, it was different. This time, he knew. This time, he stuck around.
He didn’t know why. He didn’t know why he made her stop the spirits and spice. He couldn’t say why he worked extra-hard to make sure she had enough to eat, or why he made her stop working when she got too unwieldy to crawl around the wrecks. He stopped scavenging himself and turned to trading, using his smooth tongue and uncanny charisma to charm the best deals out of buyers and sellers alike.
If you asked him why, he’d tell you it was because hey, the kid was half his, and besides, he was curious to see what it’d turn out like.
The truth was every time he looked at that woman with his child growing in her belly, it seemed he saw brilliant light shining out of her. In all Jakku’s hopelessness and despair, he couldn’t bear to see it put out.