Life in the Jedi academy on Bastion was, for all its challenges, ordered and secure and set apart from what was going on in the rest of the Empire. When they'd been younger, Marin and Vitor had found that comfortable enough. Now that they were getting older what had once seemed safe was starting to feel stultifying, and the only solution was escape.

There was no rule keeping Jedi apprentices from leaving the academy grounds and going into nearby Ravelin, but generally they only went when accompanied by an older knight. With almost everyone away with Davek's fleet there were few of those around, and all their times was taken up by training the younger apprentices.

It was, therefore, actually a little easier to slip away this time. Marin's mother had been called away to meet somebody, somewhere, about something she didn't say. Jaina was busy teaching. It was simple enough for Marin and Vitor to slip out of their white tunics and into causal street clothes and walk out of the temple.

It was a fair walk to the maglev line that took them toward Ravelin's towering spires. Once aboard they sat down on benches and watched the city creep up around them as the train filled with people. Vitor felt anonymous and ignored and normal; the fact that he had the weight of his lightsaber tucked hidden in his jacket and pressed against his chest added an additional excitement. Through the Force he could tell Marin felt the same way.

When they alighted in the heart of the city, they took to walking like they had the other times they'd sneaked away. The elevated walkways snaking around the skyscrapers' bases were thick with beings of all kinds, mostly human but with non-humans sprinkled in. Some were well-dressed businessbeings, some wore drab military garb, many wore casual civilian clothes like Vitor and Marin. Again, nobody looked at them twice.

Vitor knew Marin liked doing this because it was exciting; everything felt staggeringly different from the Jedi academy. Vitor liked it for that reason and more. The Jedi said that their role was to serve the Force and protect people. That only really sunk in for Vitor once he'd started coming here. As he watched all the beings moving about Ravelin he felt swelled with pride and responsibility: here were the people he was meant to protect. These were the ones Jedi existed to serve, the ones he would serve once he attained full knighthood.

They'd wandered the streets and walkways of Ravelin for close to an hour when they noticed the police hovercars circling over the towers nearby. When he reached out with the Force Vitor sensed, too a kind of new anxiety in the beings around them. People walked faster and looked straight ahead; nobody even glanced at the two teenagers. Everybody acted like they needed to be somewhere else.

Vitor didn't understand it but Marin tugged on his sleeve and said, "Come on. Let's get a closer look."

They walked against the flow of people, toward the whirr of overhead police cruisers. They reached a spot where Ravelin's administrative offices looked down from high towers on an open plaza as wide as a city block. The plaza was full of people, all swarming around a statue raised in the plaza's center. Vitor knew from previous visits that the statue was of a long-dead moff named Ardus Kaine.

Vitor knew his history lessons. Kaine had been a Bastion native who'd turned this planet into the center of his personal empire after Palpatine's death. He'd ruled with a typically old-style Imperial iron fist but avoided conflict with other warlords until the New Republic had him assassinated. To some he was effectively the founder of the current Imperial state and a martyr to Alliance schemes; to others he was a symbol of the bad old days of dictatorial rule. Vitor's grandfather had seemed ambivalent about him but it looked like the people in the crowd had found things to get excited over. They were holding up placards and long banners with hand-scrawled text and making so much noise Vitor and Marin couldn't tell what they were shouting. Instead the apprentices stayed on the walkways overlooking the plaza and watched as another crowd of beings filed in.

He didn't need the Force to feel the tension ratchet up. People were yelling at each other; someone was banging a drum. He spotted police units ringed around the plaza, shifting anxiously, looking at each other like they weren't sure what to do.

"Hey," he whispered to Marin, "Maybe we should get out of here."

She frowned. "I want to get a little closer."

"This doesn't look like a thing you want to get close to."

"I just want to know what it's all about."

"Lots of people getting angry."

"Yeah, but why? Come on."

She made for the nearest stairs and tugged him by the jacket-sleeve. As they trotted down to ground level more people were arriving carrying banners that read Justice for Valc VII and Punish Kaleesh. They found themselves swept along with the flow to the center of the plaza. Pressed in on all sides Vitor felt a spike of panic and grabbed onto Marin's arm to keep from being pulled apart.

Someone near them, a leader of the group, started yelling into a portable speaker that projected his voice across the plaza, saying, "We want justice for our dead! We want the alien traitors in our midst held accountable!"

People raised fists and shouted approval. Anger welled around them, strengthened by the pain of loss. The group's leader kept going, shouting, "The government has not gone far enough! Our dead have not been avenged! They can smash all the invaders they want but they still won't solve the problem of the traitors at home!" More shouts; some sounded for, some against, Vitor didn't now anymore. He tugged Marin hard and tried to pull her away, toward the plaza's edge.

"The government needs to take direct action!" the leader kept shouting. "Avaris needs to follow the example of the great Grand Moff Kaine! Lock down alien planets! Make sure they stay loyal and punish the ones who aren't before they kill thousands more Imperial citizens!"

More people shouted and raised their fists in the air like they could punch the sky. Vitor looked up at the fists and the slow-circling police hovercars; then he spotted something small and dark arcing fast through the air.

By the time he realized what it was, it was too late. The grenade went off in the midst of the crowd. The concussive force knocked hundreds of people to their feet and sent others running. Vitor and Marin were pulled in opposite directions by the directionless surge of the crowd. He called for his cousin but couldn't hear anything from the ringing in his ears. He reached out with the Force but that too was useless against the sea of panic and anger in which he flailed.

He tried to stand his ground and find calm in the chaos but people kept pushing him so hard he could barely stay upright. High-pitched screams pierced his explosion-dulled hearing. He spun around as the mob kept turning him, tried to find the source of the noise but found nothing at all.

Someone came out of nowhere and shoved him hard. He finally lost balance and fell; the people kept surging around him. Boots pounded pavement inches from his face. He tried to put hands on the ground and push himself up but a foot came out of nowhere; it smashed down onto his left arm, cracked bone, and was gone. Pain shot through his body and he couldn't even hear his own screams. Dimly he realized he was probably going to die like this, tramped by a mob he wasn't part of, sentenced to death for nothing worse than curiosity. Some fate for a Jedi. Some fate for his parents' son.

Then the people around him were thrown away as if by a great gust of wind. He rolled onto his back, cradling his arm. Marin suddenly appeared above him, grabbing his shoulders and shouting something; first he thought it was his name but then he realized she was apologizing over and over with tears in her eyes.

She dragged him to his feet and with the aid of the Force, frantically called upon, she helped haul him away from the center of the plaza. Somehow they escaped onto a side alley before the pain was too much and they collapsed against a wall.

"I'm so sorry," Marin panted. "We should have never gone down there! I was stupid! I-"

"It's okay," Vitor said, though it wasn't at all. "We need to… Get out of here… Get back to the academy..."

"You're in no shape to move. You-"

Something rattled in the distance. Laserfire, though whether it came from the police or someone else, they didn't know. Wind blew through the alley and smelled of ash. Above all the other noises they could hear the continuous scream of police sirens.

"Oh, oh sithspawn," Vitor moaned as he cradled his broken arm. "Our parents are going to kill us."

Marin looked out the alley mouth at the chaos beyond. "Maybe. But I think there's bigger problems right now."

-{}-

The hardest part had been learning the systems for the captured Vagaari and Stromma vessels. After that it was simply a matter of picking the target, and Moffs Veers had already provided Damien with a list of the Chiss' most vulnerable border outposts. The one that particularly stuck out was a station called Cam'co that orbited a white dwarf start. A civilian outpost normally guarded by a sizeable military component, the Chiss navy had been drawn elsewhere to patrol spots on the border where raiders fleets were amassing. For the five vessels they'd captured- a relatively small attack force- it was no difficult job to sneak behind Chiss lines and stage an attack.

The Mandalorians had a reputation as fast, vicious, almost animalistic fighters, but in his time with Gevern Auchs' company Damien had learned they were more than that. They laid down specific plans with utmost care and even ran battle simulations to predict the outcome of their attacks. Profit and professional pride were big for them; they knew all the blood and sweat they'd put into this project wouldn't matter unless the final step was done right.

Compared to the large force of warships and commandos that had actually captured the alien ships, this operation required far less manpower. They'd selected two Vagaari gunships to survive the fight and had thus stuffed them full of Mandalorian crews. The others they'd marked expendable and had instead hooked advanced slave circuits into the alien computers. When the Chiss combed through the wreckage of the raider's ships they'd find thousands of dead Vagaari and Stromma, all kept aboard their ships, sedated or restrained but alive so skillful Chiss medical examiners would confirm they'd died at the same time as their ships.

It would be an incredibly complex and choreographed show, all put on for the benefit of the few Chiss they'd planned to leave alive once the attack on Cam'co Station was done.

Damien was among them once again, to watch it with his own eyes and make sure it was all done right. The command deck for the Vagaari gunship was crammed claustrophobically tight with armored bodies. He did his best to stay close to Auchs, which wasn't difficult in this crammed space. The Vagaari apparently did not believe in chairs, because all the Mandalorian crew stood at their stations, strapped close to their consoles by semi-elastic crash webbing that locked around their torsos. It was an arrangement that made no sense for human physiology, but Damien and Auchs had agreed that refitting these cockpits would waste time and energy they couldn't spare.

When the time came to revert to realspace Auchs did Damien the favor of holding up one hand to count seconds on folding fingers as he surely talked through last-minute checks with the other Mandos on their internal helmet comms. As Auchs counted down Damien found himself speaking the numbers aloud, just to fill the bridge's eerie silence.

"Four… Three…. Two," he whispered, then, "Showtime."

The gunship dropped out of hyperspace with the circular space station dead ahead. The Vagaari ship had no tactical display he could see so he had to track things with his eyes. The large Vagaari frigate and the unmanned gunship leaped ahead, engines blazing at full strength. He squinted through their thruster-flares and marked a handful of Chiss clawcraft on patrol rushing to vainly intercept. As expected, Cam'co station had meager defenses, but unfortunately none of their ships had the ability to pump out the potent comm-jamming signals the raiders had used at Valc VII and Kalee. If the Chiss wanted to call for help they could do nothing to stop them, which was why this attack had to be as fast as it was precisely merciless.

The automated gun turrets on the Vagaari ships did their job, tracking the clawcraft as best they could with spraying red bolts. The clawcraft broke into adept dodges and rolls to evade the laserfire, but the two manned Mandalorian ships came up behind them and began shooting out more accurate fire, including volleys of missiles that tracked the starfighters as they tried to evade. Damien saw one clawcraft disappear in an exploding fire-blossom, then turned his attention to the ships ahead.

The remote-controlled frigate and gunship charged ahead, into the station's defensive cannons. The guns were potent and so, he guessed, were its shields, but the automated ships didn't slow down. They rammed right into the defensive screens; the gunship went first and exploded brilliantly for all the extra warheads the Mandalorians had packed inside. That was enough to significantly weaken the shields and the larger frigate plunged right into the wounded defensive zone. It, too, exploded on impact but this time the shields were unable to catch all the fast-moving fire and debris.

Scorched shrapnel, some chunks twice the size of a snubfighter, ripped through the station's exposed hull. Metal sheared through metal; the superstructure buckled, spilling bodies and mechanical entrails into space. A station like that would have failsafes; armored vacuum-proof bulkheads that would clamp down and seal off damages sections so the rest could be saved. With that in mind, they moved onto another section of the station and began attacking again.

The big Stromma vessel lurched forward to bring its heavy guns to bear on the battered station. The remaining clawcraft pilots seemed to now they couldn't stop it and instead concentrated their fire on the remaining Vagaari gunships. The command deck shook violently around Damien and he had to cling to the wall to keep from being knocked off his feet. He cursed the Vagaari aloud for not building ships with seats and looked out the viewport, through the scatter of laserfire across their forward shields, to see the Stromma ship's automated guns break through the station's shields and begin tearing more fiery holes in its hull.

Because the bridge had no tactical display and no voluble bridge chatter, Damien didn't know something was wrong until Auchs slipped beside him and said aloud, "A Chiss destroyer's just exited hyperspace. It'll be on us in four minutes."

He said it so smoothly, so matter-of-fact. "How are the hyperdrives?"

"Warming them up now. Estimated three minutes."

"Both gunships?"

"Yes. We're not in a gravity well so we can jump when you say jump."

He looked back through the viewport at the Stromma ship strafing the station. He had the tempting thought to turn the big vessel around and send it on a collision course for the Chiss destroyer, then decided against it. There was no telling what special weapons the Chiss ship might have. If it evaded and disabled the Stromma ship the Chiss would board and uncover the truth behind this elaborate charade.

He jabbed a finger out the window. "Are the explosives primed on that ship?"

"They are."

"Then ram it into the station and let's get out of here."

"Very good."

The Mandalore turned away and finished the job. He'd said four minutes until the Chiss destroyer reached them and it wasn't quite true; more speedy clawcraft lanced ahead and began to batter their shields. Vagaari ships were durable but if they stayed for much longer they'd be overwhelmed.

The Stromma ship did as it was told. The great barrel-shaped body swung toward the shield-less station and rammed into it, tearing through and entire hull section before the charges inside the Stromma ship detonated. The flare was blindingly bright but Damien barely caught it as the gunship veered away to evade three chasing clawcraft. As the surviving gunships swung around to align themselves for a hyperspace jump, he got one last look at their target. The collision had turned the entire station into a mass of twisted metal barely recognizable from its original state. Small explosions burst across its ruined body as remaining pockets of air combusted one after another. He doubted more than a lucky handful of all the thousands on that station would survive; they'd done more damage than he'd planned for.

Thankfully, Damien thought, they'd gained a new audience for the grand finale. The long dark dagger of the enemy destroyer flashed into view for one second before starlines stretched long and hyperspace swept them away, victorious, leaving the Chiss to rage, count their dead, and plot their misplaced revenge.

-{}-

When news reached the Makati about the riots on Bastion it was bad enough; when he got a second call from his mother, explaining what had happened to Vitor and Marin, wanted to straight-up throttle someone.

"They made it back alright," Jaina's holo-image said as Davek, Arlen, and Marasiah gathered in the admiral's personal cabin. "The medical droid set Vitor's arm in a splint. He should be all right. Marin didn't sustain anything some bacta patches won't fix."

"What about Tamar?" Arlen asked. "Why wasn't she keeping track of our daughter?"

The old woman shrugged. "She left Bastion this morning but said she'd be back. She didn't say when."

"And you let her go?"

"She's our guest, not our prisoner."

"I know, I know," Arlen scowled. Davek didn't need the Force to know he and his brother were feeling the same things: shock, frustration, concern, helplessness, and anger at every party involved, including their children. For all their differences, the worries of a parent were universal.

Marasiah, surprisingly calm, asked, "Are they resting now?" It was the middle of the night in Ravelin as well as on the Makati.

"They are. Do you want us to call you again tomorrow morning?"

"That would be good, thank you," Davek said, then added, "Take care of yourself too, Mom."

She simply nodded. "I will. Thank you." Ever since his father's death Davek had found his mother even harder to read. Grief seemed to make her withdraw in herself.

When the transmission shut off there was a long moment when the three of them stared at their own feet, uncertain of what to say. Marasiah muttered, "It could have been much worse."

"They could have been killed," said Arlen.

"According to the most recent reports, over two hundred were," Davek sighed. "That includes the riots in Ravelin as well as other cities."

"What started all this?" asked Arlen. "I barely heard about it before… before Mom called."

"Ardus Kaine's birthday," Davek said dryly. "Some people used to as an excuse to hold rallies by his statue at the center of Ravelin. Other people held counter-demonstrations. Someone threw a grenade. We'll probably never know who. That started a stampede and more riots on other cities."

"What's Avaris said about this?" asked Marasiah.

"Nothing that I know of."

"Ardus Kaine was an old-style Imp authoritarian, but he was also practical," Arlen said. "He didn't massacre billions or enslave every non-human. He wasn't Palpatine or Tarkin. All this- two hundred dead, our kids hurt- happened over him?"

"Kaine was an excuse. When people are looking for a spark to start a fire they'll find one."

"No. There's more to it than that," Marasiah said softly, thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?" Arlen frowned.

She looked at one brother, then the other. "You two have a skewed perspective. The family you grew up in was, frankly, far from normal."

Arlen laughed dryly. "I won't deny it, but what are you trying to say? Our father-"

"Your father was a symbol in the eyes of the Empire's citizens. Now that he's gone he's even more of one. They could never know him as a person like you did. Jagged Fel was just a face on a holo, a projection. When people on Kolfax Minor argued about Jagged Fel they weren't arguing about him. They were arguing about the things they thought he embodied. The principals he represented in their minds. It was the same when they talked of Palpatine or Tarkin, or Kaine or Grand Admirals like Makati and Thrawn. None of them are people anymore. They're history, even your father, which makes them all symbols of something."

"Like what?" asked Davek. It was better to be interested in this than fume helplessly about Vitor.

Marasiah thought a minute. "Your father was a symbol of a state that was pluralistic, open, democratic. And he wanted to tear down everything humans had built up and turn us into an imitation of the Alliance."

Davek started. "That's not-"

She held up a hand. "That's what people thought your father meant. It was the different ways people wanted to see him. Just like Palpatine represented a strong, powerful, unified Empire that would never let a bunch of alien invaders ravage planets."

Arlen crossed his arms over his chest. "Right, he'd just blow up planets and massacre dissidents by the billions."

"But right now people want to feel safe," Marasiah said. "Palpatine would keep people safe. So long as they're the right kind of people."

"Obedient slaves to a Sith tyrant."

She shrugged as if to say, That's one opinion. Before Arlen could jump on her Davek said, "What about Kaine, though? Or Makati or Thrawn?"

"Kaine preserved the territory that became the core of our space. People respect him for that and frankly if it weren't for him the Empire might not exist at all today. They also see him as embodying the old militant Empire, and he was that too. As for Makati, I think most people see him as a gentleman-soldier. Thrawn was Thrawn. A genius and Imperial through-and-through."

"Also an alien," Arlen said.

"I've heard a lot of non-humans are starting to rally around him, actually. He's their symbol, an Imperial hero they can associate with." She looked to Davek. "People need heroes. They need symbols. They need something to align their life around. They can feel lost without them."

Davek thought on his last conversation with his father and felt unsettled. Jagged had posed him and Marasiah the question: what was an Empire without an emperor? They'd been searching for an answer to that question for almost a century and still they hadn't found it, leaving them open to confusion and disruption from all corners.

"I guess I can see what you're saying," Arlen admitted. "Who was your Imperial hero growing up?"

She looked down, suddenly embarrassed. Davek knew why; he'd gotten this confession before after dragging it out of her.

"Soontir Fel," Davek said for her.

He watched realization light on Arlen's face, followed by a grin. "Well," he said, "It makes sense you'd have good taste."

Marasiah still seemed too chagrined to speak; it was a rare sight and Davek couldn't help but smile too, despite all that was happening. He was about to suggest that the Force might have been giving her a taste of her future when his comm console buzzed. He stepped back to it and checked the readout.

"It's Aunt Wynssa!" he said.

Marasiah and Arlen fell in behind him. His wife asked, "Is this an official call or a personal one?"

"I don't know. I guess there's one way to find out." Davek tapped the console and the blue holo-image of a second old woman appeared before him.

"You caught us at a good time," Davek told his aunt. "What is it you're calling for?"

She didn't smile, not a bit. "Something critical has happened. I wanted you to be the first to know."

He stiffened. "Is it all right for Marasiah and Arlen to stay?"

"They'll hear it soon anyway. Admiral Fel, I'm officially informing you that, seven hours ago, a mix of Vagaari and Stromma vessels attacked and destroyed Colonial Station Cam'co."

He felt more stunned than anything since his father's death. Over his shoulder Marasiah asked, "Are you absolutely certain?"

Wyn nodded. "Three of their ships were destroyed in the fight. We've sifted through the wreckage and examined the bodies. There's no doubt. It was a completely unprovoked attack."

"How many were killed?" asked Arlen.

"We're still tallying numbers, but we project upwards of thirty thousand. I've just spoken with the leaders of the Seven Houses and they've agreed to authorize all CEDF forces for a retaliatory strike against the raiders. They've also authorized me to begin collaboration with our Imperial allies in exterminating this menace once and for all." Her blue holographic gaze fell on Davek and went hard. "We will do whatever it takes. The Ascendancy's dead will be avenged. And so will Jagged Fel."