Tyranny Reborn

A/N: Replies at bottom...

Chapter 3

HE really needed a drink.

As he stared at his reflection in the body-length mirror, Han Solo wondered what exactly it was he had done to deserve this sort of punishment. Was it some sort of sick punishment for the numerous sins of his youth? Or did the universe just have a really sick sense of humor? His sour expression reflected only the barest hint of the confused disgust currently swimming in his stomach but he had little doubt Leia was able to tell. She was Force sensitive, after all, and even before either of them had known that, she'd been able to read his moods pretty well.

"It suits you," his wife told him from where she rested in her repulsor-chair. Han grimaced as he smoothed away an imaginary wrinkle from the uniform's jacket and tried to quell the stampeding rontos in his stomach. Who would have ever believed it? Him, an admiral.

An admiral.

"This has to be a bad dream," Han muttered before turning to face his still recovering wife. She was smiling at him for a change, her delight nearly infectious. Despite the weight she had lost since her injury two months ago, she'd never looked more beautiful. Idly, Solo wondered if it was true what they always said about women loving a man in uniform.

"We do," Leia answered his unspoken thought and he gave her a half-hearted frown. He hated it when she did that, even though he didn't know if it was a Force thing or a wife thing. "You'll do fine, Han," she told him.

"I'll turn it down is what I'll do," he retorted. He shot a dark look at the datapad that had accompanied the new uniform and fought down the urge to use his blaster on the damned device. Less than an hour earlier, it had arrived by special courier, informing him in that carefully worded bureau-speak all government documents used that his commission in the New Republic military had been reactivated and he was forthwith promoted to the rank of admiral, effective immediately. Command of the Fifth Fleet now fell to him and he was expected to report for duty the following morning.

Somehow, Han just knew that Fey'lya was behind this.

"You can't turn it down," Leia said softly and Han gave her an incredulous look. While he was glad that she was on the road to recovery and the surgery that had repaired the damage to her spinal cord had zero complications, he couldn't believe he was hearing her correctly. There was no way in hell he was leaving her alone, not while the kid was still missing and Jade had seemingly vanished as well while chasing after Luke. "Think how it will look to the public if you do refuse to take command of the Fifth," Leia continued, a frown on her beautiful face. "Fey'lya will be able to spin your refusal so it looks like a personal attack on him which then allows him the chance to play the wounded martyr again."

"I don't care what that slimy Bothan does," Han snapped. "I'm not leaving you while you're still injured!"

"Han." His wife's voice was calm and she pinned him with those brown eyes of hers that seemed capable of seeing through to his very soul. Han hated that look. "I don't want you to go either," Leia stated with a sigh, "but this may be for the best." He gave her a frown but she continued before he could interrupt. "You've already proven yourself against Zsinj," she pointed out, "and the military respects you a lot more than they would ever respect some bootlicker Fey'lya might try to appoint." Leia suddenly gave a heartfelt sigh that revealed just how troubled she was. "This war is exactly the sort of thing Fey'lya needs to unite the Republic behind him," she declared grimly.

"You're talking about treason," Han realized suddenly. He knelt before his wife, taking her hands in his as he met her steady gaze with his own. "Aren't you?"

"How can it be treason," Leia asked softly, "if he's already the chancellor?" Something lurked behind her eyes, something disturbed and … was that guilt? Han frowned and, for the first time since his wife's near death experience, let himself consider the situation on a larger scale than how it directly affected him.

Though many believed it of him, Han Solo was not a stupid man. Leia knew better, but Han had overheard enough of the comments from her contemporaries to realize how many of them felt like she had married below her station. It was infuriating and laughable at the same time, especially when one actually examined Solo's personal history. He had graduated top of his class at the Imperial Academy on Carida, had manipulated Moffs and crime lords alike in various scams throughout the years, and had even once outmaneuvered Lando Calrissian in a sabaac game with the Falcon as part of the stakes, something that Han still considered to be among his crowning achievements. Early in his life, Solo had learned it was easier to manipulate someone if they believed he was all bluster and no brains, so he had cultivated a blasé, happy-go-lucky persona that resulted in most people underestimating his abilities. When he put his mind to something, there was very little he had trouble comprehending or accomplishing, even galactic politics.

The idea that Fey'lya had been behind Mon Mothma's assassination he threw out at once; while of questionable morality, the Bothan wouldn't dare to stoop to such actions because of the possible ramifications of being caught. No matter the reward, that level of risk simply wasn't an option for a coward like Fey'lya. Taking advantage of a tragedy for personal political gain, regardless of the ramifications? Absolutely.

Even taking all of that into consideration, Han just couldn't see the angle in appointing him to command the Fifth Fleet. If anything, such an appointment would only serve to enhance the public perception of Leia, Fey'lya's chief rival in the political arena, as it promoted an idealized image of the Solo family and their dedication to the Republic. He could almost see the talking heads discussing how commendable it was that Leia Organa-Solo would send her husband off to war while she was still recovering from injuries inflicted by the Imperials. A thought occurred to Han and he narrowed his eyes. Yes, she was a political animal – one couldn't be raised as a princess and not be one – but was she ruthless enough to arrange his reactivation and promotion just to score some points with the public?

"Leia," he began, wondering how he could phrase the question he wanted to ask without it coming out like an accusation. Admittedly, they'd had some troubles in the last year, especially when Luke had taken a stand against continuing to be the Republic's tame Jedi and Han backed his decision one hundred percent, but she wouldn't go this far, would she? It all came down to trust, he realized. He trusted her, utterly and completely. If she believed that he needed to do this, then he needed to do it. No matter how much I hate it, he reflected before leaning in to give her a kiss. She was momentarily surprised, but quickly began to return it.

"Mistress Leia," Threepio's voice sounded from the doorway, as annoyingly prissy as ever. Barely suppressing a groan – how did that damned droid always know when to interrupt them? – Han shot the intruder a dark look while leaning back. Leia's giggle sounded almost girlish and Solo gave her an appraising look, noting without surprise that her amusement seemed directed at the disgruntled look on his face.

"Yes, Threepio?" she asked, eyes dancing. With a grunt, Han pushed himself to his feet, wincing at the various cracks and pops accompanying the motion. When did I get so old?

"Doctor Cilghal has arrived for your nine-thirty session," the droid announced, taking a half step back when Han gave him another glower. "And General Antilles and Colonel Celchu have arrived for Admiral Solo."

"Wedge is here?" Han asked in mild surprise. He exchanged a look with Leia, noting that she was frowning slightly. Guess she didn't know he was coming either.

"My torturer awaits," she muttered under her breath in reference to Cilghal. Han almost laughed at the less than enthusiastic expression on her face, though he understood her reasoning. While the surgery that had repaired the blaster damage to her spine had been fully successful, Leia was forced to undergo extensive physical therapy to fully recover and, based on what little he'd observed, Solo knew it was anything but comfortable. "Show the doctor to the therapy room," Leia instructed Threepio, resignation in her voice. "Han, can you-"

"Absolutely," Solo said in anticipation of her request. He walked to the back of the repulsor chair and began pushing it toward the main living area. Wedge and Tycho were standing near the door with the latter deep in conversation with Winter; Antilles gave Han a quick nod but made no move to approach, clearly recognizing that Solo was occupied for the moment.

The 'therapy room' was actually a converted indoor pool area. In the wake of the Thrawn campaign and the near abduction of the twins, the Solos had moved to a slightly larger and more secure apartment, one that possessed an indoor exercise room complete with heated pool. Following Leia's injury and subsequent surgery, Doctor Cilghal had commandeered the pool for her patient's physical therapy regimen. She had even gone so far to replace the pool's contents with some sort of watery compound Han had never heard of called kolto that accelerated healing much like bacta but at a slower rate, thus allowing Leia's body to recover at a more natural pace.

"Good morning, Senator," the Mon Calamari doctor said in greeting. As usual, she completely ignored Han's presence, focusing her entire attention upon her patient. "How are we feeling today?" she asked.

"Cranky and sore," Leia replied tartly, forcing Han to fight back his smile. Normally, his wife liked Cilghal but during the difficult physical therapy sessions, her temper flared at how hard the Mon Calamari pushed her.

"I'll be in the front room if you need me," he said unnecessarily. He'd long since learned that neither of the women wanted him present during these sessions.

"Congratulations on the promotion, Admiral," Wedge said the moment Han reappeared in the main living area, offering his hand as he spoke. Neither Tycho nor Winter were present, but Solo didn't give it a second thought; if past experience was any guide, the two lovers were off talking like good Alderaanians instead of acting on their feelings. Instead, Han focused on the shoulder patch Antilles was wearing.

"You've been assigned to the Fifth?" he asked with surprise. The last he had heard, Rogue Wing was with the First along the Corellian Corridor under Salm.

"Effective this morning, sir," Wedge replied. Han gave him a sour look and the X-Wing pilot chuckled. "Sorry, Han," he said with a smile. "I've been in briefings all day with flag officers who expect every third word to be sir or ma'am," Antilles explained, his good cheer fading somewhat as a grimace crossed his face. "According to Command, I'm supposed to be your executive officer."

"Which means no flight time," Han guessed. Based on the other man's poorly hidden flinch, Solo had hit the exhaust port. "That's gonna change," he decided instantly. Taking Wedge Antilles out of the cockpit seemed like a dumb idea, a mortal sin and bad planning all rolled together. "If it's my command," Han grumbled, "then I get to decide where you are during a battle." He frowned. "Why did they assign you to the Fifth?" To his surprise, Wedge laughed.

"The Rogues are full of scoundrels," Antilles pointed out with a grin, "and Command thinks an old scoundrel like you could keep us under control."

"Less of the old please," Han replied before shaking his head. "What part of the word 'rogue' do those idiots not understand?" he asked rhetorically, causing his guest to snicker.

"Oh," Wedge said dramatically, "it gets even better." He sighed. "They've assigned you the Independence as your flagship." Solo frowned as he tried to place the name to the class of the ship. Seeing the expression, Antilles offered him a tight-lipped smile. "It's a refit Executor-class," he explained.

"Executor?" Han asked, his confusion only growing. As far as he knew, the only Executor-class the Republic had in its arsenal was … "You've got to be kiddin' me," he said with dawning horror. "The Lusankya?"

"Afraid so." Wedge's expression showed that he shared the disgust that Han was feeling. "You can just imagine how excited Tycho and Corran are," Antilles remarked sarcastically. Solo shuddered at the thought; those two pilots had both been prisoners aboard the Lusankya when it was a private gulag under the control of the late and unlamented Ysanne Isard.

"And they renamed it?" Han pressed, horrified at the notion. When Wedge nodded, Solo felt the last of his optimism about this assignment die a brutal and miserable death. It was well known among spacers that renaming a ship after it had already been christened was the unluckiest thing that could possibly be done to it, more devastating to the ship's good fortune than bringing a pregnant Ithorian pathfinder aboard or launching from the home port on the last day of the week. "This just keeps getting better and better," Solo growled. He glanced in the direction of the nearby liquor cabinet; was oh-nine-thirty too early in the morning for whiskey?

"Any word on Luke?" Antilles asked softly, his eyes glancing in the direction of the therapy room as if to make sure Leia didn't overhear his question. Better than any of the other Rogues that Luke considered friends, Wedge knew about the ongoing conflict between the two Skywalker twins. And unlike most of Rogues, he actually understood the concept of subtlety.

"Not since that last transmission from Jade before she left Coruscant," Han replied, equally softly. He almost winced at the memory of Leia's expression when he'd told her about enlisting the ex-Emperor's Hand to track down Luke. Solo still wasn't sure whether the anger or the fear had been more visible in her face and, by unspoken agreement, neither of them mentioned Jade's name in relation to Luke's any more. For what seemed like the billionth time, Han wondered if his wife's resentment toward Mara was actually rooted in the fact that Leia was no longer the most important woman in Luke's life.

Not that he'd ever actually ask her, of course. He wasn't stupid.

Shaking his head, he forced himself to focus on the job at hand and not on the fate of his brother-in-law; if he'd learned anything about Luke over the years it was that the Jedi had a talent for surviving certain death. With a resigned sigh, Han gestured for Wedge to follow him into Leia's office so they could begin making plans. There was a lot of work to do before they launched.

And time was running out.

Time had run out.

The urge to curse nearly overwhelmed him as Talon Karrde raced through the corridors of his ship, but he suppressed it with some effort. Alarms were echoing loudly through the Wild Karrde and, despite the urgency, he felt pride at how quickly his crew was responding. It was to be expected, though; in the two months since this latest flare-up of hostilities between the Imps and the Rebs began, there had been nothing but opportunities to get battle ready.

When the New Republic began launching preemptive assaults against Imperial targets, Talon had expected the conflict to be relatively short-lived. That had become the norm since Grand Admiral Thrawn's death, as the Imperial Council of Moffs spent more time struggling with one another in senseless political games than they spent focusing on the New Republic. It had become a circle, with the Moffs changing the priorities and objectives of their military on nearly a daily basis, effectively neutering whatever advantages they possessed in firepower. Little by little, the more dedicated Republic forces chipped away at the Imperial power base, absorbing a system here or convincing one to defect there. With the ascension of Borsk Fey'lya to the chancellorship, this latest round of hostilities seemed like the Bothan's desperate attempt to create a legacy for himself, one that swept away his numerous mistakes throughout the years.

Everything changed when Samuel Gillespee was killed.

Though it had been an Imperial operation that claimed the man's life over a month ago, it had set off an entirely new battle plan. Rather than get involved in pitched pyrrhic battles that ultimately served little to no purpose apart from the senseless expenditure of military lives, the Empire began waging a proxy war against the New Republic by targeting their shipping capability. It wasn't a new tactic – disrupting a military's train of supplies was as old as the stars themselves – but it had an immediate effect. Unexpectedly, the smugglers who had gone legit to capitalize on the Republic's transport needs found themselves in the crosshairs of the Empire and, unable to outrun or outgun an actual military, started dying by the thousands. To avoid that fate, many of them began selling their services to the Imperial Starfleet instead, which then prompted the Republic to shift tactics as well and begin targeting unaffiliated transports.

And suddenly, it was open war on all smugglers.

In the span of a week, Talon suffered heavy damage to his organization. The Starry Ice was captured by Imperial forces while on a legitimate cargo run to Kirima; every member of the crew had been charged with smuggling and shipped off to a detention center somewhere in the Corporate Sector. Less than a day later, the Etherway was lost with all hands when a Republic taskforce assaulted and destroyed Darknon Station, a shadowport Karrde had used for years as a waystation for his less than legal dealings. The Wild Karrde had narrowly escaped an Imperial ambush on the outskirts of the Byblos system, despite that system's avowed neutrality in the ongoing conflict. Realizing that he was under siege from two fronts, Talon did the only reasonable thing he could do.

He ran.

For the last three days, the Wild Karrde had been on the abandoned world of Hijarna, repairing the battle damage sustained in their flight from Byblos while Talon plotted their next move. In that time, there had been no indication of pursuit, no hint that any other ships even knew this system existed.

Until now.

Arriving at the closed hatch leading to the command deck, Karrde hesitated before entering, instead forcing himself to relax so he wouldn't appear worried before his crew. It wasn't really necessary – everyone aboard was a veteran and would recognize he was trying to project an image of self-assuredness – but Talon did it anyway out of habit. A leader, he'd always thought, needed to appear in control at all times, especially when he wasn't in control.

"What do we have, Aves?" Karrde demanded as he entered the bridge.

"A ship just dropped out of lightspeed at the edge of the system," the other man replied grimly. He was leaning over the sensor board, crowding the woman operating it though neither seemed to realize it. Talon made it a point to not notice the unnecessary physical contact; the romantic relationship between Aves and Shirlee Faughn was something of an open secret aboard the Wild Karrde.

"Do we know who it is?" Talon asked and Aves shook his head, a bleak expression on his face. "If they're not squawking," Karrde decided, his comment referencing the transponder code on all hyperspace-capable ships, "they're probably not friendly."

"Probably a scout of some sort," Aves suggested. "There's probably a taskforce lurking just outside sensor range," he continued. "If we burn out of here, they'll microjump in and ambush us."

"Point," Karrde conceded. "Still, we better prep for emergency departure."

"Emergency distress signal detected," Faughn suddenly announced. Her eyes widened slightly. "It's the Distant Rainbow!" she identified.

"Mazzic?" Talon frowned. "Can you confirm?"

"It's the Rainbow, all right," Faughn replied. "Kriff, she's in a bad way. Extensive structural damage detected."

"This could be a trap," Aves theorized. Karrde turned it over in his head for a minute, and then made his decision.

"We'll have to chance it," he said. When Aves opened his mouth to argue, Talon continued. "Sentients pay for what they do and still more for what they have allowed themselves to become," he said. At the other man's expression, Karrde smiled. "It was something Skywalker told me the last time I was on Coruscant," he admitted, noting with a poorly hidden smirk how Aves reacted to the Jedi's name. "It may be a trap, but that's a chance I'll take if we can lend aid to a friend in need."

The damage to the Distant Rainbow was even worse that Faughn had implied and Talon winced as they approached the shattered freighter. Crisscrossed with carbon scoring that could have only come from turbolasers, the ship that had once been Mazzic's pride and joy looked like a floating wreck. A pair of undetonated torpedoes was still lodged in the outer hull of the Rainbow and Talon winced at sight of them.

"Survivors?" he asked softly as the Wild Karrde drew abreast of the smaller ship.

"Weak life signs on the command deck," Faughn replied. Talon glanced once at Aves, a command in his eyes, and the other man headed toward the airlock in response to the unspoken order. Without another word, Karrde followed him.

Minutes later, he was stepping onto the ruin that had once been the Rainbow. Debris was everywhere and the stench of seared electronics was so strong that Talon briefly considered donning a rebreather mask. Some of the computer systems were still sparking and he ducked once such spray of embers as a terminal suddenly self-destructed. The door to the bridge was sealed shut and, at Karrde's nod, Aves broke out his hand torch. In seconds, they had gained entry.

Mazzic was seated in the pilot's chair, barely conscious but alive. In the passenger seat, his constant companion and bodyguard, Shada D'ukal, was passed out, a mask of blood covering her face. The nasally sound of her breathing seemed to indicate a broken nose and Talon noted immediately that her right arm was still oozing blood.

"Karrde?" Mazzic asked weakly, his eyes narrowed as Talon stepped closer. "I should have expected it would be you," the Myke smuggler continued, wincing as he spoke. A wet, rasping cough stole Mazzic's next comments and Karrde grimaced at the sound.

"Don't worry, Mazzic," Talon soothed. "We're going to get you and Shada some help."

"Take her first," Mazzic ordered, wiping away the blood that he'd just coughed up. Karrde hesitated, and then nodded in agreement. He stepped back, getting out of Aves' way so the other man could attend to the unconscious Shada. Mazzic's expression was quite revealing as Aves and two medics managed to carry the woman out of the command deck, but Talon offered no comment.

"She's going to be okay," Karrde reassured him the moment they were alone. Mazzic almost snorted before drawing in a sharp breath. He leaned back in his chair and Talon froze at sight of the man's injuries: Mazzic's hand was pressing up against his stomach, barely keeping his intestines from spilling free.

"I'm not though," the Myke revealed. "Not even bacta can fix this."

"I'm sorry," Karrde stated. He held up a hand to stop Aves from re-entering the small cockpit.

"Was bound to happen sooner or later," Mazzic muttered. He nodded toward a datapad that was on top of the flight controls. "Can you give that to Shada?" he asked.

"As soon as she's conscious," Talon replied, pocketing the datapad without looking at it. Mazzic gave him an odd look. "No," Karrde said in reply to the unasked question, "I'm not going to ask you what it is or what's on it."

"You're a damned fool, Karrde," Mazzic said with a bloody grin. Talon's comlink buzzed before he could respond.

"Sir!" It was Faughn and Karrde activated the communications link quickly. "Imperial ships have entered the system!"

"Begin calculating the hyperspace jump," Talon ordered sharply. "Stand by." He glanced at Mazzic.

"Get off my ship," the Myke stated. "I'll create a distraction for you."

"Mazzic," Karrde began to protest but the other man cut him off.

"I'm dying," Mazzic said flatly. "Let me decide how and when." He coughed again, spitting up more blood. "And I owe these bastards," he growled. Talon nodded in understanding.

"Die well, my friend," he whispered before heading toward the airlock. Aves met him, glanced once in the direction of the Rainbow's cockpit, and then fell into step without a word.

"What do we have?" Talon demanded as he entered the command deck of the Wild Karrde moments later. Already, he could feel the vibration of the engines as the pilot Dravis began maneuvering. Faughn replied instantly.

"A Dreadnaught-class heavy cruiser," she announced. "They've already deployed fighters. Looks like TIEs."

"Damned Imps," Aves muttered under his breath.

"Distant Rainbow is turning," Faughn continued as if Aves hadn't spoken. "He's attacking!"

And so he was. Despite the heavy damage to the freighter, it still maneuvered like a craft half its size. Engines burning bright, the Rainbow oriented toward the dreadnaught and accelerated rapidly. It flashed through the TIE formation, absorbing heavy damage from the half squadron and causing two of the starfighters to bank hard to avoid a collision. By the time the fighters had managed to get back into position, the Rainbow was already beginning its final run toward the dreadnaught's exposed belly.

Turbolaser batteries began opening up in an attempt to destroy the freighter, but those weapon systems had been designed for use against other capital ships and simply didn't have the tracking software for a craft as small as the Distant Rainbow. Like a ponderous sea creature, the dreadnaught began changing position in what appeared to be an attempt to evade the incoming craft. Directional thrusters fired and the sublight engines flared, causing the aged warship to begin rolling.

By then, it was already too late.

With hull crushing force, the Distant Rainbow slammed into the dreadnaught's flight deck, vanishing instantly as the collision atomized the much smaller craft and sent burning chunks of debris spinning into the darkness. Fire erupted from the impact point as the collision punched through the magnetic containment field surrounding the otherwise open launch bay and ignited the internal atmosphere. Secondary detonations ripped through the belly of the warship as the flames enveloped the fuel cells stored on the flight deck for the TIEs and caused them to violently self-destruct. For a moment, it seemed that the entire lower half of the warship was ablaze. The dreadnaught was not destroyed or even crippled – the Rainbow had been too small to accomplish something like that – but the damage was sufficiently severe that it would prevent the craft from immediately continuing the pursuit.

Thank you, Mazzic, Talon silently saluted his fallen comrade in the half second before the Wild Karrde made the jump to lightspeed.

When Shada regained consciousness in the medbay an hour later, Karrde was there waiting for her. There seemed to be no gradual transformation from unconsciousness to alertness for her; one moment, she was out and the next she was awake. A bacta wrap encircled her head and her right arm was bound with a splint, but she still managed to exude an aura of sudden deadliness.

"Mazzic?" she asked, her gimlet eyes flashing.

"Dead," Talon replied softly. Without pause, he offered her the datapad. "Before he died, he asked me to give this to you." The raven-haired woman accepted the pad with her left hand and activated it. Her eyebrows climbed at what she saw.

"Do you know what this is?" she queried and Karrde shook his head.

"No," he admitted. "But I can guess. He left you the access codes for his financial accounts, didn't he?"

"How did-" Shada started to ask but abandoned the line of questioning abruptly while giving him a cool once-over.

"I didn't read it," Talon said. He couldn't explain why he felt the need to defend himself to her but he did. She shrugged.

"Then you're not as smart as Mazzic said you were," she replied before offering a tight-lipped smile. "But exactly as honorable." Karrde hesitated, unsure whether that had been a compliment or not. "Why would he do such a thing?" the woman wondered aloud, though she didn't seem aware that she had even spoke. Talon held his tongue, suddenly unsure what to say; while he was fairly positive that Mazzic had been in love with her, he had no idea whether she reciprocated or, failing that, was even aware of Mazzic's feelings. Karrde grimaced slightly; he'd never been good at this interpersonal relationship thing. In the end, he changed the subject.

"We'll be in hyperspace for another twenty hours," he told her calmly, noting that she was once again wearing a slightly shocked expression as she glanced over the datapad's contents. "If there's somewhere you want us to drop you off…" He trailed off, unsure what to make of the suddenly wistful yet sad expression on her face.

"No," Shada murmured. "I have nowhere to go." She glanced up, once more examining him with that weighing expression. Talon was suddenly uncomfortable; the last time he'd felt this way was when Skywalker was around.

"If you're seeking employment," Karrde stated hesitantly, "I'm sure we can come to some arrangement." He gave her a knowing smile. "A Mistryl Shadow Guard would be quite an asset to my organization."

"You're surprisingly well informed, Mister Karrde," the dark-haired woman said softly, her voice inexplicably reminding him of a blade being unsheathed.

"Forewarned is forearmed," he quoted. "Intelligence is a weapon like any other and its application can be just as deadly as … say … the zenji needles you usually wear as hair ornaments." She blinked but gave no other indication of surprise. "If you are amenable," Talon offered, "I am willing to match what Mazzic was paying you."

"And if I accept," Shada wondered coolly, "what would my duties be?"

"Nothing more than what you provided for Mazzic," Talon declared, flushing slightly the moment he recalled his earlier musings about her relationship with the late Myke smuggler. "Security and protection primarily," he expounded to cover up his potential gaffe, "though I'm hopeful you won't be very busy."

"For now, that is acceptable," she decided before frowning slightly. "Do you have a plan?" Shada asked, every centimeter the professional. "In regards to this war, I mean." Karrde gave her a tight smile.

"Absolutely," he replied. "I'm going to find the deepest, darkest hole and hide."

Hiding was no longer an option.

He had been running for so long, he no longer knew what day it was. Sleep was a distant memory, something he vaguely recalled doing once or twice an eternity ago. Every muscle in his body ached so badly he no longer felt the pain and his entire body felt like one big bruise. No part of his uniform remained untouched by dirt, blood, sweat or heat. And there was something wrong with his cybernetic right hand.

Luke Skywalker was having a very bad week.

He had come to Genesia a little over a month ago at the prompting of the Force. At first, he hadn't understood why it was so urgent he visit the planet, only that he saw himself here every time he closed his eyes to meditate. It hadn't been like the Bespin visions when Vader was torturing Han, Leia and Chewie, but rather a sense of things falling into place. Here, he knew, he would find the source of the unease that had been plaguing him for months now.

Following his public spat with Fey'lya, he had found himself without transportation as the Bothan chancellor had retaliated by having Luke's X-Wing impounded. Officially, it was due to the 'needs of the service', but Skywalker recognized the hand of a petulant loser behind the instruction. Without transport, Luke had been forced to tap into the financial resources he'd recently gained access to, accounts he'd kept secret from everyone, including his sister. He still intended to use those monies to rebuild the Order.

There was just something ironically appropriate about using Darth Vader's secret funds to aid the Jedi.

Around him, the capital city of Genesia – Brenn, it was called – stretched out for dozens of kilometers. Towering skyscrapers climbed into the sky, disappearing into the perpetual smog that was one-half cloud, one-half pollution, and a hundred percent disgusting. Once, the city may have appeared respectable but centuries of abuse and neglect had turned it into a haven of criminals of all types. The worst of the offenders were those who had been elected into office, more often than not on a platform promising reform and assistance to the sentients unable to make ends meet in the collapsing planetary economy.

In the far distance, an alarm began sounding, warning of impending precipitation. Silently, Luke cursed as he forced his already exhausted muscles to move a little bit faster; to a Tatooine native, the idea that someone could fear rain seemed inconceivable. On the planet he had grown up on, rainfall was seen as a miracle.

On Genesia, it was lethal.

It hadn't always been like that; once, Genesia had been a beautiful and pristine planet of hills and rivers. All that changed under the Trade Federation during the Clone Wars and, by the time of Luke's birth, the planet had become so heavily industrialized that it seemed its primary export was pollution. Imperial control only worsened the condition, poisoning the atmosphere so badly that, when the toxic clouds sporadically burst, they drenched the city with a virulent acid rain that ate through everything.

A flicker in the Force gave Luke his first warning of pursuit and he started limping forward more quickly, wondering when he had injured his leg and why he hadn't noticed it before. Underneath his weight, the skybridge groaned, reminding him of the previous day when he'd watched the acid rain eat through exposed durasteel in a matter of seconds. Already, the city-wide shield systems were activating in response to the precip alarms, but the generators for the protective fields were so old and poorly maintained the locals rarely trusted them for longer than a few minutes.

The door at the end of the skybridge was stuck – melted by the rain, he noticed – and Luke fumbled for his lightsaber, grimacing at how clumsy his fingers had become. He concentrated on maintaining a zero presence in the Force as he ignited the blade and sliced into the metal; keeping a low profile had become a priority in the last week, especially once he learned that his hunters were tracking him through the Force.

Just beyond the ruined door was a wide room. It was octagonal-shaped, with hallways extending out in multiple directions from each of the sides. In the very center of the room was an open shaft that had presumably been intended to be a turbolift shaft before construction of the building was abandoned when the economy collapsed. At a glance, Luke could tell that it went all the way to the roof and even that was open to the sky.

Once again, he felt the slight tremor in the Force warning him of the hunters' approach. They had found him. Sighing, Luke knelt and focused on centering himself for the coming encounter. There was no sense in trying to hide anymore, not since they were already on their way. He inhaled deeply, allowing the warm currents of the Force revitalize muscles pushed far beyond exhaustion.

Thunder rolled out of the sky, rattling the incomplete skyscraper and echoing loudly through the hollow shell of a building. The absence of any civilians had been the principal reason Luke had chosen this location, given his hunters' lack of concern over collateral damage. A week ago, when they first attacked, he had been in a crowded cantina.

Luke was the only sentient who walked out alive.

Outside, rain began to fall. The skyline abruptly lit up as the protective shields reacted to the falling acid, resulting in what could be mistaken for a pyrotechnics display. If one didn't know better, it could almost be a beautiful sight. Another nudge in the Force caused Luke to shift his position fractionally; seconds later, a steady stream of the toxic rain began falling down the empty turbolift shaft as a shield system failed.

Once again, Luke minimized his presence in the Force as he sensed the approach of his hunters. He rose from the kneeling position and examined his right hand with a slight frown. The fingers of that hand twitched randomly and he grimly acknowledged that it wouldn't be of much use. He shrugged as he readied his saber in his left hand. That would make it more difficult, but there wasn't much he could do about that.

Without a sound, the hunters filed into the room through the same entrance he had used. There were five of them this time, two more than had attacked him the previous three times. One of them was already hideously disfigured, his face half melted from intensive exposure to the toxic rain. Silently, they arrayed themselves in a semi-circle around him, igniting their scarlet lightsabers as they moved. Luke exhaled softly, letting the breath carry away his fear and concern. He recognized each of these sentients, though they were all long dead.

They were Jedi Masters.

Or, more accurately, clones of dead Jedi Masters. There were two Windus, a Fisto, a Koth, and an Unduli. It was one of the Windus who was suffering from the rain-burn, making it easier to distinguish between the two. All were wearing dark robes, as if it were some sort of uniform. There wasn't a trace of emotion on their faces; even the burned Windu displayed no hint of pain.

"Hello there," Luke said with a forced smile. "I was wondering when you would show up."

There was no response. Sighing, Luke inhaled slowly before thumbing on his lightsaber. The emerald beam flared into existence with a snap-hiss and he brought it up into a ready position. Closing his eyes, he reached out to the Force.

And the clones attacked.

Even as they leaped forward, Luke was reacting. With the Force supercharging his muscles, he leaped backwards, half-twisting in mid-air to avoid a sudden saber stroke from the Fisto clone. Pain and exhaustion were forgotten as he landed in a crouch. With a gesture, he sent a wave of the Force into the closest of the clones – Koth and Unduli – knocking them sprawling. The two Windus were suddenly upon him, their sabers humming as they attacked, but Luke side-stepped one of the blows and parried the other. He kicked out abruptly and the attack slowed the burned Windu long enough for Luke to twist into a spinning somersault that carried him clear of the two.

The Fisto clone sprang toward him but Luke thrust out his right hand, sending another pulse of the Force at his foe. In mid-air, the clone rebounded against an invisible barrier and flew backwards several meters. He struck the floor, bounced and rolled into the turbolift shaft.

And directly into the stream of toxic rain.

By then, Koth and Unduli had recovered their footing and leaped toward Luke. He jumped back and up, narrowly avoiding the two Windus who were trying to flank him. His feet hit the wall and Luke pushed off again, flipping over the burned Windu who had turned to face him. Before the clone could reorient himself again, Luke's emerald blade bisected him from shoulder to thigh.

A microsecond's warning was all he got and Luke threw himself forward as the Koth clone's saber flashed overhead, slicing through Skywalker's outer robe and scorching the flesh below. Luke hit the ground hard, but pushed himself into a painful roll that carried him just out of range of the Windu's attacking saber. Momentum carried him away but Luke used the Force to increase his velocity, causing himself to side-flip off the floor and onto his feet. It was just in time too, as the Unduli clone's saber crashed into his with terrific force, causing him to stagger back half a step. With his malfunctioning right hand, Luke punched the clone in the face. In the half-second that she reeled back, he angled his wrist up and used the Force to trigger the hold-blaster Mara had given him several months earlier currently strapped to his forearm.

The clone toppled, her face ablaze.

The two remaining clones leaped forward, scarlet blades flashing, and Luke twisted away from them both. He gripped the Unduli clone's body with the Force and sent it tumbling through the air toward the two, fouling their recoveries just long enough to him to lunge forward. His blade sliced into the chest of the Koth clone with only the briefest of resistance.

His danger sense flared and Luke dove backwards, letting go of his saber as he barely avoided the overhand chop delivered by the last Windu clone. Skywalker hit the ground with a grunt, rolled and sprang by to his feet as the clone recovered and turned toward him.

It was his last mistake.

As the clone tensed to leap, Luke reached out and gripped his still ignited saber with the Force, ripping it free from the corpse and pulling it toward himself. The Windu clone didn't even look at the tumbling weapon, so focused was he on Luke, and never saw the blade that severed his spine. He died as he lived, without a sound.

With a gasp, Luke let himself relax slightly. His legs buckled and he nearly let himself collapse, but an all too familiar feeling through the Force caused him to groan out loud.

"Blast!" he snarled as he limped toward where his saber had fallen. "How many of you are there?" This time, he could feel four of them, approaching from the south. Another trio was to the north and they too were suddenly angling toward him. Yet another trio was west. Exhaustion pushed down on him and, for a moment, Luke Skywalker seriously contemplated giving up. He was too tired to fight, too exhausted to win, too outnumbered to survive. Despair seemed to shroud his mind…

And in that moment, he felt her.

Mara's Force signature caressed him like a warm wind, washing away the fear and desolation that had been swallowing his soul. She was close, Luke realized, and on her way. He started to grin stupidly as he attached one of the clone sabers to his belt. Somehow, someway, she'd known he needed help and had come for him

Now, all he had to do was survive until she got here.

It was an easy choice which direction to take; in normal circumstances, he'd head toward the larger group in the hopes that he could drive their strength inward and use it against them, but with his entire body on the brink of collapse, that wasn't an option. Avoidance wasn't just the best option at the moment, it was the only one.

The eastern corridor led toward another skybridge, but this one opened up into a wide landing platform open to the sky. Luke grimaced as he studied the falling rain and then glanced at the platform. The shield over it was sparking and flickering as the toxic precipitation reacted with the protective field, but there was no telling how long it would remain online. Should he risk it? A human body could survive short exposure to the acid raid …

"This day just keeps getting better and better," Luke muttered as he felt the familiar tremor. Four of the hunters were close and would be here in minutes. He almost giggled as a Han-like thought occurred to him: if I'm gonna die, I'm gonna take you bastards with me!

He headed to the sky platform.

Standing in the center of the landing pad, he began examining the clone saber for some indication of origin. Unfortunately, it was completely devoid of any markings or personalization that Luke could tell. It had a good balance but seemed like it had been manufactured by a droid, not a living being. Every saber Luke had touched before had an echo in the Force, as if a resonance of its previous owner had been imprinted on the weapon at the atomic level. Not this one.

Glancing up, he frowned at the proximity of the approaching quartet. Luke's frown deepened as he studied his twitching hand and he made a decision. Fitting the clone saber into his right hand, he reached into the limb with the Force…

And squeezed.

The actuators in the hand twisted under the pressure, locking the hand in a tight grip around the saber. Luke took several practice swings with the ignited blade, before nodding in satisfaction. The hand would probably have to be completely replaced but at least it wasn't twitching any more. With a flourish, he drew his personal blade with his left hand and ignited it, waiting for the newest batch of clones to arrive.

He didn't have to wait long.

The hunters approached in single file, crimson blades already ignited, and Luke felt his stomach lurch at sight of their identical faces. Oh no, he lamented, horror tightening his throat. Not again. Anyone but him!

Obi-Wan Kenobi.

It wasn't the Ben that he'd known, but a younger version that Luke had seen in historical documents from both before and during the Clone Wars. Two of them had beards, two didn't. It was such an oddly jarring image that Luke blinked. Why were two of them bearded? Did it mean something?

Without warning, the four sprang forward, sabers flashing, and Luke did the same. He ducked under one of the swings, kicking out as he straightened, and brought the twin blades together like a pair of scissors. Only a lurching backwards stumble prevented the clone from losing his head, but it accomplished Luke's goal: the clone collided with the two beardless clones and complicated their footwork.

The remaining bearded clone – Luke's exhausted mind hysterically classified him as Obi-Two – came at him with a wild overhand chop that Skywalker parried away with the twin blades. With the clone off-balance, Luke let his momentum carry him into a lethal spin that sliced Obi-Two into three meaty chunks.

Luke!

The Force cry was all the warning he needed, and Skywalker leaped back and away in the half-second before the Second Chance roared into view, turrets already tracking the hostiles. Even as Luke jumped free of the killing zone, the Chance's guns began barking, blasting apart the remaining three clones with brutal efficiency. The ramp on the YT-2400 was opening as it hovered over the sky platform and Luke half-stumbled into the ship.

The ship was climbing into the sky even before he was fully inside, the ramp sliding shut so quickly that Luke nearly lost his foot. He deactivated both sabers and awkwardly attached his personal one to his belt one-handed. Muscles trembling, he limped toward the cockpit.

As he expected, Mara was at the pilot's station but Luke blinked in surprise at the sight of Khabarakh in the co-pilot's chair.

"Start computing the jump, Artoo," Mara ordered abruptly and Luke studied the starfield beyond the cockpit with fatigued eyes. How did they get into orbit so quickly?

"Compliance," a mechanical-sounding voice responded to Jade's instruction and Luke glanced around for the origin. Artoo wasn't here. "Estimated two point seven minutes until coordinates computed," the voice sounded again and this time, Luke's exhausted brain realized that it was emerging from speakers. "Multiple fighter craft on approach vector. They will not reach weapons range before hyperspace coordinates set."

"Good," Mara said, half-turning in her seat to give Luke a glance. "Kriff," she muttered. "You look like hell! Sit down before you fall down!"

Luke obeyed.

Immediately, he knew it was a mistake as the accumulated fatigue, pain and stress of the last week conspired to drop a very heavy building on his shoulders. His eyes drooped closed for a second, then snapped open when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Mara was kneeling in front of him, her features reflecting her concern. Khabarakh wasn't there anymore and the starfield had vanished only to be replaced by a swirling vortex of blue that was strangely hypnotic.

"Hey," she said softly. A medkit was in her hand and Luke frowned. Where did she get that? Even more importantly, when did they jump to hyperspace?

"Hey," Luke replied, his brain too muddy to formulate a more coherent statement.

"Who were they?" Mara asked as she examined his right hand with a frown. Luke found himself wishing she wouldn't frown so much.

"I wish you wouldn't frown so much," he said, surprising both of them. That hadn't been what he wanted to say. "Jedi Masters," he muttered in response to her question.

"Like C'baoth?" she questioned, consulting a handheld medcomp as she spoke.

"Exactly like him," Luke replied. He wished she would smile more. She had a pretty smile. "I killed Ben," he grumbled. "So many times..."

"Ben? As in Kenobi?" Mara asked and Luke nodded. Dammit, she was frowning again. Just one smile, that's all he was asking for. Not a smirk but an actual smile. "So someone has genetic samples of Jedi Masters and some Spaarti cylinders?" she asked rhetorically. Luke tried to nod but couldn't work up the strength. "Shavit, that's bad."

"Gotta stop 'em," Luke muttered, his words slurring together. "It's not right to clone dead people." He sighed heavily and felt a second house join the first one on his shoulders. "Don't wanna kill Ben no more," he told her sadly. Mara nodded in understanding.

"I know," she told him. "I'll help you, okay?" Luke felt his tenuous hold on consciousness slipping and focused on staying awake. It was Mara's fault, of course. For the first time in a week, he actually felt safe enough to rest and his body was demanding that he do that very thing.

"'kay." The universe tilted around him and Luke blinked it away. When he opened his eyes again, Mara was giving him one of those looks, the kind Leia sometimes gave him when he accidentally said something unbelievably sappy to her. Had he said something to Mara?

"Its okay, Luke," she said softly. "You're safe now."

And then, she smiled.

wbsaw: I've always liked Pellaeon. He's the Honorable Old Soldier (when Zahn writes him anyway) so I'll be sticking to that template. He's an Imperial patriot who believes the NR is an illegitimate government. After all, it's inconceivable that everyone in the Empire was a raving sociopath. Take the Nazis, for example. For every Goebbels there's also a Rommel...

Elemarth: I'll try to keep an eye on the redundancy, though I contest the comlink argument. First, how else is she going to contact R2 without using the commlink? And second, in TPM, Qui-Gon used his comlink to transmit a blood sample to Kenobi for analysis, so you can do more than just talk on them. And didn't he use his comlink to project the hologram of the Queen's ship? Think of it as a cellphone if you will. I think it's impossible to buy a cell phone that's just a phone anymore.

Admiral: Good point about the opening sequence! I've uploaded a fixed version...