Tyranny Reborn
A/N: Has anyone else a Muse as frustrating as mine? Does anyone else suffer her unpredictable moods, her random and ill-timed visits, her insistence to be heard when there are other things I must absolutely do? Admittedly, she is the only woman in my life who isn't married, involved, across the country/planet or gay ('tis a distressingly sad life I lead), but surely all women aren't this ... fickle. Woe...
Replies at the bottom.
Chapter 10
AN hour had passed since he'd received the last status report, and Gilad Pellaeon was beginning to get curious.
Seated behind the massive hand-carved desk he'd grown to see as a prison over the last six months, Gilad glanced once more at the nearby chronometer on the wall and frowned. Ninety minutes had passed since Major Torul had informed Pellaeon that the security teams had apprehended a smuggler attempting to escape Bastion and, based on previous experience, Gilad knew the major should have broken the man by now. Normally, the admiral wouldn't give much thought to the interrogation, but this was different as the smuggler had ties to the info-merchant, Talon Karrde.
And that meant Skywalker was involved somehow.
Exhaling with frustration, Pellaeon rose to his feet and reached for the sidearm resting atop the desk. He hated that it was necessary – an Imperial admiral should be able to feel safe in the confines of Fleet Command, after all. Though there hadn't been any new assassination attempts on his life in months, he still felt it was better to be prepared for any contingency, especially when he was so close to the nest of vipers that was the Moff's Council. After making sure his computer system was locked out, he strode toward the door, buckling on the gunbelt as he did.
The corridors of Fleet Command were busier than normal, and Gilad fought to keep from frowning at the slumped shoulders and dejected expressions he saw. A tangible atmosphere of defeat seemed to shroud the halls as the officers and senior noncoms went about their duties. Many were calling it Daala's Debacle though Pellaeon had done his best to stamp the phrase out; having rather extensively studied the data intercepts from the aborted Maw engagement, Gilad doubted he would have done any better if he had been in command. Even still, knowing that one of his best and brightest had been outmaneuvered and outplanned by a smuggler smarted.
With Daala's task force unavailable for combat, Pellaeon's overall strategic battle plan had ground to a virtual standstill. Across the galaxy, Imperial battle groups were holding their own but were no longer advancing. Even worse, the Rebels had taken heart from Solo's bloodless victory and were offering stronger resistance on all fronts.
"Kriffing Corellians," Gilad growled under his breath as he slowed before a massive wall monitor displaying the latest casualty lists. It was updated hourly and new data was just coming in. He paused for a long moment as he studied the names crawling across the screen, all the while wishing there was some other way he could honor these fallen heroes. A digital image of their names, ranks, and operating numbers hardly seemed enough in the wake of their sacrifices.
On the way to the turbolift, Pellaeon glowered darkly at sight of an off-duty stormtrooper chatting up a female junior officer, but he held his tongue despite the temptation to reprimand the two for fraternization. Times were changing and he needed to change with them or he ran the risk of becoming as obsolete as some of the fools on the Council.
The lift deposited him on the fifth level moments later, and Gilad barely waited for the doors to curl open before stepping into the corridor beyond. He gave a nod of greeting to the two stormtroopers standing guard on either side of the turbolift access hatch and smiled tightly in approval when they made no effort to respond. Instead, they watched him carefully, their eyes hidden from view by the concealing helmet. Putting them out of his mind, Pellaeon started to take a step toward the door leading to the detention facility when movement to his left drew his attention.
There, not three meters away, Major Torul was fast-walking in the opposite direction, clad in the familiar-looking stormtrooper armor but without his helmet. Without appearing to notice Gilad, the major rounded a corner sharply, his expression a riot of conflicting emotions. There was excitement and fear, anger and surprise, hope and despair, all for anyone to see. On the face of the normally taciturn ex-storm commando, the emotion was jarring.
And troubling.
Without knowing why, Pellaeon didn't call out to the major as he began to discreetly trail after his distracted bodyguard. The hairs on the back of Gilad's neck stood up as he caught glimpses of Torul's face in the reflective surfaces of the doors along either side of the corridor. Something was very, very wrong and Pellaeon wanted to know what it was.
Gilad's frown deepened as they approached the Archives wing of Fleet Command, and he wondered what the major thought to accomplish here, especially since Torul's security clearance wasn't high enough to gain access. Still evidently ignorant of Pellaeon's silent observation of him, Torul barely hesitated as he approached the security checkpoint but, rather than offering a code cylinder, the ex-storm commando gestured with his left hand and murmured something Gilad was too distant to hear. The helmeted stormtrooper standing before the entrance to Archives stepped aside.
Torul entered without another word.
Fury pulsed within Pellaeon's breast and he stormed toward the waiting trooper, his face a thundercloud. He drew up sharply before the stormtrooper and glowered at him.
"What is your operating number, trooper?" Gilad demanded. A shiver crawled down his spine when the stormtrooper cocked his head oddly and responded.
"His business was urgent," the trooper said in an eerie voice. "He could not be delayed."
"What?" Pellaeon's ire trickled away to be replaced with confusion … and rapidly dawning fear. He clenched his hands tightly together as a frightening theory began racing through his mind. A veteran of the Clone Wars, he could recall having seen hand gestures by the late and unlamented Jedi Knights similar to the one Torul had made to this guard.
"May I help you, Admiral?" the trooper abruptly asked, his voice sounding normal once more.
"You just let Major Torul into Archives," Gilad said cautiously. "Why?"
"I'm afraid you're mistaken, Admiral," the trooper responded without the telltale hesitation of a man speaking a lie. "The last person I allowed into Archives was Grand Moff Kaine five hours ago."
Pellaeon's blood ran cold. Without a word, he turned on his heel and began retracing his steps to the detention facility, his mind racing. Alerting security wasn't an option – Torul had been given almost unilateral control over the protection details of Fleet Command and sounding the alarm would be the same as alerting the man personally. If he was going to act, Gilad realized he needed to know what had set Torul off.
He entered the holding cell without warning and the prisoner within – a smuggler by the name of Aves – looked up from where he sat in the restraint chair with wide, terrified eyes. Gilad took in the man's appearance, noting at once the blood trickling from the man's eyes, ears, and nose.
"Tell me everything you told him," Pellaeon ordered harshly, and the smuggler recoiled as much as the restraint chair would allow him.
"I don't know anything!" the prisoner whimpered, wincing as he spoke. Gilad leaned forward, bracing himself with his fists upon the durasteel table between them.
"He left here in a hurry," he growled, "and I want to know why."
"I don't know!" The smuggler was almost in tears and Pellaeon fought the urge to shake some sense into him. "I mentioned Korriban and he-"
"Korriban?" Gilad interrupted sharply. "What about it?"
"We've been tracking shipments to a facility there for the last month," the man revealed, wetting his lips with his tongue as he spoke. "I was trying to find out if you Imps were behind it."
"We don't have a facility on Korriban," Pellaeon said flatly. "The place is a rock without any strategic use whatsoever."
"Well, somebody's shipping Spaarti cylinder parts there," the smuggler declared.
Gilad rocked back on his heels, his eyes widening at the implication before him. Over the last year, there had been unsubstantiated rumors of Jedi activity across the galaxy, stories involving Skywalker and that traitor Jade fighting other lightsaber-wielding foes, but Pellaeon had dismissed those stories as little more than Rebellion disinformation designed to conceal what Skywalker was actually up to. But if Torul was behind it…
"Guard," Pellaeon called, reaching for his blaster pistol and thumbing it to full-charge stun. He waited until the responding stormtrooper had stepped fully into the room before nodding in the direction of the seated prisoner. "This prisoner," Gilad said flatly, "needs a lesson in obedience." The trooper nodded and took a step closer.
A moment later, Pellaeon shot him in the back of the head.
The smuggler's eyes were wide when Gilad fumbled with the unconscious trooper's belt to find the release key for the restraint chair but didn't hesitate to leap up when Pellaeon unshackled him. He backed away from the chair quickly.
"Get dressed," Gilad ordered, toeing the unmoving body of the stormtrooper. "You don't have much time."
"And you expect me to trust you?" the prisoner – Aves, Pellaeon reminded himself – asked while eyeing the sealed door of the holding cell.
"You don't have a choice." Gilad gave him a hard stare and the man visibly swallowed before nodding in obedience. He knelt and began stripping the trooper of his armor. "Once you're clear of Fleet Command," Pellaeon instructed quickly, "get word of the Korriban facility to Skywalker at any cost."
"Skywalker?" Aves repeated, suspicion resurfacing in his eyes.
"Yes. Tell him a Force user named Flint Torul has been manipulating the Empire." There was never any doubt what Skywalker would do with that information, especially if his actions regarding C'baoth were any indication. With any luck, Gilad reflected, the two would kill each other and take care of both problems. "Take this," Pellaeon added, pulling one of the command cylinders from his uniform jacket and offering it to the half-dressed smuggler. "It should open most doors in Fleet Command and let you get out." He shot a dark look at the time it was taking the other man to strip the armor from the stormtrooper and don it. "Hurry up!" he growled.
Long minutes later, Pellaeon led the prisoner out of holding cell and jerked his head in the direction the man should go. Without waiting to see if the smuggler obeyed, Gilad took the opposite path, walking faster than was entirely appropriate. Junior officers and noncoms scrambled to get out of his way and he could hear their hushed whispers as he swept by them.
"I need your speeder," he told a helmet-less scout trooper outside the Fleet Command building. The trooper sputtered a reply as Pellaeon climbed aboard the bike and kicked it into motion. Within seconds, Gilad was racing away from the squat-building, his eyes tearing as the wind tore at his exposed face. His heart began pounding rapidly, beating like a triphammer in his ears, and the admiral coaxed a bit more acceleration from the bike as it screamed toward his destination.
The executive building housing the Moff's Council and their respective adjutants loomed before him and Pellaeon braked harshly, aware of the curious eyes upon him. He slid off the bike and took the stairs leading into the building two at a time. Already, his breathing was coming in ragged gasps as he pushed his aged body harder than it had been pushed in years. The guards at the doorway – a pair of gray-suited Army troopers – exchanged a confused look but didn't try to stop him as he darted into the building.
"You can't go in there," another guard informed him as he advanced toward the inner sanctum of the Council, but Gilad put every gram of the authority he possessed into a withering stare and the man quailed.
"Open the damned door," Pellaeon said coldly, and the guard leaped to obey.
"What is the meaning of this interruption?" Moff Disra demanded as Gilad entered the wide, octagonal room. There were only four of them present, with Moff Tavira offworld so she could lead the diplomatic delegation to the Maw in order to meet with Admiral Solo and retrieve Commodore Daala. As was their custom in recent months, each man had a pair of Royal Guardsmen at his back but, for the first time, Pellaeon wondered if they were enough.
Before he could speak, the door to his left opened and Major Torul, still wearing the white stormtrooper armor, entered. His eyes locked onto Gilad's and they glittered with fury.
"How dare you-" Kaine began to shout, but Torul gestured sharply. As if struck by a runaway speeder, the moff flew backwards, smashing into the wall with bonecrushing force. He crumpled without a sound, his limbs bent at unnatural angles. The surviving moffs looked at the body with horror as the red Guardsmen sprang forward to avenge Kaine.
They never had a chance.
With a loud snap-hiss, Torul ignited a lightsaber and met the charge of the Guardsmen headlong. Two fell at once, bisected by the humming scarlet blade, followed by a third and fourth as Torul somersaulted over their lunging strikes and severed limbs with a single, sweeping strike. He hit the ground lightly, gesturing in the direction of the now fleeing Moff Balfour and one of the attacking Guardsmen went flying directly into the running moff, knocking both of them off their feet. As Pellaeon was bringing his blaster up, he felt an invisible wall slam into his chest and send him sprawling. Stars danced in his eyes as he tried to climb back to his feet, but his muscles would not respond. Around him, the screams of the dying echoed in his ears and he wondered how long until he would join them.
With a suddenness that was unexpected, silence descended upon the room.
With a slow, heavy stride, Torul approached, his ignited lightsaber still in hand. The major gestured and Pellaeon felt himself float up off the floor. He struggled to free himself from the invisible grip that held him aloft but it was like trying to move a star destroyer with his bare hands.
"You betrayed me," Torul hissed softly as he came within a meter of where Gilad floated. Over the major's shoulder, Pellaeon could see the shattered wreckage of what had once been the Council table and bodies littered the floor. Disra's headless corpse was still in his seat. "To them," the major spat, contempt and simmering rage in his voice.
"It was my duty," Gilad rasped through lips that didn't want to work. An unseen grip wrapped itself around his throat and began to squeeze.
"Always the patriot," Torul growled as he raised his left hand. Pellaeon's lungs began to burn. "I should kill you for this treachery," his tormentor added and Gilad closed his eyes. He refused to let this scum see fear. "But no," Torul abruptly said and the grip on Pellaeon's throat vanished. He sucked in oxygen with a loud gasp. "I have need of a patriot such as you," the major announced coldly. "My new Imperium will need a figurehead. Someone the other patriots will trust."
"I'll never help you," Pellaeon said sharply.
"You will be surprised," the major declared with a smile colder than the vacuum of space, "what a man will do to survive." He stepped closer and Gilad could see madness dancing in the man's eyes. "Kneel," Torul said, "or be knelt. You will serve, or you will be made to serve." He began to laugh – a chilling sound like glass being crushed underfoot – and Pellaeon could feel a searing pain slice into his mind.
And then, blessedly, the world vanished in a flash of light.
Starlight glittered off the hull of gunship as it drifted silently through the silent void, and Corran Horn fought against the urge to fidget.
Though it was unnecessary, he once again studied the layout of the flight controls in a desperate attempt to familiarize himself with the unfamiliar craft. When Katarn had informed him that he would be the pilot for Troop Two, Corran had expected to be flying a Sienar Sentinel-class landing craft and had spent dozens of hours in the simulator to prep for this operation. At the last minute, though, the less than legal acquisition of the Sentinels fell through, forcing them to seek alternate transport for the assault teams. Mirax's father, Booster, had acquired the Ye-4 gunships from the Force knew where and, with less than an hour to figure out how to fly them, they'd launched.
"Quit that," Iella Wessiri ordered from where she sat before the co-pilot's station. How she had managed to convince Katarn that her presence was necessary defied Corran's comprehension but he had learned over the years to never underestimate the woman especially when it concerned someone she cared about.
"I can't help it," Horn replied as he glanced over the internal sensors once more. "I've got no idea how half these systems work!"
"So compensate," Iella snapped. Corran gave her a sidelong glance, noting instantly the worry on her face. He said nothing though, knowing she wouldn't appreciate it if he called her attention to it especially since it would only confirm his deep-rooted suspicions about her relationship with Wedge.
They had been lurking on the periphery of this system for nearly six hours now, waiting for the arrival of their backup, and with each second that passed, Corran could feel the tension within the gunship ramp up another notch. Iella was bad enough, but thirty-six frustrated and eager SpecOps commandos crammed into a relatively tiny metal box was hard to handle, especially to someone with strong empathic abilities like Corran. He'd lost track of how many times he had bit his lip to keep from cursing aloud when another wave of emotion rolled over him.
Beyond the transparisteel viewport, Corran could see no sign of their ultimate destination. Even the passive sensors really didn't tell him much beyond what he already knew. A cursory scan would reveal an unremarkable-looking rockball of a planet surrounded by a deadly ring system that had once been a moon. A sullen-looking white dwarf twinkled in the far distance, bathing the rockball with a pale, almost eerie light. Had it not been for the Victory-class star destroyer and the trio of Strike-class medium cruisers in orbit over the planet, the system would have seemed to be an insignificant speck of nothing in the middle of nowhere.
Which, Corran supposed, was entirely the point.
"Contact," he murmured a full half-second before the sensor board in front of them pinged, alerting them of new mass signatures. Iella gave him a quick, disgruntled look – she hated it when he did that – before quickly glancing at the incoming feed. Rather than doing the same, Corran closed his eyes and stretched out with his senses. Instantly, he detected a number of familiar psychic signatures as the newly arrived ships – twelve in all – began maneuvering toward the star destroyer.
"Read eleven X-Wings," Iella said off the data crawling across her scopes, "and one light cruiser."
"Here we go," Corran whispered as he began feeding power to the gunship's engines. "Stand by to charge up those guns," he said into his headset. A cacophony of rapid clicks answered him and he nearly winced at the sudden sense of grim resolve pulsing through the Force.
"Imperial warship," a cultured voice announced over a wideband communications transmission, "this is Colonel Tycho Celchu of Rogue Squadron. I believe you have something that belongs to us."
"We're here to take it back," Wes Janson interjected calmly.
Already, the Victory was dropping its TIE fighter compliment as the three Strike-class cruisers moved to flank their much larger cousin. They too were deploying fighter cover and, with a glance at his sensor display, Corran estimated the Imps to have five full squadrons. On paper, it would have looked lopsided: sixty TIE fighters, three Strikes, and a Victory against eleven X-Wings and an obsolete Thranta-class war cruiser.
"Hardly seems fair," he muttered as the Rogues thundered into the engagement zone. Even at this extreme distance, he could see the flashes of light that were lasers and exploding TIE fighters, and he swallowed the jealousy swelling within his stomach. It should be him out there in a T-65, not Pash Cracken or Feylis Ardele or Plourr Ilo, all retired Rogues eager to join a mission to bring back their wayward leader. He should be the one leading Three Flight, not Hobbie. It should be him flying alongside Gavin and Myn and Ooryl in an insane strafing run against the Victory-class. If only his leg had healed better, or his X-Wing wasn't so much scrap. If only his physical therapist hadn't forbade him from even getting near a high-performance starfighter for the next six months.
If only…
"We have a green light," Iella suddenly said, her words ripping Corran out of his brief lapse into self-pity. He nodded sharply and kicked the gunship into full thrust. The engine howled aggressively as they shot forward and detection alarms began sounding almost at once. The Imps had noticed them.
"I read one squadron of TIEs deviating toward us," Iella announced.
"Go hot with those guns," Corran informed the waiting SpecOps troopers. He grimaced at the immediate power drain that resulted and did some rapid calculations in his head. Without hesitation, he altered their approach vector and aimed the nose of the gunship directly toward the detritus of the planetary ring system.
"What are you doing?" Iella asked sharply and Corran gave her a grin. "Ah, kriff," his old CorSec partner muttered as she double-checked the safety harnesses securing her to her seat. "This is why I never let you fly when we worked together."
Forty seconds later, the TIEs reached firing range and began peppering them with lasers. Corran didn't bother trying to dodge – the gunship was about as maneuverable as an aerodynamic rock – but he did try to coax more speed out of the crate. There was no way they could outrun the eyeballs, but they'd be crazy to follow him into the rings so the sooner he got there, the better.
Seconds later, the turreted weapons on the gunship opened fire, instantly forcing the TIEs to go evasive. One of them wasn't quick enough – crimson lasers sliced into the cockpit of the craft, punching through both the pilot and the ionization reactor behind him. The man was dead even before his fighter vanished in a fireball.
"Hold on!" Corran shouted as the gunship entered the outskirts of the ring system. Chunks of rock and ice began hammering into the ship, and the proximity alert system went berserk as it tried to track every dangerous threat within range. Iella reached forward and flicked it off.
To Horn's surprise, three of the eyeballs kept on their six, laser cannons chattering almost nonstop. One of them clipped an asteroid and the momentary loss of control gave the Ye-4's gunners plenty of time to line up a well-placed shot. The remaining two dipped and weaved around the debris, their lasers systematically battering down the shield strength of the gunship. Corran cursed softly as his controls suddenly went wobbly. Damage control alarms began howling.
"Port thrusters are out," he stated unnecessarily. Iella's breath caught but Corran paid her no mind. "Engine One is misfiring and I'm reading stress fractures all over." He glared at the controls. "Kriffin' Booster and his kriffin' good ideas," he growled. "Does this thing have grapplers or a tractor beam?"
"Neither," Iella answered quickly as she cycled through the available systems.
"Wonderful," Corran muttered. "Fine. We'll have to do this the old-fashioned way." He banked the Ye-4 toward the densest portion of the ring and began feeding more power to the engines.
"What are you doing?" Iella demanded instantly. "We need to land not go on a joy ride!"
"Shut up you," Horn retorted though there was no heat to his words. "Try to lock down that stabilizer," he instructed as he began feathering the remaining maneuvering thrusters. Slowly – ever so slowly – the gunship began to rotate along its horizontal axis. With bare meters to spare, they skirted the largest of the rock chunks and continued to spin. Expertly hiding the worry thundering through his veins, Corran skimmed the surface of another giant slab of shattered rock.
Desperate to avoid the lethal fire of the Ye-4 gunners, one of the TIEs dove sharply but miscalculated and instead slammed into a speeder-sized slab of rock, vanishing instantly in a fierce explosion. The sole remaining eyeball fell away, opting to focus more on surviving the treacherous environment than getting another shot off at the gunship. In his focus on the immediate threat, he failed to notice the arrival of a pair of X-Wings whose cannons ripped him apart.
"Sorry we were late," an unfamiliar-sounding voice declared over the com-line, but Corran didn't bother responding as he fought with the controls. At his side, Iella gave him a sidelong look.
"Better late than never, Wraith Four," she said into her headset. "Ionosphere in forty seconds," she announced a moment later. "Engine One is losing power."
"Of course it is," Corran grumbled. He didn't look up from his datafeed, not even when the gunship hit the outer edge of the planetary atmosphere and began vibrating roughly. He was vaguely aware of two more Ye-4's slide into formation behind him, and idly wondered if Captains Farlander and Ors had let him take point knowing he would draw the most attention. A shudder ran through the deck of the gunship and the ambient sounds of the landing craft dropped sharply.
"Engine One has failed!" Iella suddenly shouted, panic in her voice. Corran snorted in dark amusement, his eyes locked on the sensor display relating their destination.
"Crash positions!" he bellowed into his helmet comlink. A series of rapid clicks across the communication line answered him as the commandos in the troop compartment scrambled to obey.
They leveled out slightly as they approached a massive mountain range, and Corran began decelerating as they entered a wide canyon that seemed to have been carved out of the rock by a giant vibroax. Wind wailed around the gunship, hammering it with hurricane-gust winds and thousands of tiny rocks. Black clouds hung heavy in the air above the mountains and thick bolts of blue-green lightning stabbed earthward, exploding against large boulders or jagged cliffs. Large hunks of debris rained down into the canyon, pelting the already heavily damaged Ye-4 and turning an already hazardous route into a deadly one.
Corran desperately fought to maintain control of the gunship as they drew closer to the target. Through the viewport, he could see their final destination: a massive tower situated squarely within a still larger canyon. Even to someone accustomed to Coruscanti-sized buildings, it seemed a tall structure, though Horn knew it was little more than half a kilometer in height. From a distance, the tower appeared to have a smooth exterior surface, but a closer inspection of it revealed that to be a mistake. Weapon emplacements marred its aesthetics and the hazy distortion surrounding it was indicative of heavy-duty deflector shields. Already, the sky was crisscrossed with battery defense fire and TIEs – both eyeballs and squints – were pouring into the sky toward them. The X-Wings of Wraith Squadron raced to meet them and the air above the prison was suddenly alive with explosions.
An unexpected flash enveloped the topmost section of the facility and, to Corran's amazement, the barely visible force screen protecting the prison began flickering before ultimately collapsing entirely. He exhaled in silent relief – Katarn had been evasive when explaining how they'd manage to breach the shield and had taken on that mission himself. Evidently, his reputation wasn't entirely undeserved.
At his nod, Iella began activating the docking cycle and Corran could hear the lower vertical stabilizer begin to fold up in preparation for landing. It abruptly froze in place at the halfway point, a fierce grinding noise echoing loudly throughout the entire ship. A half-second later, a brilliant burst of lightning slammed into the Ye-4. The controls flickered – on, off, back on – and Corran felt his stomach lurch as the gunship dropped sharply.
"Shields are gone," Iella announced, her voice flat and dull. "Hull integrity at critical levels." As if to mock them, the entire control board went dead.
"Sithspit," Corran said softly, "there goes the main drive." He sounded strangely calm, even to his own ears.
Their final approach was more a controlled drop than an actual landing. The gunship slammed into the ground hard just outside the open landing bay door, bounced once, and then slid across the floor into a wall.
"Go! Go! Go!" The shouted command echoed from the troop compartment and Corran blinked away the stars dancing in his vision as a hollow boom rumbled through the wrecked gunship. He recognized it instantly – the airlocks had been blown by the overeager commandos – and through the splintered forward viewport a second later, he could see Page's soldiers racing to secure the landing bay. Defending Imperials – mostly stormtroopers – were already retreating through the main access point from the bay, a massive blast door the size of an AT-AT. The door rumbled as it began its ponderous slide shut.
His vision still swimming, Corran fumbled with the mostly useless controls of the gunship, closing his eyes as he did. He let instinct guide his fingers and struggled to block out the searing agony pulsing through his left leg. A spark from the control board caused him to jerk his fingers back, but he promptly attacked the panel again.
With an explosion of blaster fire, the chin turret of the gunship activated, its crimson lasers slicing into the mammoth door and burning through the actuators driving it. Secondary detonations ripped into the metal, knocking it askew and stopping it in its tracks.
"Good job," Iella said as she clambered out of her seat. She grabbed a blaster rifle. "Let's go get Wedge back," she declared. Corran nodded and followed her out of the Ye-4, barely hiding his limp. He gave the smoking wreck that had been his gunship a glance and shook his head. Not my best landing, he reflected as the other two Ye-4's touched down lightly beside it. Their commandos were already spilling out of the troop compartments, rushing to join Page's team already wreaking havoc within.
They found Wedge twenty minutes later, barricaded within the medical dispensary with ten other prisoners. Still wearing the bright red jumpsuit of an Imperial detainee, he was armed with a captured blaster rifle and had a stormtrooper utility belt around his waist. Half of his face was dark with bruises and his left arm was hanging at an awkward angle, but his eyes gleamed with joy when Iella rushed to embrace him. A strangely familiar-looking man was standing at Wedge's side, clad identically. Corran brushed the thought aside.
"What took you?" Antilles asked with a grin.
"You know us Rogues," Corran retorted. "Always looking to make a dramatic entrance."
It was certainly a dramatic entrance, but Leia Organa-Solo wasn't impressed.
Five Imperial star destroyers, each accompanied by a trio of Carrack-class cruisers, slowed from lightspeed with a flicker of pseudomotion and promptly began maneuvering into a defensive formation. No attempt was made to come any closer, though dozens of TIE fighters dropped from the launch bays of the star destroyers and promptly began circling their mother ships. Minutes later, a quartet of ships deployed from the central-most destroyer – a Lambda-class shuttle and three TIE Defenders – and began racing toward them.
"Incoming transmission," Captain Adrimetrum said from where she stood at Han's back. The dark-haired woman touched the small comm.-device in her ear before looking up. "Confirmed: Moff Tavira on approach."
"The ball's in your court now," Han said to Leia with a smirk. "I'm going to be in the Falcon with the kids and Chewie." He shook his head in slight amazement. "I can't believe how big they've gotten," he muttered under his breath.
"Any requests?" Leia asked as she fell into step beside him, Cakhmaim and Meewahl silent ghosts behind her. Han grinned.
"Well," he drawled with his lopsided smile, "I've always wanted a summer home on Bastion." Leia laughed softly.
"I'll see what I can do," she told him as they neared the turbolift. Out of the corner of her eye, Leia could see Han give the two Senatorial Guardsmen standing on either side of the lift's doors a sour glance but, surprisingly, he made no comment about their presence.
"While you're at it," her husband added as they entered the lift, "see if you can't get the backpay the Imps owe me." When Guardsman Hsieh barely stifled a soft chuckle, Han shot the young man a look of mock incredulity. "It speaks!" he exclaimed with feigned surprise.
"Han," Leia said warningly. He'd never taken well to the fact that she needed a protection detail, though whether it was some sort of Corellian sense of responsibility or just an idiosyncrasy of his personality she'd never been able to determine. Solo shrugged.
"Just sayin'," he replied before zeroing in on the silent Captain Quin. "Never got to thank you for keepin' her alive," Han told the captain.
"I was merely doing my duty," Quin said stiffly in response.
"Uh huh," Han nodded. He studied the guardsman for a long moment, finally giving Quin a slight nod that the captain returned without a word. It was such an unbelievably male gesture that Leia nearly rolled her eyes. "Go do your thing," Han said to her as the door of the lift slid open, "but don't take too long." He waggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner and she chuckled softly before leaning forward to kiss him softly on the cheek. Han waited until she and her four protectors filed out of the lift before playing his trump card. "When you get done," he said with a wicked grin, "I'll tell you about the crazy meeting I had with your brother a couple of months ago."
The lift door slid shut before she could respond, but Leia knew Han was laughing.
She swept into the landing bay minutes later, consciously utilizing her royal upbringing to evoke an image of authority. A poorly hidden frown on her otherwise delicate-looking face, Viqi Shesh stood silently, flanked by a pair of the blue-garbed Guardsmen. The Kuati senator was dressed impeccably in flowing purple and violet silks that likely cost more to produce than every gown in Leia's wardrobe. Rows of tiny Corusca gems climbed down the length of the dress and sparkled under the harsh lights of the landing bay. In contrast, Leia felt underdressed in the simple white senatorial gown she had selected for this meeting.
As she approached her colleague, Leia could not help but to notice the waves of tension radiating off the other woman. They hadn't talked much since Fey'lya's unexpected decision to send Shesh with her, and the Kuati senator had spent nearly the entire trip from Coruscant alone in her cabin. If Leia didn't know better, she'd think Shesh was afraid of her.
Before them, the Lambda-class shuttle settled in for a landing with the trio of TIE Defenders breaking off and returning toward their distant baseship, escorted by an equal number of X-Wings. The Republic soldiers assembled within the landing bay snapped to attention as the ramp of the shuttle slowly descended. Mere seconds later, four scarlet-clad Royal Guardsmen emerged and took up honor guard stations before the ramp. Another moment passed before Grand Moff Leonia Tavira strode from the shuttle.
She was a small woman, barely as tall as Leia herself, with shoulder-length black hair tied back in a distinctively Eiattan style. At the base of the ramp, Tavira paused and gave the assembled Republic troopers a quick, appraising glance, though her face betrayed no hint of her thoughts. Her eyes found Leia and Shesh; the only known female moff frowned slightly before beginning a slow, measured walk toward them and the Royal Guardsmen flowed forward behind her, moving so smoothly they appeared to be floating across the deck instead of walking.
"Your Highness," Tavira said by way of greeting, and Leia gave her a fractional nod of recognition.
"Your Excellency," she replied before gesturing to the woman at her side. "May I introduce Senator Viqi Shesh of Kuat?"
"I know who she is," Tavira said flatly, anger at Kuat's defection over a year earlier flaring briefly in her violet eyes as she gave Shesh a dark glare. It was gone almost before Leia saw it and the moff addressed her next comments to Organa-Solo. "Will Admiral Solo not be joining us?" she asked. Leia gave her a tight smile.
"Han has no stomach for diplomacy," she answered. "He has asked me to oversee our negotiations regarding Commodore Daala and her battle group." Discomfort flared within Leia's stomach at the utterance of the commodore's name and she pushed away her irrational dislike of the woman. She knew for a fact that Han wasn't attracted to his old Academy friend, but every time he referred to her as 'Nat' instead of by her rank, Leia had felt a surge of unwarranted jealousy.
"The conference room is this way," Shesh stated, drawing another heated look from the diminutive moff.
"I have been aboard the Lusankya before," Tavira retorted. Leia gave her a sweet, condescending smile.
"We've made some changes since then," she pointed out as they began slowly walking toward the turbolift. "For starters," Leia said smoothly, "we've removed the torture rooms and execution chambers."
Tavira's face tightened, but she offered no reply.
The presence of several dozen holo-journalists within the conference chamber caused the moff's stride to falter and Leia bit back another smile at how uncomfortable Tavira appeared for the long seconds it took her to realize she had been outmaneuvered once again. By the time she donned a false smile of good cheer, it was already too late as at least three of the more reputable journalists had snapped images of her startled expression.
They settled quickly into the usual back-and-forth of high-level diplomatic talks such as this one. An hour passed as they exchanged the requisite pleasantries that neither truly believed. Once back in her element, Tavira proved to be a quite effective negotiator and expertly deflected many of the Republic's requirements for Daala's return to Imperial space with meaningless platitudes. As they entered the second hour of negotiations, Leia could see any hope for an amenable resolution to this crisis slipping through her fingers. She knew – and, from the glint in Tavira's eyes, was meant to know – that the Empire would publicly agree to everything but had no intention of actually following through. I should have let Han deal with this woman, she reflected darkly.
A bustle of activity drew her attention to the doorway currently blocked by journalists and Leia frowned when she saw Winter squeezing through the crowd. An Imperial naval lieutenant was a half step behind the silver-haired woman, and, the moment they pierced the ring of reporters, they made separate beelines toward their respective sides.
"Something's happened," Leia guessed, her voice pitched low so as to not carry, as Winter came closer. Her aide nodded sharply and offered a dataslate. Accepting it without hesitation, Leia quickly scanned over it, noting at once that it was a recently decrypted intercept from Imperial communications traffic. Her breath caught at the first line: confirm reports of Pellaeon-led coup, Moff Council KIA.
Across the table, Tavira rose to her feet, her neutral expression dissolving into one of incandescent fury. Clutched in her hand was a similar dataslate and she gave Leia a dark look.
"Clear the room, Captain," Leia ordered softly, her voice carrying nonetheless. An eruption of questions from the journalists followed the command, but she tuned them out as the four Senatorial Guardsmen began ushering the reporters from the room. At a nod from Tavira, the four Red Guards at her back slid forward to join their blue-garbed brethren. In seconds, the last of the journalists were gone and the door had been sealed.
"I'm not going to ask how your people found out," Tavira nearly snarled. She took her seat once more and locked eyes with Leia. "I need Daala's fleet now," the moff declared sharply.
"So you can throw them away in a useless attack on Bastion?" Leia inquired. "If Pellaeon has seized control," she added calmly, "there's a good chance the commodore will side with him."
"That's a risk I'll have to take," the moff said grimly. "I can't do nothing."
"On the contrary," Shesh interjected, "doing nothing may be the best thing for you to do."
"If these reports are accurate," Leia added quickly, "you are all that remains of the Moff's Council." Tavira grimaced at the notion but didn't interrupt as Leia continued. "And we've intercepted enough of Admiral Pellaeon's correspondence with Commodore Daala to know you are the only one of the Council he respected." She leaned forward, silently urging the woman opposite her to set aside her pride for the moment and actually listen. "My husband has proven here that our respective forces can work together without trying to kill each other." Leia steepled her fingers. "You need to think long and hard on what is more important, Your Excellency: rushing back to Bastion to throw more wood on the fire or keeping as many of your people alive for as long as possible by not sending them die."
For a long moment, Moff Tavira was silent. She frowned slightly as she studied the table and Leia could almost feel the woman's thoughts racing. Think about it, she silently implored. As if in response, the moff nodded.
"I will … consider what you have suggested," Tavira announced as she rose to her feet. Leia stood as well, aware that Shesh was already on her feet. Sensing an opportunity, Leia spoke first.
"Shall we adjourn until tomorrow?" she asked.
"Until tomorrow," the moff agreed stiffly with a response before inclining her head in a slight bow Leia returned. "Your Highness," Tavira said. "Senator."
A moment later, she and the Red Guards were gone. Feeling Shesh's eyes upon her, Leia gave Cakhmaim and Quin a subtle gesture; without comment, they filed from the room, leaving her alone with the Kuati senator.
"You surprise me," Shesh announced before Leia could speak, "and your mastery of the White Current is astounding given your lack of formal training."
"Excuse me?" Leia asked, frowning slightly at the unfamiliar phrase. She supposed it was an alternate name for the Force – Luke had often said different species throughout the galaxy called it different things, but she had never heard it called that.
"I refer only to the way you influenced her thoughts," the Kuati woman explained. "She was going to walk away and ignore everything you said until you used the Current to suggest otherwise." Shesh offered a smile. "It was a masterful action."
Revulsion bubbled within Leia's stomach as she abruptly recognized the truth of the woman's comments. Now, after the fact, she could distinctly recall urging the Moff to give her words careful thought; use of the Force to ensure Tavira hadn't simply ignored the words had been instinctive. But it was for a good reason, wasn't it? How many lives had she just saved because of her actions?
"I do what I must," she told her colleague, successfully hiding the conflict raging within her heart. "Though I hate to admit it," Leia continued, lowering her voice slightly, "there are times when the ends do justify the means." She reached out with the Force and smiled slightly at the jubilant feel of her children's minds; they were gleefully playing with Han and Chewie and were happier than she'd felt them in a long time. "And I will do whatever I must to make sure this galaxy is safe for my children," she added.
"On Kuat," Shesh said softly, "we have a saying: stand not between the love of a mother and her children for it shall burn you with its intensity." The woman smiled tightly before narrowing her eyes and studying Leia intently. "To any with eyes," the Kuati senator stated coolly, "it is clear you have set yourself against the chancellor." Leia tensed and returned the appraising look.
"And you've allied yourself with him," she retorted.
"A mistake it would appear," Shesh admitted. "He presented an image of strength, of power that could be harnessed for the benefit of Kuat." Her lips thinned as she frowned. "The truth I have learned is that he is weak," she said coldly. Inexplicably, Leia felt her heart begin beating faster and her every sense suddenly seemed to sharpen. She fought to maintain the illusion of control. "He worries more about how he is perceived by the public than about doing what must be done to ensure the stability of the Republic." Shesh pinned Leia with a look. "You, however," the Kuati woman said, "are more than capable of doing what he cannot do."
"I'm listening," Leia said slowly.
"You seek evidence that will prove he is immoral and corrupt," the senator declared. "I can provide you with this evidence."
"Why?" Leia crossed her arms. "Nothing is free in this galaxy, so why turn on him now?" The other woman laughed.
"Kuat is my only concern," Shesh said darkly. "When we allied with the Republic," she continued, "it was under the belief we would not be forced to bend knee to a tyrant again." The Kuati woman's face darkened. "If the Empire demanded Kuat's return to end this war," she said, "I have little doubt Fey'lya would gladly agree and cast us aside." Something aggressive flared within the woman's eyes. "And we will not kneel before the Empire again," Shesh declared hotly and Leia could feel the fervent truth behind the words pulse through the Force. "I offer you a way to challenge him," the woman continued, "and ask for nothing in return but the security of my world." She offered her hand – a gesture of subservience within the Kuati society – and waited patiently for Leia's answer.
She didn't have to wait long.
The waiting was driving her insane.
Crouching before the tangled mass of circuitry, wires and the all important focusing lens, Mara slowly touched the omnitool to each of the exposed leads, biting her lower lip as she double-checked her work. She felt rather than saw Luke's amused glance in her direction, but did her best to ignore him. After all, he'd already built a couple of lightsabers and this was her first.
A warm breeze poured through the open window, bringing with it the distinctive smells and tastes of Socorro. They had been planetside for nearly nine days now, having come here directly from that miserable swamp world Luke liked so much two weeks after her encounter within the Dark Side cave. Mara involuntarily shivered at the memory of what had happened there and could feel Luke's subtle mindtouch as he sensed the direction of her thoughts. Absently, she pushed him away and carefully checked another of the circuitry leads. More than anything else, she didn't want to think about the Cave, not while she was constructing her saber.
"You can't hide from it forever," Luke said from where he sat in front of the holocron he'd acquired on the slimy mudhole. He'd been studying the curious device since even before they left Dagobah and had started to annoy her with the spontaneous tidbits of useless information he'd spout.
"Yes, Master," Mara replied sarcastically, intentionally using the title that was his by right even if he insisted that he didn't feel like he deserved it. She felt him recoil slightly and drove the knife in a little deeper. "I bow before your superior knowledge, Master," she said in a distracted-sounding voice. "Will there be anything else, Master?"
"Cut that out," Skywalker grumbled, and Mara shot him a darkly amused grin before returning her full attention to the exposed innards of her future saber. It was nearly done…
"It would have been done an hour ago," Luke declared abruptly, "if you just would stop second-guessing yourself."
"Stay out of my head, Skywalker," Mara ordered quickly. Her omnitool chirped and she leaned back, suddenly fighting trepidation. Everything checked out, all the circuits were functioning and every wire was securely fastened. All she needed to do now was to…
"Turn it on," Luke suggested. He rose to his feet and slowly walked toward the spot she'd staked out as her own. It was in the middle of the floor of the suite Lando had arranged for them before their arrival. Mara tried not to notice the massive, heart-shaped bed to her left and silently pledged to never again accept a gift from Calrissian without knowing the specifics firsthand. She still wasn't sure whether it had been her or Luke who had been more aghast that Lando had arranged to rent the honeymoon suite for the two of them while they were on Socorro.
Still, there had been certain benefits to it, especially since it was all on Calrissian's credit chit. Displaying a mean streak she hadn't expected, Luke had promptly suggested they run up the bill in retaliation for Lando's veiled innuendo about the nature of their relationship. Mara had jumped at the idea and, for the last nine days, they had lived like decadent royalty. They'd replaced every stitch of clothing they owned with newer, more comfortable gear, had eaten thousands of credits worth of overpriced food, arranged for a long overdue tune-up for Artoo, and had even spent an entire day in massage and spa therapy.
"You're stalling," Skywalker said firmly as he knelt before her. He gave the saber a quick glance before turning his focus on her.
"Is it the future?" Mara asked abruptly, looking up to meet Luke's eyes. He understood at once and shook his head.
"No," he said firmly, "though it may hint at a possible future." Skywalker glanced away and, for just a moment, his eyes turned inward. "When I first entered the Cave," he said, "I fought an image of my father." Mara frowned slightly.
"Anakin or Vader?" she asked.
"Vader," came the immediate response. "I killed the image but the mask fell away and I saw my own face." Mara grunted as she absorbed the unresolved emotions rolling off Luke. "It wasn't until later I understood what the Force was telling me."
"That he was your father?"
"That I could become my father if I wasn't careful," he corrected. Abruptly, Skywalker smiled. "The second time," he said, "I saw you for the first time." He nodded toward the saber. "And you're still stalling," he reminded her.
Mara sighed. She returned her eyes to the saber and slowly reached for it. Her left hand tingled slightly as she began locking the cylinder into place, but she ignored it as she tried to concentrate on anything but the memory of hate-filled amber eyes.
"I need some more time," she said of the Cave vision, knowing Luke would understand. He always understood. Somehow, he always knew when to push her to face something and when to let her find her own way. Even when he was busy driving her crazy, she knew she could trust him.
"I'm here when you need me," Skywalker replied, his tone more patient than he had any right to be. He rose to his feet and took a step back as she finished locking the handgrip into place. Anticipation pooled within her belly and her finger hovered over the activation stud plate. She glanced up and met Luke's eyes.
"If this thing explodes and takes off my arm," she started to say but he interrupted her with a laugh.
"We'll get you a new one," he said with a snicker. He gestured with his left hand – a clear 'get on with it' expression – and Mara activated the blade.
It ignited with a sharp snap-hiss and a dark violet blade of pure energy extended instantly. Mara took several quick practice swings, her confidence growing with each second she held the weapon in her hand. Already, she felt closer to this weapon than she ever had to the one the Emperor had issued her or even Anakin's blade. A smile began creeping onto her face and she looked up to meet Luke's eyes, seeing her joy reflected in his face.
"What did I tell you?" he asked with a grin. "But there's only one real way to test a lightsaber," he remarked as his own blade jumped into his hand and flared into existence. Mara laughed and sprang toward him.
Luke was already somersaulting backwards, landing lightly on the horrible-looking bed, and Mara pursued eagerly. Their blades crossed with an electric screech and she twisted around his next attack, pirouetting in place to slash at his midsection. Skywalker caught the attack and pushed it back before springing away. A mischievous glint shined in his eyes and Mara felt the Force flicker around them. The bed she was standing atop shivered and she jumped away, twirling in mid-air. Her danger sense flared and she brought the saber up instinctively.
A second later, she was covered with feathers.
"You cheated!" she shouted as the remnants of the pillow Luke had hurled at her continued to flutter to the ground. Skywalker was laughing hysterically as he backed away from her, and Mara jumped forward, her humming blade howling. He caught the wild swing and diverted it into the long couch. Upholstery exploded around them as the energy blades scorched through the couch, but neither noticed as they continued to trade blows. In seconds, the suite was alive with the sharp tang of ozone and everything not bolted down suddenly became a weapon.
Recognizing she could never match Luke's raw power in the Force, Mara slid closer to him, her blade locked against his. Before he realized her plan, she hooked a foot behind his left ankle and pulled sharply. With a startled yelp, Luke fell backwards, unconsciously reaching out for the closest thing available to arrest his fall.
That thing happened to be Mara.
They hit the floor hard, though her landing was much softer than his, and for just a second, Mara had the breath knocked out of her. Her saber slipped from her hands and rolled away, deactivating instantly the moment the pressure sensor in the hilt's grip was released. The feel of Skywalker moving beneath her caused Mara to quickly glance up, suddenly worried he had been injured.
Luke was laughing.
"Are we interrupting anything?" Talon Karrde's voice broke the moment and Mara looked in the direction of the newcomer, unaware that Skywalker did the same. Standing there just inside the suite's doorway, Karrde, Shada and Calrissian were looking around the room with wildly differing reactions. Talon's eyes were twinkling with poorly concealed mirth, Shada was openly smiling but Lando … he was staring at the destruction with a look of abject horror on his face. As if to mock him, the large bed abruptly collapsed under its own weight.
"Jedi training," Barkhimkh rasped from where he and the other Noghri lounged in the attached dining room. "It's very physical."
"But exciting," Sakhisakh added. "I especially liked the foot sweep."
"The pillow, however," Olmahk interjected, "was inspired." The other two Noghri nodded quickly in agreement before returning to the table where Khabarakh was seated. Even he looked amused.
"We were testing out my lightsaber," Mara explained as she scrambled to her feet. She glanced at the mess and winced. "Guess we got a little carried away," she admitted before using the Force to call her saber to her hand.
"A little carried away," Lando repeated. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Mara made a conscious effort to not look at Luke, knowing that if she did, she'd start giggling. "How the hell am I going to explain this to management?" Calrissian demanded.
"Make something up?" Mara offered. "You could say Skywalker was the lead singer of Boba Fett and the Assassin Droids." Shada snorted loudly before quickly turning away to hide her mouth. Calrissian started to reply, before shaking his head once more and collapsing onto the unburned part of the couch.
"Something's wrong," Luke guessed, his eyes locked on Karrde, and Mara felt her good humor evaporate at the bleak expression on the face of her old boss. As if summoned, the four Noghri exited the dining room, every line in their bodies hinting at readiness.
"Aves was on Bastion," Talon said grimly, "and narrowly escaped before a coup." He exhaled slowly. "The entire Moff's Council has been killed and Pellaeon has seized power."
"Pellaeon?" Mara blinked in surprise. "That doesn't make sense. He's a patriot, not a revolutionary."
"We've got confirmation from four different sources," Shada said as she slid a half step closer to Talon. "Tavira survived because she was at the Maw."
"She may or may not have requested diplomatic asylum from Solo," Karrde added. He shrugged. "Reports are sketchy there."
"Why was Aves on Bastion?" Luke asked. He was staring at Mara's lightsaber, a distracted expression on his face.
"He found the cloning facility," Talon revealed and Mara felt the air seem to crystallize around them. She met Luke's eyes and could see he sensed it as well. "And wanted to see if the Imps were behind it," Karrde added.
"Were they?" Lando asked.
"Apparently." Talon crossed his arms and addressed his next comments to Luke. "According to him," he continued, "Pellaeon helped him escape but only after making sure Aves would carry a message to you."
"What message?" Mara demanded quickly. She instinctively shuffled closer to Luke.
"He told Aves that a Force user named Flint Torul is controlling the Empire," Karrde said.
"Flint?" Luke repeated, his Force sense suddenly flaring like a supernova. He half turned away, a shocked expression crossing his face.
"I know that name," Lando murmured with a frown.
"Friend of yours?" Mara asked softly as she dropped a hand on Skywalker's shoulder. He gave her a quick look.
"It's a name I've not heard in a long time," he said, frowning as he spoke. "He was one of my father's apprentices."
"Vader had apprentices?" Mara asked with surprise. She shook off the moment as Khabarakh spoke.
"What now?"
"The cloning facility needs to be destroyed," Luke said firmly.
"We're going to need some help," Calrissian pointed out. Skywalker nodded.
"I've got an idea," he said, a worried expression on his face. Mara grimaced and quickly glanced away.
She had a bad feeling about this.
wbsaw: Quick responses here.
1. Talon. Karrde is a very perceptive dude. Zahn wrote him that way (admittedly, not as perceptive as Thrawn, but who is?), so I just carried it over. He's also watched the L/M duo become closer (emotionally) over the last couple of months since he's seen them fairly regularly in that time, something that Chewie, Han, Lando and Leia haven't had the opportunity to witness.
2. As you can see, I'm not planning on going into too much detail about what Mara saw in the Tree because, frankly, I don't think I can top Luke's Tree experience in the Greatest Movie of All Time or what JediEmeritus did in Take My Hand. So I'll hint at what she's seen, but don't expect me to spend a lot of time on it. Like Luke, I've asked her several times what she saw but each time I do, she tells me to mind my own damned business and to hurry up with the next chapter. She's threatened violence once or twice, so she obviously doesn't want to talk about it. I'll keep trying though...
Skyhanhunter: Ask and ye shall receive ... thought it's Gilad, not Natasi...
Deja: If you thought Han pissed Fey'lya off, just wait...
BnB: By "flash forwards" I take it you mean Mara's Force vision? It's still unfolding and not everything I hinted at there will show up in Tyranny Reborn. As to what's wrong with Leia, well ... she's scared and angry and frustrated ... and a Skywalker.
Elemarth: Not sure I understand the comment re: Threepio. I was using the designation for him I'm most familiar with (C-3PO, that is). As to Wedge, I used a lot of the stuff from the X-Wing books by Stackpole (which I really enjoyed.) With Yoda, I just wanted to have him show up as a Force ghost since, in the profic, we got Kenobi show up several times but - to my knowledge - the only time Yoda did was at the end of ROTJ.
Eternal E: Kyle is already a kinda-sorta Jedi at this point. Some version of the events of Dark Forces 2: Jedi Knight occurred (with Kyle killing Jerec at the Valley of the Jedi on Ruusan), although its unlikely that's exactly how it happened.
koinekid: Don't worry about having issues with SW; I'm principally an Original Trilogy fan with the sense of fandom petering out during ROTJ 'cause of the damned Ewoks (the PT are so chock full of holes and continuity errors that they make my brain hurt at how pedestrian they are). The exact line you were referencing was actually in chapter 7: "Hate, no matter how justified, was always self-destructive." It was one of those things that seems obvious to me. Like you, I have some problems buying that anger is always bad. Anger may lead to hate (as Yoda says), but it can also be very productive as it sometimes drives people to do something they normally wouldn't. I was angry at the "finale" of Enterprise and wrote Elysium as a result. Anger at the direction the profic (and the actual movie stuff thanks to George) has taken drove me to write Sidereal and Tyranny Reborn. As I had Luke say in Chapter 4, "We all get angry." It's human nature. What one does because of that anger is what defines them...
Admiral: In a movie context, I agree with you re: R2 & Chewie ... though I personally find it really dumb for X-Wing pilots to not have voice modulators installed - dunno about you, but I'd sure as hell not want to read something my co-pilot tells me while I'm in a space battle. In the written context, however, it doesn't really make sense to not translate Chewie if the POV is someone who speaks Shyriiwook. And R2 can only "speak" while plugged into Mara's ship; outside that, he still beeps, whistles and chirps.