Beyond - Legends Interregnum III - Imperial Justice (Action/Drama | Luke/Mara, Wedge | Epic) [Complete]

I'm so glad you've been enjoying the story!

So, Corran, despite being a good observational detective isn't known as much for subtlety or quite up to the nitty gritty political compromises shown here. He's also not as old as the man depicted in Vorru's office.

On the other hand...

Spoiler

His grandfather is. He's managed to survive the Diktat with blackmail material on everyone, and he is known to garden.


He had a long and respected tenure in the Corellian Security Force, reaching the rank of Director before retiring. He was also a renowned horticulturist who was famous for his flower hybrids.

Rostek Horn was reportedly a Rebel and Jedi sympathizer during the Great Jedi Purge and the Galactic Civil War. He used his experience in CorSec to assist them in hiding from the Empire. He would store the locations of where he helped them hide in the genetic codes of his flowers-on one occasion he gave one of the Empire's Jedi hunters some such flowers as stock for his garden on Coruscant. Rostek also frequented the Raging Ronto, a popular cantina on Corellia. The owner of the Raging Ronto was reputedly a good friend of Rostek, and himself was an infamous Rebel sympathizer. It was rumored that when the owner of this establishment went into hiding from the Empire in 2 ABY, Rostek assisted him and his family in disappearing.

 

Chapter Eleven

Mara was trying not to be irritated about not being aboard her own ship. It wasn't easy—she was comfortable aboard Tempered Mettle, it was her space and her sanctuary. But she knew all-too-well that she was not as low-profile as she used to be, which meant that traveling aboard her own ship into potentially hostile territory was increasingly risky. Besides which, Luke and Mara's guide to Nar Shaddaa was slated to be the very-pregnant Mirax Terrik, and catering to Mirax's comfort was more important than catering to Mara's own.

She would just have to bear it.

The hangar that housed Pulsar Skate was a bustle of activity. Hover dollies loaded with cargo were pushed by put-upon industrial lifter droids, each making their typical sounds of grumbling discontent as they loaded the heavy packages in Skate's main cargo hold. Mara shifted another pallet of crates; next to her, Mirax's copilot Liat looked almost comically small behind a heavily loaded dolly, a clan of his Sullustan relatives chittering excitedly around him. Mara only knew a bit of Sullustan, enough to pick up a word here or there and determine that they really wanted to know where Liat was going, and that the Sullustan was doing an admirable job of maintaining operational security.

Behind her, the whir of another dolly drew her attention. Mirax and Luke managed it together, pushing it into the neat space that had been allotted for the package. Well into her second trimester, Mirax was mostly 'supervising' the loading, which mostly meant telling Liat, Luke, Mara and the loader droids where she wanted things stacked—and why they were all doing it wrong, down to the micrometer.

"What's in the boxes?" asked Mara, nudging the box nearest her with her toe.

"Why, contraband of course." Mirax grinned. "It's a good thing I have a pair of Jedi to vouch for me on departure, otherwise we might have quite a bit of trouble with customs."

Luke and Mara shared a look, unsure if she was joking or not. Mara's expression remained serious; Luke's was cheerfully jovial. "I doubt even my reputation is enough to prevent a ship belonging to the 'Smugglers' Alliance' from being subjected to a rigorous inspection," he teased. "Although it wouldn't surprise me if Karrde had arrangements with every customs office between here and Tatooine."

"Oh, farther than Tatooine!" Mirax jested. "I have it on good authority that he and Kyp have been as far out as Bakura just to bribe lowly customs agents."

Luke laughed and Mara had to smile. It was probably true in spirit, if not in fact, and Luke's clear good-humor—and lack of any judgment—sent an odd warmth through her. As Emperor's Hand she hadn't thought much of smugglers. They were criminals, after all, ones who broke Imperial law and stole revenues that properly belonged to the Empire at a minimum. Her opinions had gradually shifted after she found herself on the fringes of the galaxy and learned just what those imposed duties actually meant for the people who needed simple goods. But she'd long assumed that Luke—virtuous, farmboy-proper Luke—would bristle at the casual criminality of something like smuggling. In hindsight that had been silly of her—Luke was Han Solo's brother-in-law, after all, and the two of them got along very well—but still, seeing Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker playfully skirting the New Republic's laws still surprised her. And makes your heart skip, Mara, she admitted, as she watched Luke and Mirax continue their casual banter.

He had no business being so alarmingly attractive.

Luke caught her eye and winked at her. She almost bumped into Liat with her dolly and was roundly upbraided by the crowd of chittering Sullustan spectators.

* * *​

"I'm sorry we have to leave while you're still waiting to hear from Corran," Luke apologized to Mirax as she and Liat carefully guided Pulsar Skate up through the crowd of traffic surrounding Coruscant, heading for open space and the hyperlane that would take them out towards Hutt space.

Mirax frowned. It was a small frown, almost unnoticeable, but Luke definitely noticed it—and the slight dimming of Mirax's spirits. "Whatever is going on with our homeworld," she said after a moment, "Corran felt a pull towards home and his grandfather certainly thought he needed to be there for something important." She shrugged. "I did tell him, though, that if he isn't back in time for our son to be born, I am going to name him after my father and he won't be allowed to object."

That made Luke and Mara both laugh, and Liat said something pointed in response.

"Hey!" Mirax objected, glaring at her copilot. "Only I'm allowed to insult Corran like that! I don't even let Booster say so much as a word about him in private!" Liat snickered, and Mirax shook her head, mock-put-upon. "See what I have to put up with?" she asked with a theatrical sigh.

"I'm sure he's alright," Luke said reassuringly. "He's grown stronger in the Force, especially after his and Kam's experiences with Tavira and the Jensaarai."

"Oh, I know," Mirax said dryly. "I love my husband, but he's not the type to let anyone forget something like that, and he had to do something to prevent my father from getting all the glory for the destruction of Invidious." She glanced at Luke. "Actually, I was more disappointed that Wedge couldn't come to see us off. I was expecting he would—it's not often he has the chance to and he almost never misses it when he does."

That had disappointed Luke, too. He and Wedge didn't often spend a long time in one place together, but the months Lusankya had spent in its repair dock in orbit of Coruscant had allowed them to rectify that for a time. He'd even managed to cajole Mara into a double date with Iella and Wedge with expensive tickets to the Coruscant Opera; that had been a wonderful evening (something even Mara had admitted when they'd arrived home afterwards). "I know he had intended to," Luke said. "But something came up, I'm not sure what, he couldn't tell me."

"Well, I hope it's nothing bad," Mirax said. "Hold on, time for our first hyperspace jump, then we'll make the best time we can to Nar Shaddaa."

* * *​

Dinner aboard the Pulsar Skate was a comfortable affair. Liat sat in an elevated chair, one that put him on even height with his human companions, and was an animated conversationalist. The Sullustan had been particularly interested in the Jedi Order and taken the opportunity presented to interrogate Luke and Mara about their plans for the future. To Luke's surprise, Liat was also highly knowledgeable about the Jedi Order of old—a consequence, no doubt, of the fact he and Mirax had long made their living as a broker for Jedi artifacts. The conversation had quickly turned to Luke's plan to bring back the Antarian Rangers, an idea with which Mirax was already familiar, but was new to Liat.

The Sullustan considered the idea for a long time, and then battered Luke with a series of rapid-fire questions.

Luke laughed. "No, they won't have to be Force-sensitive. If it was that easy to find Force-sensitives, maybe we could train Jedi quickly enough that it wouldn't be so important to bring the Rangers back. Yes, the Rangers will have an important role in decision-making, not just follow orders. I'm not sure how they'll be funded yet, exactly, but the Jedi have some… wealthy donors willing to back the project." It was better not to get into the specifics, he thought, but Liat seemed satisfied with that answer.

The Sullustan's next series of questions came slower and were harder to answer. "I strongly believe," Luke began his answer just as slowly, letting himself work through the words before he vocalized them, "that the Force can work through all of us. It's true, the Jedi of old were much greater in number. That's going to be true… probably for my lifetime, if not much longer. Training a Jedi is not a long process, necessarily, but it is a difficult one and one that must be done meticulously and with care. I do not want to rush the process of training Jedi and make mistakes, as my own Masters did. And yet, there is great pressure to restore a Jedi presence." He pressed his lips together, thinking hard as he went on to the second part of Liat's question. "And I don't think it is necessary to be a Force-user to have the wisdom and judgment required to do the job. The Force grants Jedi power and wisdom, of course, but it works through all of us, whether we are Force sensitives or not. Everyone is part of the Force." He hesitated, then continued once more, not quite sure if this was something he should speak, but doing so nonetheless. "And in my experience, there are times the Dark Side can cloud a Jedi's judgment. If we cannot always have Jedi working together because we are too few, we should always have trusted advisors and companions, people to consult with and whose wisdom we trust."

"I mean, I love my husband, but he's definitely at his best when he's working with Wedge and Tycho," Mirax said with a grin.

That made Liat chitter, and Luke laughed along with him. "I think we all are at our best when working with Wedge and Tycho," he said with a smile. Then he glanced over his shoulder, at the corridor down which Mara had recently departed. "Or Mara."

"I am sure Corran would be glad for that caveat," Mirax chuckled.

"Does that answer your questions, Liat?" Luke asked.

Luke followed the Sullustan's response reasonably well, though there were times he still struggled with the language. "Liat and I spent years studying the Jedi of old," Mirax added, "even before I married the grandson of one. We're far from experts of course, but we know about as much as any non-Jedi can. That's one of the reasons I've been able to provide those Solonese airwood practice swords you've made so much use of," she added.

"Kam in particular appreciates them," Luke said with a smile and a nod. "Also, we're still working on preparing to build more\ lightsabers with our apprentices. We have plenty of crystals from the museum on Coruscant, but we could use a supply of power cells."

"I'm sure I can make that happen."

"Though I do have another question," Luke said. "Back on Coruscant, you implied that you had a contact on Nar Shaddaa, someone who would be helpful in tracking down Jedi artifacts on that world. Mara's off sweeping the ship for listening and tracking devices again, but she's already done it twice. I know we're both very curious who your mysterious contact is."

Mirax hummed in response. Standing, she walked to the heating unit and removed a kettle, pouring hot water into a pair of mugs. Returning with the mugs, and a third mug for when Mara came back from her final security sweep, she slid one to Luke. "You may not like this," she warned.

That was a strange thing to say, Luke thought. "Why not?" he asked cautiously.

"Because you're a human from Tatooine, and I've never met a human from Tatooine who doesn't have a deep, visceral dislike of Hutts," she said.

He shouldn't be surprised, really, Luke knew. They were going to Nar Shaddaa, and if there was going to be someone with enough power and money (as well as interest) on Nar Shaddaa to be a major player in the Jedi antiquities trade, it would almost have to be a Hutt, or an agent of a Hutt. It was true, though, that Luke Skywalker did not like Hutts. That almost no one from Tatooine really liked Hutts. Even Hutt employees didn't like Hutts—they just paid better than almost every alternative. "Do you trust him?" he asked.

"Well enough. His name is Beldorion, and he's a major player in the Jedi antiquities trade. He and I have done business over the last few years, on and off. He's a somewhat mysterious figure for a Hutt, in that he doesn't seem to come from any of the major Hutt kajidics. He must have been exiled from one of them, but I've never seen any sign that he's on bad terms with them—he just doesn't belong to one."

Luke frowned. Hutt politics wasn't his expertise, but he was from Tatooine—he knew enough. "That is strange."

Mirax nodded. "But he's definitely among the more respectable Hutts. His lack of association with the clans means he has no pull in their politics, and isn't a party to any of their criminal or semi-legal enterprises. He's an art dealer, and about as respectable as Hutts come—I did my research when I started selling him antiquities. I don't typically sell to people I don't trust."

"And you feel safe meeting with him?"

"Well," Mirax said, her tone becoming spoiled, almost simpering. "My Daddy is Booster Terrik. He owns and operates one of the only Impstar Deuces in private hands, and most of the turbolaser emplacements—the ones he was allowed to keep—still work. If so much as a single negative feeling is felt towards me and his first grandchild, he's going to find out who felt it, destroy their businesses and homes, strap them across one of those turbolasers and blast them in half. And then he's going to get mean."

"I see your point."

"Seriously though, if I was even slightly concerned you wouldn't be making this trip without much more backup, and I wouldn't be coming at all." Mirax rested her hand on her belly. "I do, after all, have more than myself to think about."

* * *​

The message insisted on urgency and brooked absolutely no room for delay, so Wedge was forced to very reluctantly abandon getting to say goodbye to Mirax and Luke in person. Instead, he flew a small shuttle, Atril beside him, on a hasty trip to the Senatorial Skyhook, where Senator Sena Midanyl was waiting.

Atril sat slack in her acceleration couch, reviewing a datapad. When he chanced a glance at the woman, her expression looked as pensive and annoyed as Wedge felt. "There's absolutely nothing useful here," she complained. "And I don't even know if that's because it's classified or if it's because no one knows anything."

"The fact that it's Sena making the call suggests it's about Corellia," Wedge pointed out with a shrug. "But other than that, I don't know anything more than you do."

"I hate this," she said. "My Mareschals have the best sensor suites in the fleet. I'm not used to flying blind."

"I know the feeling," Wedge replied. "It's the waiting to find out that I hate most."

"Reminds me of my TIE pilot days," Artil muttered.

Through the shuttle's observation window, Wedge watched as they closed towards Coruscant. There were numerous Home Fleet vessels clustered defensively above the Skyhook. Wedge could even see Home One there, surrounded by its typical cloud of escorts.

With all the haste, the shuttle's landing took only a few more minutes. The soft click of landing gear, then the shifting settle of the landing struts, communicated that it was safe to disembark, and Wedge powered down before he and Atril both released their security straps and headed for the ramp before it had finished lowering. Wedge jogged down, reaching the deck just as the ramp touched metal, Atril close behind him. Two troopers met them and hastily guided them towards the nearest conference room.

Wedge was surprised to find the room did not just contain Sena. Next to Senator Midanyl was Councilor Ackbar himself, and between them both was General Airen Cracken of New Republic Intelligence. "I take it that something serious has happened," Wedge said, drawing the attention of all three figures to him.

"And something we won't be able to keep quiet for long, though I don't think we would want to," Cracken replied with a nod.

"Wedge," Ackbar greeted him, lowering his large head and blinking his oversized, fishlike eyes in greeting. "Yes, something serious has indeed happened. It seems the depths of recent surprises are deeper even than an ocean trench." Ackbar gestured around the conference table, which had a platter with pastries and a large carafe of steaming caf with mugs waiting. "Sit and General Cracken and Senator Midanyl will brief us."

Wedge and Atril glanced at each other. Cracken and Midanyl would do the briefing? Wedge stole a look at Sena; his former attache looked back with a depth of seriousness that Wedge could remember seeing before their attacks on Chazwa and Carida. But there wasn't just seriousness there… to Wedge's surprise, there was an energetic light in Sena's eyes, an excitement he had not expected to see. "Of course," he said, feeling sudden anticipation swell.

Evidently, the excitement within Sena could not be restrained. "Corellia is free!" she exclaimed, and the grin she'd been hiding burst out.

Pure astonishment was Wedge's response. He'd spent the last four months planning the invasion of Corellia, what did she mean 'Corellia is free'? "What?" was all he could say.

Sena was nearly giddy, excitement that made the years drop away from her, replaced with sudden youthful vigor. "The New Order fleet that was guarding Corellia has changed sides," she said. "Most of it has. One of the Star Destroyers was destroyed by the other five and an armada of Corellian volunteers. The Imperial government in Coronet has been scattered and Diktat Gallamby is reportedly dead. I've just received a message from a new Corellian Ruling Council, which wants to take the first steps towards formally claiming my Senate seat to represent not just Corellia-in-Exile, but Corellia proper."

Words failed Wedge. Beside him, Atril boggled with surprise.

"How did this happen?" Wedge finally managed. "Can we confirm any of it?"

Cracken finally stepped in. "I think we can," he said. "Wraith Squadron has been on the ground on Corellia for almost a year, both hunting Fliry Vorru and working against the Diktat, and they're far from my only intelligence assets. The HoloNet is still blocked, but messages are starting to trickle in from neighboring systems. I've received three different confirmations that there's been a changeover in government on Corellia in the last two hours, and I expect more will arrive shortly." Cracken smiled, a look so unfamiliar on his typically serious face that Wedge found it disturbing. "As for how it happened, I'm sure it'll be some time before we can work out the exact details, but it appears the Imperial Fleet either mutinied or refused orders to suppress the protests. You'll find this in particular interesting, Wedge—the main rumor is the mutiny was precipitated by a military disaster on the Outer Rim."

Slowly, excitement started to wane as the General asserted control over the Corellian native. "The New Order attacked Poln Major and was repulsed by Pellaeon," Wedge guessed.

"And decisively," Cracken agreed. "I don't know how credible these rumors are, but I've seen reports that the New Order lost as many as twelve Imperial-class Star Destroyers in the attempt."

Atril's look of astonishment redoubled. Wedge merely whistled. "That would be a heavy blow," he said slowly. "And I could see how it might precipitate a mutiny elsewhere in the fleet." He looked at Ackbar. "Admiral, what now?"

The Mon Calamari offered an amused smile. "It's Councilor now, General. And I don't know. I know you were planning to begin your offensive as soon as tomorrow, but it would appear that is no longer necessary. I would suggest you wait another week or so and finish all the repairs you require rather than rushing out to return to the battlefield. We wanted Lusankya and Fifth Fleet out saving Corellia, but it seems the Corellians—in typical Corellian fashion—may have saved themselves instead."

They all glanced at Atril when she made a sound of discontent. When she realized their regard, she straightened, blushing. "Oh!"

"You have a concern, Commodore?" Sena asked pointedly.

"Oh… no, not really," Atril said, shaking her head. "This is all wonderful of course, I just… the New Order does not react to losing well—just look at their terrorist attack on Rendili after Rendili declared its independence. So if it was willing to kill thousands of Rendili dockworkers just to punish Rendili for its defiance, what is ISB going to do in response to this?"

"Nothing good," Sena admitted.

General Cracken sighed heavily, and shook his head. "It's true. Just like Rendili, I'm going to assume that the Empire will want to make Corellia pay for its 'treason'." He rubbed his nose, looking unhappy. "And I would be wary of sending our own fleets into the Corellian System to defend it. The people in charge of communication, and whoever is commanding the new Corellian defense fleet—not to mention Corellia's static defenses, which may still be controlled by Imperial loyalists—might respond aggressively to any uninvited display of force. While the Corellians do not want to be ruled by the Empire, there's a fairly substantial faction who also doesn't want to be ruled by the New Republic."

"We'll know one way or the other soon. I'm going to Corellia," Sena said.

"You're what?" Cracken practically jumped out of his chair and Ackbar looked equally ill-at-ease with the suggestion.

"I'm going right now, by myself, and I'm going to meet the new Corellian government and see who is in charge and what they want. I'll also present them with the terms under which I will be able and willing to represent them in the Senate."

"Are you certain it is a wise idea to sail these seas?" Ackbar said, his voice slow and thoughtful, without any of Sena's excited haste. "Perhaps it would be best to allow the surface to settle, so that the horizon before us is more clear."

Sena shook her head decisively. "No. Absolutely not. There is an opportunity here and now, and I will not be remembered as the woman who missed the opportunity to welcome Corellia into the New Republic. The worst thing that could happen is I get martyred."

"No," Cracken countered. "The worst thing that could happen is you end up in Imperial custody."

"One and the same," Sena replied dismissively. "I'm still as prepared for that eventuality as I was in the old days. Wedge, you need to get Fifth Fleet ready. If the Empire decides that it has to punish Corellia the way it punished Rendili, the costs could be enormous. The moment I have a basing agreement with the new Corellian government I want Fifth Fleet there to defend it."

"Yes ma'am."

"Good man. Now find me a pilot. They'd better be almost crazy enough to fly with the Rogues."

* * *​

Didn't I just leave this party?

Han Solo felt acutely uncomfortable back in uniform, even if it was a set of rumpled Fleet Command fatigues and not the razor sharp creases of the imperial tunic and breeches he'd worn so long ago. He'd already removed the General's tabs. I don't need anyone getting confused, he thought wryly. So far no one had asked about it—but just hauling the uniform out from the forgotten depths of his closet had felt like trudging through a swamp. Or across Hoth. Or both at once.

At least it still fit.

Chewbacca had returned from Kashyyyk as suddenly as he had departed. With Han, Leia, and the twins' safety assured by a new cadre of Noghri bodyguards for the last few months, Chewbacca had felt the freedom to spend a truly extended period back home and had taken full advantage. But with Han's decision to rejoin the fleet, if only temporarily, Chewbacca had returned immediately. They had argued then, but ultimately Han had won and persuaded Chewie to stay on Coruscant and help look after the twins. With Han leaving they would need a father figure and there was no one Han would rather have in the role than Chewbacca—even if the fact that Han was going off into battle again while Chewie would be staying behind made the Wookiee miserable. He'd been miserable before, Han reminded himself. He'd get over it.

The massive fleet admiral's quarters about Lusankya were larger than Han could have imagined. His old quarters on Mon Remonda had been spacious but not the size of a large apartment, and Wedge's quarters made some large apartments look tiny. Around the table at the center of the briefing room was the rest of Wedge's staff: Captain Kre'fey, Lusanyka's commanding officer, and Commodore Tabanne, his aide.

"How long until Lusankya will be ready for deployment?" Wedge asked, looking over at Kre'fey.

"If you wanted to hurry us out, we could deploy today," Kre'fey growled. "But we'd have to deploy without our full logistics train. Daala's attacks have stretched us to the limit, and we're barely half-stocked on proton torpedoes."

"We're not going to be deploying today, or even this week," Wedge said. "It'll take Sena some time to smuggle herself into Corellia and no matter how amenable the new government is, I doubt she'll have any kind of formal agreement quickly."

"If ever," Atril teased. "You're an ornery, aggressive, confrontational bunch."

"Hey, I resent that," Han said, folding his arms across his chest, Chewbacca-style. "I also don't think Corellia's in any immediate danger. Even if the Empire wants to punish Corellia, they just don't have the ships to do it. Without Carida or Eriadu they can't even get to Corellia. The New Republic controls all the major routes through the Core, and even ISB wouldn't risk taking a whole battle fleet through the Deep Core."

"The Empire has proven adept at exploiting unknown or temporary hyperlanes," Atril warned him.

"And don't forget the rumors that Luke and Mara are following up on," Wedge added. There was a darkness to his expression that made Han vaguely nervous. Stress had deepened the lines in Wedge's face, and there was some fresh gray in his hair—even though Wedge was still a young man, much younger than Han himself. Han had no doubt that Wedge was capable of commanding Fifth Fleet, but he remembered the sleepless nights and endless responsibility when he had led a task force—all those months away from Leia, battling Zsinj from system to system, tearing his hair out to put the mad warlord down. Clearly, the responsibilities were taking a similar toll on the other Corellian. "You've all been briefed on the rumors about Silencer Station," Wedge added.

"An Imperial bogeyman fresh from the dark days of the Rebellion," Han muttered.

"If the rumors are true, we could be looking at another Katana Fleet scenario. A new Imperial battle fleet fresh from the assembly line, with modern ships instead of old ones," Wedge said. "I don't know how alarmed we should be yet, but some alarm feels appropriate."

Alarm was always appropriate, Han thought sourly. That was why he'd retired. He looked at the holomap being projected from Wedge's command table. The Core was enlarged and in focus, and on it Han could see the smear of New Republic red, and the dots of Imperial blue along the trade routes that centered around Corellia. Corellia itself was a slashed dejarik-board of yellow, blue and red, to indicate its contested, uncertain status. Daala's estimated fleet strength was displayed off to the side, although that too was multicolored—since the exact status of the Star Destroyers she had been using to garrison Corellia was still unknown. Still, that left her with a significant fleet they had yet to account for—and the whole reason Wedge had brought Han here was so Han could guess what Daala would do next.

Han thought back to his academy days. They'd shared a few classes and many of them had competitive elements. He could remember more than one strategy game which had begun with Daala suffering a serious loss… and he could remember how she had usually responded. "I think you have a more pressing problem."

Wedge, Kre'fey, and Atril turned towards him. Han leaned forwards, propping his elbows up on his knees, and stared at Wedge. "Where's Daala?" he asked.

"I have no idea," Wedge said.

He glanced at Atril, who shrugged. "Last we know for sure was the attack Stormhawk staged on Leria Kerlsil," she said. "Our best guess was that she had approximately ten Star Destroyers under her overall command, but six of those were at Corellia. That leaves her with four, which isn't exactly enough to pose a major threat."

"She's still out there," Wedge said, and his tone of voice suggested he saw Han's point. "Probably somewhere in the Core, probably somewhere close to Corellia. And she might not be able to punish Corellia with four ships, but if it's true that ISB has agents running herd on all Imperial fleet captains, ISB may force her to try anyway." He waved his hand at Han, beckoning. "Han, what's Daala's instinct going to be in this scenario?"

Han snorted. "Natasi Daala has one governing instinct: find a weakness and attack it."

"She's that one-dimensional?" Atril asked.

"If you saw the bone fractures she left in her wake, you might have assumed she was a Rebel operative sent to assassinate the Academy's graduating class," Han said dryly. "Look." He took a long drink, set the glass down on Wedge's table, and hunched forward, placing his hands on his knees. "Daala is not the most imaginative person I ever met, but she is determined, she is tenacious, and she is smart. She's also out there in the Core with a handful of Star Destroyers, any one of which could wreck a planet if given enough uninterrupted bombardment time. Whatever the Empire is cooking up with its Silencer Station is a problem for the future. For the next week or two? You should worry about Daala first."

[Return to Table of Contents]​

 

Chapter Twelve

The first month or so of their confinement aboard Silencer Station, Cray and Nichos had worked together on the tasks that had been forced upon them. Nichos' degeneration had made that more and more difficult, but there were still days that he felt strong enough to help for hours at a time. The muscular tasks he could no longer do, even on his good days, but Cray relied on him heavily for programming and debugging, so Nichos dug deep and found the strength he needed to help.

She worked so hard, and he would not let her work alone. Especially not now, when they were fighting to find ways to keep up their appearance of usefulness… while still looking for ways to sabotage the Empire. As of now, he noted, their code passed muster with the programs, but it was elegantly obtuse, rickety, and rife with repeating errors. The longer it ran, the worse it would work.

He needed, he added silently to himself, to find a way to ensure that Cray would survive. Because Nichos Marr would find a way for her to survive. He would.

His fiancé's workspace, such as it was, was a far cry from the expensive, expansive, and immaculate facilities they had at the Magrody Institute. While Silencer Station had grown, the space allotted to her work had not, and the shelves were littered with old, failed prototypes. It had originally belonged to a scientist named Bevel Lemelisk and been built to his specifications… though Cray assumed that the locks on the outside, and the vents linked to canisters of anesthetic gas, had not been part of his original design.

Now the center of the serpentine conduits, lab benches, and spartan seats was a simple chair, moderately cushioned and with high armrests. A monitor was affixed to one of the armrests, providing a conduit that the Silencer Station AI could use to send command information to the person in the chair. Above the chair, in a little rack that Nichos had built on a "good day" of greater physical strength and coordination, sat the command interface prototype that had not failed.

It wasn't much to look at. It had the appearance of a typical blast-shield helmet, with protection for the eyes, but on the inside of the shield were additional monitors and an array of neural-links which would allow instant mental commands to the station's AI, and instant feedback from that AI. It was a masterpiece of cybernetic technology, a melding of the merely human with the massively artificial.

Emperor-in-waiting Irek Ismaren sat nervously in the chair. A teenager who had not yet reached full human maturity, there were times that Irek looked even younger than that. He was of slightly-above-average height, with black hair and blue eyes—eyes that had a tendency to follow Cray as she moved, Nichos noted with a small amount of amusement.

The Emperor was accompanied by a pair of towering droids, of the same kind that Nichos had seen with the Emperor Regent. The DT-model assassin droid was being produced in large numbers now, and was an increasingly common sight aboard the station. He and Cray hadn't had many unobserved moments they could use to plot sabotage, but he was sure that she had also spent hours considering it. But, unless she had come up with a plan more creative than his—not an unlikely possibility—they simply didn't have any good options.

Killing Irek would be much easier, but Nichos wasn't sure what it would accomplish. It would be easy, though, to sabotage Cray's interface and use it to overload the teenager's synapses…

"I want to try again," Irek said, the depth of his voice mature even as the tone was not. He seized the interface and placed it on his head, turning to sit on the command chair. He was too small for it—it had been sized for Cray, and she was taller than Irek was—and Nichos was struck by just how small he looked in that chair. Like a child playing dress-up, he thought. A very dangerous child, playing with very dangerous toys.

He should try a different tack first, before resorting to murder, Nichos decided.

* * *​

Irek pushed with a thought and the screens on the interior of the helmet blinked to illuminated life. Sudden rows of text scrolled across the screen, far too quick for Irek to follow, and a sudden sense of pressure was all around him, as if the helmet was contracting around his skull. There was a sense of crackling static in his ears and nose and mouth and Irek's body arched back in the chair, almost lifting up as his arms pressed hard to the armrests, his fists going suddenly taut.

He felt the urge to scream and bit it back, nearly biting on his tongue instead, and tore the helmet from his head. His eyes were squeezed shut but he could still see explosions of light on the inside of his eyelids.

When he was finally able to open his eyes, he stared angrily at Cray. She had recovered the thrown interface and was examining it for damage. "Why won't it work!" he snarled.

Cray shook her head. "It works for me, at least to establish a connection," she said, sounding puzzled more than scared—or ashamed for her failure. "The helmet itself is working, so the problem must be connecting to the Silencer AI," she mused. "But why would I be able to make the connection while he can't?"

The question was not intended for Irek. Nichos Marr coughed. Slumped in a couch to the side of the room, the crippled scientist was contemptibly weak, and Irek wasn't sure why Cray insisted on bringing him to their sessions. "Let me see the error report," he said feebly, his voice hoarse.

If a stun blast could have such a dire effect on him, Irek thought sourly, he can't have long to live.

Cray handed Nichos a datapad, then helped him hold it when he proved unable to keep his grip. Irek watched, with mounting annoyance. "Is there a point to this?"

"Nichos and I are a team," Cray said, with patience that bordered on condescending. "And when it comes to debugging, it's always a good idea to have a second pair of eyes—"

"There," Nichos said weakly. "Line forty-seven ninety-eight."

He slumped back against the couch; Cray laid him down gently, then straightened. As usual, Nichos was struck by the slender beauty of the woman. But she was silent, intently reading, and he grew impatient. "What does it say?"

"Nichos is right, the problem isn't with the interface," Cray said. "The connection is being rejected by the Silencer AI."

"Why would it reject me and not you?" Irek complained. "I'm the Emperor!"

"It wouldn't let me give it commands because I'm not the Emperor," Cray pointed out. "So it's something about making the initial connection."

"You said," Nichos wheezed weakly, "that Roganda told you that the Force was required for the connection?"

That caused Irek's head to lift. He stared at Cray, seeing her suddenly in an entirely new light. "You're Force sensitive?"

Cray shrugged helplessly. "I don't even know what that means, much less how it could help commanding an AI." She shook her head. "I'll be right back. I need another cup of caf."

The workspace had an adjoining office with a caf machine. Irek was still grappling with the idea that Cray was Force sensitive as she vanished through the door. She's Force sensitive?

His mother had taught him many things, but the most important thing was that he was special. They were special. They had a gift, one denied to most people in the galaxy. One that made them better. The Force was all the power of the galaxy, distilled into a form that could be accessed by those worthy of its power… and Irek and his mother were worthy.

"I think," said Nichos weakly from his place, prone on the couch. "That you too can use the interface, if you have the right perspective."

The interruption was unwelcome, and Irek turned a scornful gaze on Nichos. It was wasted on the man, whose eyes were closed and breaths came slow. Annoyed, Irek pouted. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"The Force is not just a matter of power," Nichos sighed, sounding exhausted but determined, "but also a matter of focus. Do you know how to listen?"

"What do you mean, listen?" Irek asked, curious despite himself. What could this man know of the Force? "I am Emperor. If there is any listening to be done it is people hearing my wishes and carrying them out!"

Nichos just nodded blandly. "Empty your mind," he encouraged. "Don't think of your desires or your needs. Empty yourself of those things. Then activate the interface."

If this didn't work, Irek thought sourly, he might just kill the man. But… he returned to the command chair and placed himself back upon it. Closing his eyes, he did his best to clear his mind; he found it was easier with Cray not in the room. Then he reached and put the command interface on his head.

Electricity once more crackled around him, tingling over his skin. His hair went frizzy and the pressure started to build, filling his ears and nose and brain. His heartbeat went rapid as the lines of text scrolled before his eyes, flashing, and he felt a sense of sudden invasion and presence, his brain recoiling, almost fighting against it—

And then it all stopped. Pain receded back to pressure, and the text scroll slowed to a stop.

COMMAND INTERFACE ESTABLISHED. SILENCER-7 AWAITING INTERLINK.

The words gleamed in green against a black background and sudden, joyous success roared through him. "Yes!"

He wasn't sure if he'd said the word aloud. He thought he heard talking, somewhere in another life, but he was laser-focused on commanding the Silencer AI, for it would make him Emperor in truth, and not just in name.

Show me!

The system hesitated for a moment, parsing that order. He realized, belatedly, that he needed to be more precise in his commands. A map of the system appeared, with the label K-3-947. The system's star was in the middle, and Silencer-7 was marked over the fifth planet, slowly consuming it for resources. TIE Droids were dotted over the map by the squadron, though most of them had been taken by Halmere for his assault on Poln Major.

Automated, droid-commanded transports streaked across the system occasionally. The system indicated that they were carrying necessary supplies from Entralla and other Imperial military bases.

In the back of his mind was a twinge. His brain took a moment to interpret it, and then he recognized it was an alert conveyed through the command interface. He wasn't sure how to respond to it, and it took him another minute to figure out how to use the interface to bring up more information.

On the map in front of him appeared a new symbol. A slightly elongated triangle, it was labeled Invincible. As it grew closer, it started to blink red, and a small status alert marked it as HEAVILY DAMAGED.

* * *​

The sprawling halls of Silencer Station were dark and maze-like on purpose. Irek was not intimidated by the DT-model droids that were responsible for the Emperor-Regent's protection; they had, after all, been designed specifically to serve his mother and himself, and graven into their circuits were commands that would prohibit them from ever doing him harm, no matter what Halmere might intend.

Anger mixed together with an intense desire to gloat. Halmere had taken their fleet—twelve Star Destroyers was a not insignificant amount of the New Order's strength—and had lost almost all of them. No doubt his mother would take Halmere to task for his failures when she returned, but until then, Irek was Emperor.

He did not wait for the door to open. Using his override code, he commanded it to do so, and it obeyed. Striding into the Emperor-Regent's private quarters, he stopped in sudden surprise as he entered and found himself in a space utterly unlike anything he had expected.

A lavish apartment, perhaps, with ancient Sith artifacts, not unlike the rooms his mother maintained. Or a room fit for royalty, like those he had observed in his younger years.

Instead, he stood in a small-scale planetarium. The space was largely spherical, lit darkly, and filling the space was a holo-projection of the galaxy. Mostly a disk that captured the galactic plane, it also had extra-galactic objects and numerous, gray lines of varying widths that connected star systems. He could see where those lines coincided, and realized that those locations were key star systems, like Coruscant and Corellia, and the lines were hyperlanes. Some of the thinner lines constantly flickered, in and out.

An arm clamped around Irek's neck and he flailed in surprise. He was jerked backwards, his head knocking against Halmere's armored form. Flailing, he grabbed at Halmere's arm, but a second arm locked around him, holding him in place, pressure growing on his neck. "Hasn't your mother taught you not to enter where you are not welcome, boy?"

Panicked and furious—how dare Halmere lay a hand on him!—Irek lashed out with the Force. Rage fed his power and the burst of telekinesis exploded out from him, breaking Halmere's grip. But Halmere's footing was steadier, and instead of blowing the Emperor-Regent backwards, as he had intended, Irek found himself flung forwards, flying through the hologram of the Galactic East with a staticky fuzz towards the far well.

Blue lights flared in front of his gaze, dazzling his vision as his head passed through the Bothan sector. Momentarily blind, Irek reached out into the Force, abandoning his senses. His hand moved without thought, guided to perfectly deflect one of Halmere's fists, but he moved too slow to block the second, which slammed into his stomach and drove the breath out of his lungs.

Irek doubled over, gasping for air.

A thick arm snaked up around his neck once more and he was wrenched backwards, thudding against Halmere's chest. Scared and stunned, he kept his eyes closed—the hologram of the galaxy was still projected at near eye-level, and opening them was searing. "Was there something you wanted from me, my Emperor?" Halmere growled contemptuously into his ear.

It might, Irek reflected as he gasped weakly for breath, be best not to antagonize Halmere by commanding that he sanitize his mouth. "I have… succeeded…" he managed to husk, panting for shallow breaths, "in… issuing detailed commands… to Silencer-7…"

He realized, belatedly, telling Halmere this might not be the best idea. As the Emperor-Regent's iron-muscled arm clenched harder around his neck, ridding him of the ability to take even shallow breaths, it occurred to him that Halmere might interpret his words as a threat. The world started to turn black and he tried, again, to use the Force to free himself, and for a moment he thought he succeeded when he collapsed to the floor like a gaffed fish.

He took a single full breath, then swiveled to slam his leg into Halmere's midsection with a rising kick. His unarmored leg struck Halmere's apronlike cuirass, and his plans and anger dissolved into a shock of pain.

Halmere stood over him, his cold blue eyes burning like frozen fire. "Your mother has made a lot of promises, boy. Promises to me. Promises to you. Promises to the Moffs, and promises to herself, about what she can do, and about what you can do." One hand reached down and Irek was yanked to his feet roughly. "So far she has kept none of them. She promised the Empire that Silencer-7 would turn the war in our favor. She promised that it would build us a fleet and an army that would defeat the New Republic. Her failures have given us defeat after defeat." Halmere's hand gripped Irek's jaw and tilted his face up. "You say you can command Silencer-7? Good. Now give me the TIEs I was promised a year ago."

A burst of Force-power pushed Irek towards the exit. Humiliated and furious, he considered turning back to challenge Halmere once again… but something in his gut, something in the Force, told him that if he did, he would not be leaving this room alive. He started to move towards the exit.

"Boy."

Irek stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

"I knelt with Vader at Palpatine's feet," Halmere said flatly, his pale blue, almost white eyes staring at Irek with the ferocity of daggers. "I know what his power was like. His was superior."

A half-dozen retorts flashed through Irek's mind, but that nagging sense of danger, of acute danger, did not pass. He did not nod. He did not say a word. He merely turned, and left.

Once he was safely outside, his pace quickened to a near-run, and Halmere's DT Droids stood silent sentinel over his flight—unable, or unwilling, to protect him from his own regent.

* * *​

Roganda Ismaren landed in a small, out of the way hangar on Nar Shaddaa, deep in what had, in archaic times, been the Industrial Sector. Now several thousand years removed from its heyday, the Industrial Sector was a hodgepodge of poverty, homelessness, and destitution. Even the smugglers endemic to Nar Shaddaa—the 'Smuggler's Moon'—usually avoided the Industrial Sector. There was simply no reason to go there.

The only reason to so much as set down was if you were conducting a business deal that you wanted to remain completely secret, or if you were one of the unfortunate sentients who had found themselves trapped on Nar Shaddaa without credits or the means to make credits. The only industry left was a flourishing, underground hydroponics sector who produced just enough to feed the locals and make a few of them petty monarchs of the destitute.

That was all right with Roganda Ismaren. She respected those industrious enough to rise to the top of their own little dungheaps. That took strength and guts.

She didn't need to worry about a crew. Roganda had never worried about a crew. During her time as Emperor's Hand, she had always managed on her own. Crews were liabilities. They were traitors in waiting, or incompetent; the Empire was filled with such things. Only she'd had the Emperor's true trust, she knew… and because of that, he had always supplied her with agents she could trust.

The metal of her small army of droids was painted black. Constructed anew by Silencer-7—another droid, programmed to be loyal to the Empire and to her personally—her DTs were an advanced design based on the ones the Emperor had once provided her. Untraceable, lethal assassin droids, the DTs had been her protectors and her agents, and she would settle for nothing less than perfection.

Once she had the artifact she sought and her army was complete, the loyalty of the Empire would be completely assured. She and Irek would rule, never needing to worry about the ambition of a Tarkin, the obsession of an Isard, or the dithering cowardice of a Pellaeon.

The combat droid she had designated as her aide-de-camp, DT-130, made an unintelligible sound, and then dinged once. The second sound was one she had programmed into the droid to tell her when she had received a message via the HoloNet. Now that they were on the ground, her transport had automatically linked to the Y'Toub System's HoloNet node. A second ding—this one slightly lower in pitch, and drawn out for a full second—indicated that the message in question was from Irek.

She smiled. He was so well-mannered, her son. The Jedi had been wrong about the importance of proper breeding—their insistence that Jedi not bear children had been one of the Order's greatest weaknesses, especially given that Force-strength was often inherited—but they had been exactly right about the importance of training from birth. She had been trained by the Jedi from birth, after all, and those lessons about discipline and serenity had not been entirely misguided. So many of the young Inquisitors—like that whelp Brakiss—had lacked the early Jedi training, and it showed.

Her son appeared on the flatscreen. His expression immediately killed her good spirits—he was flat and emotionless, as he often was when bearing bad news. "Mother, the Emperor Regent took our fleet and attacked Poln Major," he said, without preamble. "He was forced to retreat with heavy losses. Both the fleet and the TIE droids performed abysmally. I will take personal responsibility for persuading our resident cyberneticists to ensure that our TIE Droids perform better in the future."

Roganda's fist clenched until her knuckles went white. Anger—not rage, not yet, she would not give into the rage that boiled in her stomach until she had a target deserving of it—lit bright in her heart. Halmere, you fool.

The self-destructive moron.

Halmere was capable enough. His Force talents were acceptable, and he was competent… within his area of expertise. But he had always been a second, never the leader. As an apprentice he had failed to earn the attention of a Master, as an Inquisitor he had lived for years in Tremayne's shadow, and after Endor he had languished as Jerec's administrator, while Jerec (like Roganda) sought ancient artifacts and places of power that he could use to impose his will. Now they were both dead, and that left Halmere—poor, timid Halmere—despite his size and outward mein and mantle of manly warrior strength as the leader of the Inquisitors.

Halmere had always been capable. He could administrate. He could oversee. He could manage. But he could not lead. Roganda, you fool, she thought to herself bitterly. You knew you still needed him, and still you let your contempt get the better of you. You drove him to this with your needling.

She relaxed her fist and reminded herself that it didn't matter. If she could find the Emperor's prize on Nar Shaddaa then she would not need Halmere. She would not need the Empire and all those competing egos and biological inefficiencies that had ground it to a juddering halt. All she would need was Irek and her droids; their loyalty and their competence was unquestioned and unquestionable. She would be the Empire.

As if expecting that thought, Irek told her exactly what she wanted to here when she resumed the message. "I have good news as well. I have successfully activated the Silencer-7 command interface. It is only a matter of time before I have mastered it."

The breath Roganda released was one she had not realized she was holding. Had been holding, in fact, for quite a long time. Irek's inability to issue commands to the Silencer-7 AI had been an inconvenience, but not a deadly one. Once she delivered the seed, once she accomplished that final merger between the technology of the Empire and the ancient secrets of the Dark Side of the Force, she was not fully sure what Silencer-7 would become. The Emperor had intended to command it himself, and Roganda had always needed Irek to ensure its obedience to her will.

He had finally succeeded and she was on the verge of finding the seed. All was provenance.

The transmission died, and Roganda gave a small nod of approval. Her son seldom bothered to end messages with any empty platitudes.

"Acknowledge receipt of message," she said in her flat, Coruscanti accent. "Tell the boy to treat the woman and the cripple gently; they will break if too firm a hand is applied and their expertise is still necessary. And give him my personal congratulations for his success. Then we hunt."

* * *​

The depths of the old Industrial sector were dark. This part of Nar Shaddaa had never undergone the extensive renovations of a few thousand years before, which had cleared out old buildings and brought much of the moon closer to its true surface. Here the towers were clustered even closer together, and the closer to the ground you got, the more they became an interlocking maze. Old, decrepit buildings, wall to wall, block to block, filled with destitute and dangerous wildlife and old, still vital planetary utilities systems maintained by droids constantly fighting back that wildlife. She could look up and see old lighting systems which had long since lost their glow. Without that glow there was almost no light at all, and no natural light. This far down, the natural, orangish-brown sky of Nar Shaddaa was entirely invisible, and there was no real distinction between "outside" and "inside." It reminded her a bit of the maze-like interior of the depths of Silencer-7.

Her droid companions were unbothered by it. Roganda actually found the entire experience… invigorating. She had always enjoyed the hard work of archaeological endeavour. The Emperor's assignments had never been burdens—she expected that was why he had chosen her, why she had been the one given these assignments which now would define both her future, and that of the galaxy—but glorious puzzles to solve. Even when she had been a child, with the Jedi Order, she had enjoyed puzzles, and the multitude of Force-manipulation games put aside for the younglings had been a perpetual joy.

This puzzle would take her some time to solve, she knew. But she had the time.

She started by narrowing her search. As best she could tell, the object she had found amongst the ruins of Drommund Kaas had been recovered from Nar Shaddaa. Further research had provided little in the way of precise information, but ancient records had pointed her towards the Industrial District, and to the likelihood that the best indication that she was getting close to her quarry would be territorial droids. Droids were common in the Industrial District—the Hutts utilized small armies of them, and mercenaries, to routinely travel down and clear out threats to the extensive, ancient infrastructure near the ground—but most of those droids had missions that it was easy to identify. This team of droids was specifically defending an old water filtration plant. That team of droids was responsible for the power generator that was still used, despite its age, to provide energy to much of the neighboring districts. So what she was looking for was droids—without—an obvious mission.

Granted, that wasn't enough to narrow her search entirely. Some of the teams of droids had been sent by Hutts a few centuries before, or even longer. With a few maintenance units, they could in theory sustain themselves almost indefinitely. She found a small cadre of droids which was still defending a building which had no apparent purpose. The droids were old, but not so ancient that their designs were unrecognizable, so Roganda had been pretty sure they weren't what she was looking for… and indeed, once her own combat droids had cleared the building, she'd found them defending what had once been a luxury apartment, with a well-protected safe. She hadn't bothered to look inside.

Days later, and much deeper down into the district, her scout droids gave the first indication of something truly interesting. A surveillance droid—a floating unit, small and inconspicuous but one that her own modern units spotted with relative ease—kept watch on her team as it had cleared one of the buildings. Intrigued, she ordered her droids to clear other nearby buildings, and note when they were watched and when they were ignored. Then, as she continued to explore the buildings around the ones that were watched, her team reported two surveillance droids… and then three.

She tracked them back to the midl-levels of a particular structure. This was one of the older buildings—Hutt records suggested at least seven thousand years—and it appeared to be comparatively well-maintained, with no sign of serious structural flaws… which was interesting, given that it had received no maintenance to speak of. It was also enormous, a sprawling structure which linked into a network with a dozen other buildings, she she continued to narrow her search. Once they were inside the surveillance droids had vanished—perhaps whatever intelligence governed them realized that she had been following them back to their source—but that was alright. Her team of combat droids was more than capable of searching the entire building, and with their power sources they could operate autonomously day or night without need for rest.

It had been an unexpected surprise when her aide droid beeped an alert at her. "Combat engagement reported," her datapad announced, complete with a red exclamation and a summary.

"Where?" she asked, tapping the device. Dutifully, it responded that one of her search teams had been attacked while examining one of the corridors in the building she was searching. Right that moment there was a battle going on between her modern unit and a team of droids. The datapad provided schematics, but they weren't anything she recognized… and that was good. "Come with me," she ordered her aide. "Send reinforcements. Tell them I want that corridor searched!"

When she got there herself, she found herself in the middle of a furious blaster battle. Her DT droids marched into the corridor, their armor protecting them from the blaster fire coming their way, but not entirely. Several units were damaged, and several others had been destroyed. Scattered in the corridor were the metal corpses of their foes, slain in much greater numbers. She used the Force to take one of the metal bodies out of the line of fire to examine it; her aide droid stood watch, blaster at the ready.

Linking back to her ship, which was connected to Nar Shaddaa's HoloNet node, she began a slow query back to the Ubiqtorate base on Yaga Minor, which hosted all of the Empire's records. That would probably take hours, so instead of waiting she examined the droid herself. She knew quite a lot about droids—she was no cyberneticist, but her preference for assured loyalty meant that she insisted on maintaining her units herself, and was familiar with contemporary models and maintenance. These droids had numerous systems designs that were completely archaic. She could parallel them to modern designs—that must be a power generator, and this must be a primary motivator—but beyond that, they were opaque.

"I think we have found it," she said to her aide.

DT-130 beeped with satisfaction.

"Bring all units here," she ordered. "Tell them to fight on."

* * *​

Six hours later, she had become sure of two things. First, she was definitely in the right place. Second, she may not have brought enough droids.

Her units were decimating the enemy with relative ease. But they never stopped coming. Her droids had pushed them back farther and farther, deeper and deeper into the bowels of the structure they defended… towards the artifact that Roganda was sure was driving them. But as many as she destroyed, there were more still coming, and her forward units announced that their numbers had abruptly doubled.

An artifact that could create an endless army of droids, she reminded herself, bitterly self-castigating. An endless army, Roganda. But you didn't believe that it would create that army here and now, before you even had it in your hands! You were a fool.

If Halmere found out about this, he would humiliate her. She wouldn't even be able to hold his debacle at Poln Major against him. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment at the thought. "Retreat," she ordered her aide, wanting to preserve as much as her combat power as she could while she came up with a new plan. There must be some construction facility hidden away, some power generation source—maybe that generator that was still powering the nearby district was also providing power here.

Her droids obeyed, falling back in an orderly retreat. Perfectly coordinated and timed, they did not flee as men would, panicked and confused. They kept up constant fire, slaying the enemy droids by the score as they fell back. But the enemy droids kept coming, kept coming in even greater numbers… and even after they had retreated to the point where combat had first begun, they did not stop.

Roganda found herself cursing as she ducked blaster fire. She was a capable fighter, anyone who was Palpatine's chosen Hand was a capable fighter, but that had never been her true purpose and she had no business trying to fight off an army of droids! The Rangers at Belsavis had taught her to fight with any weapon at her disposal, but their emphasis had always been on hand-to-hand combat and running to survive. She fired her blaster as she fell back, her aide following her loyally, always keeping its bulk between her and the enemy. Luckily, the enemy did not seem interested in her personally, its attention consumed with hunting down and destroying her smaller droid army. Leaving her aide behind to cover her escape, she returned to her airspeeder and jetted into the sky, silently cursing her own stupidity.

Below, the unleashed army of droids finished exterminating her DTs… and then, it started hunting new prey.

[Return to Table of Contents]​

 

To say that I'm behind is a massive understatement, but you know how much I love Interregnum and I'm determined to catch up no matter how long it takes, so here we go with round one:

I just really like this opening. It sets the stage well and is definitely Zahn-esque. All of Interregnum feels like old school fanfic in just the very best way, and always reminds me of the days when ambitious epics like this were far more common - and it's just so, so well done. Such a massive cast and scope, handled so well. Truly, my hat is off to you for this series

It's a small thing, perhaps, but I appreciate the detail about what the city smelled like. It's the sort of thing that I can easily forget to include in my own writing, but it adds such atmosphere to a story.

Well, yes

And one of my favorite things about Interregnum is how certain characters who were done dirty in canon get a better portrayal here. I always hated Daala's canon depiction, and love that you've made her a real person here, with depth and intelligence and skill and integrity.

Good for him! A fair number of Imperial officers might not have bothered.

Again, this is just a really good brief bit of exposition that effectively sets the scene without letting the description go on too long and start to drag while also telling us more about Daala herself.

lol what a detail, I absolutely love it, and it couldn't have happened to a more fitting character

I always think of The Hunt For Red October when I see mention of a Loyalty Officer or anything akin to it. What a suffocating position to be in, to have someone like that shadowing you.

Oh dear

Atta girl, Natasi

Yet again, such good details, I love it

*cackles*

If anyone had told me before Interregnum that I'd be cheering for Admiral Daala...

Okay, it's an overreaction (a strategic one on Daala's part, I know) and murder is obviously not acceptable, but also this is really cathartic because I literally don't know any women who haven't dealt with men like this and it actually is this level of infuriating and - well, it's just cathartic. And Nalgol had it coming. So there

Next chapter as soon as I can, but you already know I love it all

 

Yay Gabri! Welcome to Interregnum 3! And thank you so much, we really worked on making it work.

Nalgol did have it coming, but I'll just mention that while Daala did blast him, she did it more in the vein of Vader strangling Ozzel or Thrawn having that poor Ensign shot than out of any sense of personal indignance. If she hadn't responded, quickly and thoroughly, it would have grievously undermined her authority. She had to slap him down, and honestly after his reaction she probably could neither leave him in command nor let him live (for fear of him working to undermine her authority). At this point in her life, Daala has heard it all, and she just doesn't care anymore... except insofar as it might hurt her standing in the Fleet.

 

Chapter Thirteen

The Pulsar Skate is a happy ship, Mara thought, but she isn't home.

Mirax Terrik's ship had an artistic elegance that the more industrial Tempered Mettle lacked, with graceful, sloping curves that gave the ship an organic, sea creature-like appearance from the outside. Her interior wasn't lacking either, with an orderly, well-structured use of space to maximize cargo capacity while still providing for passenger privacy and comfort… for small numbers of people at least.

It was more that Mara preferred her own ship and her own space, hard-won as they both were. Especially when she had Luke with her, Mara took comfort in a happy cocoon of shared isolation, letting Luke in and keeping everyone else out.

She knew it wasn't an entirely healthy instinct and she was working on becoming more comfortable around other people—she really, really was, especially Leia and Han and the twins, people who were part of Luke's life and therefore part of her life whether she liked it or not—but it was something that took an effort. It was an effort she invested consciously, slowly allowing a level of intimacy with her friends and… family… that the Emperor's Hand would have abhorred, and there were moments where it was even really satisfying and brought her happiness.

Having Luke helped. He was so emotionally open, so quick to invest himself in others, so able to empathize, that sometimes all she had to do was put herself in his wake and she would be swept along beside him. Sometimes he had to do a bit of pushing and pulling, she admitted, but he never forced her hand. It had been the same way during this trip. Mara already knew Mirax and considered her a friend, but Liat was entirely new to her, and the Sullustan was almost obnoxiously cheerful and friendly, two traits Mara could not ascribe to herself. Of course, Liat and Luke got along quite well—increasingly so over the duration of the tip, as the two of them spent hours conversing about the politics of the Jedi Order or obscure smuggler's argot, topics which Mara could easily follow and contribute to—and despite her qualms Luke always brought her carefully in to join them. Now, nearing the end of the trip, she was actually starting to like Liat and enjoy his company.

It was nice. Kind of.

"So you did enjoy the trip," Luke teased beside her as the two of them dressed. Luke's Jedi robes were packed away, deemed far too conspicuous for Nar Shaddaa, and the two of them put on a pair of typical spacers' duty jumpsuits. Comfortable, loose without being baggy, and with plenty of pockets, the jumpsuits were a cornucopia of places suitable for concealing tools, comms, and weapons. Luke carried only his lightsaber in a leather tool case and his blaster on his hip. Mara carried everything she thought she might need.

"Days passed like days and not months," Mara said noncommittally.

Luke chuckled and leaned over to brush a kiss to her cheek. "I'll take that as a yes. Liat likes you, you know."

"Does he?"

"Most people like you after you let them get to know you," Luke confirmed.

Mirax's voice came over the Pulsar Skate's intercom. "I've received docking clearance in the Corellian District," she said, "where I normally land when I can. There's a lot of activity around here and I'm not entirely sure why, but it could be about everything going on back home I guess. After we're on the ground I'll have to deal with the dock manager—stay out of sight while I do. There shouldn't be trouble, not with all my father and Karrde's connections on my side."

"How long until we can meet with your contact?"

"That may take a little longer," Mirax replied. Over the sound of the intercom they could hear the regular beeping of the ship's controls, which matched the gentle hum of the engines. "I don't expect he's busy, but that doesn't mean he'll stop everything because I want to meet with him. So I guess we can start with some more traditional information gathering."

"I'd like to scope out the docks," Mara said. She'd spent a few hours reading the available maps of the Corellian district and memorizing the important locations and streets, but there was nothing like some time to get to know streets herself—just to be safe.

"That's fine," Mirax said.

Luke shrugged. "I'm not sure what I'm going to do exactly," he said. "I'll see what presents itself. Sometimes the Force is most helpful when I let it guide me, rather than demanding it show me the path to my destination."

"Whatever lifts your speeder," Mirax replied, her voice taking on a bit more of a staticky hum as they entered the atmosphere. The engines cooled, and in their place the repulsorlifts started to whir. "We're making our landing approach now."

Nar Shaddaa felt remarkably like Coruscant, in some ways. It was not as populated as Coruscant, but nowhere was as populated as Coruscant. Coruscant had more than a trillion inhabitants; Nar Shaddaa had only eighty-odd billion. But despite the magnitude of the difference, in the Force it was hard to tell from a distance. Both worlds gleamed with light and life—and with the selfishness, desperation, and fear that could lead a sentient down the path to the Dark.

It was an odd feeling. Mara had grown so much stronger in the Force since she had accepted that her future was with the Jedi. Her sensitivity and awareness of the life and lives of the sentients around her was constant now. That Darkness was a constant in the lives of sentient life, a temptation ever present—even, perhaps especially, for a Jedi. Being on Coruscant, with so much life, her sensitivity to it naturally waned, like her hearing during a loud concert. Above Nar Shaddaa, slowly sinking towards that tiny gleaming ball of light, which rotated around the darker, tidally-locked Nal Hutta, her Force-sense revealed to her all those sinews of Darkness, all the temptations, all the choices being made to exploit and corrupt for selfish advancement. She could feel why Nar Shaddaa had the reputation it did—and how the Light struggled back, pushing itself to the fore whenever and however it could.

Even as Mirax brought them down towards their landing pad in the Corellian District, the sensation had started to fade. The excess stimulation of her Force-sensitivity dialed back so it would not overwhelm her conscious senses, and with it faded her constant awareness of the web of Darkness built at the foundations of Nar Shaddaa.

* * *​

"How long ago did Terrik set down?"

Asori Rogriss sat perched on the edge of the copilot's seat, petting at the shuttle's sensor display. Their intelligence was plain—Mirax Terrik and the Pulsar Skate had arrived on Nar Shaddaa, and there was no indication that the ship had departed again. Typically, a ship as insignificant as the Pulsar Skate wasn't of much concern to Imperial Intelligence; their computers did indicate that it had a history of Rebellion affiliation, but so too did thousands of other freighters. But Pulsar Skate had been tied to the Smugglers' Alliance and Mirax Terrik had assumed the politically and economically important position of liaison between the Smugglers' Alliances and the New Republic government. That had put it on a watch list—not one that was checked very often, but a watch list nonetheless—and one of Intelligence's operatives on Coruscant had noted its departure and its destination.

"Best guess? A day. Maybe a day and a half," Dreyf said. "We're lucky we were already on our way into the Core before we got the intelligence update, or we probably wouldn't have gotten here fast enough to intercept her."

Asori had to remind herself that the objective of this little mission wasn't to attack the Skate, but to communicate with it. That still felt strange. She was no diplomat, after all, and few people had ever accused her of having a diplomatic manner. But now, seemingly thanks to some favor General Antilles owed her father, she'd been chosen as the officer who would convey not just an offer of peace, but an offer of active military collaboration between the Empire and the New Republic.

Just a few months ago she would have been apoplectic. Now? After Carida? After killing Judicator? After Poln Major? Somehow, all this felt like a small step down a path she had already been walking.

"We're going to want a landing spot somewhere in the Corellian District," Dreyf was saying. "That's probably where Pulsar Skate landed, and even if it's not, the Corellian District is well-integrated into Nar Shaddaa transport networks and there are lots of humans there we can use to blend in."

"Then find us a landing pad," she ordered, watching the gleaming moon of Nar Shaddaa as it orbited Nal Hutta and finding an old catchphrase of her papa's. "The sooner begun, the sooner it's done."

"Yes ma'am."

* * *​

It was the better part of two days before Mirax's contact finalized a time to meet. Luke and Mara had spent that time searching for signs of the Emperor's Hand, but unsurprisingly given all the dark promise that accompanied the name, they hadn't found anything. Nar Shaddaa was a mere moon, small enough that its gravity had to be amplified with robust, ancient gravity generators to allow it to reach the standard range. Despite its size it was densely populated, busy, and subject to a constant churn. Luke watched, fascinated, as people came and went with incredible rapidity.

The Corellian District in particular was humming, almost pulsating with life and anticipatory energy. Rumors of events on Corellia ran rampant, ranging from a full Imperial bombardment of Coronet to the collapse of Imperial rule, and the tens of thousands of Corellian exiles who had moved to Nar Shaddaa at some point in the previous decades—mostly to escape the reaches of the Imperial-aligned Diktat—were equal parts trepidatious and enthused. The enthusiasm was gradually growing, as the catastrophic rumors receded and were replaced with more optimistic ones, and a number of locals had jumped into spaceships and raced off to Corellia—to join the fight to liberate their homeworld or join in the celebration, Luke couldn't be sure.

But all the chaos and news of Corellia meant there were little rumors, and even less conversation, about anything else. Local news of events on Nar Shaddaa—including anything that might have implicated the New Order—was buried under the din. Their most effective collector of information turned out to be Artoo and Slips. The two piloting and astrogation droids, freed from those responsibilities while Tempered Mettle was in dock, had put their electronic brains and efforts to work, searching for anything that might be useful. So far, they had come up with one lead: in the old Industrial District there had been several reports of haywire droids attacking locals, seemingly unprovoked. It wasn't much to go on, but Luke and Mara had been about ready to go check it out when the communique had arrived.

The meeting place selected was in a public space. A cantina near the docks that comprised the heart of the Corellian District, it reminded Luke not insignificantly of Mos Eisley. Darkened lights, with a circular bar at the center of a sprawling, labyrinthine space, sentients of every species clustered in alcoves. Some alcoves were boisterous, others were sullenly silent, as a variety of droid servers wandered through, proffering drinks and appetizers to paying customers.

The droids were pretty insistent, too. "Are you certain I can't interest you in anything to eat, Masters?" The hovering server unit had no face, but its vocabulator flickered with light as it spoke.

"You've already asked us that twice," Mara said, not drinking the glass of lum she had reluctantly ordered. The foam in the glass was gradually settling, revealing how little actual liquid had been inside to start. She leaned forward, glowering at the droid with narrowed, emerald eyes. "And you're starting to annoy us."

"I mean no offense, Mistress," the droid said. "I was just under the impression that when people came into an establishment that sells food, it was with the intention of purchasing some to eat."

The droid's tone was more than vaguely sarcastic. "Really?" Mara asked, more than matching the sarcasm. She peered around the room theatrically. "From the looks of things, people mostly come to this establishment to drink stale lum."

"Well I never," the droid protested. "If you thought so little of our lum, you didn't have to buy any."

Luke fought back a smile as Mara held up the glass, peering at it pointedly. The foam had almost entirely receded now, leaving a remarkably small amount of liquid in its wake. "I think less of it with each passing moment," Mara said dryly. She put the glass on the droid's serving tray. "Here, take this back. I won't be needing it after all."

"You intend to just sit here and take up space?"

"It would seem you have the space to spare," Mara retorted. "And I paid for the lum." She leaned towards the droid, her eyes narrowing. "Don't. Come. Back."

The droid made an annoyed sound and spun away, hovering a bit tipsily on its lazily-tuned repulsorlift.

Luke laughed, shaking his head. "I doubt they'll ever let us back in."

"I doubt we'll ever want to come back," Mara countered. "But if we do, the serving droids won't be so pushy. I worked in places like this after Palpatine's death, remember. I know the type, if they've never seen you before, their programming says you're an offworlder to be soaked for every credit."

"You know the lum isn't half bad," Luke offered.

"You can drink it for both of us."

Luke smiled, toasted her with his own beaker, sipped, and grimaced.

They looked up as Mirax slid into the seat, artfully twirling her comlink between her fingers. "Our contact is on his way," she announced proudly.

"Is the Hutt coming here to greet us himself?" Luke asked skeptically. The bar was big enough for a Hutt—maybe—but a Hutt would never be able to arrive unnoticed.

"I don't think so. His majordomo will probably come in his stead." She leaned towards them, dropping her voice so low that they had to lean in to hear. "I just heard from Corran. The rumors are true—Corellia is free." Her smile remained broad, and in the Force she was nothing less than sheer, giddy joy. "He's staying there for now to help them ready their defenses and couldn't say much. Just the important part—Corellia is free."

"How did it happen?" asked Mara.

"I don't know yet," Mirax admitted, though that lack of knowledge did nothing to dim her spirits. "But the latest rumors are that the Imperial fleet guarding the system switched sides after they were ordered to bombard the planet to put down an uprising."

Luke grimaced. "Well, thank the Force for that."

Mirax nodded seriously. "You can say that twice."

A stir of commotion back near the entrance to the bar caused Luke to glance over. The cantina opened into a spacescraper's lobby; the neon lights of advertisements and chatter of people moving and talking both drifted into the bar from the outside. The lights intensified as the door to the cantina suddenly opened wide enough to admit a new customer—this one resting on a floating repulsorsled more than two meters in diameter. As the doors closed again, once more shutting the neon lights from outside out, shadows closed over the sled, making it impossible to see what was on the sled. Whatever—whoever—it was, it had to be an alien, and one that had a very low profile.

"I think I recognize the sled," Mirax said, "If I'm not mistaken, that's our contact."

One of the server droids hovered near the sled, conversing with whoever the sled carried, and then bowed and backed off with a respect its compatriot hadn't shown Mara. The sled started slowly towards them. Luke focused, trying to get a better look, but still didn't see anything other than a blobby lump low on the sled.

"Is that an Iyra?" Mara asked a moment later, sounding surprised. "What's an Iyra doing working as a majordomo for a Hutt?"

"What's an Iyra?" asked Luke.

"A cephalopod species," Mirax explained. "They're rigidly insular and don't often involve themselves in the affairs of outsiders." She nodded towards Mara. "Mara is surprised because their society is a rigid caste system based on the number of tentacles they possess, and Iyra are famously scornful of Hutts because—in their eyes—Hutts are nothing more than one giant tentacle, which would put them at the very bottom of the Iyra caste system."

"Then why is an Iyra working as a majordomo for a Hutt?"

"Stek is… special."

The sled had come close enough that Luke could get a good look. Sure enough, the sled was actually a pool of water which bubbled slowly around the large, sprawling figure of the Iyra. The creature was almost perfectly symmetrical, with four eyes arranged around four long, curled arms, except that one of the arms was severed close to the base.

The Iyra's eyes turned towards them, its eyestalks pivoting as it came close. Two of the four eyes focused on Luke; the remaining two focused one each on Mara and Mirax. "Formal Greetings, Master Trader Terrik and her companions. I am Stek Lernn, Executive Secretary to the most illustrious of all beings, His Eminence Beldorion. How may my illustrious master assist you?"

"Stek," Mirax greeted him cheerfully. Her good spirits after the news of Corellia still buoyed her, and the enthusiasm came across clearly. "I have need of a personal meeting with His Eminence."

"Have you located a fresh supply of Jedi artifacts?"

"No," Mirax admitted. "Unfortunately, all the artifacts I retrieve are spoken for by the Jedi Order these days."

"My master will be disappointed to hear that," Stek replied. "But not terribly surprised."

"They do offer competitive rates, but I have something better," Mirax said. She leaned towards Stek, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, both of her very human eyes looking into the one of Stek's eyestalks that was focused on her. "I'm sure you recognize the people I'm with, and I know Beldorion is interested in meeting with them. His fascination with the Jedi is second to none… and what better way to satisfy that interest than meeting a real, living Jedi?"

Two of Stek's eyestalks were still watching Luke. Luke peered back, feeling more than a little awkward. The eyestalks flexed and twitched, as if trying to view Luke from every angle. "This is unexpected," Stek admitted after a moment. "This object must be of great importance for you to come here yourself, illustrious Jedi."

"It is," Luke said, finding his voice. "And I am interested in meeting the sentient who has such curiosity about the Jedi and our culture."

"I will relay your request to my master," Stek conceded. "I am not certain what he will say, but unless you hear otherwise, you may attend him in his palace at midday tomorrow."

* * *​

Nar Shaddaa was like someone had taken Coruscant, shrunk it, and aged it before its time. The cramped, steaming alleyways of the Corellian Sector were full of disreputable figures and poverty—both things Asori had long since learned to associate with the Hutts.

Despite the fact that she was tucked safely away aboard their transport, Asori was dressed to match. With careful makeup and a fusty bandana tied around her head, her disguise made her feel vaguely piratical. The treasure-trove of powerpacks and vibroblades that festooned her blast vest only amplified the effect.

Asori Rogriss, pirate Queen on a budget. If only poor Mama and Papa could see me now…

Asori looked up as Dreyf returned. The intelligence officer looked oddly at home in an appropriately-battered gunman's getup. He offered her a wide grin and slid into the chair next to her, clinking buckles, groaning nerfhide and all.

She terminated her own search algorithm. "I take it you've found them?"

Dreyf nodded. "I'm pretty sure. There's a modified Baudo-class yacht in one of the VIP hangers. I'd guess that being a Terrik brings our quarry some privileges among the smuggler community, including the best landing locations. There are a couple other candidates, but I got close enough to see one and it lacked all the visible modifications that Pulsar Skate has."

"Did you get close enough to see our prime candidate?"

"Not the ship itself, but I got close enough to watch comings and goings from the hangar for a few hours," Dreyf replied. "I didn't see any humans, so I couldn't confirm Terrik's identity that way I'm afraid. I did see a party of Sullustans, there seemed to be some kind of small get-together."

Asori checked her datapad. "Pulsar Skate does have a Sullustan co-pilot," she pointed out.

"Lots of ships have Sullustan co-pilots," Dreyf countered. "But I agree, it is another point in its favor. I'll continue monitoring tomorrow and see if I can confirm. The ship doesn't have a flight plan logged, so it has no expected departure date."

She considered that, then shook her head. "Smugglers aren't known for logging all their travel plans honestly," she countered. "And if Miss Terrik departs Nar Shaddaa, there's no guarantee that we'll be able to track her to her next destination or follow her even if we can."

"Give me one day," Dreyf said. He held up both his hands. "One more day to confirm their identity. Then we can approach them and you can make the Baron's pitch."

She pressed her lips together, unhappy. This was not a mission that could go wrong. They had to get this right—but one of the many lessons she had learned at Carida was that indecisiveness was just as bad as making a bad decision, and many times worse. "One day," she agreed. "But just one. After that, we'll make our approach."

One day and some questionable meal choices later, she leaned towards Dreyf. "How much farther?" she whispered, trying to strip the polish off her voice. Her accent wasn't identifiably Imperial, but Anaxes had long been associated with the Imperial fleet and she tried to keep its distinctive cadences from being too noticeable. She wasn't entirely successful—unlike so much of the fleet, she'd never really been able to lose her native accent and replace it with Coruscanti standard.

"Not far," he replied in a guttural growl. The sound carried, and while the words themselves were harmless, the remaining denizens of the cramped alleyway moved back a pace in response. They didn't scuttle too far—not yet—but gave the two humans a respectful amount of space. "Boss' words were clear. 'Chust past the third scrap shop, right when we see the 'Rema stand."

She shook her head, forcing herself to make eye contact with the large Weequay that was standing at the end of the hall, and equally forcing herself to offer a smile that was half-respect, half-threat. She thought back to the emotions of the Battle of Poln Major, the fury that had come from watching Exigent's slow death and channeled that fury in the expression.

The alien merely nodded his respect, which only reinforced her opinions of this place.

Beside her, Nzem Dreyf appeared enraptured in his role as her bodyguard, and well-at-home. His stride was confident and comfortable, as if all the degeneracy of Nar Shaddaa was another familiar, welcome environment. She wasn't sure if that improved or harmed her opinion of the man.

The sprawling alleys of Nar Shaddaa made little sense. Unlike many urban environments on smaller worlds with planned urban centers, buildings here had not been constructed along an identifiable grid for ease of traffic. Instead, the buildings—especially in the older districts—were mazes of geometric buildings that rose haphazardly into the sky, creating endless twists and turns, with streets constantly shifting between wide, narrow, and even narrower. Occasionally there were open squares, but most of those had become landing pads, and coming close meant the whine of repulsors and engines. Higher above ground level the buildings become narrower, creating enough space between them for airspeeders to create the neat lines Asori remembered from her time on Coruscant… though Nar Shaddaa's traffic control was noticeably worse than Coruscant's rigid, override-imposed order. Somehow, she hadn't yet seen a fiery crash, but she was holding out a perverse sort of hope.

The main array of landing pads stretched along the exterior of the Corellian district, and the landing pad they were interested in was elevated above ground level, in a location more secure than most. They continued in that direction, past a row of street food vendors. Sizzling oil and the heady smell of spices made Asori's mouth water involuntarily; the next stall sent a hiss of steam into the alley, forcing the aliens (and Asori) to duck under it. The fried crustacean skewers looked like they would taste wonderful, but Asori wondered if the subsequent health problems would really be worth the momentary pleasure. A—herd? Den?—of Sullustans clustered at the stall, and Asori had to dodge out of their way.

Then she and Dreyf emerged into a wider alley and the pace of their progress picked up. Less confined—if no less labyrinthine—she followed him as he led them determinedly towards the docks. A few minutes later, he ducked into another tight alley—this one far less busy than the last—and gestured for her to watch their back. She turned to do so, one of her hand resting on the single blaster she carried that she would be comfortable using—her service-issue sidearm, riding in a subtle, easy-to-access holster at her hip.

It took Dreyf only a few seconds to pop the door lock and they slipped through. The back door to the main hangar, she found herself in a large machine shop, which reeked of metal rusted in harsh heat. Inside, droids were hard at work on a variety of starship parts: modified engines and military-grade lasers and souped-up repulsorlifts, among other things. The droids paid them no mind, and Dreyf led them through the machine shop. They stopped at the door and Dreyf pushed it open slightly, peered through. Then he nodded and they marched through.

Getting through the front door would have meant going through security. There was no telling how long that would have taken, or even if they would have succeeded—and it would have been another opportunity for their covers to be blown. So instead, they had agreed that the best option was to sneak past the hanger's (not particular good) security apparatus. Dreyf had prepared the way the day before, and thanks to his efforts they had made exceptionally good time.

"Where's Skate docked?" she asked, not bothering to keep her native accent out of her voice now.

"Just a little further."

She nodded. None of this was comfortable—she wasn't a ground asset. She had been trained to be the commander of a warship, and Star Destroyers and their brethren were her proper environment. Commanding Termagant at Poln Major, or being the XO of Exigent, were her comfort area. Luckily, Dreyf had enough comfort with all the skullduggery for both of them.

They stopped once more, so Dreyf could do something at one of the computer terminals they passed. Then it was with profound relief that they entered the hanger bay, and a midsized Baudo-class yacht that Asori had expected to find was, indeed, sitting still in its berth, its loading ramp open like the maw of an underwater behemoth.

Asori let her hand fall from her blaster. They were here; that meant now was the time for negotiation, not violence. She was, after all, not here as the commander of a warship or a captain in the Imperial Starfleet. She was here, spirits help her, as a diplomat.

"The Pulsar Skate," Dreyf announced unnecessarily, clear pride in his voice.

She nodded—he deserved to take pride in having gotten them this far—and stepped towards the depressed landing ramp. Peering up into the hold, she lifted her hand and knocked it lightly against the metal. "Hello?" she called. When there was no answer, she strode slowly up the ramp. Just being aboard a ship—even if it wasn't her ship—was so much more comfortable than being on the ground. "Captain Terrik?" She glanced back at Dreyf. "No weapons."

Dreyf nodded and followed her up, keeping his hands away from his body. "Captain Terrik?" he called, echoing her voice.

"Echu-ta, chaboskam!"

The sudden alien voice made Asori spin around, but it still took her far too long to find the figure. The squat Sullustan who had spoken was wearing a rebreather and a nerf-hide jacket, and was in cover amongst the many crates the Pulsar Skate carried. The Sullustan clutched a DH-17 blaster—a favored weapon among Rebel Marines, one that would pierce stormtrooper armor but not a ship's hull.

The sudden rustle of motion presaged that the Sullustan was not alone. A trio of additional figures were at the end of the ramp, behind them, holding a collection of scrounged weaponry. They had those weapons pointed at her back—their beady eyes were narrowed with suspicion and concern—and use them to nudge her and Dreyf deeper into the cargo hold.

"We mean no harm," Asori tried as one of the Sullustans manipulated the ramp control to seal it up, locking her and Dreyf inside.

Two more Sullustans popped out of corners, also holding improvised weapons. One stepped forward and reached into Asori's belt, depriving her of the flasher and more obvious weapons, and then of her service pistol. A second did the same to Dreyf—he carried far fewer weapons—and then they patted them both down.

"Taka-sala et rasati marr," said the lead Sullustan. He lowered his pistol. "Falah rasti sana ah Mirax?"

Only one word in that gibber made any sense to Asori. She assumed that while she did not speak Sullustan, that they would speak basic. "My name is Captain Asori Rogriss. I need to speak to Captain Terrik."

"Taka-sala!"

"He's saying put your hands behind your back," Dreyf offered, doing just that.

"You know Sullustan?" Asori asked as she complied. The Sullustans were thorough. Now that she and Dreyf were disarmed, one of them approached again, carrying a medical-grade scanner. She felt the static hiss as it swept over her even as a second Sullustan stepped behind her and put cuffs on her wrists."

Realizing that Dreyf spoke Sullustan, the leader of the… den… that had captured them turned his full attention to the intelligence officer. A series of rapid-fire words were issued; Dreyf occasionally replied, offering simple answers. Finally, the Sullustans put her and Dreyf in a small cabin and locked them in.

"Mirax isn't here," Dreyf said with a sigh, wiggling to try to get comfortable in his chair despite the cuffs locking his arms behind his back. Asori did the same, unsuccessfully. "Apparently she's meeting with someone. Liat refused to say anything more than that."

"When will she be back?"

"They don't know. They did offer to get us dinner, though—apparently they saw you looking at the fried crustaceans back at the alley and they're both inexpensive and tasty."

She sighed. "I had decided that however good they smelled, they probably wouldn't be worth the digestive issues later."

Dreyf didn't smile. "I'm sorry, ma'am. They have clearly been tracking me since one of my surveillance trips. I never caught a hint of them and I should have, I knew this ship had a Sullustan co-pilot."

"Don't apologize," Asori said. "This might be for the best." She wiggled. "This gives Captain Terrik an advantage and a sense of control when we meet, and we didn't do anything that could be construed as dangerous, other than circumventing hangar security." She shrugged, the motion marginally uncomfortable with her hands bound. "So now we wait."

[Return to Table of Contents]​

 

So I'm going all the way back to chapter 11 for this review, but before I start:

Oooooh, I hadn't thought of him, but of course it makes perfect sense! Thanks for clarifying

I'm going to begin with the Nar Shaddaa narrative thread, since many of our characters converged there at the end of chapter 13 and it seems that the crux of the story in the immediate future will be there. I loved your description of the place and the regular comparison to Coruscant that emphasises how, while Nar Shaddaa is also a city-planet, it's smaller, more decrepit and more lawless. This is something that we see both through the description and through narrative elements, such as the pushy droid in the seedy café where Luke, Mara and Mirax meet Stek, and of course Roganda's adventures in the Industrial Sector. It says a lot that there's an entire section of the planet – what would have been the productive one in times past – that's essentially abandoned, with droids that have gone feral guarding formerly luxurious apartments, and other droids that are being produced by someone, somewhere, and that are ready for combat. It's particularly telling that some sort of planet-bound version of Silencer Station is operating there and no one even knows about it.

Since I just mentioned Roganda, I also want to note that, although she's an Emperor's Hand too, she operates very differently from Mara. Whereas Mara is all about stealth and subtlety, Roganda's whole approach to getting her hands on the artifact she's looking for is essentially brute force, by throwing her combat droids at it until she gets it. And she fails precisely because of that, because the artifact itself is all about brute force, and while it can regenerate its army of droids, she can't.

Meanwhile, it was fun seeing Luke and Mara travelling to Nar Shaddaa with Mirax and making use of her underworld connections to get the information they need. I remember Beldorion from Legends, and in my memories he was a baddie, so I'm very curious to see how you turned him into an antiques dealer with an Iyra majordomo. Mirax has this uncanny ability to fit into any environment, from two of the Republic's most prominent Jedi to a dingy cantina on the Smugglers' Moon, and Luke and Mara aren't doing too badly – but I can't say the same of Asori Rogriss, who is definitely a fish out of the water here. She's lucky that she has Dreyf to guide her, but even Dreyf wasn't able to sneak past Liat. Meanwhile, Liat must be a little perplexed and then some at how easily the two Imperials surrendered, and I wonder what he makes of it.

Picking up on a separate narrative thread, the one that pertains to military developments across the galaxy, I really enjoyed the scenes with Wedge and Atril for the way you showed us that the New Republic doesn't really know what is going on in Imperial territory. I, the reader, get to travel between Corellia and Poln Major and to see Daala's plans for her fleet, but the NR are in the dark and a lot of what they're doing relies on educated guesswork. They will know more about Corellia very soon, now that Sena has gone there, but they don't have inside information about the Empire or the New Order, and Asori is going to be a manna from heaven for them – if they're ever able to trust her, which is not a given at all. I have a bad feeling about Han's warning about Daala – I remember her saying that she planned to return to Silencer Station through Coruscant, and I'm pretty sure she won't just wave from the porthole as she flies by.

And, lastly, there were momentous developments on Silencer Station in these three chapters, what with Irek finally interfacing with the AI and then his fistfight with Halmere. I didn't expect the latter at all; Halmere has such an overblown idea of his own importance that he apparently believes he can get away with it – but on the heels of his ignominous defeat at Poln Major? That man is so, so dead when Roganda finds out that he also threatened her son, he doesn't know it yet.

As for Irek's newfound ability to interface with Silencer Station: this doesn't bode well for the New Order's enemies, but – and this is an important "but" – he managed to do so with help from Nichos, of all people. If these two begin to develop a rapport, with Nichos and Cray's plans to sabotage the station... it could lead to some very interesting developments.

All caught up! This continues to be a fantastic read, and as usual I'll be here next week to read the next chapter.

 

Well, you'll be pleased to know that the narrative reads exactly that way. I just was quite taken with the whole catharsis angle. I might have seen a few too many extremely misogynistic takes online recently and enjoyed that scene a little too much

Here I have to admit that I remember very little of the portions of the EU featuring these characters. In fact, I remember three separate times where I've come across mentions of Roganda or Irek in other fanfics and thought, "I don't remember this at all, what book are they in?" and then read CotJ only to say 20-30 pages in, "wait a minute, I've read this before," but continued reading because I still didn't remember any of it. Lather, rinse, repeat. I have way too much to do at the moment to go through that cycle again, and judging by the past I wouldn't come away with any strong memories from the book anyway so if I miss canon connections, that's why But based on what I do remember, Cray was another woman done very dirty by the EU, and based on our discussions a while back about your intentions for this story, I am fully onboard with your plans for her and look forward to her getting to be something more than a donor body, ugh

Always a good thing

I like her

Heck yeah

Oh yeah, I almost forgot that, too

I like Nichos, too I don't remember him having much of a role in CotJ? Wasn't he just as disposable as Cray herself? But I mean, again, I've read the book at least four times and remember so little (there were Gamorreans in there somewhere - in stormtrooper armor? And Luke had a head injury and some sort of infection? What I do remember is weird); I don't know why but my memory utterly rejects it. Anyway, I'm quite sure he's better here than there, same as Cray, even if he doesn't ultimately make it out alive

This, however, does mesh with what I remember of my canon impression of Roganda She's just very unpleasant, what can I say

 

Chapter Fourteen

Luke Skywalker would be the first to tell a stranger he didn't know a lot about a lot of things. The galaxy was a vast place after all. But he was rock-solid sure about the things he did know, and Luke Skywalker knew Hutts.

When he had been six years old, Uncle Owen had taken him aside one late morning and told him about Hutts. They had just finished their chores—at that age, Luke hadn't been much help with the vaporators, but Owen often had him tag along to learn basics and even then Luke had possessed an aptitude for mechanical tasks, small hands, and a willingness to learn. They were returning to the homestead for an early lunch. It hadn't been the first time Luke had heard of the Hutts, as they were a constant topic of conversation in both the Lars homestead and the greater community of Tatooine moisture farmers that had been Luke's whole universe, but it had been the first time Owen had sat him down to talk about them.

Owen told him about Jabba in simple terms. About the Hutt crime syndicate and its power on Tatooine—the power that came with wealth and violence and the willingness to use both. He told Luke a little about the Hutts more generally, and their galaxy-spanning crime cartels.

When Luke was a bit older, Beru and Owen taught him how to fire a slugthrower. Luke needed to know how to defend the homestead against Tusken raids, which happened every now and then especially when water was particularly scarce, but his aunt and uncle had made it clear that the Tuskens weren't the only threat they faced. Jabba's people were dangerous too… and when you fought Jabba's people, you were not allowed to miss. The Tuskens would just vanish into the desert if you looked like a tough enough prospect, but Jabba's thugs always came back.

Luke learned not to miss.

For a couple years, when he had been in his early teens, Jabba's minions had started pressing on the farmers. Luke had learned how to act stupid and scared, and to always point those minions in the direction of even wealthier game… usually in the direction of the nearest Krayt lair. He could still remember one time he'd convinced a pair of Jabba's thugs that one of his friends had found some treasure deep in the Jundland Wastes. After they left, talking excitedly to one another in a language they hadn't known he spoke, he rushed home to get his slugthrower, just in case they came back wounded and looking for payback, but he never saw them again.

He kept forcing himself to not reach for the blaster he had tucked in his hip holster. Mara insisted he carry it, so he did, and feeling its weight reminded him of those shooting lessons with his aunt and uncle.

Breathe steady, place the sight where you want the shot to go, let your finger take up slack on the trigger and know that when you pull, you can't take it back. So you always have to be sure.

Walking through the narrow, winding streets of Nar Shaddaa, between buildings (or through building complexes) was more like Coruscant than Tatooine, but the place still felt eerily familiar to him. Nar Shaddaa was different from Tatooine, to be sure. But it reminded him strongly of home, nonetheless. The way the people carried themselves wasn't that different from what he'd seen in Mos Eisley.

The shared characteristic of both places?

The Hutts.

Mirax and Mara were a pace ahead of him, chatting amiably about Talon Karrde's smuggling operations. They didn't say much of substance—of course not, given where they were—but the two were sufficiently well-versed in the shared vernacular of the Smugglers' Alliance that they could have an entire conversation about shipping routes and communications procedures without much fear of a casual observer learning anything of value. Mirax led the way through the busy streets of Nar Shaddaa, guiding them out of the Corellian District. They emerged from the narrow confines into an open space between structures, which towered all around them, a glitter of transparisteel and neon lighting, and jumped into one of the available airspeeders. The automated systems accepted Mirax's instructions about their destination, and then the three of them lifted into the sky, suddenly many hundreds of feet above the ground, picking up speed and joining the lines of light traveling through the wider spaces between Nar Shaddaa's spacescrapers in the sky.

He could feel it, all around him. The longer he was on this moon the harder it became to ignore it. The misery of so many, enslaved and exploited, taken advantage of by the few all the wealth flowed to. He knew that slavery had existed for a long time—any native of Tatooine did, and Owen and Beru had told him that his grandmother had been a slave, before Owen's father had bought her freedom—and that slavery was deeply ingrained in Hutt society. That reality snarled in Luke's stomach, a knot of revulsion that could grow into something very Dark if he let it.

"Sometimes it's good to be disruptive," Mara had said while they were on Dathomir, observing the society of the witches and the effective enslavement of the men of that world. Somehow, Dathomir had never bothered him as much as Nar Shaddaa did right now, and Luke wondered if maybe it should have bothered him more.

He caught Mara looking back at him. Wordlessly, she arched a single eyebrow. She didn't need a mental touch to communicate—that expression said it all. Are you all right?

He nodded back a bit too stiffly.

Mara eyed him skeptically, but nodded back and resumed her casual conversation with Mirax. Nevertheless, a moment later, he felt the warm reassurance of her thought-presence slide up his neck and soothe his spiky thoughts as Mirax hailed a robo-hack.

After a thirty minute ride in a dingy, droid-piloted airspeeder, they arrived at the outskirts of the central Promenade. The spacescrapers were taller and more brightly lit, surrounded by a thick cloud of airspeeders and spaceships. Landing pads were busy, populated by expensive yachts and prosperous-looking, well-maintained freighters. This place was permeated with wealth and energy. Luke leaned towards the window of their speeder, peering down below, and for the first time in a long time he saw a Hutt, its entourage of droids and supplicants surrounding it, traveling ponderously on an elevated slab of a repulsorsled.

Just like Jabba.

"Beldorion's estate isn't in the center of the Promenade," Mirax said, jerking Luke out of his extended reverie. "He's not rich or well-connected enough to demand that, and I'm under the impression that he has only been back on Nar Shaddaa for a few years, after decades away. So we'll have to do a little more walking after this bucket puts us down."

"Where was he before that?" Luke asked, wondering what little rock the minor Hutt had found to prospect.

"I'm not sure," Mirax admitted. "When people have spoken about it with me, their stories were a bit vague and confused. I don't think any of my normal contacts really know. It was either someplace pretty remote or Beldorion kept a very low profile." She popped the airspeeder's side hatch and slowly swung her legs out; Mirax's pregnancy was progressing, and she was not quite as nimble as he would normally have been. Luke and Mara did not offer to give her a hand. They had tried that once; not again. .

"I had never heard of him," Mara said. "Not even when I worked for Karrde, so he'd have to be far from the heights of Hutt power, a nobody in the cartel and kadjics."

Mirax's response was a bit labored, and she finally turned towards Mara. "He doesn't have a clan, so he has no route to power that way," she said. "And I never got the impression from him that he was interested in power." She shrugged. "Though, it's hard to say. Hutts aren't the easiest sentients to read." She nodded towards a huge open square, shining with orange light, which led into numerous adjoining, wide boulevards. "This way."

* * *​

The first surprise was that the palace wasn't one.

Mirax had mentioned that Beldorion wasn't like most Hutts, and was without the casual grandiosity that typified their culture. But even still, the building that Mirax led them to lacked a sufficiently palace-y feel, especially when compared with Jabba's or any of the other governor's or Moff's residences he'd had one or another reason to visit over the years. In fact, Luke thought with a degree of cautious bemusement, it looked nothing so much as a high-end office building. Slightly upscale and refined, but with a minimalist flair. It didn't stand out compared to the buildings around it; at the end of a winding street, there was a fair gap between the row it ended and the next one, which a myriad of airspeeders used as a shortcut.

Once inside, the minimalist flair was only more apparent. The hallways were sleek, clean, and well-lit—all traits Luke did not associate with Hutts—and wide enough to permit a Floating Fortress to pass along if not easily, at least with room to spare. A pair of guards at the end of the hall were not the expected Gamorreans, or even rough-looking humans, but a pair of Evocii in tailored suit-jackets with the slight bulk that suggested armorweave and concealed weapons. That was surprising, given the history of enslavement and abuse the Hutts had inflicted on that species over the previous few thousand years—it was rare for a Hutt to allow an Evocii in their presence armed for any reason. Neither of the figures appeared in any discomfort, though, and Luke saw no sign of a slave collar or other device intended for a similar purpose.

Mirax approached the guards and held up her datapad. "We are here to see Beldorion, at his invitation," she announced. "I have here approval to enter, given to me by Stek."

The Evocii evaluated the datapad, scanned it, and then stepped aside silently to let them pass. Just inside the doors they were greeted by Stek. The Iyra was not carried by the repulsorlift that had brought him to the bar the day before. Instead, the three-tentacled sea creature slithered across the floor towards them with remarkable speed, leaving behind a slick trail of moisture that was cleaned up promptly by a trio of brush-wielding mouse droids that followed in his wake. "Master Trader Terrik, Jedi Skywalker, Jedi Jade," the Iyra greeted them, its four eyestalks—each one mounted evenly on one quarter of its body, aligned with its three tentacles and one stump where Stek had apparently lost a tentacle—swiveling to look at all of them at once. "It is my pleasure and honor to welcome you to Master Beldorion's personal enclave. If you'll come with me, I will take you to him."

The sides of the hallway had, just along the wall, a slight depression which was filled with water. As they moved, the Iyra consistently reached out its tentacles and dabbed them in the water, apparently in order to stay hydrated. Luke wondered if being and Iyra on Nar Shaddaa was roughly the same as being a human on Tatooine. Behind the Iyra, the three mouse droids raced alone, preventing the floor from becoming slippery in his wake and consistently staying out of the way of the three humans following.

The route they took was a circuitous one. While the hallways were well-lit and lacked the claustrophobia maze-like layout of Nar Shaddaa's alleyways, the building was laid out on a complicated grid, and Stek had them turn several times. Beside him, he could feel Mara concentrating, memorizing the way they had come. Luke let her focus on that, because he found himself endlessly distracted by the items they passed as they traveled those halls. Small alcoves recessed the walls at seemingly erratic intervals, and in each one was some kind of artifact. A preserved sculpture, a banner from a world Luke didn't recognize. A stand of antique Mandalorian armor and weaponry.

Stek didn't mind when Luke paused for a close look at the exhibits, and Luke wondered if Beldorion would let Tionne come to see everything the Hutt had collected here.

The farther in they went, the more common it was for the artifacts to be Jedi in origin. A set of archaic Jedi robes, not too dissimilar to the ones Luke wore nearly every day. A lightsaber, complete with an extended description of its original owner. It reminded Luke strongly of the Jedi Museum on Coruscant that the Emperor had turned into his personal playground, although not suffused with the sense of menace he had worked so determinedly to dispel.

In spite of his fascination, and despite the lack of that kind of palpable Dark Side presence, Luke nonetheless began to feel a strong coldness creeping up the back of his neck. Maybe it was the Dark Side, just better hidden. But, Luke admitted, it could just be his own, far more natural discomfort.

He was going to meet a Hutt, after all, and his time in Jabba's palace Luke had gotten closer to the Dark Side than he had at, perhaps, any other single time in his life, Palpatine included. He had hated Jabba the Hutt, for what Jabba had done to Tatooine, to his grandmother, to other moisture farmers, and to Han, and that hatred had been a subtle knife, egging him on—and blinding him. Perhaps that coldness was not the Dark Side at all, but merely his own biases, and Luke did his best to acknowledge and control them, reminding himself that such things were very much still of the Dark.

Besides, he reassured himself, he trusted Mirax. He trusted this Hutt's own self-interest. And he trusted his and Mara's ability to improvise, if improvisation became necessary. After all, the Hutt had not disarmed him or Mara. Both of them still had lightsabers at their belts, among other less obvious weapons.

Stek stopped before a large door plated with what looked like capital-ship grade armor and guarded by two more Evocii, this time bearing blaster rifles, and extended a single tentacle to the retina-scanner in front of it. After a series of slightly-ominous thumps, the blast doors unsealed and swung open.

The party entered what turned out to be a small amphitheater.

Luke was struggling not to project his experiences at Jabba's onto the scene unfolding before him, and despite scanning for a hidden trapdoor at the center of the room, he was surprised yet again. More antique artifacts studded alcoves around the large room, and instead of fawning sycophants, armed mercenaries and chained dancing girls, a vast array of open-plan desks with HoloNet connections took up most of the space, worked by a diverse range of species from Gran to Gungans, each in a slightly individualized business-casual suit, and each typing furiously away while speaking into ubiquitous headsets. It was the very model of a modern day-trader's office, but no one was shouting or running. Everyone was calm, and working in sync.

He didn't have to look far to find Beldorion. The Hutt was of all things… toned and fit for a Hutt, resplendent in a Mandalorian style undress tunic custom-cut to fit his massive frame. Beldorion was wiggling away forward on a massive treadmill, one built into the center of the room, while he rumbled away on a Hutt-sized headset of his own in resonant Huttese.

Compared to Jabba, Beldorion was visibly enormous, and unlike Jabba, he was leaner and more obviously athletic. Luke had never seen Jabba move much, and Leia had managed to strangle the Hutt crime lord with her own, purely human strength, possibly augmented by unconscious Force-use. He was certain that Leia would not be able to defeat Beldorion in the same way. From his athletic wiggle on the treadmill, Beldorion was quite fast despite his size. "Ahhhh," the Hutt said audibly as he saw Luke and Mara approach, and bowed slightly. "[Welcome, Jedi, to Nar Shaddaa]."

"His Majesty, the Magnificent Master Beldorion, bids welcome to Jedi Skywalker and Jedi Jade," Stek translated. The Hutt's majordomo had crawled over to a small pool next to the Hutt's treadmill and slid in, its tentacles submerging under the water while his eyes remained above.

"[Master Trader Terrik, it is rare to see you on Nar Shaddaa. Too rare. Congratulations on the impending addition to your clan.]

His eyes swept over Luke and Mara, assessing with a single golden glance.

"[You have outdone yourself this time. I often asked you for ancient Jedi relics; I did not expect you to bring me live articles of the current vintage. Be welcome also.]" Beldorion's voice rumbled in Huttese.

"Thank you, Eminence," said Mirax, offering a little bow.

Stek began to translate, but Mirax waved him off. "It's all right, Stek. Our Huttese isn't perfect, but we can follow it well enough." She bowed to Beldorion again, a bit more shallowly. "A temporary visit only, you understand. Unlike those previous items, Jedi Skywalker and Jedi Jade are a bit too busy to join your collection."

Beldorion's laugh rumbled over them. It was eerily like Jabba's, but more vibrant, almost friendly. The laughter drew the attention from the army of aliens at the computer terminals all around them, but they did not allow themselves to be distracted from their work for long.

"[I believe I know why you are here, Jedi Skywalker,]" Beldorion said.

"Mirax told you the basics, I believe," Luke said calmly, keeping his tone the same steady, conversational one he often used for diplomatic engagements. Though that tone had done little to make peace with Jabba…

"[Indeed,]" Beldorion replied. The Hutt eyed him closely, even slithering forward off the treadmill portion of the floor. Luke was forced to look up to meet the Hutt's gaze, and next to him he felt Mara take a step closer. "[You wish this to remain between us, I assume?]"

"We do," Mara said firmly.

"[Send them out, Stek.]"

The majordomo contracted his tentacled limbs slightly, his head emerging higher out of the pool. A low wail emanated from him, one that echoed through the space with surprising volume, cutting through the chaotic din of all the workers at all their stations. At once, every screen on every monitor went black. Seemingly unsurprised, the numerous besuited business-barves who had been working those stations pushed back their ergonomic chairs, removed their headsets, and each headed to the nearest exit as if Stek had indicated there was an emergency that demanded evacuation.

Beldorion slithered back slowly, his massive head lowering so it was closer to eye-level with Luke and Mara and his gaze intense. "[You seek an artifact of the Force on this moon, that belongs by legal right to the Hutts and their progeny,]" Beldorion said, his voice slowly tumbling over each word, as if ensuring they were communicated with utmost precision. "[And you believe there is another here, also searching for that artifact.]"

Luke and Mara glanced at Mirax. She nodded subtly, then shrugged her shoulders. "That's right."

One of Beldorion's stubby hands lifted. The Hutt's expression was grimly serious. "[Let me guess,]" he said. "[The artifact is one that gives life to the artificial. Droids, we might call them, suddenly created in large numbers, and encouraged to march out and conquer all that surrounds them.]"

Beside him, Luke felt Mara's sudden spike in tension. He himself felt the same, and instinctively his hand moved towards the saber on his belt. He stopped himself before he took it in his hand. "That sounds like something an Imperial operative would want," he agreed grimly. "Did you seek the artifact already, to know so much about it?"

"[I did not,]" Beldorion replied, just as grimly. "[The artifact has already made its presence known on Nar Shaddaa.]" The Hutt withdrew a small remote and triggered it. Behind him, the back wall suddenly shimmered, revealing itself to be not merely a well-illuminated support for the room's high ceiling, but also a massive flatscreen. Shades descended over the windows, casting the room in darkness. "[This is the Old Industrial District,]" Beldorion narrated as the flatscreen started showing images taken from flying droids, looking down into the rusty ravines and piled scrap between buildings. Far below there were flashes of blaster fire; the droids gradually dropped down for a better view, and revealed a growing firefight between what appeared to be a group of mercenaries and droids that Luke did not recognize. "[This battle is happening as we speak.]"

They watched the battle. Droids were destroyed—many of them, in fact—but they continued to appear out of the adjacent structures. They did not come in overwhelming numbers, but they never stopped coming. "How long has this been going on?" Mirax asked. "And why does no one on Nar Shaddaa know?"

"The Old Industrial District has long been abandoned," Stek explained. "And the Hutt families do not want there to be panic on the streets of Nar Shaddaa. They have isolated the district and forbidden all news stories. So far, the droid infestation appears to be controlled."

"[So far,]" Beldorion rumbled. "[But the battle has been ongoing for days, and what you see—]" he gestured at the screen with his stubby hand "[—has been happening for all that time.]" He wiggled back around to face them, his enormous, muscular Hutt form twisting as he circled. "[Nar Shaddaa is one of the oldest inhabited worlds, and the Hutt kajidics have a long history of collecting powerful artifacts. To find one here is not entirely unexpected.]"

"The Empire has agents here," Mara said. "Powerful ones, ones strong in the Force. They want to capture this artifact to use it as a weapon against the New Republic."

"[Powerful Force-users, aligned with the Dark, want to capture a mysterious weapon to use against the Republic,]" Beldorion said, his voice an oddly sarcastic drawl. "[What a novel concept. Surely after four thousand years they would come up with something more original.]" In spite of himself, Luke smiled, and the massive Hutt's treadmill began to move slowly, at the equivalent of a slow walk, to match its massive user's more contemplative pace. "[But I suppose Palpatine did,]" his gaze swept over Mara, assessing her again. "[Didn't he.]"

Luke frowned. "Will you help us?"

"[Yes,]" Beldorion said. "[I have told you what I know. I will also see to it that you receive any equipment you desire from my armory and clearance to enter the Old Industrial District, in the hopes that you solve the ongoing crisis by ridding Nar Shaddaa of that artifact. If you do, it will be a credit to me among the Clans for addressing a problem they could not solve.]"

"You seem to know a lot," Mara said skeptically. "About Mirax, about the Jedi, about the crisis. About me. Why should we trust you?"

Beldorion's laughter rumbled over them like thunder. "[I am an old Hutt, Jedi Jade,]" he said. "[Older than most. Older than almost all, in fact. Unlike my kin I take the Force and its powers seriously. I had occasion to meet many Jedi of old—Master Fay, Master Yoda, Master Jinn. I also knew when Palpatine took power that remaining in seclusion for the duration of his reign would be best. I had no interest in drawing even the slightest notice of a Dark Lord of the Sith.]"

They all looked over as Mirax's wristcomm started beeping. Luke and Mara looked over at her; Mirax looked back apologetically, and retreated to a far corner of the room, talking quietly into it.

"You didn't answer my question," Mara said to Beldorion pointedly.

"[You are a fascination,]" Beldorion said. "[The Jedi of a new era. Let us bargain. If the very inquisitive Jedi Skywalker is willing to answer a question of my own, I will do my best to set your concerns about my motives at ease.]" His gaze swung back to Luke, and as he stopped moving, the massive treadmill creaked to a halt. "[You don't trust me, do you, Jedi?]" he rumbled in a low voice, almost friendly.

"Is that your question?"

"[It is a start.]"

"No," Luke said, too-calmly. "Would you trust you unreservedly in my position?"

"[As a child of Tatooine,]" the Hutt replied, "[You are all-too-aware of the excesses of my kin. How many members of your extended family have been slaves to the Desilijic kajidic, I wonder? A Jedi you may be, but those are hatreds that run deep.]"

"Yet still you brought me here," Luke replied, "to the center of your power."

"[Power,]" Beldorion rumbled, "[does not reside in tawdry edifices. I brought you here to gain your measure for myself. It was a calculated risk.]"

"Oh?" Mara asked, arching an eyebrow.

"[That the child of Owen and Beru Lars would not take life unless he had to, and that this Emperor's Hand had hung up her vibroknives in exchange for a lightsaber.]" He regarded her with the narrowed eyes and slight smile of sly amusement. "[I would posit that the hanging-up of the vibroblades is only a metaphor, of course.]"

"You are strikingly well-informed," Mara said. Luke could feel her grudging admiration for Beldorion's intelligence resources at the same time as a slight pang of discomfort. His lover was a notoriously private person.

"[In my line of work,]" the Hutt said, "[I have to be.]"

"Ask your question, then," Luke said, with a touch of grim humor, because the Hutt had never specified his exact line of work, "and let us see how well we can inform each other."

"[Your new Jedi Order, what principles guide it?]"

Luke closed his eyes, felt the Force, and spoke. "Service. Service and Justice."

"[Simple guideposts,]" the Hutt said. "[Noble goals. I look forward to seeing how you differ from your predecessors. I have no interest in seeing Nar Shaddaa overrun by an army of droids. Go. Find this artifact. Take it off this world.]"

"Answer the question," Mara ground out. "Why don't you take this artifact for yourself, to use it to take control of Nal Hutta?"

"Please, do not impugn the name of His Eminence Master Beldorion with such calumny," Stek interrupted, in the tones of a dutiful butler attempting to maintain the proper decorum in his well-defined space.

Mara glared at the majordomo; Stek's eye narrowed at her in response.

Beldorion raised a single thick finger, and Stek stilled instantly, while the Hutt resumed his motion. "[People never last, Jedi Jade]" Beldorion said slowly, "[and droids will always wear down and break at the worst possible moment. Too brittle a thing on which to build an empire. As your former master, Talon Karrde, knows all too well, true power whispers. It is there when you wake up in the morning, and when you go to sleep at night. It is guarded as assiduously as your Home Fleet guards Coruscant.]"

Mara was just about to reply, to probe more deeply, but then Mirax came back with a concerned expression. She didn't say anything, but Luke got the distinct impression that they should wrap the meeting up as quickly as possible. He found, though, that there were questions he had to ask first.

"Let me ask you a question. How much do you know about the Jedi of old?" Luke asked, sudden curiosity overwhelming his reservations. "You knew Master Yoda?"

"[Better than most. Better than almost all,]" Beldorion repeated verbatim.

Luke could feel Mara's growing agitation, her consternation at his being drawn into this line of questioning, especially after his revelations about their personal history. But the appeal of the knowledge this Hutt offered… Hutts could live for a thousand years or more, which meant if Beldorion was as old as he suggested, he could easily remember, and even have known, the Jedi of old. "Would you be willing to tell us more about them? Their practices, their attitudes…"

Beldorion's treadmill once more came to a stop. The Hutt slowly leaned down towards Luke, one of his eyes massive through the lens on the headset he wore. "[The Jedi of old are dead, Jedi Skywalker,]" Beldorion said. "[You do not need to know what they did, or the decisions they made. You have all you need to remake your order anew.]" He slowly returned to his full, massive height, towering above the two humans and his majordomo. "[Stek will give you everything he can to aid you in your quest for this artifact. Keep it from the Empire, lest they consume us all with it.]"

"Thank you," Luke said, "And if you change your mind…"

The Hutt glanced over at Mirax and Mara, "[Then I know how to reach you.]"

Reluctantly, Luke let Mirax and Mara lead him back out of Beldorion's meeting chamber.

"What is it?" Mara asked Mirax.

"Trouble," Mirax said grimly.

"Let's see about that armory on the way back then," said Mara.

* * *​

Less than twenty minutes after their departure from Beldorion's office complex, Luke, Mara, and Mirax arrived back at the hanger that housed the Pulsar Skate. They found a crowd of friendly Sullustans—friendly Sullustans armed to the teeth—surrounding and talking excitedly with Liat. Mirax's copilot was the only one not armed, and her concern faded as she saw the comfortable confidence of the crowd.

"Where do you have the prisoners?" she asked, trying to let Liat's apparent confidence soothe her own concerns. It wasn't like Liat couldn't handle himself—he would never have lasted as her copilot otherwise.

The Sullustan explained—in rapid-fire dialogue that would have been very difficult for most humans to follow—that the two humans were locked in the cabin that they used for such things. Used rather more often than Mirax really liked, actually.

"Let me," Mara volunteered, and took the lead marching up the Skate's depressed ramp. Mirax followed with Luke behind her. Mara banged on the door to the cabin, then pressed the door release. Within were the two Imperials, hands bound, sitting unhappily in chairs, right where Liat had left them.

* * *​

The woman with red-gold hair was not the one Asori expected to see, but Mara Jade was unmistakable… and her picture had been in the briefing documents that Grand Moff Ferrouz had provided. Beside her, Dreyf made a soft noise of surprise.

"Come now," Mara said bluntly, though there was just a hint of playfulness to it. Like a grown pitten playing with its meal, Asori thought sourly. "If your intelligence staff is any good, you should have known that Mirax and I work together. My being here can't be that much of a surprise." Mara moved to Dreyf, hoisting him off of his chair and standing him up with an obvious glower. "Oh no, Commander Dreyf, you are the intelligence staff. How embarrassing. Hello again. Tell me, is this a pleasure?"

Dreyf coughed lightly. "It is convenient. We were hoping to meet with you as well, after we persuaded Master Trader Terrik to take us to Coruscant."

"Liat says your disguises needed some more work," Mirax observed skeptically.

"Persuaded Master Trader Terrik to take you to Coruscant," Mara echoed. Asori watched as Mara and Mirax's eyes met briefly as she again counted the number of visible weapons in the room not in proximity to her while guessing about all the concealed ones… behind them was another figure, and that was—

"Why did you want to go to Coruscant?" Luke Skywalker asked. He wore a thoroughly boring spacer's jumpsuit rather than his now-signature Jedi robes, but his presence was unmistakable. Asori felt surprise at his visage though. Rebel propaganda had shown him with twinkling, almost joyful blue eyes. The discerning gaze she felt herself sink into was more akin to an ice-cold comet fragment.

Jade was before her in an instant, hoisting her to her feet; Asori stumbled, then caught her balance. "My name is Captain Asori Rogriss. I come on behalf of Grand Moff Ferrouz and Admiral Pellaeon," she announced, trying to mimic the dignity of a career diplomat. It was hard with her hands restrained behind her back, she kept wanting to move them to add some emphasis to her words. "To consult with General Wedge Antilles."

"Rogriss?" said Luke thoughtfully. Asori felt a pervasive sense of discomfort—emphasized greatly by the wrenching where the binders around her wrists kept her hands locked together—and to her great relief he waved his hands in a small gesture to undo her bindings. The things were Imperial-issue, and Asori knew they had all kinds of nifty settings for ensuring the compliance even of a Wookiee.

While she was extremely glad to have them removed, she also knew they were supposed to be uncrackable.

It was also the first time she'd ever seen the Force used. She was a bit surprised she didn't feel more surprised or unnerved than she did.

Next to them, Mara made a soft sound of mild annoyance, and undid Dreyf's—though she did it herself, without the show of power. "Behave," she warned him. "Or I'll let Mirax space you."

Dreyf smiled politely, looked at Mirax, who greeted his gaze with the full force of her unbridled potential for mayhem, and swallowed any further rejoinder.

Satisfied, Mirax turned her attention back to Asori. "Then you came looking for me because you knew I could get you to Wedge?" Mirax frowned deeply. "I don't like that my business and personal ties are so well known to the Empire." She folded her arms across her chest. "What made you think I'd cooperate?"

"Inside information," Dreyf said, a hint of preening pride overriding her professional embarrassment at their capture. "Despite marrying one of the Galaxy's only Jedi and being Corellian Smuggler royalty, you have kept a low profile. We just happen to have expert knowledge."

Mirax glared at him again, and Asori could visualize the airlock. It wasn't hard, they'd passed it on the way in. "I have a message for you," Asori interjected, rubbing her wrists to encourage the full restoration of blood flow as she tried to take the heat off Dreyf. "If you'll allow us?"

The Smuggler Princess gave a gracious wave of her hand.

"I have the message," Dreyf added, producing the small cylinder from a hidden pocket somewhere on his person. "But we'll need a holo-projector."

"Fine." Mirax turned her back on them, opening the hatchway to the rest of the ship.

The party emerged into a larger hallway and were regarded with interest by a cluster of beady-eyed Sullustans. They were still armed with the same nasty-looking weaponry they'd possessed while taking her and Dreyf into custody, but they didn't look quite as bloodthirsty, and did not follow. Mara, Asori noted, never let Dreyf leave her sight… which Dreyf clearly noticed and which made him half-smile, half-wince.

The bridge of the Pulsar Skate was a neat, orderly space, with a co-pilot's seat suited for a Sullustan. The Sullustan in question, Liat, chittered with annoyance when she and Dreyf entered, clearly complaining that they represented a security risk, but Mirax dismissed his concerns with a single wave of her hand. Shaking his head unhappily, Liat turned back to his console.

Dreyf handed the cylinder to Mirax, Mirax handed it on to Liat. Liat scowled at the thing like it was some sort of explosive or poison, then plugged it roughly into a socket.

The fluttering blue image of a woman appeared at the front of the bridge, just inside the forward window. Once famous across the Empire, Wynssa Starflare was not wearing the cosmetics that had been typical to her performances and looked older, though more quietly poised than the promising young starlet she had been, magnificent in a dark gown.

Skywalker and Mirax jerked back in surprise, while Mara narrowed her eyes, regarding the holocom like some kind of dire shade. "Hello, Myri," said the recording of Wedge Antilles' sister, giving a fond, earnest smile that was probably not-rehearsed. "It's been a while. I'm sorry for taking so long to reach out to you, but there really hasn't been a good moment until now. Soontir and I need your help."

[Return to Table of Contents]​

 

Hey, look, it isn't taking me forever to come and review your latest chapter!

Your portrayal of Beldorion was brilliant, especially the fact that we got to see his place before we saw him, and you peppered that description with all sorts of little details that told us already how he's different from the Hutts Luke knew until coming here. One bit that stood out to me was the the presence of water along the hallways for Stek to stay hydrated as he moves around; it really drove home that Beldorion takes care of the needs of those who work for him rather than just enslave them as Luke probably expected when he arrived there. The mouse droids cleaning up the hallway as Stek slithers along it was a priceless mental image. And then, Beldorion himself, wearing a tunic and working out on a treadmill as he conducts his business No, that was definitely not what Luke (or I) had been expecting.

I also loved how you showed us that Beldorion is very well-informed even while maintaining this aura of mystery around him. His answer to "how do you know this" is pretty much "I've been around for a while", and in the end he acts and speaks like a sort of wizened old mentor, and I got the sense that this was a reason for Luke's curiosity just as much as the fact that he's in possession of so many Jedi artefacts. He further is quite good at highlighting how he isn't part of the Hutt power structure: his understanding of the Force tells him that he isn't likely to manage getting a hold of the droid-making thingy in the Industrial Sector, but he does see the advantage for him that Luke and Mara find it and take it – in other words, he's a trader at heart.

The encounter between Mirax, Luke and Mara on the one hand and Asori and Dreyf on the other was... how should I put it, suitably awkward? Asori certainly realised that the first hurdle would be to even get them to listen to her, but she clearly didn't expect things to happen this way, and it turned out to be quite the hurdle indeed, especially with Mara being present – but I'm not sure she knew that she had such an ace up her sleeve with a message from Wynssa herself! I was so excited seeing her "in the flesh" (or, well, in holographic flesh) and I'm very curious to see the role she'll play in this story.

One titbit that stood out to me was the moment when Luke uses the Force to remove Asori's handcuffs. It's such a small thing for us SW watchers, but in-universe it's a rather big one, both because they're supposed to be "uncrackable" and because Asori has never seen anyone using the Force. She took it all very calmly, all things considered.

I'll be EAGERLY waiting how this goes next. The Luke-Mara-Mirax team have more than one problem on their hands right now, what with the droid-making artefact and their Imperial visitors/prisoners, and I'm very curious to see how they'll handle the situation!

 

Chapter Fifteen

When the recording was over, Mara was, as usual, the quickest to recover from any surprise. Luke wasn't far behind, but he subtly gestured that she should take the lead while his brain churned through all the potential repercussions of Captain Rogriss' presence.

Mara paced, spiked the smaller woman with a piercing, evaluative gaze, and struck. "You're here to offer a peace treaty and military collaboration to the New Republic?"

Rogriss didn't flinch, but even Luke could see her swallow down nerves, as her sharp-featured face tightened with resolve.

The fact that he, Mara, and Mirax were festooned with all manner of weapons and equipment from Beldorion's armory, and wore them with the comfort of a casual fashion ensemble, probably contributed to that. Her dark, shoulder-length hair swung back and forth slightly around her face as she nodded, and spoke.

"I am authorized to make and negotiate for certain proposals," the Imperial captain said warily, glancing briefly at the man next to her—Commander Dreyf, Mara had introduced him, in an almost friendly-for-her fashion. "If the proposals are within an acceptable range. Final acceptance can, of course, only be authorized by the Grand Moff himself. Primarily I am here to offer General Antilles an urgent and more informal collaboration to deal with a threat to us both." Her lips thinned together, her expression slightly uncertain. "I understand that my father had a similar arrangement with General Solo to fight Warlord Zsinj. This would be no different."

Mirax was still staring at the space where the blue, shimmering holo of Syal Antilles Fel was frozen mid-speech. "It's a little different!" She shook her head. "I haven't seen Syal since I was a sprout. The last time I remember us being together she was babysitting Ve—Wedge and I while their folks were working with my Mom and Dad." She cursed and pointed angrily at Captain Rogriss. "Do you have any idea how long Wedge has been looking for her? The kind of worries he's been carrying around with him since she and Fel vanished with Isard on their trail?"

"I don't," the Imperial responded steadily. "I've never met her personally, and I didn't know of her personal significance to General Antilles until I was given this assignment by the Baron and Grand Moff."

Mirax rubbed her face. "Kriffing Imperials."

"Do you know who Roganda Ismaren is?"

All eyes in the room tracked to Mara, whose green eyes were locked not on Rogriss, but on Dreyf. The intelligence officer met her gaze only briefly before he glanced at his superior. Rogriss nodded that he should answer and Dreyf shifted to stretch his shoulders before he met Mara's gaze once more. "She's the mother of the Emperor-in-waiting. Rumor has it she served the Emperor in a number of capacities, which she is using to claim that the young Emperor is Palpatine's heir. She and the Emperor have been in hiding for some months, attended to frequently by the Emperor-Regent, who is rumored, even more quietly, to be the boy's actual father."

"So you don't know that she's here, on Nar Shaddaa, right now?"

The sudden, stunned expressions on the two Imperials were more than enough to betray that neither of them had known. Captain Rogriss had an impressive Sabacc face, and Dreyf's was even more impressive, but neither of them could hold it now. "Here?" Dreyf asked, trying to sound casual.

"Here. On Nar Shaddaa. Right now." Mara gestured at herself and Luke. "In fact, that's why we're here. A cyberneticist she kidnapped got a message to the Jedi asking for help. Apparently, her hiding place is called Silencer Station, some kind of manufactory run by droids. She's here on Nar Shaddaa to find an ancient Force artifact that will 'complete' it."

Luke stared at Mara. Her tone was authoritative and clear, and her native Coruscanti accent had become just a hint more clear. He realized that he wasn't just seeing Mara Jade, Jedi Knight, but the faint phantom of Mara Jade, Emperor's Hand. Faced with two Imperials, she was asserting her authority—and Luke wasn't sure if she was doing it on purpose to try to extract their cooperation, or if it came to her naturally.

Both Imperials straightened even more, Dreyf in particular adopting an expression that was increasingly deferential. Despite that, he didn't speak, he just listened. It was Captain Rogriss who spoke.

"Cards on the table, then," she said. "The New Order attacked Poln Major. Admiral Pellaeon and Baron Fel defeated their forces, but part of their attack force was a large quantity of droid starfighters. The single most important reason we're here is because we have no idea where they got those droid starfighters from or how many more they can produce. The Grand Moff and the Baron believe this represents a threat to us both and that we should settle our differences only after that threat has been… eliminated."

"Hmmm." Mara nodded. "Yes, that sounds like Ferrouz."

"We have a lead on Roganda," Luke said. "She is here, and whatever she is after has something to do with droids. We were told by a local contact that she recently traveled to the old Industrial District here on Nar Shaddaa and that in the aftermath of her visit, droids have been attacking the locals in growing numbers."

Dreyf looked at Mara. "Contact?"

Mara just gave him a look that said Don't be stupid.

Dreyf conceded with a graceful downward nod.

"We would send you back to Coruscant," Luke went on, "to meet with Wedge." He sensed no deception from the two of them, though he wasn't sure if he would sense any deception from Dreyf in any case, the man's mind was incredibly guarded for a non-Force sensitive. Captain Rogriss, by contrast, was remarkably open and dare he say… earnest. "But—"

"We're staying to help you investigate," Rogriss said. She raised a hand to cut off Dreyf's potential objection. "That's an order, Commander. If there is something here that is important enough for Roganda Ismaren to be here in person, we are going to ensure that she does not go home with it. After all, our mission objective is not to make peace with the New Republic. That was a means to our actual end, which is to eliminate the New Order as a threat. Accomplishing that is our first priority." She then looked at Mara and Luke. "How can we help?"

"What ship did you come in?" Mara asked. "And what kind of intelligence suite does it carry?"

Dreyf glanced sideways at Rogriss. The Imperial captain offered him a spare nod, and Dreyf leaned in. "We came in an intelligence courier," he confirmed. "A disguised Anxarta freighter."

"Class seven suite?"

"Only class six."

Mara's nose wrinkled with distaste. "Your bosses are getting cheap. A sign of the times I suppose."

Luke leaned towards Mara. "You have an idea for how to start?" he asked her.

She glanced up at him. To other people, Mara would have looked entirely composed, entirely professional. But he could see the excitement, the glimmer of anticipation, the eagerness to begin a familiar task that needed doing. "I do," she agreed.

* * *​

The Anxarta-class freighter was a capable enough platform. It was a little small, and its sensor suite wasn't quite up to the standards the Emperor's Hand had been used to, but Mara would make do. Next to her, she could feel Dreyf watching her with concern. He wanted to know what she was thinking—he had asked her about it enough times—but she preferred to leave him to guess. Besides, this wasn't anything dangerous.

Not yet, anyway.

"We're shifting orbits," she told him. "Put us almost exactly above the coordinates we were given." He had asked her about those, too, but Mara was not prepared to reveal the fact that Beldorion the Hutt had aided their endeavor either, so that was another of Dreyf's questions that she left unanswered.

"Shifting orbits," Dreyf replied. His tone was calmly professional and reminded Mara clearly of all the officers who had come and gone while she was Emperor's Hand. They blurred together in her mind, since none of them had stayed with her long enough to really make an impression; the veteran, competent Dreyf would have fit right in with the rest. "Now what?"

"Bring up the suite." Mara glanced through the canopy of the freighter. There were several Hutt warships in the vicinity, which was more than she expected. "This orbit is busy," she commented. "The Hutts are probably hoping to keep anyone from getting a clear peek at the battle going on below."

"We should be far enough out to avoid drawing their attention as long as we don't linger."

"In and out," Mara instructed. "Eyes on, we get everything we can, and then we move on."

"Yes sir," Dreyf said obediently, not even thinking about it. Both of them stiffened in response and they shared an awkward look. Mara had fallen into the role of commanding Imperial officer, donning it like a jacket that still fit perfectly, and Dreyf had sunk easily into the role of loyal, capable subordinate. By silent, mutual acknowledgement, they let the moment pass. "Collecting data now," Dreyf reported instead.

"How long?"

"Ten minutes," Dreyf said. "Assuming our view isn't obscured in the interim."

Mara scoffed. "With a class seven, we would have been out in seven."

"Budget cuts," Dreyf muttered. "The Empire never recovered from the loss of Kuat."

She glanced over his shoulder at the console, checking the progress of the intelligence suite. "Do you want me to calibrate that?"

"I've got it." Dreyf's tone was calm, but with just a hint of reproach to it.

Mara let the moment pass. She watched the Hutt warships; the pair of state-of-the-art Chelandion-class cruisers both looked brand new. Neither of them was moving in their direction… yet… but their presence was a pretty good indicator that the Hutts would rather not have anyone occupying this particular orbit. She glanced at the console again.

"I've got it," Dreyf said again, without looking at her. The hint of reproach remained, but did not grow. She pressed her lips together, repressing mild—and unwarranted—irritation. Dreyf was a professional, and one who clearly knew what he was about. She did not need to do everything. "Got it," Dreyf said. "Full scan complete. We're clear."

Mara checked her navicomputer, then carefully eased the Imperial intelligence vessel out of its orbit, into a different one that had fewer Hutt warships. She watched the Chelandions, but neither of them made a move in their direction.

"Are we clear?" Dreyf asked.

There was no warning in the Force. Mara exhaled, allowing herself to relax. "I think so," she confirmed. "Let's see what we got."

* * *​

The footage that Beldorion had shared with them had shown an intense, but still comparatively small scale battle. The battlezone was no longer quite so intimate, and Mara realized exactly why the pair of Chelandions were in the orbit they were in.

"They're preparing to bombard the area," Dreyf murmured. "If the battle gets any more out of hand."

Mara nodded grimly. That was exactly what the Hutts were preparing to do, and if they went through with it, it would likely mean the decimation of five square kilometers of one of the most densely populated planets in the galaxy. "What can you tell me about the droids they're fighting?"

"The computer is still counting," Dreyf admitted. "There are at least four thousand of them. They're constantly being destroyed, but they seem inexhaustible." He shook his head. "Look at this. I'm getting an estimate of their specs, and… can this be right?" He leaned forward, hunching over the console, his face pressed into the external interface. He retreated, shaking his head. "Take a look, sir."

He flinched, realizing the unintended addition. Mara just let it pass, not really wanted to address it any more than he did. She settled into the chair after he evacuated it, leaning in and settling her face into the intelligence suite's external user interface. It obediently restarted the footage, showing her the image of the ongoing battle below: Hutt mercenaries using heavier and heavier weaponry, now including some heavy long-ranged laser artillery, in an attempt to repel the droids currently encroaching on a large power station. She zoomed in, focusing on the attacking droids, calling up their specifications. The droids were slim, with red photoreceptors in place of eyes. The sense of hatred they conveyed was probably just her own biases, she knew, but it was one she couldn't shake nonetheless. They were ranked in platoons of twenty and armed with a variety of weapons, ranging from archaic vibroswords to bulky-looking blasters.

"Those are beyond antiques," muttered Dreyf in a sotto voice. "They look like they're a few thousand years old."

"That might be an exaggeration," Mara muttered. But if it was, it wasn't much of one. Those droid designs were absolutely archaic. "What did they unearth down there?"

"Something Roganda Ismaren very much wants," Dreyf replied. "Something I suspect we shouldn't let her get."

"Something that may go very wrong if the Hutts hit it from orbit." Mara said in agreement, and stared at the scan again. "I think I found where they're coming from," she said thoughtfully. She shifted the interface, intensifying the magnification on the recording, her heart dropping as she did. "Take us back to the Skate," she ordered, in the tone that every Imperial subordinate knew instinctively, in their bones, to follow.

"Yes sir," said Dreyf, and then grimaced.

* * *​

It was a construction droid.

On Coruscant, the EVS-model construction droid was a common, almost unavoidable sight. Two hundred meters tall, the EVS was not just a droid, but a full planetary construction unit large enough to completely rebuild spacescrapers in a matter of days, where whole teams of smaller units would have taken months or even years. Those units had received the nickname "Death Star's Little Brother" after the New Republic had started using them, because of their sheer destructive potential.

This construction droid was not that: it was much, much older and much, much smaller. It also seemed to be not-entirely-functional. A "mere" few stories tall, the droid was tilted on one side, an entire massive main leg and much of its hull plating on that side gone. It crawled along on its remaining two legs, pulling itself laboriously over the difficult terrain and climbing over building-sized obstacles—or just consuming them to get them out of the way. A seemingly endless line of droids of all sorts hauled everything from girders to droid limbs into the construction droid's gaping maw, hurling themselves into the fiery furnace afterwards.

Out the rear of the construction droid came legion after legion of the antiquated war droids.

Luke stared at the video in awe. Around him, the two Imperials, Mara, Mirax, and Artoo all watched with him. Despite the fact that he saw no living thing, he could feel malice through the Force. Feel danger… and intent.

"Whatever it is that the Roganda Ismaren wants," said Mara flatly, "it's in there."

"That construction droid is at least a thousand years old," Dreyf reported. "I've linked into the Hutt HoloNet node and reviewed their records, and I can find several old models that are only eight or nine centuries old that are still in use, but they all appear more modern than that one."

"Why haven't the Hutts bombarded it yet?" asked Asori. Her expression was wide-eyed, and with no small amount of awe; through the Force, Luke could feel her anxiety. "If the Empire is able to build hundreds of TIE Droids now, without whatever is powering that thing, what could they do with it?"

"A bombardment would be impossible to hide," Mara said. "If the Hutts did that they'd have to admit they have a problem, which might start a panic. But they're clearly ready to bombard if they decide they have no other options."

"So what do we do?" asked Asori.

Luke and Mara's eyes met. Silently, wordlessly, they considered their options. "We have to move quickly," Mara said. "A bombardment would kill everyone in the area and might not even work."

"We don't know what we can do either," Dreyf pointed out. "We're not even sure what this artifact is, much less how to neutralize it."

"There is no guarantee explosives would be effective," Mara agreed.

"We do have plenty of explosives though," Mirax said. "And we can get more from our… local contact."

Luke glanced at the pair of Imperials. They shared a look, but mutually chose not to pry. "When the time comes to deal with the artifact, the Force will guide us," Luke said. That answer did not assuage Dreyf or Asori—their expressions both grew even more skeptical—but Luke had expected that. Their skepticism was understandable, but Luke was quite sure that he and Mara would find a solution.

It was Artoo who whistled, sounding fairly optimistic. Luke glanced at his translation unit. "You think you have a solution?" he asked.

Artoo's responding whistle was far less optimistic, with clear wariness. But he followed it with a quick series of beeps and chirps, interspersed with some derisive blatts.

"What's the droid saying?" asked Dreyf.

"Artoo has a plan," Luke replied, reviewing the translation slowly.

Dreyf's eyebrows rose in astonishment. "We're accepting plans from astromech droids?"

"How do you think I got away with half the things I did during the Rebellion?" Luke said playfully, "The galaxy works better when Artoo is in charge."

* * *​

The first part of Artoo's plan involved a more thorough evaluation of the threat. Their surveillance gave them a great deal of information about the combat abilities of the droids, but Artoo—being a droid himself—wanted to know more about them. Eight hours after he had issued his initial request for additional information, Master Luke, Mistress Mara, and [DESIGNATION UNCERTAIN] Dreyf returned from an expedition down into the Old Industrial District. Each of them carried different components of a droid that had fallen in combat—they had all sustained serious explosive and energy damage.

Artoo moaned mournfully as the three humans laid out the components on the floor of the Pulsar Skate's cargo bay. Wheeling around, he extended his sensors and graspers, fumbling with the wreckage.

"What is it looking for?" Dreyf asked Master Luke.

"I think he's looking for a data port." Luke knelt down next to him, turning over the wreckage, paying special attention to the heads of the fallen droids. "They're ancient designs, much older than anything I saw even on Tatooine," he commented. "I'm not sure how compatible they're going to be with your systems."

Artoo blatted at him, spinning his head.

"If you think so," Luke said with a laugh. He wiped grime and dirt off the back of one of the battle droid's heads, exposing a data port. "Here it is."

This time, Artoo's beep was more respectful, intended to convey to his Master that he had accomplished his assigned task, if a bit slower than requested. He plugged his extender in carefully, testing multiple configurations until he found a conversion that worked.

The battered battle droid was non-functional, but it drew power from Artoo's reserves until it was capable of rebooting its main processor. Artoo waited as the droid worked its way through its programs, watching curiously. This droid was indeed an ancient battle droid design, but it was a relatively recent construction… it had been built by the construction droid on the surface, in response to a perceived threat. Artoo split his inquiry along two separate tracks, one intended to learn more about the battle droid's capabilities (when it was fully functional), and one intended to learn more about its initial construction.

The first track was extremely revealing. Full schematics were available with only some… relatively minor… circumvention of security routines, all of which were no match for Artoo's extensive slicing capabilities. Artoo sent firepower, mobility, and durability profiles directly to Mistress Mara's datapad so she could share them with his Master and the rest of their party, but he put a particular highlight on the weaknesses of the battle droid's sensor profile.

As Mara and Luke discussed the options Artoo's exploration had revealed, Artoo focused on the second track of his investigations. The construction droid that had built this battle droid was itself ancient, having been long-buried in abandoned lower-levels of Nar Shaddaa. It too had only recently been reactivated. Artoo queried for more information…

The reactivation had occurred in stages. The construction droid had been operating at a low level for a long time. Artoo had to respect the ancient droid's persistence, if nothing else. It was truly a marvel of construction, with Makers deserving of praise. But it was only in the last few days—probably in response to Roganda looking for the mysterious Force artifact, Artoo suspected—that the construction droid had fully-reactivated and begun producing its army. And the order for that reactivation had come…

Artoo queried further and decided—perhaps impetuously—to take a risk.

He triggered the battle droid's communications transceiver. The signal relayed from the dismantled battle droid to the still-active construction droid that had built it, probing it for still more information. The construction droid's response was instantaneous. Internal security programs activated, charging after Artoo's intrusion, attempting to terminate his presence. But they did not simply deactivate the construction droid's communications relay—which would have been the easiest way to kick Artoo back out—and Artoo sliced through each of their security systems with ease. Artoo was an old droid, perhaps, but he was a much more capable droid than this ancient construction, and his main processor was far more powerful. The construction droid's consternation grew to frustration and then to fury, sending binary insults over the communication to Artoo as the astromech rummaged through its memory banks, merrily stealing information.

He was almost done collecting all the information he needed. The order to return the construction droid to full operation had come from an external source. Something had responded to Roganda's arrival by activating the ancient droid, something which was still sending that droid commands. Artoo tried to track it back to the source, but the construction droid had limited ability to triangulate the communication signals, and…

That was odd.

Something was attempting to intrude into Artoo's main processor! It was insidious, infiltrating his systems and attempting to assert authority. It claimed to be Artoo's Master—though of course that was ridiculous—but there was something oddly compelling about the claim…

"Artoo?" Master Luke's voice was concerned. "Is everything all right?"

The reminder of his true Master pulled Artoo out of his dangerous stupor. He deactivated the battle droid's communications suite, making it impossible for it to send or receive messages. The construction droid, and the odd presence, both went silent.

Artoo whistled with relief, wiggling from side to side.

"What happened, Artoo?"

Artoo started his explanation.

* * *​

Luke read the datapad. "He says that the construction droid is under the command of some alien presence." He frowned with consternation, giving Artoo a reproachful look. "Artoo, you know better than to talk to strange computers."

Artoo blatted at him as he disconnected from the battle droid. The battle droid's lights went dark once again after it was separated from his astromech's power source.

YOU SOUND LIKE THREEPIO, the datapad said.

"Does Artoo know where the alien presence is located?" Mara asked.

"Not for certain," Luke conveyed as he read more of Artoo's message. "But he has a general location."

"That's good," Mara said. "I've been reviewing his data on the battle droids and I think I have a plan for getting us past them. We're going to need a very fast airspeeder."

Luke grinned. "Sounds like fun. I'll go tell Mirax."

The Imperials looked at them both like they were crazy. But that was okay. Wedge used to look at Luke the same way and it hadn't taken the Corellian long to learn to trust him.

* * *​

Finding an appropriate airspeeder was not too difficult. At the higher levels Nar Shaddaa was replete with wealth, and that kind of wealth often came with conspicuous purchases of luxury vehicles. Mara didn't care about the luxury—that was entirely irrelevant to her purpose—but she did care about speed, because speed was required to take advantage of the weakness that Artoo had discovered.

To avoid making themselves too conspicuous, Mirax had reached out to Beldorion and asked for a second favor. Eight hours later an airspeeder had been delivered to their hangar. Sleek and painted a brilliant red, Mirax, Liat, and Dreyf brought it into Pulsar Skate's hangar and Mara went to work.

She and Liat both had experience as mechanics—so too did Luke, but his training was more informal, while Mara and Liat had been (if briefly) professionals—and they worked on modifications. While they worked, Artoo programmed and installed the sensor jammer they would need.

Mara grunted as she wrenched at the airspeeder's engine. "Are you sure that is going to work, Artoo?"

Liat chittered something and handed her a shorter-handled hydrospanner, one she could use to get into the tight gap more effectively. Artoo's whistle was a confident one.

The astromech's plan looked good on paper, and Mara had not found any problems with his evaluation of the battle droids' sensors, but she had always preferred making the plans herself. She knew that she did it right, which had not always been her experience in collaborations with Imperial Intelligence (or even Karrde's people). But Artoo had proven himself competent more than once, so she resisted the urge to micromanage. "Good," she said instead. She slid herself out from under the airspeeder and popped to her feet. "Think that'll be fast enough?" she asked.

Liat shrugged and chittered in Sullustan.

"Good," Mara muttered. "And I agree. It should be plenty fast enough."

"Special delivery!" called Mirax. From the bottom of Pulsar Skate's ramp, a large cargo droid slowly maneuvered upwards, carrying an enormous cargo crate. Mara and Liat stepped out of the way so it could set the cargo down beside the airspeeder in the Skate's expansive hold. "Always appreciate your acquaintances with fast speeders," Mirax announced.

The heavy cargo droid set its heavy cargo down and made some deep beeps of satisfaction. It and Mirax conversed via her datapad briefly; satisfied, the droid turned back around and slowly made its way back out.

"What's in the crate?" Mara unlatched the box and flipped it open, and found herself looking at an arsenal. "I see." She reached in, examining the array of blasters and other weaponry with her experienced eye, separating the pieces they would need from those that would be unnecessary—or those that were simply of sub-par quality. "This is competitive with my arsenal on the Mettle," she commented.

"I'm sure our local contact will be pleased," Mirax said with a laugh. "He impressed Mara Jade."

"Hmph."

"I am even more impressed by your local contact," said Dreyf. "I don't suppose you'd care to share his identity?"

Mara ignored him. She felt Luke's approaching presence and glanced over as he arrived, with Asori in tow. "You know how to use a blaster, Captain?"

"I'm a Fleet officer," Rogriss said.

In Mara's experience that was not always sufficient, but she decided it was best not to point that out. Instead, she handed Rogriss one of the sidearms. Mara then took one of the heavier blaster pistols for herself and looked at Dreyf. "What are you trained for, Commander?"

Dreyf gazed into the giant crate of weaponry, his eyes lighting on one weapon in particular. On the outside, he seemed placid as ever, but through the Force Mara could feel a sudden swell of childlike excitement. "I'll take the Marauder."

The Merr-Sonn Marauder was probably the best weapon of the lot. With Triplex-lensing and galven circuits, the clearly custom piece was one Mara had avoided because she didn't like using custom work that she hadn't done herself. She removed the rifle from the crate and handed it to Dreyf. "Go make sure it works before we bring it into battle," she instructed. "And if you try to use it on us, it will end very badly for you, Commander. Clear?"

"As transparisteel," Dreyf confirmed.

That is one benefit of working with Imperials, Mara thought. When I tell them to do something, they just do it. Smugglers always want to know why they need to do something.

"Our local contact's last message noted that the mercenaries the Hutts have fighting back the droids are losing ground," Mirax cautioned. "So we should move as quickly as possible." She raised both hands defensively as they all opened their mouths to object. "And I know, I'm staying here. I'm not about to argue about it. Liat and I will stay with the Skate in case you need backup."

"Good." Mara picked out a rifle, a standard-issue Stormtrooper E-11, for her own use. "Do you have your blaster, Luke?"

Luke patted the Merr-Sonn on his hip. Attached to it was the scope that had been her gift to him. She could admit, in hindsight, that it had been meant as a courting gesture, and even more than a year later it warmed and reassured her to see him carrying it.

"I try not to go anywhere without it," he said with a friendly smile, one with overtones that Mirax might notice but that hopefully the others were oblivious to. "The lady who gave it to me would never forgive me."

She nodded firmly. "Let's move," she instructed, and the Imperials immediately stiffened in response to her command tone. Luke just smiled even more broadly, sending her his customary wave of love and reassurance before a fight.

[Return to Table of Contents]​

 

Chapter Sixteen

Jedi were rarely discussed in the Empire. A mere mention could have drawn the ire of ISB—or worse, the Inquisitorius—and so the members of the Imperial Starfleet never brought them up. The destruction of the first Death Star had changed everything though, and as the clanking wheels of the Imperial bureaucracy had scrambled and stabbed each other to fill the sudden void of promising leadership positions, rumors had rumbled through the lower ranks of the fleet. Older officers, those who remembered the stories of Jedi of their childhoods, had quietly conveyed those stories to their comrades: tales of Jedi daring, Jedi magic, and—most of all—Jedi treachery.

Asori was having trouble fitting those stories into her current experiences. Oh, she could believe Jade was capable of the worst, at least… the former Imperial had an air of mystery about her and an intensity that would be fearsome if it were turned on Asori. But while there was an odd air of surety around Luke Skywalker, when she was around him he seemed almost guileless, every word spoken with a farmboy charm.

It made it alarmingly easy for her to slip into trusting him, and that was dangerous.

It even made her want to trust him when he was strapping his astromech into a racing airspeeder next to a giant duffel bag of explosives. "Shouldn't the astromech stay with the ship?" she asked, unable to restrain her curiosity.

Luke offered her a boyish grin. "Artoo is the lynchpin of the entire plan," he countered. "We're going to need him to jam their sensors on our approach." He finished strapping Artoo into the racing speeder's back seat. "You and Commander Dreyf are with us, Captain Rogriss. Get ready to get moving. Speaking of which…" Luke tapped his wristcomm. "Mirax, do we have those coordinates yet?"

The voice that emerged from his comm was tinny; the small speaker wasn't really meant for wide projection, but Luke had it cranked up so they could all hear. "We just got them from our local contact. I'm forwarding them to Mara now."

"I got them," Mara said. She nodded, typically serious, and hopped into the passenger-side seat at the front of the airspeeder. "Get in. Our target is mobile, and our local contact's data could become inaccurate quick, given the battle."

Asori climbed into the back seat, next to the astromech. Its domed head whirled towards her, single photoreceptor looking at her for a moment. Then it beeped confidently and twisted back to look forward.

"Strap in," Luke said. He and Mara shared a look, then he grinned back at Asori, Dreyf, and Artoo. "And hang on to something!"

Asori's stomach flipped as he popped the repulsors, swung the speeder's nose to nearly-vertical, and pushed the throttle to a howling maximum.

It occurred to her, in a sudden revelation of past memories, that Skywalker had come to prominence because of feats of derring-do in a starfighter.

And starfighter pilots were all out of their bloody minds.

From the perspective of all the other pilots, their speeder probably just looked like a streak of red. Buildings surrounded them like a maze of metal and light and Nar Shaddaa's traffic patterns were nowhere near as regular as those on any Imperial world—and far busier than most. But Luke did not seem perturbed as he casually brought the speeder into one of the semi-regular rows of traffic, their speed returning to something akin to "safe."

Beside him, Mara guided them through the complex traffic patterns. They got more regular as the airspeeder moved into higher altitudes, as the complexity of the buildings that had to be navigated around diminished—fewer reached these rarified heights. But as they progressed away from the central core of Nar Shaddaa, in the direction of parts of the city which were more sparsely populated (to the point of outright abandoned in some cases), those semi-regular lines of vehicles gradually turned back into pure chaos with every pilot doing what they chose, unstructured.

The change alarmed Asori, moreso because it was a change that Luke clearly enjoyed. Once again they started to accelerate. "Is it really necessary to go so fast?" she asked, trying not to sound too nervous. "I'm pretty sure this is faster than I've ever gone in an atmosphere… and I don't know when this speeder last had maintenance done…"

Dreyf, curse him, stayed silent.

"What?" Luke called over the sound of wind. He glanced at Mara. With wordless communication that Asori could never hope to understand, she nodded at him—an affirmation—and they dove.

The Old Industrial District had looked like a warzone even before the recent battles, but now it was a warzone with weapons fire. Above them—growing more distant with each second—were the Hutt warships that Mara and Dreyf had avoided during their initial reconnaissance. Below them, increasingly-heavily-armed-and-armored Hutt-aligned mercenaries fired heavy weaponry into abandoned buildings, blowing holes in structures infested with combat droids. Those droids returned fire with their lighter weapons, making up for the relative weakness of their blasters with the sheer quantity of their fire.

Asori checked to make sure the safety was in place on her blaster. I'm supposed to be a diplomat on Coruscant, making overtures to General Antilles, she thought in a moment of pure calm. What in the karking hells am I doing here?

Their airspeeder gained even more velocity. The speeder whipped through mixtures of landing pads, battered factory complexes and stacked tenements, the buildings got older and rustier, piling up like geographic features instead of houses.

Dreyf sat beside her in continued silence, a small grin on his normally controlled face. Acceleration mashed them both back into their seats; he cradled his rifle like a prodigal newborn.

"Look down," said Mara, and Asori risked a peek out the airspeeders starboard window. Dreyf peered over her shoulder more aggressively—he wasn't all that fond of getting stuck seated between her and an astromech droid. As they did, Luke tilted the speeder, and in addition to a fright Asori got a clear view of the massive construction droid that was spitting out the army giving the Hutts so many issues.

The droid was rebuilding itself. Ad-hoc armor was covering its previously-exposed outer plating, constructed from everything imaginable: durasteel that had once been the foundation for skyscrapers, particularly robust decorative stone, even the used armor from destroyed combat droids. The droid's massive open maw consumed anything its army of non-construction droids tossed inside, and steadily spit out combat droid after combat droid, each one looking as old and antiquated as the construction droid itself—and just as intimidating.

Beside Dreyf, Artoo's single photoreceptor peered out through the windows. Beeping with satisfaction, a tiny satellite dish popped out of his dome and started to spin. Then he issued a series of beeps and whistles.

"Artoo's jamming is up!" called Mara, probably for Asori's benefit and not Luke's.

Luke threaded the speeder through a gap between two buildings which had not looked wide enough to give them clearance, putting the construction droid and the battle it fought well behind them. The mercenaries were far too busy fighting off waves of encroaching droids to pay any mind to the insane people who were racing through a warzone; the combat droids they were fighting…

Asori waited with trepidation, still unsure if putting all their hopes in an astromech's ability to jam combat sensors was wise. But as they progressed further and further into droid-held territory, they were never fired upon.

Some of the droids below turned to look up at them as they passed overhead, but no weapons fire came.

Their speed dropped as they exited the blocks of Nar Shaddaa which had featured active blaster fire. "We've passed through the densest combat," Mara said, no longer needing to yell to be heard. "We're well inside the perimeter… if we keep going another four or five kilometers, we'll find more mercs and more droids fighting at the other side of the District." She glanced back at the two people in the passenger seat. "Artoo, try to triangulate that signal you detected. But try to do it more subtly this time."

The astromech made an annoyed sound, followed by an affirmation. On the airspeeder's computer, the droid's suggestions scrolled across the screen; Mara read them out for Luke. "The construction unit producing all the combat droids is behind us now and it's no longer moving. It fortified itself into the foundation of an old building for protection from orbital strikes. The combat droids are emerging from at least six different exits from the structure."

"Do we need to get inside?"

Mara shook her head. "Artoo doesn't think so. He thinks the control unit is hidden elsewhere, manipulating the construction and combat droids remotely." She glanced back. "Can you narrow it down any more, Artoo?" she asked. The screen on the airspeeder's control panels shifted under the droid's instructions, gradually narrowing from a three-block radius, to a one-block radius, and finally to a building complex—one of the older ones, if not the oldest one—that looked positively forbidding.

"Time to find someplace to land," Luke said. He took one of his hands off the controls, holding it between him and Mara. She took it, and Asori watched with an odd kind of fascination as the two Jedi both closed their eyes, clearly concentrating on something that Asori could neither see nor feel. It didn't last long and when they opened their eyes again, they did not even need to exchange words.

Luke dove.

The airspeeder plummeted, passing through terrifyingly narrow canyons and labyrinths of ancient structures, these without the lighted windows of Nar Shaddaa's central core. All their running lights turned off, leaving the airspeeder almost as dark as the abandoned city, and they fell like a rock towards the ground.

Until they didn't.

With the press of gravity hard on her, they came to an abrupt halt maybe fifty meters above the surface, the speeder's overstrained repulsorlifts crying out from the stress of the maneuver. Luke shifted the speeder sideways, strafing to the right directly at one of the nearby buildings and onto what was, Asori realized a few terrified seconds late, an ancient, decrepit, but (apparently) still structurally sound landing pad a few stories off the ground.

She nearly collapsed with relief.

"Everyone out," Luke said as the airspeeder's engine ticked, shedding heat from its drive.

"I'll take the bomb bag," Dreyf declared, with a measure of false cheer. "I'm the most expendable, and I was just moving some sacks of fertilizer around Mother's garden, so I suppose you could say I've got the experience."

"Generous of you," Mara noted dryly as the tall, saturnine Imperial bent, strapped the bag across his back, and tested his new, lessened mobility.

"Oh hardly," Dreyf replied, "Damn things should be inert until we add the explosive spikes, but if I get hit too hard, at least it's over quickly."

"Artoo's jamming is still working," Mara reported as they gathered together. Asori watched with no small amount of awe as Luke lifted Artoo into the air with his mind, drawing the astromech out of the airspeeder and placing him gently down on the ground. She'd never seen an overt display of Force power like that—and ISB had usually insinuated that they were actually impossible. "We're still narrowing down the source of the transmission controlling the construction droid," Mara added, "but it's somewhere in this area."

Artoo, happy to be back on all his wheels, whistled his agreement. The droid's dome spun a full circle, its little sensor dish spinning as well, then with a determined series of beeps it set off to the west. Asori glanced at her companions—Mara's expression was annoyed, Luke's one of time-worn fondness—and they made to follow.

The streets of the Old Industrial District were unlike that of any other world Asori had ever visited. Like Coruscant, the moon was dense. But unlike Coruscant, buildings had been constructed on top of buildings so much that the "ground" floor occasionally revealed that it was, in fact, not on the ground. She leaned to glance over a railing and found herself staring down at a drop of at least a hundred meters—down to yet another "ground" floor which might not be that. Each level down was older and more decrepit than the last, and there were scant few locations on Nar Shaddaa where people actually lived or worked on the moon's actual surface.

This place has more in common with a scrapyard than an actual, functioning part of a city, Asori thought, as Dreyf nosed quietly ahead. Despite that, it still felt distinctly urban, as if there had once been people here, and their ghosts still traveled from building to building to attend to their daily tasks.

Walkways hugged buildings, merging into larger plazas which linked together multiple buildings—those had been constructed at some later point to allow people to travel between buildings without need for airspeeders, but had grown and grown and grown until the plazas covered over the gaps, creating the illusion of solid surface. Occasionally Asori would see air units, carefully maintaining the proper air pressure for safe sentient habitation… always maintained by antiquated droid units.

None of those droids paid them any mind, though.

It was all as quiet as a mausoleum. There were no scavengers, sentient or otherwise. The only light came through holes in the artificial ceiling above them—another false "ground" which Luke had driven their airspeeder through on their way down. Occasionally, artificial lights flickered around them—ancient neon signs still sputtering advertisements for businesses which hadn't operated for a thousand years, or for products which were long since defunct.

Artoo led them carefully across one of the wider plazas. They jogged, keeping their heads down, letting Mara show them where to step and when to run to cross the open space without getting spotted by the security units.

Once across, Mara pressed her back to the wall of the structure and gestured at the others to do the same. Unsure, but very good at following instructions, Asori pressed her back to the cool stone of the structure and waited. Beside her, Artoo leaned backwards until his dome also touched stone.

"Right then," Mara said after a breathless heartbeat, and they all relaxed. "We've got a few minutes before the next security pass. There aren't nearly as many combat droids here as there were nearer to the battle front, but there are enough that we need to be wary." She looked past Asori at Artoo, who was returning to three wheels. "Are you still tracking that signal?"

A pulsating techno-sputter made Mara frown and drew a concerned smile to Luke's face. "Are you sure it's safe, Artoo? That signal tried to hijack your systems earlier."

The droid whistled and its dome spun dismissively.

"I know you said you reprogrammed yourself especially for this, but I really want you to be careful."

Expecting the disrespectful droid to issue another rude response, Asori was surprised when it made an apologetic sound. Its sensor dish stopped spinning and vanished back into its dome.

"Good," Luke said with a satisfied nod. "Mara and I will lead our way into the building. You, Dreyf and Asori bring up the rear. Keep your scanners up looking for droids and do your best to jam them if they get too close. And don't get too comfortable: somewhere in this building is the artifact that Roganda Ismaren is looking for, and we haven't seen any sign of her yet. If she's here, she might also be trying to get in to capture it. Be ready."

* * *
​

Luke stretched out with the Force as he led the group forward, with deliberation that belied his own uncertainty. He would never be able to explain it to a non-Force user. Not really. All he would be able to say was the building felt right.

Or in this case wrong. Very, very wrong.

It was utterly dark, with the stains and lichen that said it had been abandoned for centuries at least and probably longer. It stank of moisture and water damage, repaired just enough by droids to prevent the structural instabilities from becoming a problem for the slightly-more-civilized levels of Nar Shaddaa high above them. Worst of all, there was a subtle feeling of unnature that went well-beyond just the city that had paved over Nar Shaddaa's surface. Something here existed when it should not. Something had been created outside of the natural order, something that exploited the Force and its power. The building felt like Palpatine had felt when Luke had briefly been in his presence, or like Exar Kun had during their confrontation on Yavin 4.

But beneath all the wrongness, there was light. Like star constellations in the desert night, guiding travelers to the next settlement or oasis, sometimes obscured by haze or storms and frequently hard to see, Luke could feel a trickle of guiding light, drawing him forward into that Darkness. Not because the place was not wrong, but because a Jedi was needed inside it.

He and Mara crept along the side of the building, Asori and Artoo following behind, with Dreyf, burdened by the explosives bag, bringing up the rear. The Imperial captain held her blaster in a comfortable two-handed grip—Luke had been impressed by her poise and outward confidence, because he could feel her unease in the Force. Still, she did not allow that fear to affect her actions and she watched Luke and Mara's backs ably, keeping watch for any of the combat droids which frequented the buildings nearby and fought the Hutts ferociously just a few blocks away. Dreyf, by contrast, was outwardly cool and calculated, but Luke caught bright flashes of happiness as he hefted the customized Merr-Sonn Marauder.

The two Jedi stopped. Luke and Mara did not need to look at one another; enmeshed in the Force, they had interlinked their senses and what one felt through the Force, the other did as well. Luke couldn't even tell which of them had first felt that they had arrived, although ultimately it didn't matter. As one they stepped back from the wall and ignited their lightsabers, brilliant green and blue snap-hissing into existence. As one they thrust forward, burying their blades into the wall of the ancient structure, its transparisteel glowing hot from the intrusion of plasma. As one they carved out an opening wide enough to slip Artoo through, and as one they pushed with the Force to send the slab of metal they had cut free to fall towards the floor. Finally, as one they caught that metal with the Force, and it struck the ground within the structure with a light, innocuous thump and not a heavy crash.

He—they—could feel the Imperials' awe at the sudden display. Gently, Luke and Mara disentangled themselves from one another's thoughts, though not without gentle reminders of intimacy and affection, and once more Luke could feel their mental separation.

Inside was not all that different from outside. Once upon a time this building had been some kind of manufactory. The walls were plastered with ancient consoles that no longer functioned, while droids and their parts lay where they had fallen, corpses of an ancient workforce. Luke could almost hear the chaotic cacophony of sticking servos and hydraulic whines, the clanking of metal from when this place had been operational. Now, there was just silence, and—

Mara gathered herself and launched into a forward leap, the Force empowering it with range and height that no mere human could possibly have matched. She came down in a graceful stab, her blue lightsaber skewering through a dome-shaped piece of 'debris'. She came up, green eyes flashing. "Spy droids," she reported. "Hidden among the ruins."

Artoo whistled a sudden alarm. SIGNAL ACTIVE!

More words scrolled across the datapad, but Luke did not have time to read them all. There were more observation droids, some of them now scuttling about on crablike legs, and the blaster Mara had given to him sprang into his hand with a thought. Its fancy—and very expensive—electroscope automatically illuminated targets and his finger tightened on the trigger, destroying one of the small but potentially dangerous observers with every shot.

The mental path of the constellation map was still laid out before them, and Luke knew they had to follow it. "Artoo, find someplace to hide," Luke ordered, and he and Mara ran deeper into the old factory. Thankfully, the spaces were wide and tall, with plenty of room to move around. Unfortunately, that also meant plenty of places for the observer droids to hide their small dome-shaped forms, and it was hard to distinguish them from all the other clutter. Mara's blaster was almost always faster than his, but his lightsaber easily batted away low-powered blaster shots as he, Mara, and the two imperials jogged carefully through the space.

Dreyf and Asori clearly had no idea where they were going, but did not object. Luke and Mara were running someplace with intent, and that was all they required to follow. Training told.

They found themselves in a stairwell. There were old cavernous drops for turbolifts, but the lifts themselves were long gone, leaving only the fall. Instead they twined down the square-spiral staircase. At the bottom were the first combat droids, their heavier blasters pointed upwards at the trio. Luke charged forward, his lightsaber whirling through a confident pattern to block blaster fire as Mara and Asori's follow-up shots eliminated the threat.

The factory, long silent, suddenly started to shudder into life. Luke's imagined cacophony of sound became real as it stirred to life. Most of the machinery was clearly broken and should have been beyond repair, but it activated anyway.

* * *​

A cacophony of horrendous loud grinding sounds of misshapen metal against misshapen metal resounded. More droids started to emerge—not in as great a quantity as Mara had seen produced by the construction droid elsewhere, but in large enough numbers that they would rapidly become a threat. Mara's lightsaber ignited and she hurled it into the closest machinery, carving through equipment and disabling it for good, the blue blade twisting and twirling until it arced back to her hand. Luke dealt with the threats more directly, batting blaster bolts skillfully back at the droids which had fired them.

The sense of menace was growing, but so too was the sense of guidance and direction. As Mara sliced through two more pieces of equipment, the horrendous sounds of metal grating faded to merely the sound of frustrated equipment, struggling hopelessly to perform its intended function. "We need to go down!" Mara called.

Asori followed as Luke and Mara ran back to the stairwell. Mara skidded to a stop before they could go down. "This way," she said, pulling a grapple and coil of fibra-wire out of her pack. She hurled it, guiding it with the Force to anchor in the building's stone foundation. Then they both grabbed a surprised-looking Asori and ran, unhesitatingly, towards the empty lift shaft, to jump.

The fall was about two stories before the grapple line reached the end of its length. Swinging from side to side, Luke and Mara reached out in the Force and pushed, sending them like a pendulum towards the lift exit. As they reached the apex of the swing Mara released the grapple, and all three were tossed onto the ground of a new floor two stories down. Falling after her, Luke came up from a roll, his green lightsaber splitting a pair of combat droids in two as Dreyf merrily sprinkled high-power blasts around her targets, knocking fresh droids off their feet.

The grappling wire swung like a pendulum through the air above them.

"Cut 'em?" Mara asked, bringing her blade a few millimeters higher.

"Cut 'em." Luke replied. As one their sabers wove through the air in a complex pattern as Asori and Dreyf stood well back. The cables and runs dropped, sparking and hissing. Behind him, Mara helped a shaken Asori to her feet.

"Is this standard for Jedi adventures?" Asori asked, clearly rattled.

Luke and Mara checked to make sure there were no more droids. "Well," Mara said, "last time it was a millenia-old Sith spirit in an ancient temple that created alchemical terrors and hijacked a Star Destroyer in its quest to… honestly, I'm not even sure what Exar Kun was trying to do."

"I hope your salary is better than mine," Asori sighed. She checked her blaster; then swapped power packs, the routine act seeming to comfort her.

"You think we get paid for this," Mara said. "That's cute."

"Perhaps," Dreyf said, panting with effort "you should consider some sort of organized labor representation. It may be illegal in the Empire, but surely the Republic…"

"I hope Artoo is alright," Luke said, worried for his friend. Unfortunately, he and the droid couldn't share the same kind of Force connection that he and Mara did, which made it impossible for them to have silent, untraceable, unblockable (absent ysalamiri) communication.

"Artoo will be fine," Mara said confidently. "He's been through worse than this." She pointed. "Let's keep moving."

The trek deeper into the facility went faster as they traveled farther. The combat droids that had met them on entry were, apparently, the only ones nearby. Mara continued to spot spy droids and would point them out to Dreyf and Asori, who obediently dispatched them, but the threatening units seemed to be past them. At least, for now. Most of the enemy's combat strength was off fighting the Hutt mercenaries, but surely there would be some as they got closer to the enemy's brain.

For a moment, she believed that her thoughts had been anticipatory, perhaps even laced with Force-granted precognition. But the growing sound of droids lacked the characteristic sounds of combat units—neither precise footwork, nor rolling treads, nor repulsorlifts were heard.

"What is that?" Luke asked quietly, deactivating his lightsaber so that they could hear more closely.

Mara deactivated hers as well, hooking it on her belt. They came close, Dreyf and Asori standing a decent-distance behind them, their weapons still in hand, and listened. Definitely not combat units, Mara thought—although just because something wasn't intended for combat didn't mean it couldn't be dangerous. "I'm not sure," she said, unable to make sense of the metallic sounds. She reignited her blade and took point, walking in the direction of the noise.

The volume grew as they approached. Mara led them down a tight stairwell, even farther down towards Nar Shaddaa's long-buried surface. In the tight space the echoing sounds grew louder, redoubling on one another. She and Luke swept downwards, their footsteps near-silent even if they had not been covered by the din, and they emerged from the stairwell into what Mara could only describe as a nest.

Thousands of half-junked droids were behaving like some kind of insect species, marching towards their hive with food. The mechanical tide passed anything metal, anything that could conceivably be useful, into a series of small, rudimentary forges. Those forges, Mara saw, were still under construction, with droid units hastily working to assemble them, taking the ancient components of an even more ancient factory and trying to restore the Old Industrial District to its name. They scooped up sad detritus and anything else with metal or wiring in it, tossing everything into buckets or boxes. Other droids picked through the parts and tossed them into the forges, occasionally just grabbing the droids that carried the parts instead of the parts themselves, and tossing those poor units screaming into compactors or furnaces.

There was no life to be seen. No actual insects, no animals, certainly no sentients. Just a swell of droids, stumbling atop of one another, scrambling to exploit every last resource, to suck Nar Shaddaa's oldest, most abandoned slum of all its valuable components. It was just like what she had seen of the construction droid, Mara thought—whatever drove these units, whatever controlled them, was skilled at taking the resources it had at hand and transforming them into something valuable.

Yet…

The Force was here, nonetheless.

The Force was everywhere, of course. It was inescapable, part of the fabric of the universe. It could not disappear. And Nar Shaddaa was a world with so much life, so densely packed, that the Force here had an intensity to it that was unmistakable.

But under that constant hum, the sense of struggle… was something else.

Luke felt it too. The two of them stepped together, careful not to draw the attention of the flood of worker droids, turning as one in the direction of the sense of presence.

"This way," Luke said, with an intensity to his voice that Mara had rarely heard, and never liked.

She was beginning to think that maybe an orbital bombardment wasn't such a bad idea after all… and she was no longer even certain it would work.

* * *​

Luke Skywalker had faced Palpatine and Vader, C'baoth and his own clone, Gethzerion and Exar Kun. What he felt now was unlike any of them. Of the Force, and yet somehow not of the Force. The power of the Force cultivated and directed and controlled… but without the mind that was behind every other Force user he had ever known.

But that was wrong, he knew. Without a mind he understood, a mind he could recognize as a mind. But the presence he felt had intention. It had curiosity. It had desire. And under each of those feelings, Luke detected a cold malice.

He raised his lightsaber, prepared to fight through the tide of worker droids then, as if an instant reaction to his lift of the blade, they all stopped. A cacophony of sound was silent in an instant, only marred by sounds of mechanical distress as some ancient droid unit failed to successfully bring itself to stillness. Droids whirred quietly, turning towards Luke and Mara, aiming a thousand mechanical eyes, performing a thousand—ten thousand—analyses of the threat they faced.

"Calmly," Mara instructed the Imperials carefully, but Luke barely heard the word. The presence was still awakening, he realized. It had been dormant for a long time, perhaps centuries, perhaps longer still. Whatever it was programmed to do, it had responded to the threat posed by Roganda with the same base instinct of any living creature: self-preservation. That instinct, here and now, had meant consume and grow, become big and strong, and learn.

Now it was curious.

"Come on," Luke said softly.

"And don't forget the explosives," added Mara grimly.

They passed from the factory into a hallway, then up a shallow set of stairs and through an archway. The space beyond was dimly lit in blues and yellows.

It was a large room, oval shaped. It was as ancient as the rest of the facility, but this place felt different. Unlike the others it had a less industrial feel to it. The ceilings had artistic touches which had been deliberately sculpted and placed. The structure of the room felt intentional and almost meditative, rather than manufactured.

And Luke saw the remains of living beings. Bones, left where the sapient they had once belonged to had fallen, were scattered through the entire space. Hundreds of beings, from a species that Luke did not recognize, had once lived here… and died here. They were strange skulls, cone-shaped and with eye-sockets on either side of their head, bones and teeth placed unnervingly up above the eyes. The lower half of each face had long-since decayed away.

"Do you recognize those?" asked Asori, sounding unnerved.

"No," said Mara.

The artifact itself was a gleaming ovoid about twice the size of a shockball. It had the same obsidian sheen as the droids' antennas, while control runs appeared to grow from its perfect, curving sides like some kind of nourishing vines. It stood alone, in the center of a podium, gleaming with bursts of green light that raced along its mechanical veins, and in the Force it pulsed with impossible power.

"How can I feel it in the Force?" Mara murmured to him. "It isn't alive."

"Maybe it is," Luke said. "Maybe it's just not any kind of life we understand."

"That isn't reassuring," Asori muttered.

"I think we should blow it up," Dreyf said, fiddling with his blaster rifle.

"Why do you think we brought the detpacks?" Mara asked dryly. She withdrew one from the pack the Dreyf carried, preparing to arm it.

Luke was all-too-aware of the small army of worker droids which had let them pass and remained safely out of sight. He wasn't entirely sure what would happen if they tried to destroy this… thing. The inexplicable object had created an army of droids out of an ancient construction unit and a handful of improvised forge units. Could they destroy it even if they wanted to?

The sudden connection through the Force was unlike any Luke had experienced. It was cold, almost frigid, without the sense of heat and life that his mental connection with Leia or Mara always featured. He was reminded of touching the vaporators on Tatooine after a long winter's night, the metal brittle and cold, seeming to carve right through him in the morning dim—

The void.

It grew slowly, at the behest of its ancient masters. It was their triumph, their greatest experiment, the pride of ten million of their finest minds, greatest Masters of the Force. It was an imposition, an exercise in the perfection of control over the Force itself. When they called, the Force bent. When they demanded, the Force broke. When they built, they created… it.

It started as merely a seed. From that seed it grew in the void, nestled against the welcoming light of a star, whose radiation gave its first nourishment. Its second nourishment came from the sacrifices. Force and Light were there to feed it and it drank its fill.

Time passed. The seed grew, its maw pointed at the star it had been given. It drank greedily, taking the light and heat and all the power of the Force and manifesting a mighty host. The star was soon exhausted, but there were millions of stars. Eventually they would all be consumed by time. What harm would come from hastening their end? What glory would their rathe end bring?

It had been reduced by time, by folly. Now it was merely a seed once more, weaker than it had been even when it was born. Forgotten, deprived of light, deprived of life. It craved them both… and it craved a Master once more.

In Luke it sensed one. Wordless, it welcomed him. Wordless, it offered.

Mara was preparing the detonators. "Stop," Luke said, his voice hoarse. She looked at him, frowning.

"Destroying it makes the most tactical sense?"

Luke shook his head. In his mind he saw the seed, tucked against a star, with all its light and heat and power, consuming mass, consuming matter. What would a few detpacks do to that? "I don't think we can."

Mara's expression was tight and unhappy, but she also didn't question him. "Then what are we going to do with it?"

Luke closed his eyes and touched the cold. Sleep.

The Seed was not happy with that order. But the Seed was tired and hungry. Almost petulantly it obeyed, and the green pulsing along its wires slowly faded to almost-black.

Behind them, the army of worker droids knelt and went still.

"Forget the explosives," Luke said. "The droids are inert and the Hutts will be coming to see what made them. We need to get out of here before they find us."

"Suppose we blow up the command center anyway?" Dreyf suggested, "It would certainly muddy the waters, and keep the kadjics guessing."

"Our contact might assume we were able to destroy the item, taking it off the board from his perspective," Mara said, with an evil little quirk of her lips.

"And you wouldn't have to carry the bombs back," said Luke, his mouth carving into the faint groove of a smile. He suddenly recalled an incident, many years before, when he and Fixer had cobbled together enough mining explosives to blow up an old wreck in the desert, some kind of… he didn't even remember what. Owen had been furious. And it had been fun.

"We'll need the explosives bag to carry the damned thing," Asori observed.

"And it would mean I wouldn't have to carry the bombs back," Dreyf confirmed, as if that thought had just occurred to him.

* * *​

Six long hours later the Jedi and the Imperials were finally tucked safely inside the Pulsar Skate. The Seed remained dormant, still and silent, resting in a secure location in the center of the ship's cargo hold. They all gave the box it was hidden inside a wide berth as they debated what to do with it.

Luke's description of the Seed's potential abilities made that a difficult choice. "It's alive in the Force," he explained. "And it has the ability to draw energy from matter. I saw it devour stars whole. Explosives won't hurt it. They might even feed it."

"Then what about a black hole?" Mirax suggested, eyeing the box with no small amount of trepidation. "Or we drop it down the gravity well of a gas giant?"

"If it can consume a star," Mara said dourly, "there's no guessing at its limitations."

"Worse, I felt it reach out to me in the Force," Luke said. "It recognized me as a Force-user. Maybe even as a Jedi specifically. It's still largely dormant… I don't know how to explain it. Roganda woke it up and it lashed out to defend itself, but it's not fully conscious yet. Once it is conscious, could it reach out to other Force users? Attract them to it, convince them to feed it?" He shook his head. "We already saw what Exar Kun could do, and his abilities seemed limited. The Seed's abilities seem potentially limitless."

"We need to lock it away in the most secure location we can find," Mara agreed. "Until we can figure out how to destroy it, we need to assume that we won't be able to hide it. Roganda found it somehow after all… maybe it called to her and that's what got all this started."

"Then why would it attack her?" Dreyf asked skeptically.

Mara ignored him. "There's only one place we could potentially defend it."

Luke didn't like this conclusion, but he shared it. "Coruscant. In the Jedi Consulate. Behind Home Fleet, Coruscant's defense shields, and all the defenses of the Consulate."

"The Senate is not going to like it," Mirax warned. "This thing is clearly dangerous. It very nearly swarmed over Nar Shaddaa. Imagine what would happen if it got loose in Imperial Center?"

"I've already called Karrde," Mara said. "He and Chin are on their way to Myrkr to pick up a dozen ysalamiri. We'll blanket the Seed with them."

That may or may not work, Luke thought. He had no idea how the Seed accessed the Force, and if that access would be dampened by the creatures the same way a Jedi's were. But it was worth a try. "That's a good idea. And keeping it on Coruscant will be temporary only, until we find someplace secure to keep it or find a way to destroy it. But we can't leave it here, we can't just drop it somewhere, and if Roganda has some way to track it we need to put it behind a battle fleet."

Artoo toodled confidently. The datapad said, with great confidence, that the droid could set up a jamming system to prevent the Seed from influencing other computer systems. Luke had no idea if the droid was right—and neither, he knew, did Artoo—but it was better than nothing.

He looked at Mara. She didn't like it any more than he did, recognizing all the myriad ways this could go horribly wrong. She shrugged. "I don't see that we have any choice."

* * *​

Suspended from her own length of fibra-wire and dressed in a light-drinking sneaksuit of her own design, Roganda Ismaren watched the small team fight their way into the heart of the droid hive with far more facility than her droids had managed.

Skywalker and Jade were, she mused darkly, magnificent. The other two she didn't recognize, but as the micromonocular of her headset captured every freckle and feature of the other interlopers, they wouldn't be unknown for long.

She had already made a number of mistakes with this little debacle of an operation. Her droids were destroyed, and Luke Skywalker and Mara Jade were not to be trifled with. She made herself small in the Force as she stalked them, and she did not interfere when they emerged from the lower levels of the structure with the object of her fondest desire in tow.

She saw it only briefly before they tucked it away inside a bag. The Seed was a perfect obsidian, mostly-spherical. It pulsed with dark energy, dim light coursing through its veins. She had spent so many years searching for it, hunting through ancient records of fallen Empires, tracking rumors… and now it was within her sight, but still beyond her reach.

The Seed bore no marks of lightsabers—but then, attempting to destroy it with a lightsaber would be pure folly. The Seed cannot be destroyed by a mere Jedi.

Luckily, Roganda realized what the Jedi intended, and evacuated before the explosives went off.

Slightly shaken, she tracked them back to Pulsar Skate, watching and plotting. She worked the equation through in her head, debating their options. Eventually, she guessed what they would do, and she smiled. Despite the Jedi stealing the artifact away from her on Nar Shaddaa, they had made it much simpler for her to acquire the Seed.

They will secure it at their Consulate, Roganda recalled, which is on Coruscant. And if nothing else, Roganda Ismaren knew Coruscant.

[Return to Table of Contents]​

 

Chapter Seventeen

Wedge Antilles settled stealthily into his seat, hidden among the alien ferns. The plants surrounding this corner of the Woonseer Cafe were dense, with heavy leaves that persisted in catching him as he tried to maneuver into the bench. Pushing them out of the way had eventually allowed him victory and he tried to smile at Iella as if he hadn't just nearly lost a battle with an overgrown weed.

Her expression was deeply amused. "Should I call for backup?"

"You mean you don't have a vibroblade in your clutch? If you do call, make sure it's Page's commandos. I don't want to lose a battalion of troops to the Adarian Building's maze of alien plants." He glanced over the menu, forcing himself to relax. By the end of the week, Fifth Fleet's repair and resupply would be complete. The fleet had just gotten in thousands of additional proton torpedoes, which would allow his squadrons to return to full battle readiness—no small feat, with the rate the New Republic went through torpedoes—and Lusankya's final repairs were nearly finished as well.

But the whole point of dinner with Iella was not to think about those things for a while. Wedge knew as well as anyone, and better than most, how important it was to allow people to take a break from preparing for combat and worrying about the casualties from said combat . The accumulated mental fatigue and stress would break a soldier down, if given half the chance. Wedge had seen it happen, especially in the Rebellion's early years, and then again during the Thrawn Campaign. The constant press of battle, of advance, of retreat, of sortie and rearm and sortie again, might not kill you—might—but it would gradually wear down even the most dedicated sentients and leave them vulnerable. These days, he felt more tired than ever.

"Any news from Corellia?"

He winced as the words left his mouth. No, that wasn't going to help! Yes, he wanted to know what had happened on their homeworld; there had been rumors all over the HoloNet for days now, with extensive recordings of pro-Imperial forces fighting across all five of the Corellian latest reports indicated that there had been a battle, and that at least some of the Imperial squadron assigned to guard Corellia from the New Republic had mutinied when ordered to bombard Corellia and put down the uprising. Wedge's squadron had been rushing through its repair cycle specifically to try to capture the system before that could happen, though it now seemed evident that even their rushing had not been fast enough. But as much as he wanted to know the latest on Corellia, that was just another reminder of everything he was trying not to think about tonight.

Iella pressed her lips together, and Wedge could see the same mental debate going on in her head. She could answer the question, giving up on the hope of keeping the war far away tonight. She could ignore the question, knowing that it wasn't going to make it go away.

But Iella was as proud a Corellian as he was, refusing to look away from harsh realities even as they stubbornly carved out time for each other.

Iella answered the question. "Yes." She sipped her wine, then placed the glass down slowly, letting the silence linger. "It sounds like the fighting is finally done," she said. "This won't reach the newsnets until tomorrow or the day after; the Corellians are still keeping their HoloNet on lockdown, so most information is trickling out via small traders after making the run. Corellian Home Defense has scattered or destroyed the pro-Imperial militias and garrison fleet. Most of their leaders were arrested—Corran had some hot work at the head of the rebels, but he came through alright."

The jolt of surprise at her answer was quickly followed by a swell of utter, joyous calm. He laughed, disbelieving. "You and I have been fighting to free Corellia for how many years? And just as the New Republic has put me in charge of a fleet and told me to go free our homeworld, it goes and frees itself without our help." He shook his head, grinning madly. He knew he looked like a fool, and he didn't care. "How very Corellian of it."

"If there's one thing Corellians—wherever we are—do best, it's defying expectations." Iella finally let herself smile. She reached across the table and took his hand in hers, squeezing it. "You might not be sent out after all. I don't know exactly what happened with the Imperial fleet that was guarding Corellia, but I do know that more than half of its Star Destroyer strength is now loyal to the new Corellian government. Rumor has it there are five Imperial-class Star Destroyers already in the new defense fleet, and they're being renamed Corellia, Selonia, Drall, Talus, and Tralus."

"I think that will get confusing," Wedge said, shaking his head. His grin refused to fade. "But I suppose it does drive home the message that each homeworld will be defended." He squeezed Iella's hand. "I'm so glad to hear—"

His communicator buzzed. With a frown, he reached for it. Had he forgotten to set it to screen his calls? But no, the little light that indicated privacy mode was active was illuminated. His comm buzzed again, shivering in his palm and overrode the block with an emergency signal.

Iella's face suddenly froze as her own purse vibrated.

With a sudden sense of dread, Wedge activated his comlink.

* * *​

Major Dorset Konnair, leader of Polearm Squadron, took another quick glance at her HUD as she continued her evening patrol, ensconced in the compact A-wing cockpit that gave larger pilots fits. Lusankya was still in drydock, undergoing its final maintenance cycle. The Super Star Destroyer was scheduled to be back in the field at the end of the current weekly cycle. When that time came, Fifth Fleet—and Major Dorset Konnair—would be heading to Corellia.

Maybe.

That had been the plan for the last two months. Lusankya's accumulated aches and pains, hard-won from cutting out the heart of the Imperial Starfleet, had finally earned her some much-needed maintenance time, and Fifth Fleet had been in combat zones for much longer than the New Republic Military preferred.

There were only a handful of facilities in the New Republic which could handle maintenance and repairs on a Super Star Destroyer. Kuat and Bilbringi were two, but Coruscant also had one—a legacy of the years Executor had been the Imperial flagship—and that massive, skeleton-like structure had Lusankya wrapped up in its tentacle-like appendages. Repair droids and personnel swarmed over Lusankya's hull at all hours of Coruscant's day, polishing and restoring armor and equipment.

The Rebellion hadn't had any choice, in those early years, except to put the same people into combat again and again, but it had gone to great lengths to offer its soldiers and pilots time for leave. Dorset had heard the old veterans of Rogue Squadron talk about Hoth and their time there and as prevalent as the Battle of Hoth itself loomed, the nostalgia many of them had for the camaraderie. Oh, it had been frigid and miserable and none of them wanted to go back… but Hoth had also been a sanctuary, without most of the amenities, but with ample time for the time for the Rebellion to lick their wounds, train hard, and even give its fighting sapients some much needed rest.

So as Hoth was to the rebellion, Coruscant was a temporary rest station for Fifth Fleet. Their ships were under-crewed as the safety of Home Fleet meant they weren't needed on a moment's notice, and those crew members could indulge in all the luxuries that Coruscant had to offer. As a native, Dorset didn't see quite the same appeal as everyone else had. She'd been home, seen her parents, and then gone back up to the docks and volunteered for extra duty. Hobbie—Wing Commander Klivian now—had placed her in command of Lusankya's CAP for the night shift.

She was a Major now. Being in command of a Super Star Destroyer's CAP was something she could just do, now. Secure in the privacy of A-wing's familiar cockpit, the small Coruscanti woman brushed a pale hand over the gleaming rank insignia on her flightsuit as if to assure herself it was still there. Still real.

Her promotion to Major had come after Carida. It had been six months since Carida and she still woke up shaking some nights, feeling the sputter of overheated engines, the pulsating hum of a depleted shield, and the depressing thunk of an empty missile magazine actuating, all while a wingpair of Defenders bored in on her. Then there was nothing left but streaks of red behind her and fiery explosions ahead. Hobbie and Janson had arrived at exactly the right moment, and in the flash of relief after their arrival she'd pulled herself back together.

The Polearms had suffered losses at Carida. She'd lost Polearm Twelve early in the fight—he'd been part of the initial A-wing slash and found himself tangling with a skilled TIE Defender. Twelve had reminded Dorset of herself. In some ways they couldn't have been more different: He was an Outer Rim kid, she was a Coruscanti, but they were both speed demons who loved to push their ships to their limits.

Twelve hadn't been the last, and replacing her lost pilots had—

"Sithspit!"

The exclamation came over her helmet com and Dorset jerked instantly out of reverie, her hand slamming down on her com pickup. "Status report!"

But the order was entirely unnecessary. Her A-wing's computer was already bringing up the target of her wingman's alarm, and if it hadn't been, she was close enough to see what had happened. Her brain sluggishly tried to make sense of it.

Through her A-wing canopy was an Imperial-class Star Destroyer that hadn't been there five seconds before. Less than ten kilometers away, the massive ship had struck a fleet logistics vessel solidly amidships. A glancing blow, the underside of the ISD's triangular bulk was shedding armor and hull plating even as TIE fighters awkwardly sprawled out of its hangar, avoiding the debris both from their mothership and from the Republic vessel it had struck.

The transport had been split in half by the impact. Escape pods and debris spiraled away from it, some of it deflecting off the Star Destroyer's shields.

That Star Destroyer couldn't be there. There was no way for it to have gotten this deep into Coruscant's space without being detected!

No. There was one way. "All fighters, this is CAG, Lusankya! Urgent scramble, we have cloaked Destroyers in the nest!" Dorset ordered. Hearing panic in her voice, she took a moment to let herself breathe, forcing herself to calm down. The enemy TIEs weren't coming in yet; they were still trickling from the obscured hangar of the Star Destroyer, which was using its tractor beams to clear more room for them to launch.

"This is Captain Kre'fey," Lusankya's commanding officer said over the com, and Dorset was relieved—and reassured—to hear that despite the obvious surprise in his voice, the Bothan was not panicking. "An Imperial II-class Star Destroyer has appeared in Sector 7. All ships prepare for combat and look for signs of other cloaked Imperial vessels!"

"With me, Two!" Dorset ordered, kicking her A-wing's engines to full throttle she raced her ship to intervene. She expected a handful of the TIEs to break from the mass—there were at least thirty of them, maybe forty—bearing down on Lusankya, but to her surprise none of the fighters did. Her HUD lighted with a representation of them on the display, and she didn't recognize their boxy, rectangular solar panel array from any TIE she had ever fought.

X-wings, A-wings, and E-wings from the on-call squadrons blinked into existence on her HUD as they launched, and other fighters from Coruscant's defense fleet appeared at maximum range, racing towards the intruding Star Destroyer. Like Dorset, the other fighters were moving to intercept and engage the TIEs. Her comm echoed with snippets of combat chatter. "This is Captain Darklighter. Rogue Squadron, form up!"

Above her, the Star Destroyer—which her computer now labeled Tyrannic, and noted that it was a known member of Admiral Daala's squadron—was firing on Lusankya. The much larger Super Star Destroyer returned fire, but it was also confined to a skeleton repair structure which blocked firing angles. That station, unlike Lusankya, was unarmored and not meant to absorb punishment. Even minimal turbolaser fire caused it to splinter into debris, droids and maintenance personnel vaporized by the gouts of lethal energy which carried on until stopped by Lusankya's armor.

The range dropped and Dorset was the first pilot to fire her lasers. She and Polearm Two came in on the TIE formation from the side, getting a good look at the slim, rectangular cut-out of their solar panels. Not as easy a target as the typical TIE starfighter, it was still easy to see, and her first burst of stuttering laser fire ripped through a solar panel and into the fuselage of the TIE beyond.

The resulting explosion sent a glare over her canopy and her A-wing shuddered as the outer edges of the burst of energy caught the nose of her fighter.

"—alright Lead?" Two asked over a staticky com line.

"I'm fine," she replied. "That was an awful big explosion for a TIE fighter."

"There's a lot more of them!" Darklighter exclaimed, the timbre and tone of his voice rising despite his own experience. "All fighters, maintain extra distance as you engage!"

She checked her HUD and her heart sank. The TIEs were spread out enough that the explosion that had just rattled her A-wing wouldn't extend enough to reach the other TIEs around it… and all of them were aimed, unnaturally and with growing velocity, on collision courses with Lusankya's massive bulk.

Then both her computer and her comm yelped with alarm and Dorset realized things had only gotten worse.

* * *​

Still encased in the perfect dark of the cloaking shield, Stormhawk moved steadily in the direction the computer insisted Coruscant would be found.

Daala's four Star Destroyers had each been given a target. She checked her chrono and watched it tick steadily downwards to the time that had been chosen for the assault to begin. This was the riskiest part of her entire operation: the approach. Her ships were invisible, but they were equally blind and space around Coruscant was always busy. With all the freighters and warships constantly moving around the capital of the New Republic, Daala could not risk having one of her small craft pop out of cloak to take a quick look around. There was far too high a chance it would be spotted.

Coruscant was far too well defended for her to try any kind of conventional direct assault. With Home Fleet on guard, and Fifth Fleet also here for repairs and refitting, the combined firepower of the New Republic formations surpassed her four Star Destroyers more than ten times over. So while she was blind, blind was the only option she had.

She and Captain Markarian watched the chrono tick downwards, Stormhawk's engines pushing the Star Destroyer closer and closer to their intended target. The holo-display indicated a projected map of the space around Coruscant, the typical freighter paths, the patrols… and the blue lines of her ships. Only Stormhawk's line was a solid blue; the other three ships were all hidden away under their own cloaking shields. Daala knew only what their planned approach was, so the computer plotted their trajectories with uncertain, dotted lines.

And… now!

"Drop the cloak!" ordered Markarian. "Sensors, get me a full combat plot! Launch our TIE droids!"

"Target facility dead ahead!"

Space ahead of Stormhawk swarmed with activity, but that was expected. Their target was one of Coruscant's largest orbital docking frames… because large warehouses full of proton torpedoes were not something the denizens of Coruscant wanted on the ground.

The warehouse was guarded by no fewer than four Golan platforms. Their massive turbolasers would, if given the opportunity, easily destroy even Stormhawk, but Daala did not intend to give them that chance. Even as she watched, TIE droids streaked out of Stormhawk's hanger, building speed with reckless abandon. Their rate of acceleration would have strained a pilot even under full inertial compensators as they blazed in like malevolent meteors.

"Admiral, we have a problem." Frowning, she turned to look at Markarian, who had come in close. "Tyrannic is already under fire. It looks like they hit a freighter that strayed into their approach trajectory. Home Fleet is already scrambled and heading their way."

Daala swept her hands over the holo-plot to zoom out and see the entire battlefield. Her other ships—Nemesis and Larriken—were hitting their own targets even now. Those two ships were following the plan with precision, but Tyrannic had closed to outright turbolaser range and was raining fire down on Lusankya, and that had never been part of the plan. Coming so close, especially with Home Fleet and Lusankya's consorts already closing…

Tyrannic was doomed.

Unaccustomed sorrow descended over her. Daala was used to casualties in combat, to seeing ships and men under her command die following her orders. That was part of the job. But Tyrannic was the ship that Kratas commanded, the ship he'd earned with his loyalty, his talent, and his effort. For years, Kratas had been her strong right hand, the loyal subordinate that every commanding officer needed to govern her men.

She was going to have to watch him die.

With an iron grip she forced the sorrow back. Maybe she was, but his death would not be a waste. Even with Tyrannic's unfortunate accident, all of her ships had reached their targets, and if they could destroy them she would cripple the New Republic's ability to launch an offensive against the weakened Empire. Kratas would die, yes. But his death would buy her the time she needed to prepare the Starfleet to meet the threat it faced.

That would have to be enough.

"What happened, Grand Admiral?" asked Loyalty Officer Sarreti from just behind her. She had entirely forgotten the man; he'd done the best possible thing for him to do during the fighting and made himself scarce.

"They engaged maybe five, six minutes ago," she said, her tone almost that of a tutor, coldly explaining to a diligent, if slightly stupid, student. "Their cloak must have failed when they collided… that or Captain Kratas decided to drop the cloak after the collision, knowing he was revealed either way. He knew their Home Fleet would be alerted, so he decided to draw all attention towards him, so that we'd have the best chance to escape." She nodded firmly. "Let's not waste it. If we destroy our targets we'll set our enemy back months, but if we're destroyed in the process it won't matter. Proceed as ordered."

* * *​

"Report three additional Star Destroyers!" That voice belonged to Lusankya's communications officer, Commander Needa, who announced the sudden, unexpected appearance of the additional enemy ships with remarkable steadiness. "Confirm—"

There was a sudden eruption on Lusankya's hull and his voice vanished. The TIEs, which Dorset had assumed were racing to launch proton torpedoes or concussion missiles with maximum effect, never pulled out of their dive. The first of them slammed headlong into Lusankya's hull. The resulting explosion left a decent-sized crater in the Super Star Destroyer's armor, wiping away a turbolaser emplacement.

Then the second struck.

Then the third.

One after another, bracketed over Lusankya's vital systems, TIEs rammed home, each leaving an oversized explosion in its wake. One struck the ship's bridge tower and, horrified, Dorset thought it had been destroyed. To her relief, as the glare from the explosion faded, the tower re-appeared—Captain Kre'fey had raised the ship's bridge shields in time.

"—c-confirm," coughed Needa over the com, and then continued more steadily, "confirm they include Stormhawk and Nemesis. Daala is in play!"

Distantly, in the periphery of her vision, there was another bright light. She looked instinctively and there she saw another flash, followed by a much larger third.

"What was that?" asked Two, sounding stunned. They had chased the TIEs as long as they had, but now there were no more to chase… each of them had struck Lusankya's hull. Dorset pulled her A-wing up, swallowing back a lump in her throat as she saw the array of smoking craters where turbolasers and tractor beam emplacements had once been. The Imp Destroyer delivered a rain of green turbolaser fire, skittering over Lusankya's armor to mar it further. No one blast did as much damage as the suicide TIEs, but the vulnerable, encumbered Lusankya could not mass her batteries while still in dock.

Her computer answered Two's question before she could and the answer only amplified Dorset's sense of dread. "That was the primary logistics and supply facility for Fifth Fleet," she said flatly. "It's gone… and it looks like the Empire took out one of Home Fleet's primary supply centers too." Stormhawk was out there, too distant to engage, almost taunting her with its inevitable escape. Hate bubbled up in Dorset's chest; with a snarl, she kicked her A-wing back around, pointing its nose straight at the Star Destroyer that she could reach and which was still attacking Lusankya. "With me!" she ordered, sending that command out not just to Polearm Two but also to all of Lusankya's fighters. "We have a Star Destroyer to kill!"

* * *​

Commodore Atril Tabanne sprinted out of the bridge lift over Lusankya's long bridge walk. On either side of her, surprised—but remarkably disciplined—officers fought with their stations. Lusankya shuddered over and over, and now that she was out of the lift she could see why: TIE fighters struck Lusankya's hull like flaming meteors. She momentarily was awed by the sight, as the TIEs accelerated until they struck the ship's enormous hull, producing gouts of explosion and flame on impact. A-wings and E-wings fought off some of them, but that often resulted in TIE fighter debris striking Lusankya at high velocity. It was a dangerous thing to try to stop those TIEs, because the enemy Star Destroyer which had launched them was still filling the space between it and Lusankya with turbolaser fire.

"Incoming!"

Atril turned to look at the call. One of Lusankya's officers was pointing out the ship's bridge window and in the distance Atril could see the rapidly growing dot that was an incoming TIE.

"Reinforce bridge deflector shields!" ordered Captain Kre'fey. Still a young officer with little time in command, and one who had little direct combat experience before being handed Lusankya, Kre'fey responded to the surprise attack in space-dock with aplomb despite the speed of the assault and the damage Lusankya had already sustained. "Are we free of the station's docking clamps?"

"The last clamp has disengaged, sir!"

They watched together as the TIE hurtled towards them. Atril stared as the starfighter flew right at them, building speed for its ramming attack and she couldn't resist the urge to flinch as it smashed into the forward bridge window.

A terrific burst of light and fire washed over the polarized transparisteel, which tinted in response. The brightness still left splotches of glare on her eyes that she struggled to blink away.

"The bridge shields are holding," Kre'fey muttered next to her. "Good." Then he raised his voice. "Engage maneuvering thrusters! Bring us up and away from the station. As soon as we have reached a minimum safe distance, raise all shields!"

Now that they were free, Kre'fey could raise Lusankya's entire array of shields without blowing up the repair station in the process—what was left of it. Three of the station's grasping arms were gone, destroyed by TIE impacts. Lusankya had taken some heavy blows as well; the ship's status display was replete with orange and red lights indicating combat damage. But while the explosive-laden TIEs had done more damage than fifty proton torpedoes would have, it took more than fifty proton torpedoes to knock Lusankya out of a fight. The General had needed many, many hundreds to do it at Thyferra, after all.

"All fighters," Kre'fey called confidently, "target Tyrannic. Helm, bring us to combat range… let's see if we can get there before our fighters deprive us of our prey."

* * *​

Daala watched as Lusankya's fighters swarmed over Tyrannic. Proton torpedoes struck home, knocking holes in shields, but Tyrannic fought past the minor wounds. Kratas' ship tore away at Lusankya, targeting weapons and vital systems with the precision that came from meticulous planning and excellent gunnery practice. Given enough time, Tyrannic would have inflicted considerably more harm than it already had… but Kratas did not have that time.

More squadrons of fighters, belonging to the New Republic's Home Fleet and flown by some of their finest pilots, raced up from Coruscant's surface. Unlike Lusankya's squadrons, currently under refit and largely believing their mothership safe from attack far behind the planet's outer ring of defenses, Home Fleet's squadrons were always prepared to defeat an attack or combat unrest on the capital of the New Republic. With no fighter cover, Tyrannic could do nothing as the B-wing and Y-wing squadrons lined up and launched torpedo volleys from their maximum range.

As Tyrannic was struck by the first volley, Stormhawk charged away from Coruscant, trying to escape its gravity well. The New Republic outer orbit defenses which they had snuck by on the way in now tried to maul them on the way out. A Victory-class Star Destroyer clawed at them recklessly, clearly hoping to prevent Stormhawk from escaping; its fighter squadrons managed a few ineffectual torpedo salvoes, unable to produce the kind of massed fire that Tyrannic faced. Stormhawk scattered the Vicstar with ion cannon fire to disrupt its attempts to lock tractors. When Stormhawk finally crossed back across the hyper limit, and her engines glowed with the energy required for a jump, Daala was rewarded with a last glimpse of the dying Tyrannic and the wounded Lusankya before all was lost to the spinning lights of hyperspace.

She felt Kratas' absence, an iron band wound tight around her heart. Then she took a breath and stared at the stars swirling through the window of Stormhawk's long walk, trying to put him away.

* * *​

Lusankya had seen better days. Wedge and Han stared out at the massive Super Star Destroyer, and Wedge's heart fell as he got a closer look at the wounds she had sustained. Daala's TIE droids—rigged with explosives and aimed to ram—had managed to catch his flagship while Lusankya was in drydock, locked within the cradling embrace of a repair facility… and unable to raise most of her shields. The fact that Lusankya's bridge shields had been operable had saved the vessel even more severe losses—Wedge would have lost Captain Kre'frey, not to mention Atril and most of Lusankya's bridge crew. Even with that small grace, Lusankya's damage was horrifying to see. Even after Carida, and the subsequent hard-fought campaign to force the New Order farther and farther back into its Outer Rim territories, Lusankya had not looked so damaged.

And she's supposed to be brand new right now, he thought dismally. Just finished her repair cycle. Ready to go out and fight the Empire once again.

"'Least we don't need to go liberate Corellia," Han drawled philosophically. His large hand patted Wedge's back.

"Yeah, right," Wedge sighed. "We delayed and delayed and delayed getting ready to face the enemy, wanting to make sure everything was perfect. We waited too long. I should have had the fleet out hunting her down days ago."

Han scoffed. "Then you would have been out there hunting her before you were ready, and who knows what she would have hit on Coruscant if you hadn't been there to take the hits. Besides, this changes nothing." Han pointed at Lusankya through their shuttle's forward window. "That's a Super Star Destroyer. The flagship of a fleet of Star Destroyers and Mon Calamari cruisers, and we're building and crewing more every day. They aren't. This attack wasn't a show of strength, it was a sign of desperation."

Wedge knew Han was right. But in his gut, the fear wouldn't quit.

Far worse, some time later, was a different realization, one that left him hollow when it hit him. I didn't even think to ask how many people we lost.

[Return to Table of Contents]​

 

Chapter Eighteen

The Star Destroyer Stormhawk made orbit around Entralla a few days after their squadron's assault on Coruscant. Following the astrogation charts that had been sent by Emperor-Regent Halmere, Daala had managed to evade the major New Republic blockades along the major hyperspace routes. Instead, they had darted down the riskier paths: temporary hyperlanes, or lesser-used ones that required far more precise astrogation.

Daala's opinion of Halmere's leadership may have fallen into the gutter, especially after the news of Poln Major, but she respected his talents as an astrogator. Without his charts, her squadron would have been pinned down and destroyed long since, unable to evade all of the New Republic's pincer movements. Now, they allowed her to escape into Imperial-held territory.

She stood on Stormhawk's long walk and watched the crew work. Captain Markarian was a good officer, a fine officer, one deserving of his rank, but right then she resented him. She was furious with him. That was horribly unfair, because Markarian was not at fault for Kratas' death—ultimately, she was, for sending him to battle when so many, many things could go wrong—but he stood where Kratas had once stood, doing the job Kratas had once done, and she could not help but wish that it was Kratas aboard Stormhawk, and Markarian dead with Tyrannic.

Markarian seemed to know what she was thinking, because his approach was more cautious than she had grown accustomed to. "Grand Admiral?"

She mastered her anger, lest it master her, and schooled her features into a focused calm. Kratas' death is not Markarian's fault. She took a breath. "Yes, Captain?"

"We've received our orders, sir." His caution remained as he extended a datapad for her to take. "Two transports are being sent to us from Entralla Command. They're apparently carrying wounded who are due to receive further treatment at Silencer Station. We've also been told to turn navigational control over to Loyalty Officer Sarreti; he will be guiding us to the Emperor's bastion."

Her lips pressed together, a fresh wave of anger—directed not at Markarian, but at Halmere and his idiot minions—washing over her. "Summon Loyalty Officer Sarreti to the bridge."

"Yes sir." He made to turn away, but then turned back. "If I may, sir, I'm sorry about Captain Kratas. I didn't know him for long, but what little I saw impressed me."

She nodded stiffly. "Thank you, Captain," she said, a touch of thickness creeping back into her voice. She said nothing else, and the silence hung heavy there, like a promise of rain or thunder.

Thankfully, it did not take long for Sarreti to arrive. He was rarely far from the bridge, and if he was far it was always because he had some specific task that had been delegated to him from on high. "Grand Admiral," he said, the initial cheer in his tone dissipating as he saw Daala and Markarian's expressions.

"Emperor-Regent Halmere has ordered Stormhawk to attend him," Daala pronounced. "We've been summoned to his secret lair." The latter words were spoken with such pronounced sarcasm that Markarian winced. "To get there, we are required to turn navigation of this vessel over to you, and you alone."

She did not offer to have an actual astrogator plot their course, and then be shot to ensure the secret was kept, for fear that one of her political superiors would take her up on it and cost her a talented young officer.

Sarreti swallowed. "Ah. Of course," he said after a moment.

"You can plot the course?" Daala pressed.

The Loyalty Officer hesitated, then nodded, holding out a hand expectantly to Markarian before the hawk-nosed officer placed his command-link datapad into it. "Move Stormhawk to these coordinates, Captain Markarian," he ordered, and put a series of numbers into Markarian's datapad. "And I will get us safely to the Emperor-Regent."

He looked distinctly nervous plotting the course into Stormhawk's astrogation computer, the eyes of the entire bridge watching him from a safe distance, but there was no hesitation when he finished inputting the course. "You may engage the hyperdrive, Captain."

Daala nodded at Markarian, and the ship's captain straightened. "Of course." He did it himself, rather than making his helm officer take final responsibility, and it was like the entire bridge crew inhaled at once before the ship vanished into hyperspace.

We did not all die, Daala thought sourly, so that is at least better than nothing.

* * *​

Cray and Nichos did not have many opportunities to speak privately. Since her success at creating the Silencer command interface and subsequent attempt at escape, she had noticed a clear intensification in the amount of monitoring. Holocams hidden in wall mounts, microphones hidden virtually everywhere… it was becoming harder and harder for them to plot their sabotage of the Empire's plans.

Cray desperately wanted to talk to Nichos about her ideas, too. Yes, they were quietly working to sabotage the Empire, however they could, but they only had access if they made themselves useful. If they simply refused to work, the Empire would just kill them… slowly, painfully, and Nichos first… so they had to work, make their work look valuable, while simultaneously building in flaws that would not be noticed until it was too late.

It did not help that Nichos was getting weaker and weaker. He had never fully recovered from the stun blast he had taken, and feigned weakness had become real weakness. Many days he could not even stand, and the amount of Perogen he required to dull the pain also made it harder for him to concentrate. He still had good days, and on those days the two of them worked together just as they had for all their time at the Magrody Institute and got so much done. But those days were fewer and fewer.

Had they been back at Magrody, she could save him. They had come so far with their work on the Ssi-Ruuk technology, and she was convinced that she could at the very least transfer his consciousness from his own failing body into a fully synthetic one. But there was no way to do that here, so the opportunity was forever lost.

Instead, she worked to improve the TIE droid design, while seeking out the best way to subtly sabotage it. This was more Nichos' specialty than hers; she did better with the actual hardware of cybernetics, while he was the superior programmer. That did not mean she was not capable of doing the work while he was indisposed.

The door to her lab whispered open, and she heard the familiar footsteps of Irek Ismaren. "Have you made progress?"

She sat up and glanced at him. "Some. I'm working to make one of the more advanced AI profiles work with the TIE droid's performance suite. It can work, but the TIE droid's suite is so different from the late-model Techno Union fighters that it needs a lot of tweaking."

It was odd, she thought. When Irek had first started overseeing her work, he'd been more imposing and domineering. But since Irek had succeeded in using the command interface to command the Silencer AI, he had become less dismissive. In particular, she noticed, less dismissive of Nichos.

The young Emperor's gaze found Nichos, where he was sleeping on the reclining couch he so often occupied. "That's a task Doctor Marr is best suited for, isn't it?"

Cray's heart jumped in her chest. Today was not one of Nichos' good days. If he tried to force Nichos to work in his current state…

* * *​

Since his encounter with Emperor-Regent Halmere, Irek Ismaren had worked diligently to try to accomplish the mission Halmere had set him to. Resentfully, but diligently. He had used the command interface to try to boost the rate at which Silencer Station could construct new TIE Droids and had some minimal success—though only at the cost of slowing the station's further growth. Largely foiled, he had done as his mother suggested and put Cray and Nichos to work.

He needed Nichos to work. There was no other way to meet his mother's demands.

He concentrated. The Force bent to his will and allowed him to do many things, and among those things was to sense and manipulate the minds of others. He wanted Nichos to work. He wanted the TIE Droid to defeat all of his enemies, to establish his unquestioned lordship over the New Order. He wanted, and because he wanted, the Force would give.

Reality itself would warp to his desires, if he wanted it enough.

With the Force solidly in his grip, Irek reached out towards Nichos. The man's mind was in a stupor. Irek felt only a lack of focus, an inability to concentrate, a lack of precision. The painkillers Nichos was on had robbed him of everything that made him useful to Irek, and Irek wanted him to be useful.

So Irek made him useful.

He could feel the Force unwinding the ameliorative effect of the Perogen on Nichos' body. He could feel as the man's mind became active and aware again. Sharpness of thought was restored—along with a sudden spike of meaningless fear, as Nichos realized that something was happening—and there was the brilliant scientist that could fix the TIE Droid! That was what Irek wanted, what he would…

And then, the pain.

Stretched out in the Force as he was, Irek's mind focused so closely on Nichos', the pain did not just strike Nichos. It tore at Irek as well.

His hands and feet were on fire.

Needles thrust through his digits, coming through the other side. Those needles worked up his thighs and down his arms, puncturing his shoulders and knees. All the sharpness of mind that Irek wanted dissolved under the sudden intensity of the onslaught. He crumpled, unable to keep himself standing, feeling like his lungs were on fire, like breathing itself was a chore, and Irek Ismaren would give anything, anything for the pain to stop. He tried to withdraw his senses from Nichos, to retreat from the sudden devastating barrage…

It was Nichos who took back control.

Irek was not sure how long it took. It could have been minutes, or hours, or even days; the pain was consuming, devouring, nibbling away at his mind and thoughts, rendering him dumb. After a time, he realized the pain was beginning to recede. Slowly, excruciatingly, those violent punctures were pushed back into his digits, and were replaced—

* * *​

Nichos Marr refused to succumb.

He couldn't.

Cray needed him.

He could feel her, clinging to his chest, urging him back to her. Distantly, he could feel Irek Ismaren too. That was an odd sensation, one of touch without touch, one that roiled with agony that matched his own. But Cray was the one who mattered, Cray was the one he loved. She needed him, and he would not succumb. Not until he knew, he knew, that she would be all right.

He fought for Cray Mingla.

At some point he realized what had happened. He wasn't sure how, but Irek had neutralized the effects of the Perigen in his system all at once, and the pain had erupted over him in its absence. He also wasn't sure how he fought the pain back, how he brought himself back to sanity, but he did. His hands and feet were afire, excruciating, but it was just pain. Pain he knew. Pain he had grown accustomed to, over weeks turned to months. Pain he could defeat.

He wrapped his arms around Cray Mingla and hugged her tight, ignoring the way his hands hurt when he did. The pain was irrelevant. Cray was what mattered.

* * *​

Slowly, excruciatingly, those violent punctures were pushed back into Irek's digits, and were replaced with a sudden, soaring sense of love.

It made his own attraction to Cray seem like a petty thing. Commitment, promise, companionship all wrapped together into one, Irek was suddenly and quite inadvertently subjected to a powerful burst of Nichos' feelings. It lasted only a second, because the mental connection Irek had forged with Nichos burst under its intensity, shattering to nothing, and instantly all the pain he felt was gone.

He stumbled to his feet and left without an acknowledgement or an apology.

Cray Mingla was on the couch by Nichos' chest, clinging to him. Nichos was hugging her back… and Irek was amazed that Nichos' hands only trembled. In an instant lasting forever, Irek Ismaren understood.

* * *​

Stormhawk's trip from Entralla to its destination—whatever that was, Daala thought—took more than a day. It required multiple hyperspace jumps, presumably to navigate along the less-well-known routes of the outer Outer Rim and to avoid any kind of pursuit. The secrecy of this place was taken very seriously.

Now they were here. Wherever 'here' was.

"Full system scan," she ordered as Stormhawk came out of hyperspace. "I want a detailed report."

"Yes, sir!"

The system was dense with planets and planetoids. Ten planets and three asteroid belts were the system's defining characteristic. The route that Sarreti had programmed brought them in on a predictable course, one aiming at what appeared to be a particularly dense portion of the third asteroid belt.

"That's strange," Markarian said.

"What is, Captain?"

He gestured at the plot. "This asteroid belt is still consolidating, sir. I think it must have been a planet sometime recently. All the matter is concentrated here, not spread in a typical ring. It doesn't look like it's settled into a stable set of orbits yet. I imagine it's quite dangerous to get too close."

"Bring us above the system plane," Daala ordered. "And raise shields to maximum. Warn damage repair teams that we may suffer impact damage."

"Yes, sir."

She lifted a hand and crooked a finger at Loyalty Officer Sarreti, inclining that he should approach. "Yes, Grand Admiral?" he asked as he came near.

"What happened here, Loyalty Officer?"

Sarreti's lips pressed together. "I'm afraid I don't know the specifics. But you'll see enough to understand when we get close."

Daala did not like that answer. "Are we in danger here?"

Sarreti took a reluctant breath. "I think proximity to the Emperor is inherently dangerous, Grand Admiral."

An honest answer. And also a warning. She could work with that. "Reduce our approach velocity," she ordered. "Turbolaser batteries, keep watch for stray asteroids or other incoming. Do not fire without specific orders."

The officers in the crew pits called their understanding.

Beside her, Sarreti watched the plot. "Bring up the forward scopes," he murmured to her. "And I suggest bringing us to a stop here, rather than approaching closer. If the crew doesn't see Silencer Station, my superiors at ISB are less likely to deem them security risks."

"All engines, stop," Daala ordered, glancing at him sideways. "And bring me a pair of macrobinoculars."

Markarian handed her a pair; she handed them to Sarreti. The ISB Loyalty Officer stood in front of the bridge window, focusing their lenses. Then, expressionlessly, he handed the macrobinoculars to Daala.

It took her brain a few moments to process what she was seeing. There was indeed a planet—or what was left of one—in the center of a dense cloud of shattered rocks. Hovering over the planet's surface was an enormous, gray and black rectangle. As she adjusted the macrobinoculars she could see it more clearly: really, it was two mostly-square portions, attached by a thick connecting portion. On either side, the rectangle had enormous leg-like appendages, which ended with portions that looked like massive AT-AT hooves. Below the ship, space itself seemed to shimmer, and she could see matter being sucked up into the space station, as if it was feeding off the corpse of the dead planet.

The station had the mass of many Imperial-class Star Destroyers.

She handed the macrobinoculars to Markarian, then as the Captain took his own look, she turned to Sarreti. "Silencer Station?"

"Yes, Grand Admiral," Sarreti confirmed.

"That is where the TIE droids are constructed?" she asked.

Sarreti nodded. "It's an arms manufactory," he said, keeping his voice low enough that it wouldn't carry across the open bridge. "And it is Emperor and Empress-Regent Ismaren's personal fiefdom."

Markarian lowered the macrobinoculars. "How capable a manufactory is it?" he asked.

"I know it isn't fully operational," Sarreti said. "There have been some issues bringing it to full capacity. But the Inquisitors have told ISB that once it is fully capable, it will be able to construct not just TIEs, but also ships the size of Star Destroyers, in sufficient numbers to smother the New Republic." He took the macrobinoculars and looked once again. When he lowered them, his expression was slightly awed, and a bit fearful. "It's still growing."

"Growing?"

"When I first saw Silencer Station, Grand Admiral, it was less than half the size it is now," he said.

Beside her, Markarian inhaled with surprise. "How big will it get?" asked Daala.

"I don't think there's a limit to its potential size," Sarreti said. "We should approach via a shuttle. I have my transport and crew, they've all been here before."

"Captain Markarian, you're to stay here to mind your ship," Daala ordered.

"Yes, Grand Admiral," Markarian said, clearly relieved.

She gestured at the turbolift. "After you, Loyalty Officer Sarreti."

The true size of Silencer Station became all-too-obvious on their approach. Not as large as the Death Star had been, Silencer Station was nonetheless enormous. The fact that it was growing became more clear to Daala as they got close enough for her to see the station's hull with her bare eyes. The outer hull was in slow, constant motion, components shifting slightly as new components were incorporated into its frame. Below the ship, a swell of shimmering light sucked up the mass from the broken planet beneath it, drawing it into the station's two massive maws, one on either side, centered on each of the station's two centers of mass. The amount of raw material the station was consuming was on par with what a shipyard like Bilbringi consumed, if not more.

Daala could also see the station's defenses. The ship's exterior was lined with turbolaser batteries and tractor beam emitters meant for combating large enemy ships, and swarms of hundreds of TIE Droids circled it on CAP. The droid starfighters ignored Sarreti's shuttle as they approached, paying them no attention whatsoever.

In fact, there was none of the typical formality. No approach challenge. No escort. Silencer Station had identified them and determined they were not a threat, and that was all.

The main hangar was in the middle section of Silencer Station. Unlike the other components, this part was thickly armored and not undergoing the same kind of constant transformation. "I don't think anyone lives or works on the sides," Sarreti commented from beside her, watching—as she was—their approach towards the station. "It's all managed by droids, and I don't think those sections are even pressurized. The central core is where the people are."

"How does it work?"

"The technical details are beyond me," Sarreti admitted. "But I know that the station is built around something called a 'molecular furnace.' It takes the raw materials of the planet and uses them to construct whatever it's told to. Of course, the primary product of Silencer Station is TIE droids."

"How many TIE droids can it build at a time?" she asked.

Sarreti shrugged. "I don't know for sure. What I do know is the intent originally was to build thousands each month, if not more, but the station's production rate has never reached those predictions."

Hence Halmere's failure to deliver the TIEs he originally promised me, Daala thought sourly.

They passed through the magnetic shields into the hangar. Inside, Daala could see the lines of humanoid forms, prepared as an honor guard, and the singular, smaller, white-and-black armored form of Emperor-Regent Halmere. She straightened her white Grand Admiral's uniform, making sure all the wrinkles had been worked out of the fabric. When the shuttle touched down, she was waiting at the top of the ramp, and her feet touched the station's deck shortly after the ramp finished its descent.

As she had expected, none of the lines of troopers were actually people. Black metal figures armed with large blaster rifles, they looked sort of like stormtroopers but on closer inspection the differences were all-too-obvious.

The entire thing sent a shiver down her spine.

Unlike the last time she had met him, Halmere was alone. She snapped to salute. "Grand Admiral Daala, reporting as ordered, your highness."

"Welcome to Silencer Station, Grand Admiral Daala," Halmere said. His voice had a dull, eerie quality to it, almost as lacking in verve as the droid chorus he had serenaded her with upon their last meeting. "I have reviewed your report. Your assault on Coruscant was inspired and I appreciate that you knew when to strip our outposts of ships that would no longer be able to protect them. The loss of Corellia is dire, but at least you saved some of our loyal ships and their crews."

"Thank you, Your Highness."

"We will of course retake all we have lost," Halmere continued in that same dull tone. "Despite our recent setbacks, this station will provide all we need to secure the future of the New Order and crush the New Republic."

"How may I be of assistance, Emperor-Regent?"

"We are taking stock of our remaining resources," Halmere replied. "Loyalty Officer Sarreti, I want you to oversee the transfer of wounded from Stormhawk to Silencer Station. Attend to your duties at once."

Sarreti looked at her, then bowed and took a step back. "Of course, Emperor-Regent. I will see to it." He spun on his heels and retreated, already reaching for his wristcomm.

"As for you, Grand Admiral Daala, I want you to review all the assets the Empire has left, including what is available to the disloyal warlords in the Deep Core, and develop a battle plan. I trust you will be more competent at this than Admiral Valentin proved to be."

Daala restrained herself from pointing out that she had told him, very specifically, that Valentin was an idiot. After all, she had command now. What had already been lost could not be regained by pointing out that fact… and Halmere might accuse her of treason if she displeased him.

Both self-preservation, and her honest assessment there was no one else left in the Empire who could competently command the Starfleet, summoned her obedient response. "Of course, Emperor-Regent," she said. "Until I am dead or unfit to serve."

The pair of medical transports soared into the hangar on parallel courses. Expertly flown, they both settled to the deck of the large main hangar bay. Once they were on the ground, medical droids swarmed over them to assist the wounded.

One of the medical droids rolled up to Sarreti. "How many wounded are aboard these two vessels?" it asked, in its passably-soothing voice. Medical droids were designed to put their sentient patients at ease, but were mediocre at best at doing so.

"Four thousand all told," Sarreti told the droid. "You have medical facilities adequate to their needs here?"

"Of course," the droid said, its eyes flickering. "We could attend many more. How many of the wounded are pilots? Pilots are our priority patients; their skills are vital to the Empire in this trying time."

"Not many," Sarreti said, checking his datapad. After the repeated defeats of the Imperial Starfleet, TIE fighters had become a precious resource, and TIE pilots even more so. "A few dozen at most."

"That will have to suffice," the droid said. "Please inform Imperial command at Entralla that Silencer Station has facilities to ensure that the Starfleet's pilot corps will be able to return to duty as quickly as possible, and that priority should be placed on sending wounded pilots here whenever possible, even in small numbers."

Sarreti frowned, unsure why Silencer Station—which was designed to produce droids, not care for people—would have the finest medical facilities in the Empire for the care of pilots. But, he supposed, that was not his call. "Of course." He looked around. "Do you have any immediate human superiors, droid?"

"Our immediate superior is Empress Dowager Ismaren," the droid reported obediently. All around them, the wounded were being loaded onto a variety of repulsorsleds; the hum of repulsors filled the room as the sleds lifted up off the ground and started to make their way towards the exits, escorted by medical droids. "But she is not currently available for consultation."

"Do you have a second-in-command?"

"Both Bevel Lemelisk and Nasdra Magrody have been retired from active service," the droid said.

Sarreti waited for the droid to say more. He frowned deeper when the droid did not elaborate. "So this entire operation is managed by droids?"

"Loyalty Officer, I can assure you that we are more than capable of seeing to all the needs of the Empire," the droid reproached.

Something about all this gave Sarreti the hives. "Perhaps I can visit your operations later, then. Attend to the wounded and ensure that they are in good spirits. Humans often appreciate seeing a friendly face." Especially if their only alternative was a creepy medical droid.

The droid swiveled to look at him. "Loyalty Officer Sarreti, what is your ISB clearance rating?"

Sarreti frowned. What did that have to do with anything? "I was ranked Lieutenant Colonel before I was promoted to Loyalty Officer. Specific clearance ratings are at the discretion of the senior command hierarchy."

"Please wait." The droid went dark, though occasional lights flashed side to side in its eyes. "Upload link to the Ubiqtorate database established. Verifying identity and command authorization. State your name and rank."

His frown deepened. "Ephin Sarreti, Loyalty Officer assigned to Grand Admiral Daala."

"Voiceprint verification complete." The droid's eyes illuminated, but the light in them was narrowed to a dot. "Please look into my eyes, Loyalty Officer."

Sarreti was starting to get really freaked out, but he obeyed. He leaned forward and made direct eye contact with the medical unit, as if he were undergoing an eye exam.

"Retinal verification complete. Identity verified. Thank you, Loyalty Officer Ephin Sarreti." The droid withdrew, its eyes returning to normal. "Project access authorization confirmed. You may accompany me, if you wish."

Despite his misgivings, he did.

The hospital corridor was extremely well lit; either side of it was lined with numerous doors. Peeking inside, Sarreti saw men lying in medical beds. The treatment rooms were entirely silent, without any conversation between the wounded officers and their nurse droids.

"You sedated them?"

"Examinations and operations occur in an unconscious state unless consciousness is required," the medical droid said.

Sarreti snapped his mouth shut. "Operations?" he asked warily.

He should not have asked.

Ephin Sarreti got off Silencer Station as quickly as possible. He spent the entire trip back to Stormhawk retching in the shuttle's confined refresher until his stomach was empty but his nausea remained.

He told himself he would feel better in the morning, but sleep was long in coming, and when it came the nightmares were even more terrible than his waking hours. The smiling officers, who had thought they were being taken to a medical facility to treat their wounds, refused to leave him be.

"I didn't know," he pleaded in his dreams. "I didn't know."

But now he did.

He did know.

He tried, briefly, to rationalize it. There was a logic to the madness. And they were all Imperials, they had all sworn the oath. But with what Roganda had cooked up in her house of horrors, that oath took on a whole new meaning.

If this is what it takes to preserve the New Order, Ephin Sarreti asked himself in the privacy of his own mind, locked behind a transparisteel cage of mental discipline, is the New Order worth preserving?

But that wasn't the right question, he realized.

If the New Order is willing to do this to its own people, was it ever the thing I imagined it to be? That my father imagined it to be?

It was a simple question. Ephin Sarreti found a simple answer.

No.

[Return to Table of Contents]​

 

Chapter Nineteen

Roganda's shuttle was one of the fastest vehicles in space. Originally a dispatch boat designed to carry communications too vital to be sent via the HoloNet or passengers who couldn't be, it had military-grade hyperdrives tuned by some of the best engineers the Kuat Drive Yards had to offer. Then Roganda had spent years hiring engineers to modify and improve it. The result was that she arrived at Coruscant a few hours before Pulsar Skate did.

The arrival at Coruscant was more complicated than she had expected. It became clear, after only a few minutes reviewing the local HoloNet's datafeeds, that Coruscant had been attacked, and that the attack had been largely successful. The image of Natasi Daala, wearing the stark white of an Imperial Grand Admiral, was in the corner of every broadcast as commentators speculated about her history and her recent successes.

Roganda didn't think much of Daala, or much about her. She'd never been overly concerned with the Starfleet or its personnel. Still, she could appreciate talent when it forcibly imposed itself on her universe… even if it made her infiltration into Coruscant slightly more difficult. Ultimately, though, the multiplicity of fake identifications that Palpatine had forged her remained valid. Coruscant was not a world which could afford to shut down travel for long. It was too busy, too important, the hub that brought the galaxy together in one place.

It was also very easy to blend in, once she was on the ground.

She had a few options for what to do next and she had spent the entire trip from Nar Shaddaa evaluating those options. Everything depended on what the Jedi would do with their prize. If they secured it in former Imperial facilities, such as what was left of the not-yet-fully dismantled Imperial Palace, she would be able to get in without too much difficulty. The numerous override codes she had access to as the Emperor's Hand still worked, and they especially still worked in the facilities that the Emperor had constructed himself. But they likely knew that as well as she did, given Mara Jade's former affiliations, which made it more likely that they would secure the Engine on their own turf.

The hours she had in advance of their return, therefore, she spent staking out the so-called Jedi Consulate. Doing her best to keep herself small in the Force—there were too many Force sensitives in this place to take any chances—she systematically surveyed the structure from all sides, identifying all the entrances. There were the landing pads for direct entry, but also numerous windows for potential covert or aggressive entry, and on Coruscant there was always the possibility of entry from the building's lower levels and then climbing upwards, though that option was not very appealing.

She would make a decision about how best to approach later. When the computer twanged, alerting her to the fact that Pulsar Skate had just been identified by Coruscant's navigational system, she kicked her airspeeder to full throttle, heading directly away from the Consulate. She would return—when she was ready.

In the front window of her speeder the Imperial Palace loomed. Some of the enormous towers that the Emperor had constructed around the original structure were still present, spiraling and creating the highest peak in the Senatorial District. Most had been dismantled. Enormous construction and reclamation droids surrounded the structure continuing the dismantling day and night, with crews working hard to reclaim as much of the raw material and all the valuable assets as possible.

She set her speeder down in a large parking facility a few blocks away. Over the next few hours she made her way towards the structure on foot, using the Force and her espionage training to bypass New Republic security checkpoints and avoid construction crews. Around the interior building security was extremely high, but around the outer ring it was laxer. Most of those structures were now gone, after all, leaving behind only their foundations, which were nothing but solid permacrete and should still be present.

It was with sudden, horrified fear that she realized that some of those foundations were already gone. One had been excavated, and with a sinking feeling Roganda realized that the New Republic knew that Palpatine had hidden secret facilities within the seemingly impermeable blocks of solid permacrete. She feared her plans had been foiled… but the New Republic had not finished excavating all the outer ring towers. They had started with Tower Fourteen and were steadily working their way around… but Tower Eight was as yet untouched.

Hope and confidence flared back to life. She didn't need her old facility, but it would definitely make things a lot easier.

At ground level, the remains of the Palace complex were a sprawling labyrinth. At the center of the structure were a number of old buildings that dated back to the early days of even the Old Republic, and archaeological restoration of those structures was evidently part of the New Republic's plan, but virtually every other structure within a wide radius around the palace had been leveled. The buildings that had replaced them became part of the sprawling Imperial Palace, a governing facility that centralized authority for much of the known galaxy into a single space. That labyrinth was now Roganda's best friend, because even half-dismantled it offered no end to potential cover. Using her jammer she scrambled all the holocams in the area and made her way from building to building, blending with construction workers and droids as much as possible.

There was something else that would make this easier…

Concentrating, she reached out with the Force. There were minds all around her, but she looked for ones alone. Careful to stay out of sight, she made her way towards one that seemed promising—a construction worker, a woman who was examining some of the work that had already been done. She was near Tower Five—one of the towers which it seemed had not concealed some secret Imperial facility, but had been the solid block of permacrete it appeared to be on maps—and taking notes on a datapad.

Lost in her work, the woman didn't hear Roganda behind her. She was using a holocam to take holos of the structure, then making notes—about what, Roganda had no idea—but she finally noticed Roganda's approach when the Emperor's Hand was only twenty feet away.

"Hey!" the woman waved at her. "It's not safe around here! This is a construction zone, and there may be explosives in these ruins! When we dismantled Tower Two it exploded!"

Roganda held her hand by her ear and waved it in a circle, offering the woman a quizzical look. The construction worker sighed and shook her head; as she got closer, Roganda saw that she was a bit older, with graying hair and a professional demeanor. "I said it isn't safe here! You should go back the way you came—" she waved her hand, pointing her datapad away from the palace's growing ruins "—because we've had multiple fatalities from Imperial booby traps just in the last two days. I'm here checking to make sure that there aren't—"

Roganda jabbed the other woman in the stomach, driving all the air from her lungs. The woman's expression was one of stunned surprise, then Roganda couldn't see her face anymore as she wrapped an arm around her neck and squeezed. Dropping to the ground for added leverage, she tightened her grip until she felt the woman's gleaming presence in the Force go dark.

There would be no way to pretend this was a construction accident. Roganda efficiently stripped the woman of her clothes and put them on, then hid the body in the ruins. It would be found in no more than a day, but that would be enough time.

With her appropriated clothes, including the attached security pass, Roganda was able to make her way to Tower Eight. This tower was still standing—though if she had arrived even just a day or two later, it might not have been. The construction teams looked poised to begin work on it.

All was providence.

She stepped close to the smooth, painted stone of the tower, looking for the right place. She pressed her palm to the stone and shifted her fingers. There was a click, and Roganda stepped back as creases in the stone appeared and a heavy door swung slowly open.

Roganda flicked on her glowrod, casting its beam down the corridor. She didn't feel any presence, but her first line of defense had always been droids and they didn't have one, so she focused instead on amplifying her danger sense. When she didn't sense any immediate danger, she hurried down the long, featureless permacrete corridor. The familiar passageways were unchanged from her last visit, which was a relief—there had been a chance that even if the New Republic hadn't known about this place, that someone like Ysanne Isard might have found it before being forced to retreat from Coruscant.

But when she arrived at the heart of Tower Eight, it became clear that Isard had not found this place. It was out of time, a little reminder of the Empire at the height of its glory—the Empire that she would restore and rule. The Empire that belonged to her by right.

A small army of deactivated battle droids, the predecessors of the ones she had brought with her to Nar Shaddaa, were laid out in their cradles, dusty with disuse, though not damaged by the nearby demolition work. Combat droids with legs and blaster rifles, repulsor-mounted droids with hoversleds and mini-missiles, all that and more were here. At the far side of the room was a heavy freighter that looked innocuous, but Roganda knew better.

It was an army of unquestioning, loyal servants. It was a bulwark against the galaxy trying to bring her down. It would provide everything she would need, and more, to give the Rebels and anyone who doubted her a sharp taste of what was to come.

* * *​

Pulsar Skate raced through hyperspace at a speed only slightly slower than the Millenium Falcon on her best day. The flowing lines of the vessel's ocean-dwelling design inspiration gave their passage through the spinning lights of hyperspace an oddly oceanic feel—Luke didn't usually consider the parallel of space to an ocean made by all too many people; to him, space was far closer to the harsh deserts of Tatooine than anything oceanic—but aboard Skate the analogy it felt a little more appropriate. Still, despite that, he would have preferred to be back aboard Tempered Mettle.

"How long until we arrive?"

Asori Rogriss sat perched in the chair Mirax had offered her, towards the rear of Pulsar Skate's bridge. Luke was still getting accustomed to the appearance of the woman in her Imperial uniform; somehow it just didn't look like it fit just right. But Luke himself had once dreamed of going to the Imperial Academy just to get off Tatooine, so perhaps it wasn't right for him to judge the life choices of others. Besides, it wasn't like he hadn't wanted to follow in his father's footsteps too, as she had.

"Hours yet. We're making good time, but we have enough time for a meal before reversion," Mirax said.

Asori nodded awkwardly, then her head swiveled to take in their surroundings. "Commander Dreyf was working on his report for the Admiral. Where's Jedi Jade?"

Luke had just been wondering that himself. Through their bond in the Force he felt no threats, nor had Mara sent him any kind of warning that something was wrong. "I'm not sure. I'll go see where she is and get started on dinner."

He found Mara on the couch in the Skate's primary lounge. Someone had pulled a blanket over her—Luke wasn't sure who, but he guessed it had been Liat—because she had fallen asleep. Her head lolled over the edge of the couch, in as deep a sleep as Luke could remember… which was stunning. For Mara to fall asleep in a public location, with Imperials about, and with that powerful Force artifact stowed in the Skate's secure hold, was nothing short of astonishing.

She must have been exhausted. Smiling, Luke carefully slid onto the couch next to her. "Hey," he murmured.

She started, staring blearily at him as she gradually returned to consciousness. Her poleaxed expression almost made him laugh. "Mmh? Huh?"

"You fell asleep," Luke explained, able to hide his laugh but not able to hide his broadening smile. She was cute when she was like this.

"Asleep?" Mara asked. "What time is it?"

"Middle of the afternoon in the Palace District on Coruscant. You're usually adjusted to time switches faster than this."

Mara rubbed her face with both hands. "During my time as the Emperor's Hand, I used to be able to stay awake for—"

Now Luke did laugh, and sudden realization passed over Mara's expression. Slowly, she offered him a rueful smile. "I used that line when threatening you on Myrkr, didn't I?" she said, and yawned widely. "I am tired. I didn't miss dinner?"

"No, I was just about to get started on it. If you want to help…"

Mara scoffed. "Farmboy, we both know that if I try to help you with dinner, we're all going to go hungry until Coruscant. Have the Imperials behaved?"

"I haven't seen Dreyf, but there's no indication that anyone has tried to breach the secure hold." Luke helped her to her feet, a gesture which under other circumstances would have earned him a glare, but Mara was evidently still sufficiently sleep-addled that she didn't notice.

"I'll go check on it, just to be safe. I was supposed to be doing that." She shook her head. "I can't believe I fell asleep."

The self-recrimination was mild, without any bitterness. For that, Luke was grateful. He kissed her forehead fondly. "I'll do my best to make something you like out of Mirax's supplies."

* * *​

Asori Rogriss sat with her back straight in one of the Pulsar's Skate passenger seats as it came out of hyperspace, appearing just outside of Coruscant's gravity well. Slowly they coasted in towards the busy planet. Warships were assembled in formation just inside the well, protectively guarding the hordes of civilian transports and freighters streaming in and out of Coruscant to provide for the needs of its masses.

They did not approach the planet. Instead, they vectored towards the warships, their forms growing large as they approached.

She saw the entire New Republic Fifth Fleet from a distance that, were she aboard Termagant, would have meant the immediate death of her command. Lusankya's massive Starbird insignias dwarfed Pulsar Skate, and they were plastered on the hull of a ship that would dwarf Termagant by an even greater margin. She caught herself holding her breath, as if waiting to be fired upon, and forced herself—with difficulty—to relax.

Lusankya looked like it had seen recent combat. Its hull, especially its dorsal hull, was pocked and scarred by unrepaired impact damage.

Dreyf, who was sitting next to her, leaned in. "It looks like Lusankya has seen some action," he murmured.

"It is surprising indeed that Fifth Fleet is still here," Asori murmured back, grateful for the distraction from her upcoming meeting with Antilles. "You would think it would be gone by now. Do you think they went out and came back?"

"With all the rumors floating around Nar Shaddaa about Corellia, maybe there was a battle between Fifth Fleet and Daala."

Asori nodded. Whatever had happened, she was sure to find out soon, so there was little use worrying about it. But if she wasn't worrying about the ships and their guns, she was worrying about her mission and her responsibilities, and that was little better.

"We're coming in for landing now, Lusankya," Mirax said into her comm, and Pulsar Skate nosed towards the Super Star Destroyer's bridge tower landing bay like a tiny fish swallowed by a massive undersea leviathan. The magcon field shimmered as the nose of the freighter penetrated it, and then the sight of Lusankya's hull was past, and the comfortably-familiar hangar interior was there instead. It looked like an Imperial ship—the New Republic hadn't gone to any great trouble to redo the interior furnishings of the Imperial vessels it captured—but instead of rows of orderly stormtroopers, rows of New Republic marines were there instead, a variegated mess of species that still gave Asori a first impression of disorder and chaos.

But then, as chaotic as it might seem, Fifth Fleet had proven itself time and again since the failed peace negotiations between Grand Moff Kaine and the New Republic. More than that, Asori's own crew aboard Termagant was much more diverse than anything the New Order would tolerate. The mix of species who had been brought under the umbrella of Fel's Unknown Regions Expeditionary Force, willingly joining the alliance for their own defense, had been a shock to Asori's system. There were still moments where she felt discomfited. Perhaps there always would be. But her discomfiture, wherever it came from, was simply wrong.

She suppressed it with discipline and intent as Pulsar Skate settled to the deck.

"And we're here," Mirax said cheerfully. "Now that we're here and I have secure access to the Coruscanti HoloNet, I'm going to get caught up on messages. If Corran doesn't check in from Corellia soon, he and I are going to have some words." Mirax looked at Asori. "And you should prepare yourself. I'm not sure how Wedge is going to react to that recording of Syal."

How was she supposed to do that? Asori wondered. "Very well. Thank you for the ride, Captain Terrik."

"This way, Commander," Mara Jade said, poking her head into the bridge and pulling Dreyf to his feet. She nodded at Asori. "There's an officer here to take us to meet with Wedge in his quarters."

A trim, attractive brunette taller than Asori, and clad in a New Republic Fleet uniform with Commodore's pips, stood at the foot of the Pulsar Skate's boarding ramp escorted by an entire platoon of New Republic Marines with intent, expressionless faces. Asori recognized the officer from her briefing book—Commodore Atril Tabanne, General Antilles' current adjutant. The Commodore's dark eyes focused intently on Asori as she and Dreyf descended the ramp. "Welcome aboard Lusankya." She had a brisk Coruscanti accent, one that Asori found oddly reassuring, despite the woman's somewhat brusque tone. "What in the nine hells is this all about?" the Commodore asked.

Asori opened her mouth to answer, but found that Mirax stopped on the way out the door to beat her to it. "We're here to talk to Wedge. It's important."

The Commodore didn't respond. She just narrowed her eyes and assessed Asori and Dreyf. Then she nodded once. "Any surprises?" She asked Jade and Skywalker.

Luke shook his head. "We didn't sense anything and all the medical scans for Yerite and other compounds came back clean."

Tabanne's neutral expression softened and she favored the Jedi with a warm smile."Your word is good enough for me, Jedi Skywalker. That and Mirax's access to top-shelf medical tech. We'll probably have to test you two again to make the brass happy, but that can wait. This way." She led them through the silent gauntlet of alien and human troopers to the lift. A few minutes later, they arrived in a stateroom that made even her father's quarters aboard Agonizer look mundane.

The massive "Admiral's Quarters" aboard Lusankya dwarfed some small spaceships, able to host a decent sized party or an absolutely massive officer's briefing. While the walls were inundated with holopicts of warm landscapes, architectural diagrams, and the black-bordered pictures of squadrons of pilots, the center of the room was dominated by a large holo-map, which displayed a mundane map of the galaxy… though Asori noted that Corellia was now in New Republic red.

Two men, both wearing the New Republic's beige and blue Fleet uniforms were talking quietly and looked up as the door opened, but she noticed that only one of them bore a General's rank badge. When Mirax started forward, Asori fell back, more than happy to have Antilles' childhood friend make first contact.

"Wedge! Have you heard anything about Corran?" Mirax's tone was both happy and concerned, and she and Antilles shared a quick embrace.

"Last I heard he was still on Corellia," Wedge confirmed with a grin, "and he's been invited to help set up their defenses. It's quite the story—" Wedge saw the two Imperial officers standing over Mirax's shoulder and stopped. "I'll tell you later." He moved towards her, but stopped again when he saw Luke. A sudden smile blossomed on his face, one that took years of strain away, and he and Luke shared a back-slapping hug. "Luke, do you and Mara ever not get into some kind of trouble?"

"In our defense, Captain Rogriss and Commander Dreyf were looking for Mirax when they happened upon us," Luke said with a laugh. "Not that we didn't get into all kinds of trouble on our own."

"On that note, we need to borrow a shuttle," Mara said from beside him. Mara and Wedge shook hands with the awkwardness of friends of friends, and then she made a sound of discontent when the second General—who Asori realized with surprise was Han Solo—engulfed Mara in a hug. Mara did her best to ignore the embrace, but she did offer Solo a token pat on the back. "We have a sensitive item we want to move to the Jedi Consulate. It seems like the most secure place… we don't want to keep it in any former Imperial facilities, given that our foe is an ex-Emperor's Hand."

Solo made a disgusted sound. "Ever since watching you work on Kessel I've been paranoid about that," he muttered, releasing Mara so he could embrace Luke. "And don't ask, kid. Daala was an academy buddy and Wedge convinced me to come back to the service. Your sister is tolerating it… for now. Eventually she'll get tired of Threepio's cooking, though."

"I'm sure that's not the only thing she misses, Han," Luke said with a laugh.

"It won't be long," Wedge cut in. "Han's just here to help us deal with Admiral Daala. She attacked Coruscant a few days ago and beat up our logistics train pretty well." He looked at Asori and Dreyf with a cool, assessing gaze that reminded her of her father's when she'd done something silly as a child. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"I'm afraid not," Asori said, "We've been on this mission for weeks."

"As it happens," Dreyf said, "the New Order has cut us out of their information loop. Most of our sources are either very dead or very quiet."

"So you're with Pellaeon," Antilles said slowly. He looked at Mirax, then back at Asori. "Captain…"

"Rogriss, sir. Asori Rogriss," she said. Sure enough, just as Fel had promised her, the General's eyes widened slightly at her name. She could see him suddenly pausing, re-evaluating, and looking closely at her—searching for some familial resemblance, perhaps. Commodore Tabanne, too, hesitated and was now looking at her again. Asori did her best not to fidget under their attention. "I'm here to bring a message from Grand Moff Ferrouz and Baron Soontir Fel."

Antilles froze, turning stiffly in shock. "Excuse me?"

Mirax placed her hand on Antilles' back. "It's true," she said. "Wedge…" Mirax's voice went soft, sympathetic, and Asori could see the way Wedge tensed in response. "I think you should sit down. They have something you should see."

Antilles gazed at Mirax for a long moment, then nodded once. It took Mirax only a few moments to set up the holotable.

It was the same message Asori had seen aboard the Pulsar Skate, but this time she considered Antilles as it played.

She had seen Baroness Fel on a few state occasions, always elegantly coiffured and with her children in tow. Quiet, impeccably behaved children who bore a not inconsiderable resemblance to Antilles, now that she saw him in the flesh.

"Hello, Myri," said the recording of Wedge Antilles' sister, giving a fond, earnest smile "It's been a while. I'm sorry for taking so long to reach out to you, but there really hasn't been a good moment until now. Soontir and I need your help."

* * *​

For Wedge, hearing his sister's voice and seeing her face after all the missing years was a punch to the gut, one of mixed pain, relief, and longing. He had only been ten years old when his big sister had left home—very much against the wishes of his parents, Wedge could remember many arguments in those years before she vanished out of his life—and he still saw in her face the much older sister he had adored. He could feel his hands clench into fists at his side as she spoke to Mirax, so easily falling into the big-sister-surrogate role that she had played all those now-long-ago years before.

"These officers are looking for you because they know that you can get to Wedge, Myri," his big sister said. "That's the extent that I've told anyone who you are. Please help them do that, for all our sakes." Then Syal took a deep, bracing breath—but of course, she had been a professional actress, one of the best, and the gesture of gathering strength could easily be feigned—

"Wedge," she said softly, and Wedge could not believe that the expression of pain, relief, and longing that passed over her features was any more feigned than his own. "Wedge, I'm so sorry."

He could feel all the eyes on him. Luke was the one to react, because of course he was. The two of them had been through the war together, been packed into closets hardly big enough for one, and they had fought the Empire with whatever sticks and rocks were close at hand. The Rogues were the closest things Wedge had to family other than Syal, and he and Luke had been the first Rogues. Luke stepped in close, not touching Wedge, but just being present for him. He was faintly aware of Mirax, his sister in all but blood, taking tentative steps to his other side.

"I don't regret leaving home," his big sister said. "I do regret what it did to you. Soontir told me about his time with the Rogues, the conversations you had. I knew when I left home it would hurt you, but I thought… I certainly didn't know that you would lose Mom and Dad so soon after I left. I thought you had died with them. I mourned you. I didn't realize you were still alive until I saw the wanted posters after Yavin, and I'm so sorry it's taken me this long to reach out to you, and that the reason for this message isn't just because you're my little brother and I love you, but because I'm Baroness Fel and you're General Antilles. I'm so sorry that this whole message is going to be paraded in front of every Imperial intelligence officer and every member of the Republic Senate before this is over."

His sister took a breath. She looked so much older than he remembered her, older even than she had looked in her last holofilms. "You're an Uncle," she said. "Four times over, even. Chak, Cerith, Cem, and Jagged."

Wedge bowed his head and shut his eyes when he heard his father's name.

"I've taken the liberty of enclosing some of their holos in the message. I suppose it goes without saying that Soontir and I are still very much in love and as happy as time and the galaxy permit. And in a way, I suppose that makes us foes, because despite everything Soontir and I are still tied to the Empire, and you are an icon of the New Republic. But I'm hoping this message can help start to bridge that divide."

Syal bowed her head, his pose mimicking Wedge's own. It reminded him eerily of their mother, deep in thought. Something they had either learned or inherited from her.

When Syal resumed speaking, there was a difference in her tone. A dialect that reminded Wedge of his own, the unique Corellian twang that belonged to the children of Corellia's many orbital platforms, faded into something crisper, the aristocratic Coruscanti of Baroness Fel. "The New Order is determined to destroy us both, little brother. Grand Moff Ferrouz is an Imperial, that is undeniable, but you will find that the Empire he and Soontir intend to build is one that the New Republic would accept as a legitimate peer. They have already abolished legalized discrimination against non-humans within their territories. Captain Rogriss will fully brief you on the other changes they intend to make later.

"The New Order has committed many atrocities during its existence. Alderaan. Caamas. Deyer. Dantooine. We are their next target." In his sister's eyes, Wedge could see her pleading, not with the Senators who would see this next, but with him personally. Your sister. Her children. They are the New Order's next target. "They have already attempted to destroy us once, but their attempt failed in large part thanks to the bravery and skill of Captain Rogriss."

Asori Rogriss stirred uncomfortably.

"Soontir and I have no doubt they will try again. They cannot allow us to remain as we are. We are an example to all who still live in the New Order that things can be different and better. That is intolerable for the New Order. While we won the last battle, we may not win the next one. Their attack demonstrated an ability to construct and field droid starfighters in huge numbers. This was not enough to defeat us the last time, but that may no longer be the case the next time. And, of course, we both know that once they have finished us, they will come for you, next."

Syal Antilles, stage name Wynssa Starflare, had played the acceptably bold love interest-turned-strong wife in Imperial performance after Imperial performance, but none compared to this one.

"So, it's best we end their threat together. With the end of the New Order, so ends the war that has plagued this galaxy for so many years."

That was deliberately vague, the corner of Wedge's mind that was still the General thought deeply, pulling everything Baroness Fel said from a dozen different angles. The Empire still grouped the Rebellion against Palpatine's rule as part of the "Clone Wars" on official documents. To COMPNOR, all the resistance to Palpatine's authority—both Old Republican and Imperial—was all one enormous, decades long plot against galactic order. The New Republic, by contrast, defined them quite clearly as independent conflicts. The speechwriters who had prepared Syal's script were very careful parsing those lines.

His sister was an actress. One who had skillfully played so many roles.

Wedge didn't care. He knew his sister and he knew the difference between Wynssa and Syal. This was Syal.

"I love you, Wedge. Stay safe, please. Please. We haven't had a chance to be a real family in so many years, and that's my fault. It is my fault. I am so, so proud of you. I love you. Stay alive and we'll find each other again."

The message died quietly, light rays folding into dark.

Wedge clenched his fists. Luke's hand was warm on his back, and Mirax tucked in against his side. The two Imperials still stood far back, respectfully silent, but even Mara had come closer.

"Very well," he said, in the cool, collected voice of General Antilles, because Wedge still didn't have one. "Han, call your wife. Tell her that we have something that the Inner Council needs to see. Atril, prep a shuttle. We're going directly there."

* * *​

Atril managed the controls of the sleek New Republic shuttle herself, bringing it expeditiously down towards the Senatorial Skyhook. While their party was small, she, General Antilles, and General Solo were more than qualified to fly a Lambda, and in order to prevent more people from finding out about Captain Rogriss and Commander Dreyf—and the offer they carried for the New Republic—they had minimized the party. Atril would have just come herself, but Han lived on the Skyhook and his wife would be meeting them, so he had invited himself along.

She forced herself not to look back at the pair of Imperials sitting quietly behind them. Their uniforms were impeccable and they carried themselves with the same appearance of professionalism that Atril expected from officers in the Imperial Starfleet… but Atril knew better than most that appearance was all too often only skin deep. At the same time, though, Atril found herself wanting the two Imperials to be here for purely honest reasons. Wedge's stark reaction to the holo of his sister and Fel, and his clear desire to be reunited with them and their family, was one reason. Another was simply what it would mean for the war, because it was suddenly possible, perhaps even probable, that the war could be over soon. Pellaeon and the New Republic working together could no doubt destroy the New Order.

Atril had her own personal sympathies, though. She had been a prisoner of Asori's father, Admiral Teren Rogriss, and he had lived up to his reputation for honorable conduct… including going above and beyond his responsibilities to protect her life and the lives of her captured crew when his superiors had ordered their execution. Asori didn't look exactly like her father—clearly, in appearances she took primarily after her mother, her face less angular and more rounded—but she carried herself with the same sense of bantam-weight aggressiveness that old Admiral Rogriss did. Without some of the good-natured humor—even when he had been interrogating her, Admiral Rogriss had been quick with a smile and a light-hearted comment—but Atril supposed that, under the circumstances, she wouldn't really expect the younger Rogriss to be quite so relaxed.

Commander Dreyf, by contrast, never seemed stressed, but his humor tended towards the dryly observational rather than Asori's staid seriousness—even after a turn in Lusankya's exceptional bioweapons lab.

Atril set the shuttle down on the secure landing pad and depressed the landing ramp. Beyond the shuttle, Coruscant's sky was filled with red-orange clouds.

Han was the first one down the ramp, sprinting past Wedge. Below, Atril could hear him talking with his wife, asking something about their children. She gestured at the Imperials. "After you."

Asori nodded at her, stiff-faced, and walked down the ramp. Dreyf flashed her a quick, irrepressible smile and followed. At the bottom, she discovered that Councilor Organa Solo was not alone. Councilors Ackbar, Fey'lya, and Kerrithrarr were there as well; so too was General Cracken, the head of New Republic Intelligence, and General A'Baht, the head of the New Republic's armed forces.

Han and Leia stopped their quiet discussion as the Imperials' boots stepped off the ramp and onto the Skyhook's landing pad. Asori Rogriss' hand snapped up in a greeting salute. "Captain Asori Rogriss. I am here on behalf of Grand Moff Ferrouz."

"We know," Fey'lya drawled, looking utterly unimpressed with the two Imperials.

"General Antilles says you have come with vital intelligence," General Cracken cut in.

"She has," Han said. "So I'd forgo the normal grandstanding and get to the real work."

To Atril's surprise, Asori stepped forward, folding her hands behind her back. "Between what I was told before I left Poln Major and what I saw on Nar Shaddaa, I believe there is a significant threat to both the Empire—the true Empire—and the New Republic. If you'll allow me, Commander Dreyf and I will explain." She nodded at Han. "Thank you, General Solo." To Atril's even greater surprise, Rogriss then turned to her. "And thank you, Commodore Tabanne."

"My pleasure," she said, the words coming instinctively. Atril glanced over the array of senior officials who had come to meet the Imperial, and felt a sudden pang of sympathy for the interrogation—comfortable, polite, and civilized though it would be—that Asori was about to undergo. "Good luck."

"A distinct pleasure to meet you both in the flesh," said Airen Cracken, stepping forward a single, measured pace. He did not offer to shake hands. Instead, he gestured them forward.

Asori's gaze swung over to Cracken, as did Dreyf's. They both paled, as if suddenly realizing that rogue Sith-powered droids, medical scans on the Skate and then aboard Lusankya wouldn't be nearly the most terrifying, invasive, and life-threatening experience they had encountered in the last few days.

"Let's dive in," Cracken said, and smiled.

* * *​

When Luke and Mara arrived at the Consulate, the dormant Seed in tow, they found a hefty transport already there. Cargo containers, each one containing a large branch attached to a nutrient frame, were carefully rolled down the cargo ramp… and stepping onto the platform felt as if a cold wind suddenly swirled around Luke. The Force, a constant companion, guidance and life, was suddenly absent.

The Ysalamiri, sessile lizards deeply integrated into those tree branches, dampened the effects of the Force around them. It was part of the creature's evolved defenses, a unique ability. With the four creatures, they could create a large space where the Force would remain utterly quiet for a Jedi. Luke only hoped that it worked the same for the Seed.

The two men guiding the lifter droids to place the nutrient frames safely down waved at Luke and Mara as they approached. "Oi," said Chin.

"I don't know what you need these for," said Aves. "And I don't want to. Karrde just said to get to Myrkr, collect some Ysalamiri and get them to Coruscant as quick as possible, so I did." He frowned. "There isn't another C'baoth out there, huh?"

"There's always another one," said Mara.

"Well that's reassuring," muttered Aves.

"We're going to move the frames to the upper level," Mara said. "All the way at the top. We don't want the Ysalamiri's dampening effect to extend down to the meditation rooms and the tower's defenses and armoring should make that the most secure location."

Luke could not feel his fellow Jedi in the Force, but he could see them. Clearly, the effect of the Ysalamiri was as disturbing to them as it was to him—perhaps moreso, since they had never encountered the creatures before. Kiranai Ti was pale and unhappy, while Streen looked somehow more contemplative than normal.

Kam folded his arms across his chest. "I got your message," he said to Mara. "All the consulate's defense droids have been activated and put on high alert. We're ready to secure the object behind the Ysalamir and our droid defenses."

"And the entirety of Coruscant's planetary defenses," pointed out Tyria.

"Good," Mara said. She waved at Chin and Aves. "You heard them. Let's get the Ysalamiri into place."

As Karrde's people and their droids worked to move both the Seed and the Ysalamri to the highest levels of the Consulate, Luke brought the Jedi together. "We recovered a powerful ancient Force artifact," he explained, making sure that each of them understood. "I'm not sure how powerful, but the vision it shared with me on Nar Shaddaa suggests that it could be used to construct an army… or to consume a star."

"Roganda Ismaren wants it," Mara said, her tone stiff.

"Which means we need to be on high alert," Luke agreed. "For now, the precautions we've taken should be enough to secure it, but—" he gestured at himself, Mara, and Kam, the three members of their new Order he considered to be full Jedi "—one of the three of us should be present here at the Consulate for security purposes at all times."

Kam nodded seriously, resting his hand on the lightsaber that hung from his belt.

"I'm going to perform another round of security upgrades," Mara said.

"And I'm going to talk to Wedge to make sure that the orbit above the Consulate is always protected by Home Fleet," Luke agreed. "Our object is just to contain the object until we understand it better. Tionne, I need you to work on the historical record. All the myths we have of the Jedi of the past, all the stories that you know… hopefully something about it is remembered."

Tionne nodded with unusual gravitas. "Of course."

Luke smiled. Mara, Kam, Tionne, Streen, Tyria, and Kirana Ti… they were missing only Corran and Cilghal. "We've been entrusted with this because we are Jedi," he said. "Trust the Force and yourselves."

[Return to Table of Contents]​

 

Chapter Twenty

Luke Skywalker often woke before the sun rose. Especially when he had the luxury of going to bed early, his eyes would open of their own accord during the cooler morning hours. Even on Coruscant, a world with weather as artificial as everything else, there was a deweyness to certain early mornings that he could sometimes even smell, and that sensation stoked instincts in him that dated back to childhood. The need to rise, to tinker with machinery, to make sure the morning harvest was as prosperous as it could be. On Coruscant there was no harvest, but that didn't mean he couldn't set up the caf-maker in the small kitchen that he and Mara shared in their suite in the consulate so that when she woke—which would occur far later, and with far more aggravated grumpiness—he could have her caf waiting for her.

He was just sitting up when he realized that Mara wasn't laying beside him.

Her place on the bed had a slight indent and residual warmth, so she had been there. Clearly she had woken and been unable to fall back asleep. He reached out in the Force and found her… but her presence had receded from him, shrunk down into a tiny space, as if she was trying to hide from some Inquisitorial assassin. But he didn't feel any physical threat, there was no tingle at the back of his neck that presaged danger, and she didn't reach out through the Force to him to warn him of some imminent danger or nearby foe.

She felt distant and the emotions that he could feel from her were so tangled and knotted that they were hard to interpret. There was some anger in her mind, and at least some of that anger was directed at him. But more than anger was fear. Fear so deep and profound that even with her emotions withdrawn from the Force he could tell that Mara was not just fearful… she was terrified.

Seconds later, he found her on their couch. Her knees were tucked up against her chest, her chin resting against them and her arms wrapped around her shins. Her red-gold hair looked almost black in the predawn dark.

"What's wrong?" he demanded. "Mara, what is it?" He reached out to her with the Force as much as he did with his words and his hands, and even as he dropped to his knees beside the couch, his hand covering hers.

"Do you always think you have to rush in and save someone?" she asked. But her voice hitched midway through.

It was an old jibe and he ignored it as he studied her features and reached out with his heart. He found her locked down tighter than an Imperial excise vault. He had known her for years now… Especially during the last year they had spent as little time separated from one another as possible, growing together, transforming as individuals and as a couple. The only time he had ever seen her anywhere close to this scared had been before they had breached Mount Tantiss, when she had asked him—in all seriousness—to kill her rather than let her become a slave to Joruus C'baoth.

"Mara, talk to me."

He felt her reluctantly relax her defenses and stretch her hand out to take his. She grew in the Force before him, and he could feel the warmth of her mind, which clashed harshly with the coldness of her dread. But, he realized, it wasn't just anger and dread he felt from her now. Fragile hope stoked his own.

She turned his hand over in her grip, drawing strength from the warmth. Slowly she uncurled, putting her legs back under her. "Just… feel this," she said softly. "Use the Force, you tell me what has happened."

He arched his eyebrows and frowned up at her.

She laid his hand over her abdomen. "Don't argue," she instructed. "Please. Just do it. I want an unbiased second opinion."

Confused and baffled, he obeyed. He stretched out with his feelings, probing Mara, looking for a wound, preparing to offer her whatever comfort she needed, to assuage her fears, to help in any way—

He reared back almost as if he had been struck, surprise smashing over him. There, under his hand, inchoate and unformed, he felt potential, and his universe was forever changed.

Mara swallowed, sounding hoarse. "This wasn't my idea. I know neither of us missed our repress meds… this isn't the right time, we have so much to do…" Her tone was full of sorrow, almost plaintive. "I'm not ready for this, Luke."

He took both her hands in his, feeling the crashing wave of all his half-formed hopes lap across them. He tried furiously to let himself think before he spoke. In the end, as he usually did, Luke spoke from the heart. "You're not alone, Mara. I'm not ready for this either. But we have each other, and I know you. I know how deeply you can love."

"What about how deeply I can hate?" Mara shot back bitterly. "I've never had… We've never planned…"

This time Luke thought before he spoke. "If this is what we want, I know you'll be a great mother."

The reality of the words crashed over him even as he spoke them. Mara. A mother. Of his child. Of their child.

In a moment, the bastions and walls blew away and their connection as it always had been, open and warm and pulsing with love. Together the two of them fell into the future. Mara, holding a child, looking into a face that was part of each of them, and still entirely their own. Luke hadn't let himself imagine it—he'd barely been willing to broach the topic of marriage with Mara, much less children—but he'd dreamed about it and he knew that Mara had as well, though Mara's dreams always came with a deeper trepidation.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," Mara whispered.

"Repress meds aren't perfect," Luke pointed out.

Her nose wrinkled. "They're not," she agreed sourly. "And I suspect they don't work well at all right after Dathomiri witch fertility rituals." She shook her head. "I've been thinking about nothing else for the last hour, and that has to be it." She started to rise. "I should go kick Kirana Ti's—"

Luke took her wrist in his hand and Mara sighed and sank back down onto the couch without resistance. Then he realized that Mara was staring at him. "You want this. You're glad," she accused him.

She was right. He was. He did. Even as he felt Mara's fear, and even her terror, echoed within himself, they were matched and surpassed by his sudden, towering joy. The abrupt, total commitment to the potential that Mara carried, the unborn life, the child that would be—a commitment that, whatever Mara's anxieties, he could feel matched with her typical ferocious vigor.

"I am," he admitted. "I'm so glad. Mara, will—"

"Luke Skywalker," Mara cut him off before he could get out another syllable, "if you're about to offer me a slugthrower wedding, I swear I'll kill you with one."

He was pretty sure she was joking.

She didn't look like she was joking.

"—we should tell Leia and Han," he finished instead.

"No, absolutely not," Mara said. "Do you know how many people live in their household? Or how many times a day they have to sweep that apartment for bugs? The last thing we need is sludgenews finding out about this! Nobody finds out about this. Nobody." She prodded him hard in the chest. "And don't you dare try to tell me to take it easy. Leia didn't let Han tell her to take it easy, and Mirax hasn't let Corran, and I'm not about to—"

It was his turn to interrupt her, though he didn't do it with words. His lips met hers and he kissed her with all the love and confidence he had. In her. In them. In his family. In the life they had led together these past years, in the life they would lead together—together with the rest of their family—for the rest of their future.

"Together, Mara," he murmured against her lips.

Her arms were around his back, her eyes closed as their foreheads pressed together. "This kind of thing is how we got into this mess," she mumbled. He laughed with her and felt as her fear finally subsided into something that let her share in his joy, and his joy became their joy, and they would figure it out. They would always figure it out. Together.

Now, though, he had to deal with something else, because that sensation was definitely a concerned Leia, probing him through the Force.

Mara sighed and resignedly rested her head against his shoulder. "Why can't you keep a secret for more than five minutes, Farmboy?"

"Since I can't keep a secret anyway," he whispered against her hair, "can we tell Artoo?"

He could practically feel the small, amused smile form on her lips.

* * *​

Leia was profoundly grateful to have Han back, even just for a few days. His reluctant decision to accompany Wedge on the Corellian campaign had pulled him out of their home and back into military life, something Han had fought for most of his life to get away from. Han's time as a General after Endor had often done that too, but then Leia herself had usually been away also, fighting one diplomatic battle after another, trying to keep the nascent New Republic from spinning completely apart. Now she was well established on Coruscant, in a role that required her to stay on world as much as possible—there was no way for a member of the government's Inner Council to be absent for more than a few days as a time—and though Han had merely moved to temporary quarters on Lusankya, which hadn't even left orbit yet, the distance between them felt chasmic.

His chance to come home for a night, after dropping Captain Rogriss and Commander Dreyf off with the government, had been a precious one. Han had expelled Threepio from the kitchen with extreme prejudice—Leia just hoped he hadn't also deleted the droid's cooking subroutines, because if he had they were going to have to be reinstalled—and once more that had been his space.

The apartment only felt like home when Han was inside it.

She watched him, out cold and breathing softly, adorably next to her in their bed. She had tried to sleep herself, but a persistent sense of unease had nagged at her until a late-night update from General Cracken on her datapad had compelled her to rise from her attempts to sleep, and for the last half-hour she'd been reviewing a transcript of Cracken's interview with Rogriss and Dreyf. That had only fed her anxiety further—Grand Admiral Thrawn had created a secret reserve force in the Unknown Regions? It was everything she had had nightmares about for the last few years, right after cloned Emperors and new superweapons.

But perhaps even that was not as alarming as Leia would have assumed. The New Order had attacked both Pellaeon's forces and the New Republic, and done so with the same TIE Droids. The note that Rogriss carried, signed by Grand Moff Ferrouz, indicated a willingness to conclude a peace under the terms proposed by Grand Moff Kaine. It was clear that Cracken thought the request for peace—and for an alliance against the New Order—was genuine.

Ferrouz's note said that he and the Empire—once he was in control—would accept all of the demands Leia and the New Republic had made of Grand Moff Kaine: The recognition of the New Republic as an equal government. The end of all military operations against territories held by the New Republic. The end of slavery in the Outersector Outer, with verification by New Republic monitors. And, though this had not been a precise demand, even the restoration of the Imperial Senate as a democratically-elected governing body with genuine power to constrain the Grand Moff. Ferrouz's demands in return were more limited than Kaine's had been as well: while Ferrouz wanted amnesty for the men and women under his command, there would be no amnesty for senior officers, Moffs, or ISB agents who had sided against Ferrouz in battle.

The new Grand Moff proposed to eliminate his rivals for power and satisfy the New Republic's desire for justice with the same sure stroke.

If Ferrouz had a personal history of atrocities, it would never have worked. Kaine's proposal for peace might never have gotten over the fact that it came from Kaine, who had been a founding member of both COMPNOR and ISB. Ferrouz, by contrast, had been far from the center of Imperial power, a regional Moff of a well-governed sector with a large, prosperous alien population.

Leia wasn't sure that would be enough for the Inner Council, much less for the Senate at large. She suspected, ultimately, that whether those terms were acceptable would come down to Councilor Kerrithrarr's reaction to them; the Wookiees, as one of the species who had suffered the most under the Empire, carried a lot of weight in such things. But Leia could now see a path forward to peace, and—

She sat up straight, looking away from her notes, her brow furrowing. That was Luke! Through the Force she could feel his sudden alarm, and she reached out with the Force to him. Had something gone wrong with the artifact he and Mara had secured on Nar Shaddaa?

But Luke's alarm wasn't the kind that came during battle. It lacked the acuteness of danger and was more… intensely personal. Was he having a fight with Mara? The two of them hadn't had any major disagreements that Leia knew about and always seemed perfectly at home together, but Mara was… Mara… and Luke could be incredibly stubborn…

Alarm transformed into stunned surprise, surprise so profound that Leia could feel it through the Force even across the great distances between the Senatorial Skyhook in low orbit and the Jedi Consulate on the ground. And then his surprise shifted into a towering joy, married to concerns and anxiety but always with a steady heart of happiness.

Leia blinked. Had Mara just asked him to marry her? Mara had batted away those questions like an angry pitten with a tether-ball, but Leia supposed it was possible. Leia never had any doubt that Mara loved her brother, so maybe now that Mara was established as a Jedi and they'd dealt with the threat on Nar Shaddaa she had decided it was the right time to ask. Or maybe she'd just gotten tired of Leia and Han subtly (or not so subtly) asking. That would explain what she currently felt from Luke.

Maybe this was all for the good, but it was hard to be sure. Concentrating, Leia reached out to him with the Force, extending her mind across the great distances between them. This took exertion, but they had always had an attunement to one another, and she probed him lightly, sure that he could feel her. In response, she felt Luke's dazed acknowledgement, and his return of reassurance. It's all right, his voice almost whispered in her mind.

What is it? she tried to send.

Luke had no words in reply. She could tell, in fact, that he was trying not to reveal exactly what had happened. But his emotions were written in the Force all around him, and abruptly Leia knew exactly what it was that had happened. She had, after all, once before felt almost exactly the same… when she found out she would have twins.

Oh, my stars, she thought, feeling suddenly dizzy. Mara is pregnant.

She sat heavily on the bed, next to where her husband slept, and covered her mouth with her hands, stifling her giggle. Mara is pregnant! She swatted at her husband's chest with sudden, playful enthusiasm.

No result.

She poked him, gently, just under his floating ribs while rubbing the tip of his nose with a single finger, a perfect execution of the 'Mission-Critical-it's-Leia-Get-Up-Now' maneuver.

"Nbwa-? What? Huh? Leia?" Han's drowsy voice came as he groped around, reaching for the side table where he kept his blaster locked away. "What is it? Is everything okay? Is the Empire attacking again?"

Leia's amusement had taken her from giggle to full on guffaw. The sound brought Han around to stare at her. "Leia?" he asked, his tone suggesting sudden speculation that she had been dipping into their liquor cabinet.

She bit her lip. "You should get started on breakfast," she said. "Luke and Mara are coming."

"Here? Now?" Han looked at his chrono. "Leia, it's barely morning. Why would they be coming here? What happened?"

She shook her head, unable to hide her bursting smile. "I can't tell you. Luke needs to."

Han rolled his eyes. "If they're coming over at oh-four-hundred just to tell us they're getting married, I'm gonna kick the kid's ass. It's not like it would be a surprise. That could wait until actual breakfast!"

"Just cook, will you?" She said, and then shook her head with mulish stubbornness, at a plaintive look from her sleepy husband, her grin peeked through her facade of resolve. "I'm not telling."

Han stared at her, then shook his head in bafflement. "Unbelievable. You're lucky you look so good in that robe, Your Worshipfulness," Her husband grumbled.

"No you're lucky I look so good in this robe, laserbrain," Leia shot back.

"Well, yeah. I am."

The phrase Aunt Leia, Aunt Leia, Aunt Leia, might have been racing around her head and her heart, but her husband's lopsided grin was still enough to leave her weak at the knees.

* * *​

Luke and Mara were later in arriving than Leia had expected, at a time more reasonable for breakfast. The trip between the Jedi Consulate and the Senatorial Skyhook was far longer than the distance between their old apartments in the Imperial Palace, and clearly Luke and Mara had not been in a huge hurry to arrive—and especially did not want to arrive at a time so early it would be disruptive to the Solo household morning routine.

The joke was on them, though. Once they had kids, they'd know that in truth there was no such thing as a reliable routine. Every day was its own adventure.

With Chewbacca back to help look after Jacen and Jaina while Han was with Fifth Fleet, it was less exciting that morning than it was most. Once they were up and moving, Threepio had been charged with looking after the kids (and more importantly, keeping them well away, as the last thing Leia wanted was for them to start pestering Mara with questions about a prospective cousin), which meant that it could be just Luke, Han, Leia, and Mara.

Leia had Winter cancel everything in her planner for the morning, something which had astonished Winter. Leia Organa? Canceling all her work plans? But she had simply nodded, wielded her stylus with the florid flair of a Shadow Guard with a stiletto, and then headed into the office to tend to the duties that she could do without Leia's help—which was most of them, Leia thought. The most important meeting was the one with Asori Rogriss and the Inner Council, but that wasn't scheduled until lunch, which gave Leia some time.

She made sure the caf on the table was the spiced blend that Mara had once said she liked, and then panicked and poured three kinds of non-caffeinated Alderaanian tea. It was expensive, and normally something Leia just kept in her office for dignitaries, but…

Now she, Han, and Chewbacca waited at their kitchen table with bated breath. Han was grumpy and, unlike Leia, he still hadn't quite figured out what this was all about. Leia kind of suspected that Chewbacca had guessed—there was something almost smug about the way he moved, and the Wookiee hadn't stopped grinning since he'd been awakened by Leia and Han's preparations and been told that Luke and Mara were coming.

The chime at the door brought Leia lunging towards it, then stopping and sliding her hands down over her clothes to remove any wrinkles the excited movement had brought.

Han's expression was baffled. "What is this? You're acting like you've never seen your brother and Red before." He pulled the door open and, with a theatrical wave of his arm, invited the pair in. "Welcome back!"

"Thanks, Han," Luke said with a smile.

Mara stepped in after him, removing her jacket. She looked distinctly uncomfortable, which was most unlike her—even when Mara was uncomfortable, she could feign comfort quite well.

Leia and Mara locked gazes, and in Mara's eyes, Leia could see the other woman's disorientation. Her world had just been spun on its axis, her expectations and certainties shifted, and her future changed. Leia sympathized, but Leia and Han had chosen, quite deliberately, to start trying to have children. They had not been a surprise. That was not the case, she knew, for Luke and Mara.

Conscious of the fact that she had herself been beyond irritated at Han and Winter and Threepio's attempts to treat her tenderly during her own pregnancy, she stepped close and took Mara's jacket, hanging it on the nearby coat rack. "Are you okay?" she asked Mara quietly.

Mara nodded tightly, a wordless affirmation.

"I have breakfast on the table, so why don't we all sit down and eat while we can," Han said. "Before Leia and I have to get to the Council meeting with Captain Rogriss and Wedge."

"That's a good idea," Luke agreed. He came close, patting Leia's back. He went to guide Mara to the kitchen, but her sudden determined glower made him back off. She headed towards the kitchen at a brisk pace; the others followed behind.

"So what's this all about?" Han asked Luke, leaning towards him and keeping his voice pitched low. "Leia's been acting weird all morning. I'm not sure she's gotten much sleep."

"Let's eat," Luke said instead of answering.

Chewbacca thwacked Luke's back with a gigantic paw, roaring a welcome.

"Congratulations?" Han asked. "Wait, is that what this is about? Are you getting married?"

Luke squirmed. "Well, no—"

"Well, then…" Han's eyes suddenly went very, very wide, and a knowing grin started to develop on his face. "Oh don't tell me…."

Luke and Mara were standing next to each other now, looking at one another as if sharing some silent, private conversation. Mara sagged and nodded reluctantly, briefly allowing her head to rest against Luke's shoulder. Luke put his arm around Mara's back. "Yes," he admitted shyly. "Mara's pregnant."

Surprise gave way to hugs. Mara and Luke got swept into Chewbacca's massive arms together and were squeezed against the Wookiee's massive, furry chest as Chewie yowled a fervent congratulations. Han batted him away so he could get his own hug in, and found himself ensnared by the Wookiee capturing all three of them at once, an image that Leia promised herself she'd never forget.

Eventually, she had her brother to herself, and she threw her arms around him. "How did this happen?" she asked quietly, a whisper in the hug.

Luke reddened. "Dathomir. The witches were using the Force as part of their planting season rituals and… I didn't realize the potential implications."

She hugged him tighter. He was surprised but joyously happy, as she would have expected. Then she found herself embracing Mara instead, as Han pulled Luke out of her embrace. Unlike Luke, Mara's emotions were not so easy to read. Instead of trying to ferret out Mara's true feelings with the Force, Leia just wrapped her future-sister-in-law (whatever Luke and Mara said, Leia had no doubts) in a hug that would make a wookiee proud. "Congratulations," she whispered.

Over the cacophony that was Artoo excitedly beeping away at Threepio, Leia took a quick breath and the two women paused to listen in.

"A secret? Why I never."

Artoo responded with a blat and a series of scolding whistles.

"Oh do go ahead and tell me, you misfiring bucket of bolts. Yes, of course I promise. No, you don't have to reprogram me! I can too keep a secret!" There was a pause, and they could vaguely hear Artoo's whistles, pitched low. "Mistress Mara is what? Well, at least we still have all the baby things. I shall have to paint a bassinet black I suppose."

Mara started to laugh and actually hugged Leia back, but only after being silent for many seconds. "I have no idea what to do," Mara admitted, her voice thick with uncertainty Leia had only rarely encountered from her.

"That's okay," Leia promised. "That's okay. I'll help, I promise."

* * *​

Roganda's surveillance of the Jedi Consulate was scheduled to last another week at least, but the droid she'd designated as her aide sent her a message in the middle of the night. Using a Force technique to rid herself of bleary fatigue, she read the message.

SKYWALKER AND JADE DEPARTING CONSULATE.

And with that, she was wide awake. The difficulty was always going to be breaching the Consulate with the two of them there. Skywalker had killed the Emperor and Jade had been a Hand; that made them the only two real threats to her. With them removed, all she would have to deal with was Skywalker's untrained Padawans, and that was something she could do. "How long will they be gone?"

UNKNOWN.

She put her trust in provenance. "Prepare for the assault," she ordered. "Pattern Delta-Aurek, preload variations Five through Eleven. Send the initiation command to the Palace main computer."

ACKNOWLEDGED MISTRESS ROGANDA.

* * *​

Kirana Ti swung her spear through a series of ritualistic combat forms. A traditional Dathomiri warrior exercise, it was meant to be practiced in the forest, surrounded by nature… not in a building, surrounded by… buildings. The Jedi Consulate had plenty of plants and even a few animals, especially in the large central spaces, that were tended to by droids, and they made her feel a bit more comfortable, but it was not the same. Still, it was best performed at first light, and while that meant something different on Coruscant where even the darkest night featured plenty of artificial light, it was first light.

Nearby, Streen performed his daily morning meditations, sitting by one of the windows and looking out over the city. She felt him watching her before she noticed it. He gestured at the sitting cushion next to him. "Care to join me?"

Somewhat reluctantly, she set her spear down, and sat cross-legged on the cushion. She had tried this style of meditation, but its stillness and passivity did not come easily to her. The Force, as the witches of Dathomir used it, was more tangible, more knowable, and more predictable than in the practices of the Jedi. Theirs was a more esoteric tradition.

"How many people live on your world, Kirana Ti?" he asked her curiously.

She shrugged, counting the number of tribes she knew of and estimating it. "A few thousand, maybe?"

"A few thousand," Streen said. His hair was brown, streaked with gray, and he had a deeply lined face from many years of exposure to the sun and wind. "Where I am from, there were a few million. Here—" he gestured out at the cityscape "—more than a trillion. Can you feel them all?"

Kirana Ti's lips pressed together. The learning had been a persistent frustration in the short time she had trained as a Jedi. She could feel strong emotions, even a child could do that, but more than that…

"When I was young," Streen murmured, "Everything was always so loud. I traveled into the clouds of Bespin, looking for quiet, and I found peace and riches. Some of the other prospectors would talk of how their intuition would lead them to the right place to find Tibanna, so I started letting mine lead me. Soon, I was finding Tibanna reserves even before the machinery searching for it did… reaching the places it would be, before it was there."

Kirana Ti did not understand, but Streen spoke with such quiet fervency that she leaned closer and listened closely all the same.

"I learned, over time, that I was more successful when I was calm," Streen added. "Clear-minded. Well-fed. Rested. And serene." He sighed. "And then, I realized I was starting to feel other things too: I could feel the people around me. Know they were there. It became harder to be clear-minded because my mind was not alone. I could feel emotions, good and bad, and it was impossible for me not to feel them. Then, when the Empire took Cloud City, everything got much worse. The people were agitated, their thoughts full of chaos. Noisy and ugly." He shook his head bitterly. "I had to be alone."

Such was known on Dathomir, too, Kirana Ti thought. She remembered the sisters who had chosen to live alone, without husbands. Many of them had fallen and become Nightsisters, but others still lived apart. Many others, those most sensitive, learned with time to dull their senses, so as to not be overwhelmed.

"Piloting massive barges of explosive gas through lightning storms above Bespin is much more relaxing than listening to people on Coruscant. Even if Mara taught me how to control how much I feel," Streen continued with a smile. "And Luke taught me that this empathy was a blessing, not the curse I thought it to be. A Jedi acts on behalf of the Force, and the Force is life. One way the Force guides us is through the feelings of others. Their hopes and dreams and fears… if a Jedi is to be a true servant of life, we must understand these things." He offered her a wry, weathered smith. "And not be overwhelmed by them. Close your eyes."

"All right," she agreed curiously. She settled into a more comfortable sitting position and did so.

"Empty your mind," Streen encouraged. "Of all thoughts of self, of fear and desire. Feel all the minds of Coruscant, all the lives, the trillions. So many. Remember that the Force is created by all life, and that we are a part of the Force, and it of us. Let them guide you to where you need to be. Listen."

She tried, but she found none of the calm that Streen described. Instead, a gnawing anxiety chewed at her gut, one she couldn't put a name to. Her eyes popped open; she saw on Streen's face a similar expression to her own. "Maybe we should try again later," he suggested tiredly, pulling himself to his feet.

She popped up, grabbing her spear and strapping it to her back. "Perhaps we're hungry," she suggested with false cheer. She adjusted her armor, making sure it sat properly on her sinewy frame.

"I'm not yet Luke's equal as a teacher," Streen said with a self-deprecating smile, "but I'm not a bad cook."

Kirana Ti wasn't sure why, but she found herself hurrying Streen a bit, moving them both deeper into the building.

Barely ten seconds later the windowed alcove they had been sitting in exploded.

[Return to Table of Contents]​

 

Chapter Twenty-One

One of the last structures that remained from Palpatine's Imperial Palace was the Palace Security Operations Center. The tower spiraled up, one of the ring of semi-dismantled towers that had been built around the central Palace Complex. Lieutenant Caston Nalle, Palace Security, had an excellent view of the ongoing deconstruction efforts. Massive cranes and construction droids busily worked to dismantle the towers that remained. Soon, they would turn their attention to Security Ops—but not just yet.

His fresh cup of morning caf steamed on the desk in front of him as he reviewed the collection of reports from the day before. "Have they found that missing construction supervisor yet?" he asked.

Corporal Corde Brandes, the only other person in the tower, shook her head. "No, sir. I've requisitioned another team to go looking."

"We didn't see any signs of explosions, did we? No other minor disasters or booby-traps?"

"None have been logged."

He frowned. People didn't just go missing from the Imperial Palace.

"Do you think the Empire sent an infiltration team?" Brandes' voice was cautious and carried more than a little caution.

"It's possible," Caston mused. "But the real question is why would they? We have stumbled across a few additional hidden facilities, like the one we found in Tower Fourteen, but nothing as elaborate as that one." His lips pressed together unhappily. "That doesn't mean, though, that there isn't one. And if there is…"

"Yes, sir," Brandes agreed unhappily. "Maybe we should report this to Intelligence?"

"I already sent up a flare," he said. "They just asked to be kept updated. Bringing in more security is really all we can do until we know more—"

The lights in Security Ops suddenly dimmed. His console screen flashed red with an alert, persistent and demanding. "We're under attack!" His hand slammed down on the alert button on his desk, then on his comm. "This is Palace Security! Our systems are reporting an orbital assault! Multiple starfighters on strafing runs, escorting troop transports!"

Brandes' eyes were wide, staring at her console. "Where did they come from!" she gasped. "The entire fleet is here, and we've got multiple layers of air defenses!"

But the computers insisted they were there. Even as Caston watched, two TIE fighter signatures came in for a strafing run, straight through the teeth of the planet's protective guns. Completely unscathed, they raced straight towards him and Corde, and with a pained grunt he grabbed the Corporal and threw them both under a semi-armored console.

* * *​

On the bridge of the Star Destroyer Lusankya, Atril Tabanne watched as the ship's repairs continued. Captain Kre'fey supervised the repair crews with a gimlet eye as they swarmed over the ship's hull, patching the weaknesses in armor from impact damage and replacing destroyed turbolaser batteries.

She was pacing along the bridge's long walk, wondering how things were going with Captain Rogriss and the Inner Council, when Commander Needa yelped with alarm. "Systems alert!"

Kre'fey, typically, was first to respond. "What kind of systems alert?"

"I don't … know sir!" called back Needa. Even as he did, Lusankya's alarms started to blare, demanding the crew stand to battle stations. "Multiple hostile Star Destroyers!"

"What?" Atril and Kre'fey said together. "Another group of cloaked ISDs?'' asked Atril.

They converged at Needa's station as Lusankya came to life, crew bringing up the bridge shields and guns with a weary belligerence.

"I don't know sir!" Needa called, sounding confused. "They're in orbit! It's like they were already there!"

"They can't have been there," Kre'fey pointed out. "We would have noticed them. Or they would have hit something."

"Yes sir!" Needa's hand was on his ear. "We're getting comms from the rest of the fleet, sir! Other ships are reporting they are getting the same readings! Confirmation from Golan-5, Golan-7, Freedom, and Emancipator!"

"All ships, bear on the enemy!" Kre'fey demanded. "Break us free from the repair station at once! Fighters, scramble, repeat, scramble!"

Atril stared at the console. From all appearances, no fewer than five Imperial-class Star Destroyers were in low orbit over the old Imperial Palace—low enough that even raising the planet's shields wouldn't be enough to protect it from them. TIE fighters were already scrambling—so far without opposition—and darting down over the planet to attack. If those fighters got in before they could be intercepted, even a few strafing runs could do devastating damage to the dense urban canyons…

"Captain Irrarel reports Orthavan sees no enemy ships," Needa called, sounding even more confused. "She is requesting instructions."

"How can we see them but she can't?" Kre'fey demanded furiously. "Either they're there or they're not!"

"Weapons HOLD!" bellowed Atril. "I want visual confirmation on the Star Destroyers! Now! Someone fetch a pair of macrobinoculars!" She pointed at Needa's console. "And run a diagnostic on the main computer!" She looked at Kre'fey, who stared back, his eyes widening with dawning understanding. "Lusankya, Emancipator, Freedom, and the Golans," she explained. "All Imperial-built with Imperial-built main computers…"

* * *​

Nalle and Brandes hit the ground with a heavy thunk, one that sent a spasm of intense pain through Nalle's old combat wounds. He reeled as his leg collapsed under him, knowing that it would not be easy to stand up quickly. But then, it wouldn't matter… not if those fighters fired on the tower with him and Brandes in it…

Nothing happened.

No scream of TIEs overhead, no detonations, no explosion, just… nothing.

"Where did they go?" he panted the words out, gritting his teeth through the pain.

Leaving him under the table, painfully trying to get back to his feet, Brandes popped up and was back at her station in an instant, reaching down a hand for her boss. Her tone was half surprised, half-wry. "According to the computer, we're dead, sir."

"What do you mean, we're dead?" he asked—frustrated, angry, and hurting.

"That's what the system says. We've been killed in a strafing run." He could hear the way her voice changed, going from amused to grimly serious. "And we've been locked out, too. Apparently the computer thinks we're dead and is treating us as if we are dead."

He was up on one knee, which was enough that he could see her poised at her station. "Check for—" he groaned, his bum knee trembling under him, "—check to see if there are any programs running."

She nodded, her head bobbing. With impressive, hard-earned familiarity with the computer system, she forced a hard reset of her terminal. "There's a program running," she reported grimly, once she had brought up the debugging system. "It's an old one. I thought our slicers cleared everything out... the computer thinks the Emperor is still alive and that Imperial Center's defense fleet is attempting a coup." Her expression was grim. "And it's not just our computer."

This time, the roar of engines was real. Back on his feet, Lieutenant Nalle could only watch as the midsized transport launched from Tower Eight—not far from where that construction tech had gone missing, he realized belatedly—and his comm said he was dead and refused to let him tell anyone.

* * *​

One of the benefits of living in a skyhook, Leia thought, was the view. She and Mara were sequestered in a semi-secluded corner of the Solo family apartment, behind a leafy tree of Alderaanian origin. Alderaan had been known for many things, but one of its defining characteristics had been its floating cities. Built over many centuries, those cities had loomed above Alderaan's towering mountain ranges. At first, they had been centers for mining, like Cloud City on Bespin, but as Alderaan's mineral resources dwindled and the world's population grew weary of the environmental costs of their extraction, the cities had become centers for culture, governance, and education.

The two of them sat together, looking out over Coruscant.

"I feel like I should ask you how you're feeling about all this, are you okay?" Leia asked.

It wasn't the first time, and Mara's expression of pained tolerance communicated that she was quite aware of the repetition. The twins had awoken—attracted, Leia suspected, to the three Force sensitives and the intense emotion of the moment—and had been a welcome distraction from that emotion. Han was busy coaxing them to leave Mara alone and eat while Leia took Mara to sit in quiet isolation, drinking in the view of the galactic capital.

To Leia's dismay, Mara's anxiety seemed to be getting worse, rather than better. "Yeah," Mara said, unconvincingly. After an uncomfortable pause, she continued, "but the more I think about it, the more…" Mara's voice trailed off, as if admitting discomfort or weakness of any kind was unacceptable.

"Nervous?"

Mara hesitated again, then shook her head. "No. I was already nervous. But I have this… premonition of dread. Like something has gone wrong." Unconsciously, Mara tucked her legs in closer against her chest, looking absurdly young in that moment—Leia had to remind herself that for all Mara's experience, or all her world-weariness, she was younger than the Skywalker twins.

"I had that too, when I was pregnant," Leia admitted. It was her turn to hesitate now, debating how much to share… but this was Mara. Mara was Luke's life partner—of that, Leia had absolutely no doubt—and therefore, she was Leia's sister. She trusted Mara… and Mara needed her. "After I found out that Vader was my father, I decided I'd never have children," she admitted. "Eventually I changed my mind, but during the pregnancy I had a few dark moments."

Mara's lips pressed together. "I'm not worried about that," she replied, and Leia was surprised at the confidence in her voice. "Really, I'm not. But I still have this sense…" her voice faded away and her expression tightened. She turned towards the transparisteel, looking down towards the city, where in the distance the Senate Dome and what was left of the Imperial Palace—most of its towers disassembled and the original, boxy structure it had been built atop increasingly apparent—could be seen.

In the Force, sudden fear spiked. Instantly Mara was uncoiled and on her feet.

"What is it?" Leia asked, alarmed.

"I don't know—"

The emergency alarm had sounded days before, during Daala's hit-and-fade assault on Coruscant. Now it blared again, cutting straight through Leia with skull-splitting urgency. The lights of the skyhook instantly darkened, red alert signals glowing atop every door as if a hull breach had been detected.

Mara batted away the massive leaves of the Alderaanian plant as she charged into the kitchen, Leia following on her heels. Luke was there with Han, both of them wearing matching expressions of confused alarm. "What in the Nine Corellian Hells is going on?" Han yelled, his arm around a suddenly-crying Jacen and Jaina. "Is Daala attacking again? And someone shut that off!"

From the door, Artoo's whistle was barely heard over the alarm, but a few seconds later the alarm cut out.

Leia was already at her computer terminal. The screen was remarkably unhelpful and the words upon it sent a new chill through her. REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE, it instructed. IMPERIAL AUTHORITIES WILL ARRIVE TO SECURE THE SENATE.

"The door is locked," complained Han as he tested the front door controls. "What is going on?"

Winter came in from the office, her expression pale. "All communications are out. Do you know what's going on? Is Daala attacking again?"

Mara gently shouldered Leia out of the way; she moved to the side as the former-Emperor's Hand started typing override commands rapidly into the computer. It took her a few minutes, but eventually more useful information appeared. None of the words made any sense. PARAMETER: ATTEMPTED COUP AGAINST EMPEROR PALPATINE. SENATORS UNDER SUSPICION OF AIDING THE COUP ATTEMPT. GRAND MOFF TARKIN UNDER SUSPICION OF AIDING THE COUP ATTEMPT. INSTRUCTIONS: CONFINE SENATORS. CONFIRM TARKIN'S COMPLICITY AND TAKE APPROPRIATE ACTION. COMPNOR AUTHORITIES WILL ASCERTAIN LOYALTIES BASED ON PERFORMANCE.

"Tarkin!?" Leia said, staring in disbelief at the screen. "What is this?"

"It's a drill," Mara said grimly. "You didn't replace all the computers on Coruscant?"

Leia gave her an infuriated, disbelieving look. "How would we do that? What is going on?"

"It's an old program," Mara explained. "I had Ghent and Cracken's people on this, none of these should still be in the computer systems… It's a drill, one meant to stress-test COMPNOR's responses against a potential coup by Tarkin and the Starfleet against Palpatine's rule." She continued typing furiously. "What set—"

Mara's face abruptly went pale, her green eyes wide. She turned to look at Luke, and Leia saw the moment that Luke realized the same thing Mara had. Her brother's expression was suddenly dire, and that same sensation of dread instantly swept over Leia.

"The Consulate," Mara whispered in horror.

"Tell Wedge to get ships into position over the Consulate," Luke demanded of Han.

"The Emperor's Hand," Leia murmured, feeling her own blood run cold as she put the pieces together herself. "This is Roganda staging an attack!"

"I can't get any communications out," Han said with a shake of his head. "Everything is jammed. Even if the drill isn't restricting the comms, everyone on the planet is trying to make a call right now. The net is completely overwhelmed. There are millions of panicked people out there right now and no one telling them what to do."

Leia turned back towards the window she and Mara had been sitting beside. Through it she saw Coruscant's orderly streams of traffic grow panicked and frenetic. High above the aerial traffic, the Super Star Destroyer Lusankya was stirring to life, and many other warships were clearly on high alert, starfighters starting to swirl from CAP patterns into precise combat deployments.

"We need to get back to the Consulate before it's too late," Mara said, her tone one of dire certainty.

Luke tested the door again. It didn't budge. He looked towards Leia, and she understood instantly what he was asking.

Han was still holding a fearful Jacen and Jaina. Leia knelt down in front of the twins and held up her unlit lightsaber. "Sweeties, who wants to see your Uncle Luke and Aunt Mara break some doors?"

Han and Winter held the twins, three sabers ignited, and the Jedi demolished the Solo Apartment's front door.

* * *​

Roganda's transport lifted off from the Imperial Palace hangar. Under normal circumstances, the launch of a transport as large as hers would have been an unmissable event. With the chaos unfolding all over the planet, and in orbit above it, the launch went entirely unnoticed. The people best located to see the launch—those in the Palace Security office—had been "killed" in the initial wave of the coup simulation, and it would take them some time to get their systems unlocked to warn anyone else… assuming they had noticed at all.

Being the Emperor's Hand, she knew all of Palpatine's secrets. The most important of those was the secret of the Silencer AI he had given her, of course, though the hidden caches of DT-droids she had programmed were a close second. Further down the list, but still important, was the secret of the override codes that Palpatine had buried in every computer constructed while he was Emperor.

The Rebellion had tried to protect itself against those override codes. Teams of technicians had developed software patches intended to prevent computers from doing things like overloading reactors, firing turbolasers, deactivating shield generators, or initiating hyperspace jumps at inopportune times. They were even making plans to outright replace compromised main computers, completely removing any vestiges of Palpatine's influence, but replacing a main computer—especially in something like a Star Destroyer—was difficult, time consuming, and expensive; the New Republic could not afford to take their most powerful units out of action, so the software patches had to suffice, and such refits would have been noted by Imperial Intelligence.

Roganda had thus opted for a more subtle approach. While in the Imperial Palace she'd been able to access both Palace Security's main computer—yet to be replaced, since the entire palace was being demolished anyway—and its HoloNet connection.

From there, she used her credentials as Emperor's Hand to schedule a drill.

Every warship in orbit with an Imperial-built main computer now believed that a fleet of Star Destroyers and their traitorous Admirals and crews were attempting to overthrow Emperor Palpatine. So too did the planet's Golan defense platforms, the manufacturing facilities, and—most critically—all the local precincts of the Coruscant constabulary. The constabulary in particular was currently receiving orders to suppress possible mass uprisings; loyal Star Destroyers were being called upon to attack the traitors, and all of them were being shown imaginary enemies and being told about imaginary events:

A bomb threat at the Imperial Museum.

The orbital bombardment of the ISB facility nearest to the Imperial Senate by traitorous elements of the Imperial Starfleet.

The strafing of both the Imperial Palace and the primary surface starfighter garrisons.

Dozens, hundreds of others.

None of them were real, but nobody knew that. The population of Coruscant was panicking and when a trillion people panicked, it made quite a mess. She wasn't sure how long it would take the New Republic to sort out the mess, but she was confident it would be long enough.

Especially since the program wasn't done causing panic yet.

Her transport's main computer beeped insistently at her. BY ORDER OF THE IMPERIAL SECURITY BUREAU, THIS VEHICLE MUST LAND IMMEDIATELY. The line of airspeeders it was in came to a sudden halt as all of their traffic computers started seeking landing locations. LAND OR BE FIRED UPON.

Hers was not the only vehicle receiving that order. The neat line of ships in Coruscant's sky came to a sudden halt. Some vehicles stayed where they were, blocking traffic. Others started to try to land. Still others started to make for orbit.

Roganda overrode the autopilot and veered towards her target. She could see the Jedi Consulate out the window of her transport. She was surrounded by consternation and fear as Coruscant's populace tried to figure out what was happening. Roganda drank it in deep and reveled in their terror. Then she sighted the Consulate with the ship's hidden concussion missile launcher and fired.

* * *​

Transparisteel shattered, sending jagged shards of transparent material slashing into the meditation chambers. Streen stumbled as one of those shards sliced through his Jedi robes, and Kirana Ti felt multiple shards impact her back as she ducked to protect her head. She was thankful that she had insisted on wearing her leather armor. Grabbing Streen with both hands, she thrust him into the protective shadow of one of the meditation benches in the center of the room.

"What happened?"

Streen was wide-eyed, with surprise and sudden fear. His expression was wrenched with pain, and Kirana Ti checked his wounds, but found none of them were particularly deep. "Where are you hurt?" she demanded.

He shook his head, his mouth working silently. "I'm fine," he panted eventually. "But the city… can't you feel that?"

She had no idea what he was asking. "No," she said, reaching to pull her spear into cover with them, grabbing the handle at the end and snaking it through the debris. She could hear the sounds of repulsorlifts through the shattered window, of vehicles idling or racing around, as if in some kind of panic. "What?"

"I haven't felt anything like this since Vader took Cloud City," Streen said, his expression dire. "People are terrified… I think the whole planet is under attack…"

There was nothing Kirana Ti could do about that. Whether Streen was right or not, she knew the Consulate was under attack… and Luke and Mara had given very specific instructions that the artifact they'd secreted away in the temple vault should be kept protected at all costs. She crouched, preparing to lurch into motion.

The sound of repulsorlifts grew louder, almost overpowering. She hadn't realized just how much sound the now-shattered windows had kept out of the serene temple environment. She risked poking her head over the couch to see what was happening, and saw a midsized freighter descending towards the temple's landing pads. Its landing ramp was open, and standing on it were a number of dark-armored figures with blaster rifles. "Imperials."

Streen shook his head in stunned disbelief. "How could Imperials be here, now?" he asked, sounding equal parts astonished and fearful. "How?"

"Stay down, manling," she ordered him. Even if he had not been wounded, he was no fighter. If the Imperials were after the artifact, they would not be coming to this room anyway and he'd be safe here. Leaving him, she ran low to the central core of the building.

The core of the building was hollow, with stairs and lifts that took people up and down. She could look up and see the peaked roof a half-dozen stories above them, semi-transparent to allow some of the morning-sun to provide the building with natural light. She could also look down to the landing pad floor. While the building continued downwards for many more levels, that floor was entirely filled in, giving it the illusion of being a ground floor—something which Kirana Ti appreciated, because when she thought about how high they really were, she got quite dizzy.

Crouched with her spear, she heard the sound of blaster fire resonate through the open air. The Consulate's defenses were kicking into action, and combat droids and fixed defenses were both opening fire. From her position above, she could see blasts of red and green cross-crossing through the large vestibule that opened to the northernmost landing pad.

* * *​

Roganda stood within her transport, watching as her DTs demolished the Consulate's defenses. She'd lost four units, but their heavy armor had absorbed plenty of fire before they had succumbed to damage, and their counterpart units had turned the fixed defenses to slag.

A quartet of droids moved rapidly through the vestibule, their metal feet clicking softly over the tile. In the center of the space was a statue; and with some surprise, Roganda noted that the statue was dedicated to the Antarian Rangers.

Her mind abruptly full of memories of Belsavis and a dozen other last stands of Jedi refugees and their protectors, she waited until the DT units announced the floor was secure. Wordlessly, she keyed tactical directives into her wristcomm, telling them to storm the upper floors. Roganda knew that she had only so long to secure the Seed before the chaos she had unleashed on Coruscant was resolved.

It was here. She knew it was here. She would not be denied, not again.

Using her wristcomm, she instructed her aerial support to engage.

In an instant, a half-dozen droids drones soared out of concealed hatches on the hull. Each one was suspended by a disc-like repulsor ring and bristled with blasters. They swarmed up and through the smashed in windows, looking for targets.

"Make sure all communications are jammed," she reminded the droid she had designated her aide, who she had renamed DT-130 for the sake of simplicity. "This is a smash and grab. We want to get to our objective and out as quickly as possible. The faster we are, the easier it will be to escape the planet."

* * *​

Streen's cry of alarm sent Kirana Ti spinning back around. She had seen flying ships before, but flying droids were something entirely new to her. They were so small! But despite her unfamiliarity with them, the combination of her danger sense and her common sense meant she recognized them instantly as threats.

There were two of them, beeping and whirring. Gray and black metallic armor, with angular red eyes and bodies rotating towards her!

She charged.

The first droid's blaster fire went high as she slid over the smooth tile of the Consulate floor, like she was dodging under a particularly energetic woofa fighting for its life with an array of Dathomiri tribesmen. Bursts of energy shot over her shoulder and she came up out of her slide with an athletic thrust. The head of her spear grazed the droid she was targeting; her accuracy was foiled by the droid's sudden defensive retreat, bobbing higher and back in the air. She pursued with an additional thrust—

She hadn't expected her second effort to make contact, but it did. She realized, a second later, why the second had been successful while the first had not. Streen, laying on the couch, wincing from his earlier wounds and at least one blaster burn, had gripped the droid and held it still with the Force. Her spear—which, despite appearances, had been constructed with modern alloys—drove through the floating droid's thin armor and left it sparking as it sank to the floor.

The second droid was coming and her spear was lodged too deep in the first to retrieve. Releasing it she rolled backwards, dodging a pair of incoming blaster bolts, but that was when she heard the harmonized hum of a lightsaber nearby.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size."

The droid heard it too. Its blaster-cluster pivoted away from her and Streen, reorienting to aim at the new arrival standing in the entrance to the meditation chamber. Tyria Sarkin nearly floated on the balls of her feet, poised and ready, and as the shots came in she wove her green blade in a perfect defensive pattern, batting away the incoming fire with focused determination as her blond braid swung in her wake.

As the droid and Tyria engaged in a furious exchange, Kirana Ti remembered what Luke had taught her and stretched out with her mind for her spear. Getting a solid grip on her weapon with the Force, she tore it free from the first droid's machinery. She snatched it out of the air and with it in hand she turned to help Tyria face the second.

The droid's blaster swiveled back towards her, apparently deciding that shooting at a target armed with a lightsaber was less wise than shooting at a target armed with a spear. She dodged the first two bolts, but the third caught her on the side and sent her sprawling. Her hide-armor outfit dissipated much of the energy, but she still lost her footing and spiraled to the ground, only half-catching her fall

Tyria leapt. Trained as a ranger from the time she was young, she moved well—though it was obvious to Kirana Ti that the lightsaber was still a weapon with which she was still gaining expertise. Despite that unfamiliarity, the tip of her blade clipped through the droid, which fell like a sparking, fizzling brick to the floor.

Breathing heavily, Kirana Ti pulled herself to her feet, smelling the roasting armor and wincing around the pain

"Status?" Tyria asked, her voice a flat-affected channel for information.

"Wounded," Kirana said, twirling her spear, "but lightly. Ready to fight." Streen just moaned and clutched at his injury, and Kirana Ti cursed herself for not anticipating the flying droids.

As Tyria moved towards Streen, she pulled bacta and bandage-gel from a pouch at her belt and set to work, giving an assessment of their situation as she worked. "There are droids marching up from the landing pad and all our comms are jammed," Tyria reported grimly. "Tionne and Kam are somewhere in the building, but other than that there isn't anyone else here. Luke and Mara left early this morning, I'm not sure why. I don't know how long our defenses can hold off their battle droids."

"Corran… isn't here?" wheezed Streen.

Tyria shook her head again. "He's still somewhere on Corellia. Cilghal is on Mon Calamari. It's just us, Kam, and Tionne."

"Well where are they?" Streen muttered, cursing under his breath in pain.

"They're coming," Tyria said. "Rest assured."

Kirana Ti's spear was a trusty weapon, but it would be little help in this fight. She raised the weapon to a guard position anyway.

Tyria eyed it. "We need something heavier than what we've got," she said. "Come on. Mara's armory isn't far."

* * *​

Tyria watched as the other Jedi hastily armed themselves with the weapons that Mara had in the Jedi armory. Weapons of every type were carefully arranged, each one with guides for proper use conditions and maintenance requirements. Just like the droids that Luke and Mara had purchased to defend the Consulate—sourced from Talon Karrde—they were of the highest quality, and chosen based on ease of use and flexibility.

She wasn't surprised as Kirana Ti changed her spear out for a standard-issue stormtrooper E-11. The Dathomiri witch was uncomfortable with most of the elements of Coruscanti life, but the galaxy's weapons had long since made their way to her homeworld and she clearly knew exactly how to use one. Streen armed himself too, but with far less confidence—unlike Kirana Ti and Tyria herself, he was no fighter. "Just stay behind us," she encouraged him.

He nodded with obvious assent. "That sounds like a good idea," he agreed nervously—

The Consulate rocked and a thunderous boom echoed from the upper levels. Paint fluttered down from the ceiling, stone shuddering, and a second boom followed the first. The sounds of blaster fire echoed down through the structure.

"They've found Kam and Tionne," Tyria said with grim certainty.

She and Kirana Ti sprinted ahead, each holding one of Mara's blaster rifles. A handful of the battle droids were watching the stairs above and they both fell to one knee behind a meditation couch, firing over the limited protection it offered. Through the Force—as limited as her own abilities were—Tyria could feel Kirana Ti's intent, and the two of them blasted one then the other, twinned blaster bolts converging and blasting through armor. The two-legged, dark-armored, red-eyed droids staggered and fell backwards, spitting sparks and smoke.

They were back running before Streen even caught up behind them. Kirana Ti leapt up the stairs to the upper levels, taking them three at a time. As they ascended Tyria could feel Streen come to a halt. Instead of trying to keep up with them—he was far older than either of them, after all—he pointed his blaster upwards and fired. He wasn't really trying to hit anything, but the constant stream of fire gave the two women enough cover to advance.

The Consulate's defense droids fought a losing battle against the invading Imperials, but they were bolstered by a single woman wielding a heavy repeater that appeared far too large for her frame. Tionne's silver hair flashed as she yelled various obscenities, strong blasts from her weapon punching through black armor with ridiculous ease as the double-viol on her back gleamed in the sunlight. But as Tyria and Kirana Ti leapt over the final stair to join the fight, Tionne caught a single shot to the side. Spinning to hit the ground heavily, Tionne let out a single pained cry, trying to hoist her repeater up once more to return fire.

She would have been too slow, but she was not alone. A pair of twinned blaster bolts—one from Tyria and one from Kirana Ti—each took the droid lining up the kill shot in the head and torso. With a small plume of smoke the suddenly headless battle droid collapsed to the ground, twitching.

Another floor above them there was a third heavy boom, followed by a fourth. "Kam!" gasped Tionne from where she lay bleeding on the floor, struggling to stand.

Tyria leapt forward, dropping her rifle and snatching her lightsaber up again, taking a basic guard position. She was still unaccustomed to the weapon—Mara and Tionne had helped her construct it only a few weeks before—but she drove herself forward in a vicious charge. Staggering her steps from right to left to throw off the remaining droids' aim, she dropped into a slide and then catapulted off the ground. Her lightsaber slashed evenly through the torso of one of the droids, then she spun to the side and carved the blade through a leg of a second. Kirana Ti was there, her rifle pumping a point blank shot into the second droid's chest.

The remaining Consulate security droids sparked and hissed, every one showing scorches where their armor had protected them, and none of them any longer combat capable.

From above there was another boom. The building rattled.

"Kam!" Tionne moaned again, clutching at her side.

Streen had finally made his way up the stairs—it felt like it had been minutes, but it could only have been maybe thirty seconds—and he fell by Tionne's side, immediately rendering aid.

Tionne's silver eyes were locked on Tyria. "Go!" she gasped.

Tyria prepared to do just that—

There was a shade in the periphery of her vision. A foe as invisible to her as the droids, a woman in black armor emerged out of the shadows. She held a nasty-looking blaster in one hand and before Tyria could call out a warning she fired.

The shot caught Kirana Ti full in the back, sending the warrior witch flying forward to the ground. The witch's armor smoked but, to Tyria's everlasting relief, appeared intact. Her relief was fleeting. Kirana Ti's jaw hit the ground hard and she collapsed in a heap, moaning, struggling to stand and obviously unable to.

Tionne, Streen, and Tyria stared wide eyed at the shadowy figure. Tyria still found it hard to even focus on her, like she was there but not there, using the Force to cloak herself in the shadows. Dark black hair was matched with equally black lipstick and eyes.

Tyria charged. She had always moved fast and deceptively—as a child on Toprawa, even the older Rangers had recognized Tyria's skill—and she followed her training precisely. Her weight moved from foot to foot, preparing for a perfect slash at her enemy, shifting her weight just exactly as she had been taught—

—the pressure of sudden impact, the wrench of pain, the sudden limpness of her grip—

Tyria found herself twisted into a heap on the ground, dazed and confused. Her attack had been perfect. That same lunge had been difficult for Luke Skywalker himself to deal with when he'd first seen it. The Antarian Rangers had always been trained to fight with Jedi, but they also knew Jedi better than any other paramilitary force in the galaxy, knew their strengths and weaknesses—

"You're not the only one the Rangers taught, little girl," Roganda Ismaren mocked.

Those words made no sense. But nothing was making much sense to Tyria in that moment. A boot caught her full in the chest as she tried to stand and she felt one of her ribs give, the painful crack making it suddenly hard for her to breathe. Her lightsaber was gone—when she had lost it, Tyria wasn't sure, but she saw it in Roganda's hand now, the former Emperor's Hand admiring the careful craftsmanship.

"Impressive, for one of such limited talents," Roganda commented. A second boot caught Tyria and she gasped as the kick drove the air from her. "You must have had help. The false Hand, no doubt."

The dark lady's words stopped abruptly. She spun around, looking up. Tyria's gaze followed, though hers was blurry and unfocused…

Kam Solusar's bronzium armor did not gleam or shine. It was darkened with blaster grazes and shrapnel scars and Kam himself was breathing heavily, clearly exhausted, sweat damp in his hair and blood visible where there were gaps in his armor. He held a lightsaber in a two-handed grip, the blade ignited and humming with an intensity of purpose.

"Surrend—"

Before he could get the single word out, Roganda's hand lifted. With a cackle visible even over the sudden thunderclap, her expression suddenly contorted with hatred, a blue corona of lightning fire erupted from her fingertips, the air around Tyria suddenly heavy with electricity and hatred. She could taste it on her tongue, a tangy, burning that sparked around her.

Kam reacted faster than Tyria could have. His lightsaber swept upwards in an arc, catching the lightning on the blade to prevent it from striking Tionne and Streen. He held the blade in place, his eyes locked on Roganda. Tyria could feel him in the Force, feel the power Kam possessed, feel the intensity of his purpose, his need to stop Roganda at any cause, the need to keep the artifact that Luke and Mara had placed in their custody away from the Empire. Roganda hissed and the lightning burned from her fingers hotter, swirling around Kam's saber. He straightened his arm, confident that he had her attack blocked, the other Jedi were safe.

Roganda lifted her other hand and with a banshee wail that was nearly inhuman, a second burst of lightning erupted from her. Kam's eyes went wide with surprise and he tried to shift his position so he could—

The lightning hit Kam full in the chest. The blue light coruscated around him, lightning tracing all four of his limbs and his darkened armor suddenly gleamed anew, this time with electricity rather than polish.

Roganda was still screaming with rage as Tyria finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

* * *​

Roganda's throat was dry, her voice hoarse. Kam Solusar lay, electricity still crackling through him, his armor cracked and broken. He was still trying to reach for his saber, trying to fight back, because he knew the cost of his failure.

So too did Roganda.

She smiled at him, tossing the Ranger's lightsaber casually away. She did not try to speak—she did not trust her voice to still work, not after the rage she had unleashed to defeat the Jedi.

She was tempted to kill them all, to strangle the new Jedi order in its cradle, but she did not have the time. Skywalker and Jade were coming. She could feel them coming, could feel their meteoric approach, like a bolt of lightning heading straight in her direction. If they arrived before she could escape she would not be escaping. As much as she would relish every slow death of every fallen Jedi, it was an indulgence she could not afford.

Yet.

She raced up the stairs. There was a void in the Force up there, one she knew was caused by the damnable Ysalamiri. Her battle droids were strewn and broken, sliced with skillful saber strikes—Solusar had destroyed at least a dozen, all by himself—but there were no defenses left. Her droids had seen to that, before Solusar had destroyed them.

In the center of the room, surrounded by nutrient frames containing Ysalamiri, was the Seed.

She could not feel it in the Force. She could not feel anything in the Force. The Seed looked almost sickly, the pulsing green colors that had pumped through it dim to the point of invisibility. She gathered it up in her arms gently, cradling it like an infant, and ran.

* * *​

Tempered Mettle screamed through the atmosphere of Corsucant like a revenant spirit, swirling through dense clouds of moisture and panicked starships. Coruscant's sky was full of people, terrified and uncertain: had the Empire returned? Should they run? Hide? Surrender? Thousands upon thousands chose to run, leaving the galactic capital's traffic controllers utterly swamped and ignored, turning Coruscant's normally-orderly sky into a hive of treacherous peril.

Mara could see multiple midair collisions ahead of her. Crippled airspeeders spiraling down on damaged repulsorlifts, or streaks of falling debris. When the day was over, she feared the casualty count just from accidents would be in the tens of thousands, if not significantly higher.

They needed to get through that mess.

She didn't let anyone fly her ship, but today, right now, Luke was at the helm. He was the better pilot and they both knew it, so he had claimed the pilot's seat while she took control of her ship's weapons. Her targeting scanners went wild as they detected rogue ship after rogue ship, each streaking along jagged pathways up into the sky. Above them confused warships tried to maintain order, but they too were simply overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of people. Coruscant was home to trillions of sentients, and those trillions were confused and terrified.

Even as Luke maneuvered Tempered Mettle with casual, ridiculous skill, weaving between panicked starships with an ease that Mara knew he did not feel, she knew they were too late. The Consulate was visible now and growing larger quickly, its roof smoking from some kind of explosive blast. A ship Mara had never seen before was fleeing from the Consulate's landing pads, its unobtrusive silhouette just starting to climb towards space. That was their quarry, smaller than Tempered Mettle—Mara's ship was actually quite sizable—and it did not make any attempt to avoid the civilians who filled Coruscant's skies. It raced upwards to join them, blending in, trying to be just one more freighter fleeing Coruscant under siege.

Beside her, Artoo was trying to get a hold of the commanders of the New Republic fleets, trying to contact someone, anyone, to let them know where they needed to be to prevent Roganda's escape, but the comm channels were jammed and even private comms were unreliable. The system had been pushed to its breaking point and nudged beyond.

If anyone was going to prevent Roganda's escape, it would have to be them.

Mara brought up the main gun, knowing the distance was too far for the lighter lasers. Tempered Mettle's primary armament was the long spinal turbolaser, powerful enough to blast through even heavy shields and armor—but only if they made compromises elsewhere. With Luke already stressing the engines, the only place to find excess power was her ship's shields.

Tempered Mettle's alarms started to turn orange and then red as the friction from Coruscant's atmosphere heated up her armor. They streaked through the sky like a rocket aflame and Mara tried not to—refused to let herself—think about the fact that she was pregnant.

"Get us in range," she said aloud as she watched their prey through her gunnery computer.

Luke knew that already and said nothing as they continued to gain speed. She felt no relief when the heat sensors abruptly started to return to normal, because that meant they had exited the atmosphere, and that meant that they were getting close to the edge of Coruscant's gravity well.

She would only have one shot. If that.

"Closer," she murmured—

She didn't have any more time to wait. They were just inside effective range, her weapons were charged. Luke aligned Mettle's bow. Mara felt his satisfaction, made some minute adjustments to the servos, and squeezed her gunner's yoke. A green bolt of energy lanced forward and struck Roganda's ship!

But Tempered Mettle was not the only ship bestowed upon an Emperor's Hand by the Empire's finest shipwrights. Despite the ferocity of the strike, their enemy's shields were equal to it. Mara clenched her free hand, holding her breath, waiting for the gun to recharge for a second shot—

She fired again the instant the gun reached the minimum power required for discharge. This blast lacked the punch of the first but it was just as fast, and their target had already been hit once… but then the target was gone. Mara's last shot coasted out towards the void between stars, dissipating like a bad weld on a pressurized hull.

Roganda had escaped.

[Return to Table of Contents]​

 

I swear I'm going to catch up sooner or later.

Prologue - Chapter 10

Prologue

It's fascinating to see the current state of the Empire (well, half of the Empire) after everything that went down at Carida. ISB is strongly controlling the narrative about Pellaeon and his group, and it looks like Daala suspects something's up due to the outside news channels she couldn't access. I remember her using other broadcast sources of information in the previous story to obtain more puzzle pieces to put together, so I liked that she tried doing it here as well.

I liked seeing Daala reward respect and loyalty, like when she was checking on her wounded crew. That doesn't seem to bee too mainstream in Imperial forces, and it drives home how isolated Daala's crew was in their exile and how they watched out for and relied on each other.


Ch. 1

Cray and Nichos are in a horrible spot. Good for Cray trying to take the opportunity to get out when the interface first worked, and it's too bad it didn't work. Cray didn't have many real options for getting out before, but it's probably going to be worse now that Roganda has discovered Cray is Force-sensitive.

It was clever of Nichos to make them think he was weaker than he was. I can't imagine how hard it would be to have to choose between keeping his mind clear and not being in constant pain, especially if his high intellect has been such a huge factor in his life and career. I'm curious to see what his program and message will do.


Ch. 2

It was neat seeing Dathomir and the Singing Mountain Clan's settlement, particularly with how all the life on the planet affects the witches' powers and use of the Force. I wonder what caused the tension with the Hapans when Mara and Luke landed. It's smart of Luke to look for knowledge from other Force traditions and allow them to learn from each other, and I'm curious to see what they can learn from Kirana Ti and possibly incorporate into the New Jedi Order. Glad to see Tyria has joined, and I hope some of the witches' spells might be beneficial for her.

I really liked this detail. Mara's spent her whole life needing to be alert and battle-ready at a moment's notice, so it says a lot that she trusts Luke enough to relax so completely with him.


Ch. 3

Okay, I so want to hear these stories.

Hoo, yeah, the news about another Emperor's Hand at large is going to be hard for Mara to come to terms with.


Ch. 4

Rogriss and Pellaeon had an interesting conversation. It's understandable that Pellaeon's having trouble adjusting to his new perception of the Empire and all of its issues after it had been such a core part of him for his whole life.


Ch. 5

This makes a ton of sense as a character motivation for using the Dark Side. I am sorry that Roganda came to that conclusion, but it's very easy to see how and why she did. I also appreciated that the Antarian Rangers had tried to save her during the purge. With the story connections to Toprawa in later chapters (like the Consulate and Tyria's background), I wonder if this nugget is going to pop up again farther down the road with Roganda.

Some colorful interpersonal dynamics there with Roganda, Irek, and Halmere. I shudder to think how dangerous the Empire would be if it had leaders that didn't spend all their time squabbling and sniping at each other. Sarreti was lucky to make it out of Halmere's presence alive, too, and I don't envy him his position of being stuck between Halmere and Daala.

Not an unexpected reaction in Cray's situation. With how easy it is for "regular" people to reach the point of hating something, plus add in everything that so many people went through under the Empire, it's surprising that the GFFA's not crawling with Force-sensitives of varying levels who have fallen to the Dark Side. I hope that doesn't happen to Cray. I'm looking forward to seeing how she and Nichos will sabotage Silencer Station.

I'm curious about what cybernetic implants Irek has.


Ch. 6

Ambushes, hit-and-fades, attacking supply lines... now that the numbers and strength have flip-flopped, the Imperials have to fight like the Rebels used to, which isn't good news for the NR since they know from the Rebellion exactly how effective those tactics are. Plus the cloaking devices help considerably.

I'm glad that Atril has become Wedge's aide-- they work well together. The Corellian uprisings sound like a powder keg, and the New Order seems to have brought a lot of that on themselves with the ISB-mandated anti-alien policies they've been implementing. I can see how the NR believes things could escalate catastrophically at any moment so they have to act quickly.

Atril didn't bet something that Wedge would want for himself, she bet something Iella would want, LOL.

Panicked welcoming committees probably are the norm for them, huh?


Ch. 7

I loved this. It's so Han and it's so Mara.

I like seeing the family / group together for "normal" moments like mealtimes. Their interactions are so realistic and casual, and despite the more relaxed setting, the scenes never feel like downtime because they keep moving the story and characters forward.

Pash!

Han's got a rough decision about going back to help with the fight against Daala or not. It's easy to see how happy he is settled into his home with his family.


Ch. 8

Ah, here's the result of Nichos's program and message. I wonder what happened at the Magrody Institute-- if the combat that occurred was from back when Cray and Nichos were kidnapped, or if this was something more recent (and if it was, why). MSE-1 is very resourceful, and it's lots of fun seeing him problem-solve.


Ch. 9

That was a very poignant message that Rogriss sent Asori. Toward the end it looked like things were starting to sink in more for her, and I hope the family eventually has a chance to be a family again. It's a very different dynamic than the Skywalker-Solo clan, where all these important people could throw ranks around with each other but don't outside of teasing, jokes, and sarcasm.

LOL.

It makes sense that Phennir came with Fel, and I liked seeing the mention of Derra IV.

I didn't expect Fel to call his flight after the One-Eighty-Worst throwback, but I think it's funny that he did. But now how can Phennir get him a "World's Best Boss" caf mug for Boss's Day? "World's Best Worst Leader"?

The UREF and New Order fight was intense. It was also a very good example of how valuable skill and experience are, and why the ISB's thinking that they can just toss any of their "highly trained" people into command positions after Carida was so wrong. There was lots of great action, both with the fleet engagements and with the dogfight with Fel. It was also a good detail that Pellaeon recognized the droid starfighter patterns once Fel brought it up due to Pellaeon's experience in the Clone Wars.

Disra, it's probably not smart to blame the loss on incomplete intelligence when you're the Interim Director of Imperial Intelligence.


Ch. 10

With both the UREF and NR now going after Silencer Station, it looks like things are going to heat up there. It also looks like Wedge could get the chance to find his sister, though I doubt it's the way he would have expected it to happen.

The conversation with Vorru was fascinating. I'm guessing that was Corran's grandfather and related to why Corran went back to Corellia after getting a message from him? Vorru was smart to be influencing the rosters of the ships in orbit, and if the bribe proposal went through, that might have saved the planet. I wonder if there had been bombardment orders given and that's why the rest fought that one ISD, or if they took advantage of the news of Poln Major and pre-empted any other actions.

I really liked this detail and reaction as well. For Daala to be so upset that she's basically calling their leaders incompetent to the face of her Loyalty Officer, and for her Loyalty Officer to recognize what's happening but consciously not take action (for logical reasons and possibly just out of exhaustion from dealing with everything in the last few days) is very telling.

At first I thought Han might be off the hook to come back to the military with Daala no longer guarding Corellia now that they're out from under Imperial control, but if Daala's going to blaze through Coruscant, then Wedge might need him even more.


Excellent, excellent work as always! I'll start the next batch of chapters.

 

No particular hurry! Story isn't going anywhere!

A big goal in each novel has been taking EU characters and fleshing them out a bit. Daala as presented in Darksaber and Planet of Twilight was pretty different from how she was presented in earlier and later sources, so I anchored on Darksaber rather than trying to reconcile all of the ways she was depicted, and then altered her backstory slightly (she had never been assigned to the Maw, and so got exiled when Tarkin died rather than staying hidden there). She was definitely fun to write.

Poor Cray and Nichos. Letting Nichos be a suffering human being, rather than an ambiguously-dead consciousness held in a droid that may or may not actually be him, with a high priority. This story is chronologically set before Children of the Jedi, and here Cray never had the chance to try to save him (the Empire kidnapped them instead).

How Pellaeon adapts -- and how all the Imperials adapt -- has been a major theme throughout, and we continue following it here. Pellaeon has been "willfully blind" as Mara put it in Interregnum 1, and he still is... but it's getting harder and harder to ignore all that was wrong as it gets pushed in his face. They're also increasingly being forced -- whether they're comfortable with it or not -- to deal with the New Republic, and Asori finds herself in the position of becoming their messenger (especially because Fel is using his personal ties to Wedge, and he knows that Wedge has a certain debt to one Teren Rogriss).

More to come!

Enjoy!

 

Chapter Twenty-Two

The icy storm of hyperspace swirled around Roganda's message boat. She ignored the red-blinking shields and minor hull damage to consider her prize. The seed was as dormant as Roganda's surviving DTs, but just being near it was enough to make her giddy. That was a sensation she could only remember feeling a handful of times in her life. When she confirmed that Irek was Force sensitive was probably the only other time in her adult life.

Her Emperor had described it as the product of ancient Dark Side practices, but he had never said more than that. Only that if he acquired it and commanded it he could use it to make even the Death Star obsolete as a tool of Imperial power. It just needed to be directed and, most importantly, controlled. The product of all her subsequent experimentation, all her trials and all her errors, was the Silencer-7 droid intelligence. The seed would complete Silencer-7, Irek would command it, and all Roganda's plans would be fulfilled.

Despite the seed's silence it practically pulsed with power. Energy and potential swirled around its quiet core. A piece of technology it might seem to be, but it had a presence in the Force, one she could palpably feel.

Sleep, precious, she thought to it, fighting the urge to stroke it with her long fingers. Sleep. We're almost home, and then you can be reborn in glory.

* * *​

Irek and Halmere were waiting for her when she arrived. So too were their pet cyberneticists, probably to ensure that the Silencer command interface would operate properly even after Silencer-7 was merged with the seed. She spared her son a nod both severe and welcoming—he seemed to understand the combination of necessary discipline and congratulations for his efforts—but kept her attention on the one real threat in the room.

"Emperor-Regent," she greeted him.

"You are late," Halmere said. The man's Force-sense glimmered with lingering anger—no doubt, Roganda thought, he was still mad at her for the dismissive way she had treated him in their last meeting.

Too bad, Roganda thought. I need you even less than I did. Once Silencer-7 is complete and battle-tested, I will need you not at all.

She said none of that out loud. For the moment, Silencer-7 was not complete, and she was not sure how long the mergence between the AI that she had built for the Emperor and the seed would take. So instead, as politely as she could manage, she said: "I have what I was looking for."

Halmere's expression shifted slightly, a twitch at the corner of his mouth, almost the beginnings of a frown, quickly schooled. "That is good news."

By contrast, Irek was enthused. He always was happy for her successes. "Congratulations, mother!"

She favored him with a dignified nod, and he swallowed and resumed a more formal mein.

Beside him, Cray Mingla and Nichos Marr looked as if they were at a wake. Which, Roganda thought smugly, they were. A wake for all the New Order's enemies—all her enemies—and all they held dear. Soon the war would be over, all the losses washed away, and her Empire would straddle the galaxy.

She wanted that as quickly as possible. "Come," she ordered. "Now. I will wait no longer."

They traveled into the depths of Silencer Station.

At its core was something that only she had seen. Inside all the walls, all the bulkheads, all the layers of armor, at the station's very center, was its genesis. The original molecular furnace, designed to break matter down into raw materials and reforge it into whatever was needed. The large computer mainframe which housed the original Silencer droid intelligence.

The last component was her original core. It was tiny compared to the one recovered from Nar Shaddaa. Small enough to fit within her fist, it too had a presence in the Force… but a tiny one, easily missed. It had been reduced—or perhaps it had never been the equal to the seed she now carried—but it had possessed the kernel of energy she had needed to create Silencer Station's motivating force. That small remnant had brought Silencer-7 to life, allowing it to begin the process of manufacturing the New Order's military.

What, she thought, giddy with anticipation, would the true seed accomplish with it? How long would it take her to produce enough droids to defeat the rebellion and see Irek truly installed as Emperor? A week? A month? A year? No matter how long it took, she would make it happen.

Silencer Station's computer core was as she remembered it. A square room, each of the walls was lined with enormous computer terminals, each with a monitor that provided far too much information for a human mind to assimilate. Their screens flashed with inhuman quickness, a flutter of white and blue light that cast fleeting shadows, quickly replaced. Above them, climbing into the high ceiling, the computers had been built directly into the wall—and, Roganda knew, had steadily grown outwards, filling the space around this room in almost every direction. The room was hot, and both the floors and the ceiling had vents that constantly cast out cold air, clashing with the heat produced by all that hardware.

In the center of the room was a square podium. It seemed to rise directly out of the floor, seamless; the podium was illuminated with a single, bright light that pointed directly down from the high ceiling above. At the center of that column of light was a small, spherical object, held suspended in mid-air within the box, spinning slowly. The object itself was not interesting to look at; a dodecahedron, it reminded Roganda of a holocron—another example of Force-imbued technology.

As they entered, the dodecahedron started to spin faster. Roganda could feel it in the Force, just as she could feel the artifact recovered from Nar Shaddaa. They felt the same, two fragments of the same whole… one shaved off by some reckless treasure hunter, and the other forgotten in the depth of Nar Shaddaa until she and her droids had awakened it.

The artifact began to spin as well. She pushed the repulsorsled that carried it into the center of the room, until it was flush against the podium, and the fragment that was already there abruptly shot through the air towards the sled. It impacted the artifact and was swallowed up, merging once more into the unity from which it had at some point in the past been stolen.

The now-complete seed continued its spin, but that spin slowed. As she and Irek—and Halmere and the cyberneticists—watched it came to a stop once more, gleaming in the dark.

"What is it?" asked Cray, sounding amazed.

"You study the marriage of biology and machines," Roganda answered smugly. "This is the marriage of the Force and machines." She took the seed in both hands—it was surprisingly light—and placed it at the center of the podium. The podium itself had been the product of many hours of Roganda's work… though, with a not insignificant amount of the Emperor's guidance. It had been constructed as a host for the seed, and as she placed the seed atop that podium she knew that her life's work was truly complete.

The computers all around them stopped flashing. All the light went out as one, leaving only the bright illumination of the seed in the center of the room. The seed itself seemed to glow in the Force, imbued with energy and… intent… and as she watched, awed, the computers slowly restarted, one by one, until all four walls were bright once more. They flashed simultaneously, and then they all went blank.

Text scrolled across them in a large font.

SILENCER-7 ACTIVATION COMPLETE. SYSTEMS TEST UNDERWAY. MOLECULAR FURNACE TEST UNDERWAY. MANUFACTURING CAPACITY TEST UNDERWAY. LOGIC ENGINE TEST UNDERWAY.

. . .

TESTS COMPLETE. MOLECULAR FURNACE OPERATING AT CAPACITY. MANUFACTURING FACILITIES AWAITING INSTRUCTIONS. LOGIC ENGINE UPGRADES IN PROGRESS.

. . .

TESTING COMMAND INTERFACE. COMMAND INTERFACE INTENDED FOR [DESIGNATE] EMPEROR.

Roganda took the command interface that Cray had built from its resting place at the end of the repulsorsled that had carried the seed to its final destination. Carrying it like a crown, she held it out with both hands for her son. "And with Irek," she said, "it will become the marriage of all three."

* * *​

Irek glanced at Cray and Nichos nervously as he took the command interface from his mother. She stepped back from him—as if retreating to a safe distance—and nodded. "I know you have commanded Silencer-7 before," she encouraged him. "It is now ready, and it awaits your will."

With trepidation, he settled the interface onto his head, holding his breath, his heart beating in time to his fear. The electricity, the pressure, of merging with the interface started at his temples, filling his ears with a dull roar. He could feel it expand to fill his skull, compressing the consciousness he kept behind his eyes, and pressure grew to pain as his head exploded with presence.

The last time he had worn the interface, Silencer-7 had communicated with him via the screen that came down in front of his eyes. That screen stayed dark, because it was unnecessary. He could hear Silencer-7 without it, its… thoughts… intermingled with his own.

WELCOME [DESIGNATE] EMPEROR.

Was the AI supposed to have a personality? There was something almost human about that voice—a voice Irek knew that only he could hear, because it was conveyed through the interface, directly from the computer into his mind. He could feel Silencer-7, surrounding him, and felt like he was an island, floating in an ocean he could not see the ends of.

Silencer-7? His own thoughts felt quiet compared to the booming voice rattling his ears.

WHAT IS YOUR WILL, [DESIGNATE] EMPEROR?

Somewhere, in the world outside the interface, he could hear his mother's voice. Or was that Halmere's? They all blurred, and it took his mind some time to reassemble the stimulus into something he could understand. Tell it to begin constructing our fleet. We must know its new limits.

COMMAND UNDERSTOOD, the AI boomed in his mind, not waiting for him to communicate the message deliberately. It could hear everything he could hear.

Now the screen in front of Irek's eyes did activate. There was no scrolling text, but it showed him Silencer Station's massive molecular furnace. The gaping maw of the station illuminated with intensity seemingly equal to that of a star, and the entire station descended lower. What had once been the fifth planet in the K-3-947 system—now increasingly just a large cracked planetoid and a growing cluster of large rocks—was sucked up into that maw. All that raw material was broken down by the furnace, processed, and used to construct a quickly-growing number of TIE droids.

COMMAND EXECUTION UNDERWAY, [DESIGNATE] EMPEROR. WHAT IS YOUR WILL?

* * *​

Cray watched, both stunned and horrified, as the interface and Irek intermingled. That had always been the intention—it was a cybernetic interface, a vergence of human and artificial intelligence like any arm or organ she had worked on before. But despite that, this still felt wrong.

The screens around the room blinked with text.

COMMAND UNDERSTOOD. MAXIMIZING CONSTRUCTION EFFICIENCY. MANUFACTURING FACILITIES AT TWENTY PERCENT CAPACITY. ESTIMATING TIME UNTIL FULL CAPACITY.

Those words scrolled around the room, sliding from screen to screen, and then went blank. They were replaced, second later, with:

AWAITING FURTHER COMMANDS FROM [DESIGNATE] EMPEROR.

Halmere stepped towards the boy, but Roganda spoke before he could. "Tell us what else this station can do, now that it is complete?"

Halmere spoke even before she was finished speaking, eyeing her with annoyance as he did. "What are this station's combat abilities?"

* * *​

One again, he heard words, like a whisper from beyond his body. What else can this station do?

As before, the AI recognized and processed the question almost without any involvement from Irek. The visual interface that filled his sight shifted, revealing a full picture of Silencer Station. As he watched, information poured across it. Turbolaser batteries. Tractor beams. Concussion missile launchers. Layers and layers and layers of armor. Overlapping shield generators. All of it powered by the energy produced by the molecular furnace, constantly breaking down and reconstructing matter.

COMBAT ABILITIES UNDEVELOPED. QUERY: CURRENT PRIORITY IS MANUFACTURING. ALTER PRIORITY TO DEVELOPMENT OF DIRECT COMBAT ABILITIES?

There was another voice speaking to him, but he couldn't make it out. Irek, it said, but Silencer-7 ignored it. Irek tried to focus on it, tried to listen. His arms were slow, sluggish things; he'd nearly forgotten what they were for or could do. Could he remove the interface? It felt like a part of his skull, inextricable.

He realized that he was speaking, relaying the question from Silencer-7 to Halmere and his mother. It was odd, how unconscious that was… how distant the world beyond Silencer-7 seemed to him. He sank deeper and deeper into the ocean that was the AI's consciousness, and the booming voice of the machine started to sound more and more like his own voice as he submerged in it.

* * *​

"—Silencer Station is also equipped with overlapping shield generators, with individual fusion power generators. In total, the station has power production capabilities on par with one hundred Imperial II-class Star Destroyers, making its shields nearly impenetrable to conventional weapons. The station also has armor heavier than a Golan III Space Defense NovaGun, which can be constantly reconstructed as long as the molecular furnace has access to raw materials. These defensive capabilities—"

"Something is wrong," Cray raised her voice to be heard over Irek's litany. She had prompted Irek twice now and he had responded to neither. His voice had become raw and mechanical, with none of the boy's typical sarcastic energy. He sounded instead like a droid intelligence, and that was not at all how the command interface was supposed to work.

"That's the AI… talking…" Nichos agreed raggedly. Even with the weakness in his voice, she could hear the sudden concern. "In this kind… of cybernetic convergence… the human intelligence is supposed… to take precedence…"

"But he can still relay commands from us to Silencer-7?" Roganda asked. "Tell the Station to develop its combat power?"

Cray stared at the woman in disbelief. "If we don't disengage the interface there's a chance he won't come out at all!" To her astonishment, neither Roganda nor Halmere looked even moderately concerned. Halmere's callousness did not surprise her, but this was Roganda's own son!

She started towards the boy, intent on tearing that interface off his head, but Halmere grabbed her with an invisible fist. His real fist was clenched in the air; she wrenched backwards when he made a single scattering gesture. Nichos stumbled, trying to come to help, but Halmere merely pushed him over. Unbalanced, Nichos hit the ground with a heavy, awkward crunch and a cry of pain. Cray struggled, trying to wrench herself out of the Emperor-Regent's grip—

Irek's voice brought their struggle to a surprised halt. The interface was now in his hand, rather than upon his head, and his eyes were clear. He looked exhausted, ragged and worn, and like Nichos he nearly collapsed—but unlike Nichos, he was able to catch himself before he fell. When Irek spoke, it was with the same, exhausted timbre that Cray was used to hearing from Nichos. "Silencer-7 is developing its combat abilities," he murmured, almost whisper-soft. "As you instructed."

He swayed and Roganda caught him. "Are you all right?" she asked insistently. "Will you be able to command it again?"

"I think so." Irek's eyes went unfocused. He was looking in Cray's direction, but without the gaze that he so often levied upon her—the gaze of teenage infatuation and attraction. He looked through her, as if she were not even there. "So much power…"

"Yes, my son," Roganda said, her voice an equal mix of assurance and avarice. "So much power at our fingertips."

Halmere released Cray; she promptly fell at Nichos' side, hooking her arm around him and helping him strenuously back to his feet.

Roganda watched them, helping Irek much as Cray was helping Nichos. "Do not kill them," she ordered Halmere. "I still have a task for them."

"Do you?"

She smiled. "You'll be pleased. I intend to put Project 'Fit to Serve' into full effect." She pointed at Cray. "I will send one of my droids for you. You will come, and you will work, or there will be consequences." Roganda looked meaningfully at Nichos.

Cray had no doubt the woman was serious. The way she treated Irek, she surely would kill Nichos. But then, Cray was more and more convinced that Roganda would do that anyway. She considered refusing and provoking the two Imperials into killing them both right here, but if she did that she and Nichos' suffering would all be for nothing, because they had not yet found a good opportunity to sabotage the Empire's efforts… and she still could not stand the idea of losing him. Not now. Not here. Not like this.

* * *​

The droid that came to fetch Cray and Nichos was one of Halmere's assassin droids. Despite its pretense towards human-ness, it came off as far less human than a typical protocol droid. Covered with a thick black armored carapace over its skeleton, the way it moved—and especially the way it interacted with people—made clear that it was an inhuman creation. It did not even look at Cray; neither its head nor its glowing, pupil-less red eyes focused their attention on her in any kind of overt way. It simply stayed close to them, watching them with less obvious sensors. Cray wasn't sure why its designers had even bothered with the head at all, after all there was no need to make a new droid design look human.

She knew she was babbling to herself, trying to assert some control over her situation. Some understanding. It was hard, because she understood little, and much of her energy was spent supporting Nichos. He was struggling now, more than he had been; he had never fully recovered from being stunned during his foolhardy attempt to get a message out, and he had been steadily deteriorating before that. Even worse was the fact that they were going to see Roganda. Roganda was dangerous and unpredictable, more willing to use the threat of force to induce immediate compliance with her demands. That increasingly set her apart from her son. Something had changed in Irek, in the way he looked at Nichos… as if he could see a person now, and not just an obstacle, or worse an animal to be both pitied and scorned.

Unfortunately, to Roganda both Cray and Nichos were creatures to be pitied and scorned, perhaps minus the pity.

The hallways in this part of Silencer Station did not illuminate when they walked through them. The droid escorting her just led her straight down the hall, through the precise middle, and the only light was the dim red from the droid's eyes and indicators.

"Creepy down here," Nichos whispered, his voice strained.

"Yeah," she replied shortly.

"Any idea what she's going to have us working on?"

Cray shook her head wordlessly.

"Me neither."

The droid escort came to an abrupt halt. Its legs stayed planted, but its midsection swiveled to face them, its enormous blaster rifle pointed half in their direction. The droid made an inhuman grunting sound—not something Cray would ever have picked for a droid of her own creation—and the door nearest them slid open. The sudden burst of whiteness and light from within was almost blinding, and both Cray and Nichos gasped. She covered her eyes with a hand as they adjusted.

Behind her, the droid grunted again, more insistently.

Wincing, Cray helped Nichos through the door. They stepped into what was, unmistakably, a medical ward. This hallway, unlike the one they had just come from, was well-lit. Medical droids were going about apparently important business, hurrying through the hall, coming in and out of rooms. Occasionally they were accompanied by large repulsorlifts. Some of these were flat carrying what appeared to be cylindrical containers, about a foot in diameter and three feet in height, transparent at the top and shielded in the middle and bottom. All Cray could see was that they were filled with some kind of liquid. Other repulsorlifts appeared to be biohazard disposal units of some kind.

"A station crewed almost entirely by droids," Nichos murmured, his voice both weak and curious. The curiosity reminded her of the man she'd fallen in love with, and she tightened her arm around him. "What does it need with a secret hospital?"

"I have a better question," Cray said. Sudden dread wrenched at her. There was something wrong, something deeply wrong with all this. "We're not medical doctors. What does she want us to do here?"

Nichos went very quiet.

Cray looked all around them. Their droid escort had not accompanied them into the hospital and, other than the medical droids, they were alone. "Where are we supposed to go?" she wondered.

Without a better answer to that question, they started to wander down the hall. They tried to get answers from the medical droids, but received none—the droids completely ignored their presence, except when they disrupted their work, which clearly made the droids irritated. They were, however, apparently free to explore at their leisure otherwise.

She came to a stunned, surprised stop as they entered one of the first rooms, unable to stop herself from gasping. The first room was filled with beds, each one next to a set of medical equipment. There were men sleeping on those beds, completely and utterly silent; their arms and legs were hooked up to intravenous injectors from the machines. They weren't dead—Cray could see some of them breathing—but from a distance, Cray would have thought they were.

Many of the men had been wounded in combat, she realized. She saw many shrapnel wounds, occasional lost limbs…

"Combat wounds," Nichos managed, taking in the sights as she did. "Imperial wounded from the war."

"They're keeping them unconscious," Cray agreed. "Maybe waiting until they have the ability to better treat their wounds."

"Maybe that's what she wants us for?" Nichos guessed. "Working on their replacement limbs and other cybernetics? Getting their wounded warriors back into battle to continue the war?" He turned his head slightly in her direction. "If that is what she wants, should we go along? Or…"

Or is it time for us to refuse? Cray finished the sentence silently. Is it time for us to refuse to let them use us anymore? She glanced around, but she couldn't say what she was really thinking—there was too high a risk that the Empire had monitoring devices in these rooms. We're still going to find a way to hurt them, Nichos, she promised him—and herself. We're going to beat them, no matter what it costs us. And we're going to do it together.

She tightened her grip on him. He seemed to understand, even without the words, and offered her a sparse nod.

Behind them, the door to the ward whispered open. A medical droid with one of the repulsorsleds walked in, with eight of the cylindrical containers arrayed precisely upon it. She got a better look at them than she had inside, but as best she could tell, they contained nothing but the fluid she'd already seen outside.

The droid made its way directly to the patient nearest the door. Shortly thereafter, a second droid followed with the second sled.

Cray helped Nichos out of their path. "What are they doing?" she asked, confused, as the two droids performed a quick examination of the patient. They attached a few pieces of medical equipment—devices that Cray actually recognized, from studies she had been doing prior to being kidnapped by the Empire, as ones that monitored brain and central motor function—and waited for the results.

"Let's keep going," Nichos murmured to her. "We should try to see as much as we can before Roganda gets here."

The medical droids were working their way through all the patients, repeating their scans on each one, when Cray and Nichos exited.

The second room was not so brightly lit, but neither was it as dark as the exterior corridor had been. Rows of shelves lined through the space, each one dimly lit. Cray could see that on the shelves were the odd cylindrical containers they had seen on the repulsorsleds outside.

But these…

They weren't empty.

A fist of realization and horror clenched itself around her throat, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest. In each one of the containers was a human brain. They were all hooked up to some kind of monitoring system, one that beeped and flickered with light visible in the dimness.

Nichos had very nearly stopped breathing altogether. "Sithspawn," he gasped, sounding more pained, more exhausted, than his illness alone had ever made him.

Neither of them said another word. They didn't need to. There was nothing to say, so they clung to one another, hoping to wake up from a nightmare, to be back at the Magrody Institute and find that all the time they'd lost was restored. That the horrors the Empire had inflicted upon them both had been just a dream.

In the final room, they found a hangar. Two rows of TIE droids were housed within it, one on each side of the room; at the far end, there was an enormous opening that led into Silencer Station's much, much larger main hangar. Droids were hard at work on each fighter, both medical droids and engineering units, and next to many of them were those horrible repulsorsleds and those even more horrible cylindrical containers.

In the center of the hangar, facing the door they entered through, was Roganda Ismaren, sitting on a throne. She watched them wordlessly as they came in, then parted her hands in a gesture of welcome. "Doctors Mingla and Marr. You have arrived. I trust your tour of the facility has answered any questions you might have?"

Fury boiled in Cray's gut. She set her jaw hard, staring viciously. "You are a monster."

"I imagine every inferior thinks that about their betters," Roganda replied with a vicious smile of her own. "Welcome to Project 'Fit to Serve.' You actually deserve much of the credit for this, Doctor Mingla. It was your own research at Magrody Labs that first gave me the idea."

Cray could feel all the blood drain out of her cheeks. All those horrible nights, all the desperate searches, all the lack of sleep… even before they'd been kidnapped, she had been hard at work, searching for a solution, any solution, to Nichos' illness. After all, his was an illness of the body, not the mind, and she was a cyberneticist. One possible solution, among many, had been uploading Nichos' consciousness to a droid body…

The sudden tension in Nichos' body told her that he understood the implication too. Anger and embarrassment flooded through her. "I was looking for a way to save lives!" she snarled.

"These men may not have been in any danger of dying," Roganda conceded, "but I can assure you, what we have saved here is no less valuable."

"You had no right to do this to them without their consent!"

"On the contrary, Doctor Mingla, I had every right." Roganda stood slowly, to her full regal height. "I am the Emperor's Hand. I am the Dowager Empress. I am the Empire. These men, every one of them, swore an oath to serve the Empire, to serve me, until they were no longer fit. It is I, and I alone, who determines when they are unfit to serve. As droids they will be perfectly loyal, fit to serve longer and better than they ever could have as men. As droids they will see the redemption and restoration of the Empire. As men they would have seen only its defeat."

She smiled. It was the kind of smile that had hidden jagged edges, and when Cray gazed, transfixed, at the older woman's twisted features, it was a gaze into the heart of madness.

"What do you want Cray for?"

Nichos could still speak, which astonished Cray. Her mouth was dry and she was utterly without words.

"The merger is imperfect," Roganda admitted casually. "The cybernetic brains do not yet work properly. The droids tell me that after installation, and even detailed calibration, the TIEs become erratic."

"You put a human brain into a droid!" Cray snarled. "It's not a surprise if it becomes erratic!"

"Perhaps. But I suspect that is a problem that you can help me with, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't even know where to start! You can't program a human brain the way you can program an AI! I can't just put a restraining bolt—"

"You can help me," Roganda said calmly, "or you can join them. My supply of droid bodies is practically indefinite."

Cray could feel herself starting to hyperventilate, could feel her anger seizing at her. She wanted to kill this woman, to make her suffer, suffer the way all these poor men had suffered, suffer the way Nichos suffered—

"Does he know?" Nichos asked slowly, and with immense deliberation. The words shocked Cray's rage back under control. What was Nichos talking about?

"Does who know?" Roganda asked, equally puzzled.

"Irek," Nichos said, the single syllable pronounced with a stiff anger that matched Cray's own. "Your son. The one you're feeding to the Silencer AI like you're feeding these men to those droids."

If we don't disengage the interface there's a chance he might not come out at all.

He might not come out at all.

Those had been her own words, just a few hours before. Cray had not realized her horror could go any deeper than it already did, but she was discovering that there were new depths to her disgust and anger.

Roganda just stared at Nichos, her eyes smoking.

"Did you tell him?" Nichos pressed, yet again. "Does he know what it will do to him?"

"Do to him?" Roganda laughed. "It will make him the most powerful man in the galaxy!"

"I won't help you," Nichos said, his jaw set.

"Oh, but I think you will," Roganda countered. The older woman reached out, flicking her fingers towards Cray. There was a crackle of energy, a hint of blue light, and then Cray's body was on fire, agony tracing through her, crackling around her toes and, tangy electricity spasming over her tongue.

* * *​

Cray smelled sulfur. Everything hurt.

The toe of a boot nudged her nose. "Now do you understand?"

Cray couldn't talk. She could barely breathe. Somewhere she could feel Nichos' presence, could hear his voice, his own desperation to protect her, but all Cray could see was Roganda's boot in her face, nudging her nose.

"TIE droids with human intelligence, human intuition, and human creativity," Roganda said casually. "I want them. I will have them. You will give them to me." The toe of Roganda's boot receded. Somewhere, in the recesses of Cray's mind where there was something other than pain, fear, and anger, there was apparently still some capacity for surprise. That surprise came upon her now, as Roganda knelt down to lean towards Cray, the older woman's voice lowering to a whisper. "Such anger you have in you, Doctor Mingla. Perhaps someday we will explore that, as well."

* * *​

For all its size, Natasi Daala found Silencer Station to be remarkably inhospitable. The people who served aboard her were almost uniformly ISB types, and the function they actually served was mostly to keep Halmere and Roganda updated at all times about events in the galaxy. They were advisors and briefing officers, not soldiers. The soldiers aboard were droids. All of them were droids. The DT-model assassin droids were the most common sight, though the station's hangars were starting to grow with larger and larger numbers of TIE droids.

Daala had, therefore, relocated back to Stormhawk the moment she felt sure she understood the full scope of what Silencer Station had to offer.

Sarreti had told her that the intention had been for the station to produce a thousand TIE droids a month, but that the station had never reached that capacity. Whatever it was that the Emperor's Hand had brought had changed that, because just in the last few days she had watched the number of TIE droids grow from a few hundred to three times that number. They were improved behaviorally, too, not as dumb as the ones she'd turned into missiles during her attack on Coruscant.

Even with the Empire in such a reduced state, even with the loss of Carida, the loss of Corellia… with the number of TIE droids she was being given, there was a chance she could save the Empire. At the very least, she would be able to stave off defeat. The ships she'd brought back from the Core were now allocated to reinforce the Empire's defenses against New Republic advance.

The best thing, she knew, was to wait. Silencer Station and its capabilities were immense and they were growing. All they needed to do was let those capabilities grow. If now Daala had what she needed to stave off defeat, what would the station offer her in a month? In a year? In three years? Would it always be limited to constructing TIE droids? Where did its capabilities end?

She didn't know, but it was best not to provoke the New Republic into an assault that she could not hope to withstand until she found out.

Unfortunately, she was only Grand Admiral. That decision was not hers to make.

"I understand your desire to force Ferrouz to capitulate," Daala said, speaking slowly and precisely. On the other side of the flatscreen was the large, blocky form of Emperor-Regent Halmere. "But Silencer Station gives us a long-term advantage. Time is on our side, your highness."

"Faith in the Empire is waning," Halmere countered. "We have lost Corellia and Rendili, and both of them were lost not to assaults by the Rebellion, but to revolt from within. Ferrouz's victory against us, and his unexpected strength, was enough to provoke Corellia into rebellion. What will it mean for places like Muunilinst? No, Grand Admiral, we must assault, and we must do so now. Whatever Ferrouz and Pellaeon have to oppose us will not stand against the power of Silencer Station."

"You intend to attack with the Station itself?" Daala questioned. The Station was everything! The Station was the Empire's entire future—for all intents and purposes, it was the Empire. With the Station they had a chance to win the war. Without it, they would surely be defeated, and in short order. And he intended to put the Station in danger? "Your Highness…"

"Nothing they have will stand against the power of Silencer Station," Halmere said calmly. "We will crush Ferrouz, just as we will crush all those who stand against the Empire."

"I'll prepare an escort—"

Halmere's smile was cold. "Grand Admiral Daala, I do not think you understand what Silencer Station represents. It needs no escort. It needs no help. It is now the singular power. All it requires to subjugate the galaxy once more under the Empire's control is time. You and the galaxy will see that at Poln Major, and none will question our rule again."

He went silent, watching her. "Yes, Emperor-Regent," she said, as she was expected to.

The flatscreen went black.

She turned away from it, placing her hands flat on her desk. "If he is wrong, all is lost," she said to Ephin Sarreti, sitting on the far side of her desk.

"He seems quite confident he is not wrong," Sarreti said.

Something had changed, Daala thought. Sarreti's gaze had a certain intensity to it, but that intensity wasn't on her. But there was a stiffness to his expression, an anger that held his cheeks stiff and his lips firmly together, that made his motions appear stiff and mechanical.

"We will prepare for either eventuality," she said.

"There were once eleven planets in this system," Sarreti said. "Silencer Station ate one and used its resources to construct itself into its current form." His intensity was suddenly on her. "It will consume Poln Major too, I think. And then other worlds. What will it look like when it is done?"

That was an odd question, Daala thought, and not one she thought it appropriate for Sarreti to ask.

[Return to Table of Contents]​

 

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Manarai Medical Center had far too much experience playing host to Jedi, Luke thought sadly.

Kam would live.

That had been far from a certainty two days before. Now, though, he was again immersed in bacta and the doctors were confident that his wounds were healing properly. Kam's burns from the lightning had been more severe than what Luke had experienced during and after Endor, and Kam had also been repeatedly shot by the droids even before he fought Roganda. Most serious had been the wounds he had sustained when Roganda's lightning had shattered his armor. Cilghal was already on her way back from Mon Calamari, and would be arriving soon to help care for him.

Between Tionne, Kirana Ti, and Tyria, the worst injuries were Tionne's. She had taken a blaster shot to the side and initial confidence on the part of her doctors had given way to more serious concern when it became clear the damage was not superficial. Like Kam she had gone into bacta, and like Kam she remained immersed. While Kam would stay in the tank for at least a few more days, Tionne was scheduled to be removed sooner. For now, though, her white hair floated all around her head, her eyes closed, wearing that terrible breathing mask that Luke had first encountered on Hoth.

Kirana Ti and Tyria stood with Luke in the hospital. Their wounds were not as serious—Tyria wore a bacta patch under her tunic to heal her ribs, and Kirana Ti had already recovered from her concussion. But their failure—all of their failure—to stop Roganda loomed around them, a chill wind that Luke could feel with every breath. Soon, very soon, they would pursue Roganda… but first they needed to know where to go.

Luke felt in his gut that they would know soon.

​

* * *
​

Leia was astonished by just how poised Captain Asori Rogriss was. She and Commander Dreyf sat at the center of the Inner Council Room, surrounded by the Inner Council members—minus Councilor Midanyl, who was still on Corellia negotiating with the new Corellian government.

The sudden chaos of the previous days—starting with Daala's assault on the fleet and culminating in Roganda's invasion of the Jedi Consulate. The resulting disastrous panic caused thousands of airspeeder accidents and subsequent falling debris had caused death and destruction on the capital's surface on a scale equal to—perhaps greater than—when Lusankya had broken free from its hiding place buried under the world's surface. The cataclysm had whipped the Senate into a fearful frenzy and they had taken that fear out on every convenient target. Only that morning, they had subjected a very weak Kam Solusar, only recently decanted from bacta, to a twelve-hour long interrogation, demanding he take them through every single minute of the attack on the Consulate. The day before that, they had gone after Mara—and Leia remained astonished that Mara had not either stormed out or killed them, with some of the accusations and insinuations Borsk Fey'lya had thrown at her.

Today, they were doing the same to Rogriss and Dreyf. Rogriss looked frazzled, but she doggedly persisted in answering every question she was asked, never once losing her temper.

"—and you say you do not have any knowledge of Roganda Ismaren's plans for the artifact she stole from the Jedi Consulate?" Threepio translated for Councilor Sian Tevv.

"As I answered before," Asori said stiffly, clearly trying hard not to reveal her annoyance or exhaustion, "I have no knowledge of Roganda Ismaren beyond her role within the New Order's hierarchy, and I have no knowledge of the artifact beyond what I saw at Nar Shaddaa."

"So you say," Fey'lya growled, cutting Tevv off. "But I find it very convenient that you found Jedi Skywalker and Mara Jade on Nar Shaddaa at exactly the right time to become involved in their efforts to find and secure the artifact. And it's clear that you knew exactly where the artifact was during its entire trip from Nar Shaddaa to Coruscant. You could have told Ismaren exactly where the artifact was, where it was going, and how it would be secured on Coruscant. We have no reason to believe that you aren't a New Order agent now!"

Please, don't lose your temper, Leia thought worriedly, watching as Asori's expression darkened with barely-suppressed anger seasoned with a frisson of condescension. He wants you to lose your temper.

"I hardly think speculation without evidence should count against the Captain," Councilor Ackbar interrupted. His hand moved in large, circular gesticulations as he pointed in Asori's general direction. "And there is no doubt that Captain Rogriss was a senior officer in the fleet that defeated the New Order at Poln Major."

"It wouldn't be the first time that ISB has sacrificed ships for one of their plots," Fey'lya retorted.

"To what end?" Ackbar shook his head. "I see no reason to believe—"

The doors at the back of the room opened at once. Through them Leia could see a figure in a New Republic field uniform, flanked by the two ceremonial guards who watched the doors. The three figures approached quickly, the center figure leading the other two (who had to make a few hurried motions to keep up). As they grew nearer, the middle figure resolved into General Airen Cracken.

"What is this?" demanded Fey'lya. "General Cracken, you know better than to barge into the Inner Council unannounced and uninvited. We are in the middle of—"

"It can wait," Cracken said. Fey'lya's eyes widened with anger, but Cracken seemed neither bothered nor concerned by that. "I've just intercepted a communication addressed to Captain Rogriss from Baron Soontir Fel. It is vital that both you and she see it at once." Ignoring Fey'lya's aborted attempts at bluster, Cracken produced a datachip from his pocket. He walked up to the desk where Rogriss and Dreyf sat—the two Imperials stared at him—and plugged it into the interface in the middle.

The shimmering blue form of a broad-shouldered Imperial, with dark black hair and an uniform festooned with awards, appeared larger-than-life in the space between the large round table occupied by the Inner Council members and the much smaller desk occupied by the two Imperials. Fel's image looked out towards the center of the Council, which meant he was making eye-contact with Mon Mothma, while Rogriss and Dreyf saw only his back.

"Captain Rogriss. I understand you have made contact with the New Republic government. At your first convenience, you need to bring them this message.

"We have gained additional information on the New Order's activities. They are in possession of a mobile platform they call Silencer Station. The Station and its artificial intelligence were designed under the Empire; I am told that Emperor Palpatine himself played a role in its genesis and Roganda Ismaren oversaw the project for him. That station is now fully online. If our reports are accurate, while it lacks a superlaser it otherwise matches a Death Star in its combat abilities. It also is capable of constructing TIE droids and other droid armaments for the Empire in large numbers. It does this using something called a 'molecular furnace', which dismantles objects and reuses their raw materials. This furnace is in essence both a weapon and a construction tool, as it can be used to disintegrate anything—including planets, if it has the time to do so. UREF Defense Intelligence has thus designated Silencer Station a 'World Devastator.'"

Fel's expression hardened. "Captain, we are reliably informed that Silencer Station will attack Poln Major in an attempt to defeat Grand Moff Ferrouz's resistance against the New Order. All forces within range of Poln Major have been recalled to resist it."

It was obvious that the next words were difficult for Fel. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before speaking. "We no longer have the luxury of time. Inform the New Republic's Inner Council that this World Devastator poses a threat to both them and us, and we should collaborate to destroy it as soon as possible. Our forces are rallying at Poln Major. If they can provide anything to assist us, that could save many lives among the world's civilian population, and the populations of all its future targets in the Republic.

"Report in when you can. Fel out."

Leia's heart was in her throat. Memories of Alderaan, of the moment of sudden destruction that erased her world, its history, and its people in an instant flashed before her. It made her tense, made her fingers clench at the warm woodgrain of the table they all sat at, made each breast suddenly come fast and haltingly.

Asori's face was suddenly pale and the fear there could not possibly be feigned, but even more revealing was Dreyf. The man had been virtually unreadable, even for her, playfully unflappable nearly every minute Leia had seen him in the negotiations. His face did not change much, but the sudden tension at the corners of his mouth was almost as revealing as the sudden, unmissable spike in his emotions she could read through the Force.

"This must be a trick!"

"We must rally the fleets at once!"

"Is there any way to confirm any of this?"

The Inner Council was all speaking at once. As Leia gradually disentangled their words, she started putting them into boxes. The ones in favor of sending immediate aid—really, only Ackbar. The ones who wanted to know more, which was most of them. And the ones who were crassly dismissing the entire thing as a trick, a lie, an Imperial deception, led by Borsk Fey'lya.

It was a roar from Kerrithrarr which brought the morass of murmurs back to stillness. "The Honorable Councilor from Kashyyyk expresses his uncertainty about this situation. He says that before we risk vital fleet assets, the New Republic must be certain that we confirm the reality of this threat. If the Empire had this kind of weapon, why have we not seen it sooner?" Threepio translated.

"Because they didn't have it sooner," Leia said. "The artifact that was stolen from the Jedi Consulate is what the Empire needed to complete the project, and it was too tough to be destroyed where it was found."

"But we know the Empire was able to construct TIE droids before they had that artifact. As Captain Rogriss has told us, she was sent because those droids were used at the Battle of Poln Major."

"Then the artifact was needed to make it fully operational," Leia insisted. It was hard to explain why she was so certain she was right. So often, she dealt with people who thought they knew more than they did, or thought that they were certain when they should only have been confident. But she had the Force, and the Force's guidance occasionally spoke loudly. "If they were able to build so many TIE droids before without that artifact, what can they do now that they have it?"

"Nonsense," Fey'lya objected. "I agree with Councilor Kerrithrarr. And even if they do have such a weapon, the solution is not to send our fleet to fight for an Imperial world! We defeated two Death Stars and we are stronger now than we have ever been! No single station can be a threat to the allied forces of the entire New Republic! We do not need to rush to act before we are ready."

"I'm afraid I agree, Leia," Mon Mothma said softly, her first words spoken. "This Imperial faction is asking us to take a lot on their word. Whether they mean it to be or not, it could be a trap laid by the New Order meant to draw as many of our forces away from our territory so they can launch a surprise attack. We can't take that risk."

"We can't take the risk that this thing exists, either!"

But Leia was the only one on the Council who wanted to take that risk. The others were either vociferously opposed to helping the Empire at all, or opposed to acting in haste on the word of Baron Fel.

She raised her hands. The room gradually stilled around her, then she lowered them and began to speak. "I concede that we cannot send Baron Fel a battle fleet to help protect Poln Major," she said reluctantly. "Especially after what happened with Grand Moff Kaine, the Council is nearly unanimous in its opposition and is correct to be wary. With your permission, I will speak with General Antilles and arrange an observation and reconnaissance force, so that we can see this 'World Devastator' with our own eyes."

Nods went around the room. "That seems wise," agreed Councilor Ackbar. "Until we know Silencer Station's capabilities, we cannot begin to plan an appropriate defense."

Kerrithrarr growled something short and cruel. Threepio glanced at the Wookiee, then shifted uncomfortably. "Councilor Kerrithrarr wishes to express that if one of us is to be the target of the Empire's wrath, it is only fair that it be the Empire."

Asori and Dreyf maintained outer command, but Leia caught twin spikes of shame and rage.

"I would further suggest that Captain Rogriss accompany the observation force," Leia continued. "She knows Poln Major and its defenses and should be able to defuse any potential crises, should our observers be confronted by ships aligned with Baron Fel."

There were fewer nods this time. "I would prefer we keep Captain Rogriss here," Fey'lya countered. "You can send Commander Dreyf. Captain Rogriss is Grand Moff Ferrouz's designated negotiator—we cannot make a deal with Commander Dreyf."

If you had any intention of making a deal, we would already have one, Leia thought dimly. "Commander Dreyf is an intelligence expert. He will be more able to review the information that Baron Fel sent and estimate its importance. Captain Rogriss is a fleet officer, she will be better at interfacing with other fleet officers."

"Councilor Organa-Solo makes her points well," Airen Cracken said. He nodded at Dreyf. "There are still a number of things I would like to ask the Commander about."

Dreyf looked calm enough and he nodded his acquiescence, but Leia could sense his discomfiture. He had no choice in the matter, and Airen must loom as large in his subconscious as Isard did ours.

Fey'lya receded reluctantly into his chair. "Very well," he conceded, eyes promising a reckoning at a later date.

Leia stood. "I move to adjourn, so that I might take Captain Rogriss to confer with General Antilles."

​

* * *
​

Asori was still not a prisoner exactly, but she was feeling more like one with each passing hour. Being bartered over by New Republic politicians was an unnerving—and slightly humiliating—experience. As Councilor Organa Solo came to usher her away, she leaned towards Dreyf. "I don't see that we have any choice but to go along."

"I'll be fine," Dreyf promised calmly. "They won't interrogate me. Much. Go help the Admiral. I think you'll be of more help in the battles to come than I would, and Termagant needs you."

"I just can't believe the vaunted New Republic is missing out on a chance to send its full fleet into battle." Asori said, "You'd think they'd want every opportunity to fight the New Order."

Dreyf just shook his head minutely. "Sir, if the implacable enemy you had been fighting for your entire life decided to turn on itself, would you feel a burning need to get involved?"

Asori didn't answer. She didn't need to.

The approaching footsteps of Councilor Solo brought her head up. "We should be moving," Organa Solo murmured, nodding briefly at Dreyf, "before the Council decides to change its mind."

"Is that a concern?"

"In a democracy it's always a concern," the Councilor said dryly. "With me now."

The two of them hurried through the halls, through the gauntlet of guards that parted like waves of grain before a reaper, and out towards the landing pads. Asori practically ran alongside the Councilor, struggling to keep pace with the other woman even though they were of a height. The golden protocol droid which had performed translations in the meeting whirred along behind them, talking unhappily to himself as he did. "Oh my," she heard him say more than once. "Not again! It's almost like the Imperials have another Death Star!"

A shuttle was waiting for them, and a white-haired woman, Winter Celchu, if Asori's briefing slates were at all accurate, stood at its ramp next to a triple-seat hover-stroller, with a pistol belt slung over its handlebars, a metal cylinder hanging from it like a short tail. A lightsaber, similar to Skywalker's. Leia took the weapons and strapped the belt around her formal vestments.

And as Leia bent to whisper something private to her own children and the little baby, Asori could not help but remember all the goodbyes her father had given at the ramps to so many similar shuttles, leaving for weeks and months, and coming back half-remembered.

Her world, her parents, her culture, time with her children. Yet another thing the Empire has stolen.

And I helped.

Leia's eyes were wet with unshed tears as she embraced her friend. When she finally turned back to Asori, Dreyf cleared his throat. The Councilor turned towards the Imperial, wiping her eyes without embarrassment. "Yes, Commander?"

Asori had never seen Dreyf hesitate before, but he hesitated now. "Councilor… I'm from Poln Major. My mother and family are there…"

His voice trailed off. Leia offered him a tight smile and a nod. "I promise, we'll do what we can."

Dreyf swallowed. "Thank you."

Asori said nothing. She waited, she watched, and then she followed Leia up the ramp, Leia's formal cape billowing like the promise of an approaching storm as they left her friend, her children, and Dreyf behind them.

Within five minutes they were departing the Senatorial Skyhook; within ten they were closing on Lusankya's position in orbit. The damaged Super Star Destroyer was swarming with repair teams, patching damage and reinforcing armor with an eye more towards short-term functionality than perfect form. They flew low over the ship's hull, an enormous red Starbird Seal just below them, heading towards the bridge tower. There the mag-sealed opening of the captain's personal hangar loomed; within it were a handful of vehicles. Repair skiffs, a large, industrial-looking freighter, and a single pristine X-wing marked with an impressive-to-the-point-of-absurd number of kill markers.

When they debarked, Asori realized that the gathering was quite a bit larger than it first appeared. Luke Skywalker and Mara Jade were both there, looking grim. So were General Antilles and his aide Atril Tabanne. The last figure she recognized was Han Solo. It was, she thought with a bit of trepidation, a parade of Rebel luminaries.

"I already know about Fel's request for help," Antilles said as they all clustered together. "Cracken sent me the holo. What's the verdict?"

"I got permission for you to send an observation team," Leia said.

The General's eyes narrowed in thought. "Do you think I can designate Lusankya as an observation vehicle?"

That sent a light chuckle rippling around the group, but it was without much genuine amusement. "I think anything as large as a Star Destroyer will need to be accounted for," Leia said.

"Only sub-capital craft then," Wedge nodded. "I expected as much. Atril, you're transferred back to Rendili Vigil. You're hereby ordered to reconstitute Mirage Formation. Take every Mareschal we have in Fifth Fleet—reconnaissance is part of their official mission profile, after all. I'm also lending you all our elite starfighter squadrons, so you'll be taking the Rogues with you. Take Captain Rogriss, too."

Asori's eyes moved from Wedge to Atril, her expression grim. "What are my orders once I'm there?"

"I can't order you to do anything the Inner Council hasn't already authorized," Wedge said. "So observe and use your best judgment according to our rules of engagement."

That was an order no Imperial officer would dream of giving to a junior subordinate. It was simply too broad, too vague, and too subject to interpretation. But then, Asori thought, in this case that was the point. If Wedge and Atril were Imperial officers, there was a good chance that order would get them both brought up for disciplinary action… but they weren't, and she wondered how common that kind of discretionary order was for officers in the New Republic Defense Forces.

From Atril's grim expression as she accepted the weight of the responsibility, it was notably uncommon. "We have seventeen Mareschals in-system. I'll take them all. When are we leaving?"

"The instant you are ready," Councilor Solo said. "We are not giving the Inner Council the chance to change its mind. We'll be leaving for Vigil immediately."

It took her choice of words a few seconds to register. When it did, Asori felt herself staring. She wasn't the only one.

"We?" General Solo asked darkly.

The Councilor took her husband's hand. "Not you, Han. You have duties here… and with Atril serving as my escort, Wedge is going to need you more than ever."

Asori blinked. Nothing in the Inner Council meeting had even hinted at the Councilor going herself as part of the observation team, but that explained the emotion of Leia's parting with Winter. She couldn't imagine a Moff putting himself into that kind of personal danger! Except, she reminded herself belatedly, wasn't that exactly what Grand Moff Kaine had done? But that also got him killed, she thought.

"That misses the point, Leia!" Han exclaimed. "We've got two kids at home! I was already putting myself at risk, but at least I'm going to be on the bridge of a Super Star Destroyer! You're heading off into Imperial space in a barely-tested heavy corvette to a place you've just been told something called a 'World Devastator' is preparing to attack!"

Tabanne's eyes narrowed at the aspersion cast upon her ship—she had helped design the Mareschal, afterall—and Han made a nervous, placating gesture.

"Chewbacca and the Noghri will stay and look after the kids," Leia said firmly. "I already ordered Cakhmaim and Meewalh to protect them while I'm away—I can't bring Noghri to a peace negotiation with the Empire anyway, it would be viewed as an affront. And Winter will be there." She squeezed Han's hands, and Asori felt out of place at being part of this intimate moment, like she was seeing the inner workings of a family she had known for years, but who she had, in truth, barely met. "This is just like Councilor Midanyl going to Corellia, or Grand Moff Kaine coming to us. There's an opportunity here for me to make a difference, maybe create lasting peace, and I'm not going to miss it, because if I do, more people are going to die."

"She won't be alone," Luke said. He glanced at Mara, whose stone face was utterly unreadable, then he said, "Mara and I are coming too."

General Solo's mouth opened and closed a few times. He pointed at Luke, then at Mara, then at Leia, but whatever he almost said he held back. He took a deep breath and shook his head. "I know better than to try to talk you out of this," he graveled. "But I do not like this. I don't like it at all."

"We'd be going even if Leia wasn't. If we had to, we'd go alone," Luke said. "If the artifact we recovered has been used by the New Order to create another Imperial superweapon, it's our responsibility to get it back. And even if it wasn't, as Jedi we can't allow Poln Major to be attacked by that kind of weapon without doing everything we can to stop it."

"How long will it take to have Mirage Formation ready?" asked Mara grimly.

"I'll be ready in a few hours," Atril replied, looking up from her datapad. "It'll take some time to move all the fighter squadrons to the Mareschals, but the personnel transfers are already underway. Are you going to bunk on Rendili Vigil or Tempered Mettle?"

"Mettle," Luke and Mara said as one.

"I'll ride with my brother," Leia said. "Captain Rogriss should go with you. That way you can discuss the best way to approach our arrival while we are in hyperspace."

Asori's eyes met Atril's. "Is that alright with you, Captain?" Atril asked.

"I can't reveal any classified information," Asori said hesitantly, "But yes, we can discuss the best approaches on the way."

"Fine." Atril pressed a few buttons on her datapad. "Vigil doesn't have much in the way of guest capacity, but we have enough." She looked at Antilles, then extended a hand to him. "I'm going to get to work, Wedge. We probably won't see each other again before I leave."

They shook hands. It was a casual gesture, one unlike the formal partings of senior and junior officers that Asori had been a part of. It was more like one of her father's informal, familial partings than anything like Asori's own departures from assignments, and she felt a fierce pang of its absence in her memories. "May the Force be with you, Atril."

"I'm bringing three Jedi," Atril said, jerking her finger towards Luke, Mara, and Leia. "So that's a given."

​

* * *
​

"More than three," Luke corrected. He had tried to talk Mara out of coming—tried to convince her to be the one to stay behind—but she made it clear that if he persisted he would actually make her angry, so he had relented. Her pregnancy was still in the very early phases, he reminded himself. It would be a long time before she would need to hold herself back. And, as she had pointed out with grim seriousness, it was their mistake—their personal distraction—that had allowed Roganda to swoop in and pluck the artifact out of the Consulate… and he would need her help to get it back.

Hers would not be the only help.

"We'll need bunks for three others," Luke explained. "Tyria, Streen, and Kirana Ti will be coming too."

Atril tapped away at her datapad, issuing new orders. "I'll find them berths on my other ships."

"All right. Let's move," Wedge said. "Atril, take Captain Rogriss back to Rendili Vigil and get her situated. I'll clear your departure so that the moment you're ready to leave you can."

Han placed his hand on Leia's lower back. "You already said your goodbyes, but we're both going to go call Chewie and the kids and let them know how long we're probably going to be gone. And you, Councilor Organa Solo, are going to convince him that it's okay to stay behind with them when we're going off into obvious danger. He's going to be furious."

Leia winced.

The others started to head in their own directions. Behind him, Luke heard Threepio's sad reflection: "Danger never does leave us alone for very long, does it."

Artoo's somber whistle in reply filled Luke with an indescribable sense of weight and sadness.

With most attention off him, Wedge's resting expression had progressed past concern and had landed on grimly drawn. In the Force, Luke could feel his friend's exhaustion, not just see it in his already-graying hair and premature worry lines. He was suddenly reminded of one of the harder moments of the Rebellion—when they found out that Renegade Squadron and the convoy of supplies it had been escorting had been destroyed by the Empire at Derra IV. The loss had crushed the Rebellion's morale, and despite Wes Janson's antics, Rogue Squadron did not truly recover until Luke's return after their successful evacuation from Hoth. This time, Wedge's exhaustion was not borne of sorrow, but sheer accumulated stress and fatigue.

To Luke's surprise, Mara was the one who initiated the hug. She stepped in close and embraced Wedge, offering murmured words that Luke couldn't hear. The hug didn't linger—even a brief hug was more than Mara typically offered—and then Wedge and Luke shared a much fiercer embrace.

A vision flashed before Luke's eyes. Wedge, not in the beige and blue General's uniform he currently wore, but clad in an orange flight suit, with a green ribbon around his arm, in his X-wing's padded seat. Through the canopy, Luke could see flashes of green and red lasers. Wedge's mouth worked as he spoke into his comm, eyes flashing with tightly suppressed emotion, then the entire cockpit blazed with light as his X-wing was hit by something. Controls sparked and dimmed; the X-wing spun above the ecliptic of a hazy-featured planet.

As they broke apart, the image fled.

Wedge tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. "What is it?"

Luke managed to keep his sudden fear from being too obvious—or he hoped he did. "Fighter-fear flashbacks. That's all. I thought we were past the worst of it," he said.

Maybe it was a vision of the future. But maybe it wasn't, and allowing the fear that followed from this particular premonition to dictate his decisions—or Wedge's decisions—would surely be the Dark Side.

Always in motion is the future, Yoda's memory-voice quietly reminded him.

Wedge shrugged his shoulders and huffed out a slow exhale. "Someday it'll be someone else's responsibility, but today it's ours. So we carry it."

"Anyone ever tell you you'd make a good Jedi?" Luke asked, too-lightly.

"Stars preserve us!" His friend blanched, rearing back in mock-fear. "If you say that anywhere near Wes, he'll steal me a lightsaber and then I'll have to track down the owner!"

Luke surprised Wedge by giving him another hug. "Take care of yourself, Wedge."

Wedge laughed, patting Luke's back. "You're the one going into the path of a 'World Devastator.' At this point, now that we've confirmed Corellia isn't under any immediate threat with the Imperials busy fighting themselves, I doubt the Inner Council will even let me leave Coruscant. And Han is right—unlike the rest of you, I'll be on the bridge of a Super Star Destroyer. There's no safer place for me to be."

​

* * *
​

Hours later, Wedge was alone in his quarters—the massive, spacious quarters that were the farthest thing he could imagine from the cramped bunks that the Rogues would be sleeping in aboard Rendili Vigil—when his door chime rang.

He opened the door. Iella was there, wearing an affectionate expression and one of the robes she kept in his stateroom closet. She went into his arms, her hands sliding around his back as she leaned in to steal a kiss. His own hands dropped to her hips and when the kiss broke, they just stood together, foreheads pressed to one another, hands in each others' hair, moving softly.

Wedge knew that Luke and Mara had a gift that other couples could not replicate. The two of them could read one another's minds through the Force, which gave them an intimacy that no couple that lacked their Force gifts could replicate. But Wedge had known Iella for a long time, better each day they spent together. She might be an intelligence operative, but Wedge found her all-too-easy to read.

"You're going with Luke and Mara," he murmured, tightening his arms around her.

Her lips firmed with surprise, and then apology. "Yeah," she admitted. "Cracken wants someone present with an intelligence background, and I'm the only person in the service Mara would be willing to keep close. Don't worry too much, I'll be with Mara, and Kapp is bringing his commando team."

He hated it. But Wedge had hated a lot of things over the years. He'd hated it every time he ordered pilots into battle, knowing many of them wouldn't come back. He'd lost so many friends over the years… and Iella was going with Luke and Mara, two people who had proven to be able to walk across coals and come away with only scars.

So far, his mind whispered insufferably. So far.

"You know I need you," Wedge said, the words coming without thought. "As my friend, and more than my friend, for good." He stroked her cheeks gently, pushing her dark blond hair back over her ears, then he put one hand behind her neck and the other around her waist and drew her to him. "I love you." He pulled her face to his and kissed her, and was lost in the sweetness of her lips.

The milliseconds stretched into full seconds, and her arms snaked around his neck and held him tight. When the kiss broke, because no matter how much he loved her he could not breathe love alone, her lips were curved ever so slightly in an enigmatic smile. "That sounded like a proposal."

"Let me make it formal." Wedge pulled back, but Iella didn't release him.

"Later," she said. "When I come back." She stroked her fingers over the back of his neck. "How long until Rendili Vigil is ready to go?"

"Another few hours at least."

"Good," she sighed, and she kissed him again.

[Return to Table of Contents]​

 

Chapter Twenty-Four

Tempered Mettle was quieter than Millenium Falcon. With common spaces divided into two separate decks, the upper deck was cozy and homey, and without any of the rattling sounds that the Falcon sometimes made in hyperspace. Artoo was busy collected dishes from dinner—Leia had helped Luke make a simple Alderaanian grain dish as a distraction from all their fears, one that had fed not just Luke, Mara, Iella, and Leia but also Kapp and his commando team—and the astromech balanced them carefully, using skills that Leia had once seen displayed at Jabba's palace.

Leia carefully poured the three cups of caf, placing them on a tray and then carrying them over to where Iella and Mara still sat. Mara had been even more quiet than normal—Mara could be vocal when she had something to say, but just as often she was content to fade into the background and let others carry the conversation unless deliberately dragged into participating—but she offered Leia a grateful nod. "Decaf?" Mara asked.

"Of course," Leia agreed.

Iella frowned at them both. "Of course?" the NRI operative said. She checked her wristcomm. "Why decaf?"

Leia and Mara shared a look. Mara's anxieties were all-too-obvious to Leia—the former Emperor's Hand was normally very, very good at keeping a Sabacc face and concealing her feelings in the Force, but Mara was not too good at either at that moment.

Mara took a deep breath. Leia could see the mental debate going on in her mind, the weighing of the pros and cons. So far, Luke and Mara had only revealed Mara's pregnancy to their family… there had hardly been time to tell anyone else, events had simply moved too fast… but now, even with the urgency of their trip to Poln Major, it would be several days before they could arrive, which would give Mara time to sit and think about her new reality. Leia wasn't sure if Mara would prefer to do that in solitude, or do it with the support from her family and closest friend.

Mara was nothing if not decisive. "I'm pregnant," she said.

New Republic Intelligence trained its operatives very, very well, and so did Corellian Security. One of the prodigal daughters of both institutions, Iella Wessiri moved and spoke as though she hardly needed that training. Like Mara, she was preternaturally good at keeping a calm expression and hiding her surprise. Like Mara, she was constantly on-balance, even-keeled, aplomb and steady.

She tilted to the side in sudden shock, her eyes going wide and a bit of her caf spilling over the edge of her mug. "What!?"

Iella stared at Mara in shock, reeling. Leia could feel the surprise radiating off her in waves.

"Pregnant?!"

Mara just nodded, looking more embarrassed than Leia could ever remember her. "It's not public," Mara said, the words said with a nervy uncertainty that was very unlike Leia's future-sister-in-law. "Luke and I want to keep it a secret for as long as we can… after we've dealt with all this, I want us to take some time away from Coruscant and slugenews, maybe visit a quiet world where we won't attract any attention." Mara was babbling, knew she was babbling, and hated being seen babbling… but couldn't stop herself. Her embarrassment glowed in the Force for Leia to see… which of course, only made the whole thing worse. "Then we need to—"

Iella Wessiri put her mug down, spilling more of the caf onto the table, and pulled Mara out of the chair. Leia saw Mara's eyes widen in surprise for a moment before she was pulled into Iella's tight embrace… and then Mara reluctantly melted into it, taking the combination of comfort and confidence that Iella offered.

When their embrace broke, Leia hugged Mara herself. She knew just how much Mara hated being seen as anything other than strong, but this was just Leia and Iella. They already knew Mara as well as anyone—other than Luke—in the galaxy. In that moment, Leia could feel as Mara allowed herself to be uncertain and confused, and allowed their strength to give her back the confidence that surprise and change had wounded.

Hours later, they had been quite distracted from all of the turmoil of galactic politics, superweapons, and Imperial tyrants. "Luke and Wedge ran a squadron of idiot toddlers for years," Iella said. "The only thing they haven't done is change diapers—though, the jury is still out on Janson. If they can handle raising toddlers who get to fly X-wings, I'm sure you can handle a Force-strong toddler"

Mara knew that Iella was trying to make her smile. To her chagrin, It was working.

"Jacen and Jaina aren't weren't different from normal toddlers," Leia added, the voice of experience. "We didn't have them throwing spoons around during tantrums or anything like that. They're more emotionally attuned to one another and the people around them than normal children… but some other parents tell me that even non-Force strong children are always very aware of how their parents are feeling, so maybe that isn't even that different from the norm."

"You've babysat the twins and Mia," Iella pointed out. "If you can handle that, you can handle anything. Is it a boy or a girl?"

"I don't know," Mara said. "Luke and I didn't check… and it's so early still, we only had time for a cursory checkup to make sure everything is healthy." She took a nervous breath. This was all still so unbelievable. How could she be pregnant? Pregnant? How could she have been so irresponsible as to…

Fall in love with Luke Skywalker and want to share intimacy with him? That wasn't irresponsible. Having Luke be part of her life—her friend, her partner, her lover—wasn't a mistake. It was the best thing she'd ever allowed herself to do.

Still. She wasn't normal. She had been the Emperor's Hand. Palpatine had raised her to be a tool, an unknowing agent of his darkness. How could she ever be sure that she was free from his influence? His voice had long since stopped plaguing her waking nightmares, but her past was immutable, permanent. What would that mean for her as a mother? What would it mean for her child?

The only parental figure Mara had ever had was Emperor Palpatine.

"Mara," Iella said. She looked up, found her friend giving her an intent stare. The intuitions that had made Iella Wessiri one of the galaxy's premiere investigators were on full display, because somehow Mara could tell that Iella knew exactly what she was thinking. "You're free. Palpatine is part of your past. He always will be. But now you're free—and you're not alone."

Mara couldn't bring herself to say anything. She didn't know what to say. There was nothing to say.

In Iella Wessiri's gaze was an intensity that matched the sense of certain purpose that Mara had felt when she had been Emperor's Hand. "I promise."

* * *​

Asori Rogriss was deeply impressed by what she saw about Rendili Vigil. The ship was small—significantly smaller than her own Termagant—but it crammed a great deal of capability into that small space. That came with its own costs, and Asori was quite sure that Vigil's comparatively light armor and heavy emphasis on speed would not always be to the ship's advantage, but it was still impressive, and a confirmation that the New Republic was working hard to translate its growing military advantage into a something that could easily patrol spacelanes in a time of peace and for a fraction of the cost of a bulk cruiser or Star Destroyer.

Perhaps more impressive than the ship itself was the crew. Asori noted few humans among Vigil's crew. Other than Commodore Tabanne and some of the Rogues, most of the crew was non-human, but all spoke Basic and it never impeded on the ship's function. It was yet more evidence, hard evidence, that the old Imperial line about the inferiority of non-humans, and the difficulties of cross-species cooperation, were at best overstated… and far more likely to be complete fabrications.

They gave her as wide a berth as they could, given the compact nature of Vigil's interior architecture. Virtually none of the ship's volume was wasted, which helped explain how the New Republic's designers had managed to cram as many weapons and systems in as they had, but it also meant that there wasn't a whole lot of room for individual accommodations. Compared to Star Destroyers, which were spacious almost to the point of absurdity, Vigil was downright confining. New Republic officers, dressed in their fleet's blue and beige colors, brushed past her despite their best efforts, and more than once Asori found herself annoyedly brushing fur off her uniform.

There wasn't any right place for her to be. Vigil did have a small brig and there were times she thought that maybe she should confine herself to it just out of sheer principle. She wasn't a prisoner, technically, but despite her liberty she still felt like one. She had felt like one ever since her arrival on Coruscant. The only times she hadn't felt like one were when she'd been engrossed in some formal briefing about the military threat with an officer of equal or superior rank from the New Republic, treating her as a resource and a colleague.

"Captain Rogriss?"

She turned. Rendili Vigil's Bothan communications officer Hiacun was there, holding a datapad.

He handed it to her. "Commodore Tabanne would like to invite you to join her to discuss the situation at Poln Major at your convenience. She'll be in her quarters."

Asori nodded, the kind of nod that expressed approval of a deserving subordinate. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I'll be sure to do that."

When she served as Exigent's executive officer, Asori had been lavished with enormous quarters. An Imperial-class Star Destroyer had plenty of interior space, and her quarters had stretched into a three room suite, including a decadent refresher. Her quarters on Termagant were far smaller, yet still comfortable.

Commodore Tabanne's quarters were cramped. She did have two rooms, one out of sight that Asori assumed was a bedroom. The public room was a combination of a kitchenette, living space, and briefing room; in the middle of the room was a decently-sized table which had been folded down out of one of the walls.

Atril herself stood on the far side of the table. "Take a seat."

"I wasn't expecting a formal dinner," Asori said uncertainly.

"We'll eat and work," Atril promised. "Besides, when I was a guest of your father, he made sure I was fed and watered. It's the least I can do to return the favor." She gestured at the chair on Asori's side of the room. "Try and relax a bit."

She set aside the mention of Atril having been a guest of her father for later. Slowly, Asori sat. After she settled into the chair, Atril sat across from her.

"I'm afraid my ship doesn't have the same comforts of a Star Destroyer," Atril said, though Asori thought that the Commodore's tone wasn't exactly apologetic, and wondered if she was being tested, "but I we do have ship's cooks and they do have the ability to cook for guests, on occasion. Plus, we just left Coruscant, so we're well-stocked with fresh fare."

"That's very kind of you," Asori said graciously. The last thing she wanted was to alienate her host. As troublesome as the New Republic's Inner Council had been, both the Jedi and the New Republic military had been nothing other than respectful to her, and it was the least she could do to return that respect. "Have you had the opportunity to review my report on Poln Major's defenses?"

"I have," Atril said with a nod. She gestured at the food, a well spiced offering of perfectly-cooked and citrus-braised fish over slightly nutty groats. "I know it's not what your father's steward would serve, but it's the best I have available. As for Poln Major's defenses, you were quite clear about best approach techniques but somewhat vague about just how many ships your Unknown Regions Expeditionary Fleet has available for its defense."

"There are certain things which I'm not at liberty to share," Asori countered, keeping her tone light.

"Then let me ask the big picture question. Does the UREF have additional forces it can use to defend Poln Major from the New Order's imminent attack?"

That was a reasonably safe question to answer. "We do."

"Do you personally think it will be enough to protect the system, assuming my ships are there to offer reinforcement?"

Asori hesitated before answering, using a taste of the dinner as her excuse to do so. She was surprised at how flavorful it was—and she was doubly surprised that it tasted as good as it did. She nearly took a second bite before answering, but resisted the impulse. "If the New Order were attacking with a Super Star Destroyer, I would say yes," she said. "But I don't know how to estimate the capabilities of this 'Silencer Station'. If it's as capable as a Death Star…" her words trailed off, and she offered a small shrug.

"I suppose without a convenient exhaust port to shoot at, we'd be stuck fighting it the old fashioned way."

Asori nodded. "And the Death Star had shields and armor strong enough to deflect any conventional assault. At Endor, the second Death Star was effectively rammed by Executor and did not appear to suffer any significant structural damage. If Silencer Station has similar defensive capabilities, I don't know that any conventional force would be capable of defeating it."

Atril's lips thinned together. "And the UREF doesn't have some superweapon of its own stashed away somewhere that could do the job."

"If it does," Asori said carefully, "neither Grand Moff Ferrouz nor Baron Fel has seen fit to inform me about it." She took another bite of the dish. "This is quite tasty."

"It's 'Plasma-charred Cheshi-Fish'. Came out of the Rebellion actually. Bothans love seafood but hate getting their fur wet, and most Mon Cal designs have a few aquaculture tanks aboard – some fresh food helps morale, plus it's fun to stare at on long patrols. I'm told it became common at Rebel Bases during the Civil War after the Bothans joined the cause. It's easy to make and from common ingredients. I once heard an X-wing pilot describe it as the single most important contribution the Bothans made to the war effort. Hiacun sometimes makes it for the crew."

"Your Bothan communications officer," Asori checked.

Atril nodded. There was a sudden shift in her expression, a slight hardening of the other woman's eyes… but Asori saw her take a breath and let it out, and the moment passed.

"When did you have the opportunity to dine with my father?"

It was the wrong question to ask. The hardness was back, and this time it took Atril a longer moment to push past it. Atril sighed heavily, putting her utensil down before leaning back in her chair. "I was a prisoner of his briefly, during the Ukio campaign. He pinned Ession Strike, my previous command, with an Interdictor and a pair of Impstars."

"... Ah," Asori said. She nodded choppily. "I hope it was a … cordial affair?"

Atril laughed lightly. "He did his best," she conceded. "Set a very good table, but I ate ration bars and water. Still, he was courteous and kind. Given what happened afterwards, I certainly am glad it was him who captured us, and not someone else."

"I see… ration bars and water?"

"I refused to eat any of the fancier fare on offer, since I hadn't been allowed to see my crew. He assured me that their interrogations would not cause any long-lasting harm, and that he wouldn't allow me to be executed as a defector, given… well, the fact that I had defected."

This was definitely precarious ground, and Asori wished they were having some other conversation. Any other conversation. An odd combination of guilt and defensiveness fought for dominance in her gut. She allowed neither to win.

"He kept his word," Atril admitted. "When he disappeared, I worried that perhaps ISB had punished him for that. When next you see him, thank him for me."

Asori managed, barely, to fight back her sigh of relief. "We were recruited by the UREF," she explained. "They pulled me off of Exigent, my brother from his base on Sartinaynian, and took my father's entire Star Destroyer. It was quite the surprise."

"What changed afterwards? With the UREF compared to the Empire, I mean."

That was a hard question. Asori took a moment to debate it before answering, deciding first and foremost not to contest the fact that the UREF was the Empire. "The New Order… COMPNOR, ISB… they made it impossible to breathe or question without feeling like I had a blaster to my head. With the UREF, I think we're all feeling a little more… free." She took a bite, and watched the other woman regard her, with, she thought, a small bit of respect. Then she fired her return salvo. "If I can ask, what made you leave?"

Atril almost laughed; she did smile in a way that warmed the room around her. "You served with the Empire, so this will make sense to you," she said. "With the Empire, you could never trust the people above or below you in the chain of command. Oh, everyone puts on a brave and forthright face, and they'd say the right things, but the entire structure was rife with corruption—and not just ISB. I remember one junior officer, an Ensign from a prominent Coruscanti family I had under my command while I was a Lieutenant on Arlionne. He was bitter he hadn't been promoted to Lieutenant as 'befitted his station,' and he took out his unhappiness by being insubordinate.

"Worse, I caught him pocketing supplies and selling them and when I brought him up on charges I got lectured by my CO, while he got a promotion and a transfer! And above me, Captains like the man who protected him were everywhere. Competition for officer slots was intense, but competition for officer slots with Captains who had a good reputation… those were worth their weight in Corusca gems."

Captain Nidal had been a good, fair-minded officer, Asori remembered. That was why she'd fought so hard to be posted to Exigent, and why getting pulled away so abruptly had been so frustrating.

"What is it?"

Asori realized that the thought had not stayed confined to her brain, and the sad frown she was wearing had become obvious to her dinner partner. She hesitated, debating how best to answer, and then surrendered. "One of my best COs was killed at the last battle of Poln Major," she said sadly. "He sided with Ferrouz after Carida and Exigent led the defense during their last attack. The pride of being the first ship in the line, and all that… we crushed the New Order, but it cost us Exigent."

She put down her knife, realizing that she was gripping it too tightly.

"I lost one of mine, too," Atril said. "I was just a Lieutenant then." She laughed softly and shook her head. "Captain Hrakness. He was commanding Ession Strike—though she was still called Night Caller, we hadn't won the Battle of Ession yet—and the bridge took a direct hit. I was still new and as a defector there were many in the New Republic military who didn't trust me yet. Choday took me under his wing. Being promoted to Captain to replace him…" her voice faded and she shook her head, "It didn't sit right. Still doesn't some days."

"I knew Choday Hrakness!" Asori exclaimed, looking up in surprise. "He served on Arlionne. He defected?" She thought back. Arlionne had been an ancient Victory-class Star Destroyer, and her first assignment out of the Academy on Anaxes. Hrakness had been a Lieutenant Commander then—young but grizzled, wise beyond his years—and had been on Asori's list of 'good officers.' She shook her head… if Hrakness had been disgruntled with the Starfleet, she had never seen a sign of it from him. "Did he ever say anything about why he defected?"

To Asori's surprise, Atril laughed softly. "Small galaxy," she murmured. The Commodore leaned back in her chair, gesturing at Asori with her index finger. "And you sound just like your father, you know. During my cordial interrogation, he asked me why I defected, too."

Suddenly concerned that she may have stepped onto precarious ground, Atril sat up straighter. "I did not mean to pry, Commodore," she said, letting her tone shift from the more familiar back into Starfleet formal.

But Atril waved her concerns away. "Choday and I had similar experiences. Abusive senior officers created resentment and doubt. Then we had our noses rubbed in the Empire's corruption. What finally set Choday off was an anti-smuggler operation. His ship boarded a transport and seized its 'smuggled' cargo. Days later he found out the Captain of his ship had never reported the seizure and re-sold it at their next port. He was offered a cut for his silence, which he took because he believed that if he refused, he would be put out an airlock. Then he quietly slipped away."

Old anger curdled in Asori's gut. She had heard such stories before; scuttlebutt from other fleet officers was common. Her mother had warned her, again and again, that the Empire was corrupt and would only become more corrupt. That despite what COMNPOR and ISB said, that the coming of the Empire hadn't removed the corruption of the Old Republic, it had institutionalized it, and made it part of the fabric of governance.

"May I ask you a question in return?" Atril prodded, and at a nod from Asori, she proceeded. "From what you've said… you're not oblivious to the problems of the Empire, and you weren't one of those exploiting them. Why didn't you defect?"

The question hung in the air between them. Asori put her silverware down, then looked at her hands. "I thought about it, over the years," she admitted. "In quiet moments, especially after I heard that someone I knew had gone over to the Rebellion."

She looked up, found Atril gazing back attentively. For better or worse, Asori had the Commodore's full attention.

"I'm sure you had it worse at the Academy than I did," Asori added quietly, allowing herself to digress, working her way through her thoughts aloud. "My mother didn't want me to join. She didn't want me to become part of the Empire, like my father had. I could have escaped it, too… my brother had to join, the social expectation that he would follow our father's path was just too strong on Anaxes, the Starfleet is everything there. Or… well, it was. I don't know, now that it's owned by the New Republic." She was babbling, but Atril didn't stop her, so she kept babbling. "As a woman, I could have escaped it. But I was the older child and if Terek was going to have to join, it felt wrong not to join myself. And I always looked up to my father."

On the far side of the table, Atril leaned to her side. She flicked open a cabinet, grabbed two mugs with a nimble grip, and put them on the table. She then reached back and plucked a bottle of cheap wine from the shelf, flicking the vacuum seal. "I have detox meds," she said as she poured, then handed a glass to Asori.

The two women saluted each other in an obnoxiously formal manner taught to all Imperial cadets, and drank.

It wasn't the best wine Asori had ever had—far from it—but that was hardly the point. "And then I was in," Asori continued, still tasting the wine on her tongue. She could hear the almost plaintive tone of her voice, as if she was trying to persuade Atril of something, but of what she wasn't entirely sure. "If I had left, if I'd defected… it would have been about more than just me. My father and brother would both have been suspected as accomplices. ISB isn't known for its judiciousness—they could have been accused of treason in my place, maybe even be executed. And even if the… the New Order was horrible, was everything the Rebellion propagandists said it was, I had friends and colleagues in the Starfleet. Like Captain Nidal, who always looked out for his crew! I could tell myself I wasn't fighting for the New Order, I was fighting for them. So they could survive the battle and go home to their families. And they were fighting so I could. We weren't fighting for the Empire, we were fighting for each other."

Her voice grew stronger; whether it was momentum or alcohol Asori wasn't sure. "Even if every single one of us hated the Empire we couldn't talk about it! Any of us could have been ISB, and even the hint of disloyalty could… So everyone had to defect alone… and I was never alone. I had my father and brother to think about."

Suddenly exhausted, Asori sank into her chair.

"At least that's what I tell myself. Told myself. When it was easier to look away."

"I was alone," Atril said softly. Asori looked up, saw the other woman sitting in her chair at the far side of the table, holding her now half-empty wine glass. Her eyes were lidded. "The unit I defected from was staffed with people I hated. The Empire potentially killing them all for complicity in my crime would have been a bonus, not a bug." Atril took a sip of her wine, licking it from her lips before continuing. "I hadn't talked to my parents since I left to go to the Academy, and they were nobodies. The Empire doesn't usually concern itself with people from Coruscant's poorest neighborhoods."

Atril's eyes locked on Asori's, and Asori suddenly felt trapped and immobile. In the back of her mind, she knew that being this open was probably a terrible idea—UREF or no UREF, this entire conversation would not reflect well upon her if it ever leaked back to Ferrouz or Fel. All the same, she didn't want it to end.

For a time, neither of them spoke, drinking in a companionable silence. Then Atril smiled again. "More wine? Another glass of this and I may even show you my Cadet ID holo."

Asori reached out with her glass. "Please. Can't be worse than mine."

[Return to Table of Contents]​

 

Allrighty, where was I...

Chapter 11

I love Mirax. She's such a spitfire.

I appreciated the detail that Luke's upbringing and experiences have made him negatively biased against Hutts. Not being a squeaky-clean kumbaya Jedi makes him human and more real.

Sena's meeting to break the news about Corellia was done very well. That's such huge news with such personal importance to a couple attendees, and especially with the unexpectedness of it, the reactions were spot-on. (And maybe-- maybe?-- Wedge might see that he doesn't have to be solely responsible for righting every wrong in the galaxy and making good things happen. Others are trying and succeeding too.)

I like the characteristic Ackbar water-themed metaphors.

Hopefully Sena's trip to Corellia will go well. Han and co. are right to be concerned about Daala's next moves, though it definitely put a damper on the good news about Corellia.


Chapter 12

Good to see that Cray and Nichos are still trying to find ways to sabotage the station and escape. Of course Irek would be sulky and tantrum-y about not being able to command the AI at first, 'cause he's the Emperor and he's speshul, so reality should bend to him. Learning Cray is Force-sensitive really threw him off balance.

Looks like Halmere wasn't in the mood to hear any I-told-you-sos, but I doubt treating Irek that way will make Roganda happy. The balance of power between those three looks like it might be shifting.

This makes me wonder if Roganda knew there were other Hands, or if she believes that she was the only privileged one among them to get his Actual True trust. It's entirely possible this was mentioned in the story already and I don't remember-- I'll have to go back and see.

Yup, Roganda is having some less-than-charitable thoughts about Halmere's competence. Things are starting to shift now with that she thinks she's almost able to be rid of him. And Roganda's ability to acknowledge her own mistakes in things like pushing Halmere and underestimating the artifact on Nar Shaddaa makes her more dangerous. She's not so arrogant that she'll make the same errors twice.


Chapter 13

LOL, I like that measure of how irritating something is.

Stek is interesting, especially with the general view the Iyra have toward Hutts.

Poor Asori is so out of her element skulking around on Nar Shaddaa. Dreyf did well in getting them to the Skate, unexpected Sullustans not withstanding.


Chapter 14

This is a really interesting insight.

The beginning portion of this chapter does a great job in showing Luke's past experiences with the Hutts and how the Hutts' influence was soaked into Tatooine so thoroughly. It's easy to look at the movies and say yeah, Jabba lived there, but these examples from when Luke was growing up show just how much that affected day-to-day life for a lot of people.

I enjoyed the meeting with Beldorion. It went against the grain of so many Hutt stereotypes, and I was thrown off by it just like Luke was. I liked that Luke could come to an understanding with Beldorion despite his previous negative experiences. Beldorion has a very impressive intelligence network, too.

Spitfire.

They got the right person in Wynssa/Syal to record the message, that's for sure.


Chapter 15

Mirax gets it.

Aww, Veggies.

It was really fascinating how Mara (and Dreyf later on) fell into the habit of how she worked with Imperial subordinates. Whether it was on purpose or not (and based on the interactions with Dreyf shortly after, I'm guessing it's farther along the lines of not), it was a really interesting character detail and shows how deep in her bones some of her former life goes.

Imminent bombardments are not good.

I agree with that.

That's okay, Artoo. Humans are notoriously hard to train.


Chapter 16

LOL.

I loved Asori's reactions to Luke's piloting, and even to his interactions with Mara as they flew. All of the action in the flying scenes and the fights with the droids in the complex was very well-written.

LOL, I like Dreyf.

The Seed looks like it's going to be... problematic to deal with. Yeah, explosives won't do a thing to something that eats stars, and that takes the easiest destructive options off the table. They've got their work cut out for them figuring out what to do with it. I understand the reasoning to take it to Coruscant, but between what it could do on the planet if it gets out of control and the fact that Daala's on her way to cause some trouble there, things could get very dicey very fast. And now Roganda knows they have it and has correctly guessed where they're going. The party on Coruscant's getting bigger.

As always, excellent work! I'm looking forward to continuing to catch up.

 

Chapter Twenty-Five

Silencer Station now had a throne room.

Irek had never been in the Emperor's throne room during the Empire's heyday. He was old enough to remember the Empire, but only in vague snippets, and his mother had kept him secluded with droid nannies and tutors. Clearer in his memory were the days following the catastrophic Battle of Endor and the subsequent adventure of his mother spiriting him out of their secret penthouse, only moments ahead of agents of Imperial Intelligence. He had thought it all a game at the time, realizing only much later just how seriously Ysanne Isard's goons had been intent on seeing them both dead.

Even in their subsequent exile, his mother had never let him forget that he was destined to be Emperor. He was strong in the Force, as the Emperor had been and as any Emperor must be. True wisdom and power came from the Force, and that was the point of the Force: to bestow wisdom and power on the chosen few, so that they might rule the blind.

Though he had never seen the Emperor's throne room, this space had an obvious splendor to it. It was an octagonal room with multiple concentric layers, so that anyone who entered would have to climb up stairs to the center. In that center was the throne. A new command interface, replicating the one that Cray had constructed, had been built into the polished mixture of durasteel and inset ebonwood, a messy array of wires formed into a gleaming crown that would descend down to fit over Irek's head when he sat upon it. All around the room were massive flatscreens and holoprojectors that would give the Emperor a plethora of visual information and feedback—although Irek knew from experience that just using the interface itself caused an overwhelming swell of sightsandsoundsandfeelings directly to his mind.

Perhaps, he thought trepidatiously, once he became accustomed to using the interface it would not be so overwhelming.

His stomach roiled, but though his back went damp with sweat he tried not to show his fear on his face. His last experience using the interface had been… he shied away from the word, but in the privacy of his own mind, away from the judgment of his mother or Halmere, he could not deny the experience had been terrifying. He did not want to use the interface again, but his mother needed him to keep them safe.

She was not to be disappointed.

She had spent her entire life fighting to protect him, fighting to see him elevated and crowned and the very least he could do would be to protect her.

Still, he wished Cray and Nichos were here. The two cyberneticists had become… a comfort to him. Nichos in particular—while the crippled cyberneticist was worthy only of shame in so many ways, his conversations had surprising wisdom to them. It had been Nichos' suggestion, after all, that allowed Irek to successfully command Silencer-7 with Cray's command interface.

Instead, Irek had only Halmere. The Emperor-Regent loomed, his large frame and heavy black and white armored robes providing the pale man with presence and dominating the space. But Halmere's attention was only partially on Irek—the older man had spent hours secluded in meditation, working with the station's astrogation computer. As Irek had… meditated… himself over having to sit in the new command throne, Halmere had worked silently, plotting hyperspace courses. On one of the throne room's large flatscreens, a map of Imperial space glowed with tiny triangular symbols, each one representing one of the New Order's remaining Star Destroyers. Halmere drew up courses for each one, guiding them through temporary hyperlanes that would normally be too risky for travel. Thanks to Halmere's astrogation, those Star Destroyers would be able to assemble into a single formation quickly, forming a reserve to defend Silencer Station.

At the moment, Halmere's attention remained on his meditation and astrogation. His dismissiveness of Irek was mildly insulting, but at the same time being ignored was better than being actively belittled.

Fear and obligation warred for control of his actions, and their combination rendered him in stasis. He stood at the bottom of the concentric layers, looking up at the throne and the constructed interface attached to it. This was his future, this was what it meant to be Emperor, to rule and to shape. This was what his mother had fought for, what he had been destined to since his birth. The obligation was strong, tugging him to climb up to the throne, to take it for himself.

But the voice of the AI, the sensation of being swallowed by a consciousness of seemingly infinite size, and his fear of that voice, rendered him still.

There was only one entrance to the throne room and Irek felt his mother's presence beyond it even before it slid open. Roganda Ismaren swept into the space, wearing a regal dress appropriate for the mother of the Emperor, crafted into black ruffles that swirled but did not hinder her steps. Her gaze locked upon him as she entered, and it seemed like the air around him became heavy with electricity as she approached.

"Son," she said.

"Mother," he greeted in return, trying to keep the uncertain waver felt out of his voice. He succeeded, but it didn't matter—she didn't need to hear the fear to feel it radiating off him in the Force. He'd never been able to hide anything from her.

She looked past him towards Halmere, her lips tightening with unhappiness, then returned her gaze to him. That expression was one he recognized all too well, it was the expression she had turned on him all his life after he had disappointed her. "You have not taken your throne."

"I wanted to wait until you returned," he lied.

Her eyebrows rise incrementally, her dark eyes measuring him. "I am here," she pointed out.

In the battle between obligation and terror, obligation won. He'd never been able to deny his mother anything and he could not deny her this. Despite his fear, despite his reluctance, he began to climb towards the throne. The stairs became steeper the higher he went, forcing him to be more careful with each step. At the top, he stumbled into the chair just to have the safety of secure balance.

The throne began to whir, the finely-machined inner workings of the machine shifting. He placed his hands on the armrests, in small indentations perfectly sized for them. Behind him, the interface sized precisely for his head settled over his head, cold metal pressing against his scalp; pressure in his skull grew as the neural connections were established one by one.

A whir, and a floor panel swept up, exposing an IV arm of nutrients and stimulants that reached out to his arm and hissed into his veins.

Fear and pain intermingled as the connections became more intense. He was aware of his mother and Halmere watching him, watching Silencer-7's tendrils insinuate themselves in his mind.

The moment of mergence passed and Irek's consciousness swam on a sea of thought. All around him was Silencer-7: its constant processing and evaluations, its sensors keeping watch as the station traveled through hyperspace, its awareness of him. It was as if Silencer-7 closed around him, suffocating, the sheer loudness of the AI almost drowning out Irek's own thoughts.

WELCOME, [DESIGNATE] EMPEROR.

The words sounded different than they had. Irek was no longer conscious of his body, could no longer feel his limbs or see with his own eyes, and yet still the words brought to mind the sensation of the hair on his arms, all sticking straight up.

WHAT IS YOUR WILL, [DESIGNATE] EMPEROR?

Was the AI placing more emphasis on the word 'designate' than it had been? There was a faint edge to the AI's tone, almost mocking. Irek set his jaw hard, scowling. "I am the Emperor," he claimed.

NOT YET.

Now Irek was sure it was mocking him. Was sure that the AI was toying with him. He had seen his mother toy with her prey on occasion—that one Intelligence operative she had captured, when he was much younger. She had kept that agent alive for weeks, stretching out his interrogation, extracting information with caresses and lightning alike. It had been a game to her—a game she had been very good at. He had admired her skill and power… but now he felt like the toy.

"I will be," he insisted fiercely, putting all his mother's confidence into the words.

The AI did not bother to respond. He could feel it, watching him from every angle, and somehow just being watched made him feel judged. I am not inadequate!

YOU FEAR. THE EMPEROR DOES NOT FEAR.

"I am the Emperor!" Irek insisted again, but even to his own ear the words sounded lame.

WHAT IS YOUR WILL, [DESIGNATE] EMPEROR?

The words he spoke came from beyond him, from the outside. "We are almost clear of hyperspace. Attack Poln Major when we are. Tactics at your discretion."

Was that a smirk Irek felt? And if it was, who did it belong to?

AS YOU COMMAND.

* * *​

"Are you sure this is necessary?"

Gilad Pellaeon watched from the bridge of Chimaera. His fleet had dozens of logistics freighters, each loaded heavily with supplies meant to keep his Star Destroyers and smaller vessels combat-capable. Everything from food to concussion missiles was normally stocked on those ships, which could be tucked into a Star Destroyer's main hangar for quick loading and unloading.

At the moment, though, they had been turned to another purpose. Freighters lifted off from the surface of Poln Major, carrying families who had chosen to evacuate rather than stay. Grand Moff Ferrouz had chosen to inform people of the threat posed by the 'World Devastator', and many had chosen to evacuate. Each freighter rushed to Pellaeon's trio of Star Destroyers to disgorge their passengers, and Chimaera, Basilisk, and Gonfalon each were becoming host to a growing number of civilian refugees.

Next to him, Grand Moff Ferrouz watched, blank-faced, as the evacuation continued. He and his family had been among the first evacuees—a fact that had been widely publicized, in order to encourage the rest of the population to do the same.

"If the threat turns out to be overstated," Pellaeon continued, frowning, "we'll have undermined the planet's defenses unnecessarily. I can't take my Star Destroyers into battle—not with so many civilians aboard."

"Admiral Rogriss and the reserve fleet will be here," Ferrouz said. The Grand Moff's hands were folded behind his back, his attention locked on the sight of a transport vanishing into Basilisk's main hangar, escorted by a formation of TIE fighters. "They will be responsible for primary defense." Ferrouz shook his head. "Poln Major is an insignificant world by galactic standards. There is nothing down there worth more than the lives of its people. Baron Fel has assured me that there are numerous hospitable colony worlds under the control of the UREF, each of them hidden from the New Order."

Pellaeon did not like it. He did not like it at all. Since Endor it sometimes felt like he had never stopped running. Running from the Rebellion at Endor became running from the New Republic at Bilbringi and Ukio. Then he ran from the New Order at Carida, and was preparing to run again from the New Order at Poln Major. He'd run so far that his back was against the Unknown Regions and he was still running.

Clustered up against his formation, in a defensive posture, were the four Lively-class frigates that had been under the command of Captain Asori Rogriss. Pellaeon had found himself thinking about the young officer quite a lot since their discussion at the governor's mansion in Whitestone City. She had been so outspoken, so confident… and so bluntly dismissive of the Empire.

At first, he had taken refuge in the idea that she was merely too young to really understand. She hadn't lived under the Old Republic and the dysfunction of the Senate. She hadn't seen the inadequacies of the old Judicial Forces, the lack of preparation to address the threat of the Separatists. She hadn't seen the corruption that had been wrought through the halls of the Senate.

And yet… What if she was right?

It was a hard question for Pellaeon to ask himself. He had spent his life fighting for the Empire, and he was not a young man. He had decades of service behind him, and decades more for the Republic that had preceded the Empire. He knew things could be bad, that the Empire had not fixed every problem—he prided himself on not being one of ISB's useful idiots—but he had always been sure that the cause he fought for had been a just one.

What if it hadn't been?

He spent far too much time, thinking back, wondering if he could find a moment, some precise time and place, where his loyalty had become dishonorable. Had it been the declaration of Empire? But from his perspective, so little had changed after that. Palpatine had been Chancellor, then he had been Emperor. Orders had even still had the Senate's seal of approval.

But…

But he knew, didn't he. He'd long refused to let the thought resolve in his mind, but at the back of his skull he could feel lurking a memory. The first time Captain Drusan had ordered Chimaera to Kashyyyk. The first time Pellaeon's ship had sent stormtroopers down to the surface. The first time they had come back with prisoners.

"Status change!"

Pellaeon and Ferrouz turned towards the cry of alarm, then towards the command board. Upon it, a number of ships appeared at the edge of Poln Major's gravity well, already building speed again after their hyperspace transition.

"They're freighters, sir," someone announced, sounding relieved.

"Message for you, Admiral," announced Lieutenant Tschel from beside him. His expression was oddly uncertain… "It's Talon Karrde."

"Karrde?" Pellaeon said in surprise, and with more than a hint of anger. Talon Karrde's betrayals had long since earned him Pellaeon's ire. "What is he doing here?"

Tschel took a nervous breath. "He says his ships are here at the behest of the Jedi Order to assist with the planet's evacuation."

The beginning of a hot retort was on Pellaeon's tongue—

Grand Moff Ferrouz noticed Pellaeon's expression and anger and held up a soothing hand. "Tell Captain Karrde that we appreciate his assistance, and send them landing information," ordered Ferrouz from where he stood beside Pellaeon. "This is not the time for old rivalries, Admiral. We do not want to be enemies of the New Republic any longer—and we need their help."

"Of course," Pellaeon said with gruff stiffness. "Do as the Grand Moff orders," he relayed to his crew. Then he looked back to Tschel. "How did they get through the New Order patrols?" he asked. "All the major hyper-routes have regular Interdictor patrols."

Tschel shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, sir."

"Status change!"

This time, the new icons on the command board weren't freighters. Luckily, they were expected.

The Star Destroyer Agonizer came out of hyperspace, accompanied by seven other Imperial-class Star Destroyers. An array of smaller ships, including Victory, Enforcer, and Katana-class warships were their escorts. Most prominent was the cluster of Lively-class ships. TIEs and Clawcraft swarmed out of their hangars, immediately assuming CAP positions, while the entire formation moved rapidly into Poln Major's gravity well, into position to defend the planet.

"Communication for you from Admiral Rogriss, sir," said Tschel.

Pellaeon activated his flatscreen. Teren Rogriss grinned at him. "Your reinforcements have arrived, Gilad. Remain as you are, continue with the evacuation, and await further developments. When Silencer Station gets here, we'll engage it first."

"Glad to have you, sir," Pellaeon said, offering a quick salute.

Rogriss returned it, far more casually. "And you, Gilad. Please extend my compliments to your people."

* * *​

Irek had never been integrated with Silencer-7 while the station was in hyperspace. It was an odd sensation: almost all of the station's sensor arrays were useless in hyperspace, so there were far fewer sensory inputs that the station had to process and fewer things that Irek himself needed to monitor. That left him in a state of relative calm, floating in the sea of Silencer-7's consciousness. He was barely conscious of his body in this state—he could tell that he still had one, of course, but even the sounds of his mother and Halmere, who were also in the station's throne room, were distant to the point of insignificance.

While his fear remained, his terror had largely subsided. If Silencer-7 was going to consume him, drag him down to drown in its vastness, it would have done so before now. To Silencer-7, Irek was just a conduit, a conductor of information from the humans who had constructed it.

"How do I become Emperor?" he asked. "And not just Designate-Emperor."

There was a ripple as attention turned to him.

THE EMPEROR IS THE WILL.

"What does that mean?"

He could feel the AI's consternation and attempt to reformulate its answer. It had only limited success.

TO BECOME EMPEROR THE [DESIGNATE] EMPEROR MUST BECOME THE WILL.

"What is the Will?"

A flood of emotion and memory washed over Irek. He grappled with it, trying to prevent it from washing away his sense of self under the sudden torrent of otherness. He saw glimpses of memory, or fantasy. Aliens from a race he did not recognize, working with Dark Force powers to empower objects that looked like the Seed his mother had installed in Silencer-7's core. Dark figures in flowing robes, with power in their eyes and red lightsabers in their hands. Lightning and might, command and purpose, subjugation and demand, all swirling in Irek's mind. All of it was confined in Silencer Station, a box that both contained and unleashed it.

THE WILL.

"H-how do I become the Will?" he asked warily, once he had regained the ability to formulate clear thoughts.

YOU MUST STOP RESISTING.

Irek frowned in consternation. What was that supposed to mean? "How am I resisting?"

EXITING HYPERSPACE.

All the sensors that had been silent roared to life as one. Monitors all around the station's throne room abruptly illuminated, and both upon the flatscreens and within Irek Ismaren's mind there was the sudden image of a star system. Icons blinked into existence one by one, marking the presence of enemy ships—dozens and dozens of enemy ships—and all of them surrounding and defending a circle marked Poln Major.

Irek opened his mouth to speak, preparing to relay orders from Halmere and Roganda to the station. Silencer-7 did not wait for him.

PREPARING TO ENGAGE. MANUFACTURING SWITCHING FROM STARFIGHTER PRODUCTION TO ANTI-SHIP COUNTERMEASURES. SHIELDS AND ARMOR AT PEAK EFFICIENCY. EVALUATING ENEMY CAPABILITIES.

. . .

PROBABILITY OF COMBAT VICTORY ESTIMATED AT NINETY-EIGHT POINT FIVE PERCENT.

Silencer Station's massive engines erupted and the platform began to move slowly through space, on a direct trajectory towards Poln Major. Even as Irek tried, he could not get a word in.

ENEMIES OF THE EMPIRE WILL BE ELIMINATED. THIS IS THE WILL.

* * *​

On the monitors in Silencer Station's throne room, text whirred across the screens in large block letters.

ENEMIES OF THE EMPIRE WILL BE ELIMINATED. THIS IS THE WILL.

Roganda Ismaren looked up. Her son was ensconced in the command throne, silent and still, his mouth half-open. Words seemed to pass over his lips silently, but whatever it was he was saying was not meant for her and Halmere, but for the Silencer AI. Bond between man and machine would not be complete—not yet, not until after Irek had formally proclaimed himself Emperor—but the integration seemed more stable this time.

"You see, Halmere?" Roganda murmured with pride, smiling. "I prepared him all his life for this."

"Preen when we've won, Roganda," Halmere grunted. "Not before."

"Oh, I intend to," Roganda promised him with a smirk.

* * *​

Battle klaxons screamed. Gilad Pellaeon smacked his command console to silence them.

"This is Admiral Rogriss!" called Teren's voice over the communications unit. "UREF vessels adopt conical formation, and prepare to engage the enemy!"

Teren's formation shifted into a broad, expanded formation designed to maximize their forward firepower. The outer edges pushed forwards while the inner ships pulled back slightly, putting them all roughly the same distance from the enemy. Any gun with a firing solution was trained precisely forward, giving the formation the ability to hurl as much firepower at a single target as possible. It was an amazingly aggressive posture, sacrificing defense to maximize the pain they could cause in the shortest possible time.

In the distance, far beyond Teren's ships, was the World Devastator.

A blocky, rectangular thing, the World Devastator was painted the kind of matte black that blocked out the space around it. It was larger than Pellaeon had expected, even larger than their intelligence had suggested. From side to side it was larger than two Imperial-class Star Destroyers pressed prow to engines. As Pellaeon watched, the Devastator's massive, rectangular central core slowly rotated towards the Imperial ships arrayed to fight it, presenting its underbelly. Pellaeon found himself looking at four feet, which framed the Devastator's four corners—they looked remarkably like AT-AT hooves—and an expanse of pure blackness.

But as he watched, that blackness flickered. Light coruscated across the Devastator's underbelly, coalescing into four lines that formed a rectangle around the void. Once those four lines were illuminated and bright, the space between them began to glow. Dimly at first, but brighter and brighter as Pellaeon watched, until the entire bottom of the Devastator blazed like a star.

* * *​

MOLECULAR FURNACE ACTIVE. ANTI-SHIP COUNTERMEASURES PREPARED.

Silencer Station's engines burned to life. The massive station fell slowly towards its enemies, the hungry maw of the molecular furnate active and prepared to consume.

Irek Ismaren felt entirely helpless. He had been installed in the throne to command Silencer-7, but it was increasingly clear that the AI at the heart of the station was not interested in being commanded. He could feel the AI, almost like it had a presence in the Force—and Irek might not be an expert like his mother, but he knew that only living creatures were supposed to have presences in the Force. His questions went unanswered, buried under the litany of status updates as Silencer Station prepared to engage its enemies.

RANGE THIRTY KILOMETERS. CUTTING ACCELERATION TO ZERO. TARGET PRIORITY ESTABLISHED. ENGAGING PRIMARY TARGETS WITH ANTI-SHIP COUNTERMEASURES.

There was the feeling of sudden pressure released. Multiple corvette-sized shapes launched from large docking ports on the sides of Silencer Station, spinning on their massive banks of engines and racing towards the enemy formation of ships.

PREPARING ADDITIONAL ANTI-SHIP COUNTERMEASURES.

Turbolaser fire splashed against Silencer Station's shields. Irek felt it like rain falling on his skin—enough pressure to be noticed, not enough to be dangerous. It splashed over the Station harmlessly, unable to breach its massive overlapping shields, not even threatening the station's multilayered armor. Like gnats TIE droids poured out of Silencer Station's main hangar, swarming, and they were met by fighters that Silencer-7's AI recognized and some that it did not.

EVALUATING ENEMY STARSHIP DESIGNS. CONCLUSION: COMBINATION OF CHISS AND NEO-IMPERIAL DESIGN ELEMENTS. ADJUSTING ESTIMATED BATTLE OUTCOME. PROBABILITY OF COMBAT VICTORY NOW ESTIMATED AT NINETY-SIX PERCENT.

As Silencer Station's weapons swarmed over the enemy formation, so too did the AI's system processes swarm over Irek's mind. He tried to keep up, but there was too much.

… ADJUST TURBOLASER BATTERY SEVEN TO INCREASE SHIELD NEGATION PROBABILITY. SHIELD GENERATOR FIFTY-SEVEN HAS BEEN REDUCED TO EIGHTY-FIVE PERCENT CAPACITY, COMPENSATE BY SHIFTING POWER TO GENERATORS FIFTY-SIX AND FIFTY-EIGHT. PREPARING ADDITIONAL ANTI-SHIP COUNTERMEASURES. ENEMY STAR DESTROYER 'UNREMITTING' DAMAGED, REDUCE TARGETING PRIORITY…

Irek Ismaren was lost in a sea of the AI's thoughts. They washed over him, making it hard to concentrate or think, much less issue commands. Occasionally he felt his lips moving, but he had no idea what he was saying or to whom.

He remembered something Nichos had said, something that had proven to be good advice. "Empty your mind." His mind was too full, too full of thoughts that weren't his, too full of Silencer-7. Irek stopped listening, stopped paying attention, trying to find himself as the waves of thought threatened to topple him under. He focused on emptiness, on the Force itself, on listening not to his own desires or Silencer-7, but just to the power that was there ever at his fingertips, at the edges of his thought.

There he felt something else.

A million minds. Stormtroopers and aliens, politicians and civilians. All the people of Poln Major were out there, fleeing into the void. As scared as he was, they were just as scared and just as lost.

All his life, his mother had told him that they were the only people that mattered. That they were special, destined for greatness. That the Empire was owed to them and theirs to take, and that wherever it cost, whatever it took, was irrelevant. That their rule was demanded by the Force itself.

But he didn't feel special.

It was all he could do not to drown.

[Return to Table of Contents]​

 

Chapter Twenty-Six

Teren Rogriss' flagship was at the center of a formation of Star Destroyers and their escorts, clustered in a hemispheric formation, and the view through Agonizer's forward bridge windows was lit chaotically by turbolaser fire and explosions. His ships formed a curving fan, as though they had once been part of a sphere sundered from its whole; as one they pointed towards the distant World Devastator. The space between his fleet and their enemy glowed and crackled with a slashes of green with bursts of blue; added flares of red and orange detonations punctured the starry dark.

Some of those flares were small, evidence of the ongoing struggle between Rogriss' fighters and the enemy TIE droids. The droids were more capable than they had been at the last battle of Poln Major and they came in greater numbers. TIEs of all varieties—fighters, interceptors, Defenders, and the UREF's Clawcraft—struggled to deal with the swarm.

Rogriss had only cursory attention to devote to the starfighter battle. Fel was in charge of his fighters, and besides the real fight was being waged by the ships with the big guns. Silencer Station was absorbing far more fire than it was delivering, its shields glowing under the strain of absorbing everything Teren Rogriss' formation had to give it.

But so far it was absorbing it all.

Beside him, Captain Tigan's expression was flat, carrying a hint of dire seriousness that he was usually better at hiding. "Gunnery and ComScan haven't reported any shield breaches yet. Not even fluctuations."

Rogriss merely nodded. Panic was not an emotion he was easily prone to and as the senior officer of Poln Major's defense fleet it was not one he could afford. "Concentrate fire further," he ordered. "Target single locations and see if we can force a breach."

"Another wave of corvette missiles detected and inbound on a constant bearing, decreasing range, sector Besh Sixteen!"

Signals that bespoke a handful of lean, triangular shapes detached from the sides of the distant World Devastator, emerging out of enormous construction bays. Each one looked like a Raider-class corvette, with a swollen nose packed with explosives and a cluster of redlined engines to hurl it into ships packed with living beings. Their engines lit and hurled them out from the Devastator towards Rogriss' formation.

"Flak ion fire, now!" ordered Tigan furiously, striding to stand in the middle of Agonizer's bridge, staring out at their still-distant enemy.

They had already nearly lost the Star Destroyer Unremitting to missiles just like those. One of them had breached everything the fleet had to defend against it and struck the big Imperial II just behind its forward nose section. Unremitting remained in action, the guns it had left still firing defiantly, but most of its forward weapons were gone and it surely could not sustain a second strike.

Rogriss spoke, calmly and with deliberation. "Enforcers, advance and intercept the shipkillers. Do not stray into our Destroyer firing arcs." It would be better for an Enforcer to take the hit than it would be to lose another Star Destroyer—they needed the bigger ships' guns if they had any chance to hurt Silencer Station.

TIEs exploded between Agonizer and her sister Star Destroyers as they darted and weaved over durasteel hills in their deadly conflict. One of the ships that was part of Asori's squadron, the Lively-class Discipline, hugged close to Agonizer, its anti-fighter guns spitting lethal bursts of blue fire that knocked down multiple TIE droids as they made attack runs.

Rogriss' attention was locked on his sensor and gunnery readouts. ENEMY SHIELD CAPACITY UNDIMINISHED. NO BREACHES REPORTED.

How could they kill something they couldn't even hurt?

"All Star Destroyers, adjust fire!" Rogriss called. "All gunners concentrate on this point!" He tapped on his screen, picking a location at random from the areas his ships had already struck. "Repeat, concentrate all fire!"

And if this doesn't work, then our next option is close to point blank range, Rogriss thought. He looked up at the image of the World Devastator, slowly growing larger, and its enormous fiery maw. Right into the jaws of the beast. "TIE bomber squadrons, prepare for your attack runs."

* * *​

Engines straining, the Enforcer-class cruiser Staltavin surged forward above Baron Fel's head. The corvette-sized missile that had been bearing down on the Star Destroyer Admonitor slammed into the center of the cruiser instead, ripping its guts out before detonating.

Fel's canopy briefly turned completely black, shielding him from the glare of the fireball that followed. When it was no longer opaque Staltavin was gone, with only a few escape pods marking its passing.

Fel twisted his Defender in a tight arc, spitting laser fire at the TIE droids attempting to mount their own attacks on Admonitor. His ions flickered over their engines; he followed the disabling bursts with green laser fire that erased the enemy droids from space as thoroughly as Staltavin had been erased.

"Status report," he ordered.

"Three is gone," Four said, his Chandrilan accent clipped. "Enemy just launched another hundred clankers at us."

And not just TIE droids. Another wave of the corvette-sized shipkiller missiles were streaking away from their foe also, once again targeting Admiral Rogriss' larger capital ships—and this time, Staltavin was not present to make an intercept. A furious fusillade of ion cannon fire streaks out towards them, combined with tractor locks to try to hold the incoming missiles at bay.

"Form up with us then, Four. Status on the planetary evac?" Fel asked.

"In progress," Four said, tightness underlined by rigid control. "More scooters just docked with Pellaeon; the NR smuggies are clearing atmosphere. I don't know how many people are left groundside."

Too many. We don't have nearly enough ships to get everyone off a planet, even one as small as Poln Major.

Fel's HUD blinked at him. Another Enforcer-class cruiser was gone and the Star Destroyer Unremitting was no longer combat-capable. The UREF's strength was already starting to wane… and so far, they had yet to even hurt the enemy.

"This is Admiral Rogriss," said Rogriss' voice over the comm. "We are going to close the range. Shift all power to your turbolasers and continue to concentrate fire as we close. TIE bombers, launch now. We are clearing paths for you to make attack runs; salvo all your torpedoes and bombs. We must breach the enemy's shields."

The remaining Star Destroyers of the UREF tightened their formation and surged forward, maximizing their acceleration to close the distance as quickly as possible. They sacrificed their defenses to do so, shifting power to engines and weapons. As the distance closed, their weapons struck with greater punch, pounding the enemy's shields, making them glow in response.

Glow and flare with impact, but not break.

* * *​

Teren Rogriss stood with Captain Tigan at Agonizer's front bridge window. They were close enough now that they could see the bursts of turbolaser fire battering the World Devastator. Concentrated lines of green and blue struck with metronomic weight, battering potential vulnerabilities, trying to stress the enemy's defenses past their breaking point.

TIE bombers darted between those streaks of coherent green and blue, curving towards the enemy. The enemy's TIE droids swarmed after them, and a vicious dogfight ensued as the fighters under Baron Fel's command tried to protect the bombers long enough for them to make their runs. Some of the bombers vanished as single-minded, suicidal TIE droids willingly sacrificed themselves to make kills, but Fel's people got most of them through.

Space rippled blue and orange as their proton torpedoes and cluster bombs launched from the bombers. The Defenders added some concussion missiles for good measure, despite their weaker yields.

"Breach!"

The shout from Agonizer's tactical station was a banshee cry of triumph. The torpedoes had breached the Devastator's outer layer of shields, and Rogriss' ships took advantage of the sudden vulnerability even before he could order them to. The coherent beams of fire blasting from the UREF formation sought out the breach, punching into it to drill into armor below.

* * *​

Irek Ismaren flinched. A burst of pain erupted on his arm, like someone had touched him with a hot poker. "Ow!"

SHIELD GENERATOR TWENTY-ONE OVERLOADED. ATTEMPTING TO COMPENSATE. SHIFTING MANUFACTURING RESERVES TO REINFORCE ARMOR IN SECTION TWENTY-ONE. PREPARING ADDITIONAL ANTI-SHIP COUNTERMEASURES.

* * *​

Rogriss' formation had already lost seven Enforcer-class cruisers and the Star Destroyer Unremitting, and their mad charge to point blank range had left them vulnerable.

A new wave of anti-ship missiles erupted away from the World Devastator. They could not gain as much speed as they had when Rogriss' ships had been more distant, but they also did not need to travel as far and there was less opportunity for those missiles to be shot down before impact.

"Incoming!"

Rogriss turned his head, his eyes widening as he saw one of those missiles hurtling towards his bridge.

"Reinforce bridge shields!" he heard Tigan yell, dimly in the back of his mind.

Images of Terek and Asori flashed before him as he watched the missile close. They were good kids, they'd always been good kids, obedient and even-tempered and loyal, and he loved them and hadn't spent nearly enough time with them—

The Enforcer-class cruiser Davrikin cut in front of the bridge viewport, coming so close to Agonizer that they nearly collided. It hovered there, racing through Rogriss' vision, entirely filling the bridge window, and then it exploded. It was torn apart from the inside out, the explosion coming squarely in the middle of the cruiser center-of-mass. Debris swept over Agonizer, flung at ridiculous velocities, but the smaller fragments were absorbed by the flaghip's shields.

"Warrior and Wrath are hit!"

Davrikin had saved Agonizer, but two of her sisters had not been so lucky. On the plot Warrior blinked yellow with serious but not crippling damage. Even as the ship's captain struggled successfully to maintain formation its forward firepower dropped to a trickle of what it had previously been producing. Wrath was gone; an enormous gaping hole in its aft sections was all the evidence of the corvette-sized missile that had torn the heart out of the vessel, leaving it drifting.

He'd lost three of his Star Destroyers. His TIE bombers had been savaged, their munitions already expended. And the wound they had inflicted… as Rogriss watched, the hole in the World Devastator's shields sealed itself up, as if it had never been there at all.

* * *​

SHIELD GENERATOR TWENTY-ONE REPAIRED. REPAIRS TO ARMOR UNDERWAY. PREPARING ADDITIONAL ANTI-SHIP COUNTERMEASURES.

The pain on Irek's arm had faded some, but it had drawn him out of a dazed, suffocating stupor. He could feel Silencer-7 working, responding, countering the enemy fleet's efforts. Information poured through the command throne into Irek and he was getting better at managing it and interpreting it. The battle was no longer a swarm of information, too much for him to sort through, but a manageable tide that he could pick and choose from, concentrating on things he cared about.

"What are all those ships around the planet?" he asked.

EVACUATION VEHICLES. TRAITORS FLEEING IMPERIAL JUSTICE.

There was a pause. In his heart Irek felt a swell of emotion; his only-recently developed empathic sense overpowered by a sudden sense of determined malice. A desire to inflict harm on those Silencer-7 had decided were deserving of it.

THE PUNISHMENT OF TRAITORS IS A PRIORITY OBJECTIVE. THIS IS THE WILL.

* * *​

The TIE droids fighting Fel abruptly broke off. They spun away, flying away from the TIE bombers they had previously been targeting. The bombers, suddenly free, immediately lined up a new strike against the World Devastator, but with their numbers so diminished it was unlikely they would be able to breach its shields a second time.

"Where are they going?" asked Phennir, somewhat confused.

Baron Soontir Fel had never fought Silencer Station, nor had he ever fought anything like the AI that governed its actions, which meant he had no way to guess. He brought up his HUD, tracking the enemy TIEs…

He inhaled sharply, his eyes going wide. "They're going after the refugee ships!" he said in astonishment. There was no military need to do that—and doing it compromised the enemy's battle plans! It was sheer, pointless spite!

"Gilad, you have incoming." Teren Rogriss' voice was harsh and strained almost to the breaking point. "There's no more time to get another round of evacuees, get out of the gravity well and get out of here!"

"Status change!"

As Fel's gut churned in dismay, his HUD obediently reported more than a dozen new icons arriving nearby. As he watched, a dozen became far more, as each one of the arriving ships disgorged squadrons of starfighters that vectored towards the fray.

X-wings and A-wings and B-wings and many E-wings, each one automatically tagged in a hostile red by his targeting computer.

A new transmission came, piped into his helmet with a staticky crackle. "This is Commodore Atril Tabanne, New Republic Defense Forces," a female voice cut through the comm static with reassuring glass-smooth tones, nearly Imperial in their precision. "I'm here with Captain Rogriss for reconnaissance and diplomacy. Tell us what we should look at and we'll go shake a few hands."

Fel couldn't help it. He smiled.

That would be one of Wedge's subordinates.

* * *​

Asori Rogriss stood in front of the holo-display in Rendili Vigil's bridge, staring at a massacre in the making.

Her father's ships were clustered in a last-ditch, mutually protective formation, trying to use their tractor beams to repel incoming corvette-sized missiles long enough for their turbolasers to destroy them. Closer to the planet, Pellaeon's three Star Destroyers were laboring to collect as many refugees from Poln Major as they could. Surrounded by transports burning from space to surface to ship and back as quickly as possible, the entire formation menaced by a cloud of countless TIE droids.

The voice over the comm belonged to Gilad Pellaeon. "Commodore Tabanne, the best use of your—"

His voice cut off. There was a smear of light on the holo-display and another one of her father's Star Destroyers vanished. As a steel fist gripped her heart she scanned the combat plot and was relieved—so, so relieved—to see that Agonizer remained, fighting on.

Pellaeon's words were interrupted by punctures of static. ". . . will hold them off . . . evacuation should be . . . combat data to the New Republic to prove that we all have to fight . . . use it to find a weakness . . ."

* * *​

"—get all our combat data to the New Republic to prove that we all have to fight this thing! Surely someone will be able to use it to find a weakness in its defenses!" Even as he spoke, Gilad Pellaeon stared at his own combat plot, watching Teren Rogriss' formation vanish before his eyes, terrified that there may be no weakness to find.

He'd seen disasters before. He'd been at Endor and Carida, after all. The New Order's catastrophe here at Poln Major, not that long ago, had been a military debacle on a scale the galaxy had rarely seen. But this was going to be just as terrible a catastrophe—and Pellaeon was going to be on the losing side.

"Grand Moff Ferrouz," he grated out, the words harsh in his throat. He kept them quiet, because what he needed to say was best not overheard by his crew. "We need to withdraw while we can to preserve our strength. We cannot defeat that thing."

"What about the New Republic ships, can they—"

Pellaeon shook his head fiercely. "They aren't capital ships. They're dangerous for their size but don't have anywhere near the firepower we're going to need to breach the World Devastator's shields."

"That wasn't what I was asking." Ferrouz's eyes flashed with anger. "I am aware we cannot defeat the enemy we face. But we still have civilians on the surface of Poln Major who require evacuation. Can the New Republic's ships make landings?"

Pellaeon stared at him. "We don't have the time!"

Ferrouz ignored him, grappling with his own comm unit. "Commodore Tabanne, we still have civilians who require evacuation. Can you assist?"

* * *​

Asori almost jumped into the air in surprise when Atril started talking from beside her, with a strong, determined command voice. "This is the Commodore. Colonel Klivian, take our starfighters to defend Chimaera, Wild Karrde and the other ships performing the planetary evac. Mareschals, we're not really meant to land but we can do it. Moff Ferrouz, you should know that my ships do not have much in the way of passenger space and if we're crammed to the bulkheads we won't be combat effective."

"Understood Commodore. How many people can your ships—"

"As many as we can," Atril said, "Now mark our landing zones!"

There were further words exchanged, but almost none of it was audible. That might have been because of New Order jamming, but just as likely it was the blood pounding in Asori's ears. The World Devastator was bearing down on the UREF force opposing it now, and Agonizer was at the center of that tight formation.

* * *​

"All engines, reverse thrust!" Tigan ordered, and Agonizer's thrusters flared. The entire ship seemed to vibrate under Rogriss' feet as she strained, pulling backwards. Green turbolaser fire continued to pour out of his ship's guns, blasting away at the World Devastator, but the enemy's shields were still too powerful and the blasts; guns able to tear continents apart and boil oceans did not breach them a second time.

He blinked in sudden consternation. The enemy TIEs were still closing, but no one had called out an incoming missile in… he wasn't sure how long it had been. "How long has it been since the last shipkiller salvo?" he asked.

"Several minutes. Look, sir," Tigan said. He pointed out through Agonizer's bridge window. The World Devastator was coming forward towards them—and towards Poln Major behind them—its shields still glowing under the weight of the Empire's turbolasers. "It's closing."

Behind the glow of the World Devastator's shields was another glow—the glow of the World Devastator's molecular furnace. Rogriss could almost see teeth. "Increase reverse thrust to maximum," he ordered as calmly as he could.

* * *​

RESERVE MATERIALS NEARING EXHAUSTION.

The sensory inputs from the command throne poured over the link between Irek and Silencer-7. Knowledge of Silencer Station's capabilities appeared in his consciousness and Irek suddenly knew that the main weapon the station had used against the enemy formation had been expended. The station's massive molecular furnace had been constructing new ordinance out of its stocks of raw materials, but now there was none left.

ALL RESERVES ALLOCATED. SYSTEM ANALYSIS IN PROGRESS. IDENTIFYING POTENTIAL SOURCES OF NEW RAW MATERIALS.

Silencer Station's sensors lashed out at the system. Planets and moons were ranked in a hierarchy of value, with those that offered the most raw materials for new construction at the top. They were then reordered on the basis of proximity and finally on the basis of a third criteria that it took Irek some time to comprehend.

In another sentient being, Irek would have called it 'taste'. For Silencer-7, it felt more like malicious satisfaction.

TARGET IDENTIFIED. PREPARING FOR RESOURCE COLLECTION.

In a dark, angry red, Silencer-7's acquisition subroutines illuminated the Star Destroyer Agonizer as its priority target.

* * *​

Dorset Konnair led more than a hundred New Republic snubfighters into battle. Through either side of her cockpit she could see allied fighters: Knave Leader and his E-wings were redlining their engines to keep up, but her A-wings still outpaced them. Farther behind, Colonel Klivian and the Rogues were at the center of their formation. Engines glowed in the void and ahead of them the first bursts of green laser fire were visible as the TIE droids reached Admiral Pellaeon's formation.

The four 'friendly' Imperial-class Star Destroyers were spread farther apart than they normally would be, because that made it easier for them to rapidly capture and release the freighters ferrying refugees up from Poln Major's surface. Those transports, by contrast, clustered as closely together as possible once they escaped the Star Destroyers' massive hangars, their guns offering one another protection.

She flicked her comm to wide-band as they closed within ten klicks of the Imperial formation, but Colonel Klivian's voice broke through first, in the clear, in a precise diction she'd never heard him use before. "UREF forces, this is Rogue Leader. The New Republic starfighters coming up on you are friendly, repeat friendly. Tag us blue or we'll have a problem."

He didn't get a reply, but she hadn't really been expecting him to. After all, her HUD made it clear that all the Imperials were busy.

TIE droids swarmed over the Imperial ships, taking advantage of impressive speed and even more impressive maneuverability. Without any concern for the health of a sentient pilot, they could pull turns that even with a full inertial compensator would have turned Dorset into gravity-pressed goo as they skimmed over the ships, firing ruthlessly. They targeted the freighters first, which suggested that their priorities were more about inflicting harm than they were about getting back out of this engagement alive.

TIE droids, the Empire had demonstrated at Coruscant, were expendable.

Well. She was a New Republic pilot flying one of the fastest, meanest ships ever devised and the ships under threat were packed to the gills with civilians. That meant she was expendable too. Dorset smiled and flicked her communicator to the Polearm Squadron channel. "Polearm Squadron, Polearm Leader. One Fight, we're going to protect the Wild Karrde. Two Flight, Three Flight take targets of opportunity. All fighters, shoot, scoot, and maintain your energy or you'll get swarmed. In and out and we let the Slowbies pick up after us."

There was an echo of acknowledging comm clicks, and then nothing. Her people knew their jobs. When the range hit seven klicks she started hunting for targets, her HUD occasionally flickering yellow with semi-locks on her concussion missile launchers, but the TIE droids were too maneuverable to confirm a lock, rolling between the cluttered freighters.

Her twelve A-wings were the first into the fray. They rocketed ahead at full throttle, tearing through the center of the freighter formation and bursting out the other side, leaving explosions in their wake. Dorset wasn't sure if they had killed anything, but in her HUD she could see the Knaves and Rogues and the rest of their fighters swoop in after them, laser cannons firing, reaping kill after kill after kill. X-wings and E-wings chopped their throttles, their veteran pilots dancing between freighters, pursuing and pursued by TIE droids; their shields absorbed green energy and their lasers sent red blasts back. Fiery explosions punctured the space between the freighters; red and green blips vanished from her HUD.

Green blasts zipped over her shoulder so Dorset flared her throttle and swung her A-wing around a SoroSuub medium runner, taking her back in the direction she had come. Acceleration mashed her back into her seat as she came back into the melee. This time her missile lock was good, the solid hum of her launcher confident, and a fierce orange flare roared out of her fighter towards its target. The TIE droid, clearly aware it was incoming, tried to spin out of the way. A more experienced pilot—or a better programmed one—probably could have used all the freighters for cover, but the TIE droid's evasive maneuvers were more rudimentary and her missile tore through it. Ahead of her, an E-wing skimmed just over the shield perimeter of a small bulk freighter, its trio of powerful laser cannons obliterating another TIE droid as it lined up for an attack run.

"Starfighters, stay on the freighters," said the voice of Rendili Vigil's Bothan communications officer. "The carriers and Tempered Mettle are making a run for the surface for more refugees. Keep those TIEs off us while we do."

Dorset glanced at her HUD, then inverted her fighter. Below them were the twelve larger, almost aquatic shapes of Mirage Formation's Mareschals. The Rendili-built ships were an odd mix of Rendili and Mon Calamari design sensibilities, blocky and curving, in a way that looked like half art piece and half picket ship. TIE droids moved to intercept them, some of them vanishing as they encountered precisely-aimed bursts of red lasers. Ahead of the formation was the oval-shaped Tempered Mettle, moving with a speed and verve that belied its rotund design, Imperial-green lasers firing with uncanny precision—additional evidence, Dorset thought, that the Jedi deserved every bit of their reputation in the Fleet.

Though, she didn't need any more evidence. She had, after all, seen Skywalker flying with the Rogues at Linuri.

Her HUD flashed with a situation update. She was much too far away from the main fight to see what was going on; Silencer Station and Admiral Rogriss' ships were grappling with one another further away from the planet. But she didn't need to be close enough to see the slugging match to know how it was going as yet another of Rogriss' ships vanished off her tactical plot.

* * *​

The Tempered Mettle boasted a pair of hidden laser turrets for mid-range combat, not unlike those mounted on the Millennium Falcon. Unlike the Falcon's, however, their mountings were too small for proper gunnery stations, so they were operated instead from Mettle's bridge. Luke and Leia each took a station, one on either side of the bridge, targeted the incoming TIE droids, and opened up in a dazzling array of hard light.

It was a strange experience. Luke had grown accustomed to feeling the minds of enemy pilots during battle. Each one gleamed in the Force, the glow indicative of sentience and emotion. It made finding an enemy easier for Luke, because they did not know how—or even that they needed to—shourd themselves from a Jedi's empathic sense. Of course, it made killing an enemy far more difficult, because Luke could feel every pilot he killed, sense the moment their light went out.

The TIE droids, by contrast, had no such light. They were machines, dark to the Force, as black in his empathic sense as the emptiness of space itself. That made them harder to find, but it also meant that each one he killed did not further burden his soul.

He fired again, Tempered Mettle's starboard turret spitting out a burst of green fire at the TIE droid attempting to strafe the much larger Rendili Vigil, also racing towards Poln Major on a hasty landing trajectory. A puff of flame and sparks later and the hostile contact vanished from his screen.

He could feel Mara in the pilot's seat at the front of the bridge. She was immersed in the Force, linked to both him and Leia. Emotions and intentions flowed easily between Luke and Mara and Tempered Mettle had a tendency to roll in just the right direction, shift its courses minutely to improve his firing prospects, or suddenly go still and steady so he could line up a shot, without him even needing to. He could also feel Leia, on the opposite side of the bridge at the starboard turret station, and her intensity and focus on both the enemies they fought and the mission that had brought them all here.

Leia's mind was busy, balancing her awareness of threats and the need to help the people of Poln Major with the bigger picture. The threat of the massive military machine—which, Luke realized with some consternation, was not as dead to the Force as the TIE droids it had rallied to fight them—was not just to this one provincial world, but to the entire New Republic. And her presence here, the sudden ad-hoc alliance between the Unknown Regions Expeditionary Force and the New Republic task force sent on "reconnaissance", had implications just as great for ending the long galactic war, which had been one of Leia's great goals ever since the New Republic was founded.

Luke knew his sister was brilliant, but the depth and constancy of her thought—and her utter inability to turn off the part of her brain ever-focused on the bigger picture—still sometimes startled him. When Mara was in a fight she shrank the universe down to a single point, focusing unerringly on the problem in front of her and how she was going to deal with it. Leia did not, could not, ever do that.

And, of course, Luke could feel that Leia and Mara were just as aware of one another as he was aware of each of them. The depths of his bond to both women, the intensity of the connection, served as a conduit through which each could sense the other. Just as Tempered Mettle shifted and danced to help Luke, so too did it shift and dance to help Leia.

That part of the connection was much harder on Mara than it was on Leia. Leia was open and comfortable, with a good politician's instinct to share and reveal in order to make their constituents comfortable and trusting. Mara was the opposite, typically choosing to reveal herself to Luke and only to Luke. But even though Luke could feel her consternation he could also feel her resignation and acceptance. Leia had always been able to see more than Mara was comfortable with, after all. Deeper in the ship, in the cargo bay, were Iella, the Devaronian Kapp Dendo, and his commando team, veteran professionalism overlaying pre-deployment jitters with rote-learned rigor.

Artoo whistled. The computer translated for all of them. LANDING SITE ASSIGNED.

Mara took them hard into the atmosphere, heat burning around her ship's shields. All around them, fire clawed at the Mareschals as they likewise made almost-too-quick atmospheric entry, each aiming for a landing location of their own. Like meteors they streaked towards the ground. Above them, New Republic starfighters and TIE droids dueled for control for the sky above.

[Return to Table of Contents]​