Poe Dameron

by Lucasfilm Press

  “Tomasso trusts us,” Zorii said as she continued to lead them down the walkway. “That means a lot.”

  Tomasso, despite his legendary status among thieves and within the Spice Runners gang, had become a bit like a bemused surrogate father to them, putting up with their moods, bad habits, and quirks with a chagrined smile and unexpected patience. But when business beckoned, he was quick to revert to the role of Tomasso, second-in-command of the Spice Runners of Kijimi, and abandon the doting foster father act. Zorii and Poe had sensed the shift happening earlier that morning, when he asked them to meet outside of his ramshackle shed to discuss their orders.

  “Hope we find this guy fast,” Poe said. “This place isn’t what I’d call cozy.”

  “This guy” was a noted smuggler named Alfris Sotin, who’d relayed to the Spice Runners—and various other potential buyers, Tomasso was sure—that he’d come into a large supply of chak-root and a cache of “mint-condition” Imperial weaponry and ships, apparently forgotten in a holding area only Sotin could access. Sotin was a Fiumarian—with a pale, pinkish complexion, pupilless eyes, and a long, sloping forehead. From what Tomasso had told them, Fiumarians were also deceptively fast and adept at closing deals—their ability to remain neutral during even the most heated negotiations serving them well as diplomats and smugglers.

  The goal was to negotiate a suitable price with Sotin and then relay word to Tomasso and the rest of the Spice Runners, who’d come and collect the fleet. Then, with just one deal, the organization would take a gigantic leap in terms of size and firepower—the kind of game-changing development that could alter the galaxy’s criminal underworld for generations. But Tomasso had been clear as they left about the potential downside.

  “One thing you’ll learn over time is that often a deal seems too good to be true,” Tomasso said, folding his hands together. “And that’s because it is. Be wary. Listen and be patient. If anything feels strange, step back, reconsider, and wait.”

  Tomasso’s warning was ringing through Poe’s mind as they reached the end of the hallway. He wasn’t sure why.

  “We appear to be closing in on the meeting point, Master Poe and Mistress Zorii,” EV-6B6 said, slowing down her pace. “I believe there’s a—”

  “I see him,” Poe said. He’d come to almost tolerate the droid, but at moments like these, he regretted saving the hunk of metal. He wasn’t really up for having every step of the journey narrated by a bubbly machine. “Hang back and let Zorii and me handle this.”

  “Certainly. I’m here to serve,” EV-6B6 said with a cheerful bounce that seemed out of place.

  The figure stood at the far end of the abandoned promenade—empty storefronts and outdated machinery littering a space that had once housed a lively and active common area. The station, abandoned for years now, had changed hands so many times there were markings and signage from the many regimes that had held sway over it—Imperial propaganda, New Republic optimism, and the bare-bones and direct bartering language of spice runners and thieves.

  Alfris Sotin stood alone on the far edge of the central promenade—thin, medium build, his limbs long and almost slithery. His dark eyes darted around as Poe and Zorii approached, a wry smile on his face. His clothing was baggy and simple, the gray jumper giving off the air of a prison inmate or medical patient, Poe thought.

  “Ah, the fabled Spice Runners sent me their very best hatchlings, eh?” he said smugly. “I’m glad we could make this happen on such short notice. Tomasso seemed very intrigued by my offer.”

  “We all are,” Zorii said, stepping forward. “We have your payment. Where are the ships?”

  Poe knew she was going to take point on the negotiations. It was her area of expertise, not his. Still, his unease grew as they got closer to the smuggler.

  “Patience, patience, young lady,” Sotin said with a wave of his hand. “The art of the deal and all that. Part of the fun is the conversation, don’t you think?”

  “Not really,” Zorii said, her tone muted and all business. “You asked for us, we came. Now let’s trade. Isn’t that your business, smuggler?”

  “Oh, smuggler, such a dirty word,” Sotin said with a grimace, shaking his head. “I prefer dealer—or facilitator. I bring people together, or bring things to people that want them, is all. I’d heard through my channels that the Spice Runners of Kijimi might be on the lookout for some, well, added firepower, shall we say? Prepping for a big battle, are we?”

  “What do you care?” Poe said, stepping in front of Zorii. “Let’s just make the deal as offered and be on our way.”

  He regretted it almost immediately. He’d ruined her momentum. He felt her hand on his shoulder.

  “Let me handle it, Poe,” she whispered in his ear. “Okay?”

  He nodded. She pushed him back gently and moved closer to the Fiumarian.

  “Please forgive my, um, partner,” she said. “He’s a little overeager.”

  “It happens—especially with one so young,” he said. “Not to worry.”

  He looked around the promenade. His demeanor was skittish and strange, Poe thought. Something was up.

  “Can we discuss next steps?” Zorii said, trying to push the conversation forward. “We’re ready to help you. Are you able to return the favor? Let’s get this over with.”

  Sotin smiled his unnerving smile, the deep blackness of his eyes almost hypnotic. He looked amused at Poe and Zorii’s impatience. This Fiumarian known for his negotiating prowess and speedy dealmaking seemed content to sit back and watch them squirm.

  It gave Poe a moment to scan the base around them—the crumbling architecture and untended walls and floors. It looked like something discarded, just pulled out of the trash and dusted off in the hopes of salvation. An isolated point where two groups of thieves met to make deals and try to survive the galactic jungle they both called home.

  Krat. Scritch. Scrit.

  The noises seemed like the usual creaking-space-machinery sounds, Poe tried to tell himself—just standard, nothing-to-worry-about reverberations. The station was old, falling apart. But his gut said something else. His gut screamed one word:

  Run.

  “Eevee, what’s that noise?” Poe whispered to their droid companion as Zorii continued to try to get Sotin to close the deal. “Do you hear it?”

  “I do, yes, but I’ve decided to keep comments to myself, based on how my last few—”

  “Eevee, cut the crap, will you?” Poe hissed. “There’s no time for moping. Can you hear the sounds or not?”

  Poe looked up to see Zorii turning around, her face stricken with panic.

  “What?” Poe asked. “What is it?”

  “It’s a trap,” Zorii said.

  “Oh, don’t take it so personally,” Sotin said. “You can’t be surprised, can you?”

  “Sotin,” Zorii said. “What’s going on here?”

  “He double-crossed us,” Poe said. “You sold us out?”

  “I’m a businessman, you know. So when the Guavians offered me a healthy sum, well, it just made sense. I mean, I am in quite some debt to them, so—”

  The words sent a jolt of terror through Poe’s body. In his months with the Spice Runners, he’d gotten a crash course on the criminal landscape of the galaxy—from Pykes to the Hutt empire to other spice runner groups, it all seemed pretty intuitive. While most of the gangs—despite being competitors—had a sense of understanding of how they fit in with the others, the one exception was the Guavian Death Gang—a cabal chased out of the Core Worlds by their fellow thieves, murderers, and bounty hunters. They were too bad to even be considered part of the bad guys, Poe thought as Tomasso had relayed the story. The Guavian soldiers underwent surgical procedures to augment their physical attributes with cybernetic implants—mechanical reservoirs that pumped chemicals into their bloodstreams to amplify their rage and speed. Most frightening of all, the Death Gang members didn’t make much noise when they approached—communicating with each other via some kind of hi
gh-frequency comlink.

  It was too late, Poe realized as he looked around to see the red-armor-clad figures surrounding them. The sound Poe and EV-6B6 had heard was the scraping of the Guavians’ metal boots on the gravel-coated space station floor—the only giveaway that these faceless killers of killers were coming for them.

  But why? Poe wondered. To what end? What did they have that the Guavians wanted? And who, aside from Tomasso, knew they were coming?

  “What do you want?” Poe asked. “What’s the meaning of this?”

  A trilling chuckle escaped Sotin’s pale lips.

  “Hand over the girl,” Sotin said as the lead Death Gang member, his completely masked face tilting slightly as he pointed at Zorii, stepped forward. “And I’m sure they’ll make your death less painful.”

  Zorii. They were after Zorii Wynn.

  “I’ve been at this game a long time, young man,” Sotin said to Poe. “If I cared about you or your pretty friend, I’d apologize.”

  Sotin took a satisfied breath before continuing.

  “I don’t. This good deed pulled me out of a nasty chit I owed our quiet friends here,” he said. “And that is worth much more than any relationship with the Spice Runners of Kijimi, or Tomasso.”

  “That’s not very nice,” EV-6B6 said, shaking her head. “You don’t seem like a good person.”

  Before the Guavians—about six of them—could begin to close in, Zorii was on the move, shooting first. It was in moments like these that Poe felt closest to her—saw the fire in her eyes and admired how little she hesitated when it was time to take action.

  Zorii pointed her blaster above the crowd and sent up three quick shots. The blasts loosened pieces of the base’s shoddy ceiling, sending chunks of plaster and metal hurtling down toward them. Poe and Zorii were able to lunge backward as the debris began to fall. It wasn’t enough to disable the Guavians—that would prove to be a bigger challenge on any day—but it did give them the one thing they desperately needed: a head start.

  “Go, go,” Zorii said, pulling Poe by the arm, leading him and EV-6B6 down another entryway opposite the hallway they’d come in from. “We don’t have much time.”

  “Smart move there, with the ceiling,” Poe said, out of breath, trying to keep pace. “But I hate to remind you this is not the way we came—the Claw is in the other direction.”

  “I know,” she said, turning around and sending a few hasty shots in the opposite direction. “We’re not going backwards.”

  The fire caused a series of doors to close, which would only delay the Guavians for a few moments—but that might just be enough.

  “It appears we are heading toward the central control terminal, but I must remind you, Mistress Zorii—”

  EV-6B6 didn’t get to finish her sentence before Zorii cut left down another hallway. Poe knew better than to question her at times like this. Even with the distractions and well-timed blaster shots, he could still hear the Guavians making their way toward them. They couldn’t risk getting caught. Getting caught was a death sentence: immediate execution for Poe and EV-6B6, and something longer and more painful for Zorii—depending on why they were after her and who was paying them to take her.

  What is so special about Zorii Wynn? Poe thought as they reached a set of thick double doors. It wasn’t just about the Guavians hunting her down. It was other, smaller things, too. A comment made by Tomasso in passing. Gen Tri asking Poe to ensure Zorii got back to Sorgan safe. A knowing look between Gen Tri and Vigilch aboard the Ragged Claw.

  He tried to ignore the pieces floating in front of his vision. Surely he should know whatever her secret was by now. They’d been so close—more than friends. She knew all there was to know about Poe Dameron—but did he know everything about Zorii?

  She knelt in front of a small terminal to the right of the doors and pulled out her lock-picking kit. The Guavians were maybe ten or fifteen seconds away, Poe guessed.

  “I’ll try to cover you,” he said, turning to face the empty hallway. “Eevee, help Zorii with whatever she needs.”

  “I’ve got this,” she said, applying her tools to the exposed and glitchy wiring. “Let me concentrate.”

  Ankot Station was old and beat-up, which meant it wasn’t going to be a simple rewiring job—transferring power from one area of the base to another to enact a given command, like “open these doors”—it would take a bit more finessing. Poe wasn’t sure they had the time for that.

  The steps were growing louder. A few errant blasts. Then a large group of red shapes, turning and realizing their targets had gone left.

  “They see us,” Poe said, crouching and opening fire. “And that’s bad, in case I need to remind you.”

  The Guavians took their positions and returned fire. Poe had little room to hide, a small inset wall the only bit of cover he could get. But Zorii was wide open. She seemed indifferent to the wave of incoming fire, her eyes locked on the panel, tiny blue sparks flickering off her tools as she tried different methods to get the doors open.

  “Whenever you’re ready, Zorii,” Poe said as he leaned out and sent off a quick volley of blaster fire, landing a blow against one of the lead Guavians. But it had little effect, as the target got back on his feet moments later.

  “They don’t seem to be taking much damage from your blaster, Master Poe,” EV-6B6 said. “Maybe we should try something else? Just a thought.”

  “Yeah, Eevee? What do you suggest? Maybe I should use the laser cannon I’ve been holding in reserve?”

  “I’m just trying to be helpful,” EV-6B6 said, her voice oddly soothing. “But I see my words have made this more stressful for you. I’m sorry.”

  Before they could continue, a loud hiss interrupted them. Poe wheeled around to see Zorii darting through the open doors to the main control terminal. She was motioning for them to follow her.

  “Hurry, before they catch up,” she said. “I got it open, but I’m not sure I can close the doors in time.”

  They followed. Poe turned quickly and did his best to try to give her cover, but the Guavians were coming in hard and fast. Poe took a glancing shot, his arm burning from the close call.

  He got off another few blasts, but the Guavians had given up on trench warfare. Instead, they were just making their way toward the doorway, ignoring Poe’s blaster fire. Some would fall, but the rest would keep coming, unrelenting.

  “They’re not stopping,” Poe said, his nerves coming through in a singsong he hated. “This is not good.”

  “Poe, be quiet,” Zorii snapped, not looking at him. She leaned into the terminal, elbows jutting out at weird angles, brow furrowed. “I’ve…almost…”

  One of the Guavians crossed the threshold. Poe blasted him back, but another took his place. This was how it would end, Poe guessed. Cornered by a pack of murderers on a dead space station, looking for Imperial weaponry that never existed.

  “Got it!”

  The doors closed at an accelerated rate, the huge metal slabs crushing the unlucky Guavian’s leg, leaving the lower half in the control room with them, the rest of him writhing in pain on the other side.

  The red-plated leg smeared blood on the doors as it slid to the ground with an empty clank.

  “That’s disgusting,” Poe said, averting his eyes.

  “You’re welcome,” Zorii said as she walked farther into the room. “We don’t have much time. They’ll regroup and figure out another way inside.”

  Poe caught up with Zorii and placed a hand on her shoulder. She brushed him off, surprised at the touch.

  “Zorii, why are these goons after you?” Poe asked. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, but he pressed. “What is going on?”

  “‘What is going on?’” she said, turning to face him. “I’m trying to save your life, that’s what’s going on. Now let me do my job and then you can do yours—flying us off this godsforsaken base.”

  Poe backed up, hands raised in surrender as Zorii took a seat in front of a large monitor and began
typing feverishly. That was when the thumping noises on the other side of the door began. Then the blaster fire. The Guavians weren’t known for giving up.

  Poe stood behind Zorii, trying to stay out of her way but curious to see what she was doing. On the terminal were numerous real-time cam feeds, showing them different angles and views from around the base. Most were barren—no people, no movement, just broken-down equipment and empty rooms. But the one she enlarged and zoomed in on was familiar—the hallway they’d just evacuated. It showed the gang of Guavians taking turns blasting the door while others seemed to be working on a bigger weapon, a long cannon-like cylinder protruding from a tripod base.

  “What is that?” Poe asked.

  “It appears to be some kind of portable drilling tool,” EV-6B6 said, standing next to Poe. “I imagine it’s quite powerful, which means they’ll be here pretty swiftly.”

  Poe turned to the droid.

  “You’re a fan of stating the obvious, huh?”

  “I like to help,” the droid said without a hint of emotion. “I just want to make sure we’re all working together as a team. It’s the best way to be.”

  Poe didn’t respond, turning his attention back to the screen.

  “Let’s see how they like this,” Zorii said, tapping a quick succession of keys—the final one with a brief, knowing smile.

  Poe moved closer and watched as two small panels on the ceiling above the Guavians opened. Moments after, a green mist was sprayed from the space. It didn’t take long to figure out what the gas was meant to do. The Guavians began to spasm, gripping their helmets and contorting on the ground. After a few more moments, they were immobile. Unconscious or…?

  “They’re alive,” Zorii said, as if reading Poe’s worried expression. She stood up and moved to the opposite end of the room. “Not that they deserve to live. But I know how squeamish you can get about that sort of thing.”

  “How did you know to—to do that?” Poe asked.

  “I studied the schematics Tomasso gave us,” Zorii said, only looking at Poe briefly. “Did you?”