Resistance Reborn (Star Wars)

by Rebecca Roanhorse

  Suralinda had given him a small bottle of oil meant for his hair. He poured some in the cup of one hand and ran it through his curls. It made them shine. He inhaled the scent. It, and now he, smelled expensive.

  He grinned. Lorell Shda was a handsome bastard. And he was about to rob a few Corellian thieves blind. Maybe being undercover wasn’t so bad.

  Someone rapped sharply on the bathroom door.

  “Enter,” he said.

  Suralinda’s head appeared from around the corner. “We’re approaching Coronet City. Are you ready?”

  He turned to give her the full view, hands spread. “How do I look?”

  She narrowed her dark eyes, evaluating. “You’ll do,” she said, her voice purposefully bland.

  “Hey!”

  She laughed. “Hard to believe you’re part of the rag-tag Resistance in those threads.”

  “Isn’t that the idea?”

  “Absolutely. You have the chip card I put in the garment bag?”

  Poe patted his pockets, found the card, and withdrew it for her inspection.

  “Just remember your cover story. You’re a business associate of Hasadar Shu’s. He does ships, you do weapons systems for ships.”

  “Hasadar Shu?”

  Suralinda crossed her arms, irritated. “I told you this. He’s the businessman and aspiring Corellian politician whose wife’s birthday party we’re attending.”

  “The wife is Maz’s friend, right? The one who stole the list.”

  “Even criminals have birthday parties.”

  “Did we get her a present?”

  “Do I look like an amateur? Don’t answer that. Of course we got her a present. Well, Charth and I did, and you and Kade did. We shared a ride, but we’re not together, remember?”

  It took Poe a moment to remember that Kade was Finn’s cover name. “Nice. What did we get her?”

  “Charth and I got her a lovely necklace of Rylothian jade.”

  “Classic. I suppose I got her something similar. Jewelry, something rare and unique.”

  Suralinda’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Your gift is a surprise.”

  Poe frowned. He did not like the sound of that. “Suralinda—” he started.

  “Just remember to play the part of the wealthy immoral businessman,” she said airily, cutting him off. “And go find Finn. We’re landing soon.”

  And she was gone before he could clarify what exactly he had brought the wife of Hasadar Shu for her birthday. Well, it didn’t matter. It was all a ruse to get him in the door, and hopefully it wouldn’t be one he would have to play for long.

  He spared one last glance in the mirror and then he went in search of Finn. It didn’t take him long to find him. All he had to do was follow the sound of ranting.

  Poe couldn’t remember ever hearing Finn curse, but a string of unflattering adjectives flowed at high volume from behind the closed door of the sleeping chamber on the ship. Poe paused to listen. He wasn’t even sure Finn was speaking Basic.

  He knocked, and the ranting cut off abruptly. “Finn?” he called. “Everything okay in there?”

  His answer was a growl of frustration and the distinct sound of something breaking against the wall. That didn’t sound good.

  “Finn?” he called again. “Open up, man.”

  “I’m fine,” Finn said, his voice the low flat sound of defeat.

  “Let me in. Maybe I can help.”

  “I said I was fine.”

  “You don’t sound fine.”

  No answer, and Poe tried another tactic. “We’re entering Corellian orbital space. Setting down any minute now. You’re going to have to come out sooner than later, so…”

  Another moment of silence. Just when Poe was contemplating forcing his way in, the door slid open. Finn stood in the doorway with one hand braced against the side jamb. He had the silver suit on, which ended up being a bit closer to white than it had looked in the plastic garment bag. It fit him well, smooth across his shoulders, and the pants tapering tight to the ankles.

  “You look great,” Poe said.

  Finn made a face.

  “What?”

  He waved Poe in. He entered hesitantly, unsure what he’d find. Besides an overturned table, all looked to be in order.

  “Here,” Finn said, thrusting something toward Poe. Poe took it. It was a long strip of silver silk fabric. It had a subtle sheen, expensive and understated.

  “Your tie?” Poe asked.

  Finn nodded, widening his eyes in exasperation, and Poe understood the problem.

  He motioned the younger man over and took the tie from his hands. He looped the silver silk around Finn’s neck under the collar, letting the long tapering ends trail down either side of the line of cloth-covered buttons.

  “There are different ways,” Poe explained as he crossed the thicker side over the thinner one and brought it up and through at the collar. “But this is the one my dad taught me. It’s my favorite.” He let the thick side fall forward then brought it around the other side, and back through at the collar. Once more over and through and then he tucked the end through the knot he had made at the base of Finn’s throat. He pulled the end tight and adjusted it until the two tails were almost even, leaving the thin side a bit shorter.

  Finn held up a silver pin he had retrieved from his pocket.

  Poe took it, turning it over in his palm. It was an Alliance starbird, the symbol of the Rebellion and, now, the Resistance.

  “Where did you get this?” Poe asked.

  “I found it. On Crait. I…I didn’t tell anyone because it didn’t seem right to keep it, and maybe I didn’t deserve it. But I’d like to wear it. Tonight.”

  “We’ll likely be mixing with the First Order. Do you really think that’s wise?”

  Finn looked up, fire in his eyes. “I don’t think I care if it’s wise. It means something to me. Besides,” he said, lifting his chin, “Kade Genti’s not afraid of a few stormtroopers.”

  Poe grimaced. It wasn’t just unwise, it was foolish. It might draw the wrong attention. But he understood. He fastened the pin over the tie, holding the fabric in place. He smoothed the tie one last time before turning Finn around so he could see himself in the mirror. The younger man’s eyes were wary at first, but soon went soft with wonder.

  “They don’t teach you how to tie a tie in stormtrooper training,” Finn said quietly.

  Poe didn’t say anything, just pressed a reassuring hand against Finn’s shoulder until the younger man gave him a half smile.

  * * *

  —

  They met Suralinda and Charth at the doors to the craft.

  “If you two are here,” Finn asked, “who’s flying this thing?”

  “We’re on a tractor beam now,” Charth explained. “We’re being brought in to a secured location adjacent to the home of Hasadar Shu. I expect we’ll encounter First Order security forces of some kind.”

  Suralinda leaned forward to meet Finn’s gaze. “No turning back now,” she said, eyes sparkling.

  “Not a consideration,” he said, his hand moving to the starbird pin in his tie.

  The ship rumbled under their feet as they made contact with the ground, forcing them to sway slightly. Suralinda braced a hand against Poe’s arm. He steadied her, and she gave him a small smile.

  “Careful out there, Black Leader,” she said. Her voice was sad, almost melancholy, and it was so out of character for her that it gave him pause. But before Poe had time to ask her what was wrong, the doors to the craft opened and they stepped out, walking down the ramp to catch their first glimpse of Coronet City.

  They were high up, that much Poe could tell, likely on the rooftop of a skytower. Around them rose other skytowers—long fluted office buildings, glass-domed chapels, and antenna-topped landmarks. A
nd beyond them, a vast ocean. The air was redolent with salt and the smell of seawater but around them was a verdant and precisely manicured park. Central areas of green grass, well-shaped trees, and tall buildings encircled them, stretching into the dark of the sky beyond. Pathways curled around pools of crystal-clear water lit from below in shades of blue. A moving bridge at least fifty meters wide stretched skyward to end in an arching doorway. People streamed up the walkway to the doors, laughing and talking, the flow of the wealthy and fashionable glittering like jewel-toned confetti strewn around glass.

  Movement behind him and Poe turned in time to see their ship moving away on a conveyor belt, making room for the next partygoers to land. He frowned. That was going to be a problem. How were they going to get back to their ship in a hurry?

  Someone, Finn, cleared his throat loudly, and Poe hurried down the ramp to join his companions.

  “Invitations, please.”

  A row of stormtroopers, six on each side, lined the white stone pathway where the landing area met the gardens. The voice had come from one of the stormtroopers, who now held out an expectant hand. Charth was nearest, and he stepped forward, offering the stormtrooper a chip card similar to the one Suralinda had given him.

  He watched the stormtrooper slide the card into a datapad. Poe held his breath. The datapad took a moment, but then it emitted a chime, and the stormtrooper waved Charth and Suralinda through to the next trooper, who patted them down for weapons.

  Poe stepped up next, handing his card over. The stormtrooper inserted it, and Poe watched Lorell Shda’s information scroll across the display. The stormtrooper studied it and cocked his head.

  Poe tensed. “Something wrong?”

  “Lorell Shda.”

  “That is my name.”

  “And you’re from Coruscant.”

  “Canto Bight more recently, but yes, I was born on Coruscant. A lot of people are from Coruscant,” he said lightly.

  “Of course, it’s just…”

  Poe looked pointedly at the chrono on his wrist. “We’re holding up the line,” he said. “If there’s not a problem…?”

  The second stormtrooper came over. “Does the invitation check out?”

  “Yes, sir. But this man looked familiar. I swear he looks familiar.”

  “Perhaps you’ve seen me on the newsfeeds,” Poe said smoothly.

  “There was that one deal,” Finn said, snapping his fingers. “With the…uh…at the fathier track. That race you won.” He spread his arms. “Huge money. So much money.” He grinned and leaned in conspiratorially to the stormtroopers. “We couldn’t get away from the reporters. Constant coverage. I swear he had a fan club for months.”

  Poe smiled big, showing pearly white teeth and willing Finn not to lay it on too thick.

  The second stormtrooper sounded bored when he said, “See? He’s famous.” He gestured toward Poe as he spoke. “There’re a lot of celebrities here. That’s why you recognize him.”

  “I don’t think that’s it,” the first stormtrooper said.

  “You’re overthinking it,” he said, shaking his head. “This is supposed to be a cushy babysitting detail. As long as he’s got an invitation and he’s not armed…” He shrugged.

  The first stormtrooper hesitated.

  “What’s the holdup?” shouted someone behind them in line.

  The second stormtrooper waved a hand. “Move him through.” He turned to Poe. “Move through.”

  Poe moved, Finn trailing behind him.

  They were checked for weapons and pressed through the line. Once free of the security checkpoint, they caught up with Charth and Suralinda.

  “What was the holdup?” Charth asked quietly.

  “Nothing,” Poe said. “I looked familiar.”

  Suralinda tapped her fingers against her chin, thoughtful. “You are known to the First Order. We probably should have gotten you a prosthetic of some kind. A fake nose or something.”

  “A wig?” Finn suggested.

  Poe held a hand to his hair. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  They moved up the crystal stairs toward the doors in the sky. Just another group of partygoers at a lavish gathering. Charth drew them to a stop at the entrance to the Shu mansion.

  “Here’s where we part ways,” Charth said. “Suralinda and I will make our thanks to our hosts first, so hold back a bit until you see we’re gone. We don’t want them to think we are more than simple acquaintances sharing a shuttle down to the planet’s surface. Lorell Shda is a friend of the Rylothian government, so it is not so remarkable for him to accompany the ambassador’s son. But the eyes that watch us need not know more than that.”

  “Okay, and after that?”

  “It is my understanding that invited guests must present a gift to Nifera Shu. If she approves of your gift, she will present you with a gift in return. This gift is the next step in reaching the auction.”

  “Do you know what she’s supposed to give us?”

  “I assume a map of some kind, but I’m not sure.”

  “Poe, your gift.” Suralinda reached into a dress pocket, pulled out a small square box, and presented it to him with a flourish. “Careful. It’s fragile, so don’t shake it.” She giggled. “And don’t open it until you’re in front of Hasadar and Nifera.” She grinned, wistful. “I wish I could be there to see it.”

  “I don’t like the sound of this,” Poe said. “At all.”

  “The rumor is that Nifera does like the unusual, and you need to make an impression. We couldn’t risk you not getting into the auction, so I made sure you would make an impression.”

  “You got her a necklace!”

  Suralinda sniffed. “We’re dignitaries. You are a rogue of sorts. I picked gifts that fit.” She took Charth’s outstretched arm in her own and leaned in to give Poe a kiss on the cheek. “Good luck!”

  Charth nodded his farewell. And then they were melting into the crowd.

  Poe held up the box, listening. He heard scratching and wrenched his head away. Was there something alive in there?

  “Don’t shake it,” Finn reminded him.

  “I’m not.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “No idea, but knowing Suralinda, it will be interesting. Now let’s go find the Shus and get this over with so we can get that list.”

  The box jerked in his hand, and he held it a little tighter, wondering what the hell Suralinda had given him.

  LUNCH WITH HASADAR SHU and the blue-eyed officer, whom Winshur finally learned was named Colonel Genial (surely a joke of a name!), was a disaster. Not only had it been horribly awkward, Winshur seeming to trip over every other word, but every topic of conversation had felt like a trap waiting to be sprung. When the first course had come, a white paste spread over lumpy bread, Winshur had made a remark about the snows of Bela Vistal, hoping to lighten the mood and perhaps get Hasadar to say more about how he knew Winshur’s hometown. Instead, Genial had made a snide remark about simple men and provincial palates that could not appreciate urban delicacies. Winshur had turned a shade of burgundy and choked on his bread until Hasadar, looking concerned, had offered him a glass of water.

  The luncheon had dragged on for almost three hours, an impossibly unreasonable time to spend away from work. When he’d finally returned to the office, it was almost time for his staff to go home for the day. Monti Calay was practically already out the door, saying something about feeling an illness coming on and, honestly, sweating abnormally. Winshur sent him home immediately, not wanting to catch whatever germs the young man was incubating. Yama was acting a bit strange, too. He’d made a note of it in her file and told her to stay late to cover for Monti in case he needed assistance. Because there was simply no way Winshur could leave. He had too much work to do. Work he had put off to handle the prisoner assignments. He would just have t
o stay all night again.

  The day was already fading when he sat down at his desk, opened his datapad, and got started. By the time he looked up again, the light that filtered in through his small window from the ship hangar was the harsh yellow glow of artificial electricity. He yawned, rubbing at his eyes, and checked his screen for the time. Well past time to go home.

  He wavered. It had been almost two days since he’d truly slept but the thought of Colonel Genial catching him with work uncompleted was enough to drive any thoughts of rest from his mind. He would stay, he decided. Just another hour. But first he’d get Yama to make him some caf. Surely he deserved that.

  “Yama?” he called through the open doors. No answer from the girl, so he called again. Still nothing and, his temper shortened by exhaustion, his irritation at the girl became anger. Had she left after he specifically told her to stay?

  “Yama!” he yelled a third time. Still nothing, so he dragged himself out of his chair, back aching and feet swollen, and lumbered stiffly to the door.

  The girl was there, head down and sleeping at her desk. Her cheek rested on crossed arms, and she was snoring softly, a line of drool tracing her open mouth. That mouth. She had smirked at him earlier, he was sure of it now. Laughed at his awkwardness with Shu and Genial. And for weeks now, she had shown him nothing but disrespect. In the way she dressed, in the way she spoke, in her very presence. And here it was. The final straw. She didn’t even have the professionalism, the courtesy, to stay awake while he worked. Or, heaven forbid, bring him caf while he labored.