Resistance Reborn (Star Wars)

by Rebecca Roanhorse

  “My mother was an Imperial officer,” Zay said quietly. “But she defected. She and my father. They died for the Resistance. Ask Leia. She knows.”

  “Suralinda?” Poe called, raising his voice slightly. Suralinda was sitting on a bench watching the scene before her with glittering eyes, no doubt taking mental notes for another story. “I didn’t give a care about either side much,” she admitted breezily. “I was ready to sell Resistance secrets if it would get me what I wanted. Oh wait, I did.” She laughed at the stunned faces around her. “Relax,” she said. “I came around.”

  Poe smiled tightly and tried not to think about yelling at her to choose her words with a bit more care, but she had made his point.

  “And you?” Poe asked, turning lastly to Finn, who had been idling in the background next to Rey.

  Finn stepped forward immediately. “Used to be a stormtrooper, but now I’m rebel scum,” he said, pressing a fist over his heart. “Until the end.”

  “My point,” Poe said, turning back to Agoyo, “is that many of us have dubious beginnings, but it is how we end that counts.”

  “My father was Darth Vader,” Leia said, pitching her voice so that it rang out clearly through the room. “Is there anyone who wants to question my loyalty to the Resistance?”

  The room was wisely silent. Poe nodded his thanks, and she returned it before stepping back.

  “Now, is there anyone else with a grudge that needs airing? Something that’s bothering them? Someone in this room that they can’t wait to knife once their back is turned?” He got a few laughs at that, as he had meant to, and the tension lessened a bit. He waited a moment longer until it looked like no one was going to speak, started to pass the floor to Leia when a new voice called out from the crowd.

  “I got a question.”

  Poe bit his lip to keep himself from cursing. It was one of the old rebel pilots, someone Wedge had found from the original Phantom Squadron. He resembled a human, but his skin was a dusty gray and his pate was hairless, either by genetics or by design. Poe didn’t know him, but he knew his type immediately. The way he stood, legs planted wide, shoulders squared from carrying that chip around. He was going to be a pain in the ass, but he also looked like someone the other pilots would follow. Poe had a feeling he needed him on their side, troublemaker or not.

  “Go on,” he prompted.

  The veteran pointed a finger at Poe. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “I heard the stories,” the man said. “About what happened on the Raddus. To Holdo.” The man thumped his chest. “I fought with Holdo. She was a good leader.”

  Poe felt queasy. Panic fluttered in his chest, and his hands felt clammy. Some small voice inside screamed that he was caught, that his worst nightmare was coming true. Part of him wanted to hide, to shrink back and let someone else handle it before he royally screwed it all up again, but Maz’s admonition rang in his head. Was he a leader or not? Was all his talk about giving his blood, sweat, and tears to the survival of the Resistance just that? Or did he mean it?

  He made himself breathe deeply and then exhale. He met the man’s accusing gaze head-on.

  “I agree,” Poe said simply.

  “You agree?” the veteran sneered. He propped massive hands on his hips. “That’s not what I heard, Poe Dameron. That’s not what any of us heard.”

  He gestured to the pilots around him. Wedge and Norra, too, but Poe couldn’t tell if they concurred or were caught in the crossfire. Snap, who was just to Wedge’s right, looked flushed and ready to defend his squad leader. It occurred to Poe that Snap must have told Wedge what happened, and Wedge must have told Phantom Squadron. Not out of animosity, but because those were the facts and people deserved to know the facts before trusting their lives to him.

  “You’re the one who should be in the brig,” the veteran said, emboldened. “Or better yet, tossed out of an air lock.”

  Grunts and murmurs of approval, and Poe’s heart sank. They were right, to a degree, but they also hadn’t been there. Hadn’t seen their forces decimated, hadn’t felt the desperation, the fear. Poe was a man of action and he had been grounded, made helpless, and he had almost burned it all to the ground because he couldn’t take it.

  “You’re right,” Poe said, loud enough to carry over the crowd. “You’re absolutely right. I disobeyed a direct order, I got people killed, I undermined my commander, and led a mutiny. And if you don’t think that eats me up, that it haunts me every day, every minute, then you don’t know a damn thing.”

  Restless movement, some of the pilots muttering, but they were listening.

  “And yeah, you could lock me up, throw me into space, but you tell me how that helps the Resistance? How that brings down the First Order? Because, trust me, if I thought my death would bring them down, I’d sacrifice myself in a heartbeat.” He snapped his fingers.

  “Poe,” Finn said, shaking his head.

  Poe started to warn Finn off, but Jess stepped forward. “Poe’s my squad leader and I trust him with my life. There’s no one else I want leading Black Squadron.”

  “He saved our butts over Grail City, just a few days ago.” That was Karé.

  “And he saved mine on Jakku,” Finn said.

  “And mine on Crait,” someone else said.

  “And mine,” came another voice.

  The testimonials rose to a crescendo, a dozen men and women bearing witness.

  Poe bowed his head, overwhelmed. It was more than he could have asked for, more than he deserved.

  Finally, the declarations died down, and a calm settled over the crowd. He looked up, scanning the faces, stopping for a moment to smile at Finn and nod to Wedge, willing their support to buoy his voice. There was one more thing to say.

  “We’ve all made choices,” Poe said. “Choices that caused harm, led to destruction, even at times death. We are all responsible for our deeds. The great and the terrible. But if we define ourselves only by what we’ve done, only by our failures, then this Resistance, this spark? It dies here and now.”

  He waited a moment, but no one interrupted. Keep going, he told himself.

  “We’re all here because we have a chance to change things. A chance to change the galaxy. A chance to change ourselves. But we have to make that commitment. That choice. A choice…” Poe hesitated. It sounded good when he’d started, but now he was fumbling. He looked around as if trying to summon the words from the air around him.

  “A choice to be better.” A voice pierced the silence, and the girl Zay stepped forward. She was young, easily the youngest among them, but her voice was clear and strong and her eyes shone with conviction.

  Poe pressed a fist over his heart, grateful. There it was.

  “A choice to be better,” he repeated.

  Murmurs crept over the crowd with nods and smiles of assent. Someone clapped, but the noise quickly died down as no one else joined in. Poe appreciated it all the same.

  Wedge said something Poe couldn’t quite hear to make everyone around him laugh, and the tension evaporated like it never was. The crowd began to break up, pilots going back to care for their ships, hungry men and women inquiring about food or fresh clothes or other mundane needs, the fight and what caused it forgiven among patriots to the cause.

  Zay idled, eyes roving the room, hands thrust nervously in her pockets. She looked like the teenager she was.

  “Thanks for the assist,” Poe said, approaching her.

  She nodded, a blush spotting her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. It just felt right, what you said.”

  “No, I appreciate it.” He grinned and ran a hand through his hair. “I was losing my way out there.”

  She shrugged. “You were doing okay.”

  “Your parents were pilots?” he asked.

  “Yeah. My dad was more o
f an engineer, but Mom…Mom loved to fly.”

  He grinned. “Mine too.”

  “Cool.”

  Leia’s voice drew his attention. “Commander.”

  “Gotta go,” he said to Zay, and hurried over to where Leia was standing with a smaller contingent.

  Leia had already gathered her new leadership around her. Most were people whom Poe expected to see—most of the crew from the Falcon, Orrimaarko, Rieekan, Antilles, the Wexleys, and Shriv Suurgav—but others—Nasz and the veteran who had challenged him—were a surprise.

  “I would like you all to join Ambassador Yendor and me for tea,” Leia said. “There’s much we need to discuss, and little time to do it.”

  POE WHISTLED LOW IN appreciation as he stepped past the deep-red stone door and into what Leia had called Yendor’s library. It may have been a library at some point, but now it was a full-on war room. A large round table had been placed in the center of the polished garnet-colored floor, and above it rose the shadowy outline of a holo readout. Poe could see what looked like alarmingly short inventory lists—people, ships, rations, and a number of other logistical shortfalls. He knew the Resistance didn’t have much, but to see it laid out so starkly was sobering. The group Leia had brought with her had been quietly talking, some of the excitement of the evening keeping the conversation lively, but as they all gathered around the table, a deep solemnity descended.

  Leia stood among them, a small figure that radiated power. But at what cost? Poe wondered. She couldn’t be well, not after what she had been through. She must be running on fumes. And it’s my job to help her through this, he reminded himself. I’m supposed to be her right hand, her go-to commander, and, more important, her friend. He felt buoyed by the scene in the hangar moments ago but he knew he needed to check in with Leia, too. Make sure she was doing okay.

  A heavy hand came down on his shoulder, and he looked up to find the veteran who had challenged him smiling down at him. He towered over them all, even over the tall ex-Imperial. The man squeezed his fingers, and Poe swore he could feel something pop in his shoulder.

  “I am called Sanrec Stronghammer,” he introduced himself, “and I want you to know that I forgive you, Poe Dameron.” Stronghammer’s voice was a deep rumble. “Just do not think to challenge me when I am in command.” His grin spread wider, showing a mouthful of broken teeth. “Or I will kill you.”

  Poe felt tiny beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. “What did you say you’d been doing since the Battle of Jakku?”

  Stronghammer scratched at the scruff of a silvery beard that was a shade whiter than his gray skin and shrugged. “I was security.”

  “For who?”

  Stronghammer shrugged. “Whoever paid.” He shrugged. “I am not proud of it. But I had to eat.”

  “No flying?”

  The big man looked into the distance, ash-colored eyes misty. “I had not been behind the controls of a bird in almost twenty years when Antilles called me up. I honestly did not expect to get another chance. They do not make X-wings in my size.”

  Poe could believe that. “What do you like to fly?”

  “Ah, give me a U-wing and I will show you how a real pilot operates, Dameron.”

  That was a big bird all right. No way it could outrun Poe in an X-wing. But then, Poe didn’t have an X-wing anymore.

  “It’s not a competition,” Poe said, thinking he could smoke this guy, X-wing or not.

  “Are you afraid to try?”

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” Poe scoffed, and it was almost true. He wasn’t scared of anyone, and certainly not Stronghammer. But he was acutely aware that he did not want to fail Leia and the Resistance again; that, he feared.

  “Is it a bet then?” Stronghammer asked under the sly lift of an eyebrow.

  “You really think you could outrace me?”

  The big man leaned in close. “I know it.”

  The two men laughed, and Poe relaxed. This was good, the banter. The implied camaraderie. He couldn’t help but feel that he had passed a test. But he’d meant what he’d said before in the hangar. He was determined to honor the Resistance, to make up for his mistakes, and to do Holdo and the others who had lost their lives proud.

  “You’re on,” Poe said, “as soon as we get you a U-wing.” The two men shook on it, Stronghammer’s meaty palm engulfing his own. Poe started to pull his hand back, but Stronghammer held tight.

  “I win and you cut your hair like mine, eh?” Stronghammer whispered with a wink.

  “What?”

  “So I know you mean it. So I know you will really try.”

  There was no way to save face now, and, besides, he would win. He had to. He loved his hair.

  “It’s a deal.”

  The bigger man nodded and patted Poe on the back so hard he stumbled forward a step. Well, at least they weren’t wrestling. Stronghammer would crush him on the ground, but no one beat him in space.

  “I’m glad you’re all here.” Leia’s voice cut through all the side conversations, quiet but forceful. Poe and the others turned their attention to her. “I know many of you came at great personal cost with small hope of success. I can’t promise that we will survive this. That we will all still be alive tomorrow, or the day after. But I can promise you one thing. I will fight beside you until the end.”

  A beat of silence as everyone absorbed the truth in her words. Poe felt them, too. Deep in his bones. Hope was there, but this was a last stand.

  “If I may,” Norra Wexley said. Leia motioned for her to continue. Norra lifted her chin, eyes shining in the light cast from the holo. “Everyone in this room knows what they signed up for, General. This isn’t our first battle, although it might be our last. We’re done with ‘homes.’ We’ve made our choice. This”—she gestured around the table—“this is our home now. The Resistance is our family. And just like you, we’re ready to die for it.”

  Leia lowered her eyes, but not before Poe caught the gleam of tears. “And the rest of you? Is that how you all feel?”

  “Yes,” said Poe, immediately.

  “Yes,” from Orrimaarko.

  “Yes,” and another “Yes,” and a “Hell, yes!” from Stronghammer.

  When Leia looked up, her eyes were dry. “Then we have work to do. Yendor?” She stepped back, ceding the floor.

  Yendor came forward. He was a handsome Twi’lek, distinguished in both his long robes and his commanding manner. “Welcome to Ryloth,” he said simply. “Like Leia, I thank each of you for all that you have sacrificed. We are all here for the same purpose: to stand against the tyranny of the First Order.” His face clouded momentarily, as if lost in memory. “Those of us from Ryloth know a thing or two about standing against tyranny.”

  A few nods to that, but Poe was unfamiliar with Ryloth history. He made a note to ask C-3PO about it later.

  “I and my children and those who are part of the Ryloth Defense Authority offer you all we have, but as you can see, we are few.”

  “You called the Resistance’s allies from Crait, did you not?” Rieekan said, turning to Leia. “Others will come.”

  Leia grimaced, lines forming around her mouth. “So far the only allies we have been able to reach are the ones you see in front of you. We suspect that the First Order has been rounding up and imprisoning those sympathetic to the Resistance, and we think that they’ve figured out how to block our frequencies, but we aren’t sure. We can’t rely on reinforcements. Not at this point.”

  Rieekan frowned. “Do we know if the roundup rumors are true? That’s a bold step for a movement with no official government.”

  “They destroyed Hosnian Prime,” Wedge said, anger edging his voice. “I think bold isn’t a problem for them.”

  “I only meant they don’t have the infrastructure to house prisoners, do they?” Rieekan said solicitous
ly.

  “Of course they do,” Norra countered. “I think you underestimate how massive they’ve become.”

  “Besides, what do they need?” Wedge asked, not ceding the point. “A few local governments to look the other way, a few dark holes to lose people in. It’s not hard.”

  Another Twi’lek whom Poe had been only briefly introduced to leaned in across the common table. “Speaking of local governments,” Charth said, “you should all understand that while Ryloth welcomes you in your time of need, there has been a complication.”

  “A complication?” Norra asked.

  “The First Order has come to Ryloth,” Leia explained. “Not because of us,” she said quickly, cutting off the worried voices already beginning to ask questions. “As far as we know, they aren’t aware of our presence here.”

  “Then what do they want?” Stronghammer asked.

  “The usual,” Charth said. “Money. Power. They want to tithe our shipping lanes to raise money to rebuild the vessels they lost fighting the Resistance.” Charth’s charge was without accusation, but there was a moment of strained silence. He quickly moved on. “We will refuse, of course, but it does put us all, Ryloth and the Resistance, in a precarious situation.”

  “I suggest we act quickly,” Leia said. “Given our time and our limitations, I am most concerned with rebuilding our forces, giving us another week, another month. A foundation. I had hoped for time to find more leadership, but…” She looked around the table, making eye contact. “I want ideas.”

  “Ships,” Poe said. He reached over the table, hand passing through the holo that had been hovering above the round table. He paused, his finger highlighted the ship inventory. “Is this up-to-date?” he asked the room.

  “Yes,” Rey said from her perch in the corner. She was so quiet Poe hadn’t noticed her there until she spoke. “I saw Rose account for the arriving ships before we met here.”

  Poe nodded his thanks. “I see a handful of starfighters, a few transports, a yacht. It’s not a fleet, and we can’t fight much less expect to win any kind of battle against the First Order with equipment like this. We need ships.”