AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Hey guys, let me apologize for two things. First, those of you who've followed and favorited, I want to say how sorry I am for not updating. School's recently kicked in (senior year at university, yee-ha) and the whole process of driving, moving in, catching up with friends, figuring out the class schedule, and keeping up with the already-insane coursework has been a bitch and a half so far as writing goes. Second, I'm really not a fan of how this chapter turned out (though your mileage may vary), and I fully admit that the last couple hundred words or so were just to wrap the damn thing up so I could move on with the story.

That said, I promise that the story will finish, and I will keep it up. I'll try to update more regularly.

As always, thanks for reading.


"I'm sorry, sir. We can't let you place any calls."

Ton slumped in his seat, rubbing his forehead with one hand and swishing a glass of brandy with the other. They hadn't been gone from his skyhook for ten minutes, and already the rebellious soldiers were taking command of his yacht as though they owned it! He'd even flown it out, charted the course, and made the jump to lightspeed for them, and now they were going to tell him what he could and couldn't do with his own property? For a group purportedly out for galactic justice, they certainly didn't present the best image. Didn't they know who he was? Of course they did, Jay hadn't been able to shut up about it since liftoff. And from there, it was all the questions. Yes, he was Ton Stark. Yes, his wealth would be a great asset to the rebellion. Yes, he preferred a Corellian beverage, but that was all due to personal taste and had nothing to do with cultural nepotism. And no – a million times no – he was not going to join the Alliance any longer than the Imperial bloodhounds were on his trail.

And his one question? The one secession he was asking the people taking up space in his top-deck observatory to make for him? Denied.

Ton looked up and took a swig from his drink, his eyes not once easing their cold glare or leaving the strapped soldier that had just denied him a talk with his lawyers. Smug little bastard. He had one of Coronet's richest, most famous citizens by the balls, did he? The idea was laughable. What did he know? What did this young scrub possibly know?

"Unwise? Let me tell you something," Ton said with a slight slur as he stood from his leather-padded chair, "a little something about unwise. Unwise is getting involved with guys like me; guys who could chew you up and spit you out as an afterthought. Unwise is biting the hand that feeds you. Unwise is going out of your way to antagonize a guy – take his medicine, take his ship – and then ask for more handouts because you think 'Hey, he's got money out the ass! Let's ask for even more favors!'. That, right there, that's all unwise."

During the entire exchange, the kid had a look about him that Ton couldn't quite discern; it was either confusion (if the way his eyes kept darting around was any indicator) or anger (if the clenching of his fists had anything to do with it). It was the latter, Ton decided, it had to be. He was right. He was always right when it came to kids like this.

"Perhaps unwise would be to try and call a known associate when all lines of communication are likely tapped."

Ton whipped around to see Ben standing in the doorway of the elevator, his arms folded and his expression one of marked disappointment as he walked into the small panoramic room. With a nod, the two other men in the room made haste towards the small elevator, and in the space of seconds Ton could hear the motors propel the two smug sons of bitches out of sight and out of earshot, allowing him to fully take in the slightly-dampened-by-a-set-of-tinted-viewports sight of hyperspace. And all he had to do was stay conscious through what he already knew was going to be a sad and sorry lecture from the formerly ever-smiling Twi'lek. If even that.

"You know," Ben began, "for someone as smart as you have to be to make the sort of credits that you do, I'm surprised you didn't think of the tapped lines."

"Yeah? And who, exactly," Ton retorted, taking another sip of brandy, "said I didn't?"

"You offer up an escape route for a group of known public enemies with barely a word against us, going well out of your way to do so in the process, and only now decide to antagonize someone you've helped? Seems sort of odd."

"I'm a bit of an odd guy, twin-tails."

"And a man," Ben said after a short pause to grimace at the slur, "who makes little sense when inebriated.

"Listen to me," the Twi'lek said, coming to a kneel beside Ton's chair, "nobody's going to argue that your day's been…rougher than most. And given the Empire's control of the media, nobody here can fault you for thinking of us as you do. But if there was ever a time for you to keep an open mind, my friend, now would be the ti-"

"Wait, wait," Ton interrupted, looking away from his drink to stare the brown-skinned alien square in his eyes. "Did…did you just say 'friend'?"

Ben simply closed his eyes and nodded before standing and turning to walk away. If the drunken playboy wanted to get hung up on one word that was meant to show more camaraderie than actual friendship, then nothing else he could say was going to matter. What Stark did after they arrived at the fleet was his business. And if his choice in both words and action persisted, then it was a good bet he was going to get himself killed in spite of what his worrywart of a protocol droid did to counter him. The thought gave Ben no pleasure, but he had learned long ago that some decisions simply were not good ones, and the people making them simply were not going to listen to good sense.

Without a word, Ben left Ton to his increasingly drunken stupor.


"So, why won't you tell them?"

Peprana sat next to her Ithorian medic on one of the finest sofas she'd ever had the pleasure of sitting in, allowing herself to sink into the leather cushions and indulge in a brief moment of peace as she waited for Ropo to respond. Prior to liftoff, Ton had told her and her crew to make themselves at home, and it was a request – or, given the tone of his voice and the glass of brandy in his hand, perhaps less of a request and more of an order to leave him the hell alone – that she was all too willing to oblige. A smile crept onto her face as she turned to face Ropo, who was keeping with his typical mode of operation and sitting straight as a board.

Many of these men grew up believing my family and I were monsters. And even though I would like to share the truth with them, they are not ready. They are better off not knowing, and those that suspect already mistrust me.

"But you're living proof that they're wrong. Half of these guys owe you their lives."

They owe me nothing, Peprana. And many are not as open-minded as you have been.

Peprana raised her head to look around briefly, ensuring they were alone, so far as a pair of people could be alone in the main deck of a yacht that could very easily have been a miniature cruise liner. The twins were playing dejarik out towards the bow, Ben was coming off the turbolift and went straight to the nearest of the deck's seats to crash down and sigh, and apart from a few stragglers just talking much as she and Ropo were, most of her men were clearing out Ton's bar with the help of his silver protocol droid, who was all too happy to indulge their thirst and his own talkative programming. If anything was going to interrupt their conversation, it would've had to come from well out of the blue.

"C'mon," Peprana whispered, leaning in close to Ropo, "I thought Jedi were supposed to be fearless."

And I like to think I am. But your men are not.

"I think knowing that we have a Jedi Knight on our team will boost our morale big time."

I must disagree. Some of your men distrusted me simply because I am an Ithorian without a herd, even before the whispers and rumors began. The fact that these men have such notions at all leads me to believe the fear will only increase.

"But you told me."

I did not. You simply put me in a position where I would have no choice but to prove that I had trained in the ways of the Jedi.

"Okay…so I might've suspected it first. So what?"

Peprana, you are one of the most unassuming women I have ever met. If you could theorize that I was a Padawan before the Empire came to prominence, what stops others in your company from theorizing the same? If you could reach that conclusion, so can they. My meditations and calm demeanor in the midst of a war already seem to serve as incriminating evidence for some. If any of them saw my assistance to Corporal Harth, my secret would be forfeit.

Not once did Ropo deviate from the calm, measured tone he had spoken in since he had first met the Sand Panthers. Although now, for reasons Peprana couldn't quite place, he seemed sadder than before. It was a side that she hadn't ever seen from the Ithorian medic. Before now, she hadn't even thought it possible. And yet there it was, hidden by a relaxed disposition and a language barrier, yet somehow clear as day to the red-haired leader.

"But…but why? I'm sorry, Ropo, I'm just not understanding this."

Peprana, my dear, think of Mr. Stark.

"I-…wait, Ton? What about him?"

He sees us as brigands. As terrorists. And though we both know he is wrong, we must acknowledge that he's not had the chance to see us in any other light. Even now, few in the Alliance remember the Jedi as guardians of peace and justice. Much as Mr. Stark has only been told lies about the true nature of the Alliance, so too have many only known the Jedi as those who tried to overthrow the Senate. Whether we were or not does not matter to them.

Peprana had opened her mouth to speak before stopping herself. Much as she hated to admit it, the Ithorian had a point; two, maybe three people in her platoon were old enough to have heard about the Jedi before the Empire cranked the spin machine up to eleven. Even if Ropo was a saint, the very title of Jedi Knight had been associated with treason and mistrust for almost two decades, and only the most faithful would have trouble shaking off twenty years of misdirection. And just because Peprana knew the Jedi were good didn't mean that others would as well. Changing their minds would be difficult at best. Likening the whole situation to Stark's mistrust of them made the whole thing clear for her; even though he had offered up his yacht and copious amounts of medicine, it was clear to everyone on board that Stark had only done this out of fear he'd be shot and they'd be taken anyway. He put on a show of begrudging cooperation, sure, but anybody with half a brain cell could tell the man was terrified of them.

And, Peprana had to admit, perhaps not entirely without reason. If she had been in Stark's position – with the sudden influx of insurgent soldiers with only the Empire's nationalized media to tell him what to think of them – would she have been any less scared?

"All the same, though," Peprana continued, finally finding her words, "I think you should come clean to the guys. I'm sure things'll go your way. And if not, you can prove 'em wrong, y'know?"

Ropo's twin vocal systems let forward a great stereophonic sigh. His deep black eyes closed, and his massive head slowly swayed from side to side in an expression of his disagreement.

If you believe it is so easy, Ropo said, then go and convince Stark that the Alliance is not what he thinks.

Just as Peprana was about to respond, there was a small lurch as the yacht left hyperspace. The pair – and many of those in the yacht's lobby – turned to the large starboard viewports, where the familiar sight of assorted starships and fighter patrols greeted them. Peprana could practically feel the tension in the ship drop. Normally, she had always approached from the side of the fleet, to be more in line with their assigned hangars. But the yacht had warped in from above, and slightly to the side; the result was a much more empowering view of the collected vessels, allowing the weary and worried soldiers a much more reassuring look at their comrades.

For reasons both visual and emotional, Peprana doubted she had ever been happier to see the Alliance fleet.