ABOARD THE MALACHOR, 40 YEARS ABE:

None of the frantic, subdued chaos of the detention level had yet made its way to the small conference room in which Stella and her mother-general sat. Their conversation had been light, skirting topics that would have required either of them-predominantly Vensell-to violate oaths of service by sharing government secrets with an agent of an opposing power. Even with the strain of that deliberate discretion tugging at them, it had still been pleasant to have a chance to catch-up. Stella now looked fully comfortable in her seat, one booted foot propped on an adjoining chair, and even Vensell had relaxed from her stiff military posture to settle herself more casually.

If anyone in the local monitoring station had noticed the lack of holocam feed from this room, no one had yet intruded to try and do anything about it. As dangerous as it was, there were definite benefits to evoking the specter of Imperial Intelligence, privacy not the least of them.

Aesthetic was another, even if only one of the two women in the room was likely to agree.

"That uniform does look good on you," Vensell said fondly. Her smile was soft and her dark eyes misty.

Stella shook her head, her own grin crooked. "You know I'd never make it in a military. Too much obedience and conformity and actually following rules instead of flaunting them."

Vensell snorted. "Yes, and I know how you feel about the Empire too."

Stella nodded. "Just a little too much tyranny for me, Mama Avi. Sorry."

Vensell flapped her hand in a dismissive gesture, her nose wrinkling. "Pah," she said, "most beings in this galaxy, they need a little tyranny. Far too stupid to be left to make their own choices. It will only get them hurt."

"And the Humanocentrism?" Stella's voice was gentle, her smile kind.

Vensell shifted in her chair, visibly uncomfortable. "Eh, you know you can't make a ryshcate without breaking a few eggs…"

Stella shook her head again, her smile still kind but somehow merciless as well. "Some eggs are too precious to break, mama."

"Well." Vensell shifted more sharply, not meeting Stella's eyes. "There's less of it than there used to be. You know that."

"I doubt the New Republic could have convinced many of its member-systems to sign a peace treaty otherwise." It was Stella's turn to shift in her chair, leaning forward, a pensive frown on her face. "What went wrong with that? Do you know?"

Vensell stilled, her discomfort banished by duty. "Nothing I can tell you, precious peril. Nothing I'm sure you haven't discerned for yourself, anyway."

"The new emperor?" Stella hazarded.

Vensell nodded. "I'd still be on Bastion celebrating our successful negotiations otherwise," she said grimly. "It was the emperor who ordered us 'diplomats' into the field. All of us who had worked on the treaty have been reassigned to active military roles. Revan wanted to see if we had the spine for a fight, I believe." Vensell's thin smile was ironic. "At least I'll get to show that I've got more of that than they ever wanted from me now, thanks to you."

"Sorry, mama."

Vensell sighed and shook her head. "I shouldn't even be surprised." Her smile turned rueful. "You are a Calrissian, after all. Trouble is just what you do."

Stella laughed and leaned forward to hug her again. They were mid-embrace when Stella's comm beeped. She sat back quickly and drew it from her pocket, checking the sender even though she knew who it had to be. No one but Bail would be sending her a code-burst from onboard an Imperial Super Star Destroyer. She looked up and met Vensell's eyes. "That's my extraction signal," she said softly.

Vensell nodded, her lined face calm. "What would you have said it was, if I were some hapless ensign assigned to babysit you while you 'waited' for me?"

"Reassignment orders. To take me to where you were waiting on Bastion instead."

Vensell nodded again. "Clever." She folded her hands in her lap and heaved a sigh. "Say hello to your father for me when you see him next," she said, mustering another smile. "And tell him he's still a worthless no-good scoundrel with pedestrian taste in capes."

Stella laughed. "I will," she said, before drawing her blaster and shooting Avoria Vensell with a point-blank stun blast.

Vensell jerked back and then slumped, toppling forward. Stella caught her shoulders before the older woman's face could collide with the table and lowered her down gently. She stood, holstered her blaster again, then paused and looked down at her one-time mother. There had been no way to salvage this situation from the moment Vensell walked through that door, but Stella had to at least try and do something.

She reached over and tore the rank-cylinders and data-sticks away from Vensell's uniform. "I hope that's enough to keep them from thinking you helped us willingly," Stella said, and bent down to kiss the motionless Vensell on the forehead.

Then she picked-up her datapad and ran for the door. Three steps after she crossed the threshold, the ship's alarms began to blare.