"That's too bad," Poe says, dismantling the idea of any edge that knowing an opposing Captain's style of pursuit might provide. "Wouldn't mind a rematch." As if the idea of facing down a fully-staffed Star Destroyer in a patchwork, glorified spice runner isn't at all absurd. Then again, for all of that, it's a wonderfully nimble little wreck, with enough firepower to give predators pause.

The news of the Governor ... after those reports, well, he doesn't find it in himself to be surprised. On the contrary, there's a savage hitch in his chest, a thread of something a little like retribution -- Poe's spent his entire career with the Resistance flying circles around people like them, scratching out whatever victories the Resistance could muster with their hands essentially tied by the New Republic's rules. "So here's where the fight really starts, then," Poe says quietly. "You think it'll make a difference?"

He glances at his sensors once more, then settles back in his seat for the rattling sensation of the Heartline shrugging off the planet's atmosphere. No point in deliberating, when the truth is he has little guide him on outside of his confidence in his skill. "Send your message, Captain, unless you want me to move in closer, first -- let's get this started, huh?"