Galaxy's Edge

by Delilah S. Dawson

  Easy peasy.

  She smiled—too soon.

  Zip! Bang!

  Vi turned, whipped on her goggles, and saw the hook from another grappling gun imbed in the cave ceiling above the oubliette.

  How…was Kath even alive? How had he survived a thermal detonator?

  It didn’t matter how.

  He was still coming. She had to hurry.

  There was no more time for carefully creeping along, testing every stone. She’d have to hope the ancient Batuuans had been more interested in protecting their treasures than in covering their exits. Vi stood and ran into the clearing outside. When she felt the tiny sting in her calf and saw two more insect-sized darts skitter along the ground, she knew she was soon to be just one more of Oga’s corpses.

  VI YANKED OUT THE DART AND clutched it tightly, hoping that if she made it back, Pook could analyze its poison and heal her. On second thought, she picked up the other two darts, which still ostensibly contained their full doses, and snapped all three of them into an empty specimen case in one of her cargo pockets. With no way to know how quickly the toxin in the darts would work, Vi put all her energy into running away from the spot where Kath might eventually emerge.

  She understood the ecosystem here now and was glad for the lack of undergrowth, for the forest floor puffy with old leaves and the tall, curling ferns that would bounce away without revealing her passage. As long as Kath wasn’t a master tracker, and supposing he had taken as much damage as she had, he shouldn’t be able to pursue her. Taking into account where she thought she was in relation to the outpost, she adjusted her course and jogged toward help. Even though she knew that running would only make the poison spread more quickly, she also knew that she’d rather die under the Batuu suns than get taken prisoner by Kath—and his superiors. Certain death versus painful interrogation where she might betray the Resistance, followed by—plot twist—certain death? No contest.

  She got out of sight range of the stone ruins, and for the length of that run, she thought that perhaps the poison had dried up over the eons, or maybe it hadn’t gotten through her cargo pants, or maybe it only affected the ancients, whoever they were. Maybe she’d gotten lucky for once on this cursed planet. But then the world started to go blurry, and everything took on a purplish tint. The spires rose up like winged gray mynocks the size of X-wings, and the ground buckled and rippled and tore beneath her feet, or perhaps it only felt that way.

  Her heart kicked up like a steelpecker hammering on metal, and she licked her parched lips and started muttering, “Gotta keep going. Gotta get back home. Can’t let Leia down. When she was out there floating, she didn’t stop hoping. She opened her eyes. I just gotta keep my eyes open. One foot in front of the other, like I told Cardinal. Archex. He needs me. Resistance needs me. Batuu needs me. Still need both feet. Pook would like it too much if I died. Gotta keep going, gotta keep pestering that sad-sack droid.”

  Vi blinked and stumbled and tumbled, and then she was on her back, blinded by the light. She put up a hand to shield her eyes, but everything had gone white. She felt around the ground, but her hands were numb now, too. Did she even have fingertips? Or fingers? When she tried to speak, her tongue was dry and hard as a stone, too big for her mouth. At least the blaster burn on her arm didn’t hurt, nor did her neck. What a relief.

  “Gotta tell Baako,” she whispered. “Tell Baako I love him.”

  She closed her eyes again and stopped flailing, just calmly settled down and let her limbs fall to the ground. Everything went still, and even the riot of birdsong stopped. It felt like she was in a sensory deprivation tank, like she was floating, like she was waiting to be born. The sky beckoned, and she reached out with her arms, and her fingers spread out, shooting rays of sunlight. Across the galaxy, she felt Baako on Pantora with his husband she still hadn’t met, saw him look up at the sky and smile, then frown. She felt for Leia, wherever she was, keeping the Resistance alive, and Leia stopped speaking to Poe and shook her head as if scolding Vi for interrupting. She felt Archex in the forest, sitting on a log, carving a dugar-dugar from a bit of wood, and he cocked his head and stared hard into the fire as if listening for a song that wasn’t playing, his forehead scrunched down in confusion.

  In that moment, she felt hundreds of lives everywhere, interlaced like the fibers in the yarn of one of her hats, connected in a complex, living circle. She was suffused with love and light, trapped in unending brightness, and it was, she figured, a finer place to die than in the noxious belly of a First Order ship.

  And then, something warm and wet slapped over her cheek.

  “What’s that, Waba?” an unfamiliar voice said. “Not another corpse. Don’t lick it.”

  “Not a corpse,” Vi tried to say, but her lips were quickly becoming as stiff and hard as her tongue.

  “You’re alive? Oh, by the spires. That’s never happened before!”

  Soon she felt fire-hot hands touching her face, rubbing her fingers roughly, and finally picking her up like a baby. She was cold as stone now while everything else was still burning white. She swung like a child in a swing, and from far away, she was aware that she was being carried. The voice murmured to her constantly, urging her to stay alive, to keep breathing—and also urging someone else to come along and stop licking her boots.

  Time meant nothing, and then suddenly it did. Everything was pitch-black now, which was a welcome change. She was lying on something soft that smelled warmly of animals and hay, and someone was pouring something hot down her throat. It burned, and her tongue was boiling, and her teeth were so sensitive, but every time she tried to pull away, strong hands brought her face back around. She pinned her lips.

  “By the spires, you must drink! Drink or die!”

  Vi opened her mouth to say she’d take death, but they just poured more of the foul brew down her now easily accessible throat. A tingling started up in her toes, which she hadn’t felt in some time, and began to spread up her legs. Firm hands were kneading her bare foot, but when she opened her mouth to apologize for the stench, yet more hot drink surged between her lips. When she could finally feel her hands, she held them up in front of her mouth and said, “Let a body breathe.”

  Whoever had been holding her foot released it and crowed in victory. Vi realized she’d been hearing two voices, one belonging to a robust-sounding young man, and the other to an old woman. But when she opened her eyes, everything was still dark.

  “Am…am I blind?” she rasped.

  The old woman cackled madly. “No, child. We’ve wrapped your eyes. Your pupils were so dilated they were like big black saucers. Give it a little time yet, just in case. The poison’s still in your blood.”

  Something wet and warm snuffled around Vi’s foot, and she pulled it back, but gently.

  “Waba! Stop that! It’s rude to lick a stranger’s feet.” That was the young man’s voice, and she heard the sounds of a curious animal being reluctantly dragged away. “Sorry about that. He’s, uh, into smells.”

  “Nothing smells as bad as I do right now, most likely,” Vi said, trying to get her voice working again. Her throat and nose were dry and sore.

  “Well, you very nearly died, at which point you would’ve smelled a lot worse!” The old woman cackled again.

  “Grana, she’s a guest!” the man said, sounding scandalized by the old woman’s behavior.

  “If she doesn’t like a little fun, she can go die in someone else’s home, then.”

  Vi reached up and felt around her face, finding a piece of soft woven cloth over her eyes. She pulled it back just a little, and although the world outside seemed awfully bright, it was no longer blinding. The light was warm and golden, and after a few moments of furious blinking, she was able to remove the cloth and see again, for all that it was blurry.

  She was in a small, cozy room with polished stone floors, hanging metal lamps, and
walls covered in colorful cloth like the shawls in Arta’s shop. By her feet sat an old, withered woman with a sprightly manner and glittering eyes nestled amid a lifetime of warm, brown wrinkles. Her white hair was in a puff on top of her head, and she wore a long yellow tunic over soft leggings.

  “There, now. Told you she would live,” she said triumphantly.

  “You did not, Grana. You swore she was going to die.”

  The hulking form in the corner was the male voice she’d heard, and he was every gram the milk-fed farm boy, with giant shoulders and arms and a round belly. His face was a shade lighter than the old woman’s, his curly brown hair bleached from the suns. He was holding a very excited but strange animal, sort of like a pet-sized happabore with a huge snuffling snout that was busily working to escape his clutches, its four tiny trotters swimming enthusiastically in the air as it strained toward Vi. The boy—no, he was a man. But with a baby face and razor-burnt pink cheeks. Ah—he was embarrassed. Probably because his rude granny was betting against Vi living and his pet piglet wanted nothing more than to lick her feet, dead or alive.

  “Thank you for saving me,” Vi said, as they were all watching her as if she were a droid just coming back online.

  “Dolin found you out by the ruins. You look like you got hit with Gambuu darts. Lucky you were wearing thick pants and the poison was older than me, or you’d be boar food,” the old woman said with a knowing wink.

  “Very lucky,” Vi agreed. She turned to the man—Dolin. “Did you see anyone else in the area? Possibly a man in all black, following me?”

  Dolin’s eyebrows drew down. “No, no one. Is he your friend? Do I need to go back and find him?”

  Vi barked a laugh and shook her head—or tried to. It made her want to pass out. She almost mentioned that she hoped Kath would die out there, but she didn’t think these gentle country folk were accustomed to the bloody war raging elsewhere in the galaxy. “No. Please don’t go help him. If you see him, run away. He’s dangerous. He’s hunting me.”

  The old woman rocked back, slapping her thin leg. “And the story grows! A near-death experience in the ruins, and you were being chased? What’d you do?” She scooted her stool closer, eyes bright as a bird’s. “Is he your husband? Did you scorn him? Or steal his wife? Was it a crime of the heart?”

  Vi rubbed her eyes. “He’s with the First Order, and he wants to capture me.”

  “The First Order?” Dolin asked, stepping forward even as the porcine creature gyrated in his arms, anxious to return to Vi’s stinky feet. “I heard they weren’t even real. Just people wearing old Imperial costumes to frighten children.”

  At that, Vi sat forward and pinned him with a dizzy but firm glare. “The First Order is very real. They blew up the Galactic Senate on Hosnian Prime. They blew up the entire Hosnian system. I lost friends in the cataclysm. I saw the rubble left behind. And if they’re on this planet now, you’re going to want to stay out of their way. Believe me—I know.”

  “If the First Order is real, they would never come here,” the old woman said knowingly, shaking her head for emphasis. Her earlier good mood had fled. “There’s nothing here they want. We’re a quiet place. Mind our own business. Not like those rich planets. Not like Coruscant.” Her nose wrinkled up as she said it

  Vi closed her eyes, her head in her hands. “That’s what everyone always believes. It won’t happen to us. We don’t look for trouble. We’re not doing anything wrong. We’re not important enough. That’s what the skittermouse says to itself as the ebon hawk glides overhead, right up until it feels the chill of shadow and bite of talons. Well, I tell you now that there’s a Star Destroyer floating somewhere overhead, but you won’t see its shadow until it’s too late.”

  When Vi looked up, the old woman’s eyes were narrowed in suspicion. “And you said they’re chasing you. So if they exist, and if they’re here, you’re saying they’re here because of you?”

  Vi’s face was still a little numb, but she felt the hot flush of shame nevertheless. “It’s a lot more complex than that.”

  Dolin put down his pig and stepped near, just behind his granny. The pig-thing shuffled across the floor and pressed its snout against Vi’s hand, and she absentmindedly stroked the stiff bristles on its head, making it snort in ecstasy.

  “So you’re sure they’re here?” Dolin asked. “Not just one guy who probably already died in the ruins but the…the soldiers?”

  “Stormtroopers,” Vi supplied. “If he’s here, they’re here. At least two of them died in the ruins—but there will be more nearby.”

  “Well, why do they want you?”

  Vi settled back. She was exhausted in body and mind. This mission—it wasn’t supposed to be this hard. It should’ve been almost like being on leave. Construct the supplied facility, make friendly contacts among the locals, contact Leia and let her know that her best spy had, as usual, come through. But here Vi was, lost in the forest with these poor naïve farmers, pretty sure she’d almost died—and with the enemy at the gates.

  “Do you really think it matters?” she said, rubbing her eyes tiredly. “You can’t stop them. No one on this planet believes in the Resistance, and until people start believing and taking action, the First Order will just keep showing up, taking resources, and killing anyone who gets in their way.”

  Grana looked far off, thoughtful, but Dolin squatted by Vi, scratching his pig and staring at her with so much earnestness that it hurt her heart. “Have you met the Resistance?”

  He said it with awe, and that was something Vi could work with. She nodded, very serious. “I have.”

  “What’s it like?”

  Vi struggled to keep her face straight. What did he think the Resistance was?

  “The Resistance is a group of individuals who have joined together to fight the tyranny of the First Order. We’re led by General Leia Organa—”

  “Princess Leia,” Dolin breathed, looking dreamy.

  “Princess Leia,” Vi agreed. “We have a fleet and we’re gathering allies every day. There’s a woman named Rey among us, and she has Force abilities. Luke Skywalker trained her.”

  Dolin gasped. “The Force—it’s real? Lightsabers are real? Luke Skywalker is real?”

  Vi’s head dropped. “Skywalker is with the Force now, but he turned the tide. His legacy lives on.”

  “Nothing but stories,” Grana snapped. “Might as well believe in the Snarlok.”

  Dolin looked wounded. “But you told me the Snarlok was real! And that if I didn’t weed the garden fast enough, it would run me through with horns of bone and eat me!”

  “Do you mean the Naklor?” Vi asked, remembering Salju’s tale.

  “No, the Snarlok,” Dolin corrected her. “A fearsome monster that built a black spire out of the corpses of naughty children.”

  “Look, we’re getting off topic. It’s all real,” Vi assured them, giving Grana a hard look. “Not the Snarlok thing, probably, but the Force, the Jedi. Luke and Leia. I’ve seen the Force in action. Rey helped kill Supreme Leader Snoke of the First Order, and she’s going to help us destroy them once and for all.”

  Grana snorted and waved a hand. “Sell it somewhere else.”

  Vi ground her teeth together. Here she was again, failing at her most basic charge.

  Recruit warm bodies. Help rebuild the Resistance.

  It was infuriating, telling people the complete truth and always watching them deny it or turn away from it when Vi herself had to live it. She was a spy, not an orator or even a person who inspired warm fuzzies. How was she supposed to turn their hearts? She sighed and looked down. The pig-thing had its trotters on her knee now and was crooning at her as she scratched behind its ears.

  “So who’s this guy?”

  “Truffleboar,” Dolin said, edging closer. “His name is Waba. He can sniff out truffles, and he can also find
the gruffin herd when they wander too far or go into hiding to calve.” He leaned even farther forward. “Do you have Force powers? Are you a Jedi? Watch! I can move things with my mind.”

  He stretched out a beefy hand toward a stack of kindling by the crackling fire, but after several moments of him groaning and nothing happening, Grana smacked his hand and said, “Stop that. Don’t get involved. You’re a gruffin herder, a grain farmer, a proud son of Batuu. You shouldn’t need anything more.” She hobbled over and poked Vi in the chest. “And you! If I’d known you were only going to stuff more silly stories in the boy’s head, I wouldn’t have saved you!”

  Vi looked around the room. Everything in it was handmade, and much of it was worn and threadbare. The only visible tech was an ancient analog radio with a bent antenna. “I get it.” She nodded at Grana. “Keeping your head down is a good way to stay safe. You avoid trouble. A bigger force like the First Order shows up, and you know that if you take sides, you might get noticed, in the bad way.” She leaned forward, even though it hurt, and poked the old woman in the chest, far more gently. “But if you keep letting bullies bully other people, eventually they run out of other people.”

  “And what would you know, hm? Fancy smuggler, scooting around the galaxy in a ship somebody else paid for. Little people like us are tied to the land, to the crops and the animals. We have history here. A responsibility. We care for our own.” Grana sat back down on her footstool, thin arms crossed and eyes daring Vi to disrespect her elders. “It got me this far.”

  Vi stood and tested her faculties. Her calf was swollen where the dart had struck, but it felt good enough to walk—hopefully. The blaster burn on her arm was going puffy, but that couldn’t be helped just now; if she asked Grana for more medicine, the old woman would probably poison her just to shut her up. Her sight was back, and she definitely felt less dead, but that didn’t mean she felt good. She slipped her fingers under her tunic and touched the necklace there, heavy and warm. She had to get it to Oga quickly. Something about the artifact felt wrong, like it didn’t belong to her and it was all too aware of that fact.