The Art of Broken Pieces

2 Porgs Guarding the Ship

Leaving the small and nameless planet behind was bittersweet. It felt good to have a purpose and a plan again, to be back in the fight that suited them both best. And although he had had quite enough of foraging for survival--which Rey had handled for them--Ben found himself almost afraid that returning to the reality of their war would change things between them.

Sensing his insecurity, Rey quite energetically proved to him that it would not, and the days of travel to their destination were spent in a fluctuating combination of preparation and delightful distraction.

Though the First Order base was on the rocky world of Karonos, they had chosen an off world port nearby as a suitable location to land the Falcon without drawing any attention from potential First Order supporters. Letting Rey deal with the port authority and the setup of the beck and call protocol in the Falcon's computer, Ben went through his own things a last time.

Smoothing his hands over the dark leather and heavy fabric, Ben carefully tucked the pieces and parts of his old gear into the pack he would be carrying. He had never quite been able to let it go, even as he had opted for a less... recognizable look when he had taken to hunting the First Order. He had kept it all, the trappings and symbols of who he had been, carefully put away as a reminder, and a challenge. It would be strange to wear again, when the time came.

On top of the clothing, he packed the small IFF transmitter that he had pulled from the Betrayal's network panel. Once they were close enough, it would get them through whatever security the First Order had in place.

Slinging the pack over his shoulder, Ben moved to join Rey at the ship's doors. "Ready to go?" He asked quietly. "I made contact with a transport headed to one of the major cities on Karonos, chartered us berths on board."

Rey nodded, glad for his efficiency, but unable to deny the little twinge of disappointment that their disguises necessitated separate berths. Over the last few days, stretching out next to him during the night-cycle had become one of her favorite parts of the day. Letting the New Alliance, the remnants of the First Order, and the questions of their short-and-long-term plans fall away as their galaxies shrank to the space between blankets, the soft rhythm of their breaths and heartbeats synching up. It would only be for a night, but she already dreaded the stretch of time where she'd be staring at a bunk ceiling, wishing she could hold him.

Rey had a feeling there would be some Visitation happening. Ben didn't seem keen to let her slip from his fingers so soon either.

Respective packs slung on their backs, lightsabers concealed at their hips, the two of them boarded the transport shuttle down to Karonos and headed to the bar.

The ship's huge engines rumbled faintly through the halls as it went through its take-off sequence, the floor humming softly under their boots. Pressing his hand to the bar's entry pad, the door hummed open and Ben stopped, holding in a laugh. The transport's 'bar' consisted of one small counter, an ancient service droid installed behind it. One wall of the small room glowed with the light of several dusty vending machines, and two slightly rusted metal tables were bolted to the floor.

"Well, this certainly counts as traveling in style." Ben commented wryly, leading the way inside.

Rey smiled faintly. "Not bad for a small-time Wild Space transport," she said. "I'm surprised they have a droid. Nothing this nice within a five-hour speeder trip from Niima outpost."

Ben snorted, eyeing the droid suspiciously. "'Nice' is one way to put it." Slinging his pack over the back of one of the chairs, Ben settled into it uncomfortably. "Nineteen hours to kill..."