Quotes from Jason Fry

Well what would you expect?" she sputtered. "They can call themselves privateers, but we all know they're just pirates with papers.

Luke unfastened a bottle from his pack and bent over a sow's belly, squeezing green milk from her swollen udder. He looked up from his work, a green streak on his upper lip. Rey kept watching, though that last moment had left her a little ill. The sow regarded her lazily.

That's enough, Leonis! I'm an honorable man—Kelio and Sina can play tomorrow, but they're out by the championship game. I'll let the two of you decide how to break it to them.

Hux was a revolutionary, full of fire and fervor, but revolutionaries' seasons were fleeting

Alderaan was a debris field now, along with Mon Cala and Chandrila—all destroyed by the battle station that had burned out the infections of Separatism and rebellion, leaving the galaxy at peace. Or at least free of conflict. That was the same thing, or near enough.

We haven't done anything," Luke agreed, though he knew that was no guarantee of safety. Plenty of things happened to people who hadn't done anything—things that were never discussed again, or at least not by anyone with any sense.

Many of the magno-charges had been decorated with cartoons or hastily scrawled words—gallant invocations of the Resistance cause were racked next to obscene suggestions for the First Order's leaders.

perfect information is a luxury you can rarely afford. All you can do is make the best decision with whatever imperfect information you do have.

The Falcon had taken him away from Tatooine decades ago—a shell-shocked farm boy hurled into the middle of a galactic civil war he'd wrongly assumed would never touch him, his step-parents, or his friends. He wondered what that Luke Skywalker would think of what he'd become.

Canady's warrant officer, Bascus, was gazing at the holographic screen and tracking the cannons' progress with something akin to ecstasy on his face. Canady scowled. His crew was half his age, with scant experience outside of battle sims. That they were untested wasn't their fault; that they were arrogant and undisciplined was.

We haven't done anything," Luke agreed, though he knew that was no guarantee of safety. Plenty of things happened to people who hadn't done anything - things that were never discussed again, or at least not by anyone with any sense.

Permission to jump in an X-wing and blow something up?" "Granted.

Ackbar knew the fry would come up with the wrong answer. As the young so often did, they were arguing about tactics but failing to consider personalities. Hux's principal concern wasn't winning an engagement, but demonstrating the First Order capabilities and might for a galactic audience.

Hux was a vicious little squig, but yet to grow into his teeth—he had the ruthlessness of age but none of its wisdom. A veteran commander worried about winning, not playing to an audience.

Snoke had shepherded the First Order through its years in the galactic wilds, transforming a band of Imperial refugees into a weapon forged to reclaim the galaxy. As such, he would always be remembered. But Hux knew the future would need a different kind of leader—one able to direct the galaxy's industries and nurture their innovations, while commanding its citizens' respect. Snoke wasn't that leader. And neither was Ren.

Human life spans, regrettably, were a couple of centuries too short for patience to stop being a virtue and become a habit.

Yago would endure Hux just as Peavey had—because both men knew the general wouldn't last. He would undoubtedly succeed at destroying the remnants of the Resistance, and bask in the glory of that accomplishment for a time. But then the real challenges would begin. The First Order would have a restive galaxy to tame, one that had been plunged into chaos. And sooner or later, Hux would be undone, revealed as an incompetent officer and an intemperate leader.

I know only one truth: it's time for all of this to end.

Alas. You're no Vader, you're just a child with a mask.

Oleg won the assessment because he naturally thinks of himself and not the rest of his squad," he said. "Is that also the sign of a promising potential officer?

The Resistance astromechs classified Black One as a high-communications-volume interface. BB-8 searched his memory for an organic equivalent of that classification, and found a high-confidence answer almost immediately. Black One was a pain in the ass.

Happy beeps here, buddy," Poe said.

Most of the galaxy's beings were soft—they grew up sheltered and spent the rest of their lives trying to make sure they stayed ignorant and indolent. Phasma was anything but soft—and by the time she could walk, she had understood there was no such thing as safety. There was only survival, which was the product of ceaseless struggle.

There was joy at their escape, and the jagged excitement at the prospect of battle. But there was also fear of the precariousness of their situation, and anxiety at the possibility that they might fail.