Yeah, it's been a while. Hopefully there's still interest in this story, or new interest is generate after I post this chapter. Either way, I had all but given up on this one but couldn't bring myself to put it down after all of the planning and world-building I'd done. So let's keep it moving, I guess.

Chapter Six

So this was where progress pushed the obsolete, the "out" referred to in "out with the old". Outdated and outmoded, the slag and scrap of the galaxy eventually found its way to these garbage worlds, collecting and festering until enough working parts were dubiously fashioned together into a shambling echo of true inventiveness. Eventually, however, all usefulness was extracted, leaving only the twisted and skeletal shells to be piled aside.

There were a thousand Boontas in the galaxy, millions like this Scrap Canyon that Vader would never set foot on. Even this little jaunt felt like reaching out to a lesser species, a race of primates still banging rocks together in the vain hope of wrapping their minds around concepts simply too prodigious for them to comprehend.

The mere fact that he was here was testimony to the importance of his mission.

"Rodriguez, what am I looking at here?" Vader asked even as his HUD flitted in front of his eyes, examining and providing a tactical readout of the wreckage of what had once been some sort of robotics workshop. The floor was barely visible beneath the scattered remains of at least a hundred different droids, some manufactured relatively recently and others dating back thousands of years to the Old Republic. A small blip in the corner of his vision told him that they were standing in a Williams Industries SC-864 "SandCrawler", which had been previously owned by the Roxxon Energy Corporation.

That dated it back at least eighty years, then; Stark Industries had bought out both companies under the guidance of its previous and founding CEO, Howard Stark.

"Looks like quite a fight broke out," Rodriguez observed, running a scanner over a massive twist of charred and melted metal along the edge of the bay door. "Beaching charge, even though the ramp was already open. Sloppy methods. Could have been a group of raiders picked a lousy time to catch him off guard?"

"Or a squad of Baktoid Industries battle droids," Vader said, watching a reticule blinking over the various fallen droids. "The blaster shots are amazingly precise. They targeted power sources, sensor arrays, capacitors, not a single wasted shot. The Techno Union were Separatist scum, but they knew how to produce an accurate droid. Unfortunately, the sophisticated motivators and fuzzy logic system meant that they could get a bit zealous in carrying out their goals."

"Hence the breaching charge," Rodriguez nodded. "But what were a bunch of Separatist droids doing on Boonta? The war never reached out here, and the rest of this scrap is…well, ancient."

"That is an excellent observation," Vader said. "My guess is, Phineas Mason played his hand a little too early and paid for it."

"A rescue operation?" Rodriguez prompted him, and Vader nodded with a look over the wreckage.

"We know that Captain Phasma had an army of Separatist droids," he said. "We also know that only the Sentinel came out of hyperspace over Nar Shaddaa and was blasted. Phasma's ship is still at large, and I'm guessing it's under new management."

"Do you think this is related to the incident on Geonosis?" Rodriguez asked him.

"I think this is a direct result of the incident on Geonosis," Vader said. "And I think I'd like to have a long talk with Riri Williams about what exactly she saw in that droid foundry."

"Sir, you're receiving an emergency transmission from the Emperor's Hand," JARVIS spoke in his ear. "It would seem they've been boarded."

"That's…not ideal," he said flatly, turning to Rodriguez and speaking the next part out loud. "I want your team to pick this place apart and send along anything you find. I have to attend to something."

"Absolutely, Lord Vader," Rodriguez said, managing to mask any displeasure at such a monumentally tedious task behind a crisp salute.

"JARVIS, prep the ship for a hyperspace launch, ASAP," Vader said as he whirled away from the sandcrawler and made his way back to his shuttle with a pair of stormtroopers in tow. "I wanna know who's trying to take my stuff."

"At once, my lord."

…

"General Rex, we've breached the hull," Wolffe said, looking up from a hovering display projected from his wrist. His armor was perfectly polished, uniform-standard even after all these years. The voice modulator set into the helmet approximated a downturned mouth similar to the more modern stormtroopers, coupling with his visor to put forth a positively stern expression. "Pressurizing. Fifteen seconds."

"Weapons hot, everyone," Rex said as he flipped the safeties on his DC-17 blaster pistols and held them at the ready. "Scorch? Got us a map?"

"Almost," Scorch said from nearby, tapping away at a datapad. "Never thought I'd miss Fixer, but he was way better at this slicing stuff."

While Wolffe and Rex were wearing their old clone trooper armor from the bygone days of the Galactic Civil War, Scorch (a more recent addition to the cause) was outfitted with the latest Katarn-II Imperial Commando set. Pristine white and with a more rounded profile than the older Republic-era armor, it boasted heavier plating that sacrificed a small amount of mobility for dramatically increased durability. As a nod to the clone troopers' tradition of personalization (and in flagrant disregard of the Empire's uniform policy, not that it much mattered to him anymore), Scorch had emblazoned his shoulder pads with the Rebel Alliance logo and even added a few orange accents to resemble his old kit from his Republic Commando days.

Clone troopers were all about personalization; it was a necessity when your brothers-in-arms all shared your face.

"Ten seconds," Wolffe spoke up, turning to Rex. "Just like the good old days, huh?"

"Sad that we consider a civil war the good old days," Rex pointed out, and Wolffe let a humorless laugh.

"Map acquired," Scorch said. "Once we're in, we're making a right."

"Copy," Rex said, turning to the other three in the pod. "Jameson, Korg, Miek? Ready?"

A black-haired woman with her hair pulled back into a loose bun hefted a rifle that was hanging from a strap over her shoulder. Rex knew from experience that Jameson was quite a good shot with it, for a civilian. Next to her were the only nonhumans of their little boarding party—a kronan toting a long cylindrical weapon that looked like a club but was actually quite a capable gun of sorts, and a Sakaaran grub strapped into a suit that gave it a powerful set of legs and bladed arms.

It wasn't the 501st, but Rex knew them all to be perfectly capable in a fight.

"Locked and loaded," Jameson said. "Lead the way."

"I'm not really sure which end of this thing is the handle and which is the shooting bit," the kronan said, turning his weapon over in his craggy hands. Looking like a pile of rocks molded into the shape of a large stone man, Rex often liked having Korg along for his intimidation factor alone. A squad of stormtroopers were a lot less keen to fight when a towering stone golem out of a fairy tale was bearing down on them.

So long as Korg didn't speak.

"There should be a red button at the base there," Jameson told him, poking at the weapon. "Um…there, see?"

"Five seconds," Wolffe said.

"Oh, there it is," Korg muttered. His voice was naturally high—even a bit nasally—and bore a strange Concordian inflection reminiscent of the old Mandalorians. In stark contrast to his appearance, Korg was among the most relaxed beings Rex had ever met, affable and easygoing but staunchly committed to the Rebellion and its cause. His friend, Miek, didn't speak any language Rex had ever learned, but he was always game to tag along with Korg on a mission and put those bladed arms to brutally effective use.

"Pod pressurized," Wolffe announced, punching a red button next to the exit hatch. With a soft hiss, the door slid open, as did the inner hatch leading to the small dock they'd picked as their boarding point. "End of the line, everyone out!"

They streamed out of the pod in a single file, Wolffe strafing right and Scorch left while Rex took point. Behind him, Korg's lumbering footsteps told him the other three were bring up the rear.

A small hangar bay greeted them, one of hundreds in a ship this massive. A simple enough loading dock, it never saw TIE fighters or Imperial shuttles but smaller transit vessels, likely from other parts of the Emperor's Hand or larger freight ships making a quick drop on a supply run.

They were nearly impossible to break into, unless one happened to have an experienced slicer on hand, one with extensive knowledge of recent Imperial security protocols.

"It's empty," Korg observed. "Perhaps they're all on lunch?"

"No shipments to this dock today," Scorch said. "This one's connected to the brig. No prisoners, no need for incoming freight. We should move."

He marked a waypoint on Rex's HUD, and the General took the lead, hurrying to their right and toward a large door connected to a control panel. A sign above it marked it as 'Incoming Freight'. Rex prodded the button on the control panel next to it, but a synthesized voice spoke up.

"Please place your identification holotag in front of the reader."

"Scorch?" Rex asked, stepping back. The former commando stepped forward with a sigh.

"Getting a lot of slicing practice today," he said. "No wonder Fixer was such a dull guy if this was his specialty."

"Another skill to add to your resume," Jameson spoke up, and Scorch chuckled.

"Know anyone that's looking for a demolitions expert with slicing skills?" he asked.

"On second thought, I think you've found the perfect career already," Jameson shot back as the door popped open with a hiss. "See? You'd be wasting your talents anywhere else."

"If it means this much of an ego stroke for opening a door, I think I'll stick around," Scorch said.

"Careful, you won't be able to squeeze that big head into your helmet soon enough," Wolffe cautioned him.

Beyond the door, a wide corridor stretched off into the distance, echoing with the quiet hum of the ship churning around them. Utility lights set along the ceiling cast a dim and insubstantial glow that left a number of shadowy alcoves along the path.

"Shipping thruway," Scorch said, his voice echoing off the high walls and ceiling. "Used to move freight from the dock to wherever it needs to go. No foot traffic, just hover carts."

"Hope those carts have lights," Rex muttered. "Can't see a thing in here."

"Plenty of headroom, though," Korg pointed out. "Some of these ships have very low ceilings, and crouching is bad for the posture, see."

"I'm glad I could find a path that accommodates you," Scorch said, consulting his map again. "Alright, down to the third intersection, and we make a left. I killed the alarms, but it's only a matter of time before they cycle back on. We should cover as much ground as we can before then."

"We're gonna walk there?" Wolffe asked. "That'll take all day."

"Well, what do you propose we – "

"Fellas!" Jameson called, and Rex turned to see a bright light shining directly at him as a quiet whirring sound drew closer and closer. Blinking as the glare pierced even the polarized lenses in his helmet, he shielded his eyes before what he finally realized was a set of headlights veered away, Jameson pulling to a stop in a hover cart. "Handsome boys like you shouldn't be walking."

"See that, Miek?" Korg said with a nudge at his grub companion. "I am handsome. People think so."

Miek only chittered in response, climbing laboriously into the cart with the rest of them. Once they had all settled in, Jameson had them speeding off down the corridor. Rex was surprised that Korg's added weight didn't have them at least tipping, but he reasoned to himself that the kronan was likely no heavier than some of the weightier shipping crates.

"Left here," Scorch said after a full two minutes of silence filled only with the steady humming whirr of the cart. Jameson followed his hand gesture, veering left and peering back at the commando.

"Then what?" she asked. Scorch consulted his map, prodding at the holodisplay a few times.

"We're looking for a maintenance hatch," he said. "It'll drop us right outside the VIP quarters."

"And the Erwins will be there?" Jameson asked, and Scorch shrugged.

"They oughta be," he said. "On the fancier ships like this, the dignitaries and nonmilitary guests aren't allowed past the VIP quarters, per about forty-two different regulations."

"They just don't let them out?" Jameson asked dubiously.

"Not much else to see on an Imperial dreadnought," Rex chimed in. "Plain white hallways and utility rooms."

"And enough buttons to blow the whole thing into slag if you let some civilian go poking around," Scorch added with a smile in his voice. Jameson gave a haughty sniff even as she smiled right back.

"You haven't been hanging out with the right sort of civilian, then," she said.

"Oh, I think I have," Scorch chuckled, peering at the map again. "Stop here. This is the door."

Jameson brought the cart to a lurching stop, and as one, they clambered out, causing it to sway a bit on its hover array.

"Could have done with some seatbelts," Korg muttered to no one in particular as they made for a barely-visible maintenance access door. Scorch hurried forward, slicing equipment at the ready, and they were through the door in under two minutes.

"Slag, I'm getting too good at this," he grumbled. "If I start talking about protocol and policies too much, crack me 'cross the skull with my helmet."

"Duly noted," Wolffe said, glancing at Rex. "General?"

"Cameras in the hallway?" Rex asked Scorch, who was already tapping at his slicing equipment.

"I can feed it about…twenty-five seconds of looped footage before the system senses it and soft resets," he said. "Out the door, straight across, there's a door waiting."

"On your signal," Rex told him.

"Three…two…go, go!"

The maintenance hatch sprang open with a quiet humming sound, and they were treated to the sight of a spartan white corridor outside before another door hissed open across from them. Rex led the way, Wolffe making sure everyone else got through before bringing up the rear. They rushed into the VIP area, and Rex found himself running nearly headlong into a stormtrooper, who had likely not raised his blaster rifle only out of utter shock at the sudden intrusion.

"Hey! What are you – "

Rex aimed his blasters level at the trooper's chest and fired, sending him sprawling to the floor.

"Element of surprise is gone," he said flatly. "Fan out. Teams of two. Find the Erwins."

"C'mon, Miek," Korg said, leading the grub away. Jameson hurried alongside Scorch, and Wolffe glanced to Rex.

"Still got the moves," Wolffe said, and Rex smirked behind his helmet.

"They knew they were sending the best on this mission," he said. "Let's move. I bet Scorch two hundred creds I'd find them instead of him."

"You're gonna cut me in on that, right?" Wolffe asked as they hurried down a side hall.

"I'll pick up the drinks at Luis's this time," Rex said.

"Deal."

The VIP area looked like the penthouse suite in one of the fancier Coruscant hotels, the ones that politicians lived in for weeks on end while some bill was making its painstaking way through a vote. The walls were faux-wood paneled, the floor imitation black marble. Rex half-expected to see some dignitary come walking out of a side room with a twi'lek escort on his arm, on his way to shift the balance of the galaxy before dinner.

Instead, he saw two more stormtroopers, and they seemed to be in a bit of a hurry.

"Contact," Rex said in bored tones, raising his blasters. Wolffe did the same, and four pistols went off in almost perfect unison, the troopers on the floor before they had any idea there were intruders.

"This is just embarrassing," Wolffe said. "I get that clones are expensive, but we were worth the investment."

"It's almost too easy," Rex said, feeling a sudden sense of…wrongness about the whole thing. "Hold on. Vader has plenty of special forces out there. Why would regular stormtroopers be guarding his VIPs?"

"Cannon fodder," Wolffe realized at the same time as Rex. "To bait us in."

Rex spun back in the direction they came, unsurprised to see a trooper waiting. This wasn't a stormtrooper however. Decked out in matte black tactical armor with a helmet to match, this trooper came with plenty to be nervous about. Belts and bandoliers encircled his chestplate until it was all but hidden, and Rex was willing to bet good credits that each pocket and pouch held something unpleasant for them.

"Lay down your weapons," the trooper said in a heavily modulated voice. "Come quietly, and you won't be hurt."

"We're not the surrendering type," Wolffe said.

"Tactical retreat?" Rex asked, rounding in an effort to take off in the opposite direction. They found their way blocked, however, by another black-clad stormtrooper, this one raising a DLT-19D heavy blaster rifle directly at them.

"You're cornered," he said.

"You might regret doing that," Rex said.

"Cornered clone's a dangerous clone," Wolffe agreed.

As one, they sprang apart, each one charging a black-clad trooper.

…

In another time, Tadashi Hamada would have been celebrated as one of the most brilliant young prostheticians in his field. Having not only pioneered a number of innovative limb-replacement procedures in the last decade, he was also well-known for his groundbreaking medi-droid designs that should have taken the medical world by storm.

That was, if only the Empire wasn't in the business of aggressively streamlining every medical procedure whenever possible, often at the expense of any sort of advancement of the field. Tadashi Hamada's contributions to medicine, rather than making the galaxy a better place overall, were relegated to the dingy makeshift clinic he had fashioned out of an ancient hangar bay high in the mountains of Seelos. Instead of becoming the head of his own division at the cybernetic company of his choice (as his aunt had insisted over and over again to be nothing less than completely assured), he was now one of the Rebellion's most coveted assets in its ongoing fight against the Empire.

It was, in his own words, "the best outcome, given the circumstances".

It was also a lucky break for Bruce Banner, as upon arriving on Seelos, he was determined to have nearly overdosed on painkillers and sedatives, which coupled with the shock of losing his arms to nearly put him into a vegetative state. Had Tadashi not been there, he might have not made it.

"I think you're underestimating the power of the Force," Bruce insisted once he was informed of this.

" I think you're underestimating how many drugs were in your system when you got here," Tadashi countered. "If we had taken a sample of your blood and injected it directly into someone else, they would have gotten loopy from it."

Doctor Tadashi Hamada was young, handsome, and had an easy smile that greatly benefited his bedside manner. He bore the slanted eyes and dark hair of most Panathans, though by his own admission he was Coruscant-born and had never seen his people's ancestral home. First and foremost, he evidently considered himself a citizen of the free Republic and wanted nothing more than for that to be reality once more.

He was, in Bruce's opinion, too good for the world he inhabited.

"Thank you for everything you've done, Dr. Hamada," Rio said with a stern look toward Bruce, who nodded quickly in agreement.

"Yes, thank you very much," he said, holding up his right arm. The thin metal ring below his elbow was the only indication that everything beyond it wasn't his own flesh and bone and had in fact been perfectly recreated, from his fingernails to the admittedly thick coating of arm hair he'd previously sported. If it weren't for the fresh, vivid memory of having his limbs sliced away by Pong Krell, he might not even have realized his right forearm had been completely reconstructed out of cybernetics.

The same couldn't be said for his left, however.

"Unfortunately, I only had enough synthflesh in my stores to construct one passable arm," Tadashi said in apologetic tones as Bruce surveyed his other replaced limb. "The left, I had to work together with some old prosthetic couplings and a security droid arm. It might take some getting used to, but all the hardware is already there. It was just a matter of getting everything to communicate."

"It's perfect, Tadashi," Bruce said. Flexing the fingers on his left hand, he felt only a dull awareness, though it was better than no arm at all. At least it still had five fingers. "I wouldn't have been much good to the Rebellion without my arms."

"It'd definitely make swinging a lightsaber a lot harder," Tadashi agreed, leaning against his workstation while a myriad of mismatched robotic arms sprouting from the ceiling set to tidying up the mess he'd created stabilizing Bruce and outfitting him with his new limbs. His ICU was little more than a small garage attached the main hangar, part of a larger complex that had been found and appropriated in the early days of the Rebellion. The exact origins of the place were completely unknown; the archaic droid remains strewn around the place suggested that it might even have been constructed thousands of years ago, when the Old Republic had simply been the Republic.

It was appropriate, Bruce felt, that they were using it as a base of operations while trying to restore the Republic.

"So," Tadashi went on as Bruce got to his feet, "finally joining up with the cause?"

"The Empire forced my hand," Bruce said with a rueful smile. "And…I could feel it in the Force. Like a current, pulling me toward all of this. By the end, I guess it was more of a tidal wave, though."

"Ahsoka's been saying something similar," Tadashi told him. "She called it a hurricane."

"Is Ahsoka here?" Bruce asked, distracted from his examination of his limb for a moment.

"Right now, she's on Dantooine with the twins," Tadashi explained. "She's after a holocron or something."

"It's always a holocron with her," Bruce sighed, and Tadashi only shrugged in turn. "How's your brother?"

"Probably doing a lot better now that there are kids around his own age here," Tadashi chuckled. "Wanda and Pietro are always gone, and even when they're here, they've got training. You brought a couple kids with you, right?"

"My son," Rio said with a warm smile. "And his friend."

"Do they know anything about droids? Machinery?"

"Quite a bit, actually," Bruce said.

"Well, they've got themselves a new best friend, then."

…

"They mostly do external repairs, simple maintenance, you know, tightening bolts and patching hull breaches, but they can get done in a few minutes what a whole work crew would take five hours to do."

"How do you keep the magnets from interfering – "

"With the internal circuitry? Codoan copper."

"Ooooh, to house the circuts?"

"Yeah, it's super easy to find. There's a trading post a ways down the mountain, and they've always got it in stock."

"We should go check that out sometime, Miles. …Miles?"

"Wha?" Miles blurted, suddenly aware that he was being addressed. The last several minutes of conversation had gone completely over his head, as it seemed Ganke had finally met someone able to keep up with his engineer-speak.

Hiro Hamada had been born on Coruscant, but all he could ever remember was Seelos and its endless plains of bleached sand, broken only by spiked, unforgiving mountains. His whole life had been shaped by the Rebellion, and given that the Rebellion's resources were never exactly brand new (and were often barely functioning), he'd picked up a bit of a handy streak along the way. He'd instantly bonded with Ganke, the two of them having spent the last hour and a half in Hiro's quarters in the Rebel base, chattering back and forth. Phrases like "gyroscopic stabilizer", "vocabulation module", and (Miles's favorite) "samophlange" had bounced between the two with such frequency that Miles was tempted to see if his translator had a "Gearhead" setting.

"Sorry, we're probably boring you, talking about all this stuff," Hiro said with a sheepish grin. Despite feeling distinctly left out of the conversation—Miles's mechanical knowledge was limited to only what was necessary to fix a broken vaporator—he couldn't bring himself to be annoyed at the guy. Like Gwen, he carried a sort of melancholy about him, a longing for a normal existence away from wars and rebellions and the harsh realities of the galaxy.

And again, Miles found himself oddly thankful for his life on Tatooine; for all the toiling away in the hot sun, he'd been comparatively safe and able to grow up with Mom and Bruce and Ganke. He'd had friends, hobbies, all of the hallmarks of a relatively normal childhood in Great Chott.

Hiro, by his account, rarely ever saw anyone his own age.

"Wanda and Pietro are here a lot, but they never have time for me," he said forlornly. "They're always doing Jedi training."

"Jedi?" Miles asked, and Hiro's eyes went wide before he winced, clapping a hand to his forehead. "I'm guessing you're not supposed to know that."

"Not really," Hiro admitted. "A few years back, I sliced into Tadashi's terminal to see what he was getting me for Life Day, and I saw that he had their medical records up."

"So you snooped," Miles concluded, earning a sheepish look from Hiro.

"Tadashi really let me have it when he found out," he said. "That was the first time I remember him being actually mad at me."

"Probably about as mad as he'd be if he found out you blabbed to us," Ganke said with a wry smirk, and Hiro shot him a glare.

"You cannot say anything," he insisted. "I was sworn to secrecy by the leader of the Rebellion himself, and I've done really well since then. Mostly because everyone else I've met is like forty, but still…"

"Don't worry, we won't rat on you," Miles chuckled.

"That'd kinda put a damper on the friendship, I think," Ganke added.

Hiro laughed at that, and the trio fell silent.

"So…who was the blonde girl that was with you?" Hiro asked after a moment. Miles could hear him trying to sound casual about it and also failing miserably. It seemed Hiro could tell as well, as he gave up all pretense and voiced his thoughts. "She's really pretty."

"That's Gwen," Ganke said, his voice oddly defensive. "Miles has dibs."

"Hey, you can't 'dibs' a girl," Miles shot back. "Besides, all she's been through? I don't know if the whole dating thing is really what she needs right now."

"What happened?" Hiro asked. "I heard the soldiers talking about something on Alderaan, but…"

"She's from Alderaan," Miles said. "We landed there, and…something had happened. Everything was dead. Everything. Like something sucked the life outta the whole planet."

"It was so quiet," Ganke added, his voice sounding haunted. "There weren't even any like bugs or anything. Just…wind. It was weird, like…wrong."

"Do you know what did it?" Hiro asked with wide eyes.

"Not a clue," Miles said. "Even Banner has no idea. Whatever it was, it was insanely powerful, and Darth Vader has it."

"So now the Rebellion has a really huge problem," Hiro concluded, and Miles held up a couple of fingers.

"Two," he said, looking over to see Ganke giving him a confused look. "That four-armed guy. Pong Grell?"

"Krell," Ganke said. "That's what Harley told me."

"Harley?" Hiro asked.

"A stormtrooper we found on Alderaan, but now I guess he's a good guy," Ganke told him.

"It's been a wild couple days," Miles explained. "Anyway, Pong Krell's working for someone that's not the Empire. So now we got three sides going after each other."

"And some superweapon that can wipe out all the life on a planet," Hiro added, prompting a pregnant silence before Ganke spoke the thought on all their minds.

"We're all gonna die."

…

"I read once that Kaminoans can see in the ultraviolet spectrum," Korg said as he and Miek made their way along the wood-paneled corridor of the VIP area. "What do you suppose these Imperial ships probably look like to them? Yeah, they look boring and all-white to use, but maybe some color sneaks in there that we can't see, yeah? Makes it look all tie-dye to them?"

Miek only chittered in response, which he did to most of the things Korg said. Korg wasn't especially put out by the inarticulate responses. Miek was likely saying something rather profound in his own grub language. Korg just couldn't make out the particulars.

"Good point," he said. "Didn't think of that, Miek."

Before Miek could say something poignant or though-provoking, a voice spoke into Korg's ear. While such a thing might have been considered supernatural or prophetic in nature, Korg knew that it was simply because he had an earbud inserted, allowing him to communicate with his fellow squad mates.

They seemed to be in a bit of distress at the moment.

"Contact, two hostiles!" Rex (Or was it Wolffe? They sounded terribly similar.) shouted over the comm, the sound of an explosion audible in the background. "Requesting support!"

"You can do it, man," Korg said supportively.

"Just get to our location!" Rex demanded.

"I think that the stress of his job is getting to him," Korg observed as he and Miek backtracked and made for the waypoint Rex had superimposed over their combat visors. The hallway was close and a bit cramped; a few times, Korg overbalanced while hurrying around a corner and scratched up the shiny wood.

Perhaps it would buff out.

They shortly reached a scene of chaos, or something quite similar. Rex and Wolffe (Korg could tell them apart because of their armor now) were engaged with two stormtroopers in wicked-looking black armor. As they watched, Rex loosed a barrage of bullets at one, but they fizzled and dissipated on his armor, leaving only a cluster of smoking welts.

"Korg!"

"Hey, piss off, man!" Korg yelled at the shady-looking trooper, running up and colliding with him in a full-body shoulder check. In Korg's experience, even the fanciest armor couldn't stop something bigger than you pushing you around.

For his part, the dark trooper took the hit like a champ, colliding with the wall at the end of the hallway hard enough to splinter the paneling behind him but recovering himself fairly quickly. His partner hastened to regroup with him, the pair exchanging some sort of garbled noises with each other.

"Voice scramblers," Wolffe observed.

"They're death troopers," Rex said.

"Having 'death' in their names means they're probably very dangerous," Korg said.

"Correct," Rex nodded.

"Plan?" Wolffe asked as the pair of death troopers raised their weapons. "Preferably soon?"

"Miek, give us a shield, mate," Korg said, and Miek hurried to place himself between the two groups of combatants, crossing his swords in front of him. With a keening whine, a translucent orange energy shield sprang to life in front of him, popping and sizzling as it took a hail of blaster fire from the troopers.

"Scorch, Jameson, do you read?" Rex said over the comms.

"We're closing in," Scorch said. "What's the situation?"

"Death troopers, two of them, but there might be more," Rex said. "Looks like we're going loud."

"I love when we go loud," Scorch said with obvious relish. "Five seconds."

"How long will that shield hold?" Rex asked Korg.

"Four and a half more seconds…ish," Korg told him, and Rex said an unsavory word.

"That's gonna be a real crucial half second," he said.

…

"So…"

Dad looked older, like he'd aged years in the mere days that they'd been apart. Stars above, had it only been so long? It felt like it had been months, a long and wearying year since Gwen had seen him. She wondered if she looked just as worse for wear, if the heavy clouds churning in her head were visible behind her eyes.

Across the table—which bore only two plates of food with too much uneaten on both—Dad peered at her, his expression the same resolve it always bore when he knew Gwen had a bone to pick with him. For the moment, they were alone in the kitchen of the quarters the Rebellion had provided them—Kaysix was currently in low-power mode in a corner of Gwen's room. It was just Gwen and Dad, exactly as she'd wanted when this whole mess had begun.

Getting him back had extracted its toll, though, and dug up a lot of secrets that now needed addressing. This left Gwen in a rather thorny place, emotionally speaking. She was relieved (profoundly so) that Dad was okay, but she was also incensed with him for reasons she couldn't even fully articulate.

"You're upset with me."

Dad was his usual self, naturally, equal parts perceptive and blunt.

"Dad, of course I'm upset with you!" she shot back, slamming her hands on the table. She felt a hot jolt of annoyance pulse in her mind, and the plate in front of her trembled in place before it shot across the kitchen, leaving a trail of food in its wake and shattering against the fridge. Ugh, not again! Clenching her fists, she shut her eyes and took a few deep breaths, opening them to see Dad on his feet and crouching to clean up the mess. "Dad, no, I – "

"I've got it, Gwendy," Dad said, but she took up a towel from the counter and knelt next to him anyway, helping clean up scattered peas and mash. While he stood to dump the ruined food down the garbage chute, she slumped to the floor, leaning against the fridge and staring out over the small, open area that constituted their home. It was little more than a cramped living area with four attached bedrooms; Gwen had seen college dormitories more accommodating.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked quietly, hating the way her voice choked up. "I had to find out Mom was a Jedi from some guy I'd just met a few hours ago? Why didn't you…take me away? Train me? Why didn't you do anything besides join the Empire!?"

"Because I was afraid, Gwen," Dad said, and Gwen saw him round from the sink to face her with a stony expression. "Because I was…very suddenly responsible for an infant in the middle of the most dangerous political and social climate in thousands of years. I was…terrified for you. My last connection to…to Helen. I couldn't bear to lose you, and it was selfish and foolish. At the time, though, it was simply the only thing that I could think of."

"We never got to…go back," Gwen choked. "To go home. Dad, I just wanna go home."

"My Gwendy," Dad sighed, moving to kneel in front of her and pull her into a hug. She limply leaned into the embrace before reaching up and wrapping him tightly right back.

She had her father back. And now he was all she had left.

…

"What's the plan?" Jameson asked, hurrying along behind Scorch. The commando reached over his shoulder, sliding a massive grenade launcher into his hands and toggling the safety off. Reaching down to a belt at his waist, he tugged a grenade free and passed it to Jameson.

"Know how to use a flashbang?" he asked, and Jameson nodded. "I bust in, locate the hostiles, blast 'em with this." He held up the grenade launcher. "You throw that and cover our retreat."

"We're running away?" Jameson asked, and Scorch scoffed.

"It's a tactical retreat," he said. "We have an objective, and we can't fulfill if we're dead."

"That's fair," Jameson allowed.

The sounds of blaster fire faded in, along with the concussive whump of a thermal detonator and (barely audible but Scorch was familiar with the sound) the fizzling hiss of an energy shield overloading. Not a millisecond to lose.

"Grenade out!" he bellowed as he burst into the room, leveling the launcher at the approaching figures of the stormtroopers and squeezing the trigger.

Chk—WHUMP!

"Flashbang out!" Jameson shouted, lobbing the grenade Scorch had given her and yanking Korg and Miek along while Scorch ushered his fellow clones from the room. A sharp pew sounded behind them, a distant flash illuminating the corridor. Scorch knew it wouldn't buy them much time; death troopers were almost as bad as clankers, augmented and modified and implanted with all manner of upgrades to make them fast, accurate, and almost impossible to kill while they were in that armor.

"Do we know if the Erwins are even on this ship?" Jameson asked. "Or was all this a trap?"

"Who knows with Darth Vader?" Wolffe asked, turning to Rex as they hurried along. "General?"

"If he'd been expecting us, there would have been more than two death troopers guarding this area," Rex said. "He would have wanted to capture or kill us, not turn us away. Those guys were there just in case."

"That doesn't rule out the possibility that there are more death troopers on this ship," Jameson pointed out.

"And they're all probably converging on the VIP area, looking to box us in," Scorch added.

"Actually," a new voice spoke into Rex's ear, a terse rumble that reminded him of a university professor in dire need of a retirement package, "they're pursuing you toward the aft escape pods. You apparently decided that taking us hostage wasn't as important as getting off of this ship alive. At least, that's what the ship's motion sensors are telling them."

"I think I'm a bit insulted that they believe that," Rex said. "Doctor Erwin, I presume?"

"The one and only," the voice spoke. "If you'd like to complete your objective and leave this ship alive, I suggest you find your way to the VIP escape pods within the next four minutes. I don't imagine the death troopers will be pleased at the ruse when they figure it out."

As he spoke, a new marker appeared on Rex's HUD, marking the location of a small escape pod dock within the VIP area. He supposed it made sense that they would have their own private method of escape.

"Why are you helping us?" Wolffe asked. "Why should we trust you?"

"Because you're our best chance of getting free of the Empire, and because you have absolutely no other option that doesn't involve a lengthy torture followed by a painful demise."

"He has an excellent point," Korg observed.

"Alright," Rex grumbled, glancing around at his team. "Let's move."

…

Morley Erwin had never much been a fan of political movements. Firmly a man of science, he'd happily practiced his craft alongside his sister for most of his life, even earning the attention of Tony Stark as one of the few people able to understand (and even occasionally improve upon) his cutting-edge designs. For a while, things had been absolutely perfect, with Morley and Cly spending their days keeping the Republic ahead of the game while they went up against one of the most sophisticated droid armies ever put into production.

But perfect things never stayed that way.

As the war had drawn to a close—as the Republic had finally looked ready to see an end to the Separatist Crisis—Tony Stark had changed, drastically so. Before, even in the most desperate moments when he'd skirted the edges of what was good in the name of what was right, Tony had always had a heroic light behind his eyes. There was always something there, something good. But somewhere along the way, that light had flickered out, and Tony Stark had become a mere echo of the man he'd once been, as artificial as his creations.

In light of that, he and Cly had privately discussed the possibility of leaving. Of course, one didn't simply resign from Tony Stark's employ if one valued his life. Alone, just the two of them at the mercy of the galaxy and with Darth Vader nipping at their heels, they would surely be captured or dead within a week. They would need help. They would need the Rebellion.

And, as fate would have it, the Rebellion was all but breaking down their door.

"If they find out about this…" Cly fretted quietly, tapping with frantic fingers at the holoterminal as they continued to feed the death troopers a false trail leading from the aft escape pods (which had been jettisoned to thwart the rebels' "escape attempt") and toward the ship's hangar.

"If we don't make a break for it now, we're getting pulled into Project Hammertong," Morley told her. "You heard what happened on Alderaan. You heard what he did to it."

Cly fell silent at that; both of them were fluent in a number of languages, and none had words to adequately describe the horror of Alderaan. Morley felt awful for any Alderaanian that had been off-planet during the strike. How did one go on knowing everything they had come from had been obliterated, left a pale husk of what it had once been?

They were snapped from their musings by the muted woosh of a door flying open, and they were joined by the Rebel contingent. Morley counted two clone troopers, a commando, a Rebel militiawoman, and…a kronan and a Sakaraan grub in some sort of armor-like apparatus.

Well, they didn't look like much, but they seemed to be an effective unit, at least. As soon as they burst in, they swept the room, scouring every nook and cranny for an ambush. Thankfully, it was a fairly small pod bay, meant only to allow a half-dozen or so VIPs to escape in a hurry. Aside from four small hatches set even along the wall, the only other features to the room were a cart they had dragged in to set up Cly's holoterminal.

"Clear!" the commando called.

"Clear!" the militiawoman echoed. Morley had enough time to appreciate that she was quite striking (if a bit young for him) before the apparent leader of the group strode forward. Morley recognized his voice, though that meant little in light of the fact that he shared a voice with half his unit.

"Doctor Erwin," he said. "I'm General Rex."

"General," Morley said, gesturing behind him to one of the escape pods. "We'd best be quick. Cly, load up."

Cly gathered her terminal, hurrying toward the pod. General Rex glanced at his crew before motioning them into the pod as well. While they filed past him, Rex surveyed Morley, and while his face was hidden behind the rather intimidating visage of his helmet, Morley could see the skepticism in every bit of his body language.

"I have no reason to betray you," he said. "I could have left you at the mercy of those death troopers, and you would all be captured or dead right now. I joined up with Tony Stark, I wanted to be a scientist. Not help Darth Vader wipe out entire planets."

"Well then," General Rex finally said after a thoughtful pause. "Let's get you somewhere you can actually do some good for this galaxy."

"Gladly," Morley said, leading the way onto the escape pod. Rex climbed aboard, and once they were all secured, Morley yanked the lever. With a grating hiss, the hatch snapped shut, and the pod lurched as they were hurled out into space.

"Won't they scan the pod for life signs?" Rex asked, and Cly answered from the back, still prodding at her terminal while the kronan looked on curiously.

"VIP pods have some sophisticated stealth tech installed on them," she said. "Makes it harder for the wrong sort to track them, and it makes it easier for someone with the right know-how to control what anyone scanning this pod actually sees. As far as the Empire can tell, the only ones aboard are Morley and myself."

"That's downright clever, that is," the kronan said with a beaming smile. "You two are going to be valuable additions to the cause."

"Speaking of 'the cause'," Morley said with a look at General Rex, "how are you planning to get us there? Vader's not going to be pleased at losing track of us. He'll be hot on our heels."

"Jameson?" the general asked, turning toward the militiawoman. She was already poking at the pilot controls, the pod shifting as the thrusters engaged.

"I can head us toward the rendezvous, whenever you're ready," she said with a look at Cly. "I don't suppose you can whip up a false trail, send 'em on a wild bantha chase?"

"That's definitely something I'm able to do," Cly said, swiping over to another screen and resuming her tapping. "We're close enough to Glee Anselm that we could have reasonably drifted into the gravity well."

"Isn't Glee Anselm mostly water?" the other clone trooper asked.

"It's almost entirely water," Cly said. "They'll be looking for a long time before they realize we never even made the surface."

"Alright then," Rex said with a nod toward the woman called Jameson. "Get us moving."

"Yes, sir."

…

One of the most closely-guarded secrets among the Rebellion was the location of their home base on planet Seelos, which hadn't been found as much as rediscovered over a decade ago by a man named James Rhodes, looking for a place of refuge for members of the Republic military still loyal to the notion of democracy. Fleeing from a complete and total seizure of power at the hands of Tony Stark during the Purge, Colonel Rhodes had spun his ship toward the Outer Rim and engaged his hyperdrive in a last-ditch effort to escape with what few politicians there still were with a shred of decency.

Gwen found the very notion laughable.

On that day, though, James Rhodes found a reason to believe in the Force, to believe that there was something unfathomable out there with a will of its own that wanted a better fate for the galaxy. Because instead of landing himself in the middle of the unforgiving emptiness of space, he found his ship being pulled toward the gravity well of a planet, one ancient and forgotten but still perfectly habitable.

And on that planet, he'd found a facility, unknowable and vast, that spanned nearly an entire mountain range and delved kilometers beneath the surface.

On that day, James Rhodes had known that he'd found the home of the Rebellion.

"The exact purpose of this place is still unknown," Riri went on, "since most of the computers are programmed in a language that's completely different from any we've ever seen. We've managed to splice in some of our own stuff to operate the more basic systems like doors and lighting and ventilation, but this complex goes deep into the mountain. There are over a hundred floors we haven't even touched yet."

"And I bet you're just itching to get a hold of some of the tech that's probably hidden down there," Dad said with a grin.

"In fact I am," Riri smirked right back. "I love ancient tech. Imagine the stuff we could learn if we just managed to access even one terminal. This structure is probably thousands of years old. What kind of millennia-old supercomputer or AI system could be waiting for us on the bottom floor?"

"My luck, I'd get stuck down there if I went to take a look," Dad said, glancing around. "Hey. Where's your little droid buddy?"

"Oh, Viz is up on the Eclector, keeping things ship-shape and supervising some repairs," she said. "She's a good old ship. Once she's fixed up, I can go on missions, supply runs, do some good for the Rebellion. You wanna come along?"

"Well, it would sure be familiar work," Dad pointed out.

"Wait," Gwen spoke up, and the pair looked back as though only just realizing she was there. "Dad, what about me?"

"Well…you can come, too," Riri said with a sheepish smile, and Gwen had to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

"I don't really wanna go back to living on a ship and tagging along while Dad goes on mission after mission," she said. "It wasn't fun before, I doubt it'll be better this time."

"Gwen," Dad said in a voice that was trying for calm, "nothing's decided yet. Let's just have a chat with James Rhodes and see where things go from there."

"There you are," a familiar voice spoke as they passed by a smaller branching hallway, and Gwen gasped when she recognized the speaker.

"Jean!" she spun and launched herself into a hug with the blonde woman, who gave her a firm squeeze back.

"Hey, punk," she said fondly, reaching up to tousle Gwen's hair. "Glad to see you're okay."

"DeWolff," Dad said with a nod. "Something up?"

"I heard Gwen was here," she said, arms still wrapped loosely around Gwen's shoulders. "Believe it or not, I kinda like the kid, so I wanted to see her. Where are you off to?"

"Colonel Rhodes wanted to see the two of us for a debriefing," Dad said with a gesture at Riri.

"Sounds like a gas," Jean said flatly. "Hey, why don't I show Gwen around? All she's gonna do is stand around in there anyway."

"I would prefer if she joined us for the debriefing – "

"So I can watch you two talk about your adventure together?" Gwen drawled. "I don't really need to be around for any of this, do I?"

"I suppose not," Dad said with an unreadable expression. "After the meeting, I'll come and find you and we can go for a walk, just the two of us. How's that sound?"

"Sure," Gwen said, aware that her voice was hitting the bratty edges of lofty but unable to do anything about it. She almost left them with a parting remark about Riri's status as Dad's "new daughter", but even she wasn't so petty.

Out loud, anyway.

Allowing Jean to lead her back down the hallway she'd come from, Gwen took a moment to really admire the Rebels' base. Without Riri sullying the experience with her "grand tour", she could really appreciate the place. She'd been expecting some sort of ramshackle hut—a prefab unit stolen from a construction site or something; but the Rebels were living it up in this massive underground bunker. The high ceilings and cavernous corridors gave the impression that the original inhabitants had been some species of giant, but most of the amenities left behind (computer terminals, kitchens, partially-furnished living quarters) suggested that they were fairly human-sized and simply favored a bit of extra elbow room.

After a life aboard ships that could be generously described as cozy, it was a welcome change.

"So…Jedi, huh?" Jean said as they made a right. Through an automatic door, they found themselves with a breathtaking view of the mountain sunset, the entire right side of the hallway devoted to massive bay windows that Gwen was given to understand also functioned as solar collection panels.

"Yeah," she said after a silence filled only by the soft hum of the ventilation system. "A Jedi. Eventually, I guess."

"That's a pretty big thing to just find out," Jean said. "How you dealing with it?"

"How am I dealing with everything else?" Gwen asked with a shrug. "It's like… I wake up now, and I wonder what other ridiculous stupid thing life is gonna throw at me today. Am I gonna find out that Mom was a Sith or…Dad isn't even really my dad and I'm actually the daughter of Emperor Stark?"

"It does seem like everything's just getting heaped on you, doesn't it?" Jean agreed. She fell silent, and Gwen found herself glad that she had simply let the sentiment speak for itself. No platitudes, no well-meaning but ultimately useless advice. It was a bad time, and that was that.

"And now Dad's got his new best pal," Gwen went on in a grumble. "Glad to see he was having a blast while I was gone."

"Hey, now, that's not fair," Jean said, her tone gently chiding, and Gwen found herself choking up as she immediately regretted her words. "Your dad had only one thing on his mind the entire time we were out there, and that was getting back to you, keeping you safe. You can argue all day that he's done some stupid things trying to do that, and I have. A lot."

Gwen let a watery giggle as she wiped her eyes, accepting a tissue from Jean to dab at some tears running down her cheeks.

"But that man loves you so much it's ridiculous," Jean went on. "He played along with the Empire for years because it helped you two fly under the radar, even when I've recently found out that he doesn't entirely agree with their politics. And now that the Empire's got your scent, he's hopped right over to the Rebellion. For you."

"You don't sound entirely happy about that," Gwen observed, looking up to see Jean's mouth pressing into a thin line.

"I'm certainly not unhappy about keeping you from…whatever the Empire does to Jedi," she said. "I suppose…I'm just afraid. The Empire may not be the most benevolent government, but they gave me a stable life, employment, structure. I realize that that came at the cost of simply not asking questions. And now I may be doing the right thing, but…"

"The life you knew is gone and there's no going back," Gwen said. She certainly understood that dilemma.

"Exactly," Jean nodded.

"What do you do?" Gwen asked, the words tumbling out. "When there's no going back but…you can't imagine going forward? Because it's not at all what you were hoping for or even…willing to settle for?"

Jean was silent for a moment, and Gwen knew her well enough to know that she was carefully picking out her words, trying to articulate something she'd always known but never had to actually talk about.

"The mistake a lot of people make is assuming life is a path or a line," she said. "I get caught up in it a lot of the time, too. You think everything that's happened before automatically spells out where you're going next. But at the end of the day, you're the one steering. You can keep going what you think is forward, or you can make your own forward."

"Make my own forward?" Gwen asked. "…How would I do that?"

Jean shrugged, pausing to stare out the window as dusk overtook the valley below. It was pitch-black outside, with absolutely no external lights to give away the base's location and not even a moon to light up the night sky. The dark backdrop reminded her of the view from the Sentinel, granting her the familiar sight of her own translucent reflection. Gwen spared the now-familiar sight of her exhausted image only a moment's consideration, looking back to Jean as she studied her own.

"You pick a direction," Jean finally said. "And you just go."

…..

"Approaching the Marveller, General Rex," Jameson said, peering back over her shoulder. "How's our six?"

"Clear," Cly replied. In front of her, a radar screen of some sort revealed an empty expanse, and Rex made a note to let Wasabi know that his stealth field had worked flawlessly. Jameson's ship sat unmolested, grav-locked to the surface of an asteroid on the edge of a belt within the Jalor System. "I do believe we've shaken them."

"Not likely for long," Rex said. "Let's get aboard, ASAP."

"You betcha," Jameson said, taking out a communicator. "Garia, fire up the engines and bust open the hangar. We're coming in."

"Yes, Miss Jameson," the crisp voice of a female protocol droid spoke back. "Are we having guests? Shall I prepare tea?"

"You guys want tea?" Jameson called back.

"Yeh, I'll have tea," Korg said, and Miek chittered eagerly as well. Jameson studied the rest, but when no other response was forthcoming, she shrugged and tapped her communicator again.

"Three teas, Garia," Jameson said as the pod swooped in toward the stern of a rather sizable freighter. According to Jameson, the thing was apparently quite old—from a time before even the Clone Wars—and had been a pirate vessel before she had "obtained" it.

That fact sure went a long way toward explaining the thick armor plating and what Scorch had declared "almost enough guns".

As they drifted into the hangar, the pod slowly settled onto the deck, only taking up about half of the available space—the Marveller was a bulky thing with plenty of space for captured ships and loot. With a lurch, the ship's microgravity generator kicked in, and the pod shifted heavily to one side. A muted rumble from outside meant that the hangar door had sealed shut, and Rex's ears popped as the hangar was pumped with air that quickly set to match the pressure in the pod.

"Aaaand, we're good," Jameson said, tapping a final few buttons the pod's controls before taking out her communicator again. "Garia, prime the hyperdrive. I'll be right up."

"At once, Miss Jameson," Garia said. "Your tea is waiting in the lounge."

She was off, with her two tea pals in tow, and Rex clambered from the escape pod behind them. Wolffe was immediately behind him, and he helped their two new passengers down next. Bringing up the rear, Scorch turned to survey the pod.

"Probably a thousand different tracking devices on this thing," he pointed out. Rex nodded, pulling his helmet free and tucking it under his arm. Likewise, the other clones did the same.

Though all three of them were physically the same person (perfect copies of a man named Clint Barton), most clone troopers made an effort to assert their individuality. Wolffe was the most distinctive, with a scar that ran nearly the length of his face from forehead to chin and directly over his right eye, which had been replaced with a cybernetic not too long after the Clone Wars had begun. Like his clone brothers, his fair hair was starting to show a bit of premature gray, which was understandable in light of the fact that while they were all biologically in their mid-thirties, they were dealing with a bit of stress in their line of work.

"I'll go talk to Jameson about dumping this thing before we jump to hyperspace," he said, his boots thudding quietly against the bulkhead as he made his way after the rest of their squad. Scorch remained behind, leaning against the escape pod and studying their new scientist friends. The ex-commando was bulkier than most clones—owing to his choice of weapon often being one step short of an entire artillery cannon—and he bore a number of scars and burns along his face and scalp. He was necessarily bald simply because any hair grew in patchy and sparse, though he compensated for this with a healthy beard to rival Rex's. At Rex's scrutiny, he turned and fixed him with a curious look.

"What about these two?" he asked. "Brig?"

"They came quietly," Rex said. "I think we can give them the benefit of the doubt for now."

"Hm," Scorch noised, turning back to the two. "For now."

"Why don't you go radio Rhodes and let him know the extraction was a success?" Rex asked him. The commando nodded and stood, heading for the bridge. This left Rex alone with the two scientists, who were packing up Cly's holoterminal into some kind of case for easy transportation.

"I can show you to one of the spare rooms," Rex said. "Once we dump the pod, we're taking the scenic route home."

"By way of where, exactly?" Morley asked.

"Knowhere," Rex said.

"By way of…nowhe – "

"It's a planet," Rex cut him off, tired of the usual litany of responses to the name of the planet. "Well, sort of. It's a big…head that was turned into a kind of…it has a 'K' at the beginning. 'Know where', so it's…Knowhere."

"That's quaint, I suppose," Cly said. "Now what?"

"Now?" Rex asked with a shrug. "We all grab some rack while we can. Welcome to the Rebellion."

He ushered them from the hangar, which opened moments later to let the escape pod drift free and float into the asteroid field. Less than five minutes after that, the engines powered up with a rumbling hum, sending them hurtling at lightspeed toward Knowhere. And—only two minutes after they'd disappeared safely into hyperspace—the space around the Emperor's Hand was swarming with ships, including Darth Vader's personal Imperial shuttle.

The Rebellion had just gained two of its most crucial members, snatched—appropriately enough—right out of Vader's hand.

Rex found himself appreciating the irony as he dozed off in his bunk.

…

Whoever had built this place, at least they'd appreciated the view of the mountain range it afforded; the facility was dotted with plenty of observation decks on which to take in a breathtaking sunrise as it painted the rocky peaks a vibrant pink that slowly faded to a gleaming gold. On one such deck, George stood thinking that it still could never compare to the sunrises on Alderaan, home. With Helen at his side, chidingly pulling a lit cigarette from his mouth and tossing it to the wooden deck under their feet before stomping on it. He could still hear the whisper in his ear, the playful lilt to her voice.

"I'd like to keep you around, you know."

And yet she'd been the one to disappear, leaving him with no other option but to seek security in the arms of a cold dictatorship. It had never been his intention to become so embedded in the Imperial military, but the routine had been comfortable, become familiar. Did he miss it? More often than he cared to admit to himself. That simple life, with all its flaws, had at least allowed him a safe environment in which he could raise his daughter. His Gwendy.

When had she gotten so grown up? Where had the time gone? Instead of the angelic little pistol he'd so callously packed away on a dreary gray ship, next to him stood a beautiful young woman, a vision of Helen in her younger years. Tragically, her eyes even bore the same haunted expression Helen had often lapsed into during her visits. Certainly, Gwen had seen some terrible things in the past few days, horrors that he was sure would linger for some time.

Worst of all, there was simply nothing George could do about it. He'd bought, begged, and stolen as many years as he could, but it hadn't been enough. This war, this galaxy had big plans for Gwen, and it had finally caught up to them, wresting her from his grasp.

"I just wanted more time with my daughter," he said after a protracted silence. Gwen seemed to rouse from a deep thought of her own, sleepily sipping at a cup of caff from the cantina near their room. She drank caff now? He wanted to scold her about stunting her growth, but she was already growing too fast for his taste.

"I…I know," she finally said, her voice hoarse with emotion. "I know, Dad, I'm…sorry I got upset with you. It's just… Everything that was happening, and…is happening… I found the first person I had even a small issue with and just unloaded on him."

"I knew your teenage years would be difficult, but I couldn't have imagined this," George said with a wry smile, and Gwen snorted out a little laugh, sipping at her caff. "You start your training with Master Banner today, don't you?"

"Yeah," she groused, pouting at the cup in her hand. "I get to be a Jedi."

"That's hardly the worst thing to find out," George said. "I'm…sorry you didn't get a chance to start sooner."

"Well, you couldn't exactly put out an ad on the holonet for a Jedi instructor for your daughter or something," she said with a smirk that melted into a genuine smile as she turned toward him. For a brief second, George was looking at Helen, laying eyes on her for the first time as she strode confidently into his office at the Republic base in Delaney and asked for assistance with "a very important Jedi mission". Her brash bravado, her warmth, the way she didn't seem to simply parrot the Jedi ideals but actually believed that everyone in the galaxy deserved a helping hand…

It had been impossible for George to do anything except fall hard for her that day.

"Your mother would be so proud of you," she said at Gwen's questioning expression, earning a bashful smile. Before she could respond, though, a voice spoke, one that George was not pleased to realize was vaguely familiar.

"She would, indeed," Captain Phasma spoke as George turned to face him. "But would she proud of you, George?"