The Fett Dynasty, Episode II : Siege of Orri Prime

by Ivy Leigh

Coming down to the wire, folks- bear with me! Some questions answered, more raised...Major AU. Warning: adult themes, sexual situations, violence, language.

10. Enter Sandman

Note: "Sabotage"

lyrics by the Beastie Boys

Copyright 1991

Episode 2

Chapter 9

A Reluctant Truce

The Sith Infiltrator slipped through the orbiting blockades surrounding Orri Prime as a melody might go unnoticed in a cacophonic din of noise. The ship, sized somewhat smaller than a Lambda shuttlecraft, sliced through the blackness of space, expertly weaving and dodging around Imperial TIES, shuttles, and other various craft toward the newly conquered mining world. So closely did it skim past the Imperial ships, it would have seemed impossible for it to go undetected. But even as black-helmeted pilots turned their visors in its direction, even as technicians scanned their monitors for any non-Imperial vessels, the ship passed by their unwitting eyes as a specter through a mist, spiraling down in cold fluid descent upon the mountainous northern hemisphere…

Slicing through the stratosphere, the Infiltrator continue to evade the scores of TIEs glutting the air around it. It slid, like a imperceptible bird of prey, smoothly over the disarray of smoldering townships, swarms of stormtroopers rounding up prisoners, and lumbering AT-STs below it.

A galaxy's life away, the Infiltrator's pilot manipulated the controls from the viscera of his cavern set deep within his dead world. He knelt still in his cave, his fingers woven together, his thumbs set upon his temples, his bared painted shoulders quaking. He needed no screen or monitor to pilot his craft—he could see all through the power of his shadowy mind, see the rolling foothills of the majestic cobalt mountains, the dense forests swaying from the force of repulsor engines soaring around them…

A soft smile curved the end of his tattooed lip as he saw a sprawling white granite palace within his mind, his Infiltrator's destination…

* * *

"Sssshhh…"

Seated in her plush desk chair and rocking her baby boy back and forth with his head nestled gently beneath her chin, I'Lai held Kai against her breast as she attempted to soothe his distressed crying. No doubt he was hungry, but… breast-feeding him at the present time was out of the question…

A quartet of TIE Interceptors roared along the smoldering skyline, spewing flame retardant over the burning wood just outside the tall glass doors of her office suite as I'Lai's eyes scanned across the four black-armored mercenaries watching her from their posts. One was an olive-skinned Rodian; two others were humanoid, possibly half-breeds; the fourth was a charcoal-hued, one-eyed Wookiee who seemed to be in charge at the moment. Throughout the time since she had been brutally escorted from the black ship into her suite, they had exchanged crude comments in what she recognized as Huttese, a coarse language that she recognized but had never learned. I'Lai, however, needn't have spoken the language to comprehend their meaning; the mercenaries' lascivious leers, cruel laughter, and the way they would lick their lips in her direction spoke volumes. The Force only amplified the waves of vile lust emanating from the mercs, and showed her that they wanted nothing more than to throw her down upon her desk and take their turns using her savagely…Thankfully, however, not one of them had even made the attempt to come near her—an order, no doubt, from the green-haired, bionic-visored leader who was somewhere within her palace.

Bravely, she returned their brutishly gluttonous glances with a firm yet serene countenance, despite the panic gripping her pounding heart…

Animals! Cursed animals, all of them!

Her regal manner was shattered by his voice, crashing like waves of a liquid onyx against the shores of her mind…

They dare covet you, when they should offer their necks to cradle your boot…

"Go away," she rasped under her breath.

You disappoint me, Archae'el. You fear these insects…

"Go AWAY…"

When you could so easily crush their windpipes with nothing more than your sheer will…

"STOP IT!" she screamed. "GO AWAY! GET OUT!"

The leers of the mercs surrounding her dimmed slightly, but only for a moment before they all guffawed at the outburst that they assumed was directed at them. Kai cried louder, and I'Lai coughed suddenly and harshly as she shrank back into her chair, as her lungs were still rough from the fumes of the smoldering trees just outside the garden walls. Swallowing hard, she gently cupped his tiny head and pressed a comforting kiss into his dark, downy hair as she fought back the tears welling in her eyes…When she raised her head, she gasped in surprise to see a lithe, lavender-skinned Twi'lek girl standing before her. She had been so quiet sitting in a corner of the chamber; I'Lai had completely forgotten she was there.

The Twi'lek smiled bashfully and kindly as she handed I'Lai a small glass of water. I'Lai reached up and took the glass, whispering, "Thank you," before greedily drinking it down. When she glanced back up at the Twi'lek, it was only then she noticed the ugly purplish bruise around the alien girl's right eye; it was only then that she felt, through the Force, the girl's everlasting terror and utter misery. As she handed the glass back to her, I'Lai softly repeated with deep appreciation, "Thank you."

The Twi'lek's warm smile instantly vanished as her head snapped toward the sound of the suite door swooshing open. Quickly and fearfully, she snatched the glass from I'Lai's hand and scurried back into her corner of the suite. The cruel smiles on the mercenaries' faces quickly blinked away, and they all jerked to attention just as the tall, broad-shouldered green-haired man entered the chamber in a fierce, determined stride.

"At ease," the man exhaled, setting one hand on his hip and the other on his side holster as he stopped his pace. "Boys, go down into the kitchen and get yourself some grub." His mouth hooked up in an unsettling smirk as he turned his visor in I'Lai's direction. "I'll take it from here."

With grunts of hunger and snorts of lascivious understanding, the armored mercs filed out of the chamber, just as the Corellian named Hosh passed them coming in. The leather-clad man turned and gruffed, "What?"

Hosh sighed and set his jaw. "Pellaeon's on the com with a mynock up his ass about the forest fires."

The man returned the sigh and casually shrugged. "Tell him it was a weapon's malfunction, and we're REALLY sorry."

"He also wants to know why you haven't handed over the traitor yet."

"What traitor? Oh yes, her. Tell him…funniest thing, but…we haven't been able to find her yet. Seems the natives here are quite fond of their pretty governor and are hiding her well, but… we are searching the lower levels of this palace, and will contact him as soon as we have anything to report." The unsettling smile beneath the visor only grew broader.

And I'Lai's blood ran cold.

The Corellian replied, "Aye, sir," and exited the chamber.

The man began to encroach upon his lovely captive and her babe. I'Lai continued to sit still and serene, staring straight ahead while she fought to control her short, startled breathing. He circled her chair slowly until he planted himself directly in front of her, folding his arms over his broad chest and, donning a cruelly charismatic smile, he murmured, "I'm ready to speak to you now."

I'Lai's only response was a slow, cold shifting of her eyes from the far wall directly into his blipping visor.

Dropping to one knee before her, his smile still intact, he crooned, "Forgive me my poor manners, Lady: Rather than try to shout over the thrusters of my vessel, I wanted a more private atmosphere for a proper introduction. The name is Czethros; Baron Junius bon Czethros. And you are…the Lady I'Lai, are you not?" He waited for a response. He received nothing more than a bitter stare. No matter. "It is an immeasurable pleasure to meet you, my dear." He reached forward to grip her hand, intending to kiss it…

Only to have I'Lai angrily slap his hand away and slit her eyes into a hostile glare.

Czethros's grin thawed into a dangerous frown as he straightened up. "So, it's going to be like that, is it? I thought perhaps we could be civil about this, but…very well. Have it your way." Cocking his head slightly toward the corner, he hastily snapped his fingers. Instantly, the young Twi'leki girl sprang forward at his command, coming up along his side and casting her eyes to the floor. Still glaring at I'Lai, he commanded, "Take the child."

"NO!" I'Lai cried, pinning Kai to her chest.

"I assure you, Governor Pretty," he snarled with menacing emphasis, "that, at the present moment, he will come to far less harm in her arms than in yours. Now hand him over."

I'Lai took in a ragged breath just as the Twi'leki girl came forward. Kneeling before her, the girl reached up and gently touched I'Lai's cheek. Although she spoke no words, her brilliant violet eyes softly and kindly promised I'Lai that Kai would come to no harm. Clamping her eyes to dam the torrent of tears threatening to break through, I'Lai reluctantly loosened the hold on her son and allowed the Twi'lek's arms to gently enfold and lift him from her.

As the girl softly rocked Kai in her arms and quietly hummed him a Twi'leki lullaby, I'Lai turned her fierce glare back to Czethros. "What is the meaning of this invasion? What is happening to my people? I demand that you tell me—"

"You are in the position to demand NOTHING, madam," Czethros barked. He paused. "Whereas I am in the position to demand whatever I wish. And the first thing I wish to know is…" He bent down slightly, just so his blinking red eye shone directly into hers, and murmured softly, "Where's your baby's daddy?"

I'Lai blinked. "Excuse me?"

"The father of your bastard," Czethros clarified with deliberate emphasis as he tugged his black leather gloves off his hands "Where is he?"

In spite of the anxiety now gripping her, outwardly I'Lai remained poised and stoic as she answered, "I fail to see the significance of that question. Grand Moff Denivrian died over a year ago, months before his son was even bor—"

I'Lai's sentence was abruptly cut off by Czethros knuckles striking her across the cheek.

A resonant CRACK! reverbed off the marble walls just as pain exploded throughout the side of I'Lai face. Reeling, she caught herself just before she fell from her chair, and the pounding of blood thundered in her ear so loudly, she could barely hear Czethros snarl, "Wrong answer."

(And somewhere, in a modified Kuat Firespray racing through the tumult of hyperspace, an armored bounty hunter felt the sharp blow of a bare-knuckled strike spread through his own cheek…)

Stunned and cupping her face, I'Lai sat for a brief second before slowly turning her blazing eyes back to Czethros. "You do realize that you just struck a governing official of the New Republic, do you not, Baron?"

"And do you realize, Lady," Czethros countered as he placed both hands on the arms of her chair and leaned in close to her face, "that as a contracted representative of the Galactic Empire… I don't care?"

I'Lai glanced briefly at the Twi'lek's bruised face before donning a defiant smirk and adding, "Are all of the Empire's hired guns as proficient at beating women as you are?"

His lip tugged up. "Hmm, spirited and bold as well as remarkable in face and body." Czethros hummed through a chuckle, tilting his head just slightly as he regarded I'Lai. "Who knew, judging from that pile of scrap he insists on wearing, that the bounty hunter had such cultivated taste?" Adrenaline careened throughout I'Lai's limbs, chilling her to her very core. "So," Czethros continued, still leaning into her, "where is he?"

"Where is who?" I'Lai asked simply.

He took a long, frustrated draw of breath through his nose. "Where…is…Boba…Fett?"

"Boba Fett?" I'Lai giggled incredulously, feverishly playing the innocent. "Is that who you meant by 'bounty hunter'? Baron, I haven't the slightest idea what you are talking about—"

Czethros, sighing in mild exasperation and running a hand over his pomaded green hair, snapped, "I detest having to consort to barbaric means, Lady, in order to extract information; therefore, I will lay it out simply for you. This system has been designated rogue by the Galactic Empire. This 'invasion', as you so call it, is merely the Empire reclaiming what is rightfully theirs. I am to hand you over to the Admiral of that Destroyer hovering over our heads, who will then take you to where you will be tried and executed as a traitor." Again, he placed both hands on the arms of I'Lai's chair and leaned in close. "Does that answer your earlier questions?" he hissed into her face. I'Lai said and did nothing but glare into his blinking bionic eye.

Suddenly and quite unexpectedly, Czethros smiled—not his usual overconfident smirk, but a soft, almost kind smile—as he reached up and gingerly ran his fingertip underneath her jaw line. "However, I can keep that from happening, beautiful lady. Would you like to know how?"

"I'm all ears," I'Lai whispered astringently.

Czethros caught the sarcasm, ignored it, and continued. "I can tell the Admiral you were accidentally killed in the incursion. Incinerated by a stray cannon blast, so there would be no trace of your body left. And you could simply remain here for the rest of your natural born days…as the concubine to the new governor of Orri Prime." The fingertip trailed off her chin to slide suggestively down the pale column of her throat. "Judging from your past, you've had plenty of practice over the years; I'd think you would be quite good at it by now."

A low, bitter laugh escaped I'Lai's lips as she continued to glare into Czethros's eye. "And just who is this new governor of Orri Prime to be, Baron?"

"Well, beautiful lady…" The fingertip continued downward, lightly tracing over her collarbone. "I think we both know the answer to that question."

"So," I'Lai breathed, remaining steady and calm while forcing the nausea down at the touch of this reptile, "all I have to do is bed with you, and you'll spare my life?" Again, she laughed sourly. "How… juvenile. You don't ask for much, do you?"

"Oh, on the contrary," Czethros corrected as he leaned in so close, his lips were mere millimeters from hers. His honeyed tone suddenly becoming menacing, his blipping red eye holding steadfast in hers, he hissed, "I never ask for anything." A small smile of sadistic satisfaction crossed his lip as he watched the bravado in I'Lai's eyes seep away. "You see, I'm afraid the deal is a bit more complex than that. For one thing, all company holdings, all deeds, all accounts, and this palace will be signed over to me, after its seizure by the Galactic Empire. The people of this planet-- as well as any Imperial personnel involved in this matter-- will be informed of your unfortunate 'demise' as well, and hence will be returned to the life of servitude they knew before. You will remain here, under the watchful eyes of my various agents, for the rest of your days, where you will strive to please me in any way I demand. If you do not…well…my means of discipline can be somewhat… severe, as you have just experienced."

"Is that all?" I'Lai queried flippantly, trying to maintain her brave composure.

"Not quite," he answered curtly, backing away and rising to his feet. "You will, of course, bear me an heir, as you have proven yourself to be fertile." He turned slightly over his shoulder toward the Twi'leki and hissed cruelly, "Unlike some." He turned back. "Oh, and another thing—you will be shared with my second in command."

As if the deal being described wasn't loathsome enough. "W-what?" I'Lai stammered.

"Jober. You remember him—the large mutant Bothan with whom you shared the romp through the meadow?" I'Lai's eyes grew wide with horror, and he mockingly sighed. "I'm afraid I did promise him a tumble or two with you. What can I say? He has a strange penchant for human females, and… he likes you."

I'Lai's lip quivered, and her skin crawled with utter revulsion. "You're joking."

"I wish I were, my dear. But a promise is a promise, after all…"

"Why are you doing this?!" I'Lai exclaimed suddenly, jumping to her feet, balling her fists at her sides and meeting Czethros's bionic glare dead on. "I nor my people have done you any harm in any way! I don't even know who you are! What horrendous thing could I possibly have done—"

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" Czethros roared, backing her into her chair and slamming his palms onto the arms, trapping her. "She asks me what she has done! Well, then I will tell her what she has done! Absolutely nothing! She has done nothing but exasperate me and mock me and refuse to cooperate, and I am growing tired of her insolence!" With astonishing speed, he reached behind I'Lai's neck and grabbed a fistful of her hair, jerking her head forward and eliciting a sharp, pained cry from her. "I have presented you with the most munificent offer that the whore of a two-credit bounty hunter deserves," he snarled into her face, "but it all hinges on one thing: And that is you tell me where Boba Fett is!"

"I don't know where he is!" she cried, struggling against his grip.

Czethros tightened his vicious hold even more. "So you admit you know him! You admit that he is your lover!"

"No!"

"If you do not tell me where he can be found, I will hand you over to Empire without a second glance! If you do, then you will remain alive…so you will have the distinct pleasure of watching while I strap him to a table and gouge out his eyes!"

Thrashing to free herself and driven more by raw instinct than lucid thought, I'Lai reached up and, her fingers curled into claws, raked her nails down and across Czethros's cheek. Czethros howled in pain and released her hair, bolting to his feet, and cradling the four fresh furrows on his face. When he brought his hand away, his palm was seeped in blood.

He stared at his bloodied hand for a long moment. He raised his visor toward I'Lai, who still sat cringed in her chair, panting uncontrollably. Rage flooded through him as he stepped toward her. "You little BITCH!" he roared, bringing his hand back and striking her once again across the face.

I'Lai careened from her chair to hit the floor hard on her knees and elbows. As she slowly raised her head, a dark fire began to smolder in her heart…

That's it, Archae'el! Embrace the rage…

She turned a slow, menacing glare toward the furious and bleeding Supreme Vigo, her lips pulled back into a vicious snarl…

Gorge upon the hatred feeding your heart…

Her slit eyes focused directly on Czethros's throat…

He dare strike his queen, his GODDESS? It is time to teach this upstart thug a lesson, I think…

Enraged, Czethros took another step toward the fallen girl…but then stopped when he felt his throat constrict. He frantically struggled to take a breath, but the only sounds coming from him were the sickening squeaks of strangulation. His hand wrapped around his throat as his body seized and tensed, and he stumbled back to brace himself against the far wall. The Twi'leki girl's eyes darted anxiously from I'Lai to Czethros, failing to comprehend why her master was suddenly dying before her. As his face turned blue, I'Lai, watching him through the veil of her thick hair thrown over her face, slowly, maliciously, grinned…

But the swoosh of the door opening instantly broke I'Lai's concentration. Her head snapped up and away from the choking Vigo as her Force-hold on his throat was broken. Czethros collapsed against the wall as he hungrily and desperately filled his starved lungs with ragged gasps of precious air…

"Boss!" Jober exclaimed, stepping into the chamber toward Czethros. "What happened? You OK?"

Still panting, Czethros threw a fierce, yet somewhat confused, bionic glare at I'Lai, who still knelt on all fours and glowered at him with the heat of murder in her eyes. He rubbed his raw throat as he pushed himself upright off the wall. "I'm…I'm fine," he rasped.

"Boss, you were choking—"

"I said I'm fine!" Czethros growled. He took a long, calming breath through his nose, and then cracked his neck before marching impatiently toward Jober. "What is it, Jober? What do you want?"

The large Bothan seemed to waver for a moment, as though he were having trouble keeping his equilibrium. He nodded toward Czethros. "There's an old woman who wants to talk to you," he murmured, almost too softly.

Czethros paused, tilting his head slightly as he asked, "You interrupt me to tell me an old woman wants to talk to me?"

Jober absently nodded. "Yeah."

"And?"

"I think you should go talk to her," Jober muttered, shaking his head as though he were trying to clear it.

Czethros stepped toward Jober. "How old is she?"

"Real old."

"Pfft," Czethros scoffed, turning back toward I'Lai, "kill her."

"I…" Jober twisted his lips over his fangs and clenched his eyes closed. "I can't."

The Vigo stopped and turned once again. "What do you mean you can't?"

"I mean I can't kill her." Jober's voice was low, hoarse, as if he had just woken. "I try to pull the trigger, and my finger won't move. I…I can't get near her. My feet are just…stuck. The other guys tried too…same thing." He lifted his bleary eyes to Czethros. "She…she wants to talk to you. It's…important that she talks to you."

"Jober, what the hell is wrong with you?" Czethros snapped as he strode toward his second. Jober's only response was a lost, unfocused look. Exasperated, Czethros barked, "Fine, I'll talk to her. I'm not getting anywhere here anyway. Where is she?"

"The kitchen, feeding the boys."

"All right. You stay here and keep watch." He stepped toward the door, but then stopped. He turned back. "Oh, and Jober?"

The Bothan lifted his gaze. "Yeah, what is it, Bos—"

Without any warning, Czethros's closed fist slammed into Jober's muzzle. Howling and reeling, Jober was about to fall when Czethros caught him by the waist and hurled him face first into the nearest wall. Grabbing him by his armored shoulder, Czethros spun him around and spit into his face, "That was for the little stunt you pulled out there with Fett's woman!"

"Come on, Boss," Jober moaned, wiping a paw across his newly bloodied lip, "we were only having a little fun—"

"Well, your 'fun' cost me two Kuat Snipers and one of my best men!" He lodged his forearm into Jober's throat as he hissed, "Listen carefully, because I will only say this once—you are EXPENDABLE, do you hear me? I don't care how long you've been with me; I will not tolerate that kind of stupidity! Understand!"

With his head forced back against the wall, Jober stared meekly down his snout at his infuriated boss. "I…I understand, Boss. I'm…sorry."

Czethros glared at his second before releasing Jober from the wall. "And HANDS OFF, Jober. You can't have her until I say so. Understand?"

"Yeah, Boss," Jober answered, sulking and humiliated.

"Good." He backed toward the door, shooting his glare over the chamber, before saying, "I'll be back," and striding through the door.

The second Czethros was gone, I'Lai bolted to her feet and rushed toward the Twi'leki holding Kai. "Please, please give him back," she sobbed softly. Very gently, the girl slid Kai into I'Lai's open arms. Kai immediately began to loudly cry as I'Lai moved back to her chair, hushing and cooing to him.

Kai's sharp wails pealed off the chamber's ceilings—right into Jober's highly sensitive Bothan ears. "Can't you shut that brat up?" he barked ferociously, still burned from Czethros's furious reproach.

I'Lai turned her tear-drenched face toward the Bothan. "He's hungry."

"Then FEED him!"

She hesitated for a moment, realizing there was nowhere private in the chamber she could go. Reluctantly, she turned her chair toward the back corner of the room—Only to have Jober stride over and plant himself in front of her. "Did I say you could turn around?" he growled.

I'Lai swallowed hard. "I would like a little privacy…please," she asked softly. She lifted her gaze to meet the Bothan's slanted eyes. "It's polite."

Jober regarded her for a moment, a lustful growl resonating low in his throat. Reaching down, he slid a furred finger under I'Lai's chin and lifted her head, perusing the newly swelling bruises left there by Czethros's blows. Letting out a brief snort, he dropped her chin and circled behind her, allowing her the privacy she requested. Cradling Kai in one arm, she adjusted her tunic open, unsnapping the support garment and freeing her breast for Kai, whose cries instantly vanished as he began to feed.

Standing behind her, Jober crossed his arms over his armored chest. "You killed my friend, you know."

"I didn't kill him," I'Lai replied as simply as she could, despite the guilt gnawing at her heart. "I was only trying to protect my son. Your friend killed himself."

"Mmmm," Jober hummed, leaning down over the back of the chair. "That may well be. But I'm still upset with you." Again, she heard the lascivious growl emanate from his throat. "But maybe you can give me some…incentive to forgive you."

"You should be ashamed of yourself," I'Lai snapped. "The Bothans are a peaceful, intellectual, and artistic people hailed for their skills in diplomacy! How could you possibly disgrace your clan as to become a common thug?"

"In case you hadn't noticed, Pretty," Jober snarled, coming around to crouch in front of her. I'Lai immediately pulled her long raven hair to conceal her exposed breast and pulled Kai even closer to her. "I am three times the size of a normal Bothan, which means I am a genetic mutation! Yeah sure, my people are peaceful and intelligent…unless you're born a freak! Then they exile you from their clan quicker than jumping to hyperspeed! So don't give me any lectures about my 'people'! I found my people."

"A band of cutthroats and murderers, led by a sociopath who couldn't care if you lived or died," I'Lai replied dourly.

Jober's lip curled away from his fang in a slow snarl as he leaned in close to I'Lai's face. "You talk too much. I have better uses for your mouth, Pretty," he hissed in a rasped whisper. The snarl morphed into a hungry sneer, and his nostrils flared. "I like the way you smell." Slowly, he picked up a pawful of I'Lai's hair from her breast, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply. He leaned in even closer, just so the tip of his snout was at her ear, and growled, "I am going to enjoy you."

The revulsion in I'Lai's stomach slowly boiled into a serene fury. The dark fire had returned, firing every nerve, every fiber in her sinews. Her fear had dissipated, and her voice was low, almost inhuman when she growled back, "Get your filthy paw off me, you fucking animal."

"Well, well," Jober chuckled as he leaned back from her ear, "Such language from such a pretty doll—" His humor, however, was short-lived. As he met her glare, the hungry sneer drawing his lips immediately melted away…

I'Lai's lips were pulled back in a subtly ferocious snarl, as though she were bearing her own fangs, and a soft but intensely resonant growl rippled from the depths of her throat. And instead of finding eyes of brilliant teal, Jober found himself staring into crystal points that flashed silver white.

He rose to his feet and backed away from her as a fearful bafflement clutched at his insides. I'Lai continued to glare at him, although her eyes were slowly darkening back into their normal blue-green hue. She tipped her head up as she softly yet firmly ordered, "You will stand over there and leave me alone while I feed my son."

Hesitant yet strangely powerless to argue, Jober nodded once and continued to back away, stopping only when he reached the far wall. First the one in the kitchen, and now her, Jober thought as he ran a nervous paw over his muzzle. What the hell kind of place is this…?

* * *

As the doors slid closed behind him, Czethros stopped and fell back upon them, panting profusely. Unconsciously, his hand lifted to rub his throat as he tried to make sense of what just happened. It was still raw, tight, and distended, proving that he had not imagined the attack from…from…her? Fett's woman? No, that was impossible! She was on the ground, on her knees, two meters away from him…but he recalled the look in her eyes, the sadistic, satisfied smile that crept over her full lips. How could…Had she just tried to kill him…with her mind? And now that he was actually thinking about it... Jober had told him she was running through the field, with Ca'ckalo chasing her… and that he had crashed the Sniper just minutes before Czethros had swung the Dama Fortuna around to retrieve him. If she was in the field…just how the hell did she get on that mountain ledge twenty meters above it? And just exactly how did Ca'ckalo crash his Sniper…?

He suddenly broke out into a cold sweat. Sure, he had heard the stories. Stories about how…what were they called…Jedi could move things with their minds, read people's thoughts, be able to perform superhuman feats of strength and agility…and for some odd reason, he suddenly thought of Prince Xizor and his unrelenting hatred for the Lord Vader, whom he had always called "that black-hearted Jedi sorcerer…"

A chill ran down Czethros's spine before he shook it off. "Jedi! Yeah, right!" he muttered sourly as he pushed himself off the doors and began stomping down the corridor. "She's as much of a Jedi as I am a pre-school marm! The Jedi are dead, gone! And good fuckin' riddance!"

He had marched around several corners and had come to the top of a lavish white marble staircase when a realization suddenly struck him. He double backed a couple steps to peer down the hall he had just traveled, then turned and looked down the opposite end. Stepping toward the first stair, he peered down into the grand—and empty—foyer of the palace while listening to the complete silence. His men, who were supposed to be patrolling the corridors, were nowhere to be found. "What the fuck…Trodeccu!" he roared, his voice echoing off the glistening finishes of marble and granite. "Splitter! HOSH!"" Again, no answer but the resonance of his own voice.

Czethros drew his lips into a thin angry line as he hopped down the stairs two at a time. As he hit the landing, he charged straight ahead toward the kitchen area, still calling for his missing crew while his hand immediately went to his sidearm…

As he came to the end of the corridor, he could hear the clinking of utensils against dishes coming from around the corner as well as…humming? A woman…humming? Slowly, Czethros stepped around the corner toward the shaft of light coming from the kitchen, his hand steadied on his blaster, until he had reached the door and peered around the jamb…

There were his men, all three dozen of them, inside. They were seated at and on top of long metal servants' tables, all of them eating stew out of their bowls. Besides the sounds of chewing and slurping and an occasional grunt of satisfaction, they were all completely silent, and they all looked glassy-eyed and incoherent…just like Jober had…

At the far end of the kitchen stood an old woman in front of a large stove, her back to the door. Somewhat tall for a woman her age, dressed in simple garb and her whitish-gray curling hair pinned into a neat bun, she hummed brightly as she stirred a huge pot with one hand while tossing in herbs with the other.

Czethros's nostrils flared wide as he slid his jaw to the side. "What the FUCK is going on here!" he bellowed. Despite the apparent rage in his tone, the armored men hardly flinched—they merely looked up from their bowls to stare at him incoherently before returning to their meal.

The woman at the stove turned over her shoulder slightly, and exclaimed jovially, "Baron Czethros! How lovely of you to join us! Please, come in!" Turning back to her cooking, the woman gestured to her side. "You'll find bowls and spoons over there on the counter. Don't worry—I've made plenty! You won't go hungry, that's for sure!" Chuckling, she added musically, "Ah, a wonderful invention, stew! Nothing better for feeding the masses, don't you agree? Of course, if stew is too…plebian for your cultured tastes, Baron, I can always fix you something else—"

"WHY AREN'T YOU PATROLLING THE PALACE!" Czethros roared at his men, stomping toward the end of one of the tables and flipping the bowl of the olive-skinned Rodian. Meat, broth, and vegetables flew in all directions as the Rodian, as did the others seated at his table, merely gaped at Czethros blankly. "You're supposed to be guarding the prisoners, and watching for—"

"I assure you, Baron," Nikoa soothed in a motherly tone, turning around toward the cutting table. "All the house staff is locked away in the ballroom, safe and snug. And I wouldn't worry about anyone coming around. All is well." With that, she lifted the large chef knife off the table and proceeded to cut up fruit. "Gwizzil, do you want some more?"

"Eeepo needa, pwease," the scarred and battered Rodian answered as sweetly as a teacher's pet.

"Well, get your bowl and come get it."

"Gwizzil, what the hell is wrong with you!" Czethros demanded furiously. Gwizzil completely ignored him as he went back up to the stove to refill his bowl. "What the hell is wrong with all of you!" Angrily, he spun toward the old woman. "What have you done to them!?"

Nikoa, still focused on cutting the fruit, smiled. "I've merely fed your hungry men, Baron. And in doing so…calmed them."

"You've drugged them!"

"I've done no such thing," she replied simply, lifting the sliced fruit into a bowl. "If you ask me, they have too many substances in their systems as it is! All I've done is merely…well…I don't think you'd understand."

Enraged, Czethros stormed across the kitchen. He pulled his blaster out of its holster and aimed the barrel directly at the old woman's forehead. "I understand that it's time for you to die, you withered old bitch!"

"Oh, please, Baron, calm yourself," Nikoa chuckled, wiping her hands on her apron. "You don't want to kill me."

"Oh, really," Czethros snarled, pressing the barrel into the top of her head, "And why is that?"

"Because…I'm the only one happy to see you." The old woman's tone suddenly turned from bright to forebodingly serious as she lifted her gaze from beneath her brow to glare into his bionic visor. "I'm the one who brought you here." She lifted the bowl, offering its contents. "Parsin fruit?"

Czethros frowned even more "You…what?" He shook his head. "No, no, Burl Thutchen brought me here."

"Oh, Burl!" Nikoa chirped. "And how is Burl?"

"Dead."

She pursed her lips and sighed lightly through her nose. "Pity. Oh, my!" she gasped, setting the bowl down and reaching toward Czethros's face. "She did some damage, didn't she?"

"Huh? Oh," he muttered, touching the four gashes on his cheek.

Nikoa came around the table to set her hand on his broad shoulder. "Baron, sit. Let me tend to those scratches before they get infected."

"I don't have time for—" Czethros roared.

"SIT. DOWN." Nikoa ordered with quiet wrath, pointing to a stool at the counter.

Czethros took a step to lunge at the woman, but stopped suddenly when he noticed her eyes. Already a dark hue, an ominous red ring encircled her irises, making them appear as smoldering coals, and he could swear he had just smelled a whiff of sulfur coming from her pores…hesitantly and not exactly sure why he was doing so, Czethros obeyed.

Nikoa's sinister expression instantly evaporated back into her sweet, motherly smile. "That's better. Now, let me just get the med kit." She turned around the counter and bent down to reach into a cupboard.

Holding his blaster in his lap and touching his face again, he gritted his teeth as he hissed, "I better not be scarred, or the little hellcat will pay dearly!"

"Actually, no she won't, Baron," Nikoa corrected as she came back, med kit in hand. Setting it down on the counter and opening it, she added simply and quietly, "And from this moment on, you will never touch her again. Do you understand?"

"What!" he scoffed incredulously. "Why, you presumptuous hag! Who do you think you are, daring to speak to me like this!"

"Me?" Nikoa shrugged. "I'm nothing more than a humble servant." She stopped applying bacta solution onto a swath for a brief moment, lifting her smoldering glare to face him again. In a voice as sharply delicate as tempered steel, she added, "However, if you want to get off this planet ALIVE, Czethros, it would behoove you to hold your volatile temper in check and listen to my every word."

The derisive smirk melted from Czethros' lip as he was held in the snare of the old woman's eyes. "What do you mean, old woman, get off alive?"

Nikoa clucked her tongue against her teeth as she began dabbing the bacta solution onto Czethros' gashes. "For someone as devious and ruthless as you are, Czethros, you are so delightfully naïve." She cocked her head slightly. "You have set foot in the Empire's most secret installation, and you know its coordinates." Her voice dropped even lower. "Do you honestly believe the Imperials are going to let you live?"

Almost instinctively, Czethros' shoulder blades tensed, and his throat constricted. The chill in his spine returned. Slowly, he turned his glare. "You're crazy. They won't kill me. They need me."

"Do they?" Nikoa asked casually. "Haven't all monetary transfers been signed and approved? And don't you think they've made a copy of your electronic signature already?" Czethros' face dropped. Nikoa chuckled murkily. "This is the Empire we're talking about, Czethros. Did you really think Daala would keep her word? With your signature, they can crack into every single code in your banking establishments. Pair that with a holographic image of your face, and…well, let's just say, you won't be missed. They'll take over all your Ord Mantell operations, clean out your accounts, use them as their own, and no one will even know you're dead."

His shoulders began to shake with rage. "No, NO! They can't do that to me!" He leapt of his stool, gesturing wildly with his blaster toward his oddly subdued men still seated at the tables. "They gave us armor, weapons! They gave us a fucking Destroyer! Why would they do all that if they were just going to kill me?"

Nikoa folded her arms over her thin chest, and tilted her head to the side. "Ah yes, the armor." She cocked an eyebrow. "Have any of your men sustained a hit in that armor, Czethros? Do you even know if it works?"

Czethros staggered for a moment, his lips twisting into a grotesque grimace over his teeth. He turned viciously. "Gwizzil! Get up!"

As the Rodian dazedly stood up from his seat, Czethros aimed his blaster and shot him in the shoulder. The red bolt of energy shot through Gwizzil's shoulder guard as easily as a spear through parchment. Chips of black plasteel and geysers of dark blood exploded in all directions as Gwizzil dropped into a squealing heap on the floor.

All color drained from Czethros face beneath his visor as he lowered the blaster to his side. "Pick him up and get him to the med center," he ordered in a low rasp. As two of the mercenaries rose from their seats and carted Gwizzil out the door, Czethros slowly turned toward Nikoa, who still stood calmly, her arms folded.

"Do you understand now, Baron?" Nikoa asked in a softly gentle manner. "If you bring I'Lai up to their Destroyer, they will execute you and your men on the spot. If you do not, they will simply come and kill you here. You can't win, and there is no escape. You were doomed from the very beginning."

"How do you know all this?" he demanded breathlessly, stepping toward her slowly. "How do you know about Daala, and my bargain with the Empire? How did you—"

"I told you, Baron. I brought you here. This was all arranged."

Dread seared through Czethros' limbs as he came face to face with the old woman, who was obviously, dangerously more than she appeared… "Who the hell are you?"

She lifted her gaze to meet his visor, and again, her dark eyes smoldered red, with tiny points of wan yellow sparking through them. "I am…" she began, her voice darkly resonant and almost mannish, "a messenger."

The room began to swim behind the woman in his sights, and he hastily grabbed the countertop to keep from wavering. "A messenger? From whom?"

"From he who will give you everything you desire, Baron…and more." Slowly, she began to circle around him as she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, and her tone became that of a velvet lullaby. "My Master has been watching you for quite some time now. You possess the qualities needed: ambition, cruelty, intellect, tenacity, and leadership, but…you are undisciplined, reckless, reactive and myopic. My Master can broaden your mind, and hone your wildness into deadly precision." She stopped behind him, standing on her tiptoes to whisper into his ear, "And you will be rewarded beyond your wildest imagination."

Czethros managed a soft sardonic chuckle, despite the dark fog seeping into his consciousness. "My imagination can be substantially wild, old mother," he murmured. "Tell me, this master of yours…can he give me…the galaxy?"

Having come back to his front, Nikoa stopped and gazed into his visor as she simply answered, "Yes, Baron. He can."

Czethros stared down into the old woman's face. The computer ship within his visor de-scrambled the code the red vision sensor scanned, creating a three-dimensional image of her face within the visual receptors in his brain. It was only then that he really looked at her, at the oval bone structure of her withered face, the set of her wide, dark eyes, the high-arced cheekbones, the thick curl of her pinned-back hair… "Why do you look…" he whispered drowsily, "familiar to me…?"

She smiled gently, tilting her chin upwards. "And who do I look like, Baron?"

He felt as though a curtain had just been pulled over the window of his mind… "I…don't…remember…"

"Then it is of no importance, is it?" Her smile grew sweeter, broader as she gingerly cupped his face. "Tell me, Junius…are you willing to abandon this useless vengeance? Would you trade this blood feud with this paltry, insignificant bounty hunter for the opportunity to lead vast armadas? To overtake and crush anyone who has ever opposed or betrayed you? To have wealth and power beyond any mortal coil? To shape…an Empire?" She raised her face to just centimeters of his own. "To SEE again?"

A vision morphed into Czethros' mind, clearer than any image his visor could relay. Nikoa's face began to change, growing wider, longer, masculine. Her hair receded away from her forehead, transforming into small horns a top her head…and the sallow of her complexion deepened and swirled into slashes of scarlet and black while her eyes burned into twin pyres of flame…and her hands became hot against his cheeks as the sterile white of the surrounding kitchen darkened into an onyx landscape slumbering under a crimson sky…

A slow, blissful smile spread his mouth. He felt his heart swell within his chest, and he felt his loins pulse with anticipation of absolute power…Gently, almost lovingly, he raised his hand to touch the hand on his cheek. "Yes," he whispered.

"Then," the grotesquely beautiful visage of black and red tattoos murmured silkily, "listen well, my lieutenant…"

* * *

Even as the air was dense with the roars of twin ion engines ripping through the skies of the Southern Hem, it was the SNAP! of a twig being crushed under a boot that jarred Lando Calrissian back into consciousness. Still lying twisted on his side, pinned in place by the massive barrel of the now-destroyed platform cannon, he slowly opened one eye to see the unmistakably white armored legs of an Imperial stormtrooper standing just a few meters from him.

"Report," he heard the stormtrooper bark through his vocoder.

"All dead over here," replied the second trooper, stepping toward the other and into Lando's line of view. He saw both pair of legs pivot in his direction. "What about those over there?"

"Let's check." The pairs of boots began to walk toward him.

Blinking hard to clear his fogged head, Lando frantically ran a mental scan over his shattered body. His right arm, on which he was leaning his head, was broken; but his left arm seemed intact, and was resting on his hip, just centimeters from his side arm…very, very slowly, he inched his left hand downward toward the butt of his blaster…

He heard one trooper step around the destroyed platform. "Two humans and a Rodian, all dead."

The other trooper came around to plant his feet just shy of Lando's head. "This one looks dead, too."

"Better make sure. Help me lift this off him."

Lando still kept his eyes closed, listening carefully to the creaks and moans of charred metal as the troopers hoisted the barrel up off him, while his fingers unsnapped the holster and wrapped around the trigger…

Come on, Calrissian, light and quick and steady…

Suddenly, the first trooper, still holding the barrel over his head, snapped his helmet down. "Hey, he just moved! He's alive!"

"Damn right!" Lando growled as he drew his blaster and fired right into the trooper's armored gut. The trooper dropped his end of the barrel right on top of his helmet, giving Lando the split second he needed to roll out from under and peel off another blast right into the second trooper's throat. The trooper fell back like a ton of durasteel, hitting the ground hard and the barrel hitting him even harder.

Lando fell back against the earth, panting hard. He listened carefully for any more troops for several long minutes. He heard nothing but the roar of TIEs off in the distance. Most of the troops must be in the townships, he thought. They only sent these two to scout this area. I have to get out of here before they come looking for them…

His legs felt numb, having been crushed under the barrel for so long. Clenching his teeth, he tried to pull his legs up. Slowly and with great effort, he was able to bend his right leg up; he then tried the left…something was wrong. Something…didn't feel quite right, like his foot wasn't catching the ground…He pulled himself up to rest on his good arm and looked down…

His left leg, from the knee down, was gone.

Lando blinked a few times as his mind fought to comprehend what he was seeing. His pant leg was stained with blood all the way to the crotch. Feverishly, he looked back toward the fallen troopers, and saw his detached limb sticking out from underneath one of them. "No," he rasped. "Oh, no…"

How did this happen? Was it the explosion? Or the charred, twisted cannon barrel slice it off? Ah hell, did it really matter at this point how it happened?

His head began to churn and swim from loss of blood. He had to stop the bleeding, and fast. Frantically, he placed his blaster on his lap and, by pressing the tiny buttons on the grip, adjusted the blaster to torch setting. He pulled the trigger, and a small blue flame shot from the barrel. Lando braced himself, biting down hard on his lip as he brought the flame down upon the bloody stump, and screamed to the skies as he cauterized the wound.

He felt his consciousness begin to slip away again as he fell against the ground once more. He fought it. No you don't, Calrissian. Don't you go now. Not like this. Not…like this…think…have to get help…need help…Han, Luke…they're coming…they could be here by now…

His eyes snapped open as an idea instantly came to him. He pulled his blaster to his chin and clamped it there adjusting the buttons once again, before pointing it away from himself and blasting out a wide greenish haze in a rhythmic pattern.

"Han ol' buddy," Lando breathed shallowly as he fired, "I sure as hell hope you remember Birithi code…"

* * *

President Leia Organa, still wearing her delicate white gown, paced anxiously back and forth within her private office aboard the Defiance, silhouetted against the massive red sphere of Orri Alpha, the system's largest gas giant and most distant from its sun, Dia Prishina. Occasionally, she would stop and peruse the huge planet through the viewport. Dotted against its scarlet atmosphere were the forms of A-, B-, Y-, and X-wings, as well as other ships such as the medical frigate, six medium troop transports, five Tantive blockade runners, and the familiar, unmistakable silhouette of the Millennium Falcon. Delicately chewing on her thumbnail, Leia seemed to be more looking through the ships rather than at them before stepping back into her nervous stride.

"Leia," Winter chided gently from her seat on the office's austere sofa, "stop pacing. You're jostling the babies."

Leia's only response to her longtime assistant and surviving friend from Alderaan was a curt look. Hastily, she stepped off the port platform and strode to her desk, hitting the com button. "Has the reconnaissance drone returned yet, Admiral?"

"Not yet, your Excellency," Ackbar replied for the fourth time in the last ten minutes, eloquently masking his slight frustration with the young president.

Leia irritably rubbed her brow. "Can't we just download the data from the drone processors?"

"You know we can't, Excellency. We can't risk the Imps picking up any communication signals. The drone must return physically, and then we can download the information. Leia," he added softly in his croaking voice, "It will only be a few more moments. We must know precisely what we are up against before we go charging into a blockaded system. Please be patient."

"Patient," Leia repeated dully, seating herself lightly on the desk's edge. "How much longer can we ask the people of Orri Prime to be patient?" Unconsciously, her hand came to rest upon her slightly protruding belly. "Or the governor and her baby?" It was then she realized that her voice was beginning to falter and would betray the intense wave of sadness now crashing over her. Swallowing hard, she cleared her throat. "Admiral, you will contact me as soon as the drones have arrived back into bay."

"Of course, your Excellency. Ackbar out."

Leia clicked the com off. She folded her arms over her chest, rounded her shoulders, and bowed her head. Winter waited for several long, quiet moments before she spoke again. "Leia…?"

"I must be getting soft, " Leia murmured, raising her head just slightly. "Force knows this is hardly the first time I've gone into battle. And yet, this time…I don't know, it just seems harder."

"Well, for one thing, this time you're pregnant," Winter pointed out. "Your hormones are a mess right now, Leia. You're bound to be a little more emotional."

"It's not that, Winter."

"Then what is it, Leia?" Again, she waited for her friend's response, but Leia did not reply. Winter rose from her seat and stepped toward her. "You're blaming yourself for this, aren't you?"

"Well of course I'm blaming myself!" Leia snapped heatedly, rising from the desk and resuming her pace. "I knew the Empire was lying in wait, just biding their time! But I thought they would hit larger, more prominent targets like Corellia or Naboo! I thought they would go after the shipyards or the food supply—"

"And you secured those places, Leia. You did exactly what you should have done! How were you to know they'd go after a mining world—"

"That's just it, Winter. I should have known! It's my job as President to know these things! It's my responsibility to protect these worlds! And what was I doing?" Leia's face darkened into a grimace of self-loathing. "I was throwing a party, basking in the glory of my own self-importance!"

"Leia, you were celebrating your marriage! There's nothing wrong with that—"

"Yes Winter, there is something wrong with that! Because of that, because of my own arrogance and complacency…another world may be destroyed."

Winter's breath caught in her throat at Leia's words. "Oh, Leia. Will you ever believe me when I tell you, over and over again, that Alderaan was not your fault?"

Leia once again sank onto the desk, clasping her hands in her lap. "Maybe someday I will, Winter. But right now, you can't convince me that Orri Prime is not my fault."

* * *

*Cub*, Chewbacca rumbled from his throat, flexing his huge paw, *enough. I've heard less drumming on Kashyyk during Life Day."

"Huh?" Han grunted irritably before he realized that he had been anxiously rapping on the Falcon's console nonstop for the last ten minutes. "Oh, yeah…sorry, Chewie."

*Relax, cub.* Chewie pointed a furred finger at one of the monitor screens. *The recon drone has passed through the system undetected. It's making its way back to the Defiance as we speak.*

"Well, it's taking its own sweet time, isn't it?" Crankily, Han spun his pilot's chair around at the sound of a low cough coming from the Falcon's hold. "Could you guys keep it down back there! We're waiting for information here!"

Several helmeted heads leaned in to peek through the cockpit hatch. "Sorry, General," one of the Pathfinder troops muttered. They all glanced at each other and shrugged as they took their seats once again in the Falcon's hold.

Huffing through his nose, Han spun his chair back—and caught the narrowed-eyed dubious expression on Chewbacca's face. "What?" he snapped.

*I'm only going to say this once more, cub. RELAX, or I'll stuff you in a cargo bin and fly this mission myself.* Han glared at Chewie for a brief moment, then turned away toward the cockpit window. Chewie sighed. *Lando's my friend, too. Don't worry, we'll find him."

"Yeah, Chewie, we'll find him. But here's the question; just how DEAD will we find him?" Han murmured morosely. Propping his boot up on the console, Han pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is all my fault."

*Cub, don't start again--*

"Well, it IS, Chewie! Talon Karrde told me this would happen, he warned me! He told me that Black Sun and the Empire would team up! And what did I do? Absolutely nothing!"

*You reported it to the Council, that's all you could do. And they, being the flea-whelping bureaucrats they are, said they would 'look into it'. It's not your fault that they were wary to act upon the word of a smuggling kingpin. Besides, even if you knew they had teamed up, you still had no idea where or when.*

"Yeah, well…what I should have done was mass my own force and gone to Ord Mantell myself and dealt with Czethros head on!"

*Oh, sure,* Chewbacca grumbled sardonically, *Lead a band of Republic vigilantes to take down a one of the galaxy's most powerful businessmen for a crime you have no proof he did. Yup, that would reflect nicely on your wife, the leader of the free galaxy."

"Argh," Han growled, leaning his head back against the chair rest and setting his palms against his eyes. "Chewie, what happened to those simple days of running Imperial blockades with three metric tons of spice jammed under our floorboards?"

Chewie chuckled. *I think those days ended when a certain princess threw you down a garbage chute.* He softened a bit, putting a massive Wookiee paw on Han's knee. "He'll be OK, Han. You two are a pair of spider-roaches, impossible to kill.*

* * *

The com on the desk buzzed with the voice of Admiral Ackbar. "Madame President, the recon drone has arrived intact."

"I'm on my way. Inform General Solo and the squadron leaders that the drones have survived." Clicking off the com, Leia strode toward the door linking her office to the bridge of the Defiance. "The drone made it back in one piece. Well, it's nice to know that we can make new technologies that work, too."

As the door slid open, Winter caught Leia's arm before she walked through. "Leia," she murmured to her friend, "This isn't going to be Alderaan. We're going to win."

Taking in a deep breath, Leia looked into Winter's eyes, a tough, defiant smirk playing across her lips. "Damn right we are," she whispered crustily before she marched through the door.

The bridge of the New Republic's flagship Defiance pulsated with activity. Techs and junior officers swarmed over the deck, relaying information and messages to and from the dozens of pilots out in space and the squads of SpecForce troops onboard. Huge monitors set above the bridge blared maps and reliefs of the Dia-Orri system, while the enormous holographic projector set in the center of the bridge emitted the luminescent images of Republic ships within the Defiance's perimeter, including the Millennium Falcon and the twelve X-wings that had come to be known as Rogue Squadron.

"At ease," Leia said as techs and officers immediately snapped to attention in her presence. With Winter in tow, she made her way across the vast bridge to Admiral Ackbar seated in his captain's chair in front of the viewport. "Have we retrieved the drone's data yet, Admiral?"

"We're downloading it as we speak, your Excellency. It will only be a few moments."

Leia glanced toward the holograph. "Are we in contact with Generals Solo and Skywalker?"

"We can hear you loud and clear, sweetheart," Han's voice sounded from the loudspeaker.

Leia, as did most everyone on the bridge, instantly smiled upon hearing Han's confident baritone. "General Skywalker, do you copy?"

"Rogue Leader here, Excellency," Luke answered chipperly. Instead of using the com, Luke decided to continue the conversation to his sister in his own way. I'm here, Leia, he pathed. Are you all right? I'm sensing agitation from you.

The serenity of the Light Side swept over Leia as she answered back, I'm fine, Luke. Just…worried. She breathed deeply. Can you sense I'Lai?

Somewhat, but the link is vague. But she is alive, as is Kai.

Thank the Force, Leia pathed, bringing her hands to her face in relief.

Luke's voice drifted tenderly through her mind. Leia, do not blame yourself for this, please. I can feel your guilt, and this is not the time. A Jedi must be in the present moment in battle, with no past and no future clouding your judgment. Focus on the task at hand.

Yes, Master, she sent with light sarcasm, to which Luke let out a softly audible laugh.

"So," sounded the voice of Wedge Antilles over the speaker, "when do we get this party started, huh? Starting to get a little ansty up here!"

"I'm right there with ya, Wedge," Han said over the com. "I got a troop of Pathfinders in my hold about to break out the sabaac deck!"

"We are downloading the drone's data as we speak, gentlemen!" Ackbar croaked cantankerously, becoming annoyed with the impatience of youth surrounding him. "It would hardly behoove any of us to fly willy-nilly into a blockade of Imperial fighters without first knowing exactly what we are up against! Unless there are those of you who have some sort of death-wish up there—"

"Hey, I have absolutely no intention of dying today," came the bright, youthful voice of crack Rogue pilot Tycho Celchu. "Not after Winter has finally agreed to go out with me."

For a brief moment, all activity stopped on the bridge as every head, including Leia's, turned toward the lithe, silver-haired young woman standing on the viewport dais. Leia's eyes widened a bit, and she cocked a delicate eyebrow as an amused smirk played across her lip. Winter's face exploded in a crimson blush as the congratulations and jibes of scores of pilots flooded the airwaves.

"Hey, way to go, Tycho!"

"What you do to get her to go out with you, Celchu? Cry?"

"Nice work, my friend!"

"Hey Celchu, can you give me some good groveling tips?"

"All of you just be quiet!" Winter snapped at the com mics overhead. "By Force, we're about to go into battle, not a stag party!" She threw her hostile glare at Leia as well. "And you—stop looking at me like that!"

"Did I say anything?" Leia drawled with feigned innocence.

"Leia, I've known you since we were six years old—and you can speak volumes without saying a word!"

Admiral Ackbar could feel the heat beginning to swirl around his normally cool damp head, and was about to launch into a fiery diatribe about military discipline and focus and whatnot…until he found himself actually chuckling. The years of battle stress, the constant barrage, the loss and the pain and the endless running from the Empire had turned these young, half-trained, and undisciplined novices into crack pilots, keen strategists, and fearless warriors. And now, instead of barely-functioning discards, the New Republic had new weapons and vessels to rely upon. Instead of annoyed, Ackbar found he was actually pleased that his troops were relaxed and confident before battle. Besides, with Han and Leia and Luke and everyone else distracted with each other, he could calmly and quietly peruse the recon drone's data dotting across his viewscreen without interruption…

Or so he thought.

"Admiral," barked the Sullustan communications officer from his console, "I'm picking something up from the Orri Prime surface."

A hush fell upon the deck as all heads turned toward the com console. Ackbar rose from his chair. "Is it an Imperial signal?"

The Sullustan, still holding the headphone to his ear, shook his head. "I don't think so, not strong enough. It sounds like a low-frequency wave from a sub-light particle beam."

"It could just be chatter from all the blaster fire on planet," Leia offered.

Again, the Sullustan shook his head. "I don't think so, Excellency. It's coming in bursts, in a rhythm…almost like it was code…"

"Code?" Han blurted. "Hey, Oebe, can you patch that through up here?"

"Sure thing, General. Stand by."

The low, thumping electronic signal fizzed through the Falcon's loudspeaker. Han sat grimly still, concentrating intensely on the rhythmic pops and pulses. The Pathfinder troops in the hold, unsure what to make of the sound they were hearing, became even more confused when Han Solo suddenly and most happily yelped and whooped from the cockpit.

"It's Lando!" Han shouted with gleeful relief through the com. "It's Lando! He's alive!"

A collective gasp swept through the Defiance, the Falcon, and every cockpit of every fighter throughout the Republic force, followed immediately by a wave of cheers. Leia rushed to the com console. "Han, how can you tell?"

"He's using Birithi code, sweetheart, an old smuggler's trick.. Lando and I used it to coordinate pickups and drop-offs in the old days. Good to know the Empire still hasn't caught on!"

Ackbar made his way to the console. "General Solo, what is he saying?"

"Well, my code's as little rusty, but I think it's to the tune of 'Where the hell are you guys?' Wait." Han paused, putting two fingers to his ear as he translated the latest series of pulses. "He's giving me his com frequency. Chewie, open a channel to four point three megs."

* * *

"Lando," Han's voice crackled over the tiny speaker, "Lando, do you copy? Lando! We got your signal!"

In spite of his devastating pain, a quiet and immensely grateful chuckle came from Lando's lips. Having crawled across the scorched ground and nestled himself under the twisted scrap of the cannon platform, he was now fumbling with his good hand for the comlink on his belt. "Han," he rasped through bloody phlegm, "Gods and hells, you sound prettier than a Twi'leki diva."

Cheers broke anew from all the Republic forces as Lando's voice came over their coms. On board the Falcon, Han smiled and sighed with relief. "You sound pretty damn good yourself, friend."

"Ah, don't start lying to me now, buddy," Lando chided with a harsh cough. "I sound like hell."

"Lando, are you all right?"

"Let's put it this way-- I won't be doing a lot of dancing at the victory celebration." He coughed again, and his tone turned serious. "I'm…I'm hurt pretty bad, Han." He paused as he struggled to get the next words out of his mouth. "My arm's busted up, I'm pretty sure I've sustained some major internal injuries, and…" he swallowed hard, "I've… lost my leg."

The Republic forces fell into a stunned silence. Luke drew his lips into a thin line. Leia dropped her head into her hands. Han clenched his eyes closed in angry frustration, running a hand through his thick hair. Chewbacca whimpered quietly.

Shaking himself straight, Han pressed on. "Lando, can you tell us what the situation looks like down there? Where are you?"

"I'm just a few hundred meters from Security HQ—or what's left of it. As far as I can tell, I seem to be the only survivor. They hit us good, Han."

"Baron," Ackbar interjected, "can you give us a rough estimate of their forces from down there?"

Lando sighed deeply, shaking his head. "It's hard to tell, but from what I can see, it's a typical Imperial smash-and-crash job. At least two TIE squadrons for the initial attack, now down to four ships just scouting the area." He leaned over to peek out around the wreckage. "I can hear scout walkers in the distance—sounds like two. And so far, they only sent a couple troopers to canvass this area—they probably thought they killed everyone during the first pass." He chuckled bitterly. "They were right."

"Did they find you, Lando?" Luke asked.

Lando's pained smile only grew. "Sure did, kid. Don't worry—they won't be bothering me again." His sentence was harshly cut off by another bout of thick, violent coughing.

"Lando, hang in there," Han said with gruff reassurance, "Don't you die on me, buddy."

Lando sank back against the torn and twisted metal, resting the com on his chest, his eyes sliding up to the azure Orri Prime sky. "Easy for you to say." He laughed quietly. "Don't worry, Han, I'm not planning on going anywhere, but…" His voice became weak and throaty as it trailed off, "I think I'll just take a little nap right now…"

Han let a few seconds pass. "Lando?" Silence. He bit into his lip. "LANDO?" His hand curled into a fist as he held his breath, as did the entire Republic collective aboard their ships…And along with everyone, Han let out a sigh of relief when he heard Lando's soft snores coming over the comlink.

"Admiral," Han snapped over the com, "Is that data coming in, like, oh, I don't know…TODAY? Do we have ANY idea how many Destroyers we're dealing with?"

"Yes, General Solo, we do. We're dealing with one."

Leia's head turned in astonishment. "ONE?"

"ONE?" Han exclaimed.

"One?" Luke repeated incredulously.

Ackbar nodded briefly, then turned toward his first officer. "Load the data," he ordered. As he made his way back to his seat, rows upon rows of data scanned across the bridge's monitors as well as those of all pilots. The hologram of the collective Republic forces was replaced with glowing image of the Destroyer Imprimatur and its surrounding escort of TIE fighters. "As you can see, we are dealing with a lone Victory-class Destroyer with, from what we have scanned, a standard regiment."

"Whoa, wait, hold the com," Han interjected. "Admiral, are you telling me that, for the first time since this war began, WE have the advantage?"

"Well, General…I wouldn't say we have an advantage, but…for once, we are not out manned or outgunned."

Leia stepped toward the hologram, aghast. "This doesn't make sense. Why would the Empire only send one Destroyer to take a planet?"

"If that planet was a provincial mining world with substandard defenses, it's not all that inconceivable," Luke interjected faintly, a lace of guilt threading his words.

"But still," countered Leia, "To attack a mining world with no indigenous refineries with only ONE Destroyer? It just seems…amateurish." She shook her head. "This just doesn't sound like the Empire."

"Remember, sweetheart," Han reminded her, "We're dealing with Black Sun here as well." He ran his hand over his mouth. "I dunno…maybe—"

*Maybe Czethros bought the Destroyer,* Chewbacca interrupted matter-of-factly.

Slowly, Han turned toward his first mate as realization slowly crept over him. "Come again?"

"What did he say?" Wedge asked.

*You remember what Talon Karrde told us. The Empire is hurting, its funds are worthless, they need help. On the other hand, Czethros is hungry for power, and he saw an opportunity arise that he couldn't pass up.* Chewie leaned back in his chair, giving Han an incredulous look. *This scenario never occurred to any of you?*

Han sat mildly stunned for a moment before his patented lop-sided grin over took his face. "Chewie, you're a genius! I take back everything I ever said about you."

*No, you don't.*

"What did he say?!" Ackbar croaked brusquely.

Han turned back to the com. "Admiral, my faithful first mate just hit upon an epiphany. He said—"

"Hold on!" Wedge interrupted curtly as his scanners went off. "Anyone else getting this?"

"Getting what?" Luke asked over the drone exasperated groans coming over the links.

Veering his X-wing around the northern pole of Orri Alpha, Wedge stated, "My scanners are showing a ship coming out of hyperspace. Are we expecting anyone else?"

"No, we're not!" Luke answered firmly, gripping his fighter's controls. "Wedge, follow that signal! All pilots, stand by!"

"Affirmed, Rogue Leader. Rogue Six standing by," Tycho answered. All the pilots of the escorting squadrons repeated his affirmation with their various call numbers.

As his X-wing cleared the rounded crest of Orri Alpha, Wedge checked his scanners again. Line by line, the image of the emerging ship connected itself into form, while tactical data ran along the bottom of the screen. "Cargo ship, modified, a Kuat Firespray 31…gods and hells…"

(And in that Kuat Firespray 31 cargo ship, a certain armored bounty hunter, having just jumped from hyperspace and running his own scans, lifted his masked eyes from the monitor and peered out his window to see Wedge's X-wing careening toward him. Slumping back slightly in his seat, Boba Fett muttered jadedly under his breath, "Shit…")

Tearing his eyes from the scanner display, Wedge glanced out his cockpit window at the elliptical-shaped, heavily gunned vessel hurtling toward him over Orri Alpha's horizon, haloed by the red glare of its powerful ion engines. His hands scrambled over the control console as he shouted, "Enemy craft approaching! It's the Slave I! Slave I!"

"Oh, GREAT!" Han barked sharply, dropping his forehead into his hands and kicking the underside of the console, "This is ALL we need right now!"

"Boba Fett!?" Ackbar blurted over the com. "That's impossible! Boba Fett is dead!"

Leia's eyes grew widely staggered as she threw her attention to one of the huge monitors. There, she saw the Slave I glide across the screen, and thought she could actually make out a T-shaped visor through the cockpit glass…"No, Admiral," she murmured heavily, turning her gaze toward Ackbar, "Boba Fett is very much alive."

Ackbar's large amphibious eyes squinted. "Princess," he uttered disbelievingly, absently calling her by what had become more of a term of endearment rather than a formal title, "is there something you haven't told the rest of us?" Leia's only answer was her lids fluttering to the floor and her head turning away. Pulling a deep breath through his gills, Ackbar gruffly turned his attention back to the monitor. "Wedge, onscreen! Blasters ready!"

"Admiral, no!" Leia cried.

"Wedge, hang on! I'm coming up on your port side!" Tycho called.

"Tycho, get up behind his stern!" Wedge ordered. "I've got him targeted from the front!"

"Wedge, he' throwing up his shields!"

"I'm on him, Tycho!" His finger curled around the trigger. "Target locked! Lasers—"

"Hold your fire, Wedge," Luke commanded softly.

With his finger still wrapped on the trigger, Wedge knit his brow. "What?" he shook his head, unsure if he deard Luke right. "But Luke, it's Boba Fett! What are you—"

"Don't question my orders, Commander!" Luke warned sharply, hitting the thrusters and steering toward Wedge's coordinates. "I said hold your fire! Tycho, you too! Both of you, fall back and flank me!"

"Yes, sir," Celchu answered dutifully, if somewhat reluctantly.

"General Skywalker, what do you think you are doing?" Ackbar demanded.

"Admiral," Luke answered calmly yet sternly as the Slave I came within his artificial horizon, "trust me on this. Let me talk to him. Please."

"Admiral, listen to the kid," Han groaned grudgingly, gritting his teeth, "he knows what he's doing."

Ackbar threw his glare to Leia, who nodded pleadingly to him. He exhaled sharply. "Permission granted, General. But the channel stays open, understood? And I want a FULL explanation from all of you."

"Understood, Admiral. I'm attempting to open a channel." Luke lifted his gaze up from his instruments to peer out before him, just as the Slave I was making its approach toward him. His communication sensors ran a variety of different frequencies before locking onto the right one. He took a deep breath. "Slave I, this is General Skywalker of Rogue Squadron, do you copy?" Silence. "Rogue Leader to Slave I, please affirm." Again, silence. Luke pursed his lips. "Slave I, this is General Skywalker of—"

"I heard you the first time, Skywalker."

Now, most in the Republic forces had never even seen the infamous bounty hunter Boba Fett (save for holonet images), much less heard his voice. So when Fett's flat, cold, and laconic synthesized tones hissed over the loudspeakers, the hair, scales, and feathers of every crewmember, troop, officer, and tech stood on end. Every single being, organic and mechanical, human and non, stopped whatever he, she, or it was doing and focused all attention on the nearest loudspeaker.

Luke's mouth twitched under his helmet's clear visor. "Then why didn't you respond?"

"Are we on a public channel?"

"Yes."

"There's your answer, farm boy."

Luke exhaled in frustration, wiping his gloved hand over his mouth before addressing the Defiance. "Admiral Ackbar, permission to speak to Boba Fett privately—"

"Absolutely not!" Ackbar snapped, rising from his chair. "Bounty hunter Boba Fett, this is Admiral Ackbar of the New Republic vessel Defiance. I demand to know your reasons for being here!"

"Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing," Fett replied dryly.

"We are here to defend a chartered world of the New Republic from immediate Imperial threat."

"Great job so far," came Fett's muttered response.

Ackbar's wide, thin lips twitched in irritation. "You will answer my question. What are you doing here?" The Admiral's query was met by a cold pause, the only sounds coming over the link being the light clicks of controls being employed.

After several long, excruciatingly silent seconds, Han snapped into the com, "Oh for Kest's sake, Fett, answer the damn question! You're here for I'Lai, aren't you?"

"Very good, Solo," Fett drawled mockingly. "For a minute I thought I'd have to start using flash cards."

"Governor I'Lai? What does she have to do with him?" Ackbar asked, confused. He turned his large domed head back up to the ceiling mics. "What is she to you, Fett? Money? An Imperial bounty?"

"That is none of your concern, Admiral," Fett snarled quietly, with just the slightest hint of ferocity coming through his vocoded voice. "And frankly, you've wasted enough of my time." Gripping the controls, Fett swerved the nose of the Slave I away from the three X-wings toward the sun…

"BOBA FETT!" Ackbar barked imperiously, his finned digits curling into fists at his sides as he glared at the monitor, "If you move one degree from your current position, I will give the order to have you blown out of the stars!"

Fett's low, murky synthetic chuckle grated over the airwaves. "Well then, Admiral… you'll just have to blow me then, won't you?"

The usually cool and collected Admiral Ackbar slammed an uncharacteristic fist into the arm of his captain's chair. "That's it! Rogue Leader, lock on target!"

"Admiral, please, wait—" Luke pleaded.

"That's a direct order, General Skywalker!"

Luke clenched his eyes and swallowed with difficulty. "Aye, sir. Wedge, Tycho, ready proton torpedoes."

Wedge held the Slave I in his focused glare as it rotated away and revved its engines. He flipped the lid up on his weapons controller. "Torpedoes readied, sir."

Han ran an edgy hand through his hair. "I can't believe I'm saying this," he muttered under his breath before shouting into the Falcon's com, "Fett, for once don't be a jerk! Stop! They'll blow you apart, they will!"

Leia rushed across the bridge, gripping the arms of Ackbar's chair. "Ackbar, please, call off the order!"

Ackbar looked down at her from his raised seat. "Leia, I don't what the hell is going on here, but you know better than anyone that Fett has repeatedly served as a hired gun for the Empire—"

"Yes, I know, Ackbar, but not this time! Please, you have to believe me!"

"Target locked onscreen, sir," Tycho Celchu reported.

Focused intensely on the Slave I projected across the huge monitor, Ackbar uttered, "Fir—"

"DELAY THAT ORDER!" Leia roared over the com.

In his X-wing cockpit, Luke let out an audibly relieved exhalation. "Wedge, Tycho, fall back. That's an order."

"Aye, sir," both pilots affirmed simultaneously, veering their fighters back into their flanking positions behind Luke's.

Han slumped back in his chair, throwing his head back and huffing at the bulkhead. Chewie slumped forward on the console and rubbed his already stressed eyes.

A wave of hushed shock blew over the entire bridge as all heads, mouths agape, turned toward the young president. Ackbar gaped at Leia in utter disbelief and slow, burning anger. She met his glare head on. "I'm sorry, Ackbar," she said firmly yet breathlessly, "but as Supreme Commander of the New Republic forces, I'm pulling rank. You've given me no choice." She stepped away from the captain's station, raising her chin toward the ceiling com. "Boba Fett, this is President Leia Organa. Can you hear me?"

"Your Excellency," Fett answered with dour deference.

Pulling herself straight and flexing her hands at her sides, Leia firmly and forcefully announced, "I want to HIRE you."

"WHAT?" exploded Ackbar.

"WHAT?" yelled Han.

"What?" Fett grunted.

Luke's only reaction was a slow, proud smile under his pilot's helmet.

Leia took a deep breath. "I want to contract you, as an independent mercenary, in this campaign against the Galactic Empire. Name your price."

In the cockpit of the Slave I, Fett paused, leaning back in his seat. "You couldn't afford me," he stated brusquely.

"Try me," she answered assuredly.

In spite of himself, Fett had to admit that every time he crossed paths with Leia Organa, he became a little more impressed with her each time. "Are we negotiating, your Excellency?"

"I was under that impression, yes."

"I don't negotiate in public. Close this channel, and then we'll talk."

Leia nodded. "Agreed." She stepped over to the communications station. "Lieutenant, shut down all comlinks, except those of the bridge and Generals Skywalker, Solo, and Rieekan."

"No deal," Fett growled. "You and I talk alone."

Leia's head snapped back toward the ceiling com. "Master Fett, if I am to hire you on this campaign, we must be in contact with the military commanders you will be working with in order to incorporate you smoothly." She raised her chin. "There is NO negotiating this aspect. If you refuse…" She closed eyes as she took a long, slow breath, "then you risk the chance of your son growing up without his father." She opened her eyes. "Am I understood?"

A collective gasp swept over the bridge. Ackbar already bulbous eyes grew even larger. Luke's breath caught in his throat. Even Han turned an incredulous gaze over to Chewie, raising his eyebrows and blowing a silent whistle. "And you wonder why I love her," he murmured with his crooked grin.

Every follicle on Fett's body stood on end at the thinly veiled threat as well as the mention of Kai. He ran his tongue along the underside of his teeth before gritting his jaw. "Perfectly understood," he muttered before adding distinctly and a tad contemptuously, "Princess."

"Good." She clasped her hands behind her back as she relaxed her stiff posture a bit. Turning toward the communications officer, she caught his nodded affirmation that he had performed her request. "Now, name your price." Only the cold silence of space fizzed through the speaker. "I'm waiting."

After several more silent moments, Fett finally spoke. "In lieu of a purse, Princess, I will waive my usual fee… for a demand."

"A demand?" Leia cocked an eyebrow. "And that is?"

"That I take the palace alone," He leaned in closer to his console mic. "And Czethros is MINE, with no…questions…asked."

"Absolutely not!" barked General Rieekan from the bridge of his troop transport, the Gilardi. "We're not about to hand the rescue of a New Republic official over to a common thug!"

"I prefer to think that I'm not all that common," Fett retorted dully.

"I always knew you were working with a bent spanner, Fett," Han muttered over the com with a derisive smirk in his voice. "You think you're just going to waltz into I'Lai's palace and take on, Force knows, how many Imperial stormtroopers single-handedly—"

"First off, Solo, I don't waltz. Secondly, there are no Imperial troops in the palace—just Czethros and his pack of rylled-out clowns."

Luke furrowed his brow, as did Leia in her position on the bridge. Their inner voices echoed in each other's mind as they both asked the same question, How does he know that…?

Han was also mildly confused, but he shrugged it off and pressed on. "Well, that's all well and good, but…we still come to the harsh reality that we don't even know if I'Lai is dead or alive!"

"She's alive," Luke, Leia, and Boba Fett all stated simultaneously.

"How do you know that?" Leia demanded.

"Yes, Master Fett, how do you know she's alive?" Luke asked softly. "How did you know it's Czethros who holding her captive? For that matter, how did you know about the invasion, period? The Empire destroyed all the interstellar satellites, there was no way she could have contacted you."

Fett ground his teeth as Luke barraged him with questions; he felt angered frustration stewing in his gut. "It's none of your concern how I know, Jedi," he bit out.

Leia, Luke pathed to his sister, his mouth hanging slightly, I think Fett and I'Lai are Force-bonded.

Leia gasped slightly. Luke, is that possible? I've never detected any Force ability in Fett.

Neither have I, he sent back. But… Luke was about to press the bounty hunter further, but was cut off by Admiral Ackbar.

"No! I must protest this…absurd proposition!" Ackbar bellowed emphatically.

"I have to agree, your Excellency," added Rieekan. "We cannot allow some mercenary to use an act of war to satisfy a personal vendetta."

Leia sighed, and tightly shook her head. "I have to agree with Admiral Ackbar and General Rieekan, Master Fett. Baron Czethros has clearly attempted to steal Orri Prime's mining operation, and hence he must be brought before Republic justice—"

"Czethros doesn't give a rancor's ASS about the mining operation, Princess!" Fett spat over the com. "He doesn't want the ore." He clenched his gloved fist as he added quietly, "He wants ME."

"Oh, THIS should be good," Han muttered derisively over the com. "Fett, is there anyone in this galaxy you haven't pissed off?"

"Only slightly less people than you have, Solo."

"Why does he want you?" Luke asked firmly.

Fett leaned back in his chair. "You know Czethros is blind?"

"Yeah, so?" said Han.

There was a pause before Fett answered straightforwardly, "I'm the one who blinded him."

Leia's hand settled over her pregnant belly, a gesture of unconscious consolation. "What happened, Fett?"

"I don't want to get into it," he answered curtly.

"Get into it," Leia replied sharply, then immediately softened her tone. "I would appreciate it if you told me, to let me know what sort of enemy we're dealing with here. I promise you, Master Fett, no one outside this conversation will hear about this."

Fett was about to tell Leia to go to hell, but abruptly changed his mind. He remembered that during the time he was detained and recuperating on Orri Prime, neither Leia Organa nor any of her faction had told anyone about his confinement. Indeed, Leia had even permitted his release at I'Lai's request, even when all of her advisors, he assumed, voraciously opposed it. And although rumors about him "faking" his death ran rampant on the holonet, the New Republic's official statement always sided with the original report that he had perished on Tatooine. And hadn't she just saved his ass from being shredded by three X-wings…? Hadn't she just extended him the opportunity to save his family? 'Trust' was not a word that exactly flourished in his vocabulary, but at that moment, Fett decided to brush the term off and use it—at least sparingly—with this former princess of Alderaan.

"I did a job for Czethros about fifteen years ago, when he was still a C-grade foot soldier for Xizor. When I came to collect my fee, I found him in the storeroom of a cantina he was running." He paused as he took a shallow breath. "Where he was raping a fifteen year old human girl."

A shared breath of unease swept over the bridge. Leia cleared her throat, as it had just constricted with disgust. "What did you do?"

Fett clamped his eyes shut as that long-ago girl's screams of terror and torture tore through his memory. "I threw a stun grenade into the room. My purpose was to stun them both long enough to get the girl out of there…but I let my anger take over, and I miscalculated my throw. The grenade went off in Czethros's face." A bitter chuckle escaped his lips before he continued. "I grabbed the girl, put her in my ship, and took her back to her family…and Czethros has been after me ever since."

Silence hissed over the com until Han broke it. "Is that true, Fett?"

"No, Solo, I made it up because I thought it was funny," he snarled. Fett straightened his posture, and spoke in a low, rock-solid tone. "President Organa, I know what this son of a bitch is capable of, and I know how to deal with him and his kind. He couldn't kill me for fifteen years, so now he's gone after my mate and my son to lure me in." Leia's eyes widened at Fett's use of the word, "mate." Fett continued. "If he wants me that badly…" His tone became even more menacing, "Then let him HAVE me."

Leia shifted her gaze to the deck as she pondered Fett's request. Admiral Ackbar rose from his chair and stepped toward her. "Leia, you can't seriously be thinking of permitting this?"

"Sweetheart," Han appealed, "even if you could trust him, we're talking about one man going up against a small army!"

Leia clenched her eyes. Luke…?

Leia, don't ask me. Ask your feelings, your heart…what does the Force tell you?

Slowly, Leia lifted her head, eyes still closed, her face serene, almost rapt, as she called to the Force…all upon the bridge held their breath as they waited upon her decision…

In a medley of sudden movements, Leia's eyes snapped open, her head jerked up toward the ceiling com, and she took three fierce, potent steps forward. "Boba Fett, you will take the palace and free the governor and her son."

"Leia!" Han barked.

Ackbar threw his finny hands up in frustration. "This is ridiculous!"

"Gentlemen, please!" Leia snapped. She turned back to the com. "On two conditions."

"Those being?" Fett grunted warily.

"The first is that you will have a squadron of SpecForce Pathfinders backing you up. You will go in as first strike, but once you have infiltrated, you will contact them for second wave. You will also be in audio contact with the Defiance at all times."

Fett cursed under his breath—he was never one for being a 'team' player. "And the second?"

"You will bring Czethros back here alive."

"And unharmed, I assume?" Fett asked with a slight groan on disappointment.

Although her expression remained passive, a slight narrowing of her eyes and a tilt of her chin belied Leia's inner thoughts. "Just…alive. We do have the medical frigate at our disposal."

A slow, impressed grin formed under Fett's Mandelorian helm. "As you wish, Your Excellency."

"Then we are agreed?"

"We…are agreed."

Leia did her best to suppress the smile battling to spread across her face by clamping her lips into a thin line. Turning on her heel, she walked back toward the communication console. "Lieutenant, re-open all public channels and holographic projectors. Admiral," she said softly, turning a firm yet contrite countenance toward him, "I hand this operation back into your hands."

Ackbar gazed at the young president, his large opaque eyes stern and a perhaps a little wounded, before nodding once. "Thank you, your Excellency. Tactical, load recon drone data into public channels."

"Aye sir."

Just alive? Luke's disembodied voice echoed through Leia's mind, and she could feel his mild displeasure. Not very Jedi of you, Leia. You must be fully aware Fett's going to hand Czethros over to you beaten into paste.

Luke, she sent back with a hint of icy diplomacy threaded through her transmission, What if it was Han, and I was the one being held captive by a violent psychopath? Would you be so quick to judge then? Maybe compromise is not always the Jedi way, but sometimes…it may be necessary.

Sighing, Luke turned his attention to the tiny hologram playing across his X-wing's projector.

"As you all can see," Ackbar declared, stepping off his raised dais and stepping toward the holographic projection, "We are dealing with only one Imperial Destroyer. However, don't let that fact go to your heads—one Imperial Destroyer is still one too many in my book. Orri Prime relief." The holographic image blurred and fizzled into the cool, bluish-grey sphere of Orri Prime. The tiny shapes of TIE fighters dotted the planet's stratosphere. "There appear to be two blockades set, one here in the Northern Hem, and one here closer to the equator. Luckily for us, all six TIE squadrons will be spread pretty thin between the manning the blockades and patrolling the Destroyer so, General Skywalker, you will take Rogue Squadron in as first wave—" He stopped when a soft, derisive snort came over the com. "Who is that?" the Admiral demanded. "Who did that?"

Admiral," Han piped in, "I'll give you three guesses, and Chewie and I are not the first two."

Ackbar narrowed his amphibious eyes. "You have a concern, MASTER Fett?"

"What are you going to use as a decoy?"

Ackbar stopped, and craned his domed head toward the com loudspeaker. "Pardon me?"

"A decoy," Fett repeated petulantly. "What are you using?"

"Master Fett," Ackbar replied with equal annoyance, "Why would we need to employ such a device as a decoy when we are manned well enough—"

"Because the second you leave orbit of this planet, the Imps' scanners will pick you up more easily than Bantha hair picks up shit. It'll only be a matter of seconds before every TIE in those squadrons will be on those X-wings. And then your whole element of surprise is pretty much fucked."

Quiet titters and incredulous gasps flittered about the bridge as Ackbar folded his arms over his chest. "I have always held that the use of decoys should not be a part of civilized combat, Master Fett."

"No wonder you've gotten your asses handed to you so many times."

Ackbar's salmon complexion burned into a dark red as he blew a sigh of utter aggravation through his gills. "Fine, Master Fett, suppose we do employ a decoy. What do you suggest we use?"

"You use me. I fly in ahead; they'll pick me up on their scanners. I keep them busy, and then you launch your first wave." A smirk crossed his lips under his helm. "They won't be expecting me, and it'll cause confusion. Plus, it'll give me a head start into atmosphere."

"You're crazy, Fett," Han piped in with a scathing snort. "They could deploy up to forty TIEs on you. How are you going to take on that many?"

"Easy, Solo. You do to them what they did to Orri Prime. You knock out their communications."

"And just how do you propose we do that?" General Reeikan asked.

"Just leave that to me," Fett replied flatly. He reached into a bin under the Slave I's cockpit console, and pulled out the small silver disc marked Music From Earth. Slipping it into the silver-plated player on the console, he added, "I have my ways."

Ackbar grimaced, turning a bemused look toward Leia Organa, who simply nodded. He turned away. "Very well, Fett. You will act as our decoy, once the battle briefing is over and we give you the signal—"

"Bye," Fett grunted in a flat monotone as he punched the engines, and the Slave I tore from its position in a blaze of red light and fury.

"What the—" Ackbar bellowed as he watched the Slave I growing ever smaller on the monitor. He had finally reached the end of his rope. "FETT! Gods and Hells, get back here or I'll—"

"Don't shrivel your gills, Admiral," Fett snarled, veering the Slave I into an elegant arc around and away from Orri Alpha. "Just watch and follow my lead."

The bridge broke out into pandemonium as Ackbar began barking orders and techs and officer scurried to carry them out. "Rogues Squadron, ready positions and standby! Gold Squadron, Grey Squadron, Green Squadron, stand by! Bay Four, re-launch recon drone and hone it in on the Slave I's signal! Tantive Armada, align strike positions behind the Millennium Falcon! Transport Armada…" As Ackbar fired off orders, the coms spewed forth the affirmations of all commanders involved.

Fuming, Ackbar threw an angry glare at Leia. "President Organa, with all due respect…you better know what you're doing."

"I do, Admiral," she answered with quiet composure. She paused for a moment, her gaze firm, before adding, "Trust him."

* * *

"Report," said Admiral Pellaeon to the shimmering hologram on the Imprimatur's bridge.

A tall officer, wearing an Imperial ground force helmet and with meticulous looking features, lifted his holographic chin. "Admiral Pellaeon, General Maxinoy here. I am pleased to report that all enemy militia forces have surrendered and are in Imperial custody."

Enemy militia, Pellaeon mused silently. A group of freed slaves, barely trained. Hardly a sweet victory, is it? "Where are they being kept?"

"In the mines, at the moment, until they are all identified with barcodes and the force shielding is installed around the townships. We have set up a temporary HQ in the Atimbora Township Hall—"

"Are there many wounded, General?" Pellaeon interjected.

Maxinoy smirked proudly. "Fortunately, no, Admiral. Imperial casualties were minimal, and they have been promptly tended to—"

"I meant the Orrians, Maxinoy. Are there many wounded in their numbers?"

The General knit his brow slightly. "Uh…yes sir, enemy casualties were heavy, but—"

"But they are being tended to, correct?" Pellaeon asked with a raised brow.

"Sir?" Maxinoy asked, his brow furrowing into even deeper wrinkles of puzzlement.

Pellaeon narrowed his eyes and set his jaw firm. "I didn't send four medical shuttles down there for show, General! Tend to the enemy wounded, and those whose injuries are too great for field dressing will be transported to the medical bay here! Understood!"

"Aye, sir."

"And I want all Orrians coded and back in their homes before nightfall! Is that clear?"

"Aye, sir," Maxinoy replied, drawing his already thin lips into an even thinner line before signing off his hologram.

Pellaeon's eyes felt suddenly dry. Reaching up to rub them, he let out a long, weary sigh through his nose just as he heard a young male voice behind him ask softly, "Sir?" He turned to see Captain Rhys standing behind him, wearing a vexed expression.

Pellaeon stared at the younger officer, but seemed to be looking more through him than at him. He lifted his red-eyed gaze to the Imprimatur's bulkhead before murmuring, "I'll be in my ready room if there is anything further to report." Turning on his heel, Pellaeon began to stride across the bridge…

"Admiral!" one of the navigational officers exclaimed from his pit, "Incoming vessel! Starboard side!"

Stopping in his tracks, Pellaeon turned. "Is it one of ours?"

"Negative, sir. It's coming from the other side of the system."

"Lock on its coordinates! Onscreen!"

The officer's hands flew over the sensor console until the sensor cameras locked onto the small speck hurtling through the void outside, growing ever larger on the Imprimatur's gigantic monitor. "Sensors transmitting…" the officer reported, "A Kuat model…a Firespray 31, highly modified—"

"A Kuat Firespray?" Pellaeon muttered under his breath as he stepped closer to the monitor.

Captain Rhys came up beside his superior officer, mouth slightly agape as he perused the screen. "It can't be…" He turned to Pellaeon. "Boba Fett?"

"Admiral! Incoming vessel is changing course!"

"Keep on him! Dispatch TIEs!" Pellaeon barked.

The nav officer paled. "It's heading right for the bridge!" All heads snapped toward the bridge's viewport, and all eyes saw the Slave I veer in a graceful sweep around and careen sideways right toward them…

"HIT THE DECK!" Rhys screamed as he hurled his arm around Pellaeon's shoulders and dropped them both to the ground. All bridge and tech officers frantically joined them, diving to the deck and throwing their hands over their heads as the Slave I was about to impact…

But suddenly the Slave I, just meters from hitting the viewport's force field, spiraled up and over the bridgetower. The energy from its thrusters lathed across the port's glassine surface in rivulets of neon red as the engines roar shook the very bulkhead of the bridge.

Fett pulled the throttle down and over and fired off the stabilizer fins, arcing the Slave I once again over and around the massive ship. As he came up under the Imprimatur's belly, he saw five TIE fighters hurling toward him. "Now that I have your attention," he grunted under his breath, and a grin crept over his lips under his helm.

(Still positioned within the Republic's convoy, Han Solo grimaced as he watched Fett's onslaught via the recon drone's signal. "Bastard stole my move," he muttered to Chewbacca.)

"Sir," Rhys panted as he scrambled to his feet and lifted Pellaeon from the deck, "Are you all right?"

Regaining his footing, Pellaeon irritably tugged down his uniform jacket and whirled around to the com officer. "Get Sword and Shiv Squadrons up here—NOW!" As the com officer barked the recall of pilots from planetside, Pellaeon gritted his teeth and threw a furiously baffled glare at the viewport. "What the HELL is Boba Fett doing here? He's supposed to be DEAD!"

"Could it be, sir," Rhys offered, still trying to catch his breath, "that he's working with Czethros?"

Pellaeon narrowed his eyes as he let out a crude and highly uncharacteristic curse. "That double-crossing spawn of a Huttese whore! Lieutenant, how many more are out there?"

"None, sir," the sensors' officer reported, "Just the Slave I."

"Just one?" Rhys's mouth dropped slightly agape as his brow puckered. "Fett is attacking an Imperial Star Destroyer…alone?"

…………

Fett thrust the throttle down, dipping the nose below the path of the oncoming TIE fighters. The TIEs, in response, followed suit, spewing forth a mad flurry of cannon shots behind him. Banking hard, he veered the Slave I level again, hurling just underneath the Imprimatur's belly and through haze of blaster fire from the bottom-mounted turrets, heading toward the stern facing planetside and watching the dozens of twin-paneled specks emerging from the atmosphere, speeding toward him…

He hit the com. "Ackbar, stand by for my signal. When I say go…give order to attack."

"Affirmed," Ackbar croaking voice crackled through the com. "All squads standing by."

While controlling the ship with one hand, Fett's other hand flew over the command console. "Ee'ui taa (Computer)."

"Cu nata (Affirmative)," responded the Slave I's oddly feminine synthesized voice.

"Cu'aye t oot pwanai oi prenere ee'ui saastna (Load Victory-class Destroyer communication speculations)."

"Cu nata."

As the Mandelorian-speaking computer performed the command, Fett spoke to his helm. "Targeting system." Within his visor, the electronic data of the targeting system pinpointed the oncoming TIEs before him, enabling him to blast the leading three fighters into shrapnel while he waited for the information to load…

"Pwanai oi prenere ee'ui saastna tua'ki t (Victory-class Destroyer communication specs fully loaded)."

Hitting the thrusters and banking the throttle hard port side, Fett flew right through the explosion of one of blasted TIEs. Calmly and seemingly indifferent to the swarm of TIEs chasing him, he perused the data flying across one of the many small monitors mounted above and below the cockpit viewport. Line after line popped across the screen as the technical specs of the Imprimatur were displayed before him until he saw exactly what he was looking for…hitting the throttle hard up, he performed a graceful loop up and over the chasing TIEs, heading back toward the Imprimatur's top decks. "Ee'ui taa."

"Cu nata."

"Oi-cun Impri ee'ui prebare t cua ke (Find Imperial communication frequency and lock on)."

"Cu nata."

Fett banked the ship hard one more time until he was skimming directly over the deck, TIEs still in chase and still firing, their shots bouncing off the Slave I's powerful deflector shields. As another dozen TIEs ascended over the tip of the bow heading straight for him, Slave I's computer chimed, "Impri ee'ui oi-cun hada (Imperial communication frequency found and locked)."

"Cua' di niaati pre (On speaker)." Quite suddenly, the cockpit was flooded with the dozens of voices of the Imperial TIE pilots as well as the Imprimatur's main communications officer…

A soft curve of a satisfied smile tugged at Fett's lips. With one foot controlling the throttle, one foot firing the thrusters and one hand tapping out blaster shots from the rotating turrets, he reached over the console, his gloved finger just hovering over the "PLAY" button on the odd little contraption with the Music From Earth disc inside…

Just as the commander of the slew of TIEs clearing the Destroyer's bow exclaimed into the com, "Imprimatur, this is Sword Leader! We've got him completely surrounded! He can't go anywhere now!"

On bridge, Pellaeon clasped his hands behind his back and ordered gruffly, "Fire at will."

"Affirmative, Admiral. Sword Squadron, this is Sword leader! On command, rapid fire! And…"

At precisely that moment, Fett hit the PLAY button of the portable CD player that was hooked directly into the Slave I's sensor jammers. The little electronic signal coursed through the cabling system, into the sensor jammer's main computer ship, and out through the jammers directly above the Imprimatur's main communication amplification dish…

"FIR—"

Sword Leader's command was suddenly and deafening drowned out by an earsplitting, barely-pubescent male's voice that ripped through every speaker on the Imprimatur and earpiece of every Imperial pilot—

AAAAAHHHH--Can't Stand It!

I Know You Planned It!

But I'm Gonna Set It Straight,

This Watergate!

Every pilot in every TIE all screamed at the same time, sending their fighters swerving and careening as they let go of the controls, trying to rip their helmets off. All hands of the bridge crew of the Imprimatur flew up to their ears as the blaring cacophony of voice and loosely rhythmic clamor bounced off the bulkhead and the deck—

I Can't Stand Rocking When I'm In Here
Because Your Crystal Ball Ain't So Crystal Clear

"Lieutenant!" Pellaeon bellowed over the excruciating din, "shut it off!"

So While You Sit Back and Wonder Why
I Got This Fucking Thorn In My Side!

Wincing from the sheer agony of the atrocious music, the com officer's hands beat and pounded on every switch and button on the console. "Admiral, I can't! I can't shut it off! He's overridden the command codes!"

Oh My God, It's A Mirage!

"He's WHAT?!"

I'm Tellin' Y'all It's a Sabotage!

"I always did like this song," Fett muttered quietly to himself, his head unconsciously bobbing to the beat of the cataclysmic throng as he punched the thrusters and hit the stabilizers and pulled the Slave I out of the way of several TIEs just nanoseconds before they collided.

Balls of flame flashed over the Imprimatur and through its viewports, while jettisoned wing panels, engine parts, and limbs crashed through the cockpit portals and into the wings of the already distracted and deaf TIE pilots. The formerly tight-knit groupings of the TIE fighters disintegrated into a disarray of confusion and chaos, with fighters careening in all directions…

…………………

The bridge crew of the Defiance, as well as every pilot, trooper, tech, and droid in the Republic fleet, all gaped at their holoprojectors and monitors in dumbfounded shock as they watched the Slave I take the Imps on.

"Kest and Krinick!" Tycho Celchu sputtered through his com, "Look at him go!"

In his X-wing, Wedge shook his head. "They're just flopping around like headless womprats! What the hell did he do to them?"

"He's amazing," Luke murmured through a soft smile, highly impressed by Fett's piloting skills.

"He's nuts," Solo muttered back. The derisive Wookiee snort that came from the seat beside him did not escape Han's attention. "What, furball?"

*Oh, nothing, cub. Except I wish I had a credit for every time someone said that about YOU…*

……………….

As Fett swerved the Slave I up and around toward a loose grouping of disabled fighters, he lightly touched the MUTE button to the speakers and hit the com. "Ackbar," he said calmly as his finger wrapped around the cannon trigger, "they're all yours." With that, Fett hit the PLAY button once again…

'Cause What You See You Might Not Get
And We Can Bet So Don't You Get Souped Yet
You're Scheming On A Thing That's A Mirage
I'm Trying To Tell You Now It's Sabotage!

And the horrific music filled the cockpit once again as he pulled the trigger and began to mercilessly blast every disabled TIE fighter in his way toward Orri Prime's atmosphere…

…………

"Ackbar…they're all yours."

Fett's words coming over the Republic fleet's com ignited an outbreak of activity throughout the fleet. The Tantive blockade-runner armada aligned itself into position, backed by the convoy of troop transports, with the Millennium Falcon sandwiched between them.

Admiral Ackbar rose from his seat, placing his webbed hands on his hips. He looked down to Leia Organa, who stood just a few meters from his raised dais and returned his look with a softly confident smile. "Republic Fleet," barked Admiral Ackbar, resuming his seat, "ENGAGE!"

Breathing deeply to attune himself with the Force, Luke calmly ordered through the com, "OK, Rogues, let's go!"

"PUNCH IT!" hollered Tycho with unrestrained glee.

"Locked and loaded!" added Wedge.

"Finally!" Han exclaimed. "Chewie, full throttle!"

Scores of other ecstatic battle cries filled the comways as every Republic vessel, large and small, every fighter, transport, blockade runner, and frigate launched themselves over the apex of the massive red gas giant that had served as their fortress. As graceful and beautiful as a flock of Yavin avril, the Fleet glided through the velvet blackness in perfect unity toward the grayish-blue sphere of Orri Prime far off in the distance…

And as the billowy white clouds of Orri Prime grew larger and denser in his view, Boba Fett briefly closed his eyes as words formed in his mind…

I'Lai…beautiful swi'la nai, …I'm coming…

Still sitting in her chair and cradling her infant son, I'Lai slowly raised her head as her breath caught in her throat, and her heart leapt with hope as she whispered…

"Boba…?"

* * *