Chapter Text
Late 19th Century Europe: a new scourge is rising on the continent. While air ships patrol overhead, children are being kidnapped off the streets, kings and presidents are being threatened, and everywhere there are rumors of squads of gleaming white automatons killing anyone who asks too many questions.
They’re called the First Order.
Their aim? To eradicate the chaos of the modern world and install a new Empire across Europe and eventually, the world.
But there are those who push back against the Order, those who refuse to go down without a fight. In England, one such group—the Queen’s secret service, known to some as The Resistance—is led by the indomitable General Leia Organa. The Resistance is full of Europe’s best and brightest: there are the daring hot-air Balloonists, who travel across Europe keeping the skies safe, as well as the fearless foot soldiers, the Renegades, who use their smarts to keep the Order at bay.
But now, rumors swirl that Leia’s own son, Ben Solo, is designing a new machine for the First Order—something deadly, something with a wide reach, something that might wipe out most of Europe if the Resistance isn’t careful.
Times are desperate, so Leia sends her most trusted Renegade on a journey to find an old ally and possibly a new device that might tilt this war in the Resistance’s favor.
The young Renegade has found the man he’s looking for—an inventor named Poe Dameron—and that’s when things start getting interesting…
Just outside Firenze, Italy, 1893:
The door creaked open and a man with wild curly hair poked his head out. He was wearing a set of oversized goggles that exaggerated the size of his eyes as he made a show of looking the man standing before him up and down. His eyes came back to rest on the stranger’s face. “We’re not interested,” he said.
He went to slam the door when a tall golden boot blocked it from closing. A gloved hand began pushing the door open. “You’ll make time for me, Signor Inventore.” The man shoved his way in and then slammed the door behind them.
A revolver sprung from inside the Inventor’s ruffled right sleeve into his hand. “I don’t think so.”
The other man was now face to face with a rather large gun. He raised his hands. “Woah, woah, woah! My apologies! But time is of the essence. I have a message for you, sir.”
“You can tell it to me leaving,” the Inventor said. He nodded to the door.
The other man stood his ground. “You are Poe Dameron, the Balloonist, correct?”
The Inventor bristled. “Not anymore.”
“Well, you are Poe Dameron?”
“Sometimes,” the Inventor said.
The other man smiled. “I have a message from General Organa.”
The Inventor groaned. “No.”
“What?”
“No.”
The man looked to his vest pocket, indicating he had something there. The Inventor nodded reluctantly. The man quickly unbuckled two buckles so he could reach past his cravat to pull out an ivory-colored envelope.
The seal on the back was unmistakable. The Inventor frowned. Why are you doing this to me, Leia? He lowered his gun as the man held out the letter. The Inventor took it with a harsh tug. He broke open the seal and scanned the letter.
He didn’t really read it, just let certain words filter up. Danger...New device…Upmost urgency…Please…
Please.
The Inventor closed his eyes and sighed. He walked back into the room, muttering. From what the other man could hear, he was arguing with himself.
Finally, the Inventor spun on his heel and walked to the other man, taking him by the arm and turning him so he could shove him out the door. “I thank you for your pains, Mister? You know what, I don’t care. Just please tell Leia that I extend my greetings, but I am otherwise engaged.”
“No,” the other man said, shrugging out of the Inventor’s grip. “I’m afraid that won’t do.” His voice was soft, polite, but there was a subtle edge to it. This was a man who didn’t back down easily. He stepped further into the workshop, trying to avoid the springs and glass jars that littered the floor. “Mr. Dameron, it has taken me eight weeks to find you, and—”
“I don’t care.” The Inventor held up the letter. “I don’t do this anymore.”
The other man frowned. “She said if the letter didn’t work to tell you that Ben is building a weapon.”
The Inventor froze. He pushed the goggles up to the top of his head, making his hair even more of a mess. “What?”
For a split second, the other man was at a loss for words. Poe Dameron had beautiful eyes. Absolutely beautiful eyes.
Poe repeated, “What?”
The other man suddenly remembered his place. He cleared his throat and said, “The General asked me to tell you that Ben is building a weapon. He has a benefactor. A man who heads a group called the First Order. His name is Lord Snoke, and his associates, well… they’re evil. We’ve already had—”
“I know about the Order,” Poe said quietly, running a hand through his hair and dragging the goggles off his head. “Kriffing hell,” he whispered. He let the goggles fall to the floor as he closed his eyes, just barely shaking his head.
“Kriffing hell,” he suddenly yelled. He walked away from the other man. “Kriffing, kriffing, kriffing hell!”
He paced back to the other man. “Did she give you a timeline?”
“A timeline? No, but we think it will be soon. The General said you might have something that would help us stop him?”
Poe turned to look back to the second floor of his workshop with a sigh. “I might,” he said quietly. How did she know?
“Good,” the other man said. “So you’ll help?”
Poe turned back around. He bit his lip. “It isn’t that simple. I…” He shook his head. “I don’t do this sort of thing anymore.”
The other man stepped forward. “People are dying.”
Poe’s hands were shaking. “I understand, but…”
“But? Did you not hear me? People are dying!”
Poe looked up into the other man’s eyes. The man looked so earnest, so sure.
“Please,” the man said.
It won’t be like last time, Poe told himself.
“Please,” the man repeated, barely above a whisper.
Poe felt his resolve melt. Does he have to look so fragging sincere? He felt himself nodding, heard himself say, “Fine.”
“Good,” the other man said, taking Poe’s arm and maneuvering him further into the workshop. “Because we need to be quick.”
Poe frowned. “What? Why?”
“I might have run afoul of a group of First Order scouts about two towns over and—”
“Kriffing hell,” Poe said, sprinting towards the stairs.
“Exactly,” the other man said, quick on his heels.
He followed Poe to the second floor, which was even messier than the first. Everywhere the man looked there were tables and shelves littered with papers and small metal devices. There were dirty plates stacked on top of books, half-full teacups next to piles of wire and gears—it was distressing to look at, let alone navigate—but then, in the middle of the first room at the top of the stairs, there was a pristine space. On top of an immaculately clean table sat a small circular device. Well, two devices, actually: one large orb and one small half circle, both shining gold and copper. The small half-circle’s wiring was exposed.
“I have to put her back together before we can move her,” Poe said. He began fitting the smaller device on top of the larger one.
The other man nodded, turning and walking back to the hall, his eyes trained on the front door downstairs.
“So, you’re one of Leia’s people,” Poe called after him.
The man looked back into the room. “Renegade, first class.”
Poe looked almost pained by that. He nodded and went back to work on the device in front of him. Of course he’s a Renegade, Poe thought. Look at him. I’m guessing he could take on a squadron of Stormtroopers single-handed.
“You were one of her Balloonists, right?”
Poe Dameron, head of the Black Squadron Balloon Brigade. Best in the land. Best in any land. “Something like that,” Poe said. He took a deep breath and forced the past to stay out of his mind. Focus, Dameron. Focus!
“They say you were the best.”
I was. Poe let out a sad chuckle. Was. “That was a long time ago, my friend.”
“Of course,” the Renegade said. He watched the inventor moving his hands quickly over the device, connecting wires and gears—it was its own sort of ballet, beautiful and intricate. He smiled as the inventor began humming as he worked.
The Inventor—Poe, the Renegade reminded himself—was a legend in the Resistance. Those who knew him had described a cunning Balloonist, a reckless, fearless leader who’d flown in dozens of missions. But the man standing before him now just didn’t fit that image. Sure, the clothes were impeccable. His cropped jacket fit snuggly in all the right places. Focus, the Renegade reminded himself. But the workshop was a disaster, the hair was a mess, and the man was downright frazzled.
Poe Dameron is not what I expected. The Renegade shook his head as he turned back towards the front door. Let’s hope he’s still up for a fight.
Poe lost track of time as he worked, so he didn’t notice when the Renegade slipped out of the room and went downstairs to make sure the house was locked up. However, he did notice when the man came running up the stairs two at a time. “They’re at the other end of the lane,” he said.
The magnifying glasses Poe was wearing kept slipping down his nose. “Blast,” he whispered. “Blast, blast, blast!” His hands were furiously twisting and turning a wrench, trying to fasten the last of the bolts in place.
The Renegade spared a worried look into the room. “I don’t mean to rush you, but they’re going to be here any minute.”
“I know! I know,” Poe said. The wrench hit the floor with a clang. “Blast it all to hell!”
“Dameron!”
“I know!”
The Renegade looked back towards the front door. He pulled his revolver from its holster and held it, waiting for any indication that the dreaded Stormtroopers had found them.
“There,” Poe exclaimed, standing up. “She’s ready.”
“Good,” the Renegade said, moving into the room. “Pack your things. We’ll leave through there.” He nodded to a door on the other side of the room.
There was a loud thud and then a groan of buckling wood downstairs. The Renegade gave Poe a worried glance and ran towards the noise.
There was no mistaking the mechanical sound of Stormtroopers, the most sophisticated automatons on the continent. Each step of every machine in precise harmony with the next. The Renegade looked down—they were tearing through the front door.
He ran back. “We need to leave. Now!”
Poe nodded. The magnifying glasses slipped off his nose and shattered on the floor.
“Hope you didn’t need those.” The Renegade grabbed Poe’s arm and began pulling him towards the back.
Poe shrugged out of the other man’s grasp. “Not without…” He grabbed the round clockwork contraption he’d been working on, hugging it to him like a proud papa. “This is what you came for, Renegade.”
The Renegade shook his head. Whatever that is, it had better be worth all of this.
They ran out the back door. The Renegade started down the fire stairs when Poe yelled, “Up!”
“Up?”
Poe pointed to the roof. Hovering over them was a small two-person balloon.
“Oh you have to be kidding me,” the Renegade said.
“Up,” Poe said, already starting up the steps.
“Up,” the Renegade muttered. “Idiot is going to get us killed.”
Crates littered the roof and there was a small wooden dock off to one side where the balloon was tethered.
The Renegade studied it. “Wait, is that a…?”
“Yes,” Poe said as he placed his device and some other equipment in the balloon’s basket.
It was a special forces TIE Balloon, rigged with—if the Renegade had to guess—enough fire power to take down one of those really big dirigibles they called Star Destroyers. The TIEs were military class balloons, not available to the general public. “How do you have one of those, Poe? They’re illegal!”
Poe turned and smiled. “I know.”
He threw open a crate and began pulling out more equipment to put into the basket, asking over his shoulder, “Are you any good with a balloon?”
“Guns, yes. Flying, no. That’s your department.”
They could hear the Stormtroopers marching through the workshop below them.
Poe started untying the balloon’s tethers. “Grab that small chest,” he said with a nod behind the Renegade. “And put it in the basket.”
As the Renegade did that, Poe continued with the tethers. “You’ll climb in and then I’ll cut these last two tethers as I get in. There’ll be a jerk and then we’ll be airborne. Got it?”
The Renegade nodded. “Got it.”
The Stormtroopers crashed through the back door.
“Good,” Poe said, speeding up. “I’ll teach you how to man the guns once we’re away. Okay, so go ahead and get in—”
The Renegade yelled and pushed Poe behind a crate just as a bullet whizzed by. The Stormtroopers were firing on them. The Renegade crouched and began returning fire. “Cut the tethers and go.”
“You aren’t in the basket yet!”
“I don’t matter. You have to get to the Resistance.”
Poe grumbled and cut the first tether. He then wrapped the final tether rope around his hand. “Renegade!”
The man turned and Poe grabbed for him just as he cut the tether free. The Renegade lurched forward, nearly dropping his gun. “Fragging hell, Dameron!” But then he felt the pull from Poe’s hand. “Poe!”
Poe was rising, but he had a steel grip on the Renegade’s arm. “Grab the rope,” Poe yelled.
The Renegade did just that as they lifted completely off the roof.
A few seconds later, they were both floating above Poe’s workshop, dangling from a hot air balloon.
The Renegade felt exposed, and he was thankful that Stormtroopers weren’t programmed to readjust quickly. Most of them were still repositioning themselves to fire at the new angle. He could hear the cranking of gears, even from the air. Please say we’ll be out of range before they’re ready to fire.
A few Stormtroopers clanked into their new positions and started firing. The Renegade could feel the shots zooming past. “Kriff,” he screamed.
“Just a bit further.”
“Just a bit further and what,” the Renegade yelled.
“And we’ll be out of range. Those things are notoriously bad after about fifty yards or so.”
“Yes, but,” the Renegade said, “all it takes is one lucky robot.”
Poe laughed. “Who needs luck when we’ve got science on our side?”
“Oh please,” the Renegade groaned. But at the same time, he noticed that there were no more shots zooming by. Thank the maker!
“See,” said Poe from above him.
“Great! Will you climb up now please?”
“Sure,” Poe said, starting up. “You never told me your name.”
“Now?!?” the Renegade yelled up. “Why don’t we talk about it when we’re not dangling from a rope three hundred feet in the air?”
“But what should I call you?”
“Whatever you want,” the Renegade yelled, clinging just a bit tighter to the rope.
“What’s your name?”
“I don’t have one.”
“What do you mean you don’t have one?
“I mean, I don’t have one. They never gave me one. I have a serial number.”
“What?!?!” Poe stopped and looked down at his companion. “Wait! Are you an…”
“Maker, no!” the Renegade said. “I’m flesh and bone.” Mostly. “They just don’t name people where I’m from, and no one in the Resistance has come up with anything I like yet.”
“So what do they call you?”
“Mostly ‘Eight-Seven.’ Some just call me ‘Renegade’ or ‘Big Deal’.”
“Big Deal?”
“Long story.”
Poe shook his head. “So, what was your serial number?”
“FN-2187.”
Poe scrunched his brow and thought.
A particularly strong gust pushed them to the left and Poe could hear the Renegade yelling below him. “Will you climb already?”
Poe looked down. “Of course.” He smiled. “Finn.”
“Finn?”
“Your name. At least until you figure out something better.”
The Renegade smiled despite himself. Finn?
Finn.
“I like it,” he yelled up. “Finn,” he said as if trying it on. “Good to meet you Poe.”
“Good to meet you, too, Finn.”
Another gust sent them swinging far to the right. Finn closed his eyes, grasping at the rope and silently repeating the mantra, don’t look down.
Poe’s voice from above admonished, “Come on. It’s worse down there, I promise.”
Finn nodded and looked up. Poe was nearly in the basket.
Finn started pulling himself up, smiling to himself. Finn.