Kyp did not want to meditate.

The Solo residence in the Imperial Palace was not enormous by the standards of some beings on Coruscant, but it was not small either. It had four bedrooms, all of which were occupied by one member of the extended family or another, a kitchen, a large dining and leisure space, a few utility closets, and Leia's office. Kyp was in the leisure space, sitting near the large windows overlooking the city, as Han finished cleaning up from breakfast. Chewbacca was elsewhere, likely working on the Falcon in preparation for a trip back to Kashyyyk. Jacen was ambling around after his father; Jaina was playing with a toy droid that had become her favorite (she had a tendency to take it apart and then cry when she couldn't figure out how to put it back together again).

Kyp stood up and circled the room. A stack of datapads were on a bench against the wall, along with a few flimsi-bound tomes. That was Kyp's homework, assigned by Winter. Kyp didn't resent it, exactly, but he'd still rather have gone with Chewie to help the Wookiee work on the Falcon.

The meditation was his homework assigned by Luke and Kam. He liked them, if he found Kam a bit standoffish—Kam was the kind of person who, had he been sentenced to the Spice Mines, would have claimed his corner and not let anyone approach that corner for the duration of his stay—and Kyp found Jedi training about the Force far more interesting (perhaps because he found it less difficult) than Winter's endless lessons about galactic history, the Basic language, mathematics (although Chewie had convinced Kyp he would need it for space travel, so Kyp put in a real effort), and the rest of his assigned courses.

There was a door chime. "Hey kid," Han called from the kitchen. Jacen poked his head out the side of the door frame, peering at the front door, and Jaina momentarily stopped her dismantling of her toy droid to look up as well. "Get the door, will you? That'll be Bel Iblis."

"Sure," Kyp called back, already in motion. He nearly stumbled as Mobvekhar seemed to appear from nowhere just behind him, standing attentively near the door—just in case whoever was beyond it was a threat, Kyp supposed. "How do you do that?" Kyp scowled.

"Practice," the Noghri growled, embellishing his guttural Basic with harsh consonants.

Kyp frowned at him and opened the door.

Garm Bel Iblis was as tall as Kyp. Neither of them were quite as tall as Han Solo, and neither reached the gargantuan heights of Kam Solusar, but Bel Iblis' eyes were level with Kyp's as the door opened. "Ah, Master Durron," the tall Corellian greeted him. "I take it the Councilor and her husband are distracted at the moment?"

"Han is in the kitchen," Kyp replied, taking a step back to allow Bel Iblis to enter the room. From the kitchen there was a sound of Jacen's babbling while Han dealt with domestic chores.

Jaina popped her head over the couch. "Unca GAM!" Next to her was her toy droid, now dismantled into its component parts, and Kyp wondered if this time she would succeed in putting it back together on her own, or if Chewbacca would find his way back to the apartment to help her reassemble it.

"Well hello there, Miss Jaina," Bel Iblis greeted the brown-haired toddler with a smile.

Jaina grinned back, holding up the head of her dismantled droid. "Droid!"

Bel Iblis' expression flickered with something undefinable, but Kyp had an advantage he was still learning to use. The sudden wave of sorrow that crashed over the Corellian Senator was enough to almost make Kyp's knees buckle. Jaina seemed to note it too, her tiny expression scrunching in dismay.

Bel Iblis' eyes widened in understanding and he immediately stepped past Kyp. He took Jaina's small hand in his, offering her a reassuring touch, then helping her fit the droid's dome back atop its tiny, pretend-brain.

"Ta-ta," said Jaina, having easily moved past the moment. She fell down on the couch and went about trying to put the other pieces together with a studious look on her face.

"I'm sorry," Bel Iblis murmured to Kyp, now that Jaina was settled. "I didn't mean for you to…" his voice trailed off, and he offered a slight shrug. "I'm not used to being among Force sensitives again. It must be an odd experience, having so many together in the same space."

"You get good at shielding your feelings," Kyp said. "Jacen and Jaina pick up on intense emotions quickly." He watched Bel Iblis curiously, thinking about things his newfound family had said. He tried some of the unfamiliar words, flashes of memory of his own parents and how they'd taught him to treat others. Words which would have been utterly alien, were he still on Kessel. "Are you all right?"

Bel Iblis sighed softly. "Just an unexpected memory, that's all," he replied. He offered Kyp a sad smile. "The Empire took my family from me, too," he explained. But Bel Iblis, Kyp realized, had taken that pain and turned it into purpose, and refused to linger over it. "But that's why it's important we keep moving forward. This thing that Han and Leia have built, a marriage, children, family, it's as precious as spun emberglass, and just as fragile sometimes." He shook himself from his reverie. "I take it Councilor Organa is in her office?"

Kyp nodded. "With Winter and Threepio." He passed a happy Jaina still putting legs back on her droid and knocked on the door to Leia's personal workspace. "Leia?" he called, still not entirely comfortable using her first name but just as uncomfortable using any of her titles. "Gener— err, Senator Bel Iblis is here."

The door slid open. "Oh my," Threepio said apologetically, appearing on the other side of the threshold. "I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting. Please, do come in Councilor."

Garm offered Kyp a smile, then entered the office. The door slid closed behind him.

"Learn from that one," Came a rasp from behind him. Kyp spun around. He had entirely forgotten Mobvekhar's presence. "To grow so old as a warrior shows much wisdom," the Noghri growled from beside him, making Kyp jump and scowl yet again.

"I'll keep that in mind," Kyp growled back, furious at allowing himself to be startled yet again. And yet, the Noghri's presence was a reassurance, too, because Kyp knew Mobvekhar and Cakhmaim were here to protect the Solos, and anyone dedicated to protecting his family Kyp considered a friend.

Even if Mobvekhar was more terrifying than anyone he'd known on Kessel.

Leia looked up as the door slid open, her cheeks going flush with embarrassment. "Oh no, Garm, I'm sorry I lost track of time or Winter and I would have met you when you arrived." She silently chastised herself for not setting an alarm.

"Oh, it's no problem," Garm replied. "Kyp and Jaina let me in."

That made Leia smile. "Kyp then. Jaina tries but she's not tall enough to reach the door controls yet." She gestured for Garm to come join her and Winter by her desk. "We were just reviewing the latest draft of the Concordat," she explained. "The structure of the Senate and the process by which the Committees will be appointed."

Garm nodded seriously as he settled into the chair across from Leia's. Winter settled into her chair next to him. Leia's desk was covered with datapads and flimsi-bound volumes, computer screens busy with texualt comparisons and references to ancient legal traditions and the governing documents of a thousand different worlds. Being able to refer to all the old traditions was vital, Leia was convinced, to persuade all the worlds of the Old Republic to commit anew to a galactic government.

Winter's side of the desk was entirely empty. She needed no references for the sake of comparison, a fact of that Leia was both envious of and horrified by.

"I'm afraid that's not what I wanted to discuss," Garm said seriously. He paused, glancing between the two women, then sighed heavily. "Leia,I think the Provisional Council is approaching this problem in entirely the wrong way."

Leia's breath caught in her throat. The last thing they needed was a division in the Council itself about the Concordat. Even a hint of discordance, especially from someone as prominent as Garm Bel Iblis, could potentially be disastrous when it came time for ratification. Leia schooled her expression into something that she hoped was less panicked than she felt. "What do you mean?"

Garm gestured at all the datapads. "Leia, the Council—" Leia knew in her gut that by 'the Council', what Garm really meant was 'Mon Mothma' "—is intent on reconstituting the Old Republic. The structures you're describing here are largely identical to the structures that I remember from my last tenure in the Senate, which are largely identical to the ones you remember from the Imperial Senate." He held up a hand, forestalling her objection. "I know there are differences, but they're marginal differences. I'm afraid the emphasis is in the wrong place."

"Go on," Leia encouraged, her panic subsiding. Bel Iblis wasn't attacking the project itself. That was good.

"Instead of thinking about how to rebuild the Old Republic," Bel Iblis went on, "we should be thinking about what went wrong with the Old Republic. How did Chancellor Palpatine manage to subvert the institution?" He suddenly looked very tired and very old, Leia thought, as he hunched over the far side of the desk, leaning towards her and Winter. "I was there too, along with Mon Mothma and your father. I mourn Bail's absence, Leia, more than you know, because I think now is the moment we miss him most. He did so like to build."

Leia took a slow breath, fighting back a wave of sadness. It was a thought she'd had herself, more than a few times, in the last year. Along with Mon Mothma, Bail Organa had been the finest political mind Leia had ever known—with the possible exception of Breha Organa—and Garm was right. She felt their absence mightily now, even more than she had in the months after Yavin. Then, she had merely mourned them and lamented their absence from her life. Now, she lamented their absence from the galaxy, and wished dearly she still had their guidance and wisdom.

"But he and I used to sit down and talk about this, with Sena and your mother," Garm continued. "The Old Republic was corrupt. It had been for centuries, but in the last decades it had reached the point where graft was the only factor that many Senators even considered when making voting decisions. It was stagnant, unable to act on virtually any issue until it was decades past the moment of maximum impact, which left millions to suffer indignities, especially on the Rim. And all this was complicated by its sheer size."

"The New Republic will not be as large as the old one was," Winter said, with her clean, aristocratic Alderaanian accent. "And it will have stricter rules about who can and cannot have a Senate seat."

"Of course," Leia agreed readily. "We're trying to take steps to deal with each of these issues, Garm, but it can be hard—"

"Leia," Garm interrupted. "I've read the latest draft of the Concordat. I think it's very good in a lot of ways. I like the extensive Committee system, and how it takes some of the legislative and executive authority out of the hands of the Senate and gives it to appointed specialists while maintaining oversight mechanisms. I like how the Chief of State's authority is heavily restricted, to make sure we can't have another Palpatine emerge. But like any government, whether or not it functions well will rely on the good will of the members of the Senate, and that's not something you or I or Mon Mothma can guarantee." He removed a datapad from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. "I think we ought to transfer more authority from the Senate to the Sectors, and let the Sector governments have a lot more autonomy and authority than they did under the Old Republic or the Empire. So that if the Senate does return to its old, dysfunctional ways, that doesn't mean the end of effective governance."

Leia took the pad, skimming it quickly. She hid a grimace, then handed it off to Winter so that her aide could memorize it. "If we decentralize too much, Garm, we risk the Republic becoming an empty monument."

"The Old Republic had been declining for centuries," Garm countered. "It had grown too large to be governed effectively. If we don't decentralize and defer more power to the Sectors, the same resentment that Palpatine harnessed to break the Old Republic will build up again. We need an institution that can manage and mitigate, not one that can control."

It doesn't hurt though, Leia thought with a hidden frown, that in a more decentralized galaxy, your home system would be one of the most powerful players, if not the most powerful. But that wasn't fair—Bel Iblis was a Corellian and proud of that fact, just as Han was, but Bel Iblis had always been a Republican patriot, too.

She brought up a different point instead. "How do we ensure that the Sectors look after the interests of all their member worlds? Or ensure that resources don't flow just to the Core, leaving the Outer Rim deprived of resources needed to prosper?"

Garm shrugged. "I have ideas on each of these points, but I was hoping that you might be willing to help me develop them." His expression darkened. "Mon Mothma will trust me with a Generalship, Leia, but she won't trust me with drafting the Concordat. And I am convinced that this is the route we need to take—for the good of the Republic, and for the good of the galaxy."

Leia sighed softly, then glanced at Winter. "Thoughts?"

"There are benefits and drawbacks of each approach," Winter said with a shrug. "You're never going to come to an absolutely right decision that is best in every case." She held up the datapad that Garm had given Leia. "I can see the advantages. I would point out, though, that the biggest difference between the New Republic and the Old Republic is already enshrined in our ruling documents: any world that wishes to depart may. If people decide that the Senate's authority is too onerous, they may simply leave. I believe that does relieve some of the pressure that General Bel Iblis has identified."

"But we don't want them to leave," Garm said flatly. "Every world that leaves is a conflict point. It's a potential border dispute, or resource conflict, and we won't have as many tools to address those issues if we don't all exist under the Republic's common authority. I've spent enough years fighting wars to know we want to avoid them as often as possible." He jabbed his finger at the desk. "And we need to get this right, and we need to get it right the first time. It will be easier to increase the Senate's authority later, after it has proven itself capable, than it will be to convince worlds to accept it still unproven."

That was more than Leia could process quickly without taking some time to confer. Leia took a breath, then reached for her cup of caf. She sipped it and winced; the liquid was lukewarm, and the wrong sort of bitter. "All right," she said after a moment. "You haven't convinced me, but we can spend some time working through the issues." She looked across the room and smiled at Threepio, waiting attentively. "Threepio, would you get us some fresh caf, and—" she winced "—tell Han we're going to be working through lunch again."

"Of course, Mistress." Threepio turned and ambled out, closing the door behind him.

"You realize," Leia said to Garm, "that making any changes of this magnitude will be extremely difficult, and first you will need to persuade me that it is necessary?"

"I do," Garm replied. He looked weary, though determined. A typical Corellian. "It is better to put the effort in now than it would be to find ourselves needing to correct later errors that cost in lives."

Tempered Mettle came out of hyperspace at the edge of Coruscant's detection grid and was immediately pinged by three different proximity sensors and a Nebulon-B frigate's targeting array. Slips, who had been relegated to the co-pilot role with Mara back aboard, let out a range of baritone beeps to convey its alarm.

"It's nothing to be alarmed about," Lando told the droid. "It's normal procedure."

Mara pressed her controls, sending the freighter's IFF and requesting a landing procedure. "Calm down, Slips," she instructed. "It's the New Republic's capital, they're bound to have security measures more ornate than the ones we run into at other places."

There was a pause after Mara sent the request. The frigate keeping watch powered down its targeting array, then sent Mara a response. She frowned at it in confusion. "We've been rerouted. Military priority," she said with a growing scowl. She sent her scowl in Lando and Luke's direction. "We're being told to rendezvous with one of the ships in the Fifth Fleet. Maybe you've heard of it? Lusankya?"

"I'm not surprised," Lando said calmly, his smooth voice almost as annoying as Karrde's. "Wedge probably wants to debrief us and get a look at the intel we managed to pull."

"Listen here, Calrissian," Mara snarled. It had been a couple days since they'd left Bespin, and she knew her irritation had been building at Lando's presence—and even Iella's—and their intrusion into her personal space and the precious time she and Luke had together. Now her annoyance flared into full-blown temper, because this wasn't a mere inconvenience. "This is my ship, and I prefer to keep a low profile. If I go around docking it on Super Star Destroyers, sooner or later someone is going to realize that it belongs to me, and the moment I lose my anonymity is the moment I become vulnerable. So if you think I'm going to—"

Artoo-Detoo wheeled around next to her, chirping an interruption. She snatched the translator out of the droid's outstretched grasping arm and read it. "Who gave you permission to switch out our transponder code with a false one?" she glared.

The droid whistled again, his large eye rotating from Mara to Luke, to Slips, then to Lando before going back to Mara. He backed up a few centimeters, warbling nervously.

Mara glared at the astromech droid and wondered why it was she had become fond of the hunk of rolling tin. Then she glared at Luke. "He says he anticipated my concerns." Her finger pointed directly at his chest. "You give him too much latitude to do what he wants."

Luke raised both his hands in a gesture that was half-apologetic, half-passing the blame. "Artoo does what he thinks best. I find the galaxy works better that way."

She glared at Luke, then at Artoo. "Next time ask me," she muttered, handing him back the translation device.

Artoo whistled his agreement and made his way back—speedily—to his place near Luke. Luke favored her with a smile, the innocent one that simultaneously irritated her to no end and made her want to kiss him. He knew it, too.

She tried to maintain her scowl. "Fine. Lusankya first. But," she looked in Artoo's direction. "You're paying all my docking fees when we finally get dirtside, short stuff. And don't tell me you don't have the credits, I know better." The astromech droid had, after all, had enough credits to enter the betting pool on how long it would take her and Luke to get together, even if he hadn't won.

Artoo moaned mournfully.

For better or worse, Luke could feel her irritation. His empathic skills—and his sensitivity to her emotions in particular—were easily strong enough for that if she wasn't deliberately trying to shield from him. And she wasn't. She made an effort, more and more, not to keep him out. The gradual, building intimacy was wonderful, even if she needed to run off with Karrde on the occasional short-haul job so she could have her mind fully to herself again.

Every time she did, though, she missed him fiercely.

Luke nudged Slips out of the co-pilot's seat and settled into it, replacing the pilot droid. Luke's presence settled in against hers, soothing without being intrusive, taking the edge off her irritation. So they weren't alone. They were at least together. She glanced at him sideways and caught him smiling at her. She shook her head, refusing to smile back—but having to resist the incessant tug on her lips to avoid it. Her irritation lifted, banished once again, and she had no idea how he always knew how to do that.

She followed the instructions the frigate had sent them. Ahead of them, the Republic's Fifth Fleet loomed larger, an impressive array of Mon Calamari Cruisers, Star Destroyers, and Katana Dreadnaughts all surrounding the enormous Lusankya.

The sight of Lusankya brought back a rush of memories for Mara. She'd been aboard Executor a time or two—none of those visits had been enjoyable—and seen Vader's command ship more than a few times. Sitting in the cockpit of what had been her transport as Emperor's Hand, heading in for a landing aboard Lusankya… for a moment it was as if the intervening years had not passed, the Emperor was still alive, and the Empire—her Empire—was alive and well.

But she wasn't accompanied by Stormtroopers or Imperial officers. Luke was at her side, and Lando and Iella were at the freighter's other bridge posts. The snubfighters now pacing and guiding her towards Lusankya's secure hangar weren't TIEs, but fancy new E-wings painted in New Republic colors. The moment of tension at the Imperial memory faded as she adjusted to the New Republic reality.

Mara eased Tempered Mettle down into a perfect landing.

"Never thought I'd be glad to be aboard a Super Star Destroyer," Lando said dryly.

"Lusankya isn't so bad, now that we've upstyled Isard's decor," Iella said brightly, like a design consultant. "Oh, and removed that pesky prison complex."

They all stood. "Slips, keep an eye on the ship," Mara instructed. "After we're out, lock up and don't let anyone unauthorized enter." Mara's list of authorized personnel included exactly three people: herself, Luke, and Iella.

Slips responded with a series of deep, confirming beeps.

They took the stairs down, walking out into the hangar. Aside from the two commandos who took up positions on either side of the hatchway and turned ostentatiously away, there were three people there to greet them. Wedge Antilles, looking more at home wearing a rugged grey Starfighter Command day uniform than he had at the Adarian Building in his full dress uniform, stood flanked by Sena Midanyl and a Bothan Captain who Mara didn't recognize.

Iella clearly did not care for formality. She didn't run or jump, exactly, but one moment she was coming down Tempered Mettle's ramp, the next she and Wedge were locked in a tight embrace murmuring endearments, and Mara thought that maybe a double date with them wouldn't be so bad after all. "The new uniform suits you," said Iella as she released him, adjusting his rank insignia and collar after she'd left them untidy.

Wedge grinned and kissed her lightly. Then he turned to Lando and Luke with a grin, parting his arms. "Gold Leader!"

"Red Leader," Lando replied with a laugh. The two men hugged, slapping each others' backs. "We got what we needed," Lando announced proudly as Wedge moved to hug Luke as well. "Thanks to a bit of quick thinking, some Force powers, and some good old fashioned gambler's luck."

"Great," Wedge laughed, sounding relieved. "You're still going to be joining us on campaign?" Wedge asked Lando as he released Luke, the two men sharing a quick greeting.

"I don't know that I have much choice," Lando chuckled softly. "I've been reactivated, after all. But Ackbar promised this would be the last time, and I managed to get his support for re-opening the mining operation on Nkllon in exchange. Besides, you're gonna need my help if you're gonna take back my city."

"That seems to be the fleet's job these days," Wedge said wryly. "Taking back planets without breaking them." He finally turned towards Mara. She was relieved that he didn't go for a hug, instead extending a hand; she took it, returning the handshake. "Jade, I hope you and Iella haven't gotten into too much trouble?" Wedge asked with a smile, his gaze flicking back to Iella.

Iella offered him an innocent smile. "I try not to."

Wedge rolled his eyes. "What was it you told me, Luke? Do or do not, there is no try?"

"Something like that."

Wedge stepped back, gesturing at the two people flanking him. "I believe most of you know Sena Midanyl. She's agreed to stay with the fleet for our first campaign before returning to the Senate to serve as Garm's aide." Then he gestured at the Bothan. "And this is Lusankya's commanding officer, Captain Traest Kre'fey. The seven of us are going to go find a nice large stateroom, two pots of caf, the best meal my stewards—" he laughed, shaking his head "—imagine saying that at Hoth, Luke? The best meal my stewards can make for us, and we're going to discuss how best to pry Cloud City and its Tibanna gas out of the claws of the Empire."

It was good to see Lando, Wedge thought. Almost as good as it was to see Luke. (It wouldn't be fair to compare them to Iella, she fit into a whole different category of Wedge's life.)

In the center of the room, Wedge's briefing table was illuminated dimly. A map of the Bespin system—the gas giant, its moons, the Imperial Sky Fortress, the patrol routes of its Carrack-class Cruisers—rotated slowly, with different approach avenues laid out, with a list of advantages and disadvantages ascribed to each. It was zoomed in on Cloud City, with the city's interior visible. Lando and Iella had produced an impeccable map of the Imperial facilities on the city proper, with counts for the number of Stormtroopers and officers who actually served on Cloud City, and all their auxiliary forces responsible for Tibanna gas export.

Empty mugs of caf and dirty plates were stacked awkwardly. They'd worked well into the night, so Wedge had sent his stewards to get some sleep and left the mess for the morning shift to take care of.

Lando was asleep on a couch. Mara and Iella had gone to stretch their legs, promising to return soon. That left Wedge and Luke. Luke was lying awkwardly in a comfortable chair, one of his legs slung over the chair arm, his head resting tiredly against the arm. His smile reminded Wedge of when they'd been younger, before Hoth, before a dozen battles, a hundred deaths. Mara was good for him, Wedge decided. Not that there was ever any debate, Iella considered Mara one of her closest friends and that was good enough for Wedge, besides which he trusted Luke's judgment (a certain incident or two notwithstanding). He knew there were hundreds of people, if not more, who would laugh and shake their heads disbelievingly if Wedge told them that Mara Jade made Luke happy, made him look younger, made him look like the burdens of the galaxy lay less heavily on his shoulders, but it was true. To Wedge (and the Rogues), who loved Luke and wanted nothing more than for the Boss to be happy, that was more than enough.

Of course, the Corellian whiskey probably helped. "Not too much," Luke laughed as Wedge poured. "I don't want to have to use the Force to filter out the alcohol, and if I wake up with a hangover Mara will tease me mercilessly."

Wedge snickered. "Good thing she wasn't with us at Hoth, then." He took his own tumbler and settled into his chair across from Luke. "Your sister wants us all for dinner while we're here. She's planning a celebration of some Alderaanian holiday. "

Luke shrugged. Wedge was certain this did not surprise him; Leia always wanted to have little dinner parties when they were available, and with Winter pregnant (and the real possibility that Tycho might not make it back to Coruscant in time to see his child born) this particular moment held special significance.

"So, spill, o' mighty Master Jedi, how's your new Jedi order coming along?" Wedge asked.

Luke sipped his whiskey and shrugged again, swirling the amber-colored liquid in the glass. "Slowly. It's just me and Kam," he replied.

Wedge glanced at the door. "Not Mara?" he asked carefully.

His friend's hesitation was obvious. Luke glanced at the door, his eyes tracking in the direction Iella and Mara had gone. Wedge knew that Luke could sense Mara through the Force—at least if they weren't deliberately shielding their presence from one another—so the chance of Mara coming back and catching them talking about her was negligible.

"We've discussed it," Luke said finally, putting his glass down. He leaned forward in his chair towards Wedge, placing his elbows on her knees as he did. When he spoke again, it was with an almost conspiratorial whisper. "Mara is reluctant to make commitments she doesn't fully understand," he explained. The soft smile that appeared on Luke's face brought one to Wedge's as well—it was good to see Luke so obviously happy. "When Mara makes a decision or a commitment, it may as well be for good," Luke added, with clear fondness and appreciation. "There's no half-measures, no diversions. For her to change her mind… well, it's an infrequent occurrence."

Wedge snorted. "Sounds like Iella. It takes an act of the Senate or a planetary collision to get her to change her mind after it's made up." He nodded at Luke. "So Mara doesn't make commitments to things she doesn't fully understand, and that includes what it means to be a Jedi?"

"I'm not sure I fully understand it," Luke said with a laugh, leaning back in his chair and retrieving his drink. "In fact, I'm sure I don't." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Whether she realizes it or not—" he glanced at the door warily, then back at Wedge, "—I think she is a Jedi, already. The title isn't what is important."

Wedge thought about that. "I suppose it doesn't matter if she's an official Jedi or not. She has your back, and she makes you happy," he said. "That's obvious to everyone who knows you well. And you make her happy. Even when you're apart for months at a time, off… commanding a battle fleet and spying on Black Sun." Wedge paused for a moment, then winced. "We were supposed to be talking about you, not me," he lamented with a sigh.

"True," Luke drawled slowly. "But don't let that stop you," he said, with a light, arch tone.

Wedge crumpled up a napkin and threw it at him.

Iella's room aboard Tempered Mettle was good-sized and comfortable, with its own private refresher. The freighter could be operated with a minimal crew—Slips could manage simple operations alone—and it had been built with the comfort of its crew in mind. When Iella and Mara had begun their joint operations, working to track down a pirate operation that had threatened one of the Smugglers' Alliance's key Outer Rim trade routes, Iella had become a semi-permanent resident.

Her partnership with Mara was not at an end, Iella thought as she slung her travel bag over her shoulder, hoisting her larger bag with her opposite arm, but they were going their separate ways for now.

"Got everything?" Mara asked, sticking her head in.

"Yeah," Iella replied. She offered Mara a smile, and the two women started making their way back towards the exit. "I'm going to miss Tempered Mettle, although Lusankya's stateroom is a bit of an improvement."

Mara scoffed. "You could billet a platoon of Imperial stormtroopers in Lusankya's stateroom and have room left over for a pair of AT-ATs." She reached over and took Iella's bag, slinging it over her shoulder easily, displaying some of her deceptive strength.

Living with Mara had been a learning experience in more ways than one, and Iella had quickly learned that even her own extensive fitness routine paled next to the one that Mara maintained—and Mara barely seemed aware that it was out of the ordinary. Iella chuckled. "True. Although…" she sighed, fleeting melancholy possessing her momentarily, "I won't be staying aboard for long. Wedge is going to be sent back to the front in a few weeks. He'll be commanding Lusankya's first combat operations against the Empire."

They circled down the semi-circular stairs in Tempered Mettle's nose, then stepped down the ship's ramp. Mara closed it behind them, clicking a button to confirm that her ship was secure, then they made their way back towards the express lift that would return them to Wedge's stateroom.

"What are you going to be doing on Coruscant?"

"I'm not sure," Mara replied. "Karrde won't be back from his trip to Denon for at least a few weeks, there's a smuggling cartel interested in associating with us. Probably just training with Luke and Kam for a few days and waiting to see what imposes itself on my time."

They stepped into Lusankya's express lift. Not for the first time, Iella marveled at just how luxurious it was. The lift had been meant for Isard's personal use, and as the head of Imperial Intelligence she had been worthy of the most excessive luxuries available. The lift was more like a small, plusly furnished office, with its own wardrobe (complete with a refresher unit).

They stowed Iella's bags for the trip then took seats across from one another. "Can I ask you a question?" Iella asked.

"Sure."

Iella hesitated, knowing this was precarious ground. Mara was her friend, and she was Mara's friend, and that meant something different to Mara than it did to most people. After the time they'd spent together in the six months since Cracken and Karrde had made them partners, Iella had gained a better understanding of her new partner—and Mara had confessed to her, shortly after their third week working together, that their partnership had lasted longer than any working relationship she'd had as Emperor's Hand.

But part of having a friend was giving them a little push when they needed one. "Why haven't you joined Luke's new Jedi order?"

Mara's flicker of surprise was subtle and Iella would have missed it had they not spent six months as partners. Her slight frown was just as subtle, and Iella noted the way Mara's hand moved to her knee and squeezed slightly. "I expected to get that question from Leia or Han before you," Mara admitted.

"I've known Luke a long time too." Iella pointed out. "May be best to get some practice answering it before you have to 'face the family'."

The wince this time was much more obvious. "Yeah," Mara sighed. She released her knee and leaned back in the comfortable upholstery, her discomfort never quite fading from her expression. Iella recognized Mara's expression—she'd seen it on any number of people she'd interrogated. Most of them had been innocent, but that didn't make the experience any more enjoyable. "When I joined Karrde, it wasn't out of any sense of altruism," Mara finally said. "I was miserable. For five long years I'd hid from Isard and the Empire, from the Rebellion, from…" she shook her head, "from Palpatine's voice in my head. I was desperate and I did not expect it to last. But Karrde was more than I expected him to be, and he was worthy, so convenience became commitment."

"So you don't want to break your commitment to Karrde to become a Jedi?"

Mara hesitated, then shook her head. "That would be the easy answer, but I could spend some time disentangling myself from his organization. Karrde doesn't need me, no matter what he claims. And he knows that even if I leave, I'll always have his back if he does need me." She met Iella's eyes. "The first commitment I made knowing I was making it… the first time I consciously chose to commit to someone, to something… was to Luke." Her smile was almost shy. "I'm still getting used to the repercussions of that decision."

"You don't regret it, do you?" Iella asked, already knowing the answer.

Mara's response was as explosive as she'd expected. "Of course not!" Her lips pressed together, offering Iella a slightly apologetic look. "But joining Luke, becoming a Jedi, that's a whole different kind of commitment. It's a commitment to the galaxy, to all beings in it, to all life. Sure, I can be loyal, but to the people I choose to be loyal to. Becoming a Jedi is so much bigger."

"And that scares you?"

Mara shrugged. "Wouldn't it scare you? I'm not ready to open myself up to anyone who walks in off the street. I have Karrde, I have Luke." She offered Iella one of her small, subtle smiles. "I have you."

Coming from Mara, Iella knew that was tantamount to a declaration that Mara would go to any measure required to help her out of trouble. And Mara was capable of a great many measures. "I'm honored," she said haltingly, unable to think of any more suitable response.

The express lift hummed as they traversed the distance between the hangar and Wedge's suite. Eventually the lift slowed to a stop and beeped to alert anyone who may have fallen asleep that they had arrived. Retrieving Iella's bags, the two women made the rest of the trip back to the suite on foot.

"So, dinner with Leia and Han tomorrow?"

"Mmhmm," Mara hummed.

"Not a lot of alone time with Luke on this trip," Iella continued, offering Mara a sympathetic smile. She knew that Mara had been chafing with Lando along on the Tempered Mettle's mission to Bespin.

"Mmhmm."

"You know, Wedge and I can put Lando up in one of the guest rooms in his suite." She nudged Mara's elbow with her own. "Let you and Luke have the Tempered Mettle to yourselves for the night? Not counting the droids."

"Hmmm," Mara murmured noncommittally.

Iella nodded. "Sounds like a plan, then." She snuck a glance at Mara out of the corner of her eye. She really enjoyed the moments she could make Mara smile.

Kam Solusar, founding member of the new Jedi Order, and one of the two living members of that order, had a bad feeling.

He was working in the Jedi Museum, where Palpatine had collected all the relics of the Jedi he didn't destroy. There wasn't all that much there, unfortunately, beyond the broadest outlines about the names and lives—and deaths—of members of the old Jedi Order. Palpatine had destroyed everything of substance he got his hands on, leaving Luke and Kam with precious little. They had two assets of note: a trove of records from Dathomir, and Darth Vader's private collection.

The first, unfortunately, was large but limited. Mostly, the records were technical: Force techniques, unique Force abilities, the history of how the Jedi of old had trained in the art and what they had been able to push their abilities to accomplish. The second, neither Luke nor Kam had really wanted to touch. Luke preferred to remember his father as Anakin Skywalker, the man who had slain Palpatine and ended the Sith line for good. Kam preferred not to think of Vader at all, lest he be consumed by the memories of his father's death.

And yet…

Kam sighed, glancing up at the statue of his father. Ranik Solusar's statue was, like so many others in the museum, faceless. The flat, smooth stone had been shaved by a lightsaber, and Kam could still feel Palpatine's vile gloating when he concentrated too much on each of those mutilated statues. Ranik had been a maverick of a Jedi, student of an independent-minded Jedi Master, and he had always believed most in two things. First, always doing what you felt was right. Second, always sticking around to accept the consequences for it.

It was that memory, of his father's determination, not of his death, that had led Kam to finally examine the relics that Luke had inherited from his father. Vader owned property all over the galaxy, but he'd owned a massive building on Coruscant, one that had formed a triumvirate of structures with the Imperial Palace and Prince Xizor's tower. Luke had, nearly a year before, gone through that structure and removed everything of value, before turning the property over to the New Republic for destruction and reclamation.

With reluctance, Kam started to examine it all. In truth, there wasn't as much as he had expected; Vader had not been as interested as his Master in macabre trophies of the sentients he killed. There was, however, a great deal of Force obscura, some of which made Kam blanche. Vader had evidently gone through an extended period of obsession with trying to bring people back to life, but Kam had no idea why. Kam took that knowledge, put it with the rest of the Sith knowledge that Vader had accrued, and set it all aside for destruction.

No matter what the Dark pretended to give that the Light might not, Kam thought, it wasn't worth it. It was never worth it.

The next thing Kam found was an auto-updating dossier, constantly searching every Imperial database for every mention of the name 'Luke Skywalker', embedded on every one of Vader's computer systems. Apparently Vader had been obsessed with his son. That was not of use or interest to Kam, so he disabled it and continued his search.

Kam wasn't sure what he was looking for, or why it was so important he started looking now, but he kept searching nonetheless. It was as if the Force stood over his shoulder, pushing him to go on, keep braving the Darkness he had found, pointing with his father's stone hand towards…

Kam stopped. It was an innocuous looking datapad, one like hundreds of others. Like those hundreds of others, it could be useful, useless, or potentially dangerous. In this case, he skimmed the summary section and found a treatise on vergences of Dark Side power. A vergence was a center of Force energy, locations that had been imbued with power by the actions of Jedi or Sith. The document listed several such places: the Valley of the Jedi on a world called Ruusan, or another on a world called Korriban. Kam had never heard of either place.

But the third name on the list was Vjun, and that name Kam did know. Vjun was the location of Bast Castle, which had been Vader's primary headquarters. It was often from Vjun that Vader had commanded the Inquisitors, and to Vjun he had summoned them if they were in need of praise or discipline. Kam had never had either the honor or dishonor of a trip to Vjun, but he knew where it was… all Inquisitors had known where it was.

His finger rested on the name, and he felt like he could feel his father on his shoulder, whispering to him. Yes, there. You have found it.

He read on, growing baffled. That was all there was. Vjun was home to a Force nexus, the product of some catastrophic event in the world's past. It was a place of great power in the Dark Side, and had a corrupting influence not just on people, but on the world of Vjun itself. It was, apparently, an ideal place for a Sith Lord to study the Dark Side, which explained why Vader had selected it for his fortress. But … that was all.

So why did his instincts say it was so important?