Poe Dameron

by Lucasfilm Press

  “Getting a message,” Zorii said. She seemed shaken. Surprised. The one thing Zorii Wynn hated, Poe knew, was to be surprised. “They’re not hailing us, just sending us a transmission. First…a set of coordinates…then the words ‘Land your ship immediately if you want to live.’”

  Poe steeled himself. They’d beaten this ship before. There had to be a way out.

  Zorii turned to face him.

  “I know that look,” she said. “What are you thinking?”

  “Just going over our options,” Poe said. “That’s all.”

  “We’re outgunned here, Poe,” Tomasso said. “Our best option is to get planetside and see who we’re up against, then make a move.”

  Poe nodded. But it was half-hearted. Surrender wasn’t in his makeup. The Vondel still had weapons, still had some speed. And—most important—it still had Poe in the pilot’s seat.

  He was running through the alternatives in his head—despite Tomasso’s order, despite Zorii’s fears—when the first wave of fire hit. From behind.

  “The pirates,” Zorii said, struggling to stay in her seat as the ship shook violently, smoke bursting from a panel above them. “They found us.”

  “Maybe we need to rethink our strategy,” EV-6B6 said. “Just some soft criticism. You’re all doing a good job.”

  “Now is not the time, Eevee,” Poe said, trying to avoid the second wave of laser cannon fire from behind. “Got bigger things to worry about right now.”

  The Vondel lurched down, dodging a new barrage from the tiny ships. Poe heard Tomasso take a tumble behind him as the ship was rocked by another hit—this one coming from a different direction.

  “The Moraysian ship just cut loose on us,” Zorii said, shaking her head. “Our weapons systems are down. They targeted our—”

  Before Zorii could finish, the Vondel took another hit, and the ship was sent spinning out, the wounded starship no longer in Poe’s control. Poe fell back, slamming his head on the floor and sliding to the edge of the small bridge area, a deep cut on his forehead. Smoke and fire filled the space. He saw Zorii trying to climb back into her seat. Tomasso was out cold, with EV-6B6 attempting to revive him. Alerts, beeps, and emergency symbols flickered and blared at them. Even from the floor, Poe could see the massive shadow cast by the cruiser. Then it hit him as their pirate pursuers appeared to back off.

  “They’re not killing us,” Poe said. “They’re working together.”

  “They want what we have, Poe,” Zorii said, wincing as she took her position again, a hand outstretched to help Poe do the same. “I told you this.”

  “No, look,” Poe said, pointing out into space. “Those pirate ships—they’re circling the cruiser. They’re on the same side. This was a trap.”

  A loud crackle of static interrupted them, then went quiet. A barely intelligible voice cut through the dead air, low and coarse.

  “We will not warn you again, Spice Runners,” the voice said. “Land on the planet or die on your ship. The decision is yours.”

  The choice was clear. The Vondel was barely functional. Poe punched in the coordinates of the planet—a small hunk of rock named Judakann that could’ve passed for an asteroid. The surface looked jagged, a dank, inhospitable mess—not the kind of place Poe envisioned spending his final moments. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small Moraysian shuttle mirroring their descent. They’d meet their eventual captors soon, Poe thought.

  “There’s got to be a way out of this,” Zorii said.

  She was standing over Poe, a hand on his shoulder as if to say, Don’t give up hope yet. But Poe was struggling not to lose the sliver of hope he had left. Their ship had no weapons or hyperdrive, Tomasso was unconscious, and their droid was unhelpful. It didn’t bode well for a miraculous escape. He shook his head. No. He wouldn’t fall into despair. He was the son of two of the bravest people who’d ever fought for the Rebellion, he told himself. They’d faced off against a Death Star. They’d saved the galaxy. Surely he could con his way out of the grip of a few rankled space criminals. Right?

  Tomasso came to, and they disembarked from the Vondel slowly, Tomasso leaning on EV-6B6 for support.

  “We just might run into some lurkers here,” EV-6B6 said. “If I recall correctly, this is their planet of origin. I don’t think they’re friendly, which is a shame because they seem very—”

  “Lurkers?” Poe asked.

  “They’re carrion eaters that thrive in this kind of environment,” the droid said. “They’re amphibious and very, very—”

  “Enough,” Tomasso said, the exhaustion in his voice evident as he waved off the droid’s information download. They reached the end of the Vondel’s plank. Poe and Zorii followed soon after, with eyes open wide and blasters drawn.

  The Moraysian shuttle landed and its rear hatch opened slowly. Two dark figures emerged, their features not discernible yet. Poe and Zorii approached, ready for a shootout.

  “All right, folks,” Poe said. “You have the bigger guns. You got us down here. Now tell us what you want. Let’s make this easy for everyone.”

  “Yes, let’s make this easy,” one figure said. The voice sent a wave of fear through Poe, the tone and sound intimately familiar. No, it can’t be.

  The figure stepped into the planet’s gray, muted light and Poe’s throat tightened. It became hard to breathe. The second figure followed, and the sight almost sent him to his knees.

  He reached out to Zorii, gripping her arm. Tried to keep his balance. How is this possible?

  “Poe—what? What is it?” Zorii said, her tone desperate. “What’s wrong? What’s the matter?”

  “What we want,” the first figure said, arm outstretched, a sad, somber look on his face, “is for you to come home, Poe.”

  Poe crumbled, tears streaming down his face as he looked up at Kes Dameron and L’ulo L’ampar standing over him. His father and the closest thing he’d ever have to an uncle. They’d found him. They’d crossed the galaxy to reach him. They were here.

  “Father…Dad. But—but,” Poe said, his voice a feeble croak. “How…?”

  “What? Wait, wait a second,” Zorii said, her tone harsh and surprised, Poe’s hand still clamped around her arm. “Your…dad?”

  It had been almost a year, but Sela Trune never lost hope—never lost sight of her targets. Finally, her patience was vindicated. She tried to stop the smile from forming on her face as she walked briskly down the illuminated corridor of the space station, but she couldn’t help it. The dam had begun to crack. Soon it would break.

  Trune had always been playing the long game with the Spice Runners of Kijimi, even before they were little more than a gang of criminals with no allegiance to anyone but themselves. From the moment she heard the news—about her family, about how they died—she knew what had to be done. She would do whatever was in her power not only to destroy the Spice Runners but to make their destruction painful and impossible to ignore. It would send a message across the galaxy—to the darkest, most nefarious corners, to the people who thought the New Republic wasn’t paying attention, who figured there were other, bigger problems for the New Republic to deal with. They were wrong. Trune believed in justice. If she managed to get a little vengeance along the way, so be it.

  The chatter from her spies and double agents had gone quiet months before but seemed to crackle back into existence recently—as the activity of Tomasso’s cell of the Spice Runners of Kijimi increased, with young Poe Dameron in tow. She felt a twinge of sympathy for the boy—she knew what it was like to be young, lost, and eagerly following an ethos you weren’t sure you believed in just yet. The problem was, the lifestyle he was embracing was one that stood in stark contrast to her own ethos—and the laws of the New Republic. If her intelligence was right, the trail leading her to not only Poe Dameron but Zorii Wynn—an asset of unimaginable importance—was getting much warmer. It would soon boil over if Trune played things right.

  Her subtle smile morphed into a grimace as her tho
ughts drifted from Poe to his father, Kes. The elder Dameron had tried every fading connection he had over the past months to find Poe—had worked every angle and called in every favor, to no avail. Trune was as eager as he was to find the boy, but for a greater reason. She didn’t want Poe Dameron back so she could hug him and chastise him for being bad, as she imagined Kes did. She wanted to toss him in a cell and use whatever information he had about the inner workings of the Spice Runners to hunt for bigger game. Kes Dameron knew this, of course. Which explained why he and his friend L’ampar had gone rogue, chartering a ship and sailing into the fringes of the Outer Rim to find a boy who clearly didn’t want to be found. But as it turned out, Kes Dameron’s meddling had proven helpful. And combined with another angle she’d been working, it could give her the final bit of information she needed to take the fight right to the Spice Runners’ leader—a force so dark, unknown, and hidden from view that sometimes Trune felt the mastermind didn’t exist. But she knew better. As much as she admired the aging pirate Tomasso—and as much as she knew about his bloodied hands and murderous exploits—she couldn’t bring herself to believe he was atop the Spice Runners food chain. She’d heard rumblings about someone else—a woman named Zeva. But it was all rumor and conjecture at this point. Trune needed more than that to move on it.

  I’ve been surprised before, though, she mused as she picked up her pace. Trune absentmindedly rubbed her fingers over the bridge of her nose—which featured an added ridge where she had broken it, falling over unconscious on the Moraysian cruiser. Some things never healed right.

  Good officers knew when they’d been beaten, too—and Trune was not invincible. She’d missed her chance to snare Poe and the girl known as Zorii Wynn aboard the Moraysian ship, despite her best efforts to set a palatable trap with Ledesmar.

  She ignored the knowing nods and salutes as she made her way to a massive office area packed with bustling New Republic Security Bureau officers and staff, each person moving on to their next task with a speed and eagerness Trune could only admire. She approached the central operations area, where she was met by a cheerful Sullustan named Pheeb. Her large eyes receded into the jowls that covered most of her face as Trune approached, the smile gone long before.

  “Trune, good to see you,” Pheeb said in the thick accent of her native tongue. “I hope all is well?”

  “Is the prisoner awake?” Trune asked, not in the mood for pleasantries.

  Pheeb smiled curtly. Two security officers appeared and nodded at Trune, a signal that she should follow them. She did, down a winding corridor that took her past two security checkpoints and another staging area. After a few more turns, the guards walked her to a door that was situated at the far end of the station. One of the guards tapped a few numbers on a panel to the left of the door and it hissed open. Trune stepped in.

  The figure was at the opposite end of the room, back turned to Trune, facing the only source of light in the space—a tiny circular window.

  “They tell me you’re ready to talk,” Trune said.

  The prisoner turned around, her long, fleshy lekku framing her face as she took notice of her visitor.

  “Ah, the young Officer Trune,” Marinda Gan said, her voice eager. “I’m more than ready. I’ll tell you everything, if it means I can get out of here.”

  Trune kept her expression flat. This was standard. She wasn’t going to bargain with Marinda Gan until she knew what the Twi’lek had in her hand. After all this time, she wondered if the scoundrel had anything worth sharing.

  “Let’s see what you’ve got,” Trune said. “Then we can talk about compensation.”

  Marinda Gan smiled a toothy grin, her tongue sliding over her teeth before she spoke again. “What, pray tell, do you know about the upcoming Kijimi summit?”

  Kes Dameron pulled his son to his feet and embraced him. Poe’s eyes watered again as he breathed in the familiar scent—of trees, the outdoors, home. It was really him, Poe thought, even though he couldn’t believe it. He felt a hand grip his shoulder. L’ulo. How had the two men tracked him down?

  Poe stepped back, wiping at his eyes with a rough swipe before beginning to speak, his voice halting and nervous. He knew Zorii and Tomasso were close enough to hear everything he said. He had to choose every word with care.

  “Dad…what are you doing here?” Poe asked. “How did you find us?”

  “Poe,” Kes Dameron said, placing two hands on his son’s shoulders. “Nothing could keep me from you. Nothing. I used every bit of power, every bit of intelligence and contacts—everything I had. It took a while. But we made it.”

  Poe was shoved aside. He turned to find Zorii Wynn facing his father, her eyes aflame as she pointed a finger at him.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Zorii said. “You bartered with space pirates to track down your son? For what? Poe is one of us now—he’s a Spice Runner. There’s no going back from that. It’s a life, not a hobby.”

  Kes turned to look at Poe, his expression saying Who is this? Poe didn’t flinch. This was between father and son, and Poe knew he had to figure out his next move. But Zorii’s verbal barrage was helping delay that decision. The fire with which Zorii slung her words at Kes had also surprised Poe.

  “You’re right, Miss—” Kes started.

  “Zorii,” she said. “My name is Zorii. Who are you?”

  “This is Kes Dameron, Poe’s father,” L’ulo said, stepping forward. “My name is L’ulo L’ampar. We’re old hands from the Rebel Alliance days. We had a few tricks up our sleeves when it came to locating your friend Poe, here.”

  Zorii shook her head. She was locked in. Poe knew this was not something she was going to give up on.

  “So, let me get this straight,” she said, tilting her head a bit as if trying to get a better look at Kes Dameron—as if she was straining to see the resemblance between him and Poe. “You were so desperate to find your son—a man who’d left your backwater moon of his own free will—that you made a deal with a group of murderers like the Osako pirates to corner us? That doesn’t seem very New Republic to me.”

  Kes’s smile was gone. Poe could see he was growing tired of Zorii. He wanted to take his son home, not get into an ethical debate with a girl half his age.

  “I almost lost my farm, almost sold it off to some scammers for a scrap of information that I thought might lead me to you,” Kes said, pointing at Poe. “That was just one of many things I did that were new. Things that were desperate.”

  Zorii shook her head again.

  “I can’t believe we’re being chased down by your dad,” she said, looking at Poe for what seemed like the first time since they set foot on the desolate rock. “We could have been killed. Our ship is barely functional. And I doubt those pirates are just going to let us fly home when we do get off—”

  “You’re not leaving with my son,” Kes said.

  “Excuse me?” Zorii responded. “That’s not your call.”

  “Zorii,” Poe started, trying to get between his past and his present. “Let’s just—”

  “No, let’s not,” Zorii said, glaring at Kes Dameron. “What makes you think you can just stroll into our lives and take Poe from us? He’s a Spice Runner now. You think just because you called in a few favors with your old cronies you can do as you please? The New Republic’s tentacles don’t stretch out this far, old man. And even if they did, we follow a different set of rules.”

  “Fathers will do whatever they need to do to find their sons,” Kes said, his voice low and his speech methodical, clearly not wanting anything he said to be misinterpreted. He turned to look at Poe, eyebrows raised. “Poe, we want you to come home. It’s been too long. We can talk about it all on the way back.”

  Tomasso spoke. His voice boomed over everyone, giving off a strength and seniority Poe had come to appreciate over time.

  “Poe Dameron is not a boy, nor is he a piece of property,” Tomasso said, stepping forward, losing whatever limp he’d acquired on the way down
to the planet’s surface. His air was regal with a dash of menace. “He is a Spice Runner, by choice and by virtue. We do not simply surrender people when their relatives come calling.”

  L’ulo drew his blaster and pointed it at Tomasso.

  “Tomasso,” L’ulo said. “I’ve heard of you. One of the most feared spice runners of the galaxy. I’m not impressed. We’re not asking you to let us take him. We’re telling you that Poe is coming with us, understand?”

  Poe looked at Zorii, her eyes distant, rimmed with red. Was she expecting Poe to go back to Yavin 4, the place he was desperate to escape when they first met? Was she experiencing a tinge of regret over the past few months? Poe turned his gaze to his father and was equally surprised at what he saw there: a look of utter confusion. This was not going as Kes had planned. He’d expected Poe to leap into his arms and run back home. Instead, there was hesitation—and in front of him was a man, not a wandering boy. And this man had become something Kes Dameron had not expected.

  Kes broke the silence.

  “Son, everything is forgiven,” he said, reaching out a hand to Poe. “Just come with us. Get on this ship. It’s been too long, all right?”

  Before Poe could answer, Tomasso broke in again—his voice sharpened by an unexpected, haunting chill.

  “We appear to be surrounded.”

  The long, high-pitched hiss froze Poe in his tracks. It had taken him a second to process Tomasso’s warning—but he could see now. They were everywhere. Small, stocky amphibious-looking creatures lurking a few meters away from them, all making that terrifying sound as they stepped closer and closer.

  “What are they?” Zorii asked, whipping out her blaster and taking a defensive stance. “They don’t seem to be—aware? I mean, they clearly want to murder us, but—”

  “These are the lurkers I mentioned. What a coincidence,” EV-6B6 said with genuine surprise in her voice. “Nonsentient but very, very dangerous creatures native to this planet. It’d be a shame to hurt them, but they do seem a little angry.”