Poe had heard of bacta. He'd even see it in action, once. Back in his Republic days, a new pilot had barely made it off the runway before flipping his X-wing right in to the drink. They'd managed to fish Tallers out of the ocean before the corrosive black water ate through his flight suit, but his hands and face...that was a different story. Poe had stood there looking on, already composing a condolences letter in his head. No way would that guy ever recover. But a few bandages soaked in that stuff, and eyes had emerged, clear and open, a nose next, even better than before; Tallers sometimes got in bar fights, and at least one hadn't gone his way.
Poe still felt the disbelief and amazement whenever he thought about that. Bacta could cure anything, right? Even a lightsaber to the back. He had to get the stuff, no matter what. He might not have known Finn long, but what did that matter? Finn deserved better than living out the rest of his life on a hospital gurney.
"Why are you doing this, General?"
Poe asked as he followed her in to the war room. It stood empty. Odd.
She turned towards him and put her hands on the edge of the table, then leaned in as if to peer at a briefing that hadn't quite appeared yet. Gods, did they spend that much time looking at mission details? He had the strange sense that the schematic of Starkiller Base hung there still, a pale wraith.
"Do you suspect the angels of my better nature?" Her tone was sharp enough to remind him of the grapefruit tree in his grandfather's backyard, how trying to enjoy its fruits required a certain amount of masochism. He'd always gorged himself on those grapefruits, come to think of it.
"Oh. No ma'am, I..."
"Save it. You might as well, since I happen to have an ulterior motive."
Aha. Well, as grateful as the Resistance might be towards Finn, the resources already committed had made Poe wonder. A lot for one man, no matter his deeds.
"My brother is not the only Jedi warrior we will need to call upon if we want to win against the First Order. They have suffered a great loss, but they have not been defeated," General Organa intoned, flipping on the display. Poe knew a half-done starchart of Wild Space when he saw one, but beyond that only ghosts knew and they weren't talking.
Suddenly the empty war room made sense.
"You know more than one Jedi?" Poe blurted.
"One or two more," the General said with false modesty.
Holy kriff.
"Well..." He took in the chart again, rotating slowly before him. Like most maps someone had programmed it in blue and green, but unlike most maps a path of brilliant gold danced through the middle. Did it represent what the General knew, about where to find this Jedi of hers? He could only imagine that the mission had to include doing just that.
He ached to follow that bright road in to nowhere.
"I'll do it."
A shot at bringing Finn back around, plus a wild chase to locate a lost Jedi? Would have only been a better deal if the General had involved little lemon cakes somehow.
Of course, the General had known that all along; she didn't even bother asking if he felt sure.
"This Jedi is of a different character than many of the others," she said, "he is...grey."
"A Grey Jedi? I remember there was a character like that in one of the storybooks I liked when I was little. They're real?"
"Yes. But I had thought they were all dead, or so deep in hiding it amounted to the same."
