The Rebel Queen - Poe Dameron

Chapter XX: Obeisance

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Versengen

Versengen lay on his back, staring up at the harsh concrete and steel of his ceiling. A small stain near the piping told him the infrastructure was old—pre-Resistance. A base poorly scraped together out of convenience rather than strategic positioning.

D'Qar was as good a hiding place as any. He'd had his fair share of expeditions this far out in the galaxy to note it on his traveldex for possible places to lay low. It was too quiet, though. He was accustomed to his ship. To the whingeing of the engine and the animalistic screeching of the hydraulic pipes that had been jury-rigged to improve speed at the cost of safety. He missed how thin the air was, how cold the ship was, and, most importantly, the bacta tank.

The humidity in D'Qar made his scars flare. His lungs also battled with the dense air. His bruises were the least excruciating to bear; sore, radiating pulses against his muscles.

The sound of the guards' breathing was slightly comforting. He was used to machines doing all the noise-making on his ship. But, in an odd twist, the two strangers keeping watch lulled him.

Just as he was about to doze off, the doors to the prison area opened and a familiar sound followed—light feet, perfectly timed footsteps, courtly despite favouring the right foot to lead.

He turned towards the bars and smiled wide.

Poe

It had been a tense twelve hours since Versengen had surrendered himself to Resistance custody. A gripping eight since Connix intercepted a tight beam communications message meant for Calista from Cantonica. A restless four hours since he retired to his quarters for some shut-eye, only to toss about like a child afraid of the monsters under his bed.

A soft chiming noise stirred him from his bed. Quicker than he intended, he accepted the hail from his comm-link leaving the person on the other end of the line stunned.

"Talk to me," he said without reading the ID. He wouldn't care if one of Leia's obnoxious diplomats was calling to chew his ear off about fuel wastage or a rehashing of the Black Squadron debacle from the meet, he just needed something to do.

"Hey," Connix's voice sounded raspier than usual, he could tell she had probably spent too many hours sifting through the transmission code of Maligma's tight beam. "They're calling another meet, Leia and the princess. It's hush-hush. Archival room in sector B-12."

"More talking, great," he sighed.

Connix didn't react, she simply cut the call, leaving Poe to gather himself and head out to the archival room.

The door hissed to a stop as Poe walked into the dimly lit room. A convergence of seven bodies stood around a large hologram of a woman with strikingly harsh features, a lethality to her piercing gaze; it seemed to look straight at him, but also around him, as if the woman was addressing an army. Still, she shared a cold resemblance to Calista. It was the scowl. The flicker of tumultuous rage that they both hid behind a stern expression. Where Calista's expression was still infantile—a look she was slowly growing more and more accustomed to since he met her—the other woman's was perfect, tailored.

Poe was undoubtedly looking at Maligma.

The Duchess of Thesmora kept speaking, unfettered by Poe's abrupt entrance. A recording played for the audience in the room; Koa, Calista, Mokk-Toh, Everen, Odhen, Connix, Leia and now him.

Poe found a spot beside Koa near the left edge of the projector. He folded his arms and listened to what remained of Maligma's message.

The Duchess's tone was grave, serious, with a lick of mockery, "—our game of poking the Kryak Dragon must come to an end, sooner rather than later. You may have slipped from my grasp on Telos, Princess, but soon that Resistance you hide behind will be wiped from the map and there will be no one left in your corner. But you know me, I have always wielded the weapon, delegating was Lenora's way. All that waiting, watching, sending others to bloody their swords—it's not my way, never was. I see that now.