She was crying. He could hear her soft sobs. She looked up at him, face raw with feeling.
“I did everything you told me to,” she said. “But I could never please you.”
“Please me?” he asked, bewildered. “You tried to destroy me.”
She blinked.
“The meeting with Shu, the smirks behind my back, the sabotage of my work. You went to Genial!”
“When you wouldn’t listen. I-I did it for your own good!”
The words came out of her mouth, an echo of Winshur’s own, and they both froze in horror.
“No,” he whispered as he reared back to swing the pipe at her head.
“Wouldn’t do that” came a voice from behind him.
He lurched to a halt. Still holding the pipe, he turned, incredulous, to see who had interrupted him.
A woman, tall and muscular and wearing a canvas jacket and jumpsuit made of fur and metal. She had a blaster on one hip, still holstered, and a rifle slung over one shoulder. She looked him up and down, as if judging. She shook her head in disappointment.
“So you’re the piece of crap that beat up a defenseless fifteen-year-old girl?”
Winshur paled. He tightened his grip on the pipe. The woman noticed and raised an ocher-stained eyebrow.
“Really?” she asked.
“Go away, barbarian,” Winshur cried, frustration leaking into his voice. “You don’t understand. This is none of your business.”
“The name’s Teza Nasz, former officer in the Galactic Empire, and that’s warlord to you, Bratt.”
Winshur swayed. She knew his name, and she was a former Imperial. He felt weak.
“Now this could go one of two ways,” she said, voice casual. “You could hand that nice bit of metal in your hand back to my friend Yama, and she can beat you until your face approximately matches her own. Give or take.”
He stared, not speaking.
“Or,” she said, taking that rifle down off her shoulder, “I could just shoot you.”
Winshur’s lips twisted in a sneer. This foolish woman knew nothing, even if she did claim to be an Imperial. How dare she threaten him. He found some of his old bravado and scoffed, “I would never deign to allow this foolish girl to—”
He was cut off by the sound of blasterfire thundering in his ears and heat in his belly like he’d never felt before. He collapsed, his head striking the cold concrete. His mouth gaped open in shock.
“Good,” Nasz said cheerfully. “We’re kind of in a hurry, so thanks for making that easy.”
Winshur lay there stunned, a hole in his stomach.
Footsteps approached at a run, but Winshur could only lie there and listen. His body wasn’t working anymore, and his mind was fast following into oblivion.
“Everything okay?” a voice asked. Winshur saw that an older man with gray hair and wearing a brown jacket had spoken. Was he talking to Winshur? That couldn’t be right.
“Everything’s fine,” said the woman who’d shot him. “A small problem. We took care of it.” The woman walked past Winshur like he was already dead and held out a hand to the girl, pulling Yama to her feet.
“Why don’t you and Snap take lead?” the woman said. “Yama’s going to stay close to me until we get out of here.”
“No problem.” The man barely glanced at him before he was gone.
Time seemed to stretch and shrink in no particular order or reason. Winshur was sure there were other people walking past him. The sound of feet was loud in his head. His sight was dimming, the world around him fading to echoes and vibrations. He closed his eyes.
Something nudged him. A foot. He ignored it.
Another nudge and he reluctantly peeled one eyelid open. He recognized the face staring down at him. Prisoner 876549C.
Winshur thought to laugh. He was dying, bleeding out on cold pavement, and fate thought to deal him one last humiliation? But what could this man do to him that had not already been done?
The prisoner reached out a hand.
Shame flooded him. Winshur caught a sob in his throat. He closed his eyes.
Another nudge, but Winshur refused to look. He forced himself to roll over, a slow agony that was sticky and wet with blood, until he faced the wall and could no longer see the man or the glimpse of pity, of forgiveness, that he’d seen in his eyes.
The man was foolish. Winshur was dying. There was no saving him now.
“Leave me,” he mumbled, but it came out garbled, unintelligible even to his own ears.
He waited for another nudge, but it didn’t come, and he let loose the sob that had been stuck, a defeated mournful sound, more animal than anything else.
The footsteps passed and he was alone again.
He hurt, inside and out, but the pain was fading. Betrayal. That’s all he could feel now. Not by Monti, or even Yama. It was violence that had lied to him. It had made him promises of power, but in the end, it had not saved him. It had damned him.
LEIA SAW HAHNEE FALL.
When the attack had started, Yendor’s daughter had been the first through the library door, yelling a warning about betrayal in the capital city. Now she was the first to fall, a blaster shot to her chest.
Yendor was holding the south end of the hangar so he didn’t know when it happened. He and a handful of RDA fighters were keeping the First Order forces at bay so that Leia, Orrimaarko, Rieekan, the droids, and the rest of the command base could make their escape. But when Hahnee went down, a piece of Leia’s heart went with the Twi’lek warrior. Then the general did the thing that came most naturally to her: She picked up Hahnee’s rifle and took her position.
She pressed the trigger on the big gun and it bucked, sending fire into the enemy’s advance. They cowered back, taking shelter. But the rifle was hot in her hands, already running close to empty, and Leia knew the folly of her position immediately. There was no way one person with limited firepower could hold for long. Still, she only had to hold long enough for everyone to make it to their respective ships.
“Rey!” Leia shouted over her shoulder, hoping the girl could hear her over the din of the firefight. And then Rey was there with a blaster in hand, no questions asked. They fought side by side as if they had done it a hundred times before. Gradually the assault on their position faded.
“They’re retreating!” Rey shouted.
Leia nodded grimly. For now, at least. Or more likely, finding an easier advance. Or just doing the smart thing and waiting to pick them off as they exited the cave. That’s what she would have done.
Chewbacca was roaring an all-clear, which also meant “Get your ass on the Millennium Falcon right now,” and with Rey covering her back, Leia hustled across the bay and up the ramp.
Rose was there to greet her, eyes wide with worry.
“Status,” Leia said, voice clipped with exhaustion.
“All personnel accounted for and on board their respective vessels. We’re ready to get the heck out of here, as soon as we get word that it’s clear out there.”
“Clear out there,” Leia echoed. “What does that mean?”
“That they’re not waiting to pick us off as soon as we leave the cave, ma’am.”
Leia laughed, and it was a bitter sound. “Yes, I know. And I think that’s not going to happen. We’ll have to take our chances. It’s either that or stay here and let them regroup so they come at us again.”
The rage she had been holding back surfaced momentarily. She could believe that someone in Lessu had betrayed the Resistance. After all, there was no love for them here on Ryloth, and Yendor’s contacts had made it clear that the clock was ticking on their tolerance of the Resistance’s presence. They had overstayed their welcome and were now suffering the price. But to betray Yendor? After his years of service, his pride in his people? That made Leia see red.
&nb
sp; And now Hahnee. Leia would have to be the one to tell him. It was her fault, after all.
As if on cue, Leia’s comm beeped furiously.
She flipped it open. “Go on.”
“Leia!” Yendor’s voice was a hoarse shout, and she could hear the ongoing firefight in the background. “What’s your position?”
“We’re all in place and accounted for,” she told him. “Except…” She paused, trying to find the right words to tell her friend that his daughter was dead. But before she could find what she wanted to say, Yendor was talking again, but this time not to her.
“…take two men and head for the cannon.”
“Cannon?” Leia asked, surprised.
She thought she heard Yendor laugh. “Surface-to-air cover. A little surprise from the RDA that the dirtbags back in Lessu don’t know about, and the First Order won’t see coming. It’s not much but it should give you some cover.”
“You are full of surprises,” she said, feeling a little awed. She took a deep breath, exhaled. There was no easy way to say what had to be said. She had hoped there was, but she knew from experience that there wasn’t.
“Hahnee…She didn’t make it. She’s dead, Yendor.”
Silence on the other end, and Leia thought perhaps he hadn’t heard her. But she could still hear the sound of blasters through the comlink, so she tried again.
“Yendor…? Did you hear me?”
“Copy, General,” he said, and his voice was steady. But underneath, Leia could tell that the man was not.
“I’m sorry. She died defending us. It was a good death.”
Another beat of silence before he said, “There are no good deaths, my old friend. Only death.”
And with that she didn’t argue.
“The children?” he asked quietly. “Charth’s children?” Leia looked around the room for an answer. Rose Tico gave her a thumbs-up.
“The children are safe and accounted for.”
A heavy intake of breath and then, “Okay, then. Get them to their father.”
She hesitated, because she thought she knew the answer to the question before she asked it, but ask it she did. “And what about their grandfather?”
“Tell them he died directing the cannon. Tell them he died defending a free Ryloth, same as their aunt.”
Leia recognized that it was the grief talking. Grief at the loss of his daughter, grief at the loss of his planet, the betrayal from Lessu. Yendor’s worst nightmare was playing out around them, all the things he had warned Leia might happen, all the things she had agreed were possibilities. The Resistance was the kiss of death, to friends and allies alike.
“Yendor…”
“Excuse me, General Organa.” It was C-3PO.
“What is it?” she asked, distracted.
“Chewbacca asked me to tell you that they are short an X-wing pilot. It seems that one of the Phantom Squadron pilots did not survive the initial First Order attack.”
Leia grimaced. They could ill afford to lose a pilot, or a ship. She considered telling the droid to handle it on his own, but then a thought came to mind.
“Yendor,” she said. “How do you feel about flying again?”
“What?”
“We’ve lost a pilot but his ship is prepped and waiting. If you can get there, we could use you.”
Silence, and for a moment, Leia thought he would say no. That he would give in to his grief. But then: “I’m on my way.”
“Thank you,” she said, relief rushing over her.
“No, Leia. Thank you.”
The communication ended and Leia turned to Rose.
“Tell Connix and Nien Nunb to get to the turrets. We’re going to need the firepower. And I want to be in communication with Rieekan and Orrimaarko’s ship at all times. Can you handle that?”
“On it,” she said.
Leia dismissed her with a nod and made her way to the cockpit. She strapped into her old chair as Rey and the Wookiee engaged the thrusters. The Falcon slowly rose.
“We make a run for it, like Yendor said,” Rey explained over her shoulder. “The X-wings will lead, and the others will follow.”
Follow us where? Leia thought. Back into running, searching for a home, losing friends and family? But all she said was “Okay.”
“Leia.”
She looked up. Rey was staring at her, expression intense.
“We have to fight,” she said simply. “I know it’s hard, but what’s the alternative? Let the First Order win? They wouldn’t spare our friends and family. At least we fight for what we love this way. As long as we fight,” Rey continued, “there’s hope.”
Hope. A small word, but so precious. So difficult to maintain and easy to lose. But Leia wouldn’t let herself lose it. She could do that much. For Han and Luke, for Hahnee and the Phantom Squadron pilot whose name she didn’t know. For the living, too. All of them. For Rey and Rose and Poe and Finn and for the future of the Resistance that she hadn’t even met yet.
“There’s always hope,” Leia agreed. “Drops of water, right?”
Rey’s nod was solemn. “Which we will build to an ocean.”
And then they were airborne, shields engaged and dodging cannon fire. Leaving Ryloth behind.
ALARMS SHRIEKED ALL AROUND them, eardrum-poppingly loud. Wedge tried to ignore the awful sound, but it was overwhelming. It kept him on edge, as it was no doubt meant to, and he expected the team to turn a corner and find themselves face-to-face with a battalion of stormtroopers at any minute.
A vicious curse ahead of him drew his attention to the front. It was Nasz. She had paused to take aim at a speaker up in the rafters of the nearest building, obviously fed up with the noise, too.
“It’s not going to—” Wedge started, but he didn’t have a chance to finish before she’d pulled the trigger. Silence. Merciful silence, and their menagerie of prisoners and pilots paused in appreciation.
But the relief was short-lived as another alarm kicked in, this one even louder, he was sure, as if indignant about the fate of its predecessor.
He met Teza’s eyes. She shrugged. I tried, she mouthed.
Snap approached, crouched at a low run.
“We’re getting close,” he said. “I’ve seen a couple of patrols now. Whatever drew the stormtroopers away earlier must be over. Everyone’s headed back this way.”
Wedge frowned, worried.
“Any word from Poe?”
“Karé gave him our coordinates. We should expect him and his team soon. Otherwise…” He spread his hands.
“Everyone’s okay, right? Finn, the others? No reports of injuries?”
“Looks like it. But they did pick up an extra passenger.”
“He say who?”
Snap shook his head. “Suralinda said they’d explain when they got here.”
“Okay,” Wedge said. He chewed at his lip, thinking. Their window of escape was closing, he could feel it, but they couldn’t leave without Poe and his team.
“Thoughts?” Snap said, sounding tense. He knew they were running out of time, too.
Stay? Go?
“Wedge?”
“We stay,” he said. “We don’t leave without Poe.”
“Then we might not leave at all.” That was Nasz.
Wedge turned. “What do you mean?”
“Over there.”
A small group of people in First Order uniforms were running their way, blasters clearly visible in their hands.
“I count five,” Snap said grimly. “Easy enough.”
“I take the two on the right, you take the left,” Nasz said, unshouldering her rifle. “Wedge, you take the middle.”
“Wait!” That was Norra, shuffling up behind them. “They aren’t First Order. Look closer.”
Wedge peered
across the grounds through the darkness. The figures resolved, two in white, three in what looked like black, or colors close enough to be black in the dark of the night. But two wore dresses and one wore a robe. And one was a Twi’lek.
“It’s Poe,” he breathed, relieved. He stood from his crouch and waved. The group noticed him and swerved their course to intercept. Moments later Poe was there, Wedge embracing him in a welcoming hug.
“We sure are glad to see you,” Poe said. “Thought we’d lost our ride for a while there.”
“What happened?” Wedge asked.
“First Order caught wind of the auction and raided the party. Shut down the port and weren’t letting anyone out. We lost Charth’s ship.”
“It’s a small thing,” Charth said. “We got what we came for.”
“The list?” Norra asked.
Poe motioned to a woman who had been hanging back, as if taking in the scene. She wore a dress of white shells that hung heavy and waterlogged on her frame and a serpent of some kind curled close around her throat. “This is Nifera Shu. She has the list. We get her off the planet, she gives us the list.”
She nodded an acknowledgment.
“Do you know there’s a water serpent on your neck?” Nasz asked, eyebrow raised.
Nifera smiled. “Yes.”
“Okay.” The ex-Imperial lifted her hands in innocence. “Just checking.”
“Everyone accounted for,” Norra said. “Time to get the hell off this planet.”
“Ideas on how to do that?” Poe asked.
“Stormtroopers ahead,” Snap told them.
“How many?”
“Sixty. Maybe more. They’re guarding the entrance to the shipyard.”
Poe grimaced. “As if we were expected?”
“Our luck was bound to run out,” Wedge said. “Yama,” he called over his shoulder. Yama came forward. She stopped at Nasz’s side, sticking close to the larger woman. “Is there another way around?” Wedge asked the girl.
“We can go through the building,” she said, pointing a thumb back toward the skytower they had passed. “But the halls are narrow and there’s a lift and a checkpoint.”
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