"Oh yeah." He grins. "I mean, we can take something bigger-- A-wings aren't exactly made for two adult passengers." He looks around them, but the farm isn't rife with possibilities.

D'Qar, though. All it takes is the thought of the base and they're there, the misty hills and mountains rising in the distance, the apron thick with parked ships of every shape and size. Everywhere, activity. Uniforms. Mixed urgency and casual camaraderie.

A cadre of pilots in orange jog by, and Poe watches them go, briefly and intensely homesick.

"We can take one of the small transports. Not the fastest out there by any means, but they've got room."