“Why are we really here, Zorii? What are we after?” Poe asked. “What did Ledesmar mean when she said this wasn’t the deal?”
She never got the chance to answer.
The Moraysian cruiser shook violently, lurching to the left, sending the Spice Runners tumbling toward the far wall of the bridge. As the massive cruiser righted itself, Poe winced as he scrambled to one of the navigation terminals, reaching for his side instinctively as Gen Tri hovered behind him.
“Looks like we missed a few ships dropping out of hyperspace,” Poe said, tapping buttons quickly—hoping to get a clearer picture of what was going on. “And they don’t seem happy.”
“Who are they?” Gen Tri asked. “Pykes? Moraysians after their own tech?”
Poe took a second longer than he needed, trying to confirm his information before he shared it with the group—hoping against hope that the intel he had was just wrong.
“They’re…they’re New Republic ships,” Poe said, not fully believing his own words. “Lots of them, too.”
“Open fire,” Gen Tri said, not a tinge of menace or anger in their voice. “And continue to fire at will.”
Poe hesitated. If he followed Gen Tri’s order, he’d be firing on his own people—was that really what he’d signed up for? He looked at Zorii, who seemed disgusted by Poe’s lag. She shook her head at him as if to say, Fire, Poe. It’s who you are now. It’s who we are.
Marinda Gan’s response was not as subtle.
“Out of the way, kid,” she said, shoving Poe aside. “Let a real spice runner handle this.”
Marinda took control of the terminal deftly, and before Poe could protest, she’d sent a volley of laser cannon fire toward the five New Republic ships, making contact with a few. But even with the weapons of the large Moraysian cruiser at their disposal, they were overmatched. The ship was old and had seen its share of scrums. It was not meant for full-on combat, especially with what amounted to an inexperienced skeleton crew running it. Their best bet was to distract and evade.
Gen Tri approached Marinda’s terminal, their demeanor distant and defensive—more than usual.
“Can we withstand much?” they asked Marinda. But it was clear they knew the answer.
“Shields are a joke, even on a ship this big—they won’t last much longer,” Marinda said, shaking her head. “They got to fire first—and if this holds up, they’ll fire last, too.”
The ship shook, taking another wave of fire from the New Republic vessels. Poe dug his fingers into a nearby terminal, desperate to avoid being tossed across the bridge if he could help it. Zorii held on to him, doing the same. He thought he heard EV-6B6 squeal in the distance.
“Shields are offline,” Marinda Gan said, tapping at her terminal with a desperate energy that did not inspire much faith in Poe. “Weapons systems are at twenty percent. We won’t be able to access the hyperdrive, either, not unless—”
Marinda’s update was interrupted by the static and crackle of a communications channel coming to life. The voice was unfamiliar, but the threat was clear.
“This is Sela Trune with the New Republic Security Bureau,” she said. “Stand down and you will live. Prepare to be boarded or destroyed. The choice is yours.”
Something slammed into Poe’s midsection, intensifying the tenderness in his side once more. His first thought was that he was under attack again, but when he looked down, it was a sturdy, gleaming silver case with an engraved handle. He looked up to see Gen Tri was holding on to it.
“This needs to get off this ship—as does Zorii Wynn,” they said with a slight nod. “Do not betray our trust, Poe Dameron. The entire mission rests with you now.”
Poe started to ask what it was but thought better of it. He took the case from Gen Tri and turned to see Zorii waiting for him.
“We have to get back to the hangar and hope there’s a ship there that can get us out of here,” she said, her words jumbling into each other. “We don’t have much time. They’re starting to get closer and they’ll be on the ship in minutes.”
Poe nodded and followed Zorii and EV-6B6 toward the turbolift. Before the doors closed, he made eye contact with Marinda Gan, who mouthed two words: Good luck.
They’d need more than luck to get off the ship, he knew.
The lift ride was short and rocky, the cramped space shaking forcefully as the Moraysian ship continued to be slammed by laser fire.
“Guess Gen Tri’s dragging their feet on that whole ‘surrender’ thing,” Poe quipped.
“Spice Runners aren’t good at giving up,” Zorii said, not meeting Poe’s eyes.
“It is quite admirable, I think,” EV-6B6 said. Zorii and Poe ignored her.
They stepped off the lift and ran down a familiar hallway, now littered with fallen droids—aftershocks from Vigilch and the crew’s struggle to get on the bridge. Vigilch. Their leader was gone. Felled in one motion by Ledesmar, also gone. All this bloodshed, Poe thought. Was it worth it? The highs of this new life—the space tricks and battles, the subterfuge and trickery—seemed dulled by the losses. He wouldn’t have considered the brusque Klatooinian a friend, or even much of an ally, really—but his loss still hurt. It was in moments like these that Poe realized he hadn’t experienced enough. The tough skin hadn’t fully formed. He’d never felt more sixteen than right then, scurrying down a strange ship’s length, trying desperately to find a way off and into unknown space. He’d never felt farther from his father, from his home—from the life he’d come to take for granted. And for what? He wasn’t sure. But he didn’t have time to mull it over.
“Come on, follow me,” Zorii said, tugging at Poe’s arm, EV-6B6’s slow metallic footsteps echoing behind them. “There’s another hangar here, according to the schematic I looked over. We might get lucky.”
They reached a final set of doors—closed. Poe punched one of the buttons, but nothing. He turned to Zorii.
“Let me see,” she said, moving past him.
Zorii tapped a few buttons, then pulled out a small, thin silver dagger. She pressed it gently into the side of the panel, popping it off and revealing wires and cords. She yanked out a green and red wire, using the dagger to cut them. The doors hissed open.
“Follow me,” she said, not waiting for any reaction. This wasn’t Zorii Wynn’s first break-in—or breakout.
The hangar was expansive, a handful of ships littering the wide, empty space.
“Hey, droid, what can you tell us about these ships? Any of them fit to fly?” Poe asked as they scanned the area. “We’re on a bit of a time crunch.”
“Well, I’m sorry to say my expertise isn’t in—”
“Got one,” Zorii said from a few meters away. She’d found a battered BTL-S3 Y-wing starfighter. “Assuming I can chip the rust off and we can get inside.”
Poe approached the ship slowly, with some reverence.
“These ships are tough—nothing fancy, but this’ll do,” Poe said, nodding. “We’re in luck.”
These ships helped defeat the Empire, Poe almost blurted out, but thought better of it. The Y-wing would definitely fly, and it just might be able to outrun the New Republic corvette-size ships waiting outside. It would get Zorii out safely with their score, and that was Poe’s top priority.
“Get in, Zorii,” Poe said, trying to sound commanding. “This is your ticket off. I’m sure there are other ships I can—”
“Actually, it appears most of the ships here are not operational,” EV-6B6 said, looking around the large space. “We might be able to find something else if we backtrack to the other hangar, but I can’t be cer—”
The blaster fire started then, and the trio turned to see a group of New Republic officers shooting first and asking questions later. At the front of the team was a young, tall human woman with close-cropped blond hair. Trune.
“Step away from the ship, Dameron,” Trune said, moving forward, her finger still squeezing the trigger, sending blaster fire around them. “And don’t even think of returning fire.”
“Thought you guys usually hit the bridge first, at least when you do the whole boarding of an enemy ship thing,” Poe said, rolling to his right and sending a volley of fire back at Trune, hitting one of her men and sending him to his knees. One down. His blaster wasn’t set to kill, he reminded himself—but it struck him nonetheless that he was firing on New Republic officers, who stood for the same ideals his parents had fought to establish.
“Your quips won’t delay the inevitable,” Trune said. “Though, it’s nice to have my suspicions confirmed. Your pals on the bridge refused to say whether you’d joined their ranks.”
Poe ignored the dig, though his internal alarms were going off. So Trune and her team had already been on the bridge. Where were Marinda Gan and Gen Tri, then? He sent another shot, hitting the officer to Trune’s left. Two down.
Trune crouched and sent another trio of shots in Poe’s direction, but he was able to slide behind one of the myriad zombie ships that were scattered around the hangar. It would only provide a brief refuge. He allowed himself a moment to peek around the ship to check on Zorii—who’d taken refuge inside the one ship that could probably get her to safety. He fought the urge to run to her and provide some kind of cover. Zorii Wynn was more than capable. She could handle herself.
“Your friends are dead, Poe Dameron,” Trune said, standing up and walking toward Poe’s shelter. “Don’t delay this and don’t make me kill you. Your father would be even more disappointed than he already is.”
She took a few more paces in Poe’s direction.
“Either you come with me now and notify him yourself—let him know what you’ve decided to become,” Trune said, “or I can handle it when I alert next of kin.”
“Eevee, now!” Poe yelled. Trune jumped at the words, as if finally recognizing where Poe had been hiding. The realization didn’t serve her for very long as the droid careened toward the New Republic officers, a loud, ear-piercing screech accompanying her mad run at the group. She was fast for a droid, Poe thought, and it took the New Republic officers too long to react to the new target. By the time they did, it was too late—EV-6B6’s long arms had slammed into the two remaining officers, sending them back through the hangar doorway, presumably unconscious. That left Trune.
Trune spun around, as if just noticing her team had been disabled. Were those the only officers she’d boarded with? Poe hoped so, but he had learned over the past few weeks not to rely much on the luck of the draw. He sent a quick shot at Trune, which she dodged easily. Poe, despite the space between them, thought he heard her scoff.
“Your amateur colors are showing,” Trune said, walking in a slight, military-style crouch toward Poe, blaster raised. “You took a risky shot and just gave up where you are. I won’t be as easy to drop as my men, Poe—remember that.”
“I think he does,” Zorii said, landing behind Trune and sending a focused kick at her head. The New Republic Security Bureau officer fell forward, hitting the cold ground with a loud thunk. She’d be out for a while.
Zorii made her way to Poe’s corner and smiled.
“You’re lucky I’m around,” she said.
“I tell myself that a lot,” he said, returning her smile. But as he looked at her more closely, he noticed something off in her movements. “Zorii—are you all right?”
She shrugged, but it was clear to Poe she was grimacing with each step. He moved toward her. He noticed the wound fast—a nasty gash on her side she was trying her best to cover with her hands.
“Let me see,” Poe said.
“It’s nothing,” Zorii said defensively. “Just a strafe. Firefights are messy.”
She tried to move away, but Poe gently pulled her hands from the wound. It looked bad, he thought.
“We need to get Eevee to look at this,” Poe said.
EV-6B6 approached from the other end of the hangar.
“The assailants have been disposed of, Master Dameron, and they’re alive—don’t worry.”
“Good work,” Poe said, motioning for the droid to approach Zorii. “Can you give her a once-over? I think she got grazed badly—”
“Of course, I’m happy to help and quite sorry to hear Zorii was inju—”
“Enough.”
Poe felt a hand grip his. Zorii’s fingers were strong and cold. She moved his hand away from her side and took a step toward the droid.
“We need to get off this ship,” Zorii said, her eyes locked on Poe. “I can get patched up once we’re clear. Understood?”
He didn’t agree, but knew Zorii wouldn’t budge on this. Best to get her and EV-6B6 on their way and hope the droid could help her until they got some proper medical attention.
“Your call,” Poe said, forcing a smile. “Did you buy what Trune said about Gen Tri and Marinda?”
“Yes—they’re gone,” Zorii said with a solemn nod. “At least it seems that way.”
Poe hung his head for a second.
“I’m not sold. We have to be sure,” Poe said, shaking his head slightly. “We can’t leave them—”
“I think we might get lucky if we search the other hangar. Perhaps there’s something more comfortable and spacious—”
“Can it for now, Eevee,” Poe said. “You’re going with Zorii.” He handed the droid the metallic case Gen Tri had entrusted to him. Poe tried not to think that would be the last time he’d see the tall, ethereal Pau’an. “Help Zorii get off this ship and into hyperspace fast, all right? Then do your best to patch her up. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”
EV-6B6 took the proffered case with as upbeat a look as a droid could muster.
“Understood. I will give it my strongest effort,” EV-6B6 said as she passed the case to Zorii. “Good luck to you, Poe Dameron.”
They made their way back to the small Y-wing, gingerly stepping over Trune’s unconscious body. As they circled the ship, Poe watched Zorii step into the cockpit, a hesitant look on her face. He climbed up the ship’s opposite side and crouched next to the pilot’s seat.
“You should be coming with me, Poe,” she said, concern flashing across her face. “You’re injured, too. This is stupid.”
“Stupid and me go well together,” Poe said, trying to lighten the mood. Zorii’s darkening glare told him he was taking the wrong approach. He responded with a quick sigh. “I can’t leave them behind, okay? Not if there’s a chance. I have to know.”
She nodded quickly. Accepting, but not fully understanding.
“You think you can fly this thing?” Poe asked.
Zorii nodded as EV-6B6 started to climb aboard the ship and into the other seat.
“I can fly anything,” she said with a broad smile. Suddenly, Poe was struck by his friend’s simple beauty. He’d miss her if they never crossed paths again—which was a real possibility. “That’s what my teacher always says.”
Poe leaned forward into the ship’s cockpit. They kissed, their touch electric and natural at the same time. Poe was surprised, and he could tell she was, too. It felt right, he knew that much—the culmination of weeks of kinetic energy dancing between them. Of lingering glances, knowing smiles, and a rapport that felt like more than just that of allies or teammates. The connection didn’t last long, but Poe knew he’d never forget it.
“Smart guy, that teacher,” Poe said, their faces still close. He kept his eyes on hers, unsure what was next but trying to remain in the moment for as long as he could.
Zorii pulled back, placing her palm on Poe’s cheek.
“Do what you need to do. Then get yourself back to Sorgan, Poe,” she said. “Or I’ll have to come kill you myself.”
Poe fought his instinct to kiss her again. To say something foolish he wasn’t sure he meant. Something he might mean, if things were to go a certain way. He’d cared for people before—felt the flutter of excitement at something new with someone, only to see it dashed. Hope and romance were never guaranteed in the wilds of the galaxy. Even at sixteen, Poe Dameron knew that.
Instead, he s
lapped the hull of the ship and pointed at the EV droid, whom he’d come to admire more than he’d expected.
“Get her home safe, Eevee,” Poe said, jumping back from the ship as it began to move. He thought he heard the droid respond in the affirmative, but any words were lost—overwhelmed by the sound of the ship’s engines as it headed toward open space.
Poe thought he saw Zorii wave goodbye as the ship sped out of the opening hangar doors, but he could have just as easily imagined it. He didn’t have much time to ponder, either, as he heard a rustling that could only mean one thing.
“You’re not getting off this ship that easily,” Sela Trune said, a sharp grimace on her bruised face. Her blaster was pointed squarely at Poe’s head. “And if you do, you won’t be breathing.”
It was a standoff.
Poe clutched his blaster, which was trained on Sela Trune, the focused, hard-nosed New Republic officer who also happened to have her blaster trained on him. He was wobbly, feeling feverish and weak from the injury Ledesmar had inflicted on him earlier. If Trune fired first, he’d return the favor. And vice versa. Mutually guaranteed destruction didn’t strike Poe as the best way to ensure a healthy life.
“Whatever you’re after, it’s gone,” Poe said, motioning with his head toward the closing hangar doors. “Your ships could’ve probably caught up to her, but I doubt they’d want to leave you here on this rusty bucket.”
“You talk like a seasoned criminal, Poe,” Trune said, taking a half step forward. “I wonder what your father—or L’ulo L’ampar—would say if they saw you now, making veiled threats against someone who serves the same side they do. The same side Shara Bey did.”
Poe lunged at Trune. He didn’t realize he was doing it until he was well on his way, blaster raised and fist moving toward her. The mention of his mother had been enough to shock an already frayed nerve into a fit of angry spasms. What did Sela Trune know of his life, of the people he cared about? Or why he’d fled Yavin 4?
What gave her the right?
His fist made contact with Trune’s shoulder, sending her back and knocking her blaster out of her reach. She recovered fast, slamming her palm into Poe’s chin, snapping his head back and loosening his grip on his blaster. They stood facing each other, both bloodied, only their hands to defend themselves. Angry, spent—but not dead.
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