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

Ooh, Karrde making use of a convenient departure window

 

Now that's a moving truck

It's always nice when the bad guys jump to the wrong conclusion

lol

Between her absolute across-the-board competence and the Force-sensitivity, she really is a handy person to have around

 

[Go to Table of Contents]​

Chapter Thirty One, Part II

There was something wrong.

The Tevas-kaar could feel it in his gut. Tension curling, the Force twisting around him, pulling and pushing, his danger sense singing with increasing pitch and volume. With each passing minute he could feel the sensation growing, could feel threat and anticipation boxing in around him, depriving him of options. But the exact nature of the threat… that was unclear.

Ever since his encounter with the Jedi on Coruscant, there had been tension and anticipation warring within him, neither interested in justifying itself. Opportunity was coming, change was coming—and with it came danger. He knew it, he was certain of it, but the Force had not explained more to him. He’d even tried meditation, a practice he’d long-since abandoned and only tried on very rare occasions, but all he’d seen was a memory of his past: his master’s face and words, his master’s blade.

His master’s death. Again and again and again.

There was a reason he had stopped meditating.

But Tavira did not seem hindered by any such worries. She was in as good a mood as he could ever remember, flush with the rewards of her bargain with Vorru, gleaming with her own anticipation for the future. The Invidious hung in space on the other side of the massive orbital facility as Tavira personally oversaw the extraction of valuable items from the base as it was evacuated. Small freighters swarmed around, loading up and carrying items to Invidious and the other Star Destroyers, unloading them and returning. Cartons of blaster rifles and surplus gas cartridges; TIE interceptor components; spare parts for hyperdrives and shield generators, turbolaser batteries and tractor beams. Every Star Destroyer spare part a captain might need. Anything and everything she might use she plucked and took for herself with clear glee.

The tension was growing, and he finally gave in. “My Lady,” he murmured, leaning towards her.

Tavira turned and looked up, her violet eyes gazing up at his mask. “Yes, my Tevas-kaar?”

“Something is wrong, My Lady,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what, but I believe there is danger coming. I think we should return to Invidious and evacuate.”

She stopped, frowning. She peered around them slowly, examining the other faces in the base’s large open hangar. Stormtroopers marching into transports, repulsorlifts humming as they fled into space; technicians working frantically to box up supplies and ship them to Agonizer or the two Victory-class Star Destroyers which had been repurposed into transports. Pilots doing last system checks on their ships before making their own departures.

“If Vorru were going to have me assassinated, I doubt he would do it here,” she said finally. “Disra doesn’t have the guts to try it. Besides, any threat from them I’m sure you can handle.”

He gritted his teeth. “My Lady—”

She waved away his concerns. “You’re my bodyguard. If there is a threat to me, I have every confidence you will be able to address it.” She wandered off, placing Invidious’ name on the destination labels for multiple freight containers.

He took a deep breath. He wanted to protest, to explain that not every threat could be so easily dismissed, that it was exceedingly possible that they might face something more serious—something like the Jedi on Coruscant, whom he had only defeated because of his armor, something that would not likely work a second time. But he was sworn to her, and had already expressed his concerns. Doing so again would annoy her and accomplish nothing.

So he said nothing, following her as she browsed, feeling the tension in the air grow thicker and thicker.

Her comlink chirped, and she plucked it off her belt and activated it. “Tavira.”

“Admiral, we’ve had an unauthorized launch,” said the voice of the man who had replaced Navarian as Invidious’ communications officer. “A freighter, the—”

His voice was cut off suddenly; behind the man’s voice was the howl of a battle klaxon. With a grimace Tavira pulled the comlink away from her ear. “Invidious?” she said. “What’s going on up there?”

They both jumped as a new klaxon sounded, this one in the hanger they were standing in. So too did all the pilots, stormtroopers, technicians… even the loader droids paused to look around.

“Invidious, damn it, what is happening!” There was a rumble of footsteps and TIE pilots, half dressed in their flightsuits, were running or stumbling into the hangar now, racing for the lines of TIEs spaced haphazardly around, pushed out of the way so that the transports could make quicker landings.

“I’m sorry Admiral,” the voice came back. There was a quaver in that voice. “There’s a New Republic battle fleet that has just arrived in-system, and it’s already launching fighters. They… they’re headed your direction, ma’am.”

Tavira stared at her comlink, then at the Tevas-kaar. “Kriff,” she cursed, sounding stunned. He could feel in her Force-sense the sudden realization that all she had already won, all she had gained, was suddenly at dire risk. There was an edge of panic in her voice. “Prepare for immediate departure!” she ordered. “As soon as I’m back aboard we’ll be leaving. Scramble all our fighters to protect the ship!” She turned towards him, and he had to resist the urge to point out that he’d warned her something was wrong. “Protect me!”

“Yes, My Lady,” he said, feeling the Dark teasing him, insidious, feeding his resentment. “As you command.”

* * *​

Wedge Antilles’ X-wing snapped back into realspace right on target, the rest of Rogue Squadron flickering in around him. Behind the snubfighters were the heavier ships: the five Katana Dreadnaughts which had been General Bel Iblis’ fleet during his private war against the Empire, Admiral Areta Bell’s Endurance, launching even more fighters from its large hangar, and Plourr’s Uthorrferrell, unloading four squadrons of Z-95s and X-wings from the Eiattuan Queensguard.

He didn’t have Atril in his ear, but Garm Bel Iblis’ voice was there instead. The two of them rapidly took stock of the situation. “Main target is the second Golan station,” Bel Iblis said. “Linuri-Beta. That one has a full field of fire over the orbital facilities where the prison is located. We can avoid Gamma and Alpha as long as we don’t threaten the rapid repair facility or the ground facilities.”

“Confirmed,” Wedge said. “Looks like we caught the two Impstars in port. Invidious and Agonizer are both docked to the platforms, and by the looks of things Agonizer is missing half of one of her engines. The two Vicstars are the more immediate problem.”

“You leave those to me,” Bel Iblis growled. “My dreadnaughts should be able to match them and then some. I’ll take enough fighters to match their squadrons. You take the rest of the force and hit the Golan. Once it’s out of action we’ll reassess.”

There were already Imperial fighters spilling into space. Invidious was launching more of those odd TIEs that Tavira seemed to favor; the base was launching the more typical varieties of TIEs, with the typical TIE fighter most predominant. “There is a lot of traffic out here,” Wedge pointed out. “I’m counting at least twenty Imperial freighters of a variety of makes.”

“If they don’t fight us let them go,” Bel Iblis said. “We’re here for one thing and one thing only, and that’s our people. Our last report was they’re on the base and the timeline for their execution could be short. Let’s go get them.”

“Right.” Wedge flicked the com off private. “New Republic forces, this is General Antilles. Polearm, Guardian, Champion, and Torrent squadrons, your job is to screen our dreadnaughts and help knock out the two Vicstars—” he paused a moment to let his HUD update “—Arlionne and Furious. All other squadrons, our target is the Golan station Linuri-Beta. Warden Squadron, I want that station eliminated. Everyone else, keep the B-wings clear to launch.”

There was a pause and each squadron leader echoed a confirmation.

Wedge pushed his throttle to full, the distant base facility starting to grow in his vision as Gate beeped to alert him to the growing number of enemy snubfighters. He quickly scanned through his own squadron’s status reports one more time; was relieved to see all eleven of his pilots roaring after him (even Myn, clearly frayed after losing his fighter at the Battle of Ukio, had nonetheless scrounged an X-wing from Orthavan’s squadrons). “They’ve got our own in there,” he added. “We’re going to get them back.”

* * *​

The distance between the mass of snubfighters, six full squadrons of fighters, and the Imperial starfighter squadrons closed to under ten kilometers. On Luke’s HUD, Artoo counted down the distance, the number scrolling rapidly downwards. Luke reached out to the Force, feeling the seventy-two minds of New Republic and Eiattuan Queensguard. He felt their aggregated tension, their fear, their professionalism, their confidence. He felt their patriotism and their love and their dedication. Wes’ passionate dedication to the Rogues and his unofficial role as morale officer; Tycho’s meticulous, incredibly precise and thorough brain, already boxing in targets; Plourr’s carefully controlled anger and quiet fear that she might never see her children again; Myn’s exhausted determination to see the mission through.

Wedge’s love for every one of them, and his endlessly creative, improvisational mind.

Luke gave them focus; he schooled their fears, not removing them but blunting the edge. Remembering C’baoth’s ability to improve the combat potential of the Imperial forces, Luke sought to do the same, improving awareness and coordination, aim and response time. He could not push them beyond their abilities, but he could help each of them be the best they could be.

He frowned. Another mind, familiar and dazzlingly brilliant, edged his awareness. It was coming up behind them, surprised and then relieved, sudden affection surging as it reached back towards him and of course it was Mara, her subtle passion and ironfisted determination and sharpened wit and he leaned into her presence—

Skywalker?

“Fancy meeting you folks out here,” Han’s voice said over the com. “I hope you don’t mind me crashing your party, Wedge. And is that you, kid?”

“I’ll never turn down the Millennium Falcon,” Wedge said with a laugh. “Welcome to the party, General. Fighters, redesignate Falcon as Gold Leader.” Artoo beeped happily and updated Luke’s HUD.

“It’s me, Han,” Luke smiled, splitting his attention between the falling distance to the TIEs and his brother-in-law. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re here to rescue Karrde; saw Bel Iblis’ fleet drop out of hyperspace and decided to join in the fun. Glad you’re here to help us rescue him.”

Luke thought about adding that they also needed to rescue the other prisoners, but decided it wasn’t important enough to waste precious seconds. “Care to help us clear out this nest of Imperial pilots?”

“I’ve even got two gunners for the quads,” Han said, his grin audible. “You’ll never guess who.”

Luke didn’t need to guess. He reached out in the Force, felt Mara reach back. Mara.

The Millennium Falcon’s arrival had an immediate impact on New Republic morale. The stock-freighter’s speed was impressive and it easily outpaced a B-wing, and Luke and Hobbie spread their formation to offer an escort. That was odd, Luke thought, pulling himself away from the incredible temptation to just focus on Mara’s luminous presence, there was another Force-strong presence on the Falcon—

But there was no time to focus on it as the TIEs reached firing distance and space erupted with laser fire.

TIE fighters, with their lack of shields, were most vulnerable at the point of contact with the enemy. Without shields head-on-head engagements were often suicide, so the enemy TIEs broke away just before effective laser range, curling around in an attempt to flank the New Republic snubfighters. The Eiattuan Z-95s broke after them, dual laser cannons spitting fire, catching a handful of the evading TIEs. The Rogues and Eiattuan X-wings equaled in numbers the fighters which had launched from Tavira’s Invidious, torpedoes soaring from some of the X-wings at the three-winged TIEs.

Luke, still half-engaged in his Battle Meditation, could feel his fellow pilots. Plourr was already celebrating a kill, having put a torpedo through the cockpit of her first target. Tycho and Wedge were playing off each other, Tycho letting Wedge distract the enemy fighters and drive them into the Alderaanian’s sights, where he coolly vaped them one by one.

One of the fighters was closing in on him, and Luke pulled himself fully out of the meditation, unable to sustain it and concentrate on the battle at the same time. Hobbie was there, his X-wing’s lasers flashing and sending the TIE spinning out of the battle, two Z-95s racing in pursuit of its wingman.

The Falcon roared past, quad lasers snarling, plucking another TIE out of space, and Luke could hear Iella Wessiri’s victorious shout over the com, hear her and Wedge exchanging the briefest of reunions. Luke grinned. He had Hobbie watching his back, Han, Chewie, Mara, and Iella in the Falcon, and it was time to just fly.

* * *​

Mara had never had a real chance to see Skywalker fly. She knew he had a reputation for being a hot hand in an X-wing, and she knew he had destroyed the Death Star the first time he’d ever stepped into a spaceworthy cockpit, but his flying prowess had never been a particular concern of hers. If she was going to assassinate him it wouldn’t be flying ship-to-ship; she was a decent enough pilot, sure, but it wasn’t her primary skill. And since they’d actually met his ground prowess had always been most important; that had been the domain of their competition, and of their teamwork.

The Falcon lurched, Han and Chewie keeping Mara’s turret covering the field of fire where Skywalker’s X-wing was visible. Skywalker spun, his wingman skillfully keeping in formation, and the two of them sent quick bursts of lasers out at a target she couldn’t see. There was the brightness of an explosion, and she swiveled her turret and sent a barrage of fire at one of Tavira’s fighters, sending it evasive.

Through it all, there was Luke. His presence had been unexpected to say the least, but once she had realized he was here she’d been drawn inextricably to him, a gleaming beacon luring her closer with irresistible gravity. There were no words—neither of them had the focus to attempt a conversation—but they didn’t need one. She knew what he was about to do, almost like her hand rested atop his as he guided his X-wing, and could tell that he in turn just knew what she was aiming at.

She could feel, too, his sheer joy and delight at flight. Yes, they were in a fight for their lives, but even that couldn’t diminish Luke’s pure happiness as he guided his fighter with skill she could honestly say she had never seen matched. She could share in that joy too, and wondered, with silent detachment as she protected his life with the Falcon’s heavy quad, if there would ever be a time in her life when she was as happy as Luke Skywalker was flying an X-wing.

* * *​

Wedge pulled the trigger, sending four bursts of laser fire burning through his target. The trefoil TIE spun away, now short two wings and spinning out of control in the direction of Linuri. The planet, in contrast, remained placidly in its orbit, unchanged by the battle above.

Proton torpedoes rang against the shields of the Golan station that hung above the Linuri orbital facility, the station's large turbolaser batteries blasting back. Golan stations weren’t designed to fight snubfighters, and their capital-grade batteries had serious trouble hitting the small craft, but even one hit from those batteries would kill a starfighter and Golans could take a lot of punishment.

The two Star Destroyers in port were still locked into their moorings. Invidious was buzzing with activity, but remained unable to engage while Agonizer, still bearing wounds inflicted at Hishyim and Ukio, was at the more distant repair facility and escorted by two distant dreadnaughts which had not yet moved to involve themselves in the fight.

I wonder what they’re waiting for.

Wedge, finding himself out of the melee for a moment, took a breath and thought hard as he toggled through his HUD. The Queensguard fighters were acquitting themselves well, but the two antiquated Z-95 squadrons had still suffered losses. The Rogues were performing extraordinarily well, so well that Wedge had to do a double take. His attention settled on Luke and found himself grinning.

Luke was everywhere. He had an uncanny ability to be in exactly the right place at exactly the right time. Whenever one of the Rogues found themselves in a tight spot, there were Luke and the Falcon, Luke chasing the enemy away or nailing them with precise fire. The ones Luke didn’t get, the Falcon mostly did.

Luke’s fighter had picked up a rather determined tail, so he adopted a straightforward weave, preventing the TIE from getting a good shot off at him. The Falcon’s gunner sniped the TIE with a daring shot that had barely missed Luke’s fighter, Luke dodging out of the way just in time to avoid taking the fire himself. Either it had been the riskiest shot Wedge had ever seen, or Luke and the Falcon’s gunner shared a brain.

Hobbie’s fighter roared after Luke, desperately trying to catch up, and Wedge laughed. “Having trouble keeping up with Rogue Three, Four? Remember, you’re the one who wanted to be his wingman.”

“I can’t decide if I like this or hate it,” complained Hobbie, sounding breathless. “I feel like I’ve run a marathon.”

Wedge chuckled, then spun his fighter to get a visual on Linuri-Beta. The Golan had suffered proton torpedo strikes but was still clearly in action, and he gripped his stick. “All fighters, time to hit the Golan. We can’t put landing forces on the orbital facility until we’ve knocked it out, so that’s our next job.” The was an echo of confirmation, and Wedge toggled over to proton torpedoes, lining up his first shots.

The Golan’s turbolaser batteries snarled as one, firing above and behind him, and from that position came returning turbolaser and ion cannon fire. Endurance and Uthorrferrell spat furiously at the Golan, their weapons plugging away at the heavy platform, weakening its shields as the snubfighters swerved close to attack.

Then the amount of fire pouring into the Golan suddenly doubled, and doubled again. Wedge frowned in astonishment and confusion. “Gate, who’s shooting?”

His astromech whistled cheerfully, and on the HUD popped up a list of a dozen freighters, each one listed as belonging to the Smugglers’ Alliance. There was a Corellian corvette, the Kern’s Pride, five bulk freighters also of Corellian make, a handful of converted Kuati yachts, a half-dozen other irregular ships… and many of them were launching proton torpedoes or concussion missiles.

“Imperials, this is Captain Gillespee of the Kern’s Pride, affiliated with the Smugglers’ Alliance,” an older, confident male voice came over the wide-band on the com with relish. “I suggest you finish your evacuation before we finish it for you.”

“Are you seeing this, Leader?” asked Tycho.

“Yep,” Wedge said, his HUD humming the solid tone of a good target lock. “Let’s finish it, Two.”

Proton torpedoes exploded against the Golan station. It spun, maneuvering thrusters wheeling it around to bring its undamaged side to bear, but that made little difference against the starfighters. The Rogues curved around to come back in on the damaged flank, putting torpedoes through its diminished shields, tearing holes in its hull. Bleeding atmosphere, the station’s shields failed and Endurance’s big guns and ion cannons raked devastation in their wake, disabling some weapons, shredding others. The Smugglers’ Alliance ships added still more weapons fire, their lower-grade weapons wreaking their own havoc, while more proton torpedoes ripped deep before exploding.

The com beeped. “All Smugglers’ Alliance vessels, this is Mara Jade,” her authoritative voice came over the com. “The station’s finished, save your torpedoes and missiles for now.”

Wedge thumbed his com. “General Antilles to all fighters, Linuri-Beta has been disabled, well done.” His gaze shifted to the still moored Invidious. “Repriotize targeting. Invidious is next. Major Page, you’re up.”

* * *​

“That’s generous of you, Red,” Han said over the intercom. “Giving the Imperials time to get off that deathtrap?” Linuri-Beta was now no longer an active combatant, escape pods jettisoning from it in all directions, most of them homing in on the planet below as a safe landing location.

“Hardly,” Mara replied, swiveling her turret to watch over Luke. Every time the Falcon spun and put him out of her view her heart lurched. “Every torpedo they fire is an invoice that will appear on my desk tomorrow. Do you have any idea how much those things cost?”

“Maybe I should join up too,” Han mused. “It would be nice to be able to send you a bill for the missiles I use.”

“Remember, every invoice they send me I’ll be forwarding on to your wife with a twenty percent markup.”

Han winced audibly. “Okay, maybe not.”

[Go to Chapter Thirty One, Part III] [Go to Table of Contents]​

 

Excellent details of the coordinated attack of the Republic fleet and Han did indeed show up just in time.

Scrumptious passage here:
Another mind, familiar and dazzlingly brilliant, edged his awareness. It was coming up behind them, surprised and then relieved, sudden affection surging as it reached back towards him and of course it was Mara, her subtle passion and ironfisted determination and sharpened wit and he leaned into her presence—

And this:
Through it all, there was Luke. His presence had been unexpected to say the least, but once she had realized he was here she’d been drawn inextricably to him, a gleaming beacon luring her closer with irresistible gravity. There were no words—neither of them had the focus to attempt a conversation—but they didn’t need one. She knew what he was about to do, almost like her hand rested atop his as he guided his X-wing, and could tell that he in turn just knew what she was aiming at.

SQUEE! Just.

 

From a storytelling perspective, the vagueness of Force intuition is super handy. If you were living it? It might drive you crazy

(And after it's been established that Luke finds her irresistibly luminous, of course Mara feels exactly the same way about him )

Somehow I'm pretty sure she'll manage it

One thing I hated about the NJO was how they shoved every Jedi into a cockpit and suddenly they were the bestest fighters ever. Look, no. Jedi are individuals with different talents and strengths the same as everyone else, and being a combat fighter pilot is an extremely specialized skill. Force-sensitivity no more translates into automatic talent in flying than it does in nuclear physics or linguistics or woodworking. Too many lazy writers use the Force as a deus ex machina, and it annoys the heck out of me.

But. If you have an individual who happens to genuinely posses both extreme natural piloting ability and great strength in the Force, like Luke or Anakin Skywalker? Hoo boy, that's gonna be some flying, right there

The latter, definitely the latter

Akin to Han returning just in time to shoot the TIEs off Luke's back on the Death Star run, or the portal scene in Endgame (Sidenote: I'm so glad Endgame happened in the pre-plague times so we got to see that on the big screen )

First: that her heart lurches when Luke isn't in her direct view, despite the fact that he's one of the most experienced and certainly the most talented fighter pilot out there -

Second: of course she wants to cut down on the accounting paperwork, and who can blame her

 

So, this ended up getting cut, but Mara and Han actually arrived first and were hanging out on the outer edge of the system plotting an infiltration of Invidious when Bel Iblis' fleet arrived and they decided that a brute force approach would work instead (and that they were never going to be able to slip in during a battle anyway).

DANGER DANGER DANGER
Well gee thanks, Force. That's super helpful! From where? And who?

I also attribute it to the fact that Kam isn't fully developed as a Jedi. Yoda or Kenobi or maybe even Luke would be able to draw out more, I think.

 

[Go to Table of Contents]​

Chapter Thirty-One, Part III

The hangar turned from busy to frantic in a matter of moments. The three-winged TIEs had been pushed to the back of the Invidious’ hangar to make plenty of space for the flock of transports which had been moving supplies from the Linuri base to the Star Destroyer. The enormous cargo containers were being hauled into deeper storage one by one, but when the battle klaxons went off everything stopped, and then the process of frantically moving those containers far enough out of the way to let the TIEs get out of the hangar began.

Enormous cargo lifter droids dragged transport containers in one direction or another, clearly not very experienced in the task. They left scars on the hangar deck as they worked hastily, pilots screaming to clear the path so they could launch.

The chaos was perfect. Karrde waved at his crew, then the four of them started walking purposefully across the deck towards Wild Karrde, which was blocking a trio of TIEs from exiting the hangar.

“Are you responsible for this freighter!” a TIE pilot yelled at them over the hammering noise and chaos. “Move it!”

Karrde tossed a salute. “That’s what we are here to do,” he called back. “It will only take a minute.”

“You better hurry!” the pilot yelled at them. “The New Republic is here and the Admiral is still on the base! We’ve been ordered to hold off the enemy for long enough to evac her and the Tevas-kaar then get out of here! I wouldn’t want to be responsible for endangering her safety!”

Karrde picked up his pace to a quick jog. The men who had been guarding Wild Karrde had been drawn away to help move one of the cargo containers. He stopped at the Wild Karrde’s raised ramp, plugged in the command codes, and the ramp descended to allow his crew to board.

Dankin was up the ramp and running into the ship before the ramp was even half-lowered, Faughn next. Karrde and Chin, not as young or nimble, waited until it was lower before pulling themselves up. Karrde hastily climbed up the ramp, then slapped the ramp control to close it behind them. “Get us ready for departure!” he called.

In response, Wild Karrde’s repulsorlifts thrummed to life, the ship humming and lurching beneath him as they lifted off the deck. He raced to the bridge, found Dankin and Chin clustered around the main control station as Faughn brought up the ship’s scanners and comms.

Dankin pointed through the main bridge windows. “Got a problem, Boss,” he said, breathing heavily. “We’re blocked in.”

A freighter had just arrived and landed in the shallow space between Wild Karrde’s nose and the magnetic shield that separated the hanger from open space. Karrde glanced at the ship’s monitors, saw in the hangar there was now a cluster of armed troopers talking to the TIE pilot they’d passed. He turned back to Dankin. “Can we push it out of the way?”

Dankin stared at him. “You mean physically?”

Karrde nodded. “We’re bigger,” he pointed out. “More powerful engines, better armor.” He pointed at the monitor. “And we’ve got troopers on us.”

Dankin cursed viciously. “Belt in,” he said reaching for his own belt and locking it around his waist. “This is going to be bumpy.”

“Just do it,” Karrde ordered, turning and jumping into his command chair, strapping himself in securely. “Brace!”

In the pilot’s chair, Dankin rested his hand on the throttle and pushed it gently. Wild Karrde stirred, gliding forward a few meters. He grimaced painfully and Wild Karrde shuddered as its nose made contact with the smaller in-system transport, a Kiara cargo ferry. The unshielded freighter screeched, sliding over the hangar deck, and Karrde could see the ship’s shocked crew in its bridge, clustering at the window to gaze with horror back at them.

Wild Karrde kicked as Dankin pushed the throttle higher, and the screech of metal-on-metal grew deafening as the Kiara was pushed back farther, sliding towards the hangar’s magnetic shield. The faces vanished, the other freighter starting to hum itself as its crew worked to activate its systems—

Karrde brought up his ship’s weapons and fired once. At point blank range against an unshielded target, Wild Karrde’s weapons delivered a devastating amidships blow. All of the Kiara’s lights went dark.

Chin cursed and with a pained grimace Dankin pushed the throttle up again. The cargo ferry was pushed out over open space, drifting without power. Behind it, Wild Karrde dropped out of the hangar, curling down and away, Dankin spinning the freighter in an evasive maneuver.

“Watch for tractor beams,” Karrde ordered, watching Invidious behind them. But the Star Destroyer was locked in the embrace of the orbital platform, unable to pursue, and Dankin ducked them behind one of those long station arms to shield them from turbolaser fire and the grip of tractor beams alike.

“Captain,” Faughn said, her hand on her ear, listening to the comm chatter of the battle. “Listen to this!”

She routed the communication over to his station. “All Smugglers’ Alliance vessels, this is Mara Jade. The station’s finished, save your torpedoes and missiles for now.”

Karrde grinned, looking out at the arrayed New Republic and Smugglers’ Alliance ships. “Give me comms, Faughn,” he said. Her expression was enthusiastic and fierce as she worked, then nodded when she was ready. “New Republic, Smugglers’ Alliance, this is Talon Karrde,” he announced. “Wild Karrde has just escaped from Invidious, we’re coming to join the main formation.”

There were a few seconds of comms chaos as lots of people talked over one another. The voice that finally cut through belonged to Wedge Antilles. “Karrde, this is General Antilles,” he said. “Glad to hear you got away. We’ve got additional prisoners to rescue on the main platform, so our work isn’t done here yet.”

“I understand,” Karrde said, examining the plot. The New Republic snubs were clearing a path for a large commando transport. One of them caught his eye. “Is that you, Solo?” he asked, surprised.

“It’s me,” Han groused. “I’ve got Mara and Iella aboard too. They insisted I come get you.” Karrde could hear his frown. “You’re really racking up the favors you owe me, Karrde. One of these days I’m gonna call em’ in.”

Karrde smiled thinly. “I pay my debts,” he agreed. “Mara?”

“I’m here, Talon,” her voice came after a moment, and Karrde could hear the relief in her voice—though she would no doubt deny it if confronted, of course.

“It’s good to hear your voice,” Karrde said. “I heard you had a bit of excitement on Coruscant after I left.”

“A bit.”

“I have reason to believe that Leonia Tavira and the Force-adept you and Skywalker were discussing at dinner are on the platform as well. One of the men called him the Tevas-kaar, if that means anything to you,” he informed her.

There was a pause. “Understood,” she said.

“I’ll take care of it,” a new voice came. Luke Skywalker’s. “I’ll follow Major Page down.”

“We’re landing,” said Han, determined. “I’m not letting you go into another nightmare without me, Luke.”

There was a soft, relieved breath on the com that likely only Karrde recognized as Mara’s.

* * *​

“Major Page is making his landing now,” Wedge said. “Better hurry. Hobbie, you go with Luke and Han.”

Hobbie's sound of disgust was audible despite the staticky communications channel. “You do know what they call an X-wing pilot when he’s on the ground? Target practice.”

Wedge would have smirked, but his memory of Ukio’s TIE pilots and their smashed garrison was too fresh. “You’ll be with Luke,” he pointed out instead. “He’ll look after you.”

“That might work on the young ones, Wedge,” Hobbie complained, “but I’m old enough to remember that most of the time Luke is the one that needs looking after.”

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

 

Superb getaway of Karrde and banter amongst he and Mara and Han. Totally agree with Hobbie there, Luke is absolutely injury prone

 

Sure, why not And now I've got to watch Rogue One again to see the Hammerhead corvette ram the Star Destroyer

Sequel potential just all over the place here

It's all just one big party

Ah, to see the original Rogues and Luke working together again The stories they could tell the young ones to take the shine off Luke's reputation. Have they told the kids yet about the time Luke got stuffed into a dead tauntaun?

 

[Go to Table of Contents]​

Chapter Thirty-Two

General Garm Bel Iblis gave in to an old habit of his he’d never been able to break and gripped the familiar metal armrests of his command chair on Peregrine. His five dreadnaughts bored down, pouring turbolaser and ion cannon fire into the closer of the two Victory-class Star Destroyers, the venerable Arlionne. A Victory I that dated all the way back to the latter years of the Old Republic, Arlionne was still of a more recent vintage than any of his dreadnaughts—but not so much newer that it compensated for its numerical inferiority. Worse, Arlionne and Furious’ two TIE fighter squadrons were outnumbered by the New Republic’s two pairs of A-wing and B-wing squadrons, and as the superior A-wings cleared the threat board of Imperial starfighters, the B-wings set up to make their runs.

Someday soon, Bel Iblis thought to himself, the Empire will wake up to the fact that throwing away their pilots’ lives in unshielded fighters is losing them this war. Hopefully that revelation won’t come anytime soon.

Furious was the more serious threat, but Furious was heavily laden with freighters and transports which had been evacuating personnel and equipment to the newer Victory II. Forced to try to protect those valuable resources—and get as many of them aboard as possible—Furious had turned to present its superstructure to Bel Iblis’ forces, giving them a nice big target for their ion cannons and for his B-wings to target.

A quartet of B-wings from Guardian squadron unleashed a full salvo of proton torpedoes. The first two ripped a hole in Arlionne’s shields; the latter six slammed with righteous anger into Arlionne’s hull. Small explosions became bigger ones as something—probably a backup power generator—detonated within the hull, and the ship’s running lights briefly flickered. His two lead dreadnaughts, Karearea and Saker, took advantage of the sudden weakness, raking turbolaser fire over Arlionne’s hull and shredding overheated armor. More explosions rippled along the length of the ship, and Arlionne’s turbolaser fire slowed to a trickle as the ship started to spin out of control.

Bel Iblis grinned wolfishly. “Amur and Laggar, use your ions to suppress Arlionne. All other ships, target Furious.” His eyes settled on the larger, newer Victory II, the richer prize, whose turbolasers were scattering across all three of his lead dreadnaughts. Peregrine shuddered mildly from the strikes. “One down, one to go.”

As his ships moved to obey his orders, Bel Iblis focused instead on the real threats that remained. Stuck in its docking slip at the far end of the Imperial orbital platform was the far more powerful Invidious, a fully-armed and equipped Imperial II. And farther away, settled in the repair yards, was the still damaged Agonizer and its two dreadnaught escorts. Neither of the big ships had yet made a move, but Bel Iblis knew that whatever happened with Furious, the battle was far from over.

He heard a gasp from his comms officer, and someone cursed. “General, Invidious!”

His head swiveled back to Tavira’s flagship and inhaled sharply. With sudden ruthlessness, the Star Destroyer’s heavy turbolasers had opened fire, and it took a second for Bel Iblis to realize what he was seeing.

The green blasts slammed out, targeting not the still distant New Republic forces, but the orbital platform. The extended docking slip, which had trapped the Star Destroyer, vanished in a sudden explosive vapor, debris spitting out in all directions. More guns fired, shredding the personnel tubes and repair struts, then Invidious’ big engines flared to life, pushing the ship through the cloud of debris.

It had been ruthless, Bel Iblis thought with something close to awe, but it had freed the Star Destroyer faster than would have been possible otherwise. And they were abandoning the facility anyway, he thought. Why not wreck it? What could possibly be worth taking the care to preserve?

For the hundreds, perhaps thousands of people who staffed the section of the platform that had just been opened to space, it was a final question.

But Furious was exclusively targeting Peregrine now, its ion cannons wreaking havoc on his ship’s systems and he didn’t have the attention to spare for Invidious. For the moment, Tavira was Wedge’s problem.

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

 

Tavira is really not a nice person

 

She very much is not.

Okay, I admit, getting the first scene in Chapter Thirty-Two alone without anything else is a bit lame, since it's just Bel Iblis watching the ongoing battle scene. Invidious is free, that's it. Let's get the next bit out a little early. I should add: Chapter Thirty-Two is my favorite chapter in the whole novel...

 

[Go to Table of Contents]​

Chapter Thirty-Two, Part II

Mara peered through the Millennium Falcon’s cockpit, Kyp leaning to look over her shoulder. In front of them, Han and Chewbacca were guiding the Falcon into an open hangar for a landing. Already landed was the commando transport, and Mara could see an exchange of blaster fire between Major Page’s commandos and the Imperial stormtroopers guarding the orbital platform. Luke and Hobbie’s X-wings were soaring into the hangar alongside the transport, the four engines of each starfighter losing their glow as they hovered on repulsorlifts, and then their laser cannons sent powerful bursts of energy at the bunkered stormtroopers, chasing the remainder of the Imperials deeper into the platform.

Han nodded approvingly. “Let’s go, Chewie,” he said, and they brought the Falcon into the hangar as the X-wings were settling to the deck. Luke popped his canopy and waved at the Falcon, his expression serious.

“Come on,” Iella called from the Falcon’s central room, holding a blaster rifle confidently. She had a comlink attached over her ear. “Major Page’s commandos are clearing out the main corridor leading deeper into the station, and trying to pin down where the New Republic prisoners are.” She pointed at Mara. “You could be helpful with those Imperial computers, like you were on Kessel.”

Mara nodded, moving to follow.

Kyp was hot on her heels. “Are you some kind of slicer genius,” he asked curiously, peering at her sideways. He might still be a teenager, but he was already taller than she was and his childlike curiosity struck her as just a bit unnerving.

“No,” she said.

“Then how do you do it?” he pestered as they trotted down the Falcon’s ramp. Luke was hopping down from his snubfighter, his expression lighting when he saw her; she felt her own tension ease at the sight of his smile—

“She’s got Imperial command codes,” said Han from behind them, his hand on his blaster. He tossed Luke a friendly salute. “Hey kid.”

Kyp’s expression froze and Mara felt a sudden surge of disgust and revulsion. “You were an Imperial?”

“A lot of us were, kid,” Han said. “Even me.”

“Hey, Han,” Luke returned Han’s greeting as he approached, walking over towards them, his lightsaber swinging on his belt. Behind him, Hobbie was jumping down from his X-wing, then cursing as he fumbled with the fighter’s cargo compartment. Luke only had eyes for Mara, and she had a sneaking suspicion that if there wasn’t so much company she’d be in his arms again.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

She probably wouldn’t shoot him.

Han cleared his throat. “Luke, meet Kyp,” he nodded. “Kyp was a prisoner on Kessel,” he said awkwardly. “He helped Chewie and me in the Spice Mines and then helped us escape. He… wants to see Coruscant.”

“In the Spice Mines?” Luke said, blinking a few times. “What were you doing… no, you know, we’ll have time to catch up later.” He extended his hand to Kyp, and Mara could see those blue eyes evaluating the youngster even as he did the same with the Force. “Hi, Kyp. Thanks for looking after my brother-in-law.” He winked. “Han has a tendency to get himself into trouble and often needs help getting back out of it again.”

“Yeah, look who’s talking,” Han retorted.

Kyp was still visibly digesting the fact that Mara and Han had both been in the Imperial service. Mara could feel an instinctive, deep hatred for the Empire and anything it had touched churning around him in the Force, and she didn’t blame him. Given the life he’d lived, and the Empire’s role in it, he had every right to hate Imperials. Still, she thought, it only added to her discomfort that his hatred was at that moment mostly directed at her. Kyp shook himself. “Han and Chewie weren’t so bad,” he said after a moment.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Han groused. “Look, kid, I know you’re going to want to come with us, but you’re going to stay here with Chewie and the Falcon. We need someone to make sure the Empire doesn’t come in and take our ships from us, yeah?”

Kyp looked like he might protest, glancing between Han, Mara, and Luke.

Han unshouldered a dropped blaster carbine and belt of power packs and handed it to him. He took the time to give Kyp a fuller tutorial than the one the kid had gotten on Kessel. “Safety, firing modes, sight, stun setting. Finger off the trigger unless you want to put a hole in something.”

Kyp nodded, cradling the carbine like it was a combination of delicate artifact and powerful symbol. “Consider it done,” he agreed, less grudgingly. He squinted. “It’s a little bright in here anyway.”

Iella walked over, Major Page at her side. “Mara, we think we’ve identified the prison where our people are being held, but there are a lot of layers of defenses between us and them,” she said. “We’re going to need your help getting through them all, or we’re going to be here for hours.”

Mara’s gaze flicked to Han and Luke. After a moment she nodded reluctantly, not liking the idea of letting Luke go after the bronze-armored Force-adept on his own, but knowing that Luke probably didn’t need the help and Iella did. “Let me talk to Skywalker for a minute.” She reached out and snagged his arm, pulling him away from the crowd.

He followed. “It’s good to see you,” he said as they got out of easy earshot. I missed you were the words he didn’t say.

Mara realized she was still holding his arm and let her hand drop. She plucked Ranik Solusar’s lightsaber off her belt and pressed it into his hand. “His name is Kam Solusar,” she said quickly, opening her mind to him and letting him see her memory of the events on Coruscant. “I think he’s Ranik Solusar’s son—the Jedi from one of the exhibits we were near.”

Luke’s expression paled as he saw her memory of the duel on Coruscant and the moment of frozen horror when she had been sure she was about to die. He turned slightly, putting his back to their comrades, hiding her slimmer form in front of him, his fingers stroking over hers as they both held Ranik’s lightsaber. “Mara…”

She rolled her eyes, putting as much determined scorn into it as she could; knew she wasn’t wholly successful at pushing off his instinct to overprotectiveness. “I’m fine,” she hissed, but there was no bite to it, not with his fingers warm over hers. “I’m fine,” she repeated, more earnestly, peering up at him.

The pinched concern on Luke’s cheeks relaxed, and he nodded, exhaling.

“Vader killed his father,” she said, drawing Luke’s attention back to more important matters. “Then he seems to have been impressed into the Inquisitorius.”

Luke frowned again. “Vader,” he sighed. The mention of his father, the reminder of who Anakin Skywalker had become, of the harms he’d inflicted and the pain he unleashed, darkened his Force sense with undeserved guilt.

Mara didn’t like it. Her eyes flicked to his holster. “Have you gotten any use out of that blaster yet?”

Luke’s expression lightened. He withdrew Ranik Solusar’s lightsaber, hanging it on his belt next to his own. “Not yet, Mara, but the scope’s handy.”

She swallowed as their hands parted. “His armor seems to short out lightsabers,” she said. “But it’s only a temporary effect.”

“I know.”

“Time to go!” called Iella, and Mara pulled herself away, brushing past him. Later, maybe, she’d let herself think about it. Maybe. Instead, she put on the expression the Emperor’s Hand had worn before every mission, plucking a datapad out of Iella’s hand and examining the base’s defenses as they walked with Major Page towards the cluster of waiting shock commandos.

* * *​

“Where are we going?” asked Han as Luke approached him.

Luke was still focused on Mara. His eyes tracked over Han and Hobbie, but his mental focus was on Mara, her Force-presence, and the way even as she walked away he could feel a corner of her own mind still focused on him. Feel her worry and her undeniable protectiveness.

“Kid!” Han rested his hand on Luke’s shoulder, then leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I know you’re worried about her, but she can take care of herself.”

Luke flushed and nodded. “The Force-adept,” he said, reaching out with the Force, seeking other presences than the ones he already knew. He could feel Corran in space beyond the platform as the Rogues and the rest of the fleet bore down on Invidious, the battle surging back to life. He could feel Mara, leading Iella and Page towards the platform’s prisoner complex, could feel her reach back with an annoyed but reassuring confirmation that she was still there. Could feel Kyp, the gleaming potential standing on the Falcon’s ramp, with an unhappy Chewbacca rumbling his annoyance at being told to stay behind to watch the kid and the ship.

And he could feel another presence, more polished than Kyp. Focused. Frustrated. Old pain from wounds that had never healed; the warring impulses of oath and instinct. Luke turned, letting the Force guide him like a compass, his eyes slowly opening. He nodded, a sense of confident purpose settling over his shoulders. “They’re not far,” he said.

[Go to Chapter Thirty-Two, Part III] [Go to Table of Contents]​

 

Fascinating and complicated undertones with Kyp, although understandable. SQUEE! so very, very much with Luke and Mara, all the things they said and didn't.

 

Coming from Mara, that's true love, right there

lol, obvious!Luke is obvious

 

[Go to Table of Contents]​

Chapter Thirty-Two, Part III

The Linuri orbital platform wasn’t the largest orbital facility in the Empire—not by a long shot—but in total it massed almost eighty percent of an Executor-class Super Star Destroyer and fully in operation it would have a crew that reached hundreds of thousands. A dozen Imperial-class Star Destroyers could dock at it at once, or many more smaller vessels. Even more impressive, Linuri had been an ad-hoc construction, built quickly after the fall of Druckenwell, one of the Empire’s more impressive spasms of productivity after the probably fatal wound it had sustained at Endor.

The prison facility was buried deep in the guts of the facility, far away from the damage Invidious had just inflicted to its docking facilities—and from the closest escape pods. Mara, Iella, and Page stared at the schematics, a knot of commandos watching over them. “I can get you through these checkpoints—” Mara was saying, her finger tracing over the long axial turbolift “—especially given how chaotic things aboard seem to be right now.”

“With the evacuation underway,” Major Page said, his the solid, confident voice of a professional soldier, “we have an opportunity to make our way there with little opposition. But we can’t afford to wait. Whatever guards remain might decide to execute our prisoners just to make a point.” He nodded at Iella. “They have Captain Tabanne and the crew of Ession Strike.”

Iella’s expression froze. “The Empire captured Strike?”

Mara looked up at her. The flash of emotion passed quickly—they knew Wedge and the Rogues were alive, they’d just fought alongside them—but the news that Strike had been lost still struck the other woman like an almost physical blow, the sudden wrenching mourning pain suppressed quickly behind the calm, reassuring knowledge that Wedge and her friends were all right.

It was a familiar echo of what she’d sensed from Skywalker just a few minutes before.

“I’m afraid so,” Page said.

“I’ll need a terminal,” Mara interrupted the exchange. “Somewhere I can input my access codes. I’ll just redirect the stormtroopers between you and the prison to evacuation sites. Maybe I can convince the prison guards to evacuate as well, but—” she grimaced “—if the prison is garrisoned by ISB they’ll probably execute the prisoners before withdrawing.”

Iella’s emotions had returned to her usual calm. “Well, with the maps we have, we can plan an assault.” She tapped the map. “This says it’s a local guard station. That’s our first target.”

Page waved his men down the hall. “Move out!”

* * *​

The third time the whole room shook, Atril knew something was up. She scrambled to her feet, moving to the sliding door to her cell. She banged on the metal door furiously. “What’s going on!” she yelled, hoping that maybe one of the guards would open the window that allowed them to look in on occasion. Nothing happened, and the entire cell rocked again, more lightly this time. She slammed her fist against the door until her hand ached.

To her surprise the window slid open. She recognized the guard; he’d delivered her meals in the past. He was young—he couldn’t be older than nineteen—and dressed in a Corporal’s uniform. He looked as confused and terrified as she felt, looking down the corridor in each direction. “I don’t know,” he said. “There was an alarm but no one is sure what’s going on…”

A detention alarm went off and the Corporal grabbed at his comlink, turning half-away from her. “Breach, breach!” a voice yelled on the other end of the link. “Rebel troopers have—” the sound of blaster fire cut the voice off, but the link remained open, conveying the sound of blasters and explosions for another few seconds before it finally closed again.”

The Corporal’s expression was one of abject horror. He scrabbled for his blaster, holding it with the wary uncertainty of unused training. “Command, this is Corporal Ganl,” he said. “Cellblock 109. Requesting instructions.”

“The New Republic is here for us,” she said confidently, hoping she was right. Triumph and fear warred in her. It had to be Bel Iblis—who else could it be?—and there was only one reason for Bel Iblis to rush to hit Linuri so early in the campaign. But that he was here was not immediate salvation; she remained in an Imperial prison, deep in the bowels of an Imperial base, surrounded by Imperials. And she had not forgotten that they still considered her a defector and most of her crew subhuman.

Ganl seemed to be processing all these facts himself. He opened his mouth to speak; the words were cut short by the squawk of his comlink. “Corporal, this is Colonel Best. What is the status of your guard unit?”

The young guard stepped into the middle of the long prison corridor, his booted feet clicking on the metal walkway. The hexagonal corridor stretched in both directions; the sound of blaster fire came from Atril’s left, along with the sounds of combat chatter. “We’re under attack,” responded Ganl nervously, bracing his blaster. “The Rebels are attacking the main guard post; our stormtroopers are holding for the moment.”

“Listen to me, Corporal,” Best’s voice took on a stiffer, commanding tone. “Are you armed?”

“I have my sidearm, sir,” Ganl reported, swallowing. “Should I reinforce the stormtroopers?”

“No, soldier. That is what stormtroopers are for. They will give you enough time to perform a more important task.” The Colonel’s voice made Ganl straighten, and Atril’s heart dropped with sudden understanding. “The Rebels cannot be allowed to escape to make war on the New Order again, Corporal. You will have the honor of ensuring they do not.”

“Sir?”

The voice was stiffer now, a serpentine hiss. “Shoot them, Corporal. All of them. Quickly, before the Rebellion can fight through your troopers.”

Ganl’s eyes flicked guiltily to meet Atril’s. His mouth opened, closed again and no sound came out.

“They are enemies of the Empire. Do you not know all they will do? The chaos and corruption of the Republic? The venality of the alien, the—”

The Colonel’s voice vanished in a wash of sudden static, the device screeching. Ganl winced and drew it away from his ear. When the sound had stopped, he stared at the little device as if expecting the Colonel to emerge from it.

Atril knew the words, the rhetoric all too well. The propaganda, repeated over and over again, echoed over speakers and in the unfree Imperial press. Believed by all too many because to human ears familiarity often sounded all too much like truth. She’d heard it all her childhood and to her eternal shame she had occasionally slipped into believing it herself. She’d even joined the Starfleet, gone to Carida, so sure in her belief that there had to be some truth to it. There had to be. There had to be.

But there never was.

“Imperial Forces,” a new, female voice said over the speaker. “You don’t know me, but I promise I know you. I served the Empire too, just as you are. I fought for the Empire, I killed for the Empire. And there’s something you need to know. You need to know that it was all a lie—”

Again the audio vanished in static, the screech of competing jamming. Blaster fire was growing in volume now, an errant shot flashing down the hallway, missing Ganl by bare feet. He yelped, sounding and looking more like a child than a soldier.

“—an Imperial soldier,” came Best’s voice, “and it is your duty, your obligation, and your privilege to serve the New Order, in the Emperor’s memory! They are alien-loving scum and you all know exactly what that means—”

“—asked you to do terrible things, things they told you were needful. How many nights have you dreamt of—”

“—you have an order. The Empire will remember your names, I promise you! I will have them all emblazoned in the stars for eternity, heroes of the New Order, who struck the first blows for its future again the evils of—”

Ganl’s blaster snapped up. His expression hovered on the edge of certainty, eyes hardening as Best’s voice supplanted the woman’s again, swinging towards the window Atril was peering through. She dropped, letting her legs go limp and hitting the floor just as fast as gravity could carry her just as the sound of a blaster shot echoed down the narrow corridor. She breathed, waiting for the blaster rifle to poke through the window, intent on trying to take the weapon when the opportunity was offered… but it never came. Instead the door beeped the release sound and slid open. She spun towards it, her leg aching from where she had fallen; found herself staring at Ganl’s corpse, laying topped awkwardly on the floor grating.

Major Page offered her an arm, pulled her to her feet. His quartet of commandos took up watch positions, their blasters covering the two entrances to the prison block as they checked the other cells for more prisoners. “Captain Tabanne, are you all right?”

She nodded shakily. “I am. Thank you, Major.”

He reached down, plucked Ganl’s pistol off the ground next to his body and handed it to her. “Come on, Captain. Let’s get your crew.”

She took a deep breath, settled both hands around the familiar Imperial sidearm and brought it up in a firing position. Maybe later she’d mourn Ganl, mourn what the Empire had done to him. What it had almost done to her. She gave a ready nod. Even better, maybe they’d find Colonel Best. “Let’s go, Major.”

* * *​

“I know the Empire has asked you to do terrible things, things they told you were needful. How many nights have you dreamt of those things, have they haunted you in the privacy of your sleep, where you could admit, deep down that you knew they were wrong?” Mara said into the comlink.

Iella held up her hand and Mara stopped speaking. The former CorSec agent waved her down the hall, and Mara crept, careful that her step was not excessively loud over the metal grating floor characteristic of Imperial prison facilities. They crouched on either side of the entrance to the prison corridor, and Iella counted down with her hand. When her hand clenched into a fist, Mara ignited her lightsaber, the snap-hiss of the blade echoing, and stepped into the corridor.

The fight was quick. Mara easily batted away the blaster fire coming from the guards; Iella shot them. Once, twice. They jogged down the hexagonal corridor, opening cells as they moved quickly through it. The alien prisoners kept in this prison block looked worse for wear, but alive. A few clearly recognized Iella and brightened; the Corellian tossed them the blasters from the fallen guards. “Now what?”

“Back the way we came,” Mara said, dismissing her lightsaber. She turned back towards the guard post. The sudden thrumming of her danger sense sent her spinning back around, her holdout blaster popping out of her wrist holster and into her hand. Trusting the Force, letting it guide her hand, she fired. The Imperial officer who appeared at the end of the corridor caught the blaster bolt in the chest, staggered back in surprise. She shot him again and he fell.

Iella’s rifle wouldn’t have come around fast enough. She offered Mara a wry grin. “Thanks.” They crept forward slowly, waving the prisoners to go in the other direction. The fallen officer wore a Colonel’s uniform, a blaster in one hand and a comlink in the other. “ISB,” said Iella.

Mara scowled. “Fanatics.” She stood. “I don’t feel any other danger so I think we’re clear for now. Let’s get out—”

We don’t have to be enemies, Luke’s voice whispered. An image flashed before her; Luke taking cautious steps towards the bronze armored Force-adept. Please. The memory of Luke on Jomark, standing over C’baoth’s prone, unconscious form, stopping her from executing him. He doesn’t have to be an enemy, Mara. His irritating earnestness. Even the more irritating because it was genuine.

Even the more irritating because he insisted on putting himself in unnecessary danger. What was he thinking? Why did he have to be… to be…

She’d been quiet for too long. Iella was looking at her with a concerned expression. “Mara?” she asked, not for the first time.

As you wish, Luke’s voice was sadly resigned, and she heard the snap-hiss of his lightsaber.

The flash of fear caught her off guard. It took her a moment to realize it was her own. Mara shook her head, looking at Iella and scowling. “Damn Skywalker anyway,” she hissed.

She didn’t miss the flash of realization in Iella’s eyes. To her relief, Iella didn’t make a point of it. “We have to get back out of here before the Empire regroups and we get surrounded by stormtroopers,” Iella said instead. “Come on, Mara, let’s go.”

Mara bottled up her fear and nodded. “Right,” she agreed.

[Go to Chapter Thirty-Two, Part IV] [Go to Table of Contents]​

 

Relieved that the prisoners were extracted particularly Atril.


We don’t have to be enemies, Luke’s voice whispered. An image flashed before her; Luke taking cautious steps towards the bronze armored Force-adept. Please. The memory of Luke on Jomark, standing over C’baoth’s prone, unconscious form, stopping her from executing him. He doesn’t have to be an enemy, Mara. His irritating earnestness. Even the more irritating because it was genuine.

Even the more irritating because he insisted on putting himself in unnecessary danger. What was he thinking? Why did he have to be… to be…

Ah, Luke and his endearing earnestness.

She’d been quiet for too long. Iella was looking at her with a concerned expression. “Mara?” she asked, not for the first time.

As you wish, Luke’s voice was sadly resigned, and she heard the snap-hiss of his lightsaber.

The flash of fear caught her off guard. It took her a moment to realize it was her own. Mara shook her head, looking at Iella and scowling. “Damn Skywalker anyway,” she hissed.

She didn’t miss the flash of realization in Iella’s eyes. To her relief, Iella didn’t make a point of it. “We have to get back out of here before the Empire regroups and we get surrounded by stormtroopers,” Iella said instead. “Come on, Mara, let’s go.”
Yum. So. Totally.

(Mara is obvious too although she won't admit it so readily) LOL

 

Mara and Iella are so great together

Repeat a lie often enough and most people will believe it.

Honestly, that was probably therapeutic for Mara

The ISB make for great storytelling potential because of that

And now Mara will have to try to be nicer to Luke when he's overprotective because she knows how it feels to be afraid for someone

 

Yes... this is the former professor of political science talking through Atril here for a second. Sometimes I wonder if that's why Palpatine chose humans in particular to be his loyalists, and other Star Wars aliens aren't quite as susceptible.

I hadn't thought about that, but you're right.

She is not as good at hiding it as she thinks she is... and at this point it's getting harder for her to be in denial.

... my favorite scene of the whole story is coming next.

 

[Go to Table of Contents]​

Chapter Thirty Two, Part IV

The Tevas-kaar stood, his hand on his lightsaber, as Tavira finished commandeering the last shuttle in the hangar. Freighters had moved around them, her rank barely registering on the droids or personnel frantically trying to pack into them and evacuate. She finally ordered him to procure her a shuttle, which he had done by holding a lightsaber out to block personnel from boarding it, their gazes wide and fearful before they fled to try for another craft. The pilot had been less than thrilled, but a lightsaber could be persuasive.

But the shuttle was the last in the bay for a reason, its engines under last-minute repair. That was a task in which he had no experience to speak of—his time in the Inquisitorius had not included classes in starship maintenance or engineering—which had left Tavira attempting to intimidate the frantic engineers into working faster, which only had the opposite of the intended effect.

The sense of anticipation was getting stronger. He had no idea what was causing it, the Force declined to provide him with specifics, but it was there, a booming heartbeat, quickening as it came nearer and nearer. The footsteps of heavy boots, marching inexorably, bringing change.

There was blaster fire at the far entrance to the hanger, and the hum of a lightsaber. He turned, his hand on the hilt of his own saber, thumbing it to life with a snap-hiss.

The combat chatter of stormtroopers was interspersed with the sound of blaster bolts deflecting off a lightsaber. Behind the Jedi, two other men—one in an orange New Republic flightsuit—were firing their blasters from behind the protection of the emerald blade.

Tavira was standing behind him, staring. The Jedi turned in their direction, black cloak billowing behind him, black outfit slim-fitting underneath it, the lightsaber casually deflecting away blaster bolts.

His heart wrenched in his chest. Memory clobbered him with furious disregard for his responsibility to Tavira: the black armored man stepping over the corpse of his master, the red lightsaber blade humming as he turned towards the boy the Tevas-kaar had been.

The Jedi gleamed in the Force, his power undeniable, just as Vader’s had been. It was oppressive in its sheer, demanding weight. The sensation froze him, leaving him not quite able to breathe.

Tavira’s demanding voice brought him out of it. “Skywalker!” she hissed in recognition. “The New Republic sent Skywalker after me!” He could feel her fear, but it was buried, dull, under the mountain of his own ancient pain. She whirled. “How long!”

“Another two minutes!” the put-upon tech gasped, splitting his attention to peer across the hangar—

“Look at the ship not at him!” Tavira hissed angrily. She spun back, staring at the trio now approaching slowly. She lifted her blaster to point it at them; Skywalker raised his lightsaber slightly in response and she lowered it, breathing heavily. “Tevas-kaar, delay them!” she ordered. “You have to delay them long enough for me to escape!”

He knew how this would end. The Jedi felt like the armored man who had slain his master; the Jedi’s cloak rippled behind him, the flutter of fabric recalling the swirl of long black cloak in the Neftali snow. It made sense now, the anticipation he had been feeling… turned to dread.

It would be a hopeless battle. But the Tevas-kaar’s master had once fought a hopeless battle, too. He bowed his masked head. “Yes, My Lady,” he said, and turned to walk towards the approaching Jedi. Behind him, Tavira scrambled up the shuttle ramp as the tech worked frantically. In front of him, the Jedi dismissed his blade and approached with a slow, confident step.

* * *​

Han held his blaster in a two-handed grip, staring at the bronze-armored figure standing in front of the now empty landing pad. The Lambda-class shuttle across the room was now lifting off the ground, an Imperial technician scrambling up its boarding ramp just before it was out of his reach. Beyond it, through the magnetic seal of the docking bay, the Star Destroyer Invidious was pointed at them, coming closer and filling the space between them with thick waves of turbolaser fire to discourage any starfighter assault. The shuttle hurtled towards the Star Destroyer’s hangar, while the big ship started a laborious turn, heading away from the platform and the planet with gathering speed. Its TIEs screamed after it, trying to duck into the hanger alongside the Lambda while a small swarm of New Republic snubfighters pursued, X-wings and Z-95s launching a handful of proton torpedoes which rode tails of blue fire towards their target.

The bronze armored figure lifted his humming lightsaber. Luke hadn’t ignited his yet and Han didn’t know what he was waiting for. He took a quick glimpse at his brother-in-law and saw Luke’s calm, confident expression. “I don’t want to fight you,” Luke said, taking a step forward and lifting his hand up, empty.

The man’s white mask turned towards Luke and Han, peering back at them, eerily still.

“We don’t have to be enemies,” Luke continued. “I know who you are, some of your story.” He took another step forward. “I’d like to hear more, if you would allow it. I think we will have much we can teach one another.”

Luke’s long black cloak swirled around his feet as he took another step forward. In response the bronze figure shifted his footwork, drawing one foot slightly back and lifting his lightsaber up in a defensive pose.

“Please,” Luke said. “I’ve been looking for someone who can tell me what it meant to be an apprentice before the Empire. An apprentice of the old order. You remember, don’t you.” Luke’s voice faded. “You do,” he added softly. “There is a long distance between then and now, but you remember. You never forgot.”

The figure shifted from a defensive pose to an aggressive one, and Luke turned and stared at Han, his gaze intense. “Whatever happens, do not interfere. Do not let anyone interfere.”

“Kid,” Han growled, “don’t go and do anything stupid now.”

“I will do what I must.”

“Great,” Han muttered. “Your sister’s gonna kill me. And if you get killed here, what do you think Mara’s gonna do to me, huh?”

Luke smiled enigmatically. “Hey. Trust me.” He turned away and strode towards the bronze armored figure, leaving Han staring after his back, wondering if he’d ever really understand his brother-in-law.

“That is my line,” Han muttered. Next to him, Hobbie offered an apologetic, helpless shrug.

Luke’s cloak trailed behind him. He stopped two sword lengths away from the bronze armored figure and shifted his shoulders, shedding the cloak and letting it pool behind his feet. “I don’t want to fight you,” Luke said.

The masked figure’s gaze was locked on Luke. “I’ve been waiting for this day,” he said, and Han was surprised by the resonant vibrancy of his voice, echoing slightly from the mask. “As my master waited on Neftali. This meeting was destined.”

“It was,” Luke agreed softly. “But we can choose a different path, together.” He extended an empty hand. “Join me.”

Han held his breath, wondering who would kill him first—Mara or Leia. Mara, he decided. She was nearer.

The man in the bronze armor took two quick steps forward and lashed out violently. Luke was completely still even as his foe took his first step, but when he took his second Luke flowed to the side, dodging the blow with circling footwork. “I do not want to fight,” Luke repeated, earnest.

“Neither did my master,” said the masked figure. “But there are some things that cannot be avoided!”

Luke sighed. “As you wish,” he said softly, and ignited his emerald blade.

* * *​

The Tevas-kaar was twelve-years-old, standing on a snow-swept plain. The Jhunia plains were as desolate as Hoth; thick darkness during winter, searing brightness in summer, permafrost in either case. He and his master had befriended the locals; he could still remember the d’oemir bear sow they had met, so protective of her litter. He and his master had chased away a poacher that first winter, and in hindsight that must have been how the Empire had found them. They had only been there for a little more than a year, entering their second winter in hiding, when the shuttle had settled into the snow outside their sanctuary, the abandoned hunting cabin they had made a home.

The stormtroopers had been fodder and his master had cut them down without effort. “Run!” he’d ordered the Tevas-kaar, but there had been nowhere to run to and he could not, would not, abandon his master. So he’d stayed, and fought as best he could. They were successful until the dark-armored man had finally strode down the ramp of the shuttle, corpses of his men strewn on either side.

The Tevas-kaar could still remember the heaviness of the figure’s boot, still hear the echo of inexorability, of fate, the impression of dread and loss.

He couldn’t be sure, but he thought that even then his master had known he couldn’t win, couldn’t run, couldn’t flee. The anguished cry, the desperate lunge, the quick, brutal, utterly one-sided fight. The armored man’s breathing had never even changed through it all, sheer power overwhelming his master’s defenses, battering aside his blade and then driving through him with unceremonious disrespect.

The Tevas-kaar had cried out, fallen in the snow, tried to scramble away, tried to fight, tried to run, tried to do anything he could. He had failed.

There were days, months, years he wished the man had killed him, too. But he’d merely stood above his prone form, his heavy breathing harsh, vapor rising from his masked head. The Tevas-kaar couldn’t remember how long he’d lain there, the man’s red blade casting him in somber light, an easy swipe away from carving him in two as he shivered in the snow. The blow had never come.

“You are strong,” the man had finally said. “My Master may yet have use of you.”

Luke Skywalker’s boots sounded like Vader’s. Inexorable. Heavy. Destined.

He cried out, unleashing grief and rage on the black-clothed figure, his blue lightsaber swinging again and again, wildly. Skywalker fought defensively, not striking back, dodging with deft footwork or deflecting the wild blows away. Again and again the Tevas-kaar lashed out, again and again Skywalker anticipated, always one step ahead. Always faster, always precise. The Tevas-kaar struck and struck and struck and struck, and just as Vader had been against his master, Skywalker was simply faster, and not because of quickness of body. He gleamed in the Force like a beacon, a flaming torch, a deep well of power that he merely sipped from the Tevas-kaar simply could not match.

He didn’t know how long they fought, how long his rage and grief and fear fueled his strikes, but Skywalker never tired, never slowed, and the cortosis armor began to feel heavy. With an anguished cry he collapsed to his knees, Skywalker just out of his reach. “Go ahead,” he said, exhausted. “Finish it.”

Skywalker stepped forward, each step a thunderous footfall on the ramp of a shuttle, an indentation in the snow, heavy with memory. But instead of bringing the final blow, the Jedi pressed the stud on his lightsaber and the hum of the blade vanished. “I know what Tevas-kaar means,” he said quietly.

The Tevas-kaar peered up at him, feeling his eyelashes wet with tears. It wasn’t Vader’s face he saw.

“My father’s keeper,” Skywalker reached down and removed the Tevas-kaar’s mask gently, then knelt down. The Jedi unlatched the second lightsaber from his belt, and pressed it into the Tevas-kaar’s hand. “This is yours, Kam.”

Kam closed his hand around Ranik Solusar’s lightsaber, feeling his tears, unshed for far too long, start to build. He took a gasping breath, clinging to the blade, doubling over and sobbing. He could hear Luke’s quiet breathing next to him. So different from Vader’s.

“You’re not Vader,” Kam finally managed.

“No,” Skywalker said. “I’m not.” He offered Kam a somber smile, wiping his own tears from his cheeks. He reached out and placed a hand over Kam’s, squeezing. “Stretch out and feel the Force, Kam,” he murmured, “and it will show us the way.”

Kam Solusar sobbed and laughed, clutching his father’s lightsaber. For the first time he could remember, he felt light.

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

 

“Kid,” Han growled, “don’t go and do anything stupid now.”

“I will do what I must.”

“Great,” Han muttered. “Your sister’s gonna kill me. And if you get killed here, what do you think Mara’s gonna do to me, huh?”

Luke smiled enigmatically. “Hey. Trust me.” He turned away and strode towards the bronze armored figure, leaving Han staring after his back, wondering if he’d ever really understand his brother-in-law.

“That is my line,” Han muttered. Next to him, Hobbie offered an apologetic, helpless shrug.

PRICELESS!

Again and again the Tevas-kaar lashed out, again and again Skywalker anticipated, always one step ahead. Always faster, always precise. The Tevas-kaar struck and struck and struck and struck, and just as Vader had been against his master, Skywalker was simply faster, and not because of quickness of body. He gleamed in the Force like a beacon, a flaming torch, a deep well of power that he merely sipped from the Tevas-kaar simply could not match.

Magnificent!

“I know what Tevas-kaar means,” he said quietly.

The Tevas-kaar peered up at him, feeling his eyelashes wet with tears. It wasn’t Vader’s face he saw.

“My father’s keeper,” Skywalker reached down and removed the Tevas-kaar’s mask gently, then knelt down. The Jedi unlatched the second lightsaber from his belt, and pressed it into the Tevas-kaar’s hand. “This is yours, Kam.”

Kam closed his hand around Ranik Solusar’s lightsaber, feeling his tears, unshed for far too long, start to build. He took a gasping breath, clinging to the blade, doubling over and sobbing. He could hear Luke’s quiet breathing next to him. So different from Vader’s.

“You’re not Vader,” Kam finally managed.

“No,” Skywalker said. “I’m not.” He offered Kam a somber smile, wiping his own tears from his cheeks. He reached out and placed a hand over Kam’s, squeezing. “Stretch out and feel the Force, Kam,” he murmured, “and it will show us the way.”

Kam Solusar sobbed and laughed, clutching his father’s lightsaber. For the first time he could remember, he felt light.
Yes, this is quintessential adorbs Luke! At his finest!

 

Judging by - well, all of history, humans are certainly susceptible to simplistic propaganda. Wouldn't it be just like Palpatine to choose a species as his primary supporters not out of any loyalty, but just a psychological weakness he could exploit?

The ego on her...

Ah, Luke. It really is a mammoth task he's taken on, but leave it to Luke to pursue it with such dedication.

Agreed

Really excellent descriptions

Luke's humility and absolute faith in other people is really at the heart of his character. I wish the EU had remembered that a bit more often, but it's beautifully done here

 

I love that little bit. Han is like "I know you're not dating yet, but I'm not going to pretend you're not going to," and it amuses me to no end.

Luke is Luke!

 

[Go to Table of Contents]​

Chapter Thirty-Three

The shuttle rocketed out of the hangar towards Invidious, the big Star Destroyer’s forward batteries laying down a field of heavy fire that prevented all but the most daring pursuit. X-wings and Z-95s broke off, splitting into four formations as space became deadly. Tavira breathed a sigh of relief.

Fury boiled. The decision to abandon the Tevas-kaar—her Tevas-kaar—to hold off Luke Skywalker had been a necessary one; still the weight of the sacrifice seemed unbearable. But oh well. The Jensaarai were still bound to her, and while the Tevas-kaar had been her favorite, that didn’t mean he was irreplaceable. She’d just have to return to Susevfi to select another of their order to serve her.

Assuming she survived. Even with Invidious coming to get her, the Rogues were still out there and she wouldn’t put it past them to brave turbolasers to try to kill her. They were obsessed. And the Eiattuan Queensguard could be here for only one reason: Queen Plourr wanted her dead.

Which was fair. The feeling was mutual.

Invidious loomed, her shuttle headed at a breakneck pace for the hangar, probably a bit too fast for a safe landing. Her attention was elsewhere, staring at the holographic face of Captain Tigan of Agonizer. “Captain, I want you to bring Agonizer into the fight,” she ordered. “You have another Impstar Deuce and two dreadnaughts, more than enough to scatter the rabble.”

On the display, Agonizer—still missing one of its engines—was finally lumbering out of the repair yards, its two dreadnought escorts faithfully flanking. The ship might be lame, but there was nothing wrong with its guns. It could still join the fight, and Agonizer and Invidious together would be a force to be reckoned with.

Captain Tigan had his hands folded behind his back, gazing back at her respectfully. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. I have orders from both the Council of Moffs and Admiral Rogriss that are clear. We’re to evacuate Linuri with all possible haste.”

“Those orders were issued before the Rebellion attacked!” she practically screamed at him.

Tigan’s gaze didn’t falter. “Yes,” he agreed. “But the attack only proves their wisdom. We need to preserve as much of our strength as possible, and fighting to protect a base that we were already abandoning is senseless. Agonizer has been ordered to rendezvous with Admiral Rogriss and the rest of our fleet, and I intend to proceed with that mission.”

“I am a Moff,” she hissed at him. “I ruled the Ado sector. I outrank Rogriss, and I order you to bring Agonizer into the—”

“No. You were a Moff. And, to be blunt, I can find nothing in Imperial records confirming your rank as Admiral, or any other fleet rank for that matter. Even if you are legitimately an Admiral, which I doubt, you are not in my direct chain of command, and therefore cannot countermand Admiral Rogriss’ orders.” On the display, Agonizer and the two dreadnaughts were now turned fully away from the battle, heading out towards interstellar space. “I’m sorry I can’t do more, but that is the final word on this matter.”

She clenched her fist, rage providing endless, undirected fuel. “You will pay for this, Captain Tigan. I promise you that. You will regret this decision.” She leaned in. “I will see to it.”

“Good day, Miss Tavira,” Tigan said. He wore an insufferable smile. “And good luck.” The communications link was severed as Agonizer and its escorts continued their lumbering course away from Linuri, leaving her cursing furiously at the screen as her shuttle entered Invidious’ hangar, the big Star Destroyer firing furiously in its wake to scatter the pursuing starfighters.

* * *​

Wedge spun his X-wing away from the sheets of green turbolaser fire. Invidious was turning away from the platform now, its guns not trying to hit them as much as just trying to prevent the quickest avenue of pursuit. With a grimace, Wedge put a little distance between himself and his target, curling around.

Gate whistled at him and Wedge’s attention was pulled to his HUD. “What is it, Gate?” he asked his astromech. On the screen, the image of the other remaining Star Destroyer, Agonizer, and its two dreadnaught companions appeared. Wedge blinked as he saw the three ships heading towards open space, declining to get involved in the fight. “He leaned forward, peering closer at his HUD, wondering if he was missing something. “Two, it appears Agonizer is departing the battlefield,” he said, confused.

“Maybe they decided this is a fight they can’t win,” replied Tycho.

“Should we go after them?” asked Gavin.

“No. Let them go,” Wedge ordered, silently wondering if Rogriss had ordered them not to engage. “No reason to fight them if we don’t have to.”

“Whatever the reason,” said Plourr, her voice determined and fierce, “this means Invidious is all alone. We have a chance to take Tavira out.”

Wedge glanced over the battle. Arlionne was completely out of the fight, disabled and drifting. Furious was still active, but the fire between it and Bel Iblis’ squadron of dreadnaughts was fading. Perhaps the ship was in the process of surrendering. With the two smaller Star Destroyers no longer active combatants, Bel Iblis’ ships were turning slowly towards Invidious, but they were too distant to be able to engage quickly.

Endurance and Uthorrferrell were closer, the two carriers firing long-range blasts at Invidious. They were too distant to do much damage, especially as Invidious started to pick up speed, but perhaps they would distract the Star Destroyer.

“All right, Eleven,” he said finally. “All starfighters, I want massed torpedo launches as soon as you have locks. Hit Invidious with everything we have. And watch out for Linuri-Alpha, we’re getting precariously close to that second Golan platform, so don’t forget it’s there.” He toggled over his HUD. “Eleven, if you want to lead us in, the formation is yours.”

“Thanks, Leader,” Plourr’s voice came back. He could hear her toothy grin. “Rogues, Queensguard, on me. Z-95 squadrons, shift all your power to engines and shields, draw their fire off the rest of us. Everyone else, that’s Leonia Tavira out there. Let’s make her hurt.”

Ripples of blue shimmered in space between the starfighters and Invidious as the X-wings launched. The starfighters which had aided Bel Iblis’ victory against Arlionne and Furious raced ahead of the quintet of dreadnaughts, launching their own remaining torpedoes at long range. The massed torpedo fire plugged against Invidious’ shields, tearing holes in the protective covering and landing occasional blows against the ship’s hull. Invidious rolled, its ion cannons scattering in space around it, forming a flak field that knocked some of the torpedoes down.

The freshly repainted, practically brand-new and fully repaired Imperial II was no longer any of those things. Its hull darkened under each torpedo strike, shields weakening, but its engines were in prime condition and it protected its starboard flank by hewing closer to Linuri-Alpha, letting the second Golan form a shield against attacks along that vector.

Wedge and Tycho stuck close together as they attacked Invidious’ more vulnerable flank, their lasers burning through armor plating as they weaved. Tycho’s lasers drilled into turbolaser batteries, causing explosions both on the hull and deeper into the ship. Wedge fired a proton torpedo without aiming, then spun evasive to dodge Invidious’ return fire, his X-wing screaming past faster than the turbolaser batteries could track him. Below him there was an eruption as his torpedo struck home, eviscerating one of Invidious’ port shield generators, and suddenly Tavira’s ship was fully exposed on that side—and Bel Iblis’ dreadnaughts were almost there, eager to dig their teeth in.

Not in time.

Wedge could hear Plourr’s agonized frustration as Invidious escaped—not untouched—into hyperspace just as Bel Iblis’ leading dreadnaughts had finally reached firing range. Their turbolaser blasts sang out into the void, passing through the space where Invidious had been. “Shavit!” Plourr cursed.

“Damn,” Wedge said mildly. He toggled through his HUD, making sure all his pilots were still in one piece, and smiled with relieved satisfaction when he saw that they were.

Garm Bel Iblis’ voice boomed over the com. “All Imperial forces, this is General Garm Bel Iblis of the New Republic. The battle is over. Surrender at once.” There was a pause, then: “Major Page, report status.”

Wedge held his breath, waiting with worried anticipation—

“General Bel Iblis, this is Eye One,” a woman’s voice said, and Wedge let out a breath tinged with relief to hear Iella’s voice. “We’ve recovered our prisoners and are proceeding with our evacuation.” He could practically see her smile. “Mission accomplished.” Wedge grinned at the holo he kept in his cockpit and let out a breath he’d been holding for months. “Rogue Leader,” she said, and now he could hear her smile, “why don’t you and the Rogues come and give us an escort back to Endurance?”

Wedge smiled and keyed his comm. “Eye One, Rogue Leader. Nothing I’d like more.”

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

 

Yay for the Rogues coming out unscathed. Looks like Tavira will be around to encounter again as an adversary, but her authority with the others in Imperial Command seems to be dissolving.