Hey Folks, Grubkiller here.
This is the latest chapter.
Enjoy.
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New Republic HQ, Imperial Palace, Coruscant.
Slowly, as if climbing a long dark staircase, Mara Jade pulled herself out of a deep sleep. She opened her eyes, looked around the softly lit room, and wondered where in the galaxy she was.
It was a medical area—that much was obvious from the biomonitors, the folded room dividers, and the other multiposition beds scattered around the one she was lying in. But it wasn't one of Karrde's facilities, at least not one she was familiar with.
But the layout itself was all too familiar. It was a standard Imperial recovery room.
For the moment she seemed to be alone, but she knew that wouldn't last. Silently, she rolled out of bed into a crouching position on the floor, taking a quick inventory of her physical condition as she did so. No aches or pains; no dizziness or obvious injuries. Slipping into the robe and bedshoes at the end of the bed, she padded silently to the door, preparing herself mentally to silence or disable whatever was out there. She waved at the door release, and as the panel slid open she leaped through into the recovery anteroom—
And came to a sudden, slightly disoriented halt.
"Oh, hi, Mara," Ghent said distractedly, glancing up from the computer terminal he was hunched over before returning his attention to it. "How're you feeling?"
"Not too bad," Mara said, staring at the kid and sifting furiously through a set of hazy memories. Ghent—one of Karrde's employees and possibly the best slicer in the galaxy. And the fact that he was sitting at a terminal meant they weren't prisoners, unless their captor was so abysmally stupid that he didn't know better than to let a slicer get within spitting distance of a computer.
But hadn't she sent Ghent to the New Republic headquarters on Coruscant? Yes, she had. On Karrde's instructions, just before collecting some of his group together and leading them into that melee at the Katana fleet.
Where she'd run her Z-95 up against an Imperial Star Destroyer.
.. and had had to eject... and had brilliantly arranged to fly her ejector seat straight through an ion cannon beam. Which had fried her survival equipment and set her drifting, lost forever, in interstellar space.
She looked around her. Apparently, forever hadn't lasted as long as she'd expected it to. "Where are we?" she asked, though she had a pretty good idea now what the answer would be.
She was right. "The old Imperial Palace on Coruscant," Ghent told her, frowning a little. "Medical wing. They had to do some reconstruction of your neural pathways. Don't you remember?"
"It's a little vague," Mara admitted. But as the last cobwebs cleared from her brain, the rest of it was beginning to fall into place. Her ejector seat's ruined life-support system; and a strange, light-headed vagueness as she drifted off to sleep in the darkness. She'd probably suffered oxygen deprivation before they'd been able to locate her and get her to a ship.
No. Not they: him. There was only one person who could possibly have found a single crippled ejector seat in all the emptiness and battle debris out there. Luke Skywalker, the last of the Jedi Knights.
The man she was going to kill.
YOU WILL KILL LUKE SKYWALKER.
She took a step back to lean against the doorjamb, knees suddenly feeling weak as the Emperor's words echoed through her mind. She'd been here, on this world and in this building, when he'd died over Endor. Had watched through his mind as Luke Skywalker cut him down and brought her life crashing in ruins around her head.
"I see you're awake," a new voice said.
Mara opened her eyes. The newcomer, a middle-aged woman in a duty medic's tunic, was marching briskly across the room toward her from a far door, an Emdee droid trailing in her wake. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine," Mara said, feeling a sudden urge to lash out at the other woman. These people—these enemies of the Empire—had no right to be here in the Emperor's palace...
She took a careful breath, fighting back the flash of emotion, upon realizing that this was the Old Jedi Temple before it was a palace.
Tragic irony.
Or poetic justice.
The medic had stopped short, a professional frown on her face; Ghent, his cherished computers momentarily forgotten, had a puzzled look on his. "Sorry," she muttered. "I guess I'm still a little disoriented."
"Understandable," the medic nodded. "You've been lying in that bed for a month, after all."
Mara stared at her. "A month?"
"Well, most of a month," the medic corrected herself.
"You also spent some time in a bacta tank. Don't worry—short-term memory problems are common during neural reconstructions, but they nearly always clear up after the treatment."
"I understand," Mara said mechanically. A month. She'd lost a whole month here. And in that time—
"We have a guest suite arranged for you upstairs whenever you feel ready to leave here," the medic continued. "Would you like me to see if it's ready?"
Mara focused on her. "That would be fine," she said.
The medic pulled out a comlink and thumbed it on; and as she began talking, Mara stepped past her to Ghent's side. "What's been happening with the war during the last month?" she asked him.
"Oh, the Empire's been making the usual trouble," Ghent said, waving toward the sky. "They've got the folks here pretty stirred up, anyway. Ackbar and Madine and the rest have been running around like crazy. Trying to push 'em back or cut 'em off—something like that."
And that was, Mara knew, about all she would get out of him on the subject of current events. Aside from a fascination with smuggler folklore, the only thing that really mattered to Ghent was slicing at computers.
She frowned, belatedly remembering why Karrde had ordered Ghent here in the first place. "Wait a minute," she said. "Ackbar's back in command? You mean you've cleared him already?"
"Sure," Ghent said. "That suspicious bank deposit thing Councilor Fey'lya made such a fuss over was a complete fraud—the guys who did that electronic break-in at the bank planted it in his account at the same time. Probably Imperial Intelligence—it had their noseprints all over the programming. Oh, sure; I proved that two days after I got here."
"I imagine they were pleased. So why are you still here?"
"Well..." For a moment Ghent seemed taken aback. "No one's come back to get me, for one thing." His face brightened. "Besides, there's this really neat encrypt code someone nearby is using to send information to the Empire. General Bel Iblis says the Imperials call it Delta Source, and that it's sending them stuff right out of the Palace."
"And he asked you to slice it for them," Mara nodded, feeling her lip twist. "I don't suppose he offered to pay you or anything?"
"Well..." Ghent shrugged. "Probably they did. I don't remember, really."
The medic replaced her comlink in her belt. "Your guide will be here momentarily," she told Mara.
"Thank you," Mara said, resisting the urge to tell the other that she probably knew the Imperial Palace better in her sleep than any guide they had could do in broad daylight. Cooperation and politeness—those were the keys to talking them out of a ship and getting her and Ghent out of this place and out of their war.
Behind the medic the door slid open, and a tall woman with pure white hair glided into the room.
"Hello, Mara," she said, smiling gravely. "My name is Winter, personal aide to Princess Leia Organa Solo. I'm glad to see you on your feet again."
"I'm glad to be there," Mara said, trying to keep her voice polite. Someone else associated with Skywalker. Just what she needed. "I take it you're my guide?"
"Your guide, your assistant, and anything else you need for the next few days," Winter said. "Princess Leia asked me to look after you until she and Captain Solo are able to return to their regular duties."
"What do you mean 'return'?" Mara asked.
"Senator Organa Solo has just given birth to her twins, and will be taking maternity leave." Winter said.
Mara's eyebrows flared up for a split second. 'Great. More of them...'
"Right... well, I don't need an assistant, and I don't need looking after," Mara said. "All I really need is a ship."
"I've already started working on that," Winter said. "I'm hoping we'll be able to find something for you soon. In the meantime, may I show you to your suite?"
Mara hid a grimace. The usurpers of the New Republic, graciously offering her hospitality in what had once been her own home. "That's very kind of you," she said, trying not to sound sarcastic. "You coming, Ghent?"
"You go on ahead," Ghent said absently, gazing at the computer display. "I want to sit on this run for a while."
"He'll be all right here," Winter assured her. "This way, please."
They left the anteroom, and Winter led the way toward the rear of the Palace. "Ghent has a suite right next to yours," Winter commented as they walked, "but I don't think he's been there more than twice in the past month. He set up temporary shop out there in the recovery anteroom where he could keep an eye on you."
Mara had to smile at that. Ghent, who spent roughly 90 percent of his waking hours oblivious to the outside world, was not exactly what she would go looking for in either a nurse or a bodyguard. But it was the thought that counted. "I appreciate you people taking care of me," she told Winter.
"It's the least we could do to thank you for coming to our assistance at the Katana battle."
"It was Karrde's idea," Mara said shortly. "Thank him, not me."
"We did," Winter said. "But you risked your life, too, on our behalf. We won't forget that."
Mara threw a sideways look at the white-haired woman. She had read the Emperor's files on the Rebellion's leaders, including Leia Organa, and the name Winter wasn't ringing any bells at all. "How long have you been with Organa Solo?" she asked.
"I grew up with her in the royal court of Alderaan," Winter said, a bittersweet smile touching her lips. "We were friends in childhood, and when she began her first steps into galactic politics, her father assigned me to be her aide. I've been with her ever since."
"I don't recall hearing about you during the height of the Rebellion," Mara probed gently.
"I spent most of the war moving from planet to planet working with Supply and Procurement," Winter told her. "If my colleagues could get me into a warehouse or depot on some pretext, I could draw a map for them of where the items were that they wanted. It made the subsequent raids quicker and safer."
Mara nodded as understanding came.
"So you were the one called Targeter. The one with the perfect memory."
Winter's forehead creased slightly. "Yes, that was one of my code names," she said. "I had many others over the years."
"I see," Mara said. She could remember a fair number of references in pre-Yavin Intelligence reports to the mysterious Rebel named Targeter, much of the politely heated discussion centering around his or her possible identity. She wondered if the data-pushers had ever even gotten close.
They'd reached the set of turbolifts at the rear of the Imperial Palace now, one of the major renovations the Emperor had made in the deliberately antiquated design of the Temple when he'd taken it over. The turbolifts saved a lot of walking up and down the sweeping staircases in the more public parts of the building... as well as masking certain other improvements the Emperor had made in the Palace. "So what's the problem with getting me a ship?" Mara asked as Winter tapped the call plate.
"The problem is the Empire," Winter said. "They've launched a massive attack against us, and it's tied up basically everything we have available, from light freighter on up."
Mara frowned. Massive attacks against superior forces didn't sound like Grand Admiral Thrawn at all. "It's that bad?"
"It's bad enough," Winter said. "I don't know if you knew it, but they beat us to the Katana fleet. They'd already moved nearly a hundred and eighty of the Dreadnaughts by the time we arrived. Combined with their new bottomless source of crewers and soldiers, the balance of power has been badly shifted."
Mara nodded, a sour taste in her mouth. Put that way, it did sound like Thrawn. "Which means I nearly got myself killed for nothing."
Winter smiled tightly. "If it helps, so did a lot of other people."
The turbolift car arrived. They stepped inside, and Winter keyed for the Palace's residential areas. "Ghent mentioned that the Empire was making trouble," Mara commented as the car began moving upward. "I should have realized that anything that could penetrate that fog he walks around in had to be serious."
" 'Serious' is an understatement," Winter said grimly. "In the past five days we've effectively lost control of four sectors, and thirteen more are on the edge, including Mon Cala, which is under siege as we speak. The biggest loss most recently was the food production facilities at Ukio. Somehow, they managed to take it with its defenses intact."
Mara felt her lip twist. "Someone asleep at the board?"
"Not according to the preliminary reports." Winter hesitated. "There are rumors that the Imperials used a new superweapon that was able to fire straight through the Ukians' planetary shield. We're still trying to check that out."
Mara swallowed, visions of the old Death Star spec sheets floating up from her memory. A weapon like that in the hands of a strategist like Grand Admiral Thrawn...
She shook the thought away. This wasn't her war. Karrde had promised they would stay neutral in this thing. "I suppose I'd better get in touch with Karrde, then," she said. "See if he can send someone to pick us up."
"It would probably be faster than waiting for one of our ships to be free," Winter agreed. "He left a data card with the name of a contact you can send a message through. He said you'd know which encrypt code to use."
The turbolift let them out on the Imperial Guests floor, one of the sections of the Jedi Temple that had seen the most changes since the Emperor's reign began. The Jedi quarters were gutted and expanded for the Emperor's guests. The minimalist life style of the Jedi, even their masters, were replaced with luxorious decorations and furniture arrangements. With its old-fashioned hinge doors and hand-carved exotic wood furnishings, walking around the floor was like stepping a thousand years into the past. The Emperor had generally reserved the suites here for those emissaries who had fond feelings for such bygone days, or for those who could be impressed by his carefully manufactured continuity with that era. "Captain Karrde left some of your clothes and personal effects for you after the Katana battle," Winter said, unlocking one of the carved doors and pushing it open. "If he missed anything, let me know and I can probably supply it. Here's the data card I mentioned," she added, pulling it from her tunic.
"Thank you," Mara said, inhaling deeply as she took the card. This particular suite was done largely in Fijisi wood from Cardooine; and as the delicate scent rose around her, her thoughts flashed back to the glittering days of grand Imperial power and majesty...
"Can I get you anything else?"
The memory faded. Winter was standing before her... and the glory days of the Empire were gone. "No, I'm fine," she said.
Winter nodded. "If you want anything, just call the duty officer," she said, gesturing to the desk. "I'll be available later; right now, there's a Council meeting I need to sit in on."
"Go ahead," Mara said. "And thank you."
Winter smiled and left. Mara took another deep breath of Fijisi wood, and with an effort pushed the last of the lingering memories away. She was here, and it was now; and as the Emperor's instructors had so often drummed into her, the first item of business was to fit into her surroundings. And that meant not looking like an escapee from the medical wing.
Karrde had left a good assortment of clothing for her: a semiformal gown, two outfits of a nondescript type that she could wear on the streets of a hundred worlds without looking out of place, and four of the form-fitting jumpsuit outfits that she usually wore aboard ship. Choosing one of the latter, she pulled off her hospital garments and got dressed, zipping the jumpsuit just up to her breasts and keeping some cleavage visible. She then began sorting through the other things Karrde had left. With any luck—and maybe a little foresight on Karrde's part—
There it was: the forearm holster for her tiny blaster. The blaster itself was missing, of course—the captain of the Adamant had taken it away from her, and the Imperials weren't likely to return it anytime soon. Looking for a duplicate in the New Republic's arsenals would probably be a waste of effort, as well, though she was tempted to ask Winter for one just to see the reaction.
Fortunately, there was another way.
Each residential floor of the Imperial Palace had an extensive library, and in each of those libraries was a multicard set entitled The Complete History of Corvis Minor. Given how unexceptional most of Corvis Minor's history had been, the odds of anyone actually pulling the set off the shelf were extremely slim.
Which, given there were no actual data cards in the box, was just as well.
The blaster was a slightly different style from the one Mara had lost to the Imperials. But its power pack was still adequately charged, and it fit snugly into her forearm holster, and that was all that mattered. Now, whatever happened with either the war or New Republic infighting, she would at least have a fighting chance.
She paused, the false data card box in her hand, a stray question belatedly flicking through her mind. What had Winter meant by that reference to a bottomless source for crewers and soldiers? Had one or more of the New Republic's systems gone over to the Imperial side? Or could Thrawn have discovered a hitherto unknown colony world with a populace ripe for recruitment?
It was something she should probably ask about sometime. First, though, she needed to get a message encrypted and relayed out to Karrde's designated contact. The sooner she was out of this place, the better.
Replacing the empty data card set, the comforting weight of the blaster snugged up against her left arm, she headed back to her suite.
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ISD Chimaera, In orbit above the planet Wayland.
Thrawn raised his glowing red eyes from the putrid-looking alien artwork displayed on the double display ring surrounding his command chair. "No," he said. "Not yet."
Slowly, deliberately, Starkiller turned back from the holographic Twi'lek artwork Thrawn had been studying for an upcoming raid on the planet Ryloth.
"Not yet?" he repeated, his robotic voice vibrating into a low but noticeable boom. "What do you mean, not yet?"
"The phrase is self-explanatory," Thrawn said icily. "The military logic should be, as well. We don't yet have the numbers for a frontal assault on Coruscant; neither have we properly drawn out the Rebel fleet. Once we have, we can launch a strike on the planet. Until then, any attack would be both useless and wasteful, and I will therefore not launch one."
Starkiller glared at the alien admiral with his silver-plated mask, appearing almost statue like in his expression. "Have a care, Grand Admiral Thrawn," he warned. "The Sith rule the Empire, not you."
"Do they really?" Thrawn countered, reaching up behind him to stroke the ysalamir arched over his shoulder on its nutrient frame.
Starkiller drew himself up to his full height, hands crackling with purple lightning. "My master - and your master - rules the Empire, and you can be sure that I speak with his authority!" he growled, his voice echoing through the command room. "You will obey me, or you will die!"
Carefully, Pellaeon eased a little deeper into the Force-empty bubble that surrounded Thrawn's ysalamir. At those times when he was in control of himself, Starkiller appeared more confident and in control than he ever had before; but at the same time these occasional bursts of clone madness were becoming more frequent and more vicious. Like a system in a positive feedback loop, swinging farther from its core point with each oscillation until it ripped itself apart.
So far Starkiller hadn't killed anyone or destroyed anything. In Pellaeon's opinion it was just a matter of time before that changed.
Perhaps the same thought had occurred to Thrawn. "If you kill me, you'll lose the war," he reminded the Sith Warrior. "And if you lose the war, Skywalker, Leia Organa Solo, her twins, and any other Jedi out there will never be yours."
Starkiller took a step toward Thrawn's command seat, his visor blazing even hotter with sith energy—and then, abruptly, the lightning began to dissipate and the armor returned to its natural color. "Tell me, Grand Admiral, would you ever speak to Palpatine with such insolence?"
"Oh, quite," Thrawn told him. "On no fewer than four occasions I told the Emperor that I would not waste his troops and ships attacking an enemy which I was not yet prepared to defeat. The first time I refused he called me a traitor and gave my attack force to someone else. After its destruction, he knew better than to ignore my recommendations."
Starkiller continued to stare at Thrawn for a few more seconds.
"Very well, Grand Admiral Thrawn," He said, drawing himself up again. "But I warn you: if you fail me again, you will not be pleased with the consequences." Turning, he strode across the command room and through the door.
"It's always such a pleasure," Thrawn commented under his breath as the door slid shut.
Pellaeon worked moisture into his mouth. "Admiral, with all due respect—"
"You're worried about my having promised to get Organa Solo out of possibly the most secure place in Rebellion-held territory?" Thrawn said.
"Actually, sir, yes," Pellaeon said. "The Imperial Palace is supposed to be an impregnable fortress."
"Yes, indeed," Thrawn agreed. "But it was the Emperor who made it that way... and as in most things, the Emperor kept a few small secrets about the Palace to himself. And to certain of his favorites."
Pellaeon frowned down at him. Secrets... "Such as a private way in and out?" he hazarded.
Thrawn smiled up at him. "Precisely. And now that we can finally insure that Organa Solo will be staying put in the Palace for a while, it becomes profitable to try sending in a commando team."
He leaned forward, tapped two controls on his board. The holographic sculptures faded and were replaced by a tactical map of the current position of the major battle planes. "But at the moment we have more pressing matters to attend to, such as insuring the momentum of our battle plan. So far, the campaign is reasonably on schedule. The Rebellion has resisted more firmly than anticipated in the Farrfin and Dolomar sectors, but elsewhere the target systems have generally bowed to Imperial power."
"I wouldn't consider any of the gains all that solid yet," Pellaeon pointed out.
"Precisely," Thrawn nodded. "Each depends on our maintaining a strong and highly visible Imperial presence. And for that, it's vital that we maintain our supply of clones, and our allies supply their ships and weapons. To do that, and before we can launch Operation Shadow Hand, and give the Jedi over to our mutual friends, we need to drastically shift the balance of power."
Thrawn tapped a few more keys, and the planet Mon Cala showed up.
"The siege of Mon Cala, home to the famed Calamari ship-builders. We need to convince the rebels that it's the location of our main thrust. This will divert a large portion of their fleet to move away from the core, in a vain attempt to contain our latest offensive. In the meantime, do we have a follow-up report yet from Governor Staffa?"
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon said, pulling it up on his data pad. "Skywalker left at the same time as the decoy shuttle, and is presumed to have followed its vector. If so, he'll reach the Poderis system in approximately thirty hours."
"Excellent. Prepare a course for the Poderis system, Captain; I want the Chimaera there within forty hours." He smiled thinly. "And signal the garrison commander that I expect him to have a proper reception prepared by the time we arrive. Perhaps in two or three days' time we'll have an unexpected gift to present to our beloved Jedi Master."
"Yes, sir."
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Poderis, Inner Rim.
Poderis was one of that select group of worlds generally referred to in the listings as 'marginal': planets that had remained colonized not because of valuable resources or convenient location, but solely because of the stubborn spirit of its colonists. With a disorienting ten-hour rotational cycle, a lowland slough ecology that had effectively confined the colonists to a vast archipelago of tall mesas, and a nearly perpendicular axial tilt that created tremendous winds every spring and autumn, Poderis was not the sort of place wandering travelers generally bothered with. Its people were tough and independent, tolerant to visitors but with a long history of ignoring the politics of the outside galaxy.
All of which made it an ideal transfer point for the Empire's new clone traffic. And an ideal place for that same Empire to set a trap.
The man shadowing Luke was short and plain, the sort of person who would fade into the background almost anywhere he went. He was good at his job, too, with a skill that implied long experience in Imperial Intelligence. But that experience had naturally not extended to trailing Jedi Knights. Luke had sensed his presence almost as soon as the man had begun following him, and had been able to visually pick him out of the crowd a minute later.
Leaving only the problem of what to do about him.
"Artoo?" Luke called softly into the comlink he'd surreptitiously wedged into the neckband of his hooded robe. "We've got company. Probably Imperials."
There was a soft, worried trill from the comlink, followed by something that was obviously a question. "There's nothing you can do," Luke told him, taking a guess as to the content of the question and wishing Threepio was there to translate. He could generally pick up the gist of what Artoo was saying, but in a situation like this the gist might not be enough. "Is there anyone poking around the freighter? Or around the landing field in general?"
Artoo chirped a definite negative. "Well, they'll be there soon enough," Luke warned him, pausing to look in a shop window. The tail, he noted, moved forward a few more steps before finding an excuse of his own to stop. A professional, indeed. "Get as much of the preflight done as you can without attracting attention. We'll want to get off as soon as I get there."
The droid warbled acknowledgment. Reaching to his neck, Luke shut off the comlink and gave the area a quick scan. The first priority was to lose the tail before the Imperials made any more overt moves against him. And to do that, he needed some kind of distraction...
Fifty meters ahead in the crowd was what looked to be his best opportunity: another man striding along the street in a robe of similar cut and color to Luke's. Cautiously picking up his pace, trying not to give the appearance of hurrying, Luke moved toward him.
The other robed figure continued to the T-junction ahead and turned the corner to his right. Luke picked up his pace a bit more, sensing as he did so his shadower's suspicion that he'd been spotted. Resisting the urge to break into a flat-out run, Luke strolled casually around the corner.
It was a street like most of the others he'd already seen in the city: wide, rock-paved, reasonably crowded, and lined on both sides with graystone buildings. Automatically, he reached out with the Force, scanning the area around him and as far ahead as he could sense—
And abruptly caught his breath. Directly ahead, still distant but clearly detectable, were small pockets of darkness where his Jedi senses could read absolutely nothing. As if the Force that carried the information to him had somehow ceased to exist. .. or was being blocked.
Which meant this was no ordinary ambush, for an ordinary New Republic spy. The Imperials knew he was here and had come to Poderis equipped with ysalamiri.
And unless he did something fast, they were going to take him.
He looked again at the buildings around him. Squat, two-story structures, for the most part, with textured facades and decorative roof parapets. Those to his immediate right were built in a single solid row; directly across the street to his left, the first building after the T-junction had a warped facade, leaving a narrow gap between it and its neighbor's. It wasn't much in the way of cover—and the distance itself was going to be a reach—but it was all he had. Hurrying across the street, half expecting the trap to be sprung before he got there, he slipped into the opening. Bending his knees, letting the Force flow into his muscles, he jumped.
He almost didn't make it. The parapet directly above him was angled and smooth, and for a second he seemed to hang in midair as his fingers scrabbled for a hold. Then, he found a grip, and with a surge of effort pulled himself up and over to lie flat along the rooftop.
Just in time. Even as he eased one eye over the edge of the parapet, he saw his tail come racing around the corner, all efforts at subtlety abandoned. Shoving aside those in his way, he said something inaudible into the comlink in his hand—
And from the cross street a block away, a row of white-armored stormtroopers stepped into view. Blaster rifles held high against their chests, the dark elongated shapes of ysalamiri slung on backpack nutrient frames across their shoulders, they cordoned off the end of the street.
It was a well-planned, well-executed net; and Luke had maybe three minutes to get across the roof and down before they realized their fish had slipped out of it. Easing back from the edge, he turned his head toward the other side of the roof.
The roof didn't have another side. Barely sixty centimeters from where he lay, the roof abruptly became a blank wall that angled steeply downward for perhaps a hundred meters, extending in both directions as far as Luke could see. Beyond its lower edge, there was nothing but the distant mists in the lowlands beneath the mesa.
He'd miscalculated, possibly fatally. Preoccupied with the man shadowing him, he'd completely missed the fact that his path had taken him to the outer edge of the mesa. The slanting wall beside him was one of the massive shield-barriers designed to deflect the planet's vicious seasonal winds harmlessly over the city.
Luke had escaped the Imperial net... only to discover that there was literally nowhere else for him to go.
"Great," he muttered under his breath, easing back to the parapet and looking down into the street. More stormtroopers had joined the first squad now and were beginning to sift through the stunned crowd of people caught in the trap; behind them, two squads from the other direction of the T-junction had moved in to seal off the rear of the street. Luke's erstwhile shadow, a blaster now gripped his hand, was pushing his way through the crowd, making for the other robed figure Luke had noticed earlier.
The other robed figure...
Luke bit at his lip. It would be a rather unfriendly trick to play on a totally innocent bystander. But on the other hand, the Imperials obviously knew who they were looking for and just as obviously wanted him alive. Putting the man down there in deadly danger, he knew, would be unacceptable behavior for a Jedi. Luke could only hope that inconveniencing him wouldn't fall under the same heading.
Gritting his teeth, he reached out with the Force and plucked the blaster from the shadow's hand.
Spinning it low over the heads of the crowd, he dropped it squarely into the other robed figure's hand.
The shadow shouted to the stormtroopers; but what had begun as a call of triumph quickly became a screech of warning. Focusing the Force with all the control he could manage, Luke turned the blaster back toward its former owner and fired.
Fired safely over the crowd, of course—there was no possible way for him to aim accurately enough to hit the Imperial, even if he'd wanted to. But even a clean miss was enough to jolt the stormtroopers into action. The Imperials who'd been checking faces and IDs abandoned their task to push through the crowd toward the man in the robe, while those guarding the ends of the street hurried forward into backup positions.
It was, not surprisingly, too much for the man in the robe. Shaking away the blaster that had inexplicably become attached to his hand, he slipped past the frozen onlookers beside him and disappeared into a narrow alleyway.
Luke didn't wait to see any more. The minute anyone got a good look at the fleeing man's face, the diversion would be over, and he had to be off this roof and on his way to the landing field before that happened. Sidling to the edge of his narrow ledge, he looked down.
It didn't look promising. Built to withstand two-hundred-kilometer winds, it was perfectly smooth, with no protuberances that could get caught in eddy currents. Nor were there any windows, service doors, or other openings visible. That, at least, shouldn't be a problem; he could cut himself a makeshift doorway with his lightsaber if it came to that. The real question was how to get out of range of the Imperials' trap before they started hunting him in earnest.
He glanced back. And he had to do it fast. From the direction of the official landing area at the far end of the city, the distant specks of airspeeders had begun to appear over the squat city buildings.
He couldn't drop back down on the street side without attracting unwelcome attention. He couldn't crawl along the narrow upper edge of the shield-barrier, at least not fast enough to get out of sight before the airspeeders got here. Which left him only one direction. Down.
But not necessarily straight down...
He squinted into the sky. Poderis's sun was nearly to the horizon, moving almost visibly through its ten-hour circuit. Right now its light was shining straight into the eyes of the approaching airspeeder pilots, but within five minutes it would be completely below the horizon. Giving the searchers a clear view again, and leaving behind a dusk where a lightsaber blade would be instantly visible.
It was now or never.
Pulling his lightsaber from beneath his robe, Luke ignited it, making sure to keep the glowing green blade out of sight of the approaching airspeeders. Using the tip, he carefully made a shallow cut to the right and a few degrees down across the slanting shield-barrier. His robe was made of relatively flimsy material, and it took only a second to tear off the left sleeve and wrap it around the fingertips of his left hand. The padded fingers slipped easily into the groove he'd just made, with enough room to slide freely along it. Getting a firm grip, he set the tip of his lightsaber blade into the end of the groove and rolled off the ledge. Supported by his fingertips, the lightsaber held outstretched in his right hand carving out his path for him as he went, he slid swiftly across and down the shield-barrier.
It was at the same time exhilarating and terrifying. Memories flooded back: the wind whipping past him as he fell through the center core of the Cloud City of Bespin; hanging literally by his fingertips barely minutes later beneath the city; lying exhausted on the floor in the second Death Star, sensing through his pain the enraged helplessness of the Emperor as Vader hurled him to his death. Beneath his chest and legs, the smooth surface of the shield-barrier slid past, marking his rapid approach to the edge and the empty space beyond...
Lifting his head, blinking against the wind slapping into his face, he looked over his shoulder. The lethal edge was visible now, racing upward toward him at what felt like breakneck speed. Closer and closer it came... and then, at the last second, he changed the angle of his lightsaber. The downward path of his fingerguide shifted toward horizontal, and a few seconds later he slid smoothly to a halt.
For a moment he just hung there, dangling precariously by one hand as he caught his breath and got his heartbeat back under control. Above him, its edge catching the last rays of the setting sun, he could see the groove he'd just cut, angling up and to his left. Over a hundred meters to his left, he estimated. Hopefully, far enough to put him outside the Imperials' trap.
He'd find out soon enough.
Behind him, the sun dipped below the horizon, erasing the thin line of his passage. Moving carefully, trying not to dislodge his straining fingertips, he began to cut a hole through the shield-barrier.
ISD Chimaera.
"Report from the stormtrooper commander, Admiral," Pellaeon called, grimacing as he read it off his comm display. "Skywalker does not appear to be within the cordon."
"I'm not surprised," Thrawn said darkly, glowering at his displays. "I've warned Intelligence repeatedly about underestimating the range of Skywalker's sensing abilities. Obviously, they didn't take me seriously."
Pellaeon swallowed hard. "Yes, sir. But we know he was there, and he couldn't have gotten very far. The stormtroopers have established a secondary cordon and begun a building-to-building search."
Thrawn took a deep breath, then let it out. "No," he said, his voice even again. "He didn't go into any of the buildings. Not Skywalker. That little diversion with the decoy and the blaster..." He looked at Pellaeon. "Up, Captain. He went up onto the rooftops."
"The spotters are already sweeping that direction," Pellaeon said. "If he's up there, they'll spot him."
"Good." Thrawn tapped a switch on his command console, calling up a holographic map of that section of the mesa. "What about the shield-barrier on the west edge of the cordon? Can it be climbed?"
"Our people here say no," Pellaeon shook his head. "Too smooth and too sharply angled, with no lip or other barrier at the bottom. If Skywalker went up that side of the street, he's still there. Or at the bottom of the mesa."
"Perhaps," Thrawn said. "Assign one of the spotters to search that area anyway.
What about Skywalker's ship?"
"Intelligence is still trying to identify which one is his," Pellaeon admitted. "There's some problem with the records. We should have it in a few more minutes."
"Minutes which we no longer have, thanks to their shadower's carelessness," Thrawn bit out. "He's to be demoted one grade."
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon said, logging the order. A rather severe punishment, but it could have been far worse. The late Lord Vader would have summarily strangled the man. "The landing field itself is surrounded, of course."
Thrawn rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "A probable waste of time," he said slowly. "On the other hand..."
He turned his head to gaze out the viewport at the slowly rotating planet. "Pull them off, Captain," he ordered. "All except the clone troopers. Leave those on guard near the likeliest possibilities for Skywalker's ship."
Pellaeon blinked. "Sir?"
Thrawn turned back to face him, a fresh glint in those glowing red eyes. "The landing field cordon doesn't have nearly enough ysalamiri to stop a Jedi, Captain. So we won't bother trying. We'll let him get his ship into space, and take him with the Chimaera."
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon said, feeling his forehead furrow. "But then..."
"Why leave the clones?" Thrawn finished for him. "Because while Skywalker is valuable to us, the same is not true of his astromech droid." He smiled slightly. "Unless, of course, Skywalker's heroic efforts to escape Poderis convince it that this is indeed the main conduit for our clone traffic."
"Ah," Pellaeon said, finally understanding. "In which case, we find a way to allow the droid to escape back to the Rebellion?"
"Exactly," Thrawn gestured to Pellaeon's board. "Orders, Captain."
"Yes, sir." Pellaeon turned back to his board, feeling a cautious stirring of excitement as he began issuing the Grand Admiral's commands. Maybe this time Skywalker would finally be theirs.
Artoo was jabbering nervously when Luke finally charged through the door of their small freighter and slapped the seal behind him. "Everything ready to go?" he shouted over his shoulder to the droid as he hurried to the cockpit alcove.
Artoo trilled back an affirmative. Luke dropped into the pilot's seat, giving the instruments a quick once-over as he strapped himself in. "Okay," he called back. "Here we go."
Throwing power to the repulsorlifts, Luke kicked the freighter clear of the ground, wrenching it hard to starboard. A pair of Skipray blastboats rose with him, moving into tandem pursuit formation as he headed for the edge of the mesa. "Watch those Skiprays, Artoo," Luke called, splitting his own attention between the rapidly approaching city's edge and the airspace above them. The fight with those clone troopers guarding the landing field had been intense, but it had been far too brief to be realistic. Either the Empire had left someone totally incompetent in charge, or they'd let him get to his ship on purpose. Carefully herding him into the real trap...
The edge of the mesa shot past beneath him. Luke threw a quick glance at the rear display to confirm that he was clear of the city, then punched in the main sublight drive.
The freighter shot skyward like a scalded mynock, leaving the pursuing Skiprays flatfooted in its wake. The official-sounding orders to halt that had been blaring from the board turned into a surprised yelp as Luke reached over and shut the comm off. "Artoo? You all right back there?"
The droid chirped an affirmative, and a question scrolled across Luke's computer screen. "They were clones, all right," he confirmed grimly, an uncomfortable shiver running through him. The strange aura that seemed to surround the Empire's new duplicate humans was twice as eerie up close. "I'll tell you something else, too," he added to Artoo. "The Imperials knew it was me they were chasing. Those stormtroopers were carrying ysalamiri on their backs."
Artoo whistled thoughtfully, gave a questioning gurgle. "Right—that whole Delta Source thing," Luke agreed, reading the droid's comment. "Leia told me that if we couldn't get the leak closed fast, she was going to recommend we move operations out of the Imperial Palace. Maybe even off Coruscant entirely."
The distant horizon, barely visible as dark planet against dark but starlit sky, was starting to show a visible curvature now. "Better start calculating our jump to lightspeed, Artoo," he called over his shoulder. "We're probably going to have to get out of here in a hurry."
He got a confirming beep from the droid's position and turned his attention back to the horizon ahead. A whole fleet of Star Destroyers, he knew, could be lurking below that horizon, out of range of his instruments, waiting for him to get too far from any possible cover to launch their attack.
Out of range of his instruments, but perhaps not out of range of Jedi senses. Closing his eyes to slits, flooding his mind with calmness, he stretched out through the Force—
He got it an instant before Artoo's startled warning shrill shattered the air. An Imperial Star Destroyer all right; but not cutting across his path as Luke had expected. Instead, it was coming up from behind, in an atmosphere-top forced orbit that had allowed it to build up speed without sacrificing the advantages of planetary cover.
"Hang on!" Luke shouted, throwing emergency power to the drive. But it was a futile gesture, and both he and the Imperials knew it. The Star Destroyer was coming up fast, its tractor beams already activated and tracking him. Within a handful of seconds, they were going to get him.
Or at least, they were going to get the freighter...
Luke hit his strap release, opening a disguised panel as he did so and touching the three switches hidden there. The first switch keyed in the limited autopilot; the second unlocked the aft proton torpedo launcher and started it firing blindly back toward the Star Destroyer.
The third activated the freighter's self-destruct.
His X-wing was wedged nose forward in the cargo area behind the cockpit alcove, looking for all the world like some strange metallic animal peering out of its burrow. Luke leaped to the open canopy, coming within an ace of cracking his head on the freighter's low ceiling in the process. Artoo, already snugged into the X-wing's droid socket, was jabbering softly to himself as he ran the starfighter's systems from standby to full ready. Even as Luke strapped in and pulled on his flight helmet, the droid signaled they were clear to fly.
"Okay," Luke told him, resting his left hand on the special switch that had been added to his control board. "If this is going to work, we're going to have to time it just right. Be ready."
Again he closed his eyes, letting the Force flow through his senses. Once before, on his first attempt to locate the Dark-Sider known as Starkiller, he'd tangled like this with the Imperials—an X-wing against an Imperial Star Destroyer. That, too, had been a deliberate ambush, though he hadn't realized it until The new Sith's alliance with the Empire had been laid bare. In that battle, skill and luck and the Force had saved him.
This time, if the specialists back at Coruscant had done their job right, the luck was already built in.
With his mind deeply into the Force, he sensed the locking of the tractor beam a half second before it actually occurred. His hand jabbed the switch; and even as the freighter jerked in the tractor beam's powerful grip, the front end blew apart into a cloud of metallic shards. An instant later, kicked forward by a deck-mounted blast-booster, the X-wing shot through the glittering debris. For a long, heart-stopping moment it seemed as though the tractor beam was going to be able to maintain its hold despite the obscuring particle fog. Then, all at once, the grip slackened and was gone.
"We're free!" Luke shouted back at Artoo, rolling the X-wing over and driving hard for deep space. "I'm going evasive—hang on."
He rolled the X-wing again, and as he did so a pair of brilliant green flashes shot past the transparisteel canopy. With their tractor beams outdistanced, the Imperials had apparently decided to settle for shooting him out of the sky. Another barrage of green flame scorched past, and there was a yelp from Artoo as something burned through the deflectors to slap against the X-wing's underside. Reaching out again to the Force, Luke let it guide his hands on the controls—
And then, almost without warning, it was time. Reaching to the hyperdrive lever, Luke pulled it back.
ISD Chimaera.
With a flicker of pseudomotion, the X-wing vanished into the safety of hyperspace, the Chimera's turbolaser batteries still firing uselessly for a second at where it had been. The batteries fell silent; and Pellaeon let out a long breath, afraid to look over at Thrawn's command station. It was the second time Skywalker had escaped from this kind of trap... and the last time he'd done so, a man had died for that failure.
The rest of the bridge crew hadn't forgotten that, either. In the brittle silence the faint rustling of cloth against seat material was clearly audible as Thrawn stood up. "Well," the Grand Admiral said, his voice strangely calm. "One must give the Rebels full credit for ingenuity. I've seen that trick worked before, but not nearly so effectively."
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon said, trying without success to hide the strain in his voice.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Thrawn looking at him. "At ease, Captain," the Grand Admiral said soothingly. "Skywalker would have made an interesting package to present to Lord Starkiller, but his escape is hardly cause for major concern. The primary objective of this exercise was to convince the Rebellion that they'd discovered the clone conduit. That objective has been achieved."
The tightness in Pellaeon's chest began to dissipate. If the Grand Admiral wasn't angry about it...
"That does not mean, however," Thrawn went on, "that the actions of the Chimaera's crew should be ignored. Come with me, Captain."
Pellaeon got to his feet, the tightness returning. "Yes, sir."
Thrawn led the way to the aft stairway and descended to the starboard crew pit. He walked past the crewers at their consoles, past the officers standing stiffly behind them, and came to a halt at the control station for the starboard tractor beams. "Your name," he said quietly to the young man standing at rigid attention there.
"Ensign Mithel," the other said, his face pale but composed. The expression of a man facing his death.
"Tell me what happened, Ensign."
Mithel swallowed. "Sir, I had just established a positive lock on the freighter when it broke up into a cluster of trac-reflective particles. The targeting system tried to lock on all of them at once and went into a loop snarl."
"And what did you do?"
"I—sir, I knew that if I waited for the particles to dissipate normally, the target starfighter would be out of range. So I tried to dissipate them myself by shifting the tractor beam into sheer-plane mode."
"It didn't work."
A quiet sigh slipped through Mithel's lips. "No, sir. The target-lock system couldn't handle it. It froze up completely."
"Yes." Thrawn cocked his head slightly. "You've had a few moments now to consider your actions, Ensign. Can you think of anything you should have done instead?"
The young man's lip twitched. "No, sir. I'm sorry, but I can't. I don't remember anything in the manual that covers this kind of situation."
Thrawn nodded. "Correct," he agreed. "There isn't anything. Several methods have been suggested over the past few decades for counteracting the covert shroud gambit, none of which has ever been made practical. Yours was one of the more innovative attempts, particularly given how little time you had to come up with it. The fact that it failed does not in any way diminish that."
A look of cautious disbelief was starting to edge into Mithel's face. "Sir?"
"The Empire needs quick and creative minds, Ensign," Thrawn said. "You're hereby promoted to lieutenant... and your first assignment is to find a way to break a covert shroud. After their success here, the Rebellion may try the gambit again."
"Yes, sir," Mithel breathed, the color starting to come back into his face.
"I—thank you, sir."
"Congratulations, Lieutenant Mithel." Thrawn nodded to him, then turned to Pellaeon. "The bridge is yours, Captain. Resume our scheduled flight. I'll be in my command room if you require me."
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon managed.
And stood there beside the newly minted lieutenant, feeling the stunned awe pervading the bridge as he watched Thrawn leave. Yesterday, the Chimaera's crew had trusted and respected the Grand Admiral. After today, they would be ready to die for him.
And for the first time in five years, Pellaeon finally knew in the deepest level of his being that the old Empire was gone. The new Empire, with Grand Admiral Thrawn at its head, had been born.
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Senate Building, Coruscant, NRDF situation room.
Heavy rainfall had just hit Coruscant. Yet, it seemed like another ordinary day in the Republic capital. People across the planet were just getting on with life as normal.
Thousands of speeders were traveling to their destinations around the clock. Large freighters were landing in the space ports all across the planet, to release their cargo or to transport passengers. People were down in the markets waiting to trade whatever goods they brought to the table and try to make a profit.
But some things were out of the ordinary. High above, an X-wing fighter squadron was escorting other cargo freighters from the atmosphere to the surface for security purposes. In military bases all over coruscant, NRDF troopers were on high alert, guarding checkpoints, escorting dignitaries, and conducting military exercises in preparation for whatever situation they may be called upon to deal with.
Some were being transported to the front lines.
Perhaps things weren't out of the ordinary on Coruscant, at least for Mon Mothma, who was old enough to remember the Clone Wars.
High above the city, in a private meeting room in the Galactic Senate building, the supreme chancellor of the Republic herself was looking through a one-way, shielded window down at the city below.
She saw the population below living lives as normal.
Mon Mothma then caught a glimpse of shuttles being escorted to and from the atmosphere by more X-wings.
It never ends, she thought to herself.
Mothma then turned away from the window, back to the private meeting that was taking place behind her. At the table were several prominent New Republic military figures: General Rieekan of the New Republic Army, General Jan Dodonna of the New Republic Starfighter Corps, General Airen Cracken of New Republic Intelligence Service, who were all seated around the table. But reporting in via hologram was Fleet Admiral Gial Ackbar of the New Republic Navy. All of these men were veterans of the Galactic Civil War, and long time friends of Mothma. She trusted them with her lives.
There was a large map of the Galaxy on the holo-moniter attached to the wall, the blue blotch in the northern Quarter of the galaxy represented Imperial space, and some of the warlord factions, while the Red marked Republic Territory, which controlled the 3/4s of the galaxy, including the Core. There were several blue dots in the red area, alone or in clusters, which represented Imperial warlords that were cut-off, but still a thorn in the galaxy's side. The Borderlands regions, along the northern Hydian Way, served as the neutral buffer between both sides. But that neutrality was long ignored, and outright irrelevant.
There were also several other monitors that showed the situation unfolding far, far away. Mon Calamari and Quarren warriors fought savagely to hold the line, as an Imperial fleet, the largest single force assembled since the battles of Endor and Jakku, laid waste to the Mon Cala space forces. Swarms of TIE fighters buzzed over the Calamari surface cities, while Imperial Star Destroyers used their immense firepower to pierce the deep oceans, and bombard the underwater cities which housed the vast majority of the planet's populace.
Mon Cala ground forces dug in at choke points, and forces Imperial troops to fight for every corner and inch of ground, and water. While high above, Mon Calamari warships went toe-to-toe with the triangular Star Destroyers of the Imperial Navy.
One monitor showed a column of refugees being loaded into transports that would either take them underwater or into orbit. Efforts to evacuate by space were thwarted by the blockade.
On another monitor watching that same city, an Imperial Star-Destroyer hovered above Dac City, the planet's most iconic surface dwelling, which housed the Royal family. A large green light materialized beneath the warship for a few moments, when suddenly, the light source produced a powerful beam. It connected to the surface of the city, which created an explosion that vaporized the Royal Palace and the surrounding buildings. The buildings on the outer edge of the city crumbled into the sea.
No one could even begin to imagine how many people were still in the city during the blast.
"How did it ever come to this?" Mon Mothma asked under her breath, before she sat down in her seat. "General... you may begin your report."
"Thank you, Ma'am," General Cracken said walking over to the Holo-map with a pointer stick in his hand. "Apparently, from what we could gather from our probe droids, the Imperial factions seemed to have united all of their forces, and were able to co-ordinate a massive attack. They sent two full Imperial battlegroups and had them attack Mon Cala from different directions through neutral space," Cracken stated as he ran his stick along two lines that cut through the Hydian borderlands all the way to Mon Cala. "A third one is apparently being held in reserve."
"And considering how they managed to clear out the minefields near the hyperspace lanes," Said General Dodonna, "they must've been planning this operation for a while."
"Then someone really has come onto the stage, and taken command." Mon Mothma said as she rubbed her eyes, and leaned back in her chair as all of this information came through to her. Her red hair had started graying, a sign of the stressful job she's assumed. The veteran politician had hoped that with the ending of the Civil War and the restoration of the Republic, that peace could reign. But instead, the Empire has chosen to continue the warpath. And they've taken their anger out on the Mon Calamari.
She let out a sigh, and all eyes fell on her.
"The Mon Calamari have been a proud part of our Alliance since nearly the beginning, and resisted the Empire long before even that. It's really no wonder the enemy has chosen them as a target to unleash their reinvigorated war machine." She then turned to the holo-image of Ackbar. "Isn't that right, Admiral?"
The admiral nodded.
"Yes. Many years ago, the Empire wanted to enforce one-sided trade deals on us, and conscript many of us as forced labor. But when we resisted, they smashed our cities and killed millions of our people. Then they took our King hostage. But this experience only hardened my people's will to fight, later as part of the Alliance. When the Emperor created the Death Stars, Mon Cala was at the top of the list of planets that he wanted gone. But now, the Imperial remnants are carrying out their dead Emperor's final command to discipline us. Unless we act immediately, Mon Cala will fall. Billions of people will be punished, our supply of capital ships will be cut, and many planets that are sympathetic to us will lose faith in our ability to defend them. And with many worlds declaring neutrality, or siding with the Empire, the Republic could very well fall apart."
Mon Mothma nodded her head. "Then we must do everything we can to help Mon Cala repel the invasion. "Admiral Ackbar, your fleet is the closest. Go to Mon Cala with all haste and hold the line until reinforcements can arrive.
"Yes, Chancellor," Ackbar said before his hologram disappeared.
And the briefing was over.
Mon Mothma was just about to head back to her desk when a new figure entered her office.
Luke Skywalker.
"Supreme Chancellor?" He asked.
"Master Skywalker, I'm surprised to see you back so soon. Weren't you investigating the Empire's supply lines?"
"Yes Chancellor, and that's why I had to come back, but since the meeting is over, I'm just going to have to relay the information to you. Artoo and I have discovered one of several hub worlds where the Empire is receiving their latest shipments of clones. But it's not where they are coming from. In fact, we've been looking into the trajectory of alot of the transports delivering Imperial forces, and many of them aren't even coming from Imperial space. They're coming from the deep core, and the unknown regions."
Mothma froze. She stared at Luke in stunned silence for several seconds. "That... that's very hard to imagine. How can the Empire just casually hide its forces in the most dangerous, and unexplored, parts of the galaxy?"
Luke shook his head.
"I don't know. But I'd like to investigate further, and to do that, I would like to request command of a task force to head into the unknown regions."
That also caught Mothma off guard. "But Luke, I thought that you were trying to rebuild the Jedi Order. In order to take formal command of a task force, you would need to be reinstated. Is that what you are asking?" She asked.
Luke thought about it for a second. He began to open himself up to the force, remembering that Obi-Wan would have wanted the Force to guide Luke's decisions. Right now, he was feeling that he needed every resource at his disposal to help keep the galaxy safe from the Dark Side.
"Yes, I am." Luke finally said.
Mon Mothma pressed a few keys on her computer terminal. When she was finished, she stood up to salute Luke.
"Then welcome back to the New Republic Defense Forces, General Skywalker."
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