"A noble statement, your majesty." Sate Pestage suppressed a look of disdain as he turned to shake Ars Dangor's hand. Dangor had stood grimacing at a podium beside him as he made his short speech, and now took a diagonal half step to place himself squarely between Pestage and the assembled holocameras that were filming the end of the press conference. The journalists refrained from shouting questions, well trained by twenty years of autocratic rule and further encouraged by the line of military officials and stormtroopers that blockaded the stage. Presumably they were also somewhat suspicious that a number of their colleagues were in fact undercover Imperial intelligence agents as well, keeping their ears open for any whispers of treachery.

"There is no need for that honorific," Pestage told him as he freed his hand to acknowledge his fellow surviving councilors who had joined them on stage. "Yet." He gave a brisk nod to the stormtrooper captain in front of the stage, and the room was cleared.

"You do realize," a female voice spoke up behind him as the last journalist was hustled out of the room—a large ballroom that had been reconfigured for such events deep in the Imperial palace—that you have now committed us to making a major strike against the Rebels in spite of our diminished capacity?" Though directed at Pestage, the words were amplified to ensure that the rest of the councilors heard them as well.

"Director Isard, you of all people should understand that such an action was required whether I spoke it aloud or not." Pestage refused to turn around and look the Empire's Director of Intelligence as he was speaking.

Ysanne Isard ignored the insult. "And if our troops are unsuccessful, or-Palpatine forbid-fall victim to another major loss? How will your taunts be seen then?"

"Don't deify the Emperor for my sake, Isard." Pestage finally turned, looking stonily at the woman who towered over him. "It was your failure to anticipate the Rebels' capabilities that led to his death more than anything."

"And now you plan to honor him by allowing those outlaws to strike another blow at our government?"

"If you can manage to do your job properly, that will not happen." Pestage turned to sweep regally down the steps towards his awaiting attendants. "And Director, in the future, please remember to whom you are speaking. I did assist our late emperor in developing policies for dealing with insubordination."

Isard watched him leave, standing at attention at the emptying stage and ignoring the droids that had swarmed up to clear away microphones and podiums.

"He isn't completely wrong, you know." Dangor walked up next to her and graced her with a smarmy smile. "I read the intelligence reports. The Rebels were never supposed to be able to take down the shield array on Endor."

"Survivors are trickling in," she responded. "I have a feeling there was more to this than a simple intelligence failure."

"Like what?" Despite his condescending manners, Ars Dangor had great respect for the Director of Intelligence. She'd proven her worth through blocking several Rebel attacks and capturing more than one high level leader of the insurgency.

"Betrayal from the inside," she told him. "But that's only a theory right now. Keep that in mind."

"Of course, Madam Director."

"Though as a theory, it does suggest we should be cautious about our next moves until we discover more details about how the Death Star was destroyed."

"I'll do what I can," Dangor promised. "But you must understand that Pestage is highly cognizant of his own vulnerability right now. He will be looking to make a major strike at the Rebels, and soon."

"Then we have our work cut out for us, don't we?"

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"You have no idea how glad I am that you were willing to join us," Morena gushed. Leia smiled at her, a million questions about what the hell was going on running through her head. Why would the Imperial Palace be looking for new staff in the underground, and why hadn't a dozen troopers popped out to arrest them yet? Was this a joke?

"To be perfectly frank," Morena continued, "We've lost a lot of people in the last few weeks. A lot. Just took off for goodness knows where, and some were killed in the violence."

"Yeah," Han spoke up, seeing an opportunity. "That's how we ended up down in the underground. Rioters set our place on fire and chased us off. Only got out with the clothes on our back."

"I suppose I can't really ask you for identification then, can I?" Morena said with a sympathetic look. Leia, marveling at Han's ability to anticipate their needs, shook her head. "Oh well. Hard times and all. Can't really be too picky."

"What exactly will you have us doing?" Leia inquired.

"And what's the pay?" Han chimed in, not flinching as Leia kicked him in the shin, her assault hidden from Morena by the large desk at which they were gathered.

"Of course, of course. Right now, I need cleaning and maintenance crew the most. We've got some areas where we can't have droids. The kitchen may need workers as well. We can pay 15 credits hourly for each of you, plus room and board."

"Sounds pretty decent. Where exactly is the job?"

"We call it Central Facility. The maintenance portion covers the council offices, the ballrooms, meeting halls, things like that. The kitchen services the cabinet and council." She cocked her head. "Well, what do you think?"

"Can I speak to my wife outside briefly before we make a decision?" Han asked, giving Morena a sparkling smile. She blushed slightly and gestured towards the door.

Han kept the smile pasted on his face as they stepped outside.

"No way," he said resolutely, seeing the gleam of opportunity in Leia's eyes. "We are not going to put ourselves on a platter for the Imperial Council."

"How can you even consider turning down this chance?" she argued. "These guys are the only thing holding the Empire together right now, and we can just walk right in."

"And do what?"

"We'll have access to their offices, their food….there is no way I am not taking this opportunity."

"It doesn't seem the tiniest bit suspicious to you," Han said, trying another tactic, "That they are just plucking us out of nowhere and sending us into the Imperial Palace? What if it's a trap?"

"If it was a trap, why wouldn't they just arrest us now? Han, please…we didn't get to help on Endor. Let's do our part here."

"And if we're captured? You really don't think they'll recognize us?"

"Morena didn't."

"Morena is an idiot, Leia."

"And we'd both be idiots to give up this shot to take out the Empire once and for all….General."

"Hey, I didn't ask for that title."

"Well, you've got it now. Let's make something of it."

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Chewbacca was sitting on the small bed in his adjoining room, occasionally smacking the side of the cheap holoproj in an attempt to get rid of the static in the feed when Luke and Lando knocked on the door to join him. Luke glanced over at the corner of the room, noticing that Chewie had switched off Threepio—probably the moment they left for the public areas of the orbital.

"What's the plan?" Chewbacca barked, turning off the holoproj in annoyance. "You find out where Han and Leia are?"

"No," Lando responded, then quickly translated for Luke.

"I have an idea though," Luke added quickly. "We need to find a way to infiltrate those troops."

"That worked so well last time," Chewie grumbled with an eyeroll.

Without waiting for a translation, Luke continued. "Did you notice that a fair number of the uniformed personnel down in the lobby had some kind of injury?" Lando nodded. "I'd bet my X-wing that they are coming in from Endor. If we can get the right disguise, we can try to set up some debriefings and see what we can find out."

"You don't think they're already doing that over on the military side?" Lando pointed out.

"You have a better idea?" Luke snapped. "Every minute we waste, Leia is in danger."

"What about Han?" Chewbacca grumbled. "You forget about him?"

"Yeah," Lando agreed, not bothering to repeat the Wookiee's words. "What about Han?"

"I want to find Han too. But Leia…look, it's just important, okay?"

Lando sighed. "Luke, I know how much Leia means to you. But you have to understand, she's with Han now."

"I hope so."

"That's not what I mean. You've seen them together, Luke. She's with Han—as in, in a relationship with him."

Luke rubbed the bridge of his nose, simultaneously embarrassed and amused by what Lando was implying. "Trust me, that's not what this is about."

"You want to tell us what it is about then?" Chewbacca asked, more curious than hostile. Lando repeated the question.

"Not right now," Luke told them. "Soon, but not right now. C'mon, let's go see if we can jump some Imps. Shall we start at the bar?"

"I hope you know what you're doing," Lando said, checking his blaster before following Luke out the door.

They made their way down to a more casual establishment showing a rerun of a smashball game that was only half visible through the smoky air. His confidence bolstered by his years running around with Han Solo, Luke sauntered up to the bar and sat down next to two men in civilian clothes but with the unmistakable air of professional soldiers. One of them had his arm in a sling. Lando hung back at a small bar table, watching Luke out of the corner of his eye.

"Looks rough, soldier," Luke said, deepening his voice as he waved at the bartender for a beer. "Buy you a drink as thanks for your service?"

"Thank you," the man responded genuinely, then turned to his companion. "See, and you said the people around here were ingrates."

Luke laughed roughly. "Some of 'em are, to be fair." He gestured up at the smashball game. "Who's your team?"

"Dreadnaughts, of course," the man chuckled. "Are there any others?"

"Are you kidding me?" his companion asked, turning towards them. Glancing up from his drink, Luke saw that the man had half of his head shaved, revealing a long line of stitches over his scalp. "The Skull Crackers are gonna kick their asses half way to the Outer Rim this season. Half their players are on disability."

"Say what you want, man, but the 'Naughts are winning the championship again this year."

Luke laughed again, then turned serious. "So you all saw some action recently?" He waved for the bartender to refill both men's glasses.

"Action? Kriff, we saw armageddon, friend."

"Daze, shut up, man."

"It's all over the news, Blarken. Not like I'm giving away state secrets here."

Giving Daze a little nudge with the Force, Luke took a small sip of his own drink. "What ship were you on?"

"We were both on Chimaera," Daze said, gulping his fresh ale as Blarken shook his head in disgust and turned back to the game. "Lot of the guys here were. Mostly just because there weren't many other ships that made it out."

"You were at Endor?" Luke asked quietly.

Daze looked down, concentrating on the small bubbles rising up from the bottom of his glass. "Yeah, man. Lost a lot of good people there."

Luke patted him reassuringly on the shoulder, discovering he felt an odd camaraderie with the soldier. True, they had been out to kill each other, but that didn't mean they wouldn't each mourn their personal losses. At the same time, this guy was the best link he had right now with his sister and best friend.

"How did you know we were at Endor?" Blarken spoke up. "That hasn't been on the broadcasts."

Luke leaned in close to both men. "I'm Commander Surin Albi, Imperial Intelligence," he said, with his best attempt at an evil grin. Daze blanched. "Don't worry, boys. I'm not out to get you. We're working on tracking down some prisoners that were taken during the battle. My records show there were a couple on your ship, but your commanders haven't been forthcoming about their disposition."

Blarken looked at him with some skepticism, and for a moment Luke lost his confidence, worried he'd overplayed his hand. He could sense Lando behind him, still watching carefully with the blaster concealed within easy reach.

"Kriff," Daze said finally. "They probably don't even know. Our admiral was killed during the attack."

"I know," Luke said, though he hadn't. Keeping his tone even, he said, "That's part of why they sent us in. In case there's been any escapes or defections."

"I really can't help on that front," Daze said. "I know we had some prisoners, but I don't know who they were or what happened to them."

"Are they still on the ship?" Luke asked.

"I don't know."

"Any idea who would?"

"Can't you just go look for yourself?" Blarken snapped, flinching as he saw one of the players on the holo get doubled over by a fierce hit to the midsection.

"To be perfectly honest, no," Luke improvised. "We have a strong suspicion that there may be double agents on board your ship, and we don't want the investigation to become public any earlier than necessary."

"Then why are you telling us?" Blarken pressed him.

"I have a knack for reading people," Luke said, staring the bigger man straight in the eye. "And I know I can trust you."

"Guy named Gabe Irken is who you want to talk to," Daze said. "Friend of mine. He was a guard in the detention level. He's here getting a new leg."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Better than dying, or at least so I've heard." Daze gulped down the last of his beer. "I can bring him around tomorrow if you want to chat with him."

"Sounds good, Daze. Thank you again for your service to our cause."

"Anything for the Empire, Commander."

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"Here's the main kitchen," Morena said, leading Leia into a gleaming room full of pots and pans and lined with stoves and prep surfaces. She leaned over to whisper conspiratorially, "Chef Skiren is in charge. My advice is to keep your head down and do what he tells you, and you'll do fine." Leia nodded.

"Hey, fresh blood!" A perky woman wearing a uniform matching the one Leia had been given, complete with a crisp white cap bounced up to them. "I'm Alba."

"Kim," Leia said, keeping her eyes down. With her hair completely covered she hoped that her face was ordinary enough to escape attention, but she was still more nervous than she'd let on to Han. At least he could hide behind several days' worth of stubble.

"Kim, nice to meet you. I'm the head sous chef. I'll help you get set up, 'kay?"

"Thanks, Alba," Morena said, turning to head out. "I'll try to find you a few more new staff by the end of the week. I know you're still short."

"Kim here looks like a hard worker," Alba said, squeezing Leia's bicep. "I bet she'll keep us in business for a few days."

"Alba! Get your butt in here!" a voice bellowed from behind a giant refrigeration unit.

All perkiness disappearing, Alba scooted away calling, "On my way, chef!" Leia watched her go, then stood back and looked around the kitchen. It seemed desperately understaffed for its size, and she idly wondered how many of the previous workers had called in dead just to get away from the overbearing chef. Spotting some cleaning supplies tucked under a cupboard, she pulled them, doing a quick evaluation of what was there. Winter had showed her once how to mix a common glass cleaner with chemical used for scouring steel cookware to make a concoction that, when boiled for ten minutes, became an tasteless poison capable of felling humanoids within a few seconds of ingestion. The necessary pot cleaner was there, but unfortunately the glass cleaner was nowhere to be seen. Still, a start.

Alba came back as Leia set the bucket of supplies on the counter, rubbing her shoulder. "Now then, let's get you started," she said, her smile returning. "We've got a load of fine dishware that can't go through the autocleaner for tonight's council dinner, and then I'll have you do some ironing. Sound good."

"Of course," Leia responded. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, fine," Alba assured her. "Just a little misunderstanding with the chef." She led the princess to a dishwashing station and handed her a pair of gloves. "Make sure you're careful. This stuff isn't easily replaceable." Leia looked down at the dishware, suppressing a gasp of horror as she realized that it was fine china looted from the now abandoned Alderaani embassy on Coruscant. The pattern included the Organa family seal interspersed with a pattern designed to reflect the jagged mountains that once surrounded her home planet's capital city.

"I will," Leia promised, cringing to think of Imperials eating off dishware that by all rights belonged to her. "I will."

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Another housekeeper dropped by the kitchen to fetch Leia and escort her to her living quarters before the staff dinner as Alba and Skiren put the finishing touches on the night's meal for the council. "I'll be along in a bit," Alba told her as she handed her off. "Big council meeting tonight so we're working late."

Leia kept her head down as she followed the housekeeper—an older woman with tufts of gray hair peeking from under her cap—down a wide carpeted hallway. Suddenly the woman held out her hand, indicating that Leia should stop. They pressed themselves against the wall and bowed their heads—Leia tucking her chin as far into her chest as it would go—as a small parade of Imperial officers walked by. Leia glanced up as they finished passing, noticing that one woman was among the ranks: a tall human with jet black hair highlighted by a single white streak. The Director of Imperial Intelligence, she knew immediately, wondering if perhaps Han was right that they had gotten in over their heads. As the group turned a corner, the housekeeper pressed on again, showing Leia through a locked door into a far less opulent hall.

"Morena said you needed married quarters. This is the best we have left," the woman droned, gesturing Leia into a windowless room with a double sized bed and a small table. "'Fresher is down the hall, women's on the right. Dining room is down past that and around to your left. Can't miss it. See you in an hour."

"Thank you, uh…"

"Nan. Call me Nan."

"Thank you, Nan."

She pulled the door closed behind her, wondering where Han was as she explored the new dwelling. It didn't take long to examine the entire room: the bed was spare but neatly made, and two matching cupboards had room for clothes to hang. The table had a clock and comm unit bolted down, with a lamp beside them. And that was it.

"Knock knock." Leia grinned when she heard Han's voice outside, not realizing how tense she had been. She let him in and closed the door behind, realizing that it had no lock.

"Fancy," he commented, then looked up at the ceiling meaningfully. Leia knew he was looking for any signs that the room was bugged. She shrugged. Without any detectors, they'd just have to assume that their conversations could be overheard.

"Better than nothing," she responded. "At least we have gainful employment."

"Yes, this is a good opportunity," he added, winking. She held back a small smile. Between her access to the food supply and his work in the walls and crawlspaces, this could prove to be a good opportunity indeed. Assuming they ever had a chance to make plans.

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Isard strode in to the already nearly full room, wondering idly if Pestage had told her the wrong time to put her on the spot. She nodded curtly as the men stood to greet her, taking her place at the table.

Of course, whether he knew it or not, his timing was most fortuitous. They had passed some household staff in the hall, with her escorts trained to pay them no mind as they took her to the council dining room. Isard, however, was always on the job, and she noticed that the one maid who was doing her damnedest to tuck her head right back into her body when the Director of Imperial Intelligence passed by bore a striking resemblance to one Princess Leia Organa.