Galaxy's Edge

by Delilah S. Dawson

  Vi lifted her shawl to show the knife on her belt. Ylena didn’t mention the blaster and tac baton.

  “Good. We’ll work side by side today as you get the hang of things. As time goes on, you can work alone or near others, if you’re in the mood for conversation. Watch out for old Dotti—she doesn’t have a mute button—or a filter. As you sort through your stack, toss the obvious garbage into the lane and sort the keepers into your basket. Every so often, a droid will come along and sweep up the trash.”

  “Got it.”

  Vi was soon absorbed in her work. She started out squatting, but when she noticed how Ylena would pick some piece of junk, an old chair or a child’s riding toy, and sit on it as she moved through the pile, that strategy provided some relief. Some of it was easy to toss—the gutted tablets and old bottles and occasional moldering snack food still in its package. But even after her years of training and spying, every now and then she ran across some item she couldn’t begin to identify. Ylena helped her with the more common objects and encouraged her to throw anything that looked old or valuable into her basket, just in case. When the suns were high in the sky and Vi was contemplating her need for a hat, a gong rang. Ylena stood and tilted her head toward the shed where they’d started out, and Vi followed her, pulling her cart along. There, they sorted their finds into bins, one for tech, one for valuable metals, one for antiques and curiosities, one for items of question, and the smallest one for possible artifacts and other items of historical or monetary significance.

  “Savi sorts these bins himself,” Ylena told Vi.

  The rest of the Gatherers rolled their carts in, laughing and talking and bragging as they pawed through their finds. Various droids rushed out to collect the piles of refuse left in the lanes. The cranes ground to a halt and the sharp buzz of saws went silent, and Ylena pulled a large basket out of the shed and distributed wrapped packets. When Vi ripped hers open, she found a flatbread sandwich.

  “Lunch is included?” she asked.

  Ylena grinned. “Of course. I told you—Savi takes care of us. There’s a water fountain by the restroom, if you get thirsty. If you bring your own canteen, you can fill it and keep it with you throughout the day. You’re no good to us dehydrated.”

  Vi could’ve kicked herself for forgetting her canteen, but she had a lot to learn about the daily grind. Her sandwich was excellent and just the right amount of food to keep her working but not make her feel sleepy or full. She and Ylena were soon back in the fray with their emptied baskets, and the work became almost meditative. The fact that every single object required an evaluation and decision used up most of her mind so that, for what seemed like the first time in her life, she wasn’t running a constant internal monologue about what needed to be done or berating herself for what had gone wrong. Time passed smoothly, interrupted only by Dotti’s cackling laugh or a curious pipa bird landing on the junk pile in a flash of white feathers and long pink beak. When the gong sounded again, she looked up, startled. The breeze was cool, and the piles of junk cast long purple shadows.

  “Are we done?” she asked. It was almost like waking from a dream.

  Ylena nodded. “Well, we need to sort our baskets, but it won’t take long. The suns take a while to set here, after all.”

  They pulled their carts back to the shed and repeated their sorting. Vi noticed that there were just two items in the artifact bin, and one of them almost reminded her of a lightsaber hilt—or a piece of one. She was about to ask when Ylena put a hand on her arm.

  “We usually go into town for dinner and drinks to celebrate when someone new joins us,” she said. “I should’ve asked you earlier if you wanted to go. It’s up to you. I know you must be tired.”

  Vi looked around at Savi’s Gatherers. They looked an unusually clean and pleasant crew for folk who worked in a junkyard. Everyone was smiling, and no one had hazed her or roughed her up or threatened her. It was…downright unsettling.

  “Sure,” she said.

  In town, over drinks, she’d learn more about her co-workers, about Savi—and hopefully, about Black Spire Outpost itself.

  IT WAS A PLEASANT WALK TO town along Savi’s Path. Birds sang and flitted in the trees, and something about the area felt safe and protected, almost charmed. As Ylena had mentioned, they had to walk through a rudimentary scanner first to make sure no one was smuggling out anything, which they weren’t—and they were all good-natured about the process.

  Vi’s co-workers seemed to be a cheerful, easy-going bunch. She counted ten humans, a Devaronian, a four-armed Xexto, and one quiet blue Narquois, although not everyone planned to join the group for dinner. No one stood out as the jerk everyone else barely tolerated. The gentle teasing and friendly roughhousing almost reminded her of the Resistance. As they talked and joked, she joined in, telling them a little about herself but not of her other work on the planet. She would save that for later this evening, after they were a few drinks in and once she had determined whether anyone might secretly be an old-fashioned Empire enthusiast or a First Order follower.

  Without even discussing the decision, they passed right by Ronto Roasters and went to Docking Bay 7 Food and Cargo in the spaceport, where a surly Artiodac was the current operator of a weekly food freighter called Tuggs’ Grub.

  “Cookie is only here one week out of the month, but when he’s here, we’re here,” Ylena told Vi. “He used to work at Maz Kanata’s castle, if you can believe it. Best grub on the planet—for at least six days out of thirty.”

  Vi wasn’t so sure that she wanted to eat food served out a window, but once she’d tasted the fried Endorian tip-yip, she decided she would be here for six days, too. Their group found a table with room for Roxi’s hoverchair and sat, and Vi felt the knot behind her shoulders completely relax for the first time since they’d landed—well, crashed. She wasn’t hiding, she wasn’t suffering, she wasn’t in trouble, she wasn’t in charge. She was just…free.

  The conversation stayed light as the stars rose, and Vi sighed and enjoyed the nighttime beauty of Batuu. The stars were sharp here, the moons were big and soulful, and a light breeze brought the scent of night-blooming flowers. The lanterns danced, throwing triangles of light across the walls and floors, and music flittered out of the cantina. When everyone was done eating, that’s exactly where they went.

  Oga’s cantina had been quiet when she and Salju visited during the slow part of a workday afternoon, but at night it was clearly the place to be in Black Spire Outpost. Laughter, shouts, and the clatter of full glasses beckoned, and the group had to stand around a table until a booth opened up. After a full day of sitting and squatting, Vi didn’t really mind it so much. She appreciated the room’s warm, cozy glow, and any time the conversation lagged, her eye landed on an interesting tap behind the bar or followed movement as some colorful scoundrel slipped into the shadows. She started with the drink Ylena suggested, a Dagobah Slug Slinger. Vi raised her glass and murmured, “Now and till the spire!” with everyone else, and the night began in earnest.

  Soon she found herself not acting as a spy and outsider but…actually participating in the conversation, genuinely laughing at the jokes. That separation was part of being a spy—always being outside of things, always listening, always watching. Whatever a spy appeared to be doing in public was generally an act to hide what they were really doing. And, yes, Vi was always listening for the words Resistance and First Order, but mostly she was laughing at the antics of Roxi’s tree-goat, which kept inexplicably ending up on top of her neighbor’s house and requiring a borrowed crane to be retrieved.

  Vi didn’t have much money, but she wanted to be well liked by her co-workers, and she knew she was going to be on the planet for quite some time, so she went to the bar to buy the next round. When she came back bearing the tray herself, they’d taken over a corner booth and waved her over cheerfully. It was nice—they seemed to like her. The actual her.
When they asked her where she was from, she even opened up enough to tell them true stories about getting in trouble back on Chaaktil with her brother Baako.

  “So how’d you end up here?” Dotti finally asked. “Offworlders bring the best stories. Whatever you’re running from, we won’t turn you in!” The old woman had drunk more than anyone at the table and had her dark eyes trained on Vi like a bird hunting for berries.

  Vi looked around at their faces—Ylena, Dotti, Roxi, Danjo, Lin, Madi Ro, Uz, Da-zorai, Fenda. It was time, she realized. Time to test the waters. Maybe time to start recruiting.

  She put her drink down and leaned in.

  “I lost friends in the Hosnian Cataclysm. Saw some action. Barely escaped the First Order myself. So I went looking for a place just like this.”

  Dotti nodded knowingly. “A place to hide. You chose wise, young’un. No troubles come to Batuu! The First Order—ha!”

  “But what if they did come?” Vi pressed. “What would happen then?”

  Ylena looked amused as she sipped her drink, but everyone else just looked befuddled.

  “Why would anyone come to Batuu? It’s not important,” Roxi finally said.

  “Maybe that’s exactly why it’s important,” Vi answered, passion rising unbidden in her words. “People can hide here…but so can ships. So can movements. It’s a good place to take shelter. And to plan. To rebuild. To recruit.”

  “You’re talking about the Resistance,” Roxi confirmed, her voice low.

  In answer, Vi sat back, sipped her drink, and winked.

  It was as if a little ripple went through the group. They looked to one another and to Ylena as if unsure how to go on, as if this information made them uncomfortable. Except for old Dotti, who scoffed.

  “Resistance, Rebels, Republic, Senate. The First Order, and the Empire before ’em. All that gobbledygook has always happened far away. Their little scuffles are no problem of ours. This is the forgotten edge of the galaxy, child! Don’t fill their heads with nonsense.”

  “It’s all real,” Vi said, her tone firm. “The Resistance, and the First Order. If you’d seen the things I’ve seen, things that happened on planets just as remote as yours, you would have no choice but to take it seriously. One day, you’ll have to—I promise you.”

  Flapping a hand, Dotti finished her beer and burped before saying, “Lived here my whole life, and it’s never been a bother. I didn’t get this old worrying about other people’s fights.”

  “But the First Order—” Vi began.

  “Villains, of course, if they exist,” Dotti interrupted, “but they’re as far off as the Resistance to the likes of us. And if they did come, I’d probably just do whatever they asked. Never pays, fighting bullies.”

  “Glad Batuu’s not worth wanting,” Roxi added. “No point in robbing someone who isn’t rich, is there?”

  “I’ll drink to that!” Dotti shouted, waving at the bartender for her next drink.

  Vi ground her teeth. It was impossible to make any headway with someone like Dotti squatting on your efforts, so certain that her own view was the only correct one even though she’d never experienced the greater galaxy herself. So she tried another tack.

  “So maybe you’re not worried about the First Order, but have you thought about the benefits of joining the Resistance? Getting offplanet, seeing new places, learning how to—”

  “Benefits can’t be that good if you took a second job as a scrapper,” Dotti said, and then she burst out laughing, and everyone else joined in. Vi could only sit there, helpless and annoyed, marinating in her own failure. She’d crashed the ship, she’d lost their cargo, and now her first recruitment effort had turned into a joke.

  “And what if your very presence here brings them?” Lin said, his eyes wide. “What if they didn’t even think about us before, but then they heard the Resistance was here, and they punished us for it?”

  “Mm, yes.” Dotti nodded sagely as if she’d thought of it. “What if you’re the problem?” She followed that up with a cackle, and the rest joined in with nervous laughter.

  “This is a fight of good and evil.” Ylena’s voice was quiet but strong, and Dotti stopped laughing. “And evil is always the problem. We believe in good, and we do our work quietly. But I assure you: Anyone who works for Savi is against the First Order, as we were against the Empire before it.”

  “But do you believe Batuu is worth fighting for?” Vi asked, stabbing the table with a finger for emphasis. “Because I do. And General Organa does, too. That’s why she sent me here.”

  Much to her surprise, her fellow Gatherers…didn’t seem surprised or impressed by this knowledge.

  “To work at the junkyard?” Dotti asked before cackling and rocking back again. “Not much of a general!”

  “What’s she like?” Roxi asked. “She always seemed kind, on the holos.”

  “And smart,” Da-zorai added with a nod of approval.

  Vi was glad that something of Leia’s work had reached the planet. “Kind, perhaps, but strong. Smart and wise. She sent me here to recruit for the Resistance. I arrived with a transport ship full of cargo that was meant to build our command location—but that cargo was stolen when my transport crashed. So that’s what I’m working toward, that’s why I’m at the scrapyard. I need to buy it all back. And find people willing to become a part of something great.”

  The Gatherers sipped their drinks and looked to Ylena like they were uncertain how to continue the conversation. Ylena smiled her warm smile and put a hand on Vi’s shoulder.

  “Everything happens for a reason, as the Force wills it. Perhaps Vi was meant to join us here.”

  That kind of answer wasn’t very helpful. “I’m not here to focus on philosophy. I’m here to build a facility so the Resistance has a place where we can hide from the First Order and continue planning our defense against tyranny. We’re trying to stop what happened to the Hosnian system from ever happening again. We need resources, and, more important, we need people.”

  Dotti snorted White Wampa Ale out her nose. “If the Resistance general is so smart, why did she send you here to ask the likes of us for help? I can’t build anything but a bar tab!”

  Vi struggled not to reveal her frustration. “General Organa believes that anyone can be a hero. Everyone has something to contribute, a special gift to share with the galaxy. The Resistance is built on people, on hope. It’s about standing up to oppression, doing what’s right, and helping others. Scrappers are valuable, just as valuable as pilots and officers. The First Order doesn’t believe that, but we do. Anyone here could ignite that spark and help light the way to victory.”

  The Gatherers considered her words, and Dotti left for the bar, but Ylena’s smile was gentle and a little sad. “What you must understand about Black Spire Outpost is that no one here is rich. No one can leave their job to come work for you for free, no matter how good the cause. We have our own reasons for doing things. We have our own balance to maintain. There is more under the surface than you can see from two days among us.”

  Vi shook her head and sipped her drink. They didn’t understand. If the First Order came here, they would take over everything. Destroy businesses, raze homes to the ground, kill people, take whatever resources they wanted. If they came to Batuu, there would be no balance. The knot was back between her shoulders, and her jaw was clenched again. Spying was easy compared with this—with facing willful ignorance and stubborn naïveté.

  “Let’s hope you’re all right and I’m wrong,” she said softly. “Let’s hope you’re free to maintain that balance.”

  “The world naturally shifts to accommodate imbalance,” Ylena said with an apologetic shrug that the others echoed. “It’s not always comfortable, but that is life. Discomfort helps us grow.”

  Vi put her head in her hands. It wasn’t as if she’d thought that one whispered sp
eech in a bar would sway these people to her side, but…like most people who had never experienced war or tragedy, they just didn’t get it.

  “The discomfort of being executed by stormtroopers won’t help anyone grow,” she muttered, slumping down and sucking up her drink until her tongue went numb.

  The scrappers watched her for a few moments as if watching a pot that was on the edge of boiling over, but when she didn’t rouse again, they built back up to their usual cheerful chatter. Lin kept glancing at her nervously and whispering to Fenda. Dotti came back with a new drink, and she and Ylena had their heads together and were whispering, and Vi felt like she’d lost any goodwill she’d begun to build. She’d made her pitch, they hadn’t bought it, and now she was just the weird, paranoid new person trying to shake things up. At least they didn’t shun her or order her away. Ylena bought the next round and brought Vi another drink, trying to include her in the conversation again, and Vi realized Ylena had to be one of the kindest people she’d ever met.

  “General Organa would like you,” she said, and Ylena’s already rosy cheeks glowed.

  “Is it true that she used the Force to fly back to her ship after an explosion?” Ylena asked, quietly enough that the others couldn’t hear. “We heard rumors, but then again, so much of what we hear is rumors.”

  Vi looked at her sharply. “I was to understand that incident wasn’t public knowledge,” she said carefully. “Where did you hear it?”

  Ylena ducked her head. “I can’t quite remember. Someone Savi knows offplanet.”

  “Then it’s true, yeah. I wasn’t there, but we spoke about it.”

  Vi didn’t just tell Ylena this secret because she’d had a few drinks. It was mainly because she wanted to regain trust, and if the woman already believed it, what was the harm? She would use any means necessary to get the locals on her side. If telling tales of the glamorous Princess Leia’s exciting exploits was the key to winning them over, then that’s what they’d get.