"Commander," Connix's voice called over his comm. "Sir, we're being hailed."

Poe Dameron picked his head up from where it rested on his folded arms on the table before him. He'd managed to fall asleep for a few minutes, a rare gift; in the few days since Leia's death, he had discovered just what exactly she bore on her shoulders as the leader of this Resistance. It seemed that the First Order was stronger every day, and they had only a few dozen men and women manning this old Rebellion-era space station, trying to stay alive and not lose hope for the future.

"I'm on my way," Poe replied, rubbing his eyes. "Come on, BB-8," he said to his little astromech droid who was ever at his side. As he strode down the hallway toward the bridge, he wondered, Who would be hailing us? They'd used Leia's code to call for help, beaming the encrypted message to the furthest reaches of the galaxy, desperate for backup, and all for naught. No one had answered their call; the message had been received, but no one came. And now, all of a sudden, someone was not just responding, but here?

Perhaps it wasn't an answer to their call, though. Perhaps it was a First Order ruse, a trap designed to get them to acknowledge that indeed, they were here, on this space station, before blowing the thing up into a million little pieces and ending the Resistance for good. He'd have to be very wary, very careful with whoever it was.

"Report, Lieutenant," Poe said, almost before the door to the bridge had fully opened.

"Sir, it's a single command unit." Connix looked pale and stricken, like he felt. "They say they'll only talk to General Organa."

"Well," Poe replied, with a mirthless chuckle. "Too bad for them, I guess. Open the link."

As she did so, a face appeared on the vid screen. A man of early middle age, still exceedingly handsome, with sandy brown hair gone grey at the temples and bright blue eyes, appeared before them.

"Greetings, Space Station Holdo," he said. His voice was deep and commanding, with the patrician accent and precise speech of an Imperial officer. He looked around briefly, as if counting the people he could see, and then he said, "I have a message, but only for Princess Leia Organa."

BB-8 beeped sadly beside Poe, who held up his hand to silence the droid.

"And just who are you?" Poe demanded, puffing out his chest as he reminded himself that he was in charge here.

The man on the vid screen hesitated. "I'd rather not identify myself at this time. Princess Organa will know who I am."

Poe gave a frustrated humph and said, "I'm the commander of this space station. You can identify yourself and give your message to me or you can get the hell out of my region."

The man looked a bit taken aback to be spoken to in this way. "I am responding to the Princess' message requesting military support against the First Order. Please inform her -" Abruptly, the man stopped, as if he had just thought of something. "I appreciate your concerns, Commander. You have people to protect. Perhaps we could meet, you and I, to discuss my credentials, and if you believe me you'll let me speak to Leia."

Poe had to admit that sounded reasonable.

"Open the bay doors," he said to Connix. To the man on the vid screen: "Just you and me, in the main hangar. No guards."

"No guards," the man agreed. Poe flipped the switch himself to end the video. He couldn't explain why he felt so uneasy about this self-important, arrogant man.

"Come on, BB-8," he growled, and he and his droid left the bridge. "No guards," he reminded Connix, over his shoulder. "I can handle myself."

Poe opened the doors to the main hangar in time to watch the unknown man descending from his transport. The wide hangar still contained starfighters from the days of the Rebellion, mostly creaky from disuse and mostly the awkward B-wing bombers like the one Rey had taken. One by one, the Resistance fighters had been rebuilding and reconditioning all the vehicles they could get their hands on. Still in the cockpit, removing her helmet to expose a long mane of glossy black hair, was his pilot, a beautiful Pamarthen woman with full lips and coppery skin. She glanced down at Poe with an unreadable gaze in her dark eyes, and then turned away, as if he weren't really worth the effort. She looked like the kind of woman who could drink him under the table and then still kick his ass before dragging him to bed. At least, that was the kind of woman he hoped she was.

"I said no guards," Poe said, despite these thoughts, as the sandy-haired man reached the bottom of the ladder and turned to look at him. His blue eyes were even more arresting under the lights of the hangar; Poe couldn't help but note that he and his pilot made quite a pair. Were they – a pair? he wondered, letting his mind wander briefly. He looked the man over: broad shoulders, chiseled jaw line, the carriage of a potentate. He was dressed elegantly, in a silky, navy blue jacket and trousers, tall black boots, and a badge on his chest that was a single gold bar.

"My pilot?" the man asked, glancing over his shoulder. "She's handy with a blaster, but I'm hopeless with a flight stick." I doubt that, Poe thought, again against his better judgment. "Seems you've brought someone yourself," he said, indicating BB-8 and giving a patient smile. Of course, he had no way to know that the little BB unit was hardly the helpless ball of gyroscopes he seemed. "But if it makes you feel better …" He gestured back to the Pamarthen pilot, who looked briefly concerned but then closed the main door of the transport to block out their conversation.

Poe felt the eyes of his crew watching them, and the need to uncover some information. "So. Your credentials," he growled, trying to assert himself as commander in this space station.

The man hesitated for a moment, as if resisting the sound of his own name. "I am Daal Ransolm Casterfo, formerly of Riosa, currently commanding the Red Nebula Special Forces. At your service."

Ransolm Casterfo. That name – it seemed familiar. Where had Poe heard that before?

And then he remembered. Ransolm Casterfo, the senator from Riosa: he'd been the senator who had uncovered Leia's biological parentage, her relationship to Darth Vader, and had exposed her deepest secret to the entire galaxy. His actions had cost Leia the position of First Senator, and had eventually led to the rise of the First Order and the death of so many people Poe loved – including, ultimately, Leia herself.

Unable and unwilling to stop himself, Poe drew back his fist and punched Casterfo square in the mouth.

Casterfo stumbled backwards, raising his hand to his split lip, blood trickling onto his chin. BB-8 beeped worriedly at the sudden outburst of violence. Poe heard the pilot open the cockpit door and saw Casterfo wave her off. He looked down at the red streak on his hand and drew a handkerchief from his pocket with the other, dabbing at the damage. "I deserve that," Casterfo said, looking Poe directly in the eye. "I do. I deserve that, Commander."

Poe shook out his hand; it wasn't often that he engaged in actual fisticuffs these days, and he'd forgotten that the person being hit is not the only one hurt in the process. "Yeah," he grunted. "You do. You bet your ass you deserve that."

Casterfo did not argue or move to retaliate. He pressed the handkerchief to his lip, eyeing Poe as if he were trying to choose his next words. "I deserve your rage. But did you know that she forgave me? All my sins against her. And she rescued me from my warranted death on Riosa – at great pains and danger to herself." He pulled the handkerchief away and glanced down at it, the bleeding seemingly stemmed. "Now, will you please let me speak with Princess Leia?"

From the high of that single blow, Poe tumbled down to depths of despair. Leia.

Casterfo must have seen the shift in Poe's expression, the way his chin softened and eyes relaxed, thinking about her. She was gone now, never coming back. She had saved him from execution on Riosa? Had … forgiven him? For such a betrayal? He could imagine it, now that he tried; hadn't she forgiven Luke, at the end? Poe was suddenly very, very tired.

"General Organa," he began, then stopped himself. "Princess Leia. She's gone. She … died. Three days ago."

Now it was Casterfo's turn to crumple. His chest fell and he swallowed hard. It was clear he had not expected this news. Who could? Leia was a force, something so powerful that Poe had not believed she could die – until he held her hand when she did.

Casterfo looked down and away, and for a moment Poe thought he could see tears glinting in his eyes. Poe gave him a moment to master himself, then Casterfo turned back to him, the proud, steely look returned to his face. "May the Force be with her. She was a good friend. I owe her my life, and I intend to pay my debts. If I cannot repay them to Leia, then I repay them to her cause. The Resistance has my fleet, Commander."

"Dameron. Poe Dameron," he said, understanding Casterfo's words a moment after he said them. "What kind of a fleet are we talking about?"

"Six thousand starflighters. Half a dozen star destroyers. And one Imperial dreadnought," Casterfo replied, a winning smile cracking his face, revealing perfect, white teeth behind his split lip, tinged with a little streak of red blood. A surprisingly charming smile, Poe thought to himself. "You'd be surprised what the Empire left behind in the wild regions."

Six thousand starfighters. A dreadnought. Enough, perhaps, to take on the First Order - and win.