Galaxy's Edge

by Delilah S. Dawson

  “Here’s what I know, Granny,” she said, abandoning all pleasantry and cajolery to show the pain under the mask she always wore. “I grew up on Chaaktil. One day, we were in the market, just buying bread and fruit for dinner. Some stormtroopers came through. Old-school Empire guys. They shot some locals to make their point. Just rounded up a random group of people. My father was one of them. He died on his knees with his hands behind his head. I had to hold my little brother back from running into the blasterfire. I was five. After that, they razed our hydroponic gardens and set our homes on fire for good measure. So don’t you dare tell me that keeping your head down is a foolproof method for growing old.” She took a couple of limping steps. “Now, which way is the outpost? Because if I’m going to spend breath trying to find good people willing to fight for their way of life and for freedom all across the galaxy, I’m going to at least talk to more than two people and a pig.”

  Grana harrumphed, but Dolin’s open mouth closed with a snap.

  “They burned your gardens?” he asked.

  “To the sand. And it wasn’t just our own personal garden—it was the community garden. The entire city depended on that harvest. Just like the Empire, the First Order doesn’t care about the people, much less the land and beasts that sustain them. People with no hope, with no homes or food, are weaker and easier to control.”

  Dolin’s jaw firmed up and his eyebrows struggled down, and he finally stood, puffing out his chest.

  “I want to help,” he said.

  “No!” Grana barked. “Your place is here. Tend to your beasts, sow your seeds, care for your elders! That is our way!”

  Dolin hooked a thumb at Vi. “Sounds like the First Order wants to put a stop to our way. If they’re here, then I want to help fight them. I don’t have a lot of experience with weapons outside of hunting and butchering, but I’m smarter than I look.” The truffleboar capered around him, snorting excitedly, his trotters clicking on the floor. “Waba’s in, too.”

  In that moment, Vi felt as if a heavy weight had fallen from her shoulders. There was this tender point in time when you felt a heart twist open and a new possibility flood in, and it was happening now. One poor man’s yes was the finest sound in the galaxy. She grinned.

  “Great. Let’s go. If you can help me get back to the outpost, I’ll collect my cargo, and you can join us at our temporary camp.”

  “There’s more of you?”

  “He means girls,” the old woman grumbled. “Girl-crazy, he is.”

  “I only know nine girls my age!” Dolin wailed. “And I’m related to six of them!”

  Vi tried not to laugh. “I just got here, and there have been setbacks, but I promise you that the galaxy outside of your farm has plenty of women of all species, as does the Resistance.”

  Dolin grinned. “Let me pack a bag.”

  He hurried off with Waba on his heels, and Grana stood and stalked toward Vi. “You can’t take my grandson away from me,” she said, her voice low and ugly. “He’s never been off the settlement. He knows nothing of the outpost and what’s beyond it. He’s weak. Tender. Foolish. It’ll destroy him. And what’s more, I need him. He runs the farm. He has duties.”

  Vi faced her. “I’m not taking him away from you—he’s choosing to leave, as most children do. He’s an adult. He can do what he wants.”

  “He’s not an adult!” Grana screeched. “He’s only twenty-five!”

  Vi shook her head. “I try not to judge other cultures, but…”

  Before she could complete the thought, Grana lunged forward. Vi’s training kicked in and she jumped back, clasped the old woman’s arm, and slid the knife from her withered fingers.

  “Aren’t healers supposed to do no harm?” Vi said, holding up the sharp stone blade.

  “Just because I healed you doesn’t mean I’m a healer. I took no oaths.”

  “I can see that.”

  The tiny old woman drew herself up as tall as she could and stuck out her hand.

  “Return my knife and get out of my house.”

  Vi walked to the door, knife in hand. “Once I’m out of throwing range, I’ll drop it. I don’t trust you, Grana.”

  Grana’s nose wrinkled up. “And I don’t trust you. I always told the boy: Offworlders are trouble.”

  “Trust me on this: Offworlders are going to save your life—and your animals and farm. Maybe even your planet.”

  Vi moved aside the blanket covering the doorway and squinted against the afternoon light, which felt a thousand times brighter than it should have. So easy to forget she’d recently been dying of poison. Poison left behind by an ancient, forgotten civilization that really, really didn’t want people among their ruins. It would be good, having Dolin around. Maybe he knew how to disengage and clean out the traps so the caverns could be made habitable.

  “May the spires keep you,” she called back to Grana.

  “Oh, go sit on a spire and twirl,” Grana replied.

  Vi let the blanket fall back in place, blocking the old woman’s rude hand gesture. Once outside, she saw a new side of Batuu. Squat, round homes made of stone and dried clay were widely spaced in an immense clearing ringed by the huge trees and spires. Fields of grain waved in the breeze, careful lines of vegetables sprouted inside nicely kept fences, fruit trees and bushes flourished, and herds of woolly beasts milled about in pastures, grazing and making a soft whuffling gruff noise as little girls and boys watched over them, half asleep and cradling shepherd’s crooks. Farther away, a blue river twinkled among the green, and beyond it, a larger settlement spread out, big enough to make this one look quaint and rustic. She couldn’t tell where she was in relation to the ruins or the outpost, but they were far enough out that it felt as quiet as the forest where she and Archex had made their camp.

  This picturesque settlement was just the sort of place the First Order would destroy without a second thought, a place with nothing they wanted but everything they hated. To them, destroying all these lives, all this work, would carry no more importance than an anthill, smeared by the foot of a careless child.

  The blanket moved aside, and Dolin stepped out with a bag slung over his shoulder. “I’m ready. Want to take my crankbike?”

  “I don’t know what that is, but if it means I don’t have to walk, sure.”

  When he pulled the rough brown tarp off a bulky shape leaning against the hut, Vi had to admit she was surprised. A crankbike looked like it had begun life as a swoop bike, but had then been added to over the years, just like the outpost itself. It had huge back tires with struts, smaller front tires, and a surprising number of spikes. Tires had gone out of fashion as tech spread throughout the galaxy, and now it made sense, all the tires she’d seen in Savi’s scrapyard.

  The seat was big enough for Dolin, and a small box on the back gave Vi a place to perch. Waba rode in a sidecar, and Vi couldn’t help imagining what it would’ve been like if Dolin had invited a local girl to go out for a ride and given his pet pig the place of honor while leaving her to cling to the box. He handed Vi a helmet with goggles, and they were soon zooming through the forest, the bike drowning out all other sounds. It would’ve been a few hours’ walk back to her camp, by her count, but on the crankbike it was only half an hour or so. The kid was fast and had remarkable instincts and reaction time—if all went well, maybe the Resistance pilots could teach him how to fly something significantly bigger.

  As they pulled into camp, Archex stood, his blaster in one hand. The crankbike was pretty loud, after all. As soon as it rumbled to a stop and Vi took off her helmet, Archex relaxed, taking a deep breath and sitting back down on his log.

  “That appears to be a pig,” Pook noted.

  “Sharp as ever, Pook,” Vi said, smiling despite herself at the way a too-smart droid could still sound like a little kid. “Archex, this is Dolin. Dolin, this is Archex.” Doli
n placed the truffleboar on the ground, and Vi added, “And that’s Waba.”

  “And they are…?” Archex asked.

  Vi grinned. “Our first recruits.”

  While Vi went for the medpacs and painkillers, Dolin wandered around the sparse camp, inspecting first their crashed transport and then Pook. The droid inspected him in turn, and when Waba came to smell him, Vi had to say, “Pook, do not kick that pig.”

  Pook put his foot down. “I was merely inspecting him. With my foot.”

  “Well, if you boys are cozy, I need to head into town and give Oga her prize,” Vi said.

  Dolin looked at her in alarm. “But you almost died!”

  Vi shrugged and met Archex’s eyes. “Yeah, that happens a lot. Nothing that can’t be fixed. I feel better already.” When he seemed unconvinced, she rolled up her pant leg to show Dolin the dart wound, which was already healing. “You’re going to love modern medicine.”

  “At least let me carry you to town on the bike.”

  Vi considered it. The thing was big and loud, and Dolin hadn’t been to the outpost before and would probably attract attention as he gaped and asked questions she could barely answer herself. Her leg was still swollen and aching, and her arm was beginning to itch as the medpac did its work. But she had to get the necklace to Oga before something worse happened. Once that was accomplished and she had her cargo in hand, she could turn her attention back to her real problem: the First Order.

  “Maybe you could drop me off on the outskirts,” she finally said. “I don’t want you anywhere near Oga’s place, and I don’t want anyone to see me with you. Now that the First Order is here, they’ll be on the lookout for me.”

  Archex bolted up again. “The First Order is here?”

  Vi sighed heavily. “Yeah. Surprise! There was an officer in the ruins with me. I think Oga might’ve sent him after me as a joke, or possibly a backup plan. He had two stormtroopers with him, but you know he wouldn’t be here without more of them.”

  “Let me go,” Archex said, voice husky with emotion.

  Vi walked over and pushed him back down to sitting on his log. It was all too easy, and she briefly felt shame and guilt for doing it to him, but she had to get her point across, and for something this important, words weren’t enough. “That leg can’t hold you up in a fighting stance. It might never be able to, Kalonia said. You can’t fight one trooper, much less a squad or platoon. And if anyone recognizes you, things will get personal fast. So you have to stay here and protect the camp.” He looked like he was going to argue, so she barked, “And that’s an order!” As she climbed back up on the bike behind Dolin and rammed on her helmet, she added, “And also, please watch the truffleboar.”

  They shrieked out of the clearing before Archex could complain. Vi didn’t look back. She didn’t want to see the hurt and rage on his face—and she also didn’t want him to see how much it scared her, the thought of what would happen to him if the First Order discovered their turncoat captain.

  The crankbike was too loud for talking, but it was a peaceful kind of noise, and the late afternoon was pretty under the canopy. When Black Spire Outpost came into view, she tapped Dolin on the shoulder, and he stopped and waited for her to climb down. She pointed at the ground, hoping he understood that she wanted him to stay there. He nodded, and she kept her helmet on as she walked toward the arched entranceway of the outpost.

  The goggles and helmet were a common enough look, but she knew it would stand out to anyone looking for a spy. She put the helmet under her arm as she ducked into Dok-Ondar’s Den of Antiquities to see if he might have something more natural, the sort of mask a being might wear constantly instead of removing it for social situations. The shop was immediately compelling, with a carved stone mural showing an ancient battle that included lightsabers. On the other side of the mural she discovered a tall and curious chamber filled with fascinating artifacts, objects, and actual paper books. Everywhere she looked, something drew her eye. On a high mezzanine, she noticed a variety of ceremonial headdresses and masks, on another tall wall she goggled at taxidermied beasts with menacing teeth, including a terrifying Nexu, a bug-eyed Kod’yok, and a shaggy white snow monster. A special tank housed a baby sarlacc, its revealed belly glowing under the sand. One object in particular looked promising until she realized it was a Kaleesh mask, which would only make her stand out more. Ithorian weather chimes dangled from a chandelier of interlocking circles, adding shifting shadows and an esoteric grandeur to the space.

  “Can I help you?” asked an older human woman in tattered robes, smiling the smile of someone who knows just how effectively interesting objects can sell themselves.

  “I need a mask,” Vi told her, as if this was a perfectly normal thing to request. “Something that will filter air and disguise my appearance from the neck up. I got in some trouble with another smuggler, and, you know.” She smiled a crooked smile. The fewer details, the better, when you were telling lies.

  The woman’s mouth quirked up. “You know, I think we have just the thing, and you can be assured all our transactions are discreet. Follow me.”

  As the woman moved around the cavernous interior filled with nooks and crannies, the hair rose up the back of Vi’s neck, that old spy’s intuition. Someone was staring at her. She flicked her eyes at a dianoga’s tank and saw the reflection of a tall Ithorian in robes watching her from the mezzanine.

  So that was Dok-Ondar. It was better if she didn’t speak to him directly or even acknowledge that she had noticed the crafty collector of black-market goods.

  “Here we are!” the woman said, reappearing as if by magic. “An Ubese helmet. Filters air, adjusts for light quality. It’s older and a little small, but it should help you blend in. We see enough of them in the spaceport that it won’t stand out.”

  Vi set down Dolin’s crankbike helmet, and the saleswoman put the Ubese helmet in her hands. She inspected the inside of it briefly for blood or other unpleasantry before pulling it on. Her immediate feeling was one of claustrophobia, but as she adjusted to the way it filtered sound and light, she realized it was actually a perfect choice. No one asked an Ubese to remove their helmet. Vi didn’t even know what an unmasked Ubese looked like.

  “How much?” she said through the helmet, appreciating how it masked her voice as well, making it unclear whether she was male or female, old or young.

  The woman cheerfully named a price so high that Vi had to stop herself from laughing, and Vi took off the helmet and held it out.

  “I can’t afford that, but I appreciate your time,” she said.

  “No one can afford it,” the woman conceded, but the Ithorian standing on the mezzanine said something in his deep, throaty language.

  The woman listened respectfully and inclined her head. “Dok-Ondar recognizes your need and asks if you have anything of value to trade,” she said out loud, and then, more quietly, “I would not disappoint him, if you are able.”

  Vi was too well trained to touch the necklace she owed Oga, but she did reach into her pocket and pull out the case containing the darts—two that had failed to hit her and one that had. Was it a smart move, giving ancient and intriguing poisons to a shadowy and powerful character who ran the black market in Black Spire Outpost?

  Probably not.

  But it was better than getting on his Doklist. Dok had plenty of untraceable ways to kill people already, from what she’d heard around town, so it’s not like the darts were without precedent.

  “Gambuu darts, they’re called,” she said, handing the woman the case.

  The woman smiled and hurried up to the mezzanine. She and Dok went into a room, and soon she returned empty-handed while the Ithorian lingered at the railing up above.

  “Dok-Ondar says you are welcome anytime, and he hopes you enjoy your acquisition from his collection. It is an even trade for the darts. He’d like to
know how you found them?”

  Vi didn’t have long to come up with the right lie, so she went with one that was at least adjacent to the truth. “I found one on a body in the forest. A Trandoshan hunter. The other two were near the corpse.”

  Dok gave a weary sigh and rumbled something that didn’t sound too much like a death threat.

  “Dok-Ondar says that should you find any more such antiquities to trade, he has information that may help you,” the woman translated.

  Vi put on her new disguise and enjoyed the voice that was nothing like her own. “I will take that under consideration. Good trade.”

  Helmet on and still carrying Dolin’s crankbike helmet under her arm, Vi scanned the market outside for First Order troops and, seeing none, headed out. It was time to visit Oga.

  VI WAS ALREADY EXHAUSTED AND COULD feel the painkillers wearing off as she stepped into the cantina. She knew it was ridiculous to keep pushing herself after her time in the ruins, but she didn’t want to possess the necklace for a single moment longer than she had to. She understood well enough now that things on Batuu could be taken away in a flash and fortunes could change in a heartbeat. Walking around most worlds, she felt safe and competent, but Batuu just kept surprising her…or maybe it was that she’d arrived here beat up and hadn’t had the time, energy, or resources to heal properly and rise above. When you were in pain and falling behind, everything was a struggle.

  She went straight to the shady corner where Oga’s minions dominated their usual table. Rusko wasn’t there, but N’arrghela was.

  “Tell Oga I have what she wants,” Vi said, her voice filtered through the Ubese mask and coming out flat and round like a robotic frog.

  N’arrghela looked her up and down and must’ve done the math on Vi’s size and the orange Black Spire wrap she’d been wearing this morning when they’d parted ways, or perhaps the Wookiee knew her scent. She nodded, pushed out of the booth, and disappeared down the dark hallway, leaving just Vi and the Talpini, who hadn’t been introduced to her by name.