Beyond - Legends Interregnum (Post-The Last Command Action/Drama | Luke/Mara, Wedge | Epic) [Complete]

If I recall my vague memory of some EU stuff correctly, isn't Kam Solusar the guy who eventually married Tionne?

 

You do indeed remember correctly.

Okay, last part of Chapter 20 coming in a minute. It's really short.

 

[Go to Table of Contents]​

Chapter Twenty, Part III

The Tevas-kaar examined his armor with a frown. The armor was degraded where the Jedi's lightsaber had struck it, the protection at the elbow worn slightly away. The Saarai-kaar had warned him not to rely on the armor, that not every lightsaber used the technology susceptible to overloads on contact with cortosis, but the risk had been minor and it had paid dividends. He'd won Vorru and Eliezer's escape. His oaths, and the oaths of his order, indebted him to that much.

Lefler's Rose was finally escaping Coruscant, Eliezer's magic getting them clearance to leave despite the continuing high alert. The Tevas-kaar wouldn't be sad to feel Coruscant, with its confusing mess of emotions and dangers, be left behind. Hopefully that would be the last of the tasks he owed Vorru, but he knew better than to expect it was. Besides, they'd be returning to Linuri now, to Tavira, and that was little better.

He closed his eyes as he removed his mask, placing it down on the bed beside him. He was tired, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. But so much had been wrong, for so long, that the sensation was more familiar than unfamiliar; it had become part of the constant rhythm of his life. Ever since the man in the black armor had driven a red lightsaber through his master's chest, ever since he had failed to get away, too frozen by horror and anger and torment, something had always been wrong. There was just nothing he could ever do about it.

It was different, at that moment. It wasn't just wrongness he felt. There was anticipation, too.

But anticipation of what?

[Go to Chapter Twenty-One] [Go to Table of Contents]​

 

[Go to Table of Contents]​

Chapter Twenty-One, Part I

Bel Iblis reviewed the datapad that Sena Midanyl handed him slowly. The state of the fleet was better than he'd dared hope. "Innasval reports they're ready for combat?" he asked, turning towards his aide in the swivel-command chair at the center of Orthavan's bridge.

Midanyl nodded, taking the datapad back. "It seems the damage wasn't as bad as it first appeared. Their shields are back to full operational capacity. They've still got some problems with a few of their starboard guns, but on the whole they're ready for a fight again."

He leaned back in his command chair, his hands resting comfortably on his lap. "Good. Then we just need to wait for the right moment to make our move. We've been out of contact with Coruscant for a while now, but my last conversation with Intelligence made it clear that they were sending us help, though they were short on the details."

"Hopefully whatever they send can help us address Ukio's planetary shields," Midanyl said. "We can destroy the Imperial fleet, but if we have to bombard the planet to breach them we'll do a lot of damage on the ground."

"Have faith, Sena," Bel Iblis said calmly. "The solution will present itself, we just need to keep moving forward. In the meantime, we're going to need to detach some ships to go freighter hunting. It's been a while since we caught anything here."

"Not an easy ask," she cautioned. "We only have one Interdictor, so we'll need to catch them between hyperspace jumps."

"True," Bel Iblis agreed. "But that also limits the number of places we'll be able to patrol, so we won't need that many ships." He gestured at the combat board, the circular display listing all the ships they had in the formation. "We can dispatch Ession Strike and see if she can pin down any new routes the Imperials are using to get supplies to Ukio. I'll send a message back to Coruscant asking for another Interdictor to cut off alternate routes; if we actually get one then we'll be able to expand the blockade, and if we don't maybe the communication will be intercepted and the Empire will curtail its operations anyway."

"I wouldn't expect we would get another Interdictor," Midanyl said with a frown. "The New Republic doesn't have that many."

"True," Bel Iblis muttered. "But there's no harm in asking. The more we do, the more incentivized fleet command will be to prioritize building more of them."

Midanyl sniffed dismissively. "You hope."

The operations board blinked, and an alarm sounded on the other side of the bridge. "Contact!" called the Mon Calamari manning the scanning station. "We've got a new vessel in our interdiction field, it looks like an Action IV medium freighter."

"Scramble the duty squadrons and have the CAP intercept them," Bel Iblis ordered, "and send the standard notification. Contact Major Page and inform him to cancel his afternoon combat drill and prepare a boarding party just in case we require one."

Midanyl was leaning in for a closer look at the board. "We should get their IFF any moment now," she murmured, then frowned. "That's odd. They're not running one." She turned towards Karrde and gave him a mildly annoyed look. "I suppose they could be Imperials trying to slip past us."

"If they are it's not a very clever ploy," Bel Iblis replied. "I doubt the Empire would be so stupid to think that would work. But if they're not Imperials, who are they?"

Midanyl pointed at the blinking comm button on his armrest. "Why don't we find out?"

Bel Iblis pressed the button, activating his comm. "This is General Garm Bel Iblis of the New Republic, commanding the Star Cruiser Orthavan. State your identity and purpose for being here."

"Ah, General," Talon Karrde's smooth voice emerged from the bridge speakers. "It's good to hear your voice. This is Talon Karrde, representing the Smugglers' Alliance."

On the other side of the bridge, Captain Irraerl's expression darkened and she turned away, looking annoyed. Bel Iblis made a mental note to talk with her later; many Mon Calamari were not at all happy at the new arrangement between the New Republic and Karrde's smuggling coalition, but it was done and they'd just have to get over it. "Karrde. What brings you out to this part of space? I don't suppose you're here to partake in the flourishing Hishyim trade in Sonoa diamonds."

"Perhaps while I'm here," Karrde said without missing a beat, "I will take a look and see what's worth shipping to the core. But no, that is not why I'm here. With your permission, General, I'd like to dock the Wild Karrde with Orthavan. Why, we should discuss in person."

Bel Iblis looked over at Irraerl. His Mon Calamari flag captain did not look thrilled about it, but she wouldn't object to it either. "See to it, Captain," he ordered. "Karrde, I take it you're attempting to keep a low profile?"

"That's right," Karrde confirmed. "At the request of General Cracken, if you believe it."

Bel Iblis and Midanyl shared a look. "You're the reinforcements I was told to expect?" he said skeptically.

"Again, General, I would prefer to discuss that in person."

"Very well," Bel Iblis agreed. "I'll await your arrival." He gestured at his officers. "Captain Irraerl, prepare us the briefing room nearest to the hangar, and clear all nonessential personnel. Captain Karrde intends to keep a low profile, and I will respect that desire." Then he turned to Midanyl. "Time to see what the new Smugglers' Alliance has to offer the New Republic."

* * *​

Luke was waiting in the corridor outside Orthavan's hangar in his old New Republic flight suit (minus any rank insignia), the humid air and smells of dozens of different sentients pulling him years into the past, to combat drills and urgent launches. Two fresh-faced commandos with Page's unit insignia were pretending not to sneak glances in his direction while they guarded the briefing room a few meters away. Behind him in the hangar were the sounds of cargo being unloaded. Next to him Artoo whistled, his head spinning, looking for a data port.

"Luke!"

He turned towards the familiar voice, grinning, and Wedge caught him in a hug. Laughing, Luke returned it. "It hasn't been that long since I saw you, Wedge. We had that shindig on Coruscant after you got back from Ciutric."

"Yeah, well, it's still good to see you. And hey, Artoo."

Luke's astromech whistled a cheerful hello, then rolled down the hall towards the two commandos. The droid beeped at them, then attempted to roll forward into the room.

"It's okay," Wedge called. "You can let him in on my authorization. Artoo isn't a security risk; he's probably seen more combat than both of you put together."

The commandos stepped back and Artoo blatted at them before vanishing into the conference room. "He's probably looking for some way to talk to the ship," Luke laughed. "Apparently the Wild Karrde isn't much of a conversationalist. I'd imagine that is Karrde's doing, probably made his ship's personality suit his preference for tight control over information."

"Probably," Wedge laughed, slinging his arm around Luke's shoulders. "It took you longer to get here than I expected. I figured you would have shown up a week ago. You missed our last engagement."

"If I'd just gotten in my X-wing instead of riding with Karrde, I would have been here sooner," Luke conceded. "But I don't think you'll be unhappy when you learn what we've brought."

"Is that so?" Wedge lifted an eyebrow curiously, then shrugged. "All right. I look forward to getting a look at it, then."

"Actually it's what you're not going to see you'll find most interesting, I think."

Wedge frowned at him sideways. "Is this a Jedi riddle?"

Luke laughed. "Maybe." He knocked his shoulder against Wedge's. "How's Iella?"

"I haven't heard from her since before Hishyim," Wedge said with a deepening frown. "She said she was doing some intelligence work. It's hard to make contact right now, what with the HoloNet being compromised and all."

"I know, I heard," Luke said. "Iella can take care of herself. And you've heard Cracken's assigning her a new job, once her current one is finished?"

Wedge turned towards him in surprise. "No, I haven't heard that. A new job?"

Luke started to answer, but was interrupted by footsteps down the corridor. He and Wedge broke apart as General Bel Iblis and Sena Midanyl walked towards them. The two commandos guarding the conference room both straightened to full attention. As did Wedge. Luke maintained a studied parade rest with a smile "General Antilles, General Skywalker," Bel Iblis greeted them.

"Just Citizen Skywalker now, General," Luke replied mildly.

"What brings you here, Citizen Skywalker?" asked Midanyl curiously. She held a datapad comfortably in her hand, flanking the taller Bel Iblis like a fully-loaded gunship ready to lend support.

"I asked him to come," said Wedge. "Before the communications blackout. My Rogues have been flying without a full complement of pilots, and I thought we could use one more."

Bel Iblis' eyebrows both rose. "Are you reactivating your commission, Jedi Skywalker?"

"Ah, no," Luke said, looking vaguely embarrassed. "I'm here as a volunteer combatant on detached service, as a favor to a friend."

"I suppose we can overlook the lack of protocol," Bel Iblis said, his mouth forming into an amused smile under his mustache. "Especially because the bucketheads won't know I have you on strength. Now, what is this that Talon Karrde claims to have brought on behalf of New Republic Intelligence?"

Luke grinned. "I think I'll let him tell you that, General. It is his gift, after all." He nudged Wedge. "Trust me, it'll be worth it."

"Indeed it will," said a new voice from the door to the hangar. Talon Karrde stood there, looking very pleased with himself. "General Bel Iblis, an honor. And Miss Midanyl, I don't believe we've met. My congratulations on the birth of your new grandchild."

Midanyl's expression twitched with surprise, then narrowed. "Showing off the extent of your intelligence network, Karrde?"

Karrde smiled. "I do make a point of knowing the people I work with. Please, come with me." He turned and walked back into the hangar.

Wedge leaned towards Luke. "What's all this about?"

"You'll see."

The quartet followed behind Karrde. The Wild Karrde's aft cargo bay doors were open, and a large crate had been ushered out of the ship. Luke's X-wing was being brought out next, Dankin and Chin working to bring the fighter out so that one of the hangar's cranes could attach to it.

"General Cracken informed me that he would be sending us reinforcements, but he was vague on the details," Bel Iblis was saying, increasing his pace to catch up with Karrde. "Jedi Skywalker is a nice addition to our forces, but I don't suppose you have another Star Cruiser in there."

"I'm afraid not," Karrde said. He waved for Chin, who jogged over and the two men opened the metallic shipping container.

The assembled audience circled the box to look inside. It was a large piece of equipment, but from their expressions neither Wedge nor Bel Iblis immediately recognized it.

Sena Midanyl, by contrast, clearly did. She stopped dead, staring at it, then stared at Karrde. "Does it work?"

"Oh yes," Karrde confirmed. "We tested it on the way. It is an early prototype constructed shortly after the Empire secured the schematics from Wayland, and it doesn't have an effective radius sufficient to cover an entire capital ship, I'm afraid. But there are other uses that may actually prove more effective in this case."

Bel Iblis shook his head, then turned toward Midanyl. "Would one of you care to let me in on the secret?"

"Allow me," Karrde said. He reached to the control panel on the side of the box and pressed a few buttons.

The device shimmered for a moment, and then vanished.

Bel Iblis and Wedge stared at the sudden absence. Luke grinned and nudged Wedge's arm again. "I told you."

Wedge stared at the empty box, then turned and glared at him. "You can't just come fly with us for a while, you always have to be dramatic."

"One working prototype cloaking device," Karrde said with satisfaction. "Courtesy of the Smugglers' Alliance, with Jedi Skywalker's aid of course. Consider it our gift to the New Republic." He smiled. "We can extend the radius of the cloaking effect out to as large as forty meters. General Cracken believes that the newest Imperial cloaks can do significantly better, and may even be able to cover an entire Star Destroyer. But for Ukio, this should be good enough."

Luke could see the wheels turning behind Bel Iblis and Wedge's eyes. The two Generals turned towards one another. "Sluis Van," Bel Iblis said.

Wedge nodded in excited agreement. "We'll need a freighter. Something that can pass through Imperial security."

Chin handed Karrde a datapad, and Karrde handed it to Bel Iblis. "This is from General Cracken," he said. "It's an up-to-date identification code for a Star Galleon that will be recognized by Ukio's computers. And, I should add, that if you don't have one of those available, I've made a call. Surreptitiously, of course. Aves should be here with the Last Resort in a few days, depending on how long it takes my courier to track him down. I didn't want to risk the HoloNet."

Wedge nodded again. "It'll work." He grinned at Bel Iblis, then turned to Karrde. "As long as they don't know we have the cloak?"

Karrde gestured to Luke. "Skywalker and I staged the theft a few days ago, from a semi-covert Imperial research facility in the Rendili system. This prototype cloaking device was constructed early in their development cycle, but ended up being pushed into storage when Thrawn requested some small design changes. It's been sitting in storage ever since."

"They could realize it's missing," Luke added. "Someone could come across its absence at any time. But they shouldn't be able to easily trace it back to us, and there's a better chance that they don't realize it's missing for a while yet."

"Even still, we shouldn't wait," Bel Iblis mused. "We can begin working up a battle plan immediately, and implement it as soon as we have an operational Galleon." He nodded at Wedge. "Take the rest of today to rest and catch up, then tomorrow I want you and Captain Tabanne scouring the hyperspace bypasses to Ukio. You may not find anything, but if you do we might be able to shave a day or two off our timetable. I'm also going to prepare some recon flights on Ukio and make sure our intelligence is absolutely up to date." He turned to Karrde. "It seems we owe you a debt."

"Hardly," Karrde said. "I'm merely being neighborly."

Bel Iblis snorted. "Whatever you say."

"I also don't intend to stick around for very long," added Karrde. "I'd rather not let anyone find out I was here; that might make it easier for the Imperials to realize where their cloaking device ended up. I'll be taking the Wild Karrde on a quick run to Rishi, then heading back to Coruscant to resume work on the Smugglers' Alliance." He nodded at Luke. "I'll miss having a Force-user on my ship, I think."

Luke smiled. "I'd say you're good enough to work well without, Talon."

"Oh, I disagree. But I suppose that may simply be because I've long had the luxury of having one on loan." He smiled. "Please, do take Ukio back, if you would. I'm looking forward to being able to give Gillespee the deed to his land back the next time I see him."

"We will," said Bel Iblis grimly. "You can count on it."

[Go to Chapter Twenty-One, Part II] [Go to Table of Contents]​

 

Oh I always enjoy the comradely fun between Luke and Wedge And the cloaking device will make for some interesting strategy.

 

So, there won't be any more updates until Friday, when we get the second half of Chapter 21, but I just wanted to let everyone know that the novel is now finished. It's done. No more missing scenes. Some beta work needs to be done, with editing and polishing, but there are no more missing scenes! I started writing this last February, and eleven grueling and horrible months later (except for writing, which was the bright spot), the story is finished. 36 chapters, 195,000 words, the last chapter of the story will (if my math was right) be posted in the first week of May.

 

Congratulations on that & every single word has been a treat.

 

Poor Kam

Wedge and Artoo friendship is not something I realized I needed in my life, but here we are

Heh, the man who blew up the first Death Star volunteers to be a substitute pilot for the squadron he founded and is "vaguely embarrassed" about it. So very Luke

I just adore Luke and Wedge buddy scenes

Yay!

 

[Go to Table of Contents]​

Chapter Twenty-One, Part II

Wedge was positively giddy. The Rogues had assembled—with some annoyed grumbling—in Orthavan's primary briefing room, a large circular area which was quite akin to the same space aboard Admiral Ackbar's Home One. They sat, talking to one another; Tycho had an expression which suggested he had an inkling of what Wedge was up to, but the others seemed entirely baffled and uncertain.

"Aten-SHUN!" Wedge barked as he entered the room, and laughed inwardly as they all scrambled to their feet in surprise and snapped to order. He glowered at them. "As you were," he said after a moment and they all sat, looking at each other in confusion. "As you know," Wedge continued, "Rogue Squadron has been understrength for some time now. We have been lucky enough to persuade Her Beneficent Majesty to rejoin us," he nodded at Plourr, who looked thoroughly unimpressed, "but poor Major Klivian remains without a wingman." He gestured flamboyantly at the door behind him. "So, with that in mind…"

Luke swept into the room, looking both embarrassed and amused. The dead silence betrayed a sudden, bated excitement as the Rogues who had served under Luke when he'd been Rogue Leader—Hobbie, Wes, Tycho, and Nrin—gasped in surprise (especially Hobbie, whose sudden, uncharacteristic excitement bordered on giddy). The younger Rogues took a second longer, but they'd all met Luke at one Rogue Squadron function or another.

"Greetings to old friends and new faces," Luke said cheerfully. "I'm very proud to be flying with the Rogues again. Wedge reached out and suggested that there were certain things that I might be able to help deal with." The excitement stilled a bit; they had all heard the story of the Force-adept who had confronted Corran, Nrin, and Myn at Cracken's prison. "For the purposes of rank and communication, I'll be flying as Rogue Three, paired with Major Klivian, with the effective rank of Lieutenant. Outside the cockpit, I'll be ignoring all orders from Major Janson unless otherwise directed by General Antilles or Colonel Celchu."

"We thought about making him Rogue Leader and giving me back Rogue Three," Wedge put in. "That's the designation I used at Hoth. But for some reason Skywalker seems averse to taking back his old rank."

Hobbie's jaw had gone slack. The long-time Rogue glanced around at his squadron mates and stood slowly. He mock-counted each of his prosthetic limbs slowly, then ambled down the round stadium seating to put his hand on Luke's shoulder. "Listen here, young Skywalker. I'll only tell you this once. I want to end my tenure as your wingmate with exactly as many limbs as I have now. If I'm short one, I'm taking your hand as an incentive to do better." He nodded seriously. "But stick with me, I'll show you the ropes."

Wedge snickered. Luke, struggling not to laugh, merely inclined his head with hard-won grace. "I bow before your decades of superior skill and experience, Master Klivian. Teach me your mysterious ways."

For once, Wes Janson was struck silent as Hobbie grinned and danced over to Wes's seat with an off-key, repeated taunt of "Luke likes me bet-ter, Luke likes me bet-ter." Wes sputtered like an exhausted shield buffer, and his expression was one Wedge was quite sure he'd never forget.

* * *​

The forward lounge on Ession Strike was more comfortable than Luke expected. Through the window were the spiraling lights characteristic of hyperspace, casting the room in dim hues. He found a seat and relaxed into it, propping his feet up.

"Been a while since we were on assignment together," Wedge chuckled, taking the chair next to him and sliding a tumbler and a bottle across. Luke poured some Whyren's and handed the bottle back; Wedge filled his own and popped the cork back in, then set the bottle down between them. "Years. Regretting stepping off the flightline?"

Luke watched the lights spiral. "Yeah," he replied, sipping his drink and feeling the burn, "Some days. Then some nights I see everyone I ever flew with who didn't make it back, all those narrow escapes, and I don't miss it so much." He leaned back in his chair. "Any updates on that Force-adept Corran ran into?"

"No," Wedge said. "Invidious is still at Linuri, or it was just a couple days ago when we ran our last recon flight."

Luke nodded. His meditations persisted in showing him the teacher and the student, but there had been one night he'd seen Mara instead. Confident, composed, a bright light in a dark room. It was a fleeting glimpse only; he'd forced himself to avoid clinging to the image.

He was in trouble.

"Well," he said. "You're going to go after Tavira sooner or later, I assume?"

Wedge nodded. "As soon as Ukio is secured, she'll become our top priority. A Star Destroyer is a hard thing to hide and Tavira is dangerous, especially now." He took a sip of his Whyren's, turning slightly to face Luke, still reclined in the chair. "What'd you mean about Iella earlier?"

"Talon Karrde has requested her services. He wants her to serve as the New Republic's liaison to the Smugglers' Alliance." Luke cradled his glass, watching through the window, shadows moving in the room. "She's going to be partnered with Mara."

Luke could feel Wedge's eyes on him. "Iella would be good at that," he said finally. "And I bet it's safer than some of the jobs she's been doing. I don't want to think about how she got all the intel on Hishyim and Ukio for us." He took a longer sip, then fetched the bottle to refill his glass. "When this operation is over I'm going to take some leave, see if Iella can too," he said.

"When was the last time you took leave?" Luke asked.

"Never," Wedge muttered. "Well, that's not quite true. But not often."

How many years had it been since Yavin? Ten? And Wedge had been deployed almost continuously for all that time? Luke could remember how exhausted he was when he finally turned in his commission and started exploring the heritage of the Jedi full time, and he'd only been a General for six months.

Now that he thought about it, Wedge had been only a General for about six months. "What are you planning to do?"

Wedge shrugged. "I was thinking of going home. Back to Corellia, I mean. With the lackadaisical way CorSec is being run, Iella and I could slip past the Diktat's security and spend some time in Coronet, or… I don't know." He sighed. "I've been back to Corellia only a few times, and always on mission. I want to—" he groped for words, sounding weary "—just, go home for a while." He shifted. "But it's not like the New Republic is going to be displacing the Empire from Corellia any time soon. Their hold there is as tight as it is anywhere in the galaxy."

"You should take some time," Luke said. He chuckled softly. "Even I miss Tatooine sometimes."

"The way Gavin talks about it you'd think it's a paradise, all the womp rats you can shoot." Wedge laughed. He took a sip of his drink, watching Luke. When he spoke again, his voice was speculative and just a bit teasing. "So, how is Mara?"

Luke flushed. "Am I that obvious?"

"Do you want an honest answer?" Wedge chuckled softly. "We were kids when we met, Luke. Kids with dead families and cut-off childhoods who were asked to do the impossible. And worst of all we succeeded and lived to tell about it. You even got a medal. And then we were asked to fight the Empire with a fleet made of spite, spit and spacetape and stuffed into quarters the size of a closet together for months at a time. I probably know you better than anyone else alive except your secretly hidden twin sister, who I might add you also had a—"

Luke cut him off with a mock glare. "Yeah." He smiled despite himself. "At this point I'd say you're basically family. Just," Luke sighed, "family who keeps getting posted away."

The mask of command had completely left Wedge's face. "I tell you I've been taking correspondence courses for architecture?"

Luke shook his head.

"Tycho knows, I asked him for some holos of Alderaanian buildings for a class assignment, but it's something that I can put a little of myself into that doesn't involve planning to kill people, killing people, and writing letters to the bereaved. Maybe something I can do for the long term. With Iella. You know, build things instead of just blowing them up." He paused, stared at through the viewport at the starscape beyond, and caught himself before donning a more cocksure expression and awaiting ribbing for something that clearly meant the world to him.

"That's good, Wedge. I'm actually a bit jealous you have that destination to aim for," Luke said, remembered half-done flimsi sketches on the walls of their quarters, "I'm still figuring out what the whole 'Jedi' thing means, let alone how my personal life is going to pan out."

Wedge smirked. "So? How is Mara?"

Luke flushed again, and Wedge snorted. "Oh, stop that," Luke laughed, smacking Wedge's shoulder, which caused Wedge to spill a bit of his drink and laugh some more. "She's fine."

"Luke, you brought her to the celebration after Thrawn's death," Wedge said, snickering. "If you were planning on being discreet you should have come alone and commiserated with the other Rogue bachelors. Instead you spent practically the entire evening secured to her arm." He smirked. "You're just lucky that Janson was on his best behavior."

"Not lucky," Luke muttered. "Mara took a few minutes to explain her favorite interrogation techniques with her heel on his instep."

Wedge sputtered with laughter.

"She's very… Mara," said Luke after Wedge's laughter had finally died down. He fought to find other words, but using words like luminous and inspiring would just elicit more teasing.

Wedge took a deep breath and nodded, as if that was all he needed to hear. "She'll look after Iella, right?" His tone suddenly carried in it a hint of worry.

Luke reached over and squeezed Wedge's shoulder. "I have absolutely no doubts whatsoever that Mara and Iella can look after themselves," he said with certainty. "They're probably the two most competent people in the whole galaxy." He paused. "Well, along with Leia," he added.

"It's a good thing that we're the two best pilots in the galaxy or we might really feel inadequate here," said Wedge after a moment, but his tone didn't quite match the bravado of the words.

Luke smiled, remembering years now past, with him and Wedge and the rest of the first Rogues crammed into the barracks on Hoth, boasting confidently to hide their fears. "Yeah," he said. "It is."

[Go to Chapter Twenty-Two] [Go to Table of Contents]​

 

I love the comfortable easy way Wedge and Luke can be real with one another, and how transparent Luke is about Mara.

"Luminous and inspiring" Those are some very besotted adjectives

 

Rogues being Rogues. Gotta love it.

 

Aw, the old-timers being excited and Luke still going to Rogue Squadron functions

Luke's a wise man

Good to see Hobbie get his moment in the sun

So much trouble...

That's right! Profic really didn't play up the Luke/Wedge friendship as much as they could (should) have. They should be as close as Luke and Han are, really, after all those shared experiences.

And however much they gossiped about it, I bet not one of the Rogues blamed him for that

Aw

Heh, well, clearly Mara and Iella like them, so not to worry, Wedge

 

Yes, Luke is head-over-heels and he knows it... and so does pretty much everyone else...

The Rogues are always fun! And one of the things about Luke is... he seems never to have that many friends. He meets lots of people, but we don't see that many of those meetings turn into close personal relationships of a non-romantic variety (he had plenty of those). So, Luke's circle of close, non-family friends really is... Lando, the Rogues... *holds up hands helplessly* that's about it. And of course being Luke Skywalker it'll always be hard for him to make new ones, because no one treats him like a human being; he's basically an in-universe superhero (or villain) in the eyes of public opinion.

Okay! Chapter Twenty-Two is another two update chapter, with a relatively short one today and a very long on on Friday. Post coming in a minute!

 

[Go to Table of Contents]​

Chapter Twenty-Two

Teren Rogriss’s office was sullenly quiet as he perused the final reports after Bel Iblis’ raid on Ukio. Agonizer remained a heavily damaged wreck badly in need of repairs, though Captain Tigan and his crew had labored heroically to get the Star Destroyer back into something resembling fighting shape. Suwen Station was a complete loss, but most of the facility’s crew and some of its final Tibanna gas shipments had been salvageable, which meant that for now he’d have no issues with ensuring that Ukio’s garrison could fight ably against a similarly-capable Republican force.

But his quiet fury at Moff Disra’s flagrant disregard of his command, and refusal to order the Linuri repair yards to expedite its work on Invidious so it could repair Agonizer, still smoldered. He wouldn’t let it show, of course—every Imperial fleet officer knew never to let an Imperial Moff know you hated them—but that didn’t make it any less real.

He’d been ordered to hold a system that the Empire no longer needed, to sacrifice men and material that could be used elsewhere to better effect, all just to spite the New Republic. He had sworn an oath, and his personal honor demanded that he keep that oath—for his honor, for the Empire’s honor, for his children’s honor—but that did not mean he was not blind to the utter futility of his orders.

The bottle of whiskey he had in the bottom drawer of his desk beckoned. Gilad was on duty. What harm would a little—

His intercom buzzed and he pressed it with a sigh. “Rogriss.”

“Pellaeon here, sir,” Captain Pellaeon’s brisk, sober voice brought him back to attention, “Moff Disra is on the holocomm and wishes to speak with you. He says it’s urgent.”

Rogriss scowled, then smoothed his expression into one of brisk professionalism, a mask he’d first put on as a cadet and which had served him very well in the decades since. “Send the message to my station.”

Moff Disra’s decrepit, wrinkled face peered at him. Disra wasn’t that old, not that much older than Rogriss, but he had a prematurely aged face with frown lines permanently etched throughout. “Admiral Rogriss,” the Moff greeted him. There was something different about Disra’s expression this time, Rogriss thought. Something hawkish and anticipatory. Something gloating.

“What can I do for you, Moff Disra?” he replied formally, keeping his back parade-formation straight.

“I have an opportunity for you, Admiral,” Disra replied, and Rogriss could definitely see the anticipation and gloating now. Whatever it was Disra had to tell him, the man was very happy about it. “I have managed to procure a piece of useful intelligence about the fleet movements of General Bel Iblis. I’m sending you full data about his ships and their current readiness as of four hours ago.”

Rogriss’ back straightened even more. What? “Sir?” he asked, hearing the confusion in his own voice.

Disra’s pretense of professionalism lapsed entirely, leaving behind ambition and self-congratulation. “I have a new intelligence asset,” the Moff smirked. “More than that, I cannot divulge, even to one of your status, I am afraid. In the information I am sending you, you’ll see I’ve highlighted one of Bel Iblis’ ships—a Corellian corvette which appears to be hunting your remaining logistics vessels. I want you to destroy it.”

His terminal beeped. Distracted and slightly confused, Rogriss looked at the information. Sure enough, there it was—Bel Iblis’ entire fleet, with precise locations and surprising detail on things like ship status and readiness. There were ships he hadn’t known Bel Iblis had, too, including a cruiser-carrier. He skimmed through the data, looking for the ship Disra referenced, and found it. Ession Strike, the same corvette which had set up the ambush at Hishyim and slashed through his freighters during Bel Iblis’ raid on Ukio. It wasn’t that far away, prowling the less-well-traveled hyperlanes to Ukio, no doubt hunting the handful of Imperial freighters still trying to break the Republican blockade.

“Admiral?” Disra’s voice brought Rogriss out of his examination of the information.

“I’m sorry, sir. This information is quite detailed. Will this kind of data be arriving regularly in the future?” If it was, Rogriss had a chance to defeat Bel Iblis and prevent Ukio from falling back into Republican hands. The entire operation might actually be worth something.

“It may be,” Disra replied noncommittally. “I’m still making sure the source is secure. How soon before you can move on this information?”

Rogriss was already pulling up his terminal to re-assign the vessels he would need. His relative lack of TIE fighters was a problem, and the fact that Linuri had informed him that reinforcements would be delayed compounded that problem. There were ways to resolve the issue temporarily, but it would mean leaving Ukio nearly bare… “I’ll have Chimaera moving in thirty minutes,” he replied. “Was there anything else?”

Disra smiled ghoulishly. “No, that will be all for now, Admiral. Good hunting.” The terminal reverted back to the Imperial crest.

Rogriss pressed his intercom. “Captain Pellaeon, prepare Chimaera, Death’s Head, and Stellar Web for immediate hyperspace jumps. I’m forwarding the coordinates to you now. I’m also going to need all of Ukio’s ground-based TIE squadrons moved to our ships; you can assure our ground commanders that the move is temporary only. Inform Captain Brandei that he will be in command of the Ukio fleet until our return.”

“Sir?”

“I’ll explain when I arrive, Captain,” Rogriss said, pushing himself to his feet. “I believe we have an opportunity to score our first real victory of this campaign, and I do not intend to miss it.”

[Go to Chapter Twenty-Two, Part II] [Go to Table of Contents]​

 

Always fascinated by the undercurrent with Rogriss and Disra

 

I genuinely love the emphasis here. And Disra is just so eminently hate-able

 

Disra was the very last character I added to the lineup of characters for Interregnum. Adding him in has been a treat, though, he's very entertaining and playing him off against Rogriss has been a treat.

Okay! I'm going to be doing a few things in the morning and won't have time to post the chapter first thing, so it's going up a bit early. Post in a minute! A very ... very long one ...

 

[Go to Table of Contents]​

Chapter Twenty-Two, Part II

Luke couldn’t sleep.

This happened sometimes; there were nights his mind was too active, or the Force swirled with too much energy, for him to easily rest. On Dagobah Yoda had occasionally talked to him about the voice of the living Force, and told him that once he learned to listen, to really listen, he would also have to learn how not to.

But one of the solutions was meditation and hyperspace wasn’t all that conducive to meditation, which was an art best performed surrounded by life. Ession Strike had life aboard, but nothing like Dagobah or Coruscant or even Tatooine. It didn’t help that his pilot’s quarters reminded him of the days after Yavin, dodging from base to base and crammed in cramped spaces. Luke half expected the Empire to be waiting for them at their next hyperspace destination with a Star Destroyer or two.

It was odd, being back in uniform. It’d been years since Luke had resigned his Generalship and taken up the role of Jedi full-time. There was something oddly reassuring about wearing his orange flightsuit as a member of a fighter squadron again. As a Rogue again. It was a simpler job—though simpler did not mean easier, forbid Wedge ever heard him say that—one without the ambiguities of the nascent Jedi order. Allegiances were clear and unambiguous, responsibilities were given… point your X-wing at the enemy, charge your laser cannons, and just fly.

He didn’t even have any of the demands of leadership. Wedge was the General now. Luke really could just fly.

But for all the certainty being back with the Rogues offered, Luke still couldn’t sleep. He considered putting himself into a hibernation trance, but he dismissed the thought almost out of hand. He could do that, but it would be a crutch, something to allow him to avoid dealing with whatever it was that was actually bothering him.

He sighed and pushed the sheets back, sliding out of the compact bunk. It was a short walk and climb down to the starboard hanger where his and Hobbie’s X-wings sat, prepared to launch. When he’d been a kid, not being able to sleep had never been an issue; waking early to make sure the vaporators captured all the predawn moisture had been a frequent task. But when he’d been longing to escape, or fighting nerves over some teenager drama, he usually found some mechanical task, something to do with his hands. Working on his speeder, or the skyhopper, or one of the droids. It didn’t really matter what.

He found himself working on his X-wing. About a half-hour into recalibrating the snubfighter’s laser cannons to make sure they were properly zeroed, Artoo rolled past and whistled a surprised greeting.

“Good evening, Artoo,” he replied, waving his micrometer at the droid. Artoo blatted rudely at him in reply, and he laughed. “Yes, I know what time it is… I got some sleep, but not very much. I decided to come down and work in the hope that it’d clear my mind.”

The astromech examined him, then warbled a reluctant assent, followed by a question. With a chuckle, Luke fetched one of the cranes and helped wench the droid back into his socket. The X-wing hummed as Artoo booted up its main computer and started a full systems diagnostic.

“Make sure to check that the laser cannons are properly calibrated,” Luke asked.

Artoo made a dismissive sound, one that Luke knew meant that he should stop being a nag and let his faithful droid do his job. He smiled, putting his tools back in their case, and then the case back in the X-wing’s small cargo compartment.

The sound of feet on the ladder down into the hangar, followed by those feet on the metal deck, drew Luke’s attention away from his trusty X-wing. Corran Horn was standing there, his own lightsaber hanging from his belt, a slightly tired, slightly amused expression on his face. “You couldn’t sleep either?” the Corellian asked.

Luke shrugged. “I guess not. It’s been a while since I’ve traveled in pilot quarters, and these are even more cramped than what the Rogues had on Flurry years ago.”

Corran was slightly shorter than Luke, well-sized for an X-wing cockpit. He, like Luke, was Force sensitive; like Luke he had a Jedi heritage, as Corran’s grandfather, Nejaa Halcyon, had been a member of the order during the Clone Wars and killed before Palpatine’s purges began. His grandfather’s lightsaber hung from Corran’s belt. Luke thought of Anakin’s blade and wondered if it was keeping Mara safe.

“I’m used to that by now, though I think we would all be happy to move back to Orthavan,” Corran said dryly. He slid one of the sets of step-ladders over and sat on them. “I even considered trying that hibernation trance that was described in the teaching materials you sent me.”

“It’s not a good idea to try that one alone,” Luke said, frowning. “If you don’t prepare the wake conditions properly you can end up sleeping for days, and it’s not easy for others to rouse you out of it.”

“Just as well I didn’t, then,” Corran replied with a grimace.

Luke sat back, brushing his hands off over the pants of his Jedi black slacks. He’d tried to convince Corran to do some training as a Jedi in the past, with only limited success; Corran had been too committed to the Rogues and Luke got the feeling that the Corellian wasn’t quite sure that being a Jedi was what he really wanted for his future. Just the same, Luke didn’t know that many Force sensitives, and after Mara (and perhaps Leia, although all the complications involved with that possibility made Luke grimace), Corran seemed to be the most likely candidate to be a future member of his Jedi Order.

“Can I ask you a question?” Luke asked.

Corran shrugged. “Sure.”

“You were a Corellian Security officer,” Luke said. “You were Iella’s partner while she was there. When we worked together, she talked about what you did—hunting down criminals, investigating crimes, bringing justice whenever and however you could, given the Imperial hold over Corellia.” Luke leaned back, pausing as he formulated the question in his head. “CorSec is a law enforcement institution,” he settled on observing. “Is that what the new Jedi order ought to be also?”

Corran’s bushy eyebrows both lifted in surprise. “You’re asking me what I think the new Jedi order should be about?” His expression narrowed. “Are you leading up to asking me to join it?”

Luke shook his head. “No. Well, at least not directly. I’ve spent the last year in discussions with members of the New Republic council, my sister, representatives of foreign governments, all who have a vested interest in the rebirth of the Jedi order. But they all have wildly different ideas about what the Jedi order should be. Some want us to be advisors to politicians, others arbitrators of disputes, or dispensers of justice, or—” he grimaced “—warriors. Those who remember the Jedi before Palpatine destroyed them don’t agree about what they stood for, other than vague concepts of justice and goodness which sound good but ultimately are slogans, not practices.”

“And you’re trying to think about practices,” Corran said thoughtfully. “My father knew he was a Jedi’s son,” he said after a moment. “He didn’t tell me, no doubt to help keep me safe, but I know from the records back on Coruscant that he received at least rudimentary training when he was young. I wish he was here to tell us about why he made the choices he did after Palpatine’s purges, but he chose CorSec. I assume he did because it allowed him to get closest to upholding his values.” He shook his head. “But, Luke, I don’t know if that was because those values were Jedi values, or if they were just my father’s values.”

Luke sighed and nodded. “So much has been lost. The Emperor destroyed almost everything, and much of what there is that remains he deliberately corrupted. When I do find something, I never know if it is what Yoda and Ben would have wanted. And everyone who still lives seems to have some interest in shaping the Jedi so they can use us for their own ends.”

“Including the New Republic?”

Luke was silent. He could feel Corran watching him, those trained CorSec interrogator’s eyes judging how best to proceed. But that was all right. Maybe Corran would help find answers. Although even that might be a bit more than he could reasonably expect. Luke just hoped Corran could help him start finding the right questions.

“What would Yoda and Ben have wanted?” Corran asked curiously.

He thought about that. They had wanted him to fight and defeat the Emperor, to free the galaxy from the tyranny of the Empire. But beyond that… Luke found he really didn’t know. “I’m not sure. They both wanted me to pass on what they taught me, but beyond that…”

“Could they have told you?”

Luke hadn’t had much in the way of communication with Yoda since his master had passed into the Force. But Ben had occasionally been there, guiding him, for years after Endor, until that fateful dream where he had finally said goodbye. Years he could have used to give Luke instructions on the political structure of the old Jedi order. Instead, he’d used those years helping Luke confront threats to life, giving him small nudges. “Perhaps.”

“It seems to me,” Corran said slowly, “that your masters chose to leave that question for you to answer.”

Luke grimaced. Yes, he agreed silently, it did. Somehow, that only made the burden he bore even heavier. “Then I suppose that brings us back to the beginning,” he said. “If they had chosen to leave that question to you instead… what would you do?”

Whatever Corran’s answer would’ve been, he didn’t get a chance to give it. Ession Strike bucked, a sudden, wrenching vibration shuddering through the ship’s hull, sending both Luke and Corran sprawling across the deck. The hideous scream of metal scraping against metal echoed in both of their ears, followed by Artoo’s much quieter but far more terrified electronic screech.

Luke felt his stomach drop with sudden, horrified suspicion as he and Corran both struggled back to their feet. The Force battered him with the sense of impending doom, and from the way the color had gone entirely out of Corran’s face he suspected the other man could feel it as well.

Combat alarms began to howl, and Luke kicked the stepladder over to his X-wing and started to scrabble up it into the cockpit as Corran sprinted towards his own X-wing on the other side of the hangar.

* * *​

Atril didn’t bother to dress fully as she charged into Ession Strike’s bridge with her fatigue jacket slung over the shoulder of her ship-knits. She glanced at the plot that the night shift crew pushed to her console, rapping out orders for information while Traks’zim tried to brief her.

“[—gravity well pulled us out of hyperspace],” her Sensors officer, who had been commanding the corvette’s night watch, was saying, sounding remarkably calm for what he was describing. “[There’s a Star Destroyer out there, as well as—]”

His voice faded into the background as Atril stared at the plot, her blood turning to ice. There was an Interdictor-class cruiser out there, all right, one that was charging right at her to keep Strike trapped deep within its gravity well for as long as possible. Two squadrons of TIE fighters were out there as well, but it would take at least another three minutes before they were in weapons range. And behind them, its engines running at full burn and building speed fast, was the Star Destroyer Chimaera.

She glanced at the plot. She looked at her speed, the Star Destroyer’s speed, the Interdictor’s speed, and all three of their vectors. Asking the computer for a quick optimization, she was given the answer she expected.

There’s no way to get out of that Interdictor’s gravity well before Chimaera is in range. And so there’s no way to keep us from spending at least four full minutes in Chimaera’s teeth. A Corellian corvette, particularly one optimized for military use, was a hardy vessel for its size, but four minutes in an Imperial I-class Star Destroyer’s forward firing arc was a death sentence for anything smaller than a dreadnaught.

She refused to allow that knowledge to freeze her brain. Panic hovered at the edge of her mind but, drawing on the training she’d received at Carida and every erg of experience she’d received since leaving the Empire’s service, she forced it back. She’d deal with the consequences of the sudden ambush once there was no more good she could do. Right now there was good she could still do.

Atril thumbed the ship’s intercom. “Rogue Squadron to your fighters! Expedite launch sequence!” Then she turned to Traks’zim. “Go work up hyper calculations for the Rogues,” she ordered him. “I want every one of those X-wings to have a safe destination they can hit the moment they clear the gravity well.”

The Togorian’s catlike eyes blinked, then blinked again, this time with somber understanding. By the time she had turned away from him, he was already at work.

* * *​

“Finalize tractor locks on the corvette,” barked Pellaeon, standing on Chimaera’s elevated bridge. The corvette’s crew was good, but this time they hadn’t responded with the impossible alacrity they had at Hishyim, which told him all he needed to know. This time it’s not a double ambush. This time we have them.

The two TIE squadrons that Rogriss had managed to find to assign to Stellar Web for this mission were under firm orders not to engage the corvette, and instead were flying escort for Stellar Web. The only way the corvette could get away was if the Rogues first disabled the Interdictor. Pellaeon wouldn’t put it past them to do just that, which was why his TIEs weren’t on proper escort duty. Instead, they had one and only one assignment:

Shoot down proton torpedoes targeting Stellar Web.

The Rogues were already launching, in the staggered, uneven waves of pilots pulled out of their bunks and thrown into the fighters. He watched as they launched, wondering what exactly they would do.

* * *​

Luke was the first Rogue into space, and he found himself alarmingly alone. There were no TIE fighters strafing Ession Strike, there wasn’t even any incoming turbolaser fire from the two Imperial ships closing on them. It took him only a minute to figure out why, with Artoo’s help.

“They’re boxing Strike in,” he told the droid, “and protecting their Interdictor to make sure we can’t disable it before Chimaera gets its guns in range.” The sight of Chimaera, so often a nemesis of theirs during the Thrawn campaign, made Artoo’s answering whistle sound quite a bit more nervous than it otherwise would’ve been before a fight.

“Rogues, this is Strike,” the corvette’s Bothan communication’s officer said over the squadron comm. His voice was weary. “We are forwarding you hyperspace calculations for a short jump rimward. From there you can make your way back to Hishyim and inform General Bel Iblis that our mission was a failure.”

“Get me Strike Actual,” Wedge’s voice said firmly, though crackling slightly with the static of Imperial jamming and older Alliance systems. Luke watched his HUD, watching the distance between them and Chimaera steadily tick downwards as X-wings with tired pilots spilled out of Strike’s hangars. The first blue ion blasts came from Stellar Web as it closed, but the range was sufficiently long that they either missed Ession Strike entirely or washed over its shields harmlessly.

There was a brief pause. “Tabanne,” Atril said, broken up by a bit of static.

“Atril, Wedge said, dropping formality, “Go full reverse and get us a flak window, and we can hit Stellar Web—”

“Not viable, Wedge,” Atril’s voice came back, dully unemotional. “There’s no way for you to take out its CAP and all four of its gravity well projectors before Chimaera has us in range. You’d be risking your pilots, wasting your fuel, and giving up your best chance to get out of here for nothing.” Luke could hear the agony seep into her voice. “Strike is lost either way.”

“We’re Rogue Squadron,” said Plourr’s voice, a quiet fury burning in her words, audible even over the staticky communications channel. “We don’t just run away!”

“Yes, you do,” Atril insisted raggedly, the embers of her usual passion flaring back to life. “The New Republic needs the Rogues, and they were clearly waiting for us. This was a very well-planned little ambush, and it wasn’t for Strike. It was for the propaganda coup they’ll get from parading you lot around. You escaping is our win condition. And I’ll make damn sure you get out of here.”

Wedge seemed to take a moment, but it was barely longer than a breath as the Imperials crawled closer. “I can’t argue with that reasoning. Atril—”

Luke could feel the pain in Wedge’s Force-sense even from here. Atril didn’t let him finish, her voice cutting in, hiding her anguish and fear almost perfectly. “Likewise Wedge. May the Force be with you.”

Luke spun his fighter towards deep space, peering up through his X-wing’s canopy. Above him, Ession Strike turned suddenly, the last of the Rogues spilling into space as the corvette aimed its large hammerhead nose directly at Stellar Web. The corvette’s large bed of engines flared, all eleven glowing as the ship fought Chimaera’s tractor beams.

“Rogues, Rogue Leader.” Wedge’s voice was totally calm, but Luke could feel a mounting, carefully-dampened fury that matched Plourr’s even from a kilometer’s distance. “You heard the Captain, invert and retreat, maximum velocity until we escape the Interdictor’s gravity well.” The twelve X-wings gathered together, Luke settling into wingman formation with Hobbie.

Artoo whistled mournfully. On his HUD, Luke watched as Ession Strike started firing at Stellar Web, trying to force the Interdictor to engage rather than pursue the Rogues. He’d almost forgotten Chimaera before a hurricane of blue bolts poured into the corvette, the Star Destroyer’s entire array of forward ion batteries firing as one.

But the maneuver was working. X-wings were swift vessels, perhaps not as swift as TIEs or A-wings but with plenty of speed. Artoo projected a map of the combat area on his screen; the icons representing Rogue Squadron were steadily closing on the edge of the Interdictor’s gravity well. As soon as they breached it they could jump to hyperspace, and it would be a few minutes but no Imperial forces were even attempting to engage…

That was when a second Star Destroyer appeared directly in front of them.

* * *​

Teren Rogriss stood in the center of Chimaera’s bridge, the long command walkway above the two crew pits on either side. His datapad showed every aspect of the battle, including Captain Harbid’s pre-planned arrival.

The Death’s Head scythed into normal space, going through the characteristic pause as the ship’s captain and crew got their bearings. Harbid was a good commander, one Thrawn had selected for his personal Star Destroyer squadron for a reason. He was a veteran commander, like Pellaeon and Rogriss, though not as senior, and he had a long history of fighting the Rebellion. Most importantly, he had a long history of using his Star Destroyer to counter snubfighters, and Rogriss and Pellaeon had crammed every one of their fleet’s remaining TIE interceptors into the Star Destroyer’s massive underslung hangar.

But as timely as Harbid’s arrival was, his positioning was not quite perfect. That wasn’t his fault; there was no way to predict which escape route the X-wing squadron would use in advance. Harbid’s guess had been a pretty good one, but Death’s Head had overshot by four klicks and was on a vector that would take the big ship away from the fleeing Rogues rather than directly into their path. Between the momentary disorientation of the reversion to realspace, the ship’s inertia, and the Imperial I’s poor turning radius, it would take several minutes for Harbid to get his ship turned around to engage the Rogues directly. Several minutes was all the Rogues would need to escape.

Rogriss took a moment to consider. Then he gave his orders.

“Death’s Head launch all TIE squadrons. Engage and destroy enemy snubfighters,” Rogriss said calmly to Lieutenant Tschel, who was sitting at Chimaera’s communications station. “TIE squadrons assigned to CAP for Stellar Web are ordered to join the fighter group and engage the enemy.”

He heard Pellaeon’s familiar footsteps behind him. “We have the Corvette in our tractor beams, sir,” Pellaeon announced, a hint of triumph in his voice. “They’ll be disabled in moments, though Stellar Web reports minor damage.”

Ession Strike ought to be disabled quickly, subject to so much firepower. Out the forward bridge windows, a hail of blue weapons fire poured into the still-distant corvette, now being clawed closer and closer to Chimaera against its will, though still angled on and firing at the Interdictor. The ship’s crew was good, but there would be no escape for them this time.

“We have the Rogues outnumbered eight to one,” Rogriss said to Pellaeon, watching as the TIE icons on his datapad began to multiply, pouring out of Death’s Head’s hangar with as much haste as was safe.

Pellaeon was quiet for a moment, frowning at the plot. “Yes,” he agreed. “But they’re not that far from the edge of Stellar Web’s gravity well. We might not be able to engage them before they escape.”

“Forcing them to run is a victory in and of itself,” Rogriss observed philosophically. “And maybe we will get lucky.” They were due a little luck, he thought.

* * *​

Atril barked out desperate orders as ion cannons flickered over her ship, Ession Strike’s shields barely holding. At least they want us alive; if they were firing their turbolasers too we’d be ashes by now. She gripped the armrest of her command chair tightly. “Helm, give me full engines. Keep us pointed straight at that Interdictor!” Wedge and the Rogues might not have been able to take out Stellar Web in time to save Strike, but maybe she could hurt it enough to save them. Her mind was oddly calm, and she found herself easing her wounded gunnery officer out of his seat and taking control of the ship’s weapons herself.

The Interdictor, its four bulbous gravity well projectors protruding out of its hull awkwardly, was growing steadily closer, and Atril had always been an excellent shot. She’d honed that skill at Carida, training under some of the best gunnery experts and pilots the Empire had to offer, and after she’d defected she’d continued to practice the skill, serving as a gunnery officer on several different Rebel capital ships before she’d found herself in command of Ession Strike. She’d trained her crew with that same precision.

She hit Stellar Web with every weapon she had until her beloved ship finally went completely dark.

* * *​

Wedge’s voice came over Luke’s com with the thicker static of heavier Imperial comm jamming. “Rogue Squadron, go . . . as you’ve cleared . . . gravity well. Rep . . . erspace as soon . . . the Interdictor’s gravity well . . .”

“See if you can clean that up, Artoo,” Luke snapped at his droid. In the distance, the blue fire betweenChimaera and Ession Strike had faded almost entirely, and Strike had stopped replying to any communications prompts at all. The corvette was completely disabled.

But Atril’s mad charge at Stellar Web had succeeded in delaying the Interdictor’s pursuit, which would reduce the time required for the Rogues to escape the planetary-sized gravity well the ship was currently projecting and enter hyperspace. That saved time might be the difference between all twelve of the pilots making a successful escape or not, especially with the new arrival putting an enormous number of TIE interceptors into space.

It’s been years since I’ve seen a Star Destroyer carrying a full complement of TIEs, Luke thought to himself, shaking his head with a sort of stunned detachment. Assuming the Rogues all lived through this, it would definitely be a matter of pride and subject of bragging that the Empire feared them enough to go to such lengths just to try to kill them.

Unfortunately, that was a large assumption.

“Divert all power to engines and rear deflectors,” he said, thumbing his com and flipping his deflectors shields to full aft. He heard an echo of agreement and acknowledgement, and through the Force he felt unease growing alarmingly close to panic. Closing his eyes, letting instincts and Artoo guide his X-wing, Luke stretched out to the Force. His presence soothed tormented minds and allowed each pilot to find calm.

He’d never tried ‘battle meditation’ in combat before, but now seemed as good a time as any. Reports were that Thrawn had used the ability to great effect, which had driven Luke to research the ability. Sure enough, each of his fellow pilots relaxed, finding greater poise. He could feel Gavin Darklighter, the little cousin of his childhood best friend, still fighting through anxiety after his near-death fighting Invidious at Cracken’s hidden prison, and helped him push that anxiety away. He could feel Wedge and Wes’ despair at the loss of Ession Strike; they had each known Atril longer and better than the squadron’s other pilots, and the fact that she would shortly be an Imperial prisoner—at best—weighed heavily on them. But that pain was a distraction now, and Wedge especially needed to be at his best, and he eased it out of the forefront of their minds.

The X-wings hummed, cockpits rattling as they were pushed to their limits. Someone—probably Tycho—suggested closing S-foils for even more speed. On Luke’s HUD, the vanguard squadron of TIE interceptors from Death’s Head was still closing, but the first of the Rogues would be reaching the edge of the gravity well in seconds. It vaguely reminded Luke of the Battle of Yavin, watching the distance to the Death Star’s exhaust port tick down each second, TIE fighters screaming after them, eager to spit green laser fire—

The first X-wings to reach the edge of the gravity well stretched and vanished into hyperspace, and two allied minds winked out of his consciousness as the distance between them and Luke grew too great for his mental reach. Then the next two, and two more, and Luke felt Corran’s mind vanish along with his very alien wingman, and Wes’ familiar, jovial presence vanished with Gavin’s.

Green laser fire splashed against his reinforced aft shields.

“Go, Luke!”

Luke pressed the hyperspace lever flat and he vanished into the spinning lights of hyperspace.

[Go to Chapter Twenty-Three] [Go to Table of Contents]​

 

Awesome writing! Edge of seatness!

 

Same.

 

This is an interesting and entirely believable aspect of Force-sensitivity that I hadn't thought of before

I am extremely amused by the thought of Artoo wandering around the hangar and scolding Luke for not being asleep

Atril is awesome

Really excellent battle writing, as always

 

*laughs* it is funny, isn't it. Artoo the mother hen.

She is! But now we leave Atril and the Rogues, and return to Mara and company... it's a three update week, so M/W/F this week.

 

[Go to Table of Contents]​

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Millennium Falcon was being disturbingly obedient. Since they’d left Coruscant, literally nothing had gone wrong. No problems with the hyperdrive, or with the stabilizers, or the weapons or the communications suite… sitting in the cockpit was almost boring.

Han found it extremely disquieting. Chewie, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying the quiet ride.

“Chewie, is it just me or is the Falcon in perfect working order?” Han asked surreptitiously. He had the sneaking feeling that if the Falcon heard him talking about her, something would definitely go wrong…

Chewbacca chuffed one of his typical Wookie laughs, then rumbled a response.

“Well, I know you’ve been spending a lot of time working on her, and I know we’ve never had a full supply of spare parts before, but… does this feel really weird to you, too?” Han asked, feeling slightly embarrassed.

The Wookie’s amused response made Han chuckle.

“Good point,” he conceded. “I suppose we should just be grateful nothing has gone wrong yet. With our track record, I probably ought to be making sure the main hyperdrive isn’t about to cut out on us.”

That quiet wouldn’t last much longer, though. They were coming up on the Maw, an array of black holes that clustered near the Kessel system and made approaching the old prison planet difficult and communicating with it spotty. The whirring blur of hyperspace was distorted as they got closer to it, the spiraling lines of hyperspace twisting and tugging.

There was a rustle of movement and Iella and Mara joined him and Chewie in the cockpit, taking Luke and Leia’s typical seats. “I hope we’re staying well clear of the Maw,” Iella said, watching a second distortion start to tug at the Falcon, and a third. “When I was here with Wedge and Corran, we didn’t get this close.”

“Don’t worry,” Han reassured her, refusing to let any of his own anxiety over the Maw touch his voice. He and Chewie had done this literally dozens of times, and most of those times had come much closer to the Maw. It had just been a while since the last time. And maybe he had more to live for, now. “Chewie and me have done this plenty of times, we’ll be fine. We’re not really that close.”

Mara scoffed. “Pilots.”

Iella grinned over at her. “They really do have different standards for risk, don’t they?”

“Hey, Leia made me promise I’d be careful, so I’m being careful,” Han objected. “Almost time to exit hyperspace, Chewie.”

The Wookiee barked a slightly-annoyed retort of his own.

“I know that you know that,” Han’s tone was halfway between aggravated and apologetic. “I just wasn’t sure if they knew it, and didn’t want to seem patronizing.”

“Too late,” muttered Mara. “Of course we knew it was about time to come out of hyperspace, why else would we be here?”

Han felt his cheeks flush slightly, and compensated by concentrating on the hyperspace lever. “Oh. Well, good.” He watched the navicomputer tick down as they got closer and closer to Kessel’s gravity, putting some distance between them and the Maw, and drew back the lever to drop them out of hyperspace. The spinning wheel of light streaked back into the motionless dots of distant stars. He pointed out of the cockpit. “Kessel. In all its awful glory.”

Kessel was an elliptically-shaped rock, large enough to retain an atmosphere (mostly) but not large enough to retain one that was pleasant for humans. Enormous facilities generated additional atmosphere, pumping out air that hovered around the planet briefly, but inevitably trailed away, leaving a faint, hazy corona that formed a tail behind Kessel. In the distance, Kessel’s blue-white star offered light, but for human eyes it always felt alien. In orbit around Kessel was its sole moon, round and more typical, with its old Imperial garrison.

“Hasn’t changed since the last time I was here,” Iella said.

“I don’t think Kessel has changed much since it was first settled by the Old Republic,” Han replied, taking control of the Falcon and aiming the freighter towards Kessel and its moon. He kicked the ship to full throttle, then let the ship sail towards the planet at a quick but not hurried pace. “It’s always been a deathtrap, the only thing that’s been variable is scale.”

Chewie worked the controls in the copilot seat, and yowled a mild alarm.

“What is it?” asked Mara, sitting up in her chair and peering at the planet over Han’s shoulder.

“Chewie says he can’t raise Kessel’s landing control,” Han replied thoughtfully. “Although that may not mean much. Back during Jabba’s day, there would be times he’d bribe the entire Imperial garrison to take a day off and then he’d slip three or four bulk freighters in.”

Iella whistled, sounding awed. “If CorSec had known that, we would’ve garrisoned this place ourselves. We dumped a lot of prisoners here over the years.”

“You could’ve tried,” Han snorted. “But don’t think the Imperial authorities back on Coruscant didn’t know. If Corellia had asserted itself like that, the Empire would’ve yanked on the Diktat’s leash and forced you to back off.”

Han saw Mara’s expression tighten, and could see the flicker of shame in that expression. Still a little messed up by all that Imperial doctrine and dogma, Han thought, but she has a good heart, even if you have to dig past her natural buffer of hostility to see it.

Leia had spent months digging past his buffer layer of hostility, after all. He couldn’t hold Mara’s against her, not without making himself a hypocrite. He hated hypocrites. Besides, it was mostly Luke’s problem.

Chewbacca rumbled something else, and Han nodded. “Yeah, true. Since Doole took over after Endor, it’s been orderly but not too orderly. Hard to know how much of that is by design or just the natural consequence of the change in regime.” He fired the Falcon’s aft thrusters as Kessel started to loom in the forward viewport. “Vectoring in.”

They were well into Kessel’s gravity well when the blips of unidentified spacecraft started to appear on his screens. “We’ve got bogeys, Chewie. I’m seeing about a half-dozen. Look to be about snubfighter sized.”

The Wookie worked the communications controls, then growled unhappily when there was no reply.

“Send them our New Republic identifiers again,” Han suggested, waving at the computer.

Iella peered at the console over Chewbacca’s shoulder, and pointed. “Can you get a better look at one of them?” she asked.

Chewie focused the screen, and the image of the unidentified spacecraft solidified into a strange-looking fighter, certainly from the TIE squadron line. It had a TIE fighter cockpit, married to three triangular wings attached equidistant around the fighter. “Imperials!” Iella exclaimed.

“I don’t recognize the design,” Mara said, sounding more thoughtful than surprised. “Looks like a cross between a Defender and an Interceptor, but it’s not familiar to me from my Imperial service.”

“I don’t recognize it either,” Han added. “And I don’t like it. Why don’t you two go warm up the quads just in case, while Chewie and I try to see what these guys want.”

Iella leaned over his shoulder, examining the enemy starfighter more closely. She let out a slow, aggravated sound. “I recognize it. That’s the same design that Wedge and the Rogues fought, when Moff Tavira staged the breakout of Cracken’s prisoner.” She folded her arms across her chest, her expression darkening. “I suppose that confirms that Vorru was involved with that, too, if there was any remaining doubt.”

“Great,” Han muttered. “Maybe we should’ve waited until we could bring a Star Cruiser with us after all. Go get the quads.”

Iella and Mara vanished into the back, and the cockpit gunnery computer stirred to life. The emblems for each turret turned yellow, indicating that power was being transferred to the lasers.

Han switched on the audio pickup. “This is Han Solo, captain of the Millennium Falcon. I’m here on official New Republic business. Administrator Doole and I go way back, and I’m sure he’s going to want to talk to me.” He wasn’t sure, in fact he was pretty sure Doole wouldn’t be happy to see him, even if Doole was still in charge, but… there was only static in reply. Han started to ease back on the stick, aiming to guide the Falcon up and off its trajectory into Kessel’s atmosphere, just in case they needed to make a run for it. “Uh, please state your intentions.”

The unknown TIEs were within four klicks now, and that meant they were getting alarmingly close to combat range. The turret monitor turned green, letting him know the quads were fully charged and ready for action.

The incoming fighters closed, still refusing to respond to Han’s comms. Han found himself shifting the Falcon’s course, adjusting to maintain his distance from the swarm—and froze. He frowned, quickly toggling through each of the fighters that were now pacing them. They were maintaining distance, trying to box the Falcon in between them, and he’d just been about to adjust their course back down towards Kessel.

“Uh-oh,” he muttered. “They’re trying to force us to ground, Chewie.”

The Wookiee rumbled agreement, his big furred head nodding in response.

“Ladies, our friends out there are trying to force us to land,” Han said over the intercom. “It looks like they’re pushing us towards the main landing pad at the Correctional Facility,” he added after a minute tracking the Falcon’s course. “We can try to break out—” his voice trailed off as two additional ships came over the horizon, and then a third. Han’s heart fell as he saw more fighters pouring from the two flight cruisers, escorted by a Corellian Corvette whose IFF declared it Captain’s Ladder. The flight cruisers—little more than large bulk freighters who had been converted into starfighter carriers with room left for loot—didn’t announce their IDs at all. “More trouble,” he growled. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

“Are we going to try to fight our way out?” asked Iella over the intercom.

Han glanced at Chewie, who gave him one of his familiar cautioning looks. “I don’t think we can evade or fight three squadrons of these fighters, not if they’re as capable as Wedge’s report suggested,” Han replied, watching his screens as the fighters continued to proliferate. “Especially not with those three larger ships boxing us in, and Kessel blocking a whole hemisphere of escape opportunities. Although…” his brain quickly regarded Kessel’s geography. They were trying to force him to go low, maybe he ought to let them…

“Millennium Falcon, this is Captain’s Ladder, Kessel Defense Forces.” The voice that spoke over the comm was male and authoritative, with a professional military clip that sounded authentic. “Captain Solo, you are ordered to land. Our fighters will guide you in safely. Administrator Doole guarantees your safety.”

“Kessel Defense Forces, huh,” Han muttered skeptically to Chewbacca. “They make this place sound like it has an organized government. That would be a first.”

Chewie growled his agreement.

If they were going to try to make an escape, they’d have to do it fast. The longer they waited to make their move, the more enemy fighters would be in combat range. Han examined the topography of Kessel beneath them. There wasn’t a whole lot of useful terrain for cover, which was a problem… and it would be extraordinarily risky. Surrender might be the safest option… he keyed the intercom. “Mara, what do you think?” Luke wasn’t here, but maybe his Force-strong probably-future-girlfriend would have some of his intuition. The Force might be incomprehensible, but Luke had also proven that it worked.

It was Iella who responded first. “Do you think they’ll kill you if we land?”

Han shook his head. “No. We’re too valuable as hostages, and whoever these people are I’m sure they know they don’t want to piss off my wife.” He was pretty sure he and Chewie had value as hostages. He was very sure they didn’t want to make Leia mad.

“I have an idea, then,” Iella said. “Let them guide us in.”

The odd TIEs, with their three triangular wings, were now settled around the Falcon in a tight escort formation. On his screen, the two quad laser turrets powered down; in front of him, he could see the sprawling Correctional Facility start to grow on the horizon. “Red?”

Mara’s voice sounded distant. He knew that tone of voice, too; he’d heard it plenty from Luke over the years. “It’ll be okay, Solo.”

Han didn’t agree. What had he been thinking, volunteering to take them to Kessel? He hated this place; he hated the prisoners, he hated the administrators, he hated the way the air tasted like gravel and every breath was too short. He hated the TIEs pacing his currently-in-perfect-condition ship, and he hated everything they represented. And he wasn’t a ne'er-do-well smuggler anymore! He should be back home at the apartment he shared with Leia on Coruscant, urging the twins to eat and comforting them when one stubbed a toe!

But Mara was going to go regardless, and he’d be damned if he’d let Luke’s… whatever she was… go off to Kessel, of all places, without adequate backup. It was too late to back out now. He just had to hope that Mara and Iella knew what they were doing.

Actually, when he phrased it that way, things didn’t sound too bad.

[Go to Chapter Twenty-Three, Part II] [Go to Table of Contents]​

 

ADORED Han's POV. They're in a tight one but no one can get out of tight spots better than this group.

I especially loved how Han thought of Mara-- Luke's probably future girlfriend

 

Yeah, Luke and Mara are a classic example of the Idiots In Love trope. Everybody knows they're smitten with each other long before they do.