Part IX

Admiral Gilad Pellaeon stood somberly, flanked by his usual entourage of personal guards, and watched the slow descent of the Millennium Falcon's disembark ramp. He had spoken briefly to Leia Organa Solo regarding the rendez-vous between the family and Pellaeon's Fourth Fleet, currently performing maneuvers near the recovering world of Gyndine, which had seem much terrestrial damage in the Yuuzhan Vong war. Five years later, the GA had managed to resume the efficiency of the ship-yards, but the planet and population still suffered as a result of the destruction.

Organa Solo had vaguely indicated that they wished to speak to him privately, regarding something to do with the missing Fel girl, and he was all too willing to provide any assistance he could- though he suspected that it wouldn't be much. If they had a promising lead with which he would help, it wouldn't have taken nearly a month for them to seek him out.

Han and Leia Solo came down the ramp first, and Pellaeon stepped forward to greet them properly. "Admiral," Leia smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. Han didn't even bother attempting to be pleasant, he just shook the older man's hand and inclined his head in a rough acknowledgement. Pellaeon glanced up and saw a slightly haggard-looking Jagged Fel and a deflated Jaina Solo coming to join her parents.

"Colonel Fel," Pellaeon greeted them. "Jedi Solo-Fel; please allow me to express my sincerest condolences. If I may be of any assistance at all…" he let the offer hang questioningly, and Jag nodded his thanks.

"You might actually, Gilad," Leia stepped in. "It's a bit of a reach, but we've run out of options at this point, I'm afraid."

"I understand," he nodded sadly. "Come, let us adjourn to my private cabin, we can send for some refreshments after that lengthy flight of yours…"

They followed the admiral and his guards through several layers of the flagship, walking slowly and silently, and Pellaeon couldn't help but wince and think of a funeral procession, given the forlorn silence thoroughly enshrouding them. When they finally reached the cabin in question, he briefly pondered taking them into the formal reception room, but decided that it seemed it horribly bad taste, and led them instead to a small but comfortable sitting room with enough comfortable seating for the five of them.

He programmed a selection into the unit on the wall, and just a minute later, a tray emerged with five identical glasses on it, an invigorating concoction that seemed apt given the relative dreariness of the gathering. "Now," he sat in a chair opposite Jag, "how might I be of assistance?"

Jag was all business. "Very simply, our last unchecked lead pertains to the use of old Imperial transponder codes to enter Coruscanti space; someone within space traffic control manually overrode the usual security proceedings and cleared two shuttles to land and take off again with old codes that never would have gotten through unchecked otherwise."

"Hm," Pellaeon frowned, "how old?"

"At least thirty years; probably older."

"And the shuttles themselves?"

Jaina shook her head. "Nothing I recognized," she spoke for the first time, surprising Pellaeon with her tight voice. "A generally Imperial design, but nothing that's been used before. The flight manifest lists them as old Tee-eight-forty models built in Nirauan, but they certainly weren't eight-forties."

Leia spoke up softly. "All we wondered was whether you had any suggestions of where we might start looking to cross-reference codes that old, in the off chance that their origin provides some clue as to who might still be using them today."

For a long time, Pellaeon was quiet, thinking. "I can run them through the database," he said slowly, "but not everything survived the turmoil of the decade following the Battle of Endor. And given the timing of their origin… it's possible that they never existed in the databases in the first place, depending on… who used them and for what purpose."

"The emperor's lackeys, you mean?" Han asked shrewdly.

The older man shrugged. "Much as Vader and Thrawn did with the Noghri, some secrets were very well kept. But if there's something to be found, we'll find it. And either way, I think I'll send you to the Imperial Library on Bastion… have you ever been?" he queried interestedly. Jag nodded sharply but everyone else shook their heads. "Well, our researchers are top-notch, if there's anything to be learned from what you give them, they'll figure it out."

"We appreciate it very much, sir," Jag said, sipping curiously at his drink. Before anyone could talk further, Pellaeon noticed Jaina stiffen and look around uneasily.

"Jaina?" Leia too, sensed her discomfort.

The young woman blinked once or twice before turning her gaze on the admiral. "What's in the room across the corridor?" she demanded quickly.

"A formal gathering room, for meetings with commanders and squadron leaders, visiting dignitaries, the like… why?" he peered curiously at the Jedi.

She didn't answer. "Does anyone else have access to the room besides yourself?"

"Just my personal guards."

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" Han asked.

"I think…" she frowned. "There's someone in there… but something isn't right."

Pellaeon stood swiftly. "Perhaps there's a problem in the Fleet; my guards might have expected me to take you in there, one of them might be looking for me. Excuse me a moment." But Jaina stood and followed him, almost in a daze. He keyed the access code to the ornate room and let the door slide back… and stopped short in surprise.

"Sergeant Husted," he said slowly. The man in question was pulling away a panel of the wall behind the head chair, but had turned, eyes wide, hearing the door slide open. "Might I inquire as to what you're doing?"

A range of emotions flickered across his face, and Jaina sensed a steely resolve, a cold hardening of the uniformed man as he slowly pulled something from his pocket. Their eyes met, and Jaina wrenched her gaze down to what lay in the man's hand- a remote detonator.

"Get down!" she yelled, for her family's benefit than anyone else's. Using the Force, she yanked Pellaeon backwards, and the two toppled through the open door and into the hallway. Moments later, the wall exploded outwards and Jaina lost control of her controlled shove. She went careening into the wall next to Pellaeon, and they both crumpled to the ground, unconscious from the blast and the impact.

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

Leyla sat uncomfortably on the ground cross-legged, opposite Wrynn. He insisted that she call him Wrynn, even though she heard everyone else call him 'Lord' Wrynn. Leyla wasn't sure what to make of that; she'd never known a lord anything, but her grandpa Soontir was a baron, so maybe they were somehow related titles. She had also known a lot of Masters, like Master Horn and Master Cilghal, and once or twice she had met Chief Omas… and daddy was a colonel, and people sometimes called grandpa Han 'captain.' No lords though.

In any case, Wrynn was encouraging her to meditate, explore her feelings, feel the Force… she resisted the urge to tell him that her mommy had taught her how to do this two or three years ago and, instead, retreated to that part of her mind where she could feel her mother's comforting touch, and grandma Leia's, and uncle Jacen's… mommy's always burned the brightest, but there were always small presences from the rest of her family, even Luke and Mara and… sometimes… her friend Kyp.

Sometimes she thought about Kyp and had really fuzzy memories of seeing more of him when she was really little. Something about a birthday… whenever she tried to focus on it, it slipped away again. Ah well.

She went back to the comforting, ever-present touch of her mother and tried to draw herself in closer, to avoid the cold touches of some of the 'apprentices' down here. A couple weren't so bad… she didn't mind Vulcor. But Xela still frightened her, and she really wished that Wrynn would appoint someone else as her primary guardian.

Leyla couldn't quite keep track of how long it had been since she'd arrived here, but a frustrated part of her was resolved that it had been quite long enough. She didn't know how much longer she could appease Wrynn with her mediation sessions, and she generally refused to do anything that forced her to try to really use her Force powers like mommy did. Wrynn was nice enough, all things considered… but something wasn't quite right about him, and Leyla didn't think he'd mind hurting her if he got really angry.

A sudden shift in emotion caught her attention and she frowned, trying to focus her untrained mind on the sensations… worry, suspicion maybe… panic…

Her eyes shot open and she gasped. Mommy was hurt.

Wrynn caught her change in demeanor and opened his own eyes. Leyla did her best to keep her fear and worry from her face, but hot tears had already collected in the corners of her eyes and she blinked rapidly to clear them, using the calming techniques her mommy had taught her last year.

"Is something wrong?" the dark man asked kindly. She shook her head quickly and closed her eyes again, hoping he'd leave her alone- she wanted to find out what was wrong with mommy.

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

The sky was grey.

The faint blurriness of a setting sun was visible through the smog, but the air was so dense and cloudy that it wasn't really much of a sunset. Nevertheless, this was the time. Kyp drew his cloak closer about him, well aware of every single passing being, keeping a careful watch out for the slightest sense of danger, that he was suspected, that someone was watching and leaving to report that Brionia failed to show up…

A figure approached slowly and came to stand a meter to Kyp's right as he leaned against the railing of a bridge that overlooked murky waters that he wouldn't even think about drinking. He remained still and impassive, waiting…

"I love a red sunset," a low female voice said.

He forced himself to remain calm. "Off-hand, I've seen better."

A faint sense of relief came from the woman. She angled her body slightly to better direct her voice towards him without truly giving the appearance that they were talking. Her face was shrouded in a black hood. "Welcome home, Kyp Durron. Hangar bay fifteen- one hour."

And she was gone. Kyp remained, staring out over the bleak waters running beneath a bleaker sky, and wondered how he'd been recognized, and whether it mattered. After five more minutes, he turned and strode casually back to the spaceport to collect his things from his ship. In a week or so, the spaceport operators would wonder what had happened to him and, eventually, would assume some unfortunate fate had befallen him on-planet and would auction off the craft. That was fine- if he got away with this, he could never come back to Excarga as long as he lived.

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

"Report?" Croyel looked up at the innocuously clad man who served several purposes- guard, assassin, informant. Today, his role was of the latter purpose.

"Preliminary reports suggest that the attempt failed."

Croyel scowled. "How so?"

"Our man on the admiral's private guard misjudged the situation; he planted the bomb in his reception room, but Pellaeon took his visitors into his private study instead. When the man went to retrieve the bomb… it's unclear. It seems the Jedi tipped him off, and both were injured in the blast. Our man is dead, of course."

"Jedi? What visitors?"

The informant shrugged. "The admiral had just received Han and Leia Solo and Jaina and Jagged Fel."

Croyel thought that over for a long time. "Did he now? That is… interesting. Very interesting indeed. Who was injured in the blast? Organa Solo or Solo-Fel?"

"Solo-Fel."

"Will she live?" The man nodded. "Ah- pity."

End Part IX