“Yeah, I just need to give the droid a once-over and then I’ll bring her around,” Poe said. “Catch you in a few.”
The guard seemed a bit confused but shrugged and walked toward the mass of Spice Runners and prisoners moving through the field. As he wandered off, their armory envoy arrived, lugging a large case.
“Got as much as I could,” he said. “This’ll do some serious damage.”
“Excellent, this is perfect. I’ll be sure to put in a good word with Zeva Bliss herself,” Poe said, leaning forward and trying to make eye contact with the guard. “This is the kind of work that should never go unnoticed.”
The guard tried to contain his excitement.
“Oh, well, great—thank you,” he said. “That would mean a lot, I mean—”
Poe slapped the guard on the shoulder tentatively.
“Now, get back to your post,” Poe said. “We can’t risk any other incidents, you know?”
“Right, right,” the guard said, taking his previous position by the entrance.
Poe and EV-6B6 began to drag the large case over the dirty field and toward the prisoners. Poe recognized a few of the smugglers being held at gunpoint—Sotin, Crowe, Barso, and Fenris, for starters—but many were new to him. The plan was risky, but he couldn’t think of any other way out. He couldn’t beat back the entire Spice Runners of Kijimi organization by himself. And who better for a thief like Poe to trust than other thieves?
“Don’t answer that,” he muttered to himself.
“Did you say something, Master Dameron?” EV-6B6 asked.
Poe ignored the droid as the handful of guards monitoring the prisoners swiveled toward the sound of the dragging case.
“What’s this, Dameron?” the lead guard said, his features masked by a dark hood.
“Rations,” Poe said. “Figured our prisoners might want a final meal.”
“Meal?” the guard said. “Are you mad? We’re about to execute them all.”
“You talk a good game. Especially for someone training a gun on an unarmed man, Spice Runner,” Crowe said to the guard. The smuggler licked his lips, almost as if he knew what Poe had in mind. “Toss me a gun and we’ll see who gets executed.”
“Just following orders,” Poe said to the lead guard with a shrug. “From Bliss herself before she got caught up in this.”
Poe turned to see how the battle was going. The combatants were two dozen or so meters from Poe and the prisoners. From what he could tell, Trune was atop Bliss, their faces close. It wasn’t looking good for their leader, which was good for Poe.
“Fine, fine,” the lead guard said. He pointed his blaster rifle at the case and spoke to his nearest underlings. “Get this over to the prisoners.”
The guards complied, opening the case. But they didn’t find sealed ration packets inside. The cache of blasters and rifles would be the last thing they saw for quite some time.
“Enjoy your last meal, folks,” Poe said, disabling the two nearest guards with a quick volley of blaster fire. “I hear this dinner does wonders for life expectancy.”
Unfortunately, the remaining guards weren’t as easy to incapacitate, positioning themselves between the cache of weapons and their prisoners. Poe’s heart sank. He’d revealed himself as a traitor, only to see the plan torn down. Poe could see the desperation in the prisoners’ eyes as the remaining guards tried to split their attention between them and Poe. He thought he heard EV-6B6 moving slowly behind him, toward the guards.
“It appears Zeva Bliss has been killed,” EV-6B6 said, her tone uncharacteristically sad. Poe turned to look toward the battle, as did a few of the guards. Before Poe could ask a question, he heard a scuffle and the familiar sound of blaster fire. He looked back to find the lead guard writhing on the ground—Tarand Crowe standing over him, a blaster pointed at his head.
Crowe didn’t bother with a snappy catchphrase, instead sending a few shots into the guard’s head before he moved on to disable another incoming Spice Runner. The odds were getting even.
Some of the prisoners—Caryn, Fenris, Adlerber—just ran, heading toward their ships and hoping to get off-planet. But others, like Crowe and Barso, relished the fight too much. Poe almost allowed himself a laugh. He had pulled it off.
As he started to pivot, he saw a familiar shape speed past him. Without a second thought, Poe reached out and grabbed Sotin by his collar, surprising the slender criminal and tugging him back with a jerk.
“Thought that was you,” Poe said, unable to hide the smile on his face. “Funny how we keep running into each other.”
“Oh, ah, Poe Dameron,” Sotin hissed, unable to make eye contact. “Thank you—for, your help. You—”
Poe swung his elbow into Sotin’s face, sending the smuggler spinning backward. His head hit the ground with a loud thwack. That would have to be enough, Poe thought. There was no time for grudges. At least not to the degree Poe wanted.
“Eevee, I think we just might make it out of this,” Poe said as he fired a blast at an incoming guard, knocking her backward. “I can’t believe it. Can you? I really owe you one. I can’t believe a droid saved my—”
Silence. Poe turned to his right—to the last spot he’d seen the droid. Quiet wasn’t really EV-6B6’s strong suit, Poe knew—and he understood why she’d gone quiet now. Instead of EV-6B6, Poe found a burning, shattered husk, the droid’s head blown clear off and her internal circuitry laid bare for all to see, thick smoke rising from the dismembered shell.
“No, wait, Eevee—what…?” Poe said, reaching for the droid but stopping himself, accepting that the damage was done. Even Babu Frik’s magic touch couldn’t save his friend.
Footsteps. Amid the firefight, Poe heard footsteps. He looked up to see one of the guards, blaster pointed at him. He was close. Close enough to have done some serious damage to EV-6B6. Poe felt his grip tighten around his own blaster, felt his face flush red with anger.
“Think you can just betray us, young pup?” the guard said, his scarred blue face scrunching in anger. The Chagrian’s sharp horns and fleshy head tentacles seemed poised to strike. “One doesn’t just leave the Spice Runners of Kijimi.”
Before Poe could think to fire, the Chagrian’s hand had gripped his throat and lifted him up into the air, his other hand clamped over Poe’s wrist, making it impossible for Poe to shoot his blaster. He could smell the burnt wiring and circuitry that had once been EV-6B6 below.
“What—who are you?” Poe asked between gulped breaths.
“My name is Gezlar,” the Chagrian said, tightening his grip on Poe, his dark smile widening. “But that’s of little use to you now. I knew there was something off about you the moment you arrived. You looked too clean. Too pretty and pure. You didn’t have the blood of a Spice Runner in you. And I was right.”
Poe scratched at the Chagrian’s viselike grip, his one free hand’s nails digging into the light blue flesh—but it didn’t seem to affect Gezlar. If anything, it made him angrier. Poe’s vision blurred, then darkened around the edges. This was it, he thought. He’d gotten so close.
Then Gezlar hesitated as a loud, pained scream interrupted the melee. The large Chagrian looked away from Poe and toward the center of the field, which had been cordoned off by the blasts from Trune’s ship. Poe followed Gezlar’s gaze and his heart sank.
Even from this distance, Poe could see Zeva Bliss hoisting up the shattered body of Sela Trune and tossing it aside like an overloaded bag of trash. Trune landed hard and didn’t move again. Gezlar stared, hypnotized by the violence.
Gezlar’s grip on Poe’s hand loosened slightly, allowing Poe’s fingers to tighten around his blaster. As the Chagrian started to turn back to finish what he’d started, he was met with a shot to the head. The massive hand wrapped around Poe’s neck dropped, and the blue behemoth collapsed to the ground.
Poe coughed loudly, rubbing his neck, which felt rough and scratched but otherwise fine. He gave EV-6B6’s husk one last look and made his way toward Trune.
Toward the right thing.
Zeva Bliss was walking back to Trune’s prone form as Poe sped toward them, finding a small patch of dirt that hadn’t been destroyed by Trune’s ship, which allowed him to cross into their private ring without too much difficulty. Zeva’s back was to him, and Poe had little time to think about strategy. Probably because there wasn’t any to formulate. They were in the final stage, and it was all about luck and instinct. He fired two shots at Zeva Bliss.
One missed. The other made contact, sending Bliss to her knees.
The leader of the Spice Runners of Kijimi got to her feet and turned around slowly, and Poe got a look at her broken and battered helmet before she spoke, her mouth forming a bloodied, maniacal smile.
“Have you also come to Kijimi to die, Poe Dameron?”
She woke up angry—and in pain.
Zorii Bliss came to, her head foggy. Her skin was tingling in a strange way. Her mouth felt dry and her balance was off as she got to her feet, quickly at first but then with more deliberation. Whatever that droid had done to her, it had been bad.
The room was quiet and empty, aside from the small terminal at the far end. She didn’t hear anything happening outside the space but was certain something was going on. How long had she been out?
Most important, where was Poe Dameron?
Poe.
Zorii shook her head. No. She wouldn’t let her emotions interfere. Poe had betrayed them. Betrayed her. She had known this moment was coming fast, she just hadn’t wanted to accept it. Hadn’t wanted to consider that someone she’d come to care for didn’t have the same mettle she did. But the reality was right in front of her face: Poe Dameron was not a Spice Runner of Kijimi. His continued existence put their entire operation at risk.
She groaned as she tried to pick up speed, leaving the room behind and scanning the vacant hallways. She thought she saw some motion at the far end, toward the exit. She heard sounds, too. Cheers?
Poe.
She didn’t want to think about him. She wanted to think of the idea of him—a traitor. An idealistic weakling unable to make the hard decisions that were part and parcel of being a Spice Runner. But her mind—probably the aftereffects of some mild concussion, she reasoned—didn’t make that easy. The images kept popping up as she made her way down the hall. That kiss on the Moraysian cruiser. The embrace in Babu’s workshop, and how natural it felt, even after what seemed like an eternity of iciness. The hyperspace jump and Poe’s bemused grin. How he’d daydream about them running off somewhere together before she’d shot him down. He cared for her, even when they weren’t close or talking or even in the same room. She knew that.
Then why did he betray her?
“Stop it,” she muttered to herself. “Stop it, dammit.”
“Zorii Bliss?”
Zorii spun around. It was a guard. He seemed out of place—confused.
“Yes?” she said. “What’s going on? Where are the prisoners?”
“They’re, well, that’s the prob—”
“What’s happening?” she yelled, grabbing the guard’s arms. He tried to back away but she held on. “Where is Zeva? Where is my mother?”
The guard shook free of her grasp, rubbing one of his arms as if Zorii’s hands had burned him on contact.
“That’s the thing,” he said. “She’s outside…. She’s in combat. The prisoners have escaped. They’re running loose out there—but your mother is trapped. She’s battling this woman, she looks to be a New Republic officer. Young, short hair—”
Trune.
“How? How did the prisoners escape?” Zorii asked, making her way toward the exit. Toward her mother. The guard was following along, keeping pace—but also keeping his distance. “How is this happening?”
“It was, well, it was your friend Dameron,” the guard said, shaking his head in disgust. “And that insipid droid. They brought over some rations, but they were weapons—”
Zorii didn’t let the guard finish. She turned and marched out of the monastery. There was no time, she thought. She had to do something.
What she walked into was pure chaos. It took her a moment to make sense of it. Guards firing indiscriminately. Pirates and smugglers stampeding toward freedom. Screams of surprise and agony. She stepped over what looked like a melted droid. There were no sides. There was no reason. Calling it a melee would be generous. She picked up a fallen blaster and holstered it as she made her way to the center of the wide stretch of land. Then it came into focus. The New Republic ship. A ditch that seemed to circle a few combatants. One was her mother. Zorii could tell even from that distance. Another was on the ground, beaten, perhaps dead. Trune? Zorii wasn’t sure. But then a third—making a cautious approach.
Zorii ran toward the scene, but she was too far away to intercede. Then the interloper came into focus.
She saw Poe Dameron fire on Zeva Bliss, knocking her mother to her knees—blindsiding her.
The leader of the Spice Runners of Kijimi recovered, standing and turning to face her attacker. Zorii couldn’t hear what Zeva Bliss said to Poe. But she had an idea. Zeva didn’t like being shot at.
Zorii Bliss ran.
Poe sent two more blasts at Bliss, no longer interested in a snappy response. There was no room for laughter anymore, he thought. Visions flashed through his mind—his mother’s abandoned A-wing. His father crying to himself in his darkened house. Vigilch impaled. Tomasso bleeding out on an unfamiliar world. EV-6B6 blasted to pieces. He’d seen too much, too fast. He realized this now. He felt so foolish.
Bliss stumbled back, surprised by Poe’s offensive. Picking up on her momentary distraction, he made a beeline for Trune, who was still on the ground, her chest barely moving. He knelt beside the fallen New Republic Security Bureau officer and took her hand.
“We’ll get you help, okay?” Poe said, trying to sound confident but aware her survival was an impossibility. “We’ll find a way off this planet.”
“What happened, Dameron?” Trune said, her voice sounding like boots on shattered glass. “Come to your senses?”
“Something like that,” Poe said. “I’m sorry. Sorry you had to come here and die, just looking for me.”
Trune let out a brief, hoarse laugh.
“Get over yourself, kid,” she said, wincing at every other word. “It’s not about you. It’s not all about you. The Spice Runners killed my family. Didn’t want them…to…destroy yours…too.”
She was gone.
Poe closed Sela Trune’s eyes with his fingertips. He could hear Zeva Bliss approaching him from behind. He stood and turned to face her.
“I knew this wasn’t for you,” Bliss said, raising her sword as she walked toward Poe. “But my daughter tried to convince me. She said you had the heart of a Spice Runner in you. I guess the only way we’ll know for sure…”
She swung her sword, the tip of the blade slicing at Poe’s chest, tearing the fabric of his shirt and leaving a deep cut.
“Is if I cut it out myself,” Bliss said.
“You’re a murderer, not a thief,” Poe said, pointing his blaster at Zeva Bliss, surprised at his own words. “You have no code of honor. The Spice Runners are a fraud.”
Bliss let out a long, manic cackle and took another swing at Poe—the blade grazing his blaster.
“What a quaint little fool you are,” Bliss said. “To think that there’s any kind of honor among thieves.”
Poe got another shot off as Bliss recovered from her sword’s miss, but it went wide. She pushed—hurtling forward, sword raised—and tossed Poe back with a knee to the chest. The wind was knocked out of him as he landed on his back. He still held his blaster, though, and said a silent prayer as he swung it around for another shot.
Before he could pull the trigger, Bliss whirled the sword around again, slicing Poe’s weapon off at the barrel, the tip of the blaster dropping onto the sandy ground with a soft, hopeless sound. He tried to get up, but Bliss was too fast—she sliced at him, the sword cutting deep int
o his right shoulder, pain shooting through his entire body and blood flowing out of the wound with an immediacy and intensity that made Poe wonder if she’d killed him. He gripped his wounded arm and stumbled back, trying to sidestep her follow-up swings as she chased him down a small sand hill toward the far wall. The crowd of Spice Runners looking on was alive again, enjoying the latest undercard match, and let out a long whoop of enjoyment as Poe slipped and fell backward, his head slamming into the ground. Blood and dirt and sand caked his body. His head spun. He could barely make out the shape of Zeva Bliss as she walked toward him, the tip of her sword caressing his chin. This was what it felt like to tiptoe toward death, Poe thought.
Zeva Bliss pulled back, though, and for a second, Poe toyed with the idea that the Spice Runners’ leader might grant him mercy—his brain speed-living a life in a Kijimi prison, visited by a chastising Zorii and perhaps his father. But that low-grade nightmare was put to rest as Zeva Bliss swung her sword down on Poe’s midsection, barely missing his stomach. Poe had shifted to his right just in time to avoid being sliced open—instead earning a deep, painful gash on his ribcage. The pain was like fire, spreading across his body and joining his already electrified arm to form a chorus of anguish that threatened to send Poe into a deep, dark state that he might never climb out of.
Her sword was up again. The end at his throat, the tip poking at his jugular. There’d been a time when Poe Dameron feared nothing more than death, nothing more than a life unlived. But those days had faded, he thought. His only regret now wasn’t the choices he’d made—leaving Yavin 4, following Zorii, joining the Spice Runners—but not having the chance to make more choices. To return home. To join the cause his parents had helped define. To fight for something other than his own selfish thrill seeking.
“Any final words, Poe Dameron?”
Poe took a deep breath. It had gotten hard to swallow. His side and arm ached. His hands were sticky with his own blood.
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