CHAPTER TWELVE

Bryon took a deep breath and looked down at Winter.  "There can't be reinforcements in the forest – our scouts or the rebels would have seen them.  And the facility is too small to be holding the kinds of numbers they'd need."

Winter nodded.  "Airlift.  It's the only way."

"I agree.  And the only place to land…"

"… is the clearing."  Winter nodded again.  "All right.  What can we do?"

"Let's set up a crossfire.  We'll have the rebels shooting from the forest – that's their advantage.  I'll get your demo team into the facility, then hold it from outside until it blows."

"Do you have enough troopers to do that?"

Bryon blew out a hissing breath.  "No.  We have to hope the Colonel gets the other squads here in time."

"He will," Winter said.  "No time to waste.  Let's do this."

While Bryon confirmed that the rebel and Special Forces officers understood the plan, Winter walked the short distance back to Sarré and the others, who had been monitoring the clearing.  The intelligence agent had finished filling them in by the time he joined them. 

He glanced over to his sister.  "Danaé?  Still four guards on this side?"

"Yes," she replied, her eyes closed in concentration.

"Good."  Bryon flipped up the nightvision scope on his blaster rifle and snapped the weapon into firing position on his shoulder.  "Tell me where.  Slowly."

One by one Danaé described the enemy soldiers' locations, and Bryon easily found each of them through the scope.  Deliberately he tracked out the locations one last time.  Within two seconds four shots took them down.

"Go," he barked.  "Go!  Go!  Go!" 

Bryon charged out from the forest and into the wide clearing at a dead run.  Several of his troopers spread out to eliminate the remaining guards outside the generator building.  The rest of the group ran straight toward the small alcove midway along the wall that concealed the rear door of the building.  They reached it without opposition and huddled up while one of the Special Forces soldiers sliced the lock codes. 

"I need all my troopers out here," Bryon said.  "Even the demolitions guys.  It's our best chance."

"Can't argue with that," Han said.  "Don't sweat it.  We can handle blowing this place up on our own."

Chewie wroofed his agreement.  "Sure thing," Lando added.  "It doesn't have to be pretty, right?"

"No," Bryon said.  "Although it would be nice if you didn't blow yourselves up in the process."

"Maybe I'll stay out here with you," Leia said to him with a grin. 

"Don't worry about it, Your Highness," Han said.  "They're on timers.  All we have to do is run fast."

Winter laughed.  "Exactly.  I'll get us to the generators, and we'll blow them.  What else?"

Bryon took a deep breath to slow his racing heartbeat.  "We need to cut the jamming."

"I'll handle that," Danaé said.  "Where do I go?"

After a moment to think it through Winter replied, "The auxiliary control room.  That has to be it.  They couldn't divert functions in the main control room, and no other room has the capacity to run something that sophisticated."

"Makes sense," Bryon said.  Just then the blast doors hissed and squealed – and slid wide open.  "Go!  Quickly!"

"Come on," Winter said to Danaé.  "Let's get inside first, then I'll tell you how to get there." 

Danaé nodded and followed Winter into the narrow corridor of the shield generator building.  Han and Leia went next, then the droids.  After Lando and Chewie finished strapping on the backpacks with the demolitions gear, they rushed inside to catch up.  As soon as everyone was in Bryon gave the signal to his slicer and the blast doors slammed closed again.

"Defensive formations," he told the troopers near him, certain they would know to spread the orders down the line the old fashioned way until the comlink jamming stopped.  "We're holding the building.  Use the corners, the alcoves, any cover we have.  Get into position!  Now!" 

Bryon took another deep breath – and in the dark stillness of nighttime in the forest he could hear clearly the roar of repulsordrives.  Incoming enemy troop transports.  It was a trap, all right.  And now it was sprung. 

He felt a hand on his arm, and looked down to find Sarré waiting patiently at his side.  "Yes, my love?"

She smiled.  "What about me, General?"

He brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheek.  "Don't get shot, follow orders, and aim at the brownshirts." 

---

Anakin stepped into the foyer of the Skywalker residence and headed toward the main door.  "You're sure we have everything we need?"

Padmé looked up at him and smiled.  "Yes, Ani.  It's all in the carrier."

He glanced at the many overstuffed pockets of the green backpack she wore, and decided they had been quite thorough in packing toys from the nursery after all.  Their broadly grinning grandson was struggling to wrap his tiny fingers around the single thick plait that held back her long hair, and seemed entirely preoccupied by the strenuous endeavor.  For once. 

"I suppose you're right," Anakin said.  "And it'll only be an hour or two anyway."

"Exactly."

His speeder was waiting for them on the main outdoor landing platform a few stories below, and there was no reason to wait.  He was just about to reach out for the keypad by the door when Nyklas began to cry.  The suddenness of the infant's change in mood startled him, so he turned back.  "What's wrong?"

Padmé furrowed her brow.  "I don't know."

Anakin quickly scanned the floor.  "We didn't drop anything."

"No."

"He slept a lot, according to Barriss.  He's not tired."

"You think he's hungry?  Or thirsty, maybe?  He just ate."

Anakin shrugged.  "He's his father's son."

Padmé laughed, and nodded knowingly.  "Back to the kitchen, then?"

"So it would seem."

After four attempts to feed Nyklas resulted in four bottles flung aside, Anakin gave up.  He called the abused bottle from the floor with the Force and passed it to Padmé.  She ruffled the thin strands of dark hair on Nyklas' head, then offered the bottle to him over her shoulder.  Almost reluctantly their grandson seized one end in both hands and began to consume the warm liquid. 

Anakin glowered.  "Showoff."

She smiled innocently and batted her eyelashes at him. 

"Did you have anywhere in particular you wanted to –"  Anakin cut himself off to snatch the falling bottle from midair. 

A moment later Nyklas began to cry again.  Harder this time, and louder. 

Padmé's eyes flashed with worry.  "What now?"

The whimpers already had grown into full-blown shrieking. 

Anakin shook his head, and set the bottle down on the counter.  "I have no idea."

"You want to hold him?"

"No," he replied.  "It's fine."

Anakin reached out a hand and rested it gently on Nyklas' small back.  He closed his eyes and pressed outward with his perceptions in the Force, probing his grandson's body and presence as methodically as he could. 

After a few moments Padmé's voice intruded into his thoughts.  "Is he in pain?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."  Anakin reached out his other hand and took Padmé's.  "Nothing physical."

"What, then?"

Anakin surged his feelings around his grandson and sought the elusive answer.  All the while the piercing shrieks continued.  "Something in the Force," he said finally.  "A disturbance of some kind."

"Do you sense anything?"

"No."

"If something happened to Bryon or Sarré you would sense it."

It wasn't a question.  His eyes still closed, Anakin nodded.  "I would."

"Ani…"  Padmé's voice was trembling.  "What's going on?"

He squeezed her hand reassuringly and concentrated even more fiercely.  He couldn't tell what was wrong.  Nyklas wasn't in pain, or uncomfortable, or even bored.  It didn't make any sense.

Anakin hesitated for a moment.  Only in the gravest of circumstances did he ever use the Force to intrude directly into someone's mind to read their thoughts, and he was especially reluctant when it was a member of his family.  He'd done it on a few occasions over the years, in emergencies of one kind or another.  It had been at least a decade since the last time.  And yet something told him he had to do it now.  Right now.

He squeezed Padmé's hand again and propelled his awareness inside Nyklas' mind.  The frenetic, rambling chaos of the infant boy's thoughts nearly overwhelmed him.  Nevertheless, Anakin found his answer loud and clear. 

Nyklas was afraid. 

With another burst of effort Anakin drew his focus around Nyklas' wild emotions and compelled a bit of clarity to come to them.  Abruptly his grandson stopped crying, and Anakin felt in the Force what Nyklas did.  To Nyklas there was no dark and no light – only the Force.

Sometimes the innocence of a child could perceive what a venerated Jedi Master could not. 

Anakin's eyes flew open.  "She's here."

Padmé's eyes were wide too.  "Who?"

"The Sith Master," he said.  "She's here."

---

Luke moved swiftly through the corridors of Argis' royal palace.  The lights flickered continually and in many places were out completely.  He kept to the shadows and doorways, and used bursts of Force-powered speed to pass through the areas where he was most likely to be seen.  He wasn't sure where exactly he was going in the palace, but the Force was guiding him to Mara like a homing beacon.  So he simply headed there as quickly as he could.

He had left the borrowed rebel speeder bike in a grove of trees near the palace.  He had left the camouflage fatigues there too.  Luke didn't know why, but he knew it was important that he be dressed as a Jedi – in his familiar indigo robes – when he found Mara again.

Another burst of speed brought Luke into a new corridor.  At its far end he saw two thick gilded doors blown inward on their hinges.  The room beyond was dark, but the distinctive look of the doors convinced him this was Argis' throne room.  And if Mara was hunting down the enemy king…

Luke broke into a run.  The second before he passed through the open doors his danger sense spiked sharply, and instinctively he ignited the turquoise laser sword in his right hand.

When he got inside the room he had to blink several times to adjust to the darkness in the large chamber.  Opposite him the tall, wide windows on the far wall revealed the stunning panorama of stars in the nighttime sky.  In his awareness he could sense the bodies of the brownshirts Mara had killed.  Debris strewn by a terrible duel with the Force was scattered throughout the throne room, and all around him he felt the lingering manifestations of the swirling eddies and boiling currents of the fight. 

Luke's eyes were drawn to the throne dais, and what he saw there made his heart sink. 

Argis was on his knees with Mara standing over him.  The king was unarmed, and Mara's violet lightsaber was held ready in her hand.  Argis said something, and Mara said something back.

The next instant she struck him down. 

"Mara, no!" 

Luke rushed forward, not fully realizing he had been the one to shout those words.  He only made it a few strides, though, before he stopped in his tracks.  Abruptly, like the flick of a switch, his ability to perceive Mara in the Force had vanished.  The sensation that had drawn him unerringly to her was gone.

In its place was a void.  An emptiness in his heart.  Nothing.

Above him on the slightly elevated dais Mara still had her back to him.  She stood there for a long moment, gazing down at the body of her slain opponent. 

In that pause Luke's subconscious mind asserted itself, and compelled him to consider something he had sensed but not consciously perceived.  When Argis had died, there had been a great flood of power into the Force.  It was undeniable, once Luke realized it.  And there was only one explanation – Argis himself had been a Sith Lord.

The revelation startled Luke, but not as much as the sight of Mara turning around to face him.

In the dark throne room the light of their two blades was nearly the only illumination, but he could see clearly enough to be afraid.  Mara wore not her dark-hued Jedi robes, but a black flight suit.  She still held her violet laser sword ignited in her right hand.  Her red-gold hair flared out wildly around her head in a fiery corona.  And her green eyes flickered with a chilling anger. 

He was very afraid.

Luke staggered backward a step.  "Mara?"

She didn't say a word as she stalked down the dais to the floor.  Suddenly she extended her left arm and in a flash a silver lightsaber handle spun end over end into her palm.  Mara ignited the scarlet blade – the Sith blade – and advanced on Luke with both weapons thrumming in the air at her sides. 

The angry glare in her eyes made her even more menacing, and he shivered.

"Mara?"

She continued to stalk toward him, and didn't reply. 

Luke took a deep breath and tried to slow his frantic heartbeat.  "Mara, what's going on?"

She stopped a few paces in front of him and raised her blades into attack position. 

He waited for a long, agonizing moment.  "Mara, please –"

"What are you doing here?" 

He shivered again.  Her voice was almost unrecognizable.  It was low and cold as ice.  A growl, not her usual melodic cadence.  It was the most frightening thing he had ever heard – so frightening he didn't know what to say to her.  For the first time in his life he had no idea how she would react. 

"Answer me!"

---

Luke took a slow, deep breath.  "I'm here to… help you."

"To help me?"

"Yes."

Mara waved the tip of the scarlet blade toward the corpses littering the dark throne room, and glanced back over her shoulder at Argis' dead body.  "Does it look like I need help to you?"

"No."

"I didn't think so."

He frowned.  "It seems you've become quite an efficient killer."

Mara chuckled.  "Just what I figured.  You're not here to help me.  You're here to stop me."

"Yes."

"From killing Argis to end this war?  From killing a Sith Lord to end the threat they pose?  You're here to stop me?  Really?"

"You know it's not only your actions that matter, Mara.  It's how.  And why."

"Right."  The two thrumming blades slid into attack position again.  "So tell me, did the Jedi Council send you here to retrieve their wayward Knight?"

"No."

She snorted.  "Your father, then?  Sent you out to save his poor, misguided apprentice?"

"No, not that either, Mara.  I came here on my own."  Luke paused, staring hard into her haunted green eyes.  Even though she was shrouded in darkness, he knew the Force would tell her he spoke the truth. 

She narrowed her eyes at him, then nodded once.  "So this is your own little mercy mission, is that it?  You're here to save me from myself?"

"I'm here to stop you from falling to the dark side."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

Luke felt trickles of sweat running down his skin beneath his robes.  "Don't do this, Mara.  Don't let your anger and hate consume you."

She shook her head in disgust.  "You don't know anything about the dark side.  You don't know anything about power.  You don't know anything!"

"I know one thing.  I know your destiny is to be a great Jedi.  Not to live a life filled with darkness and pain."

"Cute.  I guess you're a prophet now?"

"No.  I only know that your destiny is tied inextricably to mine."

"And what, exactly, do you mean by that?"

"Mara…"  He swallowed hard.  "I love you."

She laughed – a low, disturbing laugh, cold and unnerving like her voice.  "You love me?"

"Yes."

She laughed again.  "You've had a year to say that.  A year!  And you wait until you're afraid I'm going to kill you before you say it?"

"It's not like that," he insisted.  "Let me expl–"

"You are afraid of me," she interrupted.  "Don't deny it."

"You're right."  Luke's danger sense was screaming in alarm.  "I'm afraid of who you are right now."

"You'd say anything to save yourself, wouldn't you?"

"No.  I wouldn't."

"Liar!"

"No, Mara."  Luke took another deep breath.  "It's not a lie.  I love you."

Her reply was simple – she swung the first strike. 

---

When Winter raised her hand to halt their small group, Han stopped and readied his blaster rifle.  Ahead of them the dim corridor reached a dead end with a brightly lit hallway.  He expected to see a squad of brownshirts come around the corner to attack them any second, but instead Winter spun around. 

"This is where you go left," she said to Danaé.  "We go right." 

Danaé nodded, and with a burst of Jedi speed she was gone.

Winter turned to the rest of them.  "After about ten meters there's another corridor, and we take that left.  It's a perfect ambush spot.  We need to make sure it's clear."

"We'll do that," Leia said, pointing her thumb at Han and marching forward. 

Han looked at Winter and shook his head.  "Politicians," he muttered to her.  "Always gotta be in charge."

Leia glanced back over her shoulder.  "What's that?"

"Nothing."

"Right."

"Come on, Goldenrod," Han said.  "You're with us."

"But Captain Solo, sir, I really must point out…"

"You too, Artoo," Leia added, ignoring the protocol droid completely. 

"… that there is very little I can contribute to this task," Threepio continued anxiously.  "I'm fluent in over six million forms of communication, but I don't see how –"

"I'm delighted for you, professor," Han interrupted, "but I only need one to tell you to keep quiet.  Now quiet!"

The protocol droid made a startled jolt, then followed along silently.

In a few more long strides Han reached the end of the hallway.  Together he and Leia peered around the corner into the bright corridor.  It was empty.  They clutched their blaster rifles to their chests, slunk out with their backs pressed to the wall, and advanced slowly toward the next hallway ten meters ahead. 

"Come on, Artoo," Leia whispered.  With a soft bleep and bloop the astromech trundled around the corner to join them, with Threepio right behind.  Fortunately there still were no enemy soldiers to be seen, so after several more paces they readied their rifles and stepped away from the wall. 

Han kept his eyes peeled for brownshirts.  "You know, this camouflage isn't so helpful in here, really."

Leia glanced down at her brown-and-green fatigues, then at the white walls.  "Good point."

"Little late to change now."

"Yes, I suppose it is."

A few more careful strides brought them to the intersection.  Han motioned Leia and the droids to wait, then approached the corner of the wall.  He crouched down to a knee and quickly stuck his head out to see how bad it was.  Amazingly, though, the next hallway was empty too. 

Han turned back and called out to Winter, Lando, and Chewie.  "We're clear.  Let's move it!"

---

Bryon looked above the towering treetops on the far side of the clearing, and still could see only the black nighttime sky speckled with stars.  The drone of the repulsordrives was growing louder by the second, though. 

He glanced down to the trooper at his side.  "Can the scanners tell how many?"

"No, sir," the young man replied.  "The jamming is interfering with them too."

"Figures," Bryon said.  He didn't like the way this was shaping up.  Not one bit.

Sarré tapped him on the arm.  "Here they come!"

He followed her pointed finger to the bright headlamps of the enemy transports bearing down on them from over the trees.  Ten dots.  Pairs, set close together.  Double sets of lamps.  Five sets.  Five transports.  With at least sixty brownshirts each…

"Oh, this is not good," he said.  "Not good at all."

Sarré was unnaturally calm.  "How bad?"

"Five to one," he told her over the roar of the transports, which had reached the clearing and were dropping into landing patterns.  "Maybe worse."

"You've beaten that before.  Lots of times."

"Yes.  With Special Forces.  And right now I'm missing three squads of them."

She reached out and squeezed his arm reassuringly.  "They'll be here."

"We'd better hope so.  I'm not sure the rebels can hold out in a straight standoff like this."

Sarré grinned crookedly at him.  "Surely, General, there must be some way you can even things out a little?"

Even in the deep gloom he could see the devious sparkle in her lavender eyes – and it gave him just the flash of insight he needed.  Bryon couldn't help but grin too.  "I love you," he said.  "I really, really love you."

While she looked at him quizzically he reached down to his belt, unclipped a thermal detonator, and clicked the timer.  By now the transports were nearly on the ground – two of the large ships twenty meters in front of them, the remaining three out of view along other sides of the generator building.  Bryon set his feet, leaned back hard, and threw the detonator with all his strength straight toward the transport on the right.

"Everybody, duck!" he shouted through the thunderous rumble of the ships.  "Duck!  Now!"

Bryon wrapped his arms around Sarré, pulled her to his chest, and spun them both to face the wall.  Only three heartbeats later a deafening explosion ripped the air and a blinding flash of light cast their shadows on the building.  A wave of heat blasted past them, whipping at his fatigues and rattling his ribs.  Then, just as suddenly, it was over. 

He let Sarré go and spun around.  Where the transport had been only a smoking, burning pile of tangled wreckage remained.  He wouldn't have time to use his other detonator, though – brownshirts already were pouring from the transport on the left and charging toward the building.  But there were only half as many as there would've been. 

"Whatever it was I said, you're welcome."  Sarré grinned at him again.  "I never knew I had it in me."

Bryon snatched up his blaster rifle and grinned back.  "Try not to let it go to your head, all right?  You've got enough confidence as it is."

---

"Where is she?"  Padmé barely could hear herself speak.  "How close?"

"I can't tell," Anakin said.  He began to lead her out of the kitchen by the hand. 

"Where are we going?"

Anakin stopped in his tracks in the corridor, and released her hand.  "I… I don't know."

"Your speeder?"

"Too far.  We'd never make it."

Padmé reached her left hand up to her shoulder, and Nyklas's tiny fingers clasped hers.  "The turbolifts?"

"Too risky.  Too exposed."

Padmé's other hand snatched her comlink from her belt.  "I can send the panic alert.  They can get us from the terrace."

"Good idea." 

She pressed the button.  Again.  And again.  And again.  "It's not working."

"Blast!"  Then Anakin sighed.  "They probably wouldn't have made it here in time anyway."

Padmé's heart sank.  "We have to do something!  Quickly!"

"I know," he replied distractedly.  For a long moment he said nothing.

"Ani?"

"Come on," he said, suddenly grabbing her hand again and leading her down the corridor.  "I've got it!"

"What?"

"The docking bay.  Mara's X-Wing is there."

Padmé nearly stumbled she was running so fast.  "We'll all fit?"

He looked back over his shoulder with a crooked grin on his face.  "If Mara and Luke can fit, we can fit."

Padmé felt her face flushing.  "I don't think I wanted to know that."

"Sorry," he said unapologetically.  "My mistake."

They charged into the small private turbolift that led to the residence's secured docking bay.  Anakin slapped at the control panel, the door slid closed, and immediately they began to descend.  Anakin reached out and grasped her by both shoulders.

"Be calm, angel," he said.  "We'll make it."

"Ani…"

"We'll make it." 

Nyklas gurgled something, almost as if he was agreeing with his grandfather.

Padmé nodded.  "Right."

The turbolift slowed, then pulled to stop.  The door slid open again and Anakin charged toward the control station along the wall to open the huge hangar doors.  Padmé ran after him into the wide docking bay.  It looked strange to see it so empty.  The Lady Vader was gone.  The speeder was docked outside.  Luke's and Danaé's X-Wings were back at the Temple for repairs.  Only Mara's maroon-and-white X-Wing rested on its landing gear halfway across the spacious chamber. 

Padmé stopped in her tracks when she heard the loud thump resonate from the open turbolift a few meters behind her.  She spun around on her heel – and heard the distinctive sound of a lightsaber slicing through metal. 

She tried to scream, but couldn't. 

A round disc fell straight downward from the roof of the turbolift car and clattered to the durasteel floor with a piercing clang. 

She tried to scream again.  This time her voice worked. 

"Anakin!"

---

Padmé hardly had drawn her breath after her frantic shout when Anakin was at her side.  With a snap-hiss his turquoise lightsaber ignited in his hand, and he took another stride forward to stand between her and the open portal to the small turbolift.

From over her shoulder Nyklas whimpered once, then rested his tiny hands on the sides of Padmé's neck. 

Padmé stared at the turbolift and waited for the inevitable.  She could hear the thrumming of the other laser sword echoing into the empty car from the tube above.  Her hand settled on her blaster, and she flicked off the safety.

With graceful ease a lithe female form dropped to the floor of the turbolift car.  Just as Anakin had described her, the Sith Master had long, straight black hair and brown eyes that sparkled with a deadly fire.  She wore a simple black flight suit and carried her scarlet blade ready in her right hand.

For a long, terrible moment no one said a word. 

The Sith Master gave Padmé a mocking bow.  "Supreme Chancellor Amidala."

Padmé flinched.  The contralto voice was filled with an indescribable malice she would never forget.

"Jedi Master Skywalker."  The Sith Master grinned.  "We meet again."

"We do," Anakin replied, his voice low and even.  "But I don't think we've been properly introduced, Darth…"

"Vengous."

Anakin nodded once. 

"I must admit," Vengous said coolly, "that your actions of late have been a disappointment.  It's not like you, Skywalker, to sit idly by while so many suffer and die."

"You turned your back on the Jedi's ways long ago," Anakin retorted.  "I have no desire to explain my reasons to you now."

Vengous tipped her head.  "They would not make you any less a coward, regardless."

Padmé drew her blaster and gripped it in both hands.  Vengous met her gaze, and grinned. 

"It is my destiny to defeat you," Anakin said.  "I chose not to seek out you and your apprentices.  I had no doubt you would come to me."

"And come to you I have," Vengous said.  "But do not take too much pride in your prescience, Skywalker.  In this, as in all matters, everything is proceeding as I have foreseen."

"Intriguing," Anakin replied with equal confidence.  "For I have long foreseen your death at my hands."

Padmé's breath caught in her throat at the memory of the terrible nightmare she and Anakin had shared a year earlier.  Before Gimna 3.  Before she was Chancellor.  It felt like a lifetime ago. 

"It seems the time has come," Vengous said flatly, "to learn whose foresight is the better."

"You won't win," Padmé exclaimed before she even realized she was speaking.  "You'll never beat Anakin!"

Vengous laughed, and the fiery hatred in her voice grew even darker.  "Oh, no, my dear.  It is I who will prevail.  Soon you will both be dead, and I will have my final victory."

Both.  Padmé's heart skipped a beat and a horrible void of terror formed in her gut.  If the Sith wanted her and Anakin dead…

No.  Vengous wasn't getting Nyklas.  No matter what it took, Padmé wouldn't let that happen. 

Padmé raised her blaster and fired again and again. 

Vengous snapped up her left hand and splayed out her fingers.  With soft hisses the laser bolts dissipated into thin air as they reached her palm. 

Padmé stopped firing, but kept her blaster aimed.

"This moment has been a millennium in the making, Skywalker," Vengous said.  "Only one of us will walk away alive."

Anakin took his lightsaber in both hands.  "It won't be you."

---

Admiral Mirkalla glanced away from the multicolored holographic images projected above the battle assessment table on the bridge of the Invictus and looked out the wide viewport at the real sight of the massive skirmish raging above the cloud-draped, blue-green world of Vyhrrag.  The numerous capital ships of the large Republic invasion fleet and the much smaller enemy defensive force were exchanging constant salvos of cannon fire.  All around the battlefield swarms of Vyhrragian TIE fighters fought countless dogfights with the squadrons of X-Wings, Y-Wings, and A-Wings deployed by the Republic.  The battle was a brilliant panorama of laser blasts, engine trails, and fiery explosions.  Were it not such a deadly display, it might have been a mesmerizing work of art.

A sharp young voice drew him back to reality.  "Admiral, we have a problem."

Mirkalla turned to face Sergeant Brittin at one of the side consoles along the wall of the bridge.  "Of what kind?"

"On the ground, sir," she replied.  "At the shield generator."

A few long strides brought him to her side.  "Show me."

Brittin tapped a button, and holographic image appeared.  "This is the shield generator," she said, pointing to a blue target indicator.  "This is the problem."

His stomach dropped when he watched five red dots appear from nowhere and fly directly toward the generator.  The dots reached their destination in no time, where they suddenly stopped.  Mirkalla took a deep breath to calm himself.  "What are they?"

"Troop transports," she told him.  "Our sensors could pick up that much."

"Where did they come from?"

"I'm not sure.  Best we can tell, there was a hangar hidden among the hills about twenty kilometers away from the generator.  The transports launched from there – right before we arrived."

"A secret hangar and perfect foresight."  Mirkalla blew out a sigh.  "This is the worst-case scenario."

"Yes," Brittin said, frowning.  "It sure looks like it." 

Mirkalla turned to the communications officers in the crew pit.  "Broadcast an immediate notice to the fleet.  Mission parameter Bravo Six.  Repeat, Bravo Six."

"Yes, sir," the young men and women below him said in unison, and at once they began to bark announcements and orders into their headsets.

"Be sure," Mirkalla added with haste, "that you inform the Rogues and Renegades first."

One of the officers glanced up and saluted a silent acknowledgement.

Mirkalla faced Brittin again.  "There's nothing we can do until that shield is down."

"I'm afraid not, sir."

"I just hope General Skywalker's luck hasn't run out."

Brittin looked up at him and smiled.  "He doesn't believe in luck, sir."

Mirkalla couldn't help but smile back.  "I'm not sure whether that terrifies or reassures me, Sergeant."

---

Bryon used the wall of the alcove as cover and took aim around the corner at the charging brownshirts.  The flames of the destroyed transport and the headlamps of the other provided a bit of illumination to the clearing – just enough to count the enemy soldiers. 

Nearly sixty, just as he'd expected. 

All of them heading his way.

"Not quite yet," he whispered to Sarré, who was crouched down at his hip with her blaster aimed outward too.

"Right," she said.

Bryon let the brownshirts get a little bit closer, then squeezed his trigger.  The first shot took down one enemy soldier.  The second another.  The third yet another.  Sarré began to fire too, and so did the two Special Forces troops on their side of the generator building.

A cheer rose from the charging brownshirts.  Sixty against four…

The cheer was echoed by a soaring war cry from the forest – and by a devastating barrage of blaster fire from behind the trees and underbrush at the edge of the clearing.

The victorious shouts of the brownshirts broke off in an instant, and were replaced by a series of barked orders that sent the enemy soldiers scrambling to confront the unexpected opponents behind them.  Most of the brownshirts headed toward the forest, but a good two dozen kept coming toward the building.

The gloomy clearing lit up with the green blaster bolts from the forest and the building and the red bolts from the brownshirts.  The rebel shooters managed to take down a good number of brownshirts in the ambush, but it wasn't long at all before the enemy soldiers made themselves much more difficult targets by firing from crouches or prone or from behind the cover of the transport or the wreckage.

In a matter of seconds the ambush had resolved into a standoff.  That wouldn't win Bryon the fight, but at least it kept most of the brownshirts away from the building for now.  He had to take what he could get.

Shielded by the corner of the alcove he kept up a steady stream of blaster fire at the oncoming enemy soldiers.  Only sixteen left now. 

"Watch our backs," he told Sarré quickly.  "I'm too busy with the rest."

"I will," she said between shots of her own. 

"Thanks." 

"So…"

Out in the clearing a brownshirt rose from the ground to advance further toward the building.  Three of Bryon's blaster bolts hit him dead center in the chest and dropped him.  Fifteen.  "You were saying?"

"So, if you've got another one of those absurdly crazy plans of yours that you've been waiting to try," Sarré said, "now would pretty much be the time."

"Sure," Bryon said, firing again.  Fourteen.  "I'll get right on that."

---

Luke's turquoise lightsaber darted out to parry aside the scarlet laser sword.  He took a step back and shifted his blade to block the succeeding blow by Mara's violet lightsaber – but that attack never came. 

"Let me get this straight," she said.  "You were afraid I'd fall to the dark side, so you came to save me."

"Yes."

Mara chuckled.  "You must think quite highly of yourself."

Luke shook his head.  "No.  It's not like that."

"What is it like, then?  Enlighten me."

"Mara…  I know how tempting the dark side is, and why.  I know how it offers a quick and easy path away from pain, and despair, and weakness.  How it makes you believe you're invincible.  I know why my father gave into it.  I've felt it myself.  And… you were the one who stopped me."

She narrowed her eyes.  "On Tatooine."

"That's right."

"So you're here to repay a debt."

He nodded once.  "I suppose you could look at it that way, yes."

"You don't owe me anything."  Mara took a long stride closer to him.  "I don't want your help."

"You do.  I know you do."

The violet blade slashed forward, and Luke blocked it.  The strength of the blow surprised him, and he gripped his weapon in two hands as the laser swords screeched apart. 

"No," Mara said.  "I don't."

"I know you love me, Mara," he replied.  "Don't give in.  Don't let the darkness take over."

"I did love you," she said, her voice suddenly even deeper and fiercer.  "But I don't want your love any more."

Luke felt a terrible void building in his gut.  "That's not true."

"It is true," she barked, and she swung both her energy blades straight toward him. 

Luke parried the red blade and lunged away from the purple one.  "No, Mara," he said.  "It's not true.  I know you love me.  You'll never convince me otherwise."

Another strike from the violet lightsaber arced toward his throat, but he snapped his blade around and blocked it. 

"You had your chances," she spat.  "More than I ever should've given you.  And you squandered them."

"Mara, I –"

"No!  You've hurt me for the last time.  It's over."

Luke swallowed hard.  "I've made mistakes, Mara.  A lot of them."

"How brave of you to admit that.  Maybe the Council will give you a medal."

"I shouldn't have hurt you, Mara.  There are a million things I shouldn't have done.  I'm sorry for all of them."

"It's too late for apologies," she snarled, and attacked him again. 

This time Luke had to parry with all his skill to ward off the violet and scarlet blades.  "I know you're angry," he told her.  "I know you're hurt.  But I know you, Mara.  You're a Jedi.  It's never too late to make things right."

She laughed again, just as chillingly as before.  "You assume too much.  Far too much."

Luke hadn't noticed until now how hot he was, how the sweat was dampening his robes and pouring down his face.  And yet he shivered.  "What do you mean?"

"Maybe I don't want to be a Jedi any more.  Maybe I don't want to be the person you want me to be any more.  Maybe I've had enough of you, and your father, and the Jedi.  Maybe I'm done with you – forever."

"You don't mean that."

"It isn't up to you to decide what I mean," she said.  "It's my decision.  It's my choice.  Now get out of here!  I never want to see you again!  Understand?"

"No, Mara," he said.  "I won't leave you."

She sighed in disgust – and charged him.