Hux wakes up at 0600 hours to the familiar sensation of her pillow vibrating, and to an unfamiliar dip in the mattress. She succumbs to gravity, pressing her cheek against Rog's smooth, firm back and snaking her hand over his hip. It's tempting to lie in bed with him. She's forgotten what it's like to luxuriate in pure warmth, in the freedom of a hot bath or a sauna; Starkiller is a planet of snows, and heating the Finalizer is an exercise in balancing heat costs and thermodynamic entropy. Rog always seemed like the sun, warmth emanating out of nowhere.
She's out of the sonic shower and fixing her hair, and Rog is still lying in bed. The white sheet is rumpled, twisted between his legs. Hux tilts the mirror and focuses on her braids. She's going to have to look absolutely perfect today, nothing out of place. Eye makeup, even. Her groomer droid flourishes tweezers, a safety razor, several brushes at the same time, and finally a tube of greasy, bug-tasting lipstick that Hux declines.
She opens up the small wall safe that lies behind the 'fresher mirror and fishes out a delicate pink blown-glass bottle. It's pretty and complicated and subtle, and Hux can pass it off as a gift from her mother, which it was. Mathilde Hux-Winzor had never understood her daughter's tastes, goals, or ideas, but she'd taught her everything about survival she knew. Just Hux's luck that her mother's survival tactics involved protectionary camoflague rather than total annhilation of the attacking species. Hux crunches a pearl-pink Perkium tablet between her teeth, then pops a whole tablet into her mouth and swallows the chalky substances with a swig of water.
"Come on back to bed, Boudi."
"I have to lead the tour of Starkiller, and we depart at 0800." Hux doesn't look at Rog, focusing on her wardobe. The worst thing about using an actual planet for a base is the unpredictable shifts in climate, which means that Hux needs to layer. Someday she'll build another Starkiller from scratch, and she'll create her own ecosystem on the surface. Sixty-five degrees, no rain. And no sun to orbit.
"It's not even 0630."
"Rog, I need to eat an actual breakfast and not just an energy bar, clear the perfect landing site before we even leave, and be there before everyone else so I can--"
"Eat two energy bars, let Mitaka clear the landing site, and let 'em wait." Rog wraps the sheet around his hips and saunters over to kiss her on the cheek. His stubble rasps against her skin. "You always took on too much. You're the General, Boudi. They'll wait for you." The edges of the world turn soft and warm, and Hux isn't sure if it's the Perkium starting to kick in or just Rog.
Hux manages to get them dressed and out the door by 0730, which is just enough time to see Kylo Ren in full robe and mask coming down the main corridor. When Hux sees him, he stops cold.
Rog slips his arm around Hux's waist. Hux lets him. Let Ren see that she's happy to be with Rog. Let the whole world see! Rog is perfect, and they make a perfect couple. It's all great. She pointedly ignores the phantom fingers on her shoulders, on the back of her neck.
*
Hux keeps her chin up through the whole tour. It doesn't matter that there's only a handful of people who bothered to come. It doesn't matter that there's nothing she can do about it. She needs these old men and their credits and spaceships more than they need her right now, but that's going to change very, very soon. Hux smiles widely and gestures to various pieces of machinery. She usually knows her way around the sprawling base quite well, but today she can't seem to dredge up the names of quite a few things. It's the Perkium, and it doesn't matter. Nobody on the tour cares except for Mitaka, who is taking copious notes. This is an ad for the Starkiller project, confirmation that the trillions of credits and work-hours dedicated to an improbable planet-sized destruction beam are bearing fruit. And Hux is sure they love it.
"Unlike the Death Star, we won't have to move Starkiller to orbit around any planet before we fire on it. All we need is a strategically placed star."
Landa raises his hand. Hux recognizes his guileless expression from the "Interviewterrogation!" program at 2200 hours. She winces internally. "Ah," Landa says happily, "but Miss Hux? What happens if we don't happen to have a handy nearby star? I mean..." He waves his arm at a nearby window. "I only see the one, just now."
Hux's blinding smile is real. "What an astute question, Han," she says, and Landa's face immediately goes stony cold. "You see, Starkiller isn't just a much bigger laser than the Death Star ever was. It's not a laser at all--it's a beam of pure dark energy, which generates phantom energy without the dark matter of the sun to lock it into an energy matrix. Phantom energy vibrates at a high enough rate to rip holes in hyperspace at certain intervals during the discharge process. With our precise aiming algorithms--"
"I'm sorry, but I haven't the faintest idea what you're saying. You'll have to make it a little simpler for us, my dear." Landa bares his teeth.
"It means we can deliver a beam of pure destruction to any coordinates anywhere in the galaxy--or outside of it--from anywhere we can park Starkiller. And the khyber crystal goes two ways." Hux dares to wink at him. She feels she's winning. "While we power up, we can also steal another star system's sun just to show the galaxy that we can!" She smiles pleasantly.
Thankfully, the next question comes from Anson. "General," he says in a clipped voice. "I know your proposal mentioned 'strategically chosen planets,' but I don't think it was ever specified which stars were to be selected. Or how."
"Strategically, Admiral--as you taught me. The first target is the Hosnian system."
"The seat of the New Republic Senate. Of course." Anson nods approvingly. "And then?"
"Unless there's a more urgent need for a demonstration of force elsewhere, my current plan is to eliminate Coruscant."
There's a dead silence. Landa looks at Rog, and Hux doesn't bother to think about why. She glances at Ren and wishes he hadn't worn his mask. Who does he have to scare here? He's prince of the space pirates, or something equally outlandish.
"Why Coruscant?" It's Rog, with his sad face.
Hux hopes the whole tablet of Perkium kicks in soon. "We're striking at the Core. Coruscant is the heart of the Core worlds, is it not?"
"And the home world of the entire human race." That's Landa, frowning.
"I've never been," Hux says. "I'm sure it's lovely, but--"
"You misunderstand me. The symbolic value would be great, sure, I get it. And it would be cultural suicide. What do we have to fight for, if not reclaiming our birthright as a species in the Core?"
Hux can feel herself tearing up a little. The Perkium always does that at odd moments. The cluster of Core worlds, bright and shining with art and ridiculous old artifacts. Of course Landa would love it. "I understand that many of us are attached to Coruscant for sentimental reasons. My father took my mother on honeymoon there." Hux laughs. Should that garner a laugh? She'd rather laugh than cry. "Humanity can live without the Core Worlds, sir, and we do very well for ourselves out on the Rim."
Landa's attention slips to Rog again. "The Coruscant honeymoon is a fine tradition for a Rim couple, you know."
"So I've heard," Hux says. "But we shouldn't argue strategy here, do you think? Supreme Leader Snoke seemed very pleased with my choice, last time I spoke with him." She holds her head a little higher. She's earned it.
*
The tour ends at a stand of spiky green plants. Trees, Hux vaguely knows, although they look nothing like the fronded and creeping trees on Arkanis. Biology was never her strong field.
"A word alone, General?" Anson gestures to a stand of pine trees outside of the landing pad. The other Imperial officers seem in no hurry to board, lighting up the odd cigarra (forbidden on the Finalizer), so Hux nods and follows him. She'll let the old fool make his point, and then perhaps that will be it.
"I had family on Alderaan when it blew up," Anson says.
Hux blinks. "I'm sorry, sir."
"It wasn't the first time a planet died. Supernovas happen. Asteroids do, too. But it was the first time anyone had used a weapon to blow up an entire planet, and the galaxy remembers."
Hux winces. "The First Order doesn't commemorate that particular observance, sir."
"No, but I do. So do a lot of folks who used to be in the Empire. Listen, nobody was happy that Alderaan was destroyed. But we had to sacrifice something important to achieve order, and Alderaan had to be that sacrifice."
"So does Coruscant."
"The galaxy remembers Alderaan. Once they see what we've got in our pockets and what we're willing to do, it'll be over."
"It was hardly the end of the Rebellion last time. In fact, it was the end of an Empire."
Anson looks haggard in the waning light of the Starkiller's sun. "Listen to me, General. Nobody wants a war. I promise you, the New Republic remembers. And they will capitulate."
"They may," Hux says. "But Leia Organa won't."
She doesn't speak to Anson again until Rog's entourage boards their shuttle again, wishing him a safe journey. She says it to everyone, even Rog.
Fill: Colder Than the Moon (12/?), Kylo/Fem!Hux, Hux/M!OC
She's out of the sonic shower and fixing her hair, and Rog is still lying in bed. The white sheet is rumpled, twisted between his legs. Hux tilts the mirror and focuses on her braids. She's going to have to look absolutely perfect today, nothing out of place. Eye makeup, even. Her groomer droid flourishes tweezers, a safety razor, several brushes at the same time, and finally a tube of greasy, bug-tasting lipstick that Hux declines.
She opens up the small wall safe that lies behind the 'fresher mirror and fishes out a delicate pink blown-glass bottle. It's pretty and complicated and subtle, and Hux can pass it off as a gift from her mother, which it was. Mathilde Hux-Winzor had never understood her daughter's tastes, goals, or ideas, but she'd taught her everything about survival she knew. Just Hux's luck that her mother's survival tactics involved protectionary camoflague rather than total annhilation of the attacking species. Hux crunches a pearl-pink Perkium tablet between her teeth, then pops a whole tablet into her mouth and swallows the chalky substances with a swig of water.
"Come on back to bed, Boudi."
"I have to lead the tour of Starkiller, and we depart at 0800." Hux doesn't look at Rog, focusing on her wardobe. The worst thing about using an actual planet for a base is the unpredictable shifts in climate, which means that Hux needs to layer. Someday she'll build another Starkiller from scratch, and she'll create her own ecosystem on the surface. Sixty-five degrees, no rain. And no sun to orbit.
"It's not even 0630."
"Rog, I need to eat an actual breakfast and not just an energy bar, clear the perfect landing site before we even leave, and be there before everyone else so I can--"
"Eat two energy bars, let Mitaka clear the landing site, and let 'em wait." Rog wraps the sheet around his hips and saunters over to kiss her on the cheek. His stubble rasps against her skin. "You always took on too much. You're the General, Boudi. They'll wait for you." The edges of the world turn soft and warm, and Hux isn't sure if it's the Perkium starting to kick in or just Rog.
Hux manages to get them dressed and out the door by 0730, which is just enough time to see Kylo Ren in full robe and mask coming down the main corridor. When Hux sees him, he stops cold.
Rog slips his arm around Hux's waist. Hux lets him. Let Ren see that she's happy to be with Rog. Let the whole world see! Rog is perfect, and they make a perfect couple. It's all great. She pointedly ignores the phantom fingers on her shoulders, on the back of her neck.
*
Hux keeps her chin up through the whole tour. It doesn't matter that there's only a handful of people who bothered to come. It doesn't matter that there's nothing she can do about it. She needs these old men and their credits and spaceships more than they need her right now, but that's going to change very, very soon. Hux smiles widely and gestures to various pieces of machinery. She usually knows her way around the sprawling base quite well, but today she can't seem to dredge up the names of quite a few things. It's the Perkium, and it doesn't matter. Nobody on the tour cares except for Mitaka, who is taking copious notes. This is an ad for the Starkiller project, confirmation that the trillions of credits and work-hours dedicated to an improbable planet-sized destruction beam are bearing fruit. And Hux is sure they love it.
"Unlike the Death Star, we won't have to move Starkiller to orbit around any planet before we fire on it. All we need is a strategically placed star."
Landa raises his hand. Hux recognizes his guileless expression from the "Interviewterrogation!" program at 2200 hours. She winces internally. "Ah," Landa says happily, "but Miss Hux? What happens if we don't happen to have a handy nearby star? I mean..." He waves his arm at a nearby window. "I only see the one, just now."
Hux's blinding smile is real. "What an astute question, Han," she says, and Landa's face immediately goes stony cold. "You see, Starkiller isn't just a much bigger laser than the Death Star ever was. It's not a laser at all--it's a beam of pure dark energy, which generates phantom energy without the dark matter of the sun to lock it into an energy matrix. Phantom energy vibrates at a high enough rate to rip holes in hyperspace at certain intervals during the discharge process. With our precise aiming algorithms--"
"I'm sorry, but I haven't the faintest idea what you're saying. You'll have to make it a little simpler for us, my dear." Landa bares his teeth.
"It means we can deliver a beam of pure destruction to any coordinates anywhere in the galaxy--or outside of it--from anywhere we can park Starkiller. And the khyber crystal goes two ways." Hux dares to wink at him. She feels she's winning. "While we power up, we can also steal another star system's sun just to show the galaxy that we can!" She smiles pleasantly.
Thankfully, the next question comes from Anson. "General," he says in a clipped voice. "I know your proposal mentioned 'strategically chosen planets,' but I don't think it was ever specified which stars were to be selected. Or how."
"Strategically, Admiral--as you taught me. The first target is the Hosnian system."
"The seat of the New Republic Senate. Of course." Anson nods approvingly. "And then?"
"Unless there's a more urgent need for a demonstration of force elsewhere, my current plan is to eliminate Coruscant."
There's a dead silence. Landa looks at Rog, and Hux doesn't bother to think about why. She glances at Ren and wishes he hadn't worn his mask. Who does he have to scare here? He's prince of the space pirates, or something equally outlandish.
"Why Coruscant?" It's Rog, with his sad face.
Hux hopes the whole tablet of Perkium kicks in soon. "We're striking at the Core. Coruscant is the heart of the Core worlds, is it not?"
"And the home world of the entire human race." That's Landa, frowning.
"I've never been," Hux says. "I'm sure it's lovely, but--"
"You misunderstand me. The symbolic value would be great, sure, I get it. And it would be cultural suicide. What do we have to fight for, if not reclaiming our birthright as a species in the Core?"
Hux can feel herself tearing up a little. The Perkium always does that at odd moments. The cluster of Core worlds, bright and shining with art and ridiculous old artifacts. Of course Landa would love it. "I understand that many of us are attached to Coruscant for sentimental reasons. My father took my mother on honeymoon there." Hux laughs. Should that garner a laugh? She'd rather laugh than cry. "Humanity can live without the Core Worlds, sir, and we do very well for ourselves out on the Rim."
Landa's attention slips to Rog again. "The Coruscant honeymoon is a fine tradition for a Rim couple, you know."
"So I've heard," Hux says. "But we shouldn't argue strategy here, do you think? Supreme Leader Snoke seemed very pleased with my choice, last time I spoke with him." She holds her head a little higher. She's earned it.
*
The tour ends at a stand of spiky green plants. Trees, Hux vaguely knows, although they look nothing like the fronded and creeping trees on Arkanis. Biology was never her strong field.
"A word alone, General?" Anson gestures to a stand of pine trees outside of the landing pad. The other Imperial officers seem in no hurry to board, lighting up the odd cigarra (forbidden on the Finalizer), so Hux nods and follows him. She'll let the old fool make his point, and then perhaps that will be it.
"I had family on Alderaan when it blew up," Anson says.
Hux blinks. "I'm sorry, sir."
"It wasn't the first time a planet died. Supernovas happen. Asteroids do, too. But it was the first time anyone had used a weapon to blow up an entire planet, and the galaxy remembers."
Hux winces. "The First Order doesn't commemorate that particular observance, sir."
"No, but I do. So do a lot of folks who used to be in the Empire. Listen, nobody was happy that Alderaan was destroyed. But we had to sacrifice something important to achieve order, and Alderaan had to be that sacrifice."
"So does Coruscant."
"The galaxy remembers Alderaan. Once they see what we've got in our pockets and what we're willing to do, it'll be over."
"It was hardly the end of the Rebellion last time. In fact, it was the end of an Empire."
Anson looks haggard in the waning light of the Starkiller's sun. "Listen to me, General. Nobody wants a war. I promise you, the New Republic remembers. And they will capitulate."
"They may," Hux says. "But Leia Organa won't."
She doesn't speak to Anson again until Rog's entourage boards their shuttle again, wishing him a safe journey. She says it to everyone, even Rog.