Galaxy's Edge

by Delilah S. Dawson

  “Bloody wonk!” a loud voice cried.

  Everyone glanced at the cantina door, where a small group of exhausted-looking offworlders was hobbling in—well, except the one who was swaggering in ahead of them. The others wore the usual sensible mix of leather, armor, and stained cloth in forgettable shades of brown and black, but the fellow leading them had a taste for the flamboyant.

  The man in question was tall and rail-thin, with long purple hair tied back in a loose ponytail and smudges of kohl around piercing eyes. His ripped black leather pants fit like he’d been sewn into them and thrown into a sartorially minded sarlacc, but the flawless midnight-blue shimmersilk blazer draped over them looked like he’d just bought it from a lower-level Coruscant dive five minutes ago. His loose white blouse and brightly patterned scarf were the last combination Vi would personally want to wear in a fight, but the matte-black blaster on his hip suggested he handled most of his killing from several meters away.

  “Barkeep! An entire bottle of Corellian wine!” he called, facing away from the bar, his elbows on the scarred wood as he leaned back, surveying the room.

  “We don’t have that, I’m afraid,” Nanz said, but instead of giving him the usual glare as he glanced back with a rakish grin, she batted her eyes a little. “What’s your next favorite poison?”

  He turned to face her, leaned in, and winked. “You tell me, missus. If you and I were to go find us a nice corner and down a few, what would you choose?”

  “The Toniray wine is nice,” she said, raising her eyebrows almost suggestively. “If you like to feel a bit dizzy and posh before you forget everything.”

  “Then Toniray it is, and five glasses.” He slid his creds across the bar with one long, elegant, beringed finger and said, “And keep the rest for yourself, eh?”

  Vi would not have thought the grouchy old woman could simper like that, but simper she did. With more swiftness than she showed serving anyone else, she brought down a dusty bottle and a stack of glasses, and the mysterious figure jerked his chin at his companions, took a jaunty step, and stopped abruptly. All the tables had been claimed by regulars who’d had the good sense to get here early.

  All of which only seemed to make the newcomer louder.

  “Bloody sort of port this is, with only one bar and not a single seat!” he boomed.

  His voice was utterly lovely, commanding and loud and clear and just deep enough. If Vi had a voice like that, she would’ve done radio for a living like the outpost’s local hero Palob Godalhi, whose smooth crooning could be heard from pretty much every corner of the outpost, day and night, if one listened hard enough. But here this new, suave smuggler was, howling about a backwater bar, surprised that no one would immediately bolt up and make room for his shenanigans. Pretty much all the locals were laughing at him now, grateful to have something new and interesting to watch.

  “C’mon, Zade,” one of his friends said, standing by a hightop. “This’ll do. We’ve been sitting all day, anyway. Just bring the drink and stop fussing.”

  “Well, of course I’m going to fuss! After a long day of hauling, a man just wants a little elbow room. And possibly a corkscrew.” With a sulky and resentful glance around the cantina, he clanked his bottle and glasses down, pulled the stopper out with his teeth, and poured.

  “To chaos!” he shouted, glass held aloft. As far as Vi could see, every person in the cantina was watching him, whether outright or covertly. Many of them had dropped jaws, and some were whispering.

  “Sure,” one of his friends said, with far less enthusiasm and some amount of embarrassment. “Uh, chaos.” They all clinked their glasses and drank, and the ringleader—Zade—was soon smacking his lips and pouring himself a second glass.

  As his companions focused on their drinks and Zade stopped talking and started gulping, the cantina’s chatter returned to normal.

  “He’s a fancy lad,” Dotti said. “We don’t get that kind here very often. He could be a holostar, couldn’t he? Or a musician? I dated a musician once, when I was young.” Her face became dreamy. “Nice lips on a musician.”

  “He’s definitely interesting,” Ylena said, head cocked as she considered the man. “There’s something about him. He has a certain gleam.”

  That got Vi’s attention. “A gleam?”

  Ylena gave her a knowing smile and nodded.

  As the night drew on, Vi watched the man and caught snatches of the tales he told. Rather than sticking to his own table, he made the rounds like a benevolent prince deigning to visit his underlings. He was loud and enthusiastic, though, and didn’t seem cruel or bullying, which supported what Ylena had said. This Zade definitely didn’t have the feel of a hero, but sometimes the Force knew best, and it always worked in mysterious ways.

  Eventually, the stranger made it to their table, but instead of standing at the edge of it and greeting them, he leapt atop it, strode in a wobbling sort of way across the liquor-sticky wood, and slid into the space between Dotti and Da-zorai. “And who’s this pretty young thing?” he murmured.

  “Your next girlfriend, if you play it right,” Dotti trilled, shimmying a little.

  “He’s a bit much,” Dolin whispered. He was sitting between Dotti and Ylena and had blushed bright red as soon as Dotti began wiggling. Vi didn’t blame him; Dotti could’ve been his grandmother, and Zade had her under his spell.

  “I’ve never seen anyone with this kind of charisma,” Vi whispered so only Ylena and Kriki could hear. “I imagine he could rob her blind and she’d thank him for it.”

  “I’m not a thief, my mysterious friend,” he said, louder. “Although I could be. Got good ears, though. Good hands, too. Most of me, honestly, is pretty good.”

  Vi leaned over, feeling a bit caught out. “I didn’t say you were a thief,” she shot back. “Just that you could be one.”

  “And I might thank you, if you picked the right pocket,” Dotti added.

  “By the stars,” Kriki said. “She’s gone all twitterpated.”

  The man leaned in, one elbow on the table, and held up a drink—Dolin’s drink, if Vi was right. “I do have that effect,” he purred. “I’m Zade Kalliday, by the way. If you need something smuggled, I’m your man. Of course, you would need to steal it first. I’m more of a transport fellow, you know. Getting things from point A to point B with a bit of zigging and zagging in between. My ship’s the Midnight Blade, and she can outrun anything you please.” His smile twisted up a bit. “Usually. Having a spot of local trouble at the moment, but I would definitely give you a deal if you paid first.”

  “Do you have a long-range comm?” Vi asked, making sure not to look too anxious.

  He gave an eye roll. “Naturally. It is a ship. Unfortunately, however, it’s a bit, er, impounded just now. This Oga Garra is quite the character, isn’t she?”

  Vi sighed. Of course it couldn’t be that easy, just traipsing onto a charismatic stranger’s ship and making her calls outside of Oga’s jurisdiction.

  “Let me know when you’ve got her back in your clutches, and I’ll gladly pay for a few moments of privacy with your comm,” she told him.

  He caught her eyes across the table, and even though she was exempt from twitterpation, she recognized the power of his appeal. His eyes were like falling down a waterfall.

  “Oh, I’ll let you know. And give you privacy.”

  The way he said it was like a caress, and Vi shook her head; he’d seen nothing but her eyes and hands, and he was still flirting with her. “Sell it somewhere else,” she said, using the same intonation as Dolin’s grandmother and making the farm boy snort. “I need a comm, but that’s all.”

  After giving Vi a nod that suggested he thought she was lying, Zade kissed Dotti’s hand and made her giggle. Without another word, he jumped back up onto the table, tiptoed around the empty glasses, hopped dramatically to the ground, toasted them,
and tossed back his drink.

  “Hey, that was mine!” Dolin shouted, but Zade had already disappeared into the crowd.

  “I heard him talking to his friends earlier,” Kriki told Vi as the Gatherers all enthused over their new friend. “He owes Oga tons of credits. Hasn’t paid his docking fee in years, so he was supposed to do a job for her to get even, but he got boarded and lost the cargo, and now she’s furious.”

  “Then how is he paying for drinks?” Vi asked.

  Kriki shrugged. “That’s not the sort of thing he’d talk about, I think. But I would definitely check your pockets. People who shout about not being thieves are often just telling you that they’re actually thieves.”

  Vi doubted that even the most talented and charismatic thief could steal from her tightly zipped pockets with three bodies between them, but she checked anyway. Was it possible for someone to have what Ylena called a “gleam” and still be dishonest? Although she chatted with Kriki and Ylena and the rest all night, her eyes casually followed Zade around the bar. The man oozed charisma and goodwill. Everyone loved him. Even Rusko patted the guy on the back, for all that it made Zade snort blue liquor out his nose.

  For once, Vi didn’t leave early—she stayed as long as the other Gatherers. When Ylena got up, Dolin gallantly offered to walk her home, and Kriki asked to join them. Dolin almost managed not to look disappointed to have a tiny, furry chaperone with flawless hearing. But Vi just waved them off with a smile and kept her seat, a little away from Dotti and Roxi, who were both in their cups and slumped on the table.

  The cantina was still active, full to the brim with smugglers and visitors who didn’t have to wake at dawn or risk the fury of their employers. There was a difference in the noise level and energy of the place with the most responsible of the two-ale locals gone for the night. The music got harder, the shouts got louder, and a few fools even got dragged out the door by Rusko for fighting, as it was expressly forbidden by Oga’s posted rules. At least no one got a limb ripped off, although N’arrghela certainly looked like she was waiting for the opportunity.

  “They’re bastards!”

  Zade’s voice rang out, and the clamor of the cantina quieted down a bit. “Trust me, mate: You don’t want to join up wif ’em. The First Order, they call themselves? Ha! There’s nothing orderly about them. They’re thieves. Bullies. Monsters. Took my whole cargo for no reason. I had the proper codes, had my documentation, was flying in the normal space lanes. But they boarded me, saw the value of what was in my hold, and stole it.” A space had cleared around him in the center of the cantina, and he spread his arms and twirled. “And here I am. Hopelessly stuck. Because of the First Order.”

  “That’s just your opinion,” someone said. “They pay good.”

  Zade rounded on the smuggler in question, a squat, bald man, and stuck a finger in his face. “Ha! They pay well as long as you have something they want and it’s easier to pay you a few credits than just take what they want and kill you and do the requisite datawork. Did you see what happened to Hosnian? A whole system, gone, just like that.” He snapped his fingers, and the room went silent, watching, riveted.

  “You can’t fight something that big,” someone else said, and Zade slipped over to stand in front of her.

  “Oh, like a lowly little spikeworm can’t take down a fully grown ronto? I assure you: There’s always a way to fight something big, especially when many small people band together. Or work separately with shared intent and lots of explosives.”

  Vi felt a lift in her heart, watching him work the crowd. He was right on every point, and the people were caught in his spell. The few times Vi had tried to recruit people here, they’d been resistant and grouchy, but when Zade spoke, their faces were open and friendly. Of course, Vi had been trying to sway the hearts of the locals, who were fiercely loyal to Black Spire Outpost and hoped to just ignore the conflicts of the rest of the galaxy in favor of balance back home. And Zade, it seemed, was leaning on the smugglers, like him, who knew full well what was happening out there and who had perhaps been victims of the First Order themselves. Still, watching Zade talk…well, it definitely gave her ideas. For a moment, she almost considered that he might be with the Resistance himself.

  “You shouldn’t be saying things like that,” old Nanz shouted over the din. “There’s an officer in town, and he brought his bucketheads, and if you cause too much of a ruckus, you’ll wake up missing your pretty head!”

  Zade grinned at her and patted his hair as if checking that his head was still attached, but Vi noticed that he did wobble a little. The man had to be soused, but he hid it well. And he was probably accustomed to being pickled.

  “Right you are, lass! It shouldn’t be illegal to speak badly of one’s government, but then again, they’re not quite a government, are they? We had one, once. We had a Senate. It wasn’t always fair and it was a wee bit corrupt, but we had it. And then what happened?” He held up his hands, miming an explosion, and Vi winced. “Kaboom! And now the First Order thinks it can govern, just because it wants to? Well, I didn’t vote for it!”

  “You can’t vote! You’re wanted in two systems!” one of the smugglers shouted, and the room broke out in raucous, drunken laughter. In response, Zade grinned and bowed as if conceding the point.

  “All I’m saying is: Don’t trust ’em. Don’t let that officer dig his vile toes into your sand and set up shop. Don’t let him think he can just come here and rough up your people. Don’t make him feel welcome. Don’t take his credits.”

  “I’ll take anybody’s credits!” another smuggler yelled.

  “Then buy me a drink, my good woman, and let’s discuss something a little less nauseating. Hutts, perhaps?”

  “Hey!” a young Hutt shouted from his corner. “That’s offensive!”

  But Zade had already been enveloped by his fans, and he had a drink in each hand, and he was toasting to the health of his fine new friends. Vi stopped drinking but kept on watching quietly from the shadows. When he finally staggered out of the cantina alone, she slipped away and followed him.

  ALTHOUGH HE’D LOOKED QUITE FUNCTIONAL IN the cantina when still surrounded by a sea of people equally inebriated, out in the alleys Zade was a complete mess. It was soon apparent that he was lost—or maybe, with his ship impounded, he simply had no place to go. He drunkenly lurched to a closed apartment door, pulled out a small datapad to hack the code, and cursed at the door when it refused to open. Vi was just about to go chat him up when she heard the familiar clatter of armor.

  Two stormtroopers came around a corner, blasters in hand. Vi had heard that Kath had his soldiers doing late-night patrols, but she’d thus far easily avoided them. Now she melted back into the shadows, carefully drawing her scarf up to hide her face and tucking it under her goggles so it wouldn’t come loose.

  Zade wobbled to the right, his shoulder fetching up against a wall. He crossed one boot over the other, crossed his arms, and said, “Can’t even enjoy a nice walk without tyranny clumping along to ruin a perfectly pleasant evening.”

  Vi silently smacked her forehead. No way was he a spy, much less Resistance, if he was saying something that suicidal.

  The troopers, who had previously been marching past him, gave each other a look and turned as one, their grips tightening on their blasters.

  “Is there a problem?” one asked, a woman.

  “Yeah, there is. I don’t like my corner of the galaxy getting all mucked up by murderers and dictators. You have no justerfiction—jurbaliction—” He paused and belched. “Jurisdiction here. Can’t go around roughing people up.”

  The other stormtrooper stepped closer, letting his blaster press into Zade’s belly, a feeling Vi knew all too well. “Yes, we can. Who’s going to stop us? Your precious Republic? Bad news, space scum—it’s gone. The First Order is here to bring order, which means that disintegrating someone like you i
s a public service.”

  Zade’s eyebrow went up, and his mouth opened to say something both clever and outrageously stupid, probably the sort of thing that would get him shot. So Vi did a thing she definitely shouldn’t have done: She checked to see that they were alone in the alley, pulled out her own blaster, and shot both of the stormtroopers in the narrow, unarmored space between their helmets and back plates. They both collapsed forward, forcing Zade to step sideways, wincing as if they were leaking on his expensive boots.

  “Hello? My savior? Or possibly my wish come true?” Zade said, squinting toward where Vi hid. He stepped around the fallen troopers. “I’m not hallucinating, am I?”

  Vi looked up and down the alley again before bolting out and tugging off the troopers’ helmets to make sure they were both out of commission. Taking one of the helmets—and both of their blasters—she stood and asked, “You need a place to sleep?”

  Zade looked her up and down. “Are you going to shoot me if I say no?”

  “I’m not going to shoot you, but I will know you’re lying. We should leave before someone notices these troopers are missing. Come on. We’ll talk on the way. Until we get out of town, do me a favor and shut up.”

  “That’s not how I like to—”

  “I said shut up.”

  Vi handed him one of the blasters and jerked her chin toward the fastest way out of town. After disabling the tracker within, she slipped the helmet under her wrap and started jogging, carrying the other blaster in her other hand. What Zade did couldn’t really be called jogging as he was mostly still drunk, but he followed her well enough in a lolloping sort of flailing stagger. Vi stuck to the shady parts of the thoroughfare, as Kriki had shown her, on alert for anyone to cause a ruckus about the troopers they’d left behind. But it was beyond late and all reasonable people were home and asleep. Luckily, the sort of people who were still awake were also the sort of people who didn’t blink twice at random blasterfire and looted bodies.