Poe Dameron

by Lucasfilm Press

  “You’re clear to go, Dameron,” Litte said, shaking Poe from his reverie.

  It took him a moment to figure out what was going on. They were in some kind of cramped vestibule, a long narrow desk separating them from what many of the other tenants taking up space behind Poe would consider freedom. But once Poe saw him, he knew what had happened. Knew how he’d managed to get out of containment with such ease.

  “Of course,” Poe said under his breath.

  She grabbed his arm and pushed him forward.

  “Kid, you should be on your knees thanking that man over there,” Litte said. “I wish I had a father half as loyal as he’s been to you. Mine would’ve given up on me the second or third time I pulled a stunt like this. Hear you made it to seven or eight, according to your record.”

  Poe shook off the officer’s grip and limped past the desk, past Kes Dameron, and out into the Yavin 4 night.

  “You could have died, Poe,” Kes said, finally, as he caught up with Poe outside the station.

  His father looked more hurt than angry. The confusion and pain on his face showed Poe more emotion in a few moments than his father had expressed in what felt like months.

  “Well, I’m fine,” Poe said, not meeting his father’s gaze but slowing down just enough for Kes to reach him. The truth was, he wasn’t fine—at least not physically. The crash had been miraculous in that Poe had survived. But he was still trying to get a sense of the orchestra of aches and pains his body was experiencing. He felt wrecked.

  His father placed his hands on Poe’s shoulders.

  “You’re not fine,” Kes said, shaking his head. “You almost died. You lucked out. That won’t last forever, you hear me? This is exactly—”

  “Exactly what?” Poe spat. “What you warned me about the million times you stopped me from flying? Before I could even fit in a cockpit? When you warned me about things before I even knew what you were talking about, because you couldn’t bear the thought of me doing anything but sitting on this dead-end moon, watching our grass grow?”

  Kes grimaced, as if swallowing words he knew he’d regret.

  “Poe, do you even realize what it took? For me to get you out again?” Kes said, his eyes widening. “The favors I had to call in? The people I had to plead to? This isn’t the first time, and they were ready to just leave you on ice. If it hadn’t been for your—”

  “My mother?” Poe said, his voice rising, angry. “Can you say it, Dad? Can you say her name now? Sure seems like she didn’t even exist the last time we argued.”

  Kes stepped back. Poe could see his father’s jaw clenching. He instantly felt regret. Some regret. The words were his truth—his anger. But he knew his father didn’t deserve their full wrath. Not now. Not ever. The anger was followed by shame.

  “I’m—I’m sorry, Dad,” Poe said, turning around. “I just—I can’t right now.”

  “Can’t what, Poe?” Kes asked, stepping toward his son. But before he could react, Poe was in a full sprint. Poe looked back for a moment and saw his father struggling to react, to give chase. But Kes didn’t move. As Poe sped farther into the Yavin night, he looked back again to see Kes Dameron, just a small speck growing smaller and smaller in the distance.

  As he expected, L’ulo L’ampar found Poe Dameron running toward the docks. Toward escape.

  L’ulo pulled his landspeeder up on Poe’s right as the younger man turned to face him. Poe’s expression was one of anger mixed with fear and shame. His stance was stiff—like he was running through pain. He didn’t move toward L’ulo’s vehicle. In fact, L’ulo half expected him to bolt.

  But their bond was strong, L’ulo told himself. The boy would listen to reason.

  He didn’t need to hear from Kes to know what had happened. His colleagues at the Yavin 4 Defense Force station had alerted him to Poe’s joyride, and the subsequent crash. L’ulo allowed himself a moment of regret and nostalgia for Shara’s aging A-wing, but that was quickly overcome with the relief he felt over Poe. Surely Kes had reminded his son how close he’d come to death, but L’ulo also figured Kes’s voice had become a bit of white noise to the boy, and perhaps a different tack would help.

  “Poe,” L’ulo said, his voice clear and focused. “What’s going on?”

  Poe shook his head, as if realizing what side L’ulo was on already.

  “Not you, too, L’ulo,” Poe said, the words sounding more like a question than a statement. “I can’t take it from you, too.”

  “It’s not like that, kid. You know me,” L’ulo said, keeping his tone calm. “Let’s just talk.”

  “I don’t want to talk. Maybe I don’t want to hash it out anymore, L’ulo, all right?” Poe said.

  He was getting more agitated, his eyes wide, his tunic sticking to his chest with sweat. The boy had survived a near-death experience and probably just had an epic argument with his father, whom L’ulo knew Poe loved but also resented in equal degrees. The fact was, Poe Dameron was tearing himself up inside, and L’ulo wasn’t sure what to do about it.

  “Talk to me, kid,” L’ulo said, motioning for Poe to approach the vehicle. Hesitatingly, he did. L’ulo gently slapped Poe’s face—a sign of affection. “I’m not some Yavin farmer, you know? I’ve seen a lot of stuff out there.” He motioned to the night sky with his chin. “With your mom. With the Rebellion. This place isn’t for me, either. But—”

  Poe backed up.

  “No, no buts, L’ulo,” Poe said. “I’m done debating it, with you, Dad, this place—”

  He moved around, arms out, as if to say, Look around you.

  “There’s nothing for me here, okay? I don’t want to be a farmer. I don’t want to live with Dad, or tend to the land, or spend my days in quiet introspection, you know?” Poe said, gripping the edge of the landspeeder, his knuckles whitening from the strain. “I want to see what’s out there. I want to do something. Something that matters. I want to fly and explore, like—”

  “Like Shara,” L’ulo said. “I know, kid. I know.”

  Poe looked down at his feet. He spun around and kicked dirt, seemingly unsure what else to do with his body.

  “Why doesn’t he get that, L’ulo?” Poe asked. “Why can’t he just let me go?”

  “Can you blame him? You’re all he has.”

  “And he’s all I have,” Poe said, turning to face his friend. “But what does Dad expect? That I’ll just be here, sitting with him, forever?”

  “Doubt he’s thought it through to that degree,” L’ulo said. “But he wants to protect you.”

  “He doesn’t want me to die like Mom did,” Poe said. “In space. Alone.”

  “Right.”

  “But I won’t,” Poe said, his voice quavering as if he didn’t really believe himself. “I can fly. She taught me. You helped. You know I can do it. I’m good.”

  L’ulo nodded. The kid was right. He had talent. Not much polish, but from what little L’ulo had seen, he knew Poe had the markings of a great pilot. All the elements were there. The confidence. The willpower. The fearless nature. The ability to absorb complicated technical ideas and transform them into action. Poe had it all. He just wanted a chance.

  Would Shara Bey have given it to him?

  L’ulo shut off the landspeeder and stepped out.

  He sensed the answer to the question ringing in his head, but he didn’t want to hear it. His instinct was to keep Poe safe—to keep him on Yavin 4. That was what Kes wanted.

  The real answer was a complicated one, he realized as he walked toward the boy he loved like a son.

  “Your mother ever talk about Endor, Poe?” L’ulo asked, sitting down and motioning for the boy to sidle up next to him. “That last firefight?”

  “With the Death Star?” Poe asked, taking a seat. “No, not really. Not that I remember.”

  L’ulo remembered—their attack on the second Death Star, the friends they lost, their sinking hopes, and the sudden rush of victory. The euphoric celebration on Endor that followed felt like
it had happened moments before and eons before at the same time. There’d been no limit to what they could do then. They’d toppled a supposedly invincible giant.

  “On Endor, after the battle, after we’d won,” L’ulo said, picking his words with care, knowing the impact they’d have, “your mother looked so radiant. So alive. Your father, too. Tired, but also relieved and happy and eager to see what was next. We knew the work wasn’t done. The Empire wasn’t fully dead. But the beast had been beheaded, and it was only a question of watching the body die.

  “I knew—I mean, we all knew—that eventually she and your father would settle down,” L’ulo continued. “We knew they’d want to raise you somewhere and not have to see you only while on leave, or worse, never again.”

  Poe seemed mesmerized, his expression hanging on every word.

  “Our job involved huge risk, Poe,” L’ulo said. “There was always the chance we wouldn’t come back. That there’d be dust where our ship had been a few seconds before. Your mom and dad knew that.”

  “So, they didn’t want that anymore? To live in fear?” Poe asked, almost pleaded. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

  L’ulo raised a hand to calm him. Let me finish, it said to Poe.

  “They wanted to be there for you. That outweighed everything else—their desire for adventure, their duty, their own lives,” L’ulo said. “But when I asked your mother, in a brief, quiet moment amidst all that chaos and celebration, ‘What will it feel like to not be out there anymore, Shara? To not be flying through the stars on a new adventure each day?’ she turned and looked at me as if I was insane.”

  “What—what did she say?”

  “She told me, ‘I’ll always be out there, L’ulo. I’ll always be out among the stars—flying,’” L’ulo said, his words rolling off his tongue methodically. He understood Poe was in a fragile state. That anything he said could be misconstrued, could do more damage than good. But he also felt a responsibility to Shara, and what she might have done in his shoes, on this night. “But she also realized the risk that brought, and she knew the price she might pay if she ignored what she’d worked so hard to build—her family, her life—to chase after adventure and thrills.”

  “Don’t play both sides for me, L’ulo,” Poe said, shaking his head. “That’s not your style. Aside from my dad, you knew my mom best. Quit parsing your words. Give me the truth.”

  “I don’t know what—”

  “You do know,” Poe said, his eyes unblinking. He was not backing down, L’ulo realized. “You know exactly what my mom would do. So does Kes. She was a thrill seeker. A hero. She took risks and she fought hard. She’s part of me. You see that, L’ulo. And that terrifies you, doesn’t it?”

  The nod L’ulo gave in response was almost reflexive, coming so quickly the older Duros couldn’t have stopped it if he had wanted to. It was enough for Poe Dameron.

  Poe stood up with a jolt. His hands shook. He backed away from L’ulo, almost stumbling over himself.

  “Poe?”

  “I—I have to go. I have to go,” Poe muttered to himself. “I…I need to go.”

  With that, Poe Dameron turned around and ran.

  L’ulo gave himself a moment or two before he stood up, dusted off his uniform, and made his way back to his landspeeder. He looked at his hands and saw the bruises and wear and tear of a Duros who’d lived a life of action and adventure, a man who wasn’t bored and didn’t walk through each day weighed down by regrets and hesitation. He wanted that for Poe. He knew it was selfish. Had his own ego, L’ulo thought, just sent the boy hurtling toward his demise? He heard his own words almost before he could think them, as if he was overhearing a strange conversation. But they rang true, and they would haunt him for a long, long time.

  “What have I done?”

  The main settlement on Yavin 4 was often referred to as Wetyin’s Colony, whose inhabitants were originally from the planet Setor. The settlers had moved to Yavin 4 and become farmers. Though the moon’s population was sparse and mainly focused on agriculture, Yavin 4 was a nexus point—a hotbed for trade and transit. For every farmer and family, there were a dozen or so businesspeople making their way through the moon’s active port area, which consisted of a long swath of docks and an even longer row of restaurants, cantinas, and more nefarious entertainment corners. It was the only flicker of excitement in town, as far as young people like Poe Dameron were concerned. To many spacefaring traders and dealers, it was one of many entertaining pit stops on the long road to their final destination.

  Gully’s was a cantina in that row—loud, raucous, and crowded, but also nondescript in comparison with its fellow watering holes. The kapok bar ran across the length of the place, a red-skinned and horned Devaronian named Fontis behind it. The smattering of tables that littered the space had mismatched chairs, if any, and were usually crowded with people telling tales of their latest deal or swindle, war stories and complaints, or nostalgic, drunken odes to better times. Though Yavin 4 had begun as a rebel base, even becoming a key scene in the epic struggle between the Rebel Alliance and the Empire—few of Gully’s patrons could give a flurrg’s hide over who was in charge. To these Outer Rim traders, who were more focused on staying afloat and making a profit, the politics were secondary.

  But something was different that night. Fontis could feel it. It was busy, sure. That was a given. People needed to blow off some steam after long stints in the stars, or before signing up for another tour of duty. Fontis believed in providing his customers with an undeniable resource, something they’d never have their fill of. He’d run into many a rowdy customer over the years. He knew how to handle himself, and he wasn’t scared of a scrap or a slow blade into an offending customer’s midsection. But there was something else in the air, something hot—electric. Something more dangerous than the usual riffraff of unkempt traders and townies looking for a rush.

  And Fontis knew where it was coming from.

  He scanned the crowd, past the burly Dowutin bouncer, around the Nimbanel numbers guy—his scaly skin shimmering in the bar’s dim light—who’d made Gully’s his second home, and over the stout, surly Delphidian arms dealer who was well on his way to passing out at his small table, his pocket begging to be picked. Fontis’s gaze settled on the bar’s far corner, and a rickety table that hosted four people he’d never seen, and would never want to see again after the night was through.

  Fontis had a good sense for these things—for trouble, really. While his entire business was built on casual customers and the transient nature of the port, he still had a bad feeling about these four. Years of running a dive like Gully’s gave you a second sight that normal people didn’t have. The ability to suss out trouble hours before it happened. But Fontis also had eyes, and what he saw screamed, Watch out for these people.

  The first red flag was the group’s leader, a fierce-looking Klatooinian with an eye patch who didn’t seem to have the facial muscles to smile. His long brow and sagging jowls added to his dour expression. It seemed to Fontis the others in his group deferred to the Klatooinian, if with a bit of resignation. Close to him was a young human girl—couldn’t be older than sixteen—her expression blank. She was tall, with dark wavy hair and swampy green eyes that made her seem older. Unlike the other members of the party, she seemed calm and collected in a way that belied her years. Her cool expression almost made Fontis think she was in charge, but that couldn’t be. And in charge of what? These weren’t your typical traders. They’d come to Gully’s for a reason—a reason they probably shared with many of the darker elements that filtered through Yavin 4: they didn’t want to be noticed. That was fine by Fontis, as long as they didn’t bring trouble into his bar. Wishful thinking, the barkeep mused.

  “I made my decision, I stand by it,” the Klatooinian named Vigilch said, slapping his palm gently on the shoddy table. “He was taking from us. That sneaky little Ishi Tib—”

  “That sneaky little Ishi Tib was our pilot,” said the female Twi�
�lek seated across from Vigilch, her red lekku appendages moving slightly around her young face. Her name was Marinda Gan, and she was not happy to be stuck on Yavin 4. She’d been recruited by Vigilch to serve as muscle for their operation, not to sit in a bar and wonder what to do next. She could think of a million other places she’d prefer to be in the galaxy. All of them more exciting and appealing to a bounty hunter of her caliber. “And, as you’re fond of reminding us, you’re our leader—what now? How do you plan to get our ship off Yavin Four before they find us?”

  “The longer our ship sits in dock, our goods tucked away, the greater the risk of it being discovered,” said the gaunt-looking Pau’an named Gen Tri. Their voice was a slight hiss, their tone flat. They continued to speak as their long fingers rapped on the table. “Our friends back home won’t be happy if that gets…lost in translation.”

  “We will not lose our…what we are tasked with retrieving,” Vigilch snarled, turning to face Gen Tri. It was no secret they weren’t fond of each other. But Vigilch was much more prone to showing it, the Pau’an’s serene demeanor throwing him off with regularity. “I open the discussion to the group, then. Are there any suggestions? How do we find a pilot to get us off this miserable backwater moon?”

  The young woman to Vigilch’s right stirred, as if noticing something past the group, her young eyes locked on the bar’s entrance. Her name was Zorii Wynn. As Fontis had surmised, she was a teenager. But she had seen much in her short life, and her comrades knew to trust her instincts.