"Tucked away under Naboo Palace, we didn't have much exposure to what was going on in the rest of the galaxy, but Sola brought us some snippets of news. The HoloNet was full of coverage of the battle at Sarillion. The whole thing was stomach-churning. Syne, Slayke, and Yimmon were the evil anarchist rebels who massacred helpless civilians and Octavian Grant was the pure noble hero who brought them down. There were also hints that the three villains had been part of the continuing Jedi conspiracy to destabilize the galaxy. I warned Sola not to share that news with Hett, because if it was awful to me, it would be unspeakable to him."

After the Battle of Sarillion, Jan Dodonna returned to Imperial Center a hero.

He'd been a hero before. It felt different this time.

Unlike the embarrassments at Bavinyar, N'zoth, and Ord Mirit, the victory at Sarillion got plenty of press coverage. The news networks did a wonderful job playing up the fight's dramatic finish, especially focusing on the timely arrival of Captain Griff's ships just as Syne was making her charge at Grant's flagship.

Dodonna, Grant, and Griff had promptly been called back to Imperial Center to receive the Azure Cross, one of the Empire's newly-created medals of honor. When Dodonna had received the Holt Cross with Terrinald Screed after the Battle of Anaxes, he'd considered it the proudest moment of his career.

Now he didn't know how to feel.

The awards ceremony was set to take place at noon the day after his arrival on Coruscant. Admiral Screed had flown into the capital to be part of the awards ceremony, and Dodonna had arranged to meet his friend at the man's under-construction home in Imperial City.

He'd briefly talked to Screed over holo to set up the meeting. The man seemed politely cheery. Dodonna had been unable to speak with him before Sarillion, which still bothered him. If he'd gone into the fight with a clearer understanding of what his duties and objectives were as Grant's 'observer,' it was possible fewer Imperial lives would have been lost.

Dodonna was, therefore, feeling awkward and nervous when the taxi brought him to the private entrance to Screed's penthouse. He was surprised to find it was in one of the finest high-rises in Imperial City, less than a kilometer away from the prestigious building once called the 500 Republica, now 500 Imperial. Dodonna was impressed; a senior admiral's salary was good, but not that good. A section of four storeys had been blocked off by construction droids and scaffolding, but apparently enough of it was completed for Screed to live in during his stay on the planet.

When he stepped onto the docking platform, Screed was there to greet him. Like Dodonna, he was dressed in his olive-green uniform. His short dark hair was tussled by the wind and used his carved obsidian cane to steady himself.

"It's good to see you, Jan," he said. He sounded warm, sincere.

"Likewise," Dodonna nodded. "Should we get inside."

"Of course. Follow me," Screed said.

As the taxi pulled away, Screed led him into the lowest level of his penthouse. It was, to Dodonna's surprise, already well-appointed with furniture and art objects. As Screed directed him toward a pair of chairs facing each other across a short table, the admiral gave a short sharp whistle.

A moment later, a pale, lankly young Twi'lek appeared. He clasped his hands in front of him, bowed low, and said, "What is it you want, my master? Something to eat? A drink, perhaps?"

Screed glanced at Dodonna. "Your pick, Jan? Do you want tea? Caf? Or something stronger?"

It was a damned good question. He felt tense; anxious. Something to soften his nerved would help. He asked, "Do you have any whiskey?"

"Of course. Boc, fetch that bottle of Johrian."

The Twi'lek bowed again and slunk away.

"Boc is my best servant, very attentive. I take him wherever I go." Screed said as he lowered his stiff body into a chair.

Dodonna took the opposite seat and glanced out the broad window at the skyline. "A lovely view."

"It is, isn't it?" Screed smiled slightly. "On Anaxes, my quarters look out on the parade ground. I feel nostalgic every time I look out the window."

"Those were simpler times."

"Indeed." Screed shifted his body slightly and leaned his cane against the table. "I'm glad you're here, Jan. I understand Sarillion got quite hairy."

"That's an understatement. I thought-"

Before he could say anything more, Boc appeared. He placed a tray in front of them: one partially-drunk bottle of dark whiskey and two small glasses. The Twi'lek poured a mouthful of whiskey into either glass.

"Let me know if there's anything else you need," Boc smiled. His teeth were like crooked white needles.

"That will be all. You may go."

Boc bowed again and disappeared. Dodonna watched him go, then asked, "Where did you get your servant?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter where," Screed said. He leaned forward and picked up his glass. "Boc's much more intuitive than a droid, or most subhumans. I need all the help I can get these days."

Dodonna stiffened at that word, subhuman. It was becoming more and more common lately, subtly replacing non-human and the more casually pejorative alien. He couldn't recall Screed using it before.

The admiral raised his glass for a toast. Dodonna picked up his and raised it as well.

"To coming home from every fight," Screed said.

It was as good a toast as any. Dodonna tipped his cup back and drank. It felt like fire burning down his throat and dropping into his stomach.

"Oh," he breathed, "Oh, goodness."

Screed smiled a little as he set his glass down. "Haven't had it for a while, have you?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Then you need to get back into practice." Screed poured another mouthful for them both.

"I'll hold off for now," Dodonna said.

"Very well." Screed put his glass on the table and settled back in his chair. "I'm sure you want to be in good condition for the ceremony tomorrow, but a few more won't hurt."

"I know. I can hold my liquor, Terrinald."

"I remember. You were better at it than me, even before..." Screed trailed off. With chunks of his body replaced by machinery, he no longer possessed the tolerance he'd had when they were younger.

Dodonna felt warm in the belly and a little light in the head. It gave him the courage to ask what he'd been wanting to. "I have a request."

Screed blinked his real eye; the mechanic one stared straight at him. "Go ahead."

"I was hoping you could make some last-minute adjustments to the honor roll."

"Is there someone else you think deserved the Azure Cross? I've reviewed your report, and Grant's, and Griff's."

"I was actually hoping for a posthumous honor."

Screed frowned thoughtfully. "That's not unheard-of. Who are you suggesting?"

"Captain Ni-sihl-Nahm, of Starwind."

Screed didn't say anything. He turned his head slightly, like he was contemplating something out the window.

"It doesn't have to be the Azure Cross, but I think some medal of bravery is in order. Griff's arrival was decisive, yes, but Syne still would have destroyed Empire Star, would have killed both Grant and myself, if Captain Nahm hadn't rammed Valediction. If this ceremony is supposed to celebrate the death of Jereveth Syne, we should honor the one who actually killed her."

Screed took a deep breath and said, "I'm not sure that's a good idea, Jan."

"Why not? The man sacrificed his ship to save a bigger one. He died for the Empire. Captain Nahm was a hero."

"I'm not sure he'd what the Empire needs in terms of heroes right now."

"Then what does it need? Grant?"

Screed's eyes swung back to him. "What does that mean?"

Dodonna realized he'd misspoken. "I'm sorry. That came out harsher than I meant."

"Then what do you mean?"

"Terrinald, you read my report. We lost thousands of good men and good ships because Grant wanted to lure Syne out from her hiding place and into his trap."

"He did. His trap worked."

"It worked because Ni-sihl sacrificed himself."

"And because Grant had an effective plan."

"It cost too many lives."

"The battle was won. The threat is over. That's what matters, Jan."

Dodonna was shocked at how adamant he was being. He looked down at his cup of whiskey. He let the urge take over, picked up the glass, and swallowed. It burned a little less this time and made his head swim a little more.

"Terrinald," he asked, "Why did you give Grant command of that mission?"

Screed frowned. "Excuse me?"

"He was commanding ships from the Home Fleet. That means you put him in charge of the task force. Given that he'd failed with Syne before, why did you let him go after her again?"

"He made a compelling case," Screed said stiffly.

"What kind of case?"

"His case was that he knew Syne better than anyone else, and he could use their personal antagonism to his advantage, that he could bait Syne into making a mistake. He was right."

"Is that all?"

Screed was getting angry. "Jan, what are you talking about?"

He wasn't sure himself, but as he looked around the splendor of this half-completed penthouse he was starting to get an idea.

Sharply, he asked, "Why isn't Ni-sihl the hero we need?"

Screed blinked, said nothing.

"Is it because he was Cerean? Or are they all just sub-humans now?"

"Jan, don't be ridiculous."

"That man sacrificed his life, his entire ship, to kill Syne. He deserves that medal more than me or Grant."

"I'm not questioning his bravery, or his loyalty. I'm simply saying the Empire needs to focus on the future. We need live heroes, not martyrs."

"What about his family? He has wives and children. Are they going to be looked after?"

"You know the Empire's policy. His family will get a regular stipend."

"Cereans have big families. They'll need more than a stipend."

Screed sighed. "Jan, it's a blanket policy. We can't keep changing it for every race, just because some non-humans breed in litters."

Rigid silence fell over the room. Screed scooped up his second glass of whiskey and downed it. He didn't pour another.

Eventually Dodonna asked, "What happens to me now? What's my reward for standing on Grant's bridge and doing nothing?"

"You get a medal," Screed muttered.

"Am I still going to be stationed at N'zoth?"

"I'm not sure. But it seems likely."

"And Grant? Is he going back to his sector fleet?"

"That is unlikely," Screed admitted. "With Syne gone, we're turning our attention to some rogue elements in the Outer Rim. We may find a part for Grant in that."

Dodonna looked down at his empty glass and didn't speak.

"What do you want. Jan? Do you want to go to the Western Reaches and fight some Sep hold-outs? It can happen if you want it to."

Screed's voice had gone softer. He was making a peace offering, or at least he thought he was. Dodonna felt sick.

"I don't want that," he said. "I'm sick of this damned fighting. I thought the war was over."

"It is," Screed said, "But the Empire won't be secure until our borders are."

Dodonna looked out on the Coruscant skyline and saw a vision of the future: endless little wars, endless subjug-ation of anything vaguely perceived as a threat to a New Order that increasingly concentrated power in the hands of Palpatine and a handful of loyal humans whose ruth-lessness matched his own.

It was an awful vision. He didn't know what he could do to change it, but he didn't want to be part of it either.

He looked down at his chest, at his rank badge, and wondered for the first time what he'd do if he just walked away.

He couldn't think of anything, but he knew he'd have to keep thinking about it once his head cleared. Right then it seemed like the most important thing in the galaxy.

"Terrinald," he said, "I'd like to leave now."

Screed didn't object. He called for Boc, and Boc summoned a taxi and led Dodonna out onto the landing platform. Screed didn't bother to get up from his chair as he waved Dodonna off.

As they stood on the windy platform, Dodonna looked at Boc and asked, "How long have you been Terrinald's servant?"

Boc blinked his red eyes and said, "Oh, not long. Just a year."

"Is he a... good master? Does he pay you well?"

Boc gave a needle-toothed smile. "I have food and shelter. Isn't that payment?"

What he was suggesting made Dodonna's stomach turn. He had to be jesting; there was a taunting leer in his eyes.

"Have you met Octavian Grant?" Dodonna asked.

"Oh, yes. I've met Grant. He came here to plead his case to the Admiral. Several times."

"Can you… tell me what case he made?"

"Why do you want to know" The Twi'lek's grin was openly mocking now.

"I'm simply curious, that's all."

Boc considered something for a moment, then said, "I'm afraid I can't divulge my master's secrets."

"Of course. I wasn't asking you to."

He was. They both knew it. Boc's smile grew wider. He said, "You're different."

"Different from whom?"

"All my master's other… friends."

Before Dodonna could ask what he meant, the taxi arrived. Boc shrunk back toward the door, ending the conversation. Somehow, Dodonna knew he'd have only gotten more hints and mocking from the servant anyway. He got into the taxi and felt relief when it pulled away, but the relief didn't last long. He hadn't solved any of his problems and he hadn't escaped them; he was as trapped by them as ever.