Seasoned pilots told stories of creatures that haunted the vast network of hyperlanes that stretched across the Unknown Regions, crisscrossed the expanse in bizarre and unexpected ways that no cartographer could yet explain. You could hear their mournful calls across space beneath the hum of your sublight engines if you listened closely enough, that was what the seasoned pilots said. Some called them Force shades and some didn’t know what to call them—or claimed as much for sheer, dramatic effect. But Poe Dameron didn’t believe in tales and from the way the scent of whiskey clung to the air of every cantina those seasoned pilots ever took a breath and exhaled in, he wouldn’t have taken much stock in their reports regardless. He’d mapped a fair few of those lanes, making the Unknown just that tiniest bit less mysterious—it paid the bills, and handsomely at that.
There was profit in the untapped, and Poe’d only ever wanted to fly. His employers gave him the most freedom to do just that. As long as he send back his monthly encrypted databursts, they didn’t care what he did. Nobody in the galaxy had seen as much of its untamed, forgotten corners as him, he was willing to wager.
He’d been at this a lot longer than some, long enough that his hair was starting to gray at the temples, long enough now that he was starting to get confused for one of those seasoned pilots he scorned rather than the perpetual haranguing about fresh meat he’d been subjected to for… going on fifteen years, was it? Had it really been that long? Maybe so.
The point was, a hum was a hum. And if anything out there was making a mournful call, it was these pilots’ ships begging to be put through a thorough inspection and refit. There wasn’t a screech in the void that couldn’t be soothed by a bit of elbow grease, some real grease, and a bout tender, loving maintenance.
Poe hadn’t yet developed a healthy enough ego to demand the newbies listen to his bullshit for hours on end as he got drunker and drunker on their awe and fear, but if and when he did, he’d tell them this: nothing preyed upon the stars that you didn’t bring with you.
He believed all of this until he heard a wailing cry that sounded nothing like a ship and nothing at all like a purrgil—those bastards were quite the pain in the ass and very, very distinctive. It struck the very heart of him, resonated in his bones. This sound required nothing of him to be heard, no. It demanded. And it drowned out the hum of the engines, vibrated at such a different frequency that Poe felt disoriented on his ship for the first time that he could ever recall.
He would have been lying if he’d said he wasn’t terrified, but he remained himself and, instead of fleeing, he strode toward the cockpit, only half-dressed as he approached. Whatever was out there would have to make due with a pissed-off, pajama-clad pilot.
Why he chose the cockpit and not, say, the cargo hold or even the docking bay or even the damned exit hatch, he wouldn’t be able to explain even later, but he was less startled than he should have been to see a man sitting in the pilot’s seat.
Nobody had ever mentioned entities, humanoid by all appearances, male, bright as all fucking get-out, luminescent, like instead of organs they contained strings of lights appearing out of nowhere to skulk and slink around flight controls.
Its eyes glowed brown and its mouth was very, very pink; its hair shone, brushing its shoulder in lightly curling waves. It looked like it contained starlight, close enough for Poe to touch. And he found he wanted to, being barred from doing that with the real thing because, sadly, giant balls of plasma and dust wouldn’t take too well to having fingers wrapped up in them.
Poe definitely, maybe, probably needed to get out more.
“That’s my chair,” Poe said. “Also, what the fuck.”
“Oh,” the creature replied. Now that Poe had processed this development a little bit, he noticed a scattering of moles across the creature’s face, dark constellations against a pale backdrop. Why would some space being have moles anyway? “You speak Galactic Basic. Okay. I can work with that.”
“Buddy, you’re not working with anything if you don’t tell me what in the hells you’re doing on my ship, in my cockpit.” Poe winced. It sounded like the worst kind of euphemistic come-on coming from a pilot like him.
“You weren’t listening,” the being explained. “I tried to warn you, but I had to take drastic measures.”
Poe’s heart climbed his throat. And though it probably wasn’t the best idea to step toward a being that could somehow board a ship, trip no alarms, and glow, Poe did just that. “What measures?”
“A minor course correction.” The being’s hands lifted, palms displayed in a manner that was meant, Poe supposed, to be calming. “You were flying toward a black hole. Finicky little thing. Your proximity scanners weren’t picking up on it for some reason.” He said it so flippantly that Poe knew the being knew exactly why and just thought Poe was too stupid to understand.
And maybe he was. On a day when all those whiskey-soaked moonjocks were proved right, maybe Poe was the idiot.
“If you’d been up here, you would’ve found it for yourself. I’m sorry it had to be this way. We try not to… I’ve followed your progress for quite some time,” the being said. “You’re a skilled astronavigator. I’ve never had to intervene before. Your kind are so persistent.” His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head. “They’re not normally so…” The being blushed and looked away. “Anyway. You should be fine now. In about three hours, your autopilot will course correct and you’ll be back on the path toward your original heading and no further obstacles will block your path. You can go back to sleep if you wish.”
Huffing in disbelief, Poe fell into the ever-empty copilot’s seat. “If you think I’m going to sleep after I found a—whatever you are—in here, you’re sadly mistaken.” I’ll be lucky if I ever sleep again.
The being shrugged and pushed himself to his feet. “Suit yourself.”
“Wait,” Poe said, reaching. The wrist he was suddenly holding beneath his fingers was cool, but not cold, to the touch. The skin was soft. A pulse beat, regular and even, just beneath the jut of bone near his thumb. “What’s your name?”
“I don’t… it would be difficult to vocalize in this form.” His mouth pinched and twisted, thoughtful. “You can call me Ben if you want. I always kind of liked that name.”
“Ben.” It sounded good in Poe’s mouth. “I can work with that. Thank you.”
Ben nodded, a distant, wistful look falling across his face. “Try to be more cognizant of the dangers of—” He said something, a string of melodious sounds that Poe couldn’t even begin to parse, presumably his name for the Unknown Regions. Poe wanted to ask him to repeat it just so he could hear it again. “—there really are dangers everywhere.”
“Or what? You’ll come back. That’s not exactly a—” Now Poe’s cheeks were the ones heating, but he didn’t look away. “I mean. You seem… interesting. And—useful.”
“Right,” Ben said, eyebrows lifted in disbelief. “I’ll just keep an eye out for anymore pitfalls you might find yourself heading toward, shall I? Because I don’t have anything better to do?”
Poe grinned and nodded. “Hey, do you even have eyes out there?”
“Of a sort. Obviously.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can see you’re going to be trouble, that’s for sure.”
“You’re the one who crashed this party first,” Poe pointed out. “I’m just seeing it through.”
When Ben sighed, Poe took it as a victory.
“I suppose I’ll be seeing you then,” Ben said.
Poe only grinned harder. It seemed to him his flights were going to get a whole lot more interesting in the near future. “I suppose you will.”
And he couldn’t wait.
If the stars seemed just that littlest bit brighter once Ben had gone, Poe didn’t remark about it. And he certainly didn’t subject the nearest cantina to his narrative as soon as he’d finished his latest assignment.
None of them needed to know the truth in all its wonder.
They seemed to get along just fine without it.