Chapter Eighteen

Coruscant had not always been named Coruscant. Sometime in the distant past, so far distant that even how long it had been was forgotten to all but a handful of historians, the planet had a different name. Mara didn't know what its name had been. Perhaps no one did.

But she had grown up here—at least, for all the years she could remember clearly. She had stood on this very rooftop more than once, contemplating tasks, assignments, dangers, foes. Then the planet had been simply Imperial Center. She had known the planet's previous name was Coruscant but never stopped to reflect on the name. Not until she had returned here, fresh out of a brief dip in a bacta tank, the Emperor's last command banished from her mind for good, had she ever stopped to look.

Coruscant glittered. The buildings stretched skyward, reinforced by repulsorlifts that allowed them to reach far higher than they would have naturally. Windows flickered as airspeeders and spaceships soared lazily through the urban canyons. The planet's sun was nearly set, casting an orangish-reddish glow that sparkled and shaded the buildings alike. Above the horizon she saw the planet's semi-spacebound Skyhooks, massive stations tethered to the planet's surface in geosynchronous orbits, gleaming like rubies. Below her she could see Senate Hill, the dome of the old Senate building cast in a reflected glow. Palpatine's placement of the Imperial Palace had ensured that the Senate dome was always cast in shadow when the sun rose, and always cast in reddish, somber light when the sun set again. Palpatine had always liked to gloat.

She watched as the red faded into black, the dome now cast in shadow rather than its usual gleaming white. Of all the planets in the galaxy, few had prospered as much as Coruscant had under the empire. Palpatine had insisted on drawing all the power and wealth within his grasp he could and destroying the rest and under his rule Coruscant had become a black hole for the galaxy's rich and powerful. All came. Few escaped—until Isard had deliberately sacrificed the planet in a gambit to destroy the nascent New Republic. Now, with Thrawn dead and the New Republic firmly entrenched both on Coruscant and in the galaxy, the gravity of the old Imperial Center began once more to draw wealth and power into its hungry maw.

It was that or starve.

Mara sighed as that thought finished ricocheting around her brain. The image was hardly conducive to finding inner peace. But few of her thoughts had been the last few days.

She leaned on the chest-high wrought stone railing at the edge of the palace roof, wondering what she was doing here. Her Smugglers' Alliance office in the Imperial Palace—her office!—still felt wrong, like a bizarre reflection of reality. The first week she spent in it had been a dreamlike haze, walking the hallways that had raised her, shaped her, built her, and housed her; had taken the child that Palpatine—or his agents (perhaps even Vader, her lightsaber whispered to her)—had found and shaped her into the Emperor's Hand, two words which could only be spoken with capitalization and dread.

One thing that hadn't changed was the respect. It was remarkable, really, how little had changed in how people treated her in the Palace. Her history was no secret, not anymore, certainly not to the people who were high enough placed in the New Republic government to work in the Imperial Palace. Everyone who approached her did so with a wariness that bespoke both fear and awe. When she had been the Emperor's Hand it had annoyed her greatly when people like Isard had dared treat her otherwise. Now it just reinforced that she did not belong here. The palace no longer felt like home but more like the prison it had, in hindsight, always truly been.

What was it, she wondered, that had brought the sense of inner peace she had felt the last time she stood on this roof, the last time she had leaned against this stone railing? Why had then been soothing, reassuring, a glimpse into her future and this time it was instead into her past?

She didn't know. And the quickening of her heartbeat when she tried said she wasn't ready to think about it just yet.

Twenty meters behind her, the door out onto the roof opened. She stretched out to the Force, her brow furrowing. Her first thought was of Skywalker, but the Jedi wasn't on Coruscant. The presence she felt was vaguely familiar, but not familiar enough to instantly recognize.

"Palace Security said I could find you here," a brisk voice that would have sounded perfectly at home in the Imperial Palace when Coruscant had been Imperial Center said. She turned towards it, keeping her hand carefully away from the lightsaber on her belt. The man had longish reddish blond hair that covered his ears and a neatly trimmed beard. Both were starting to go white—whiter than they had been the last time she had seen the man. Of course, then she'd had a blaster against his jaw and he'd been wearing sleepwear—not a General's uniform.

"General Madine," Mara said in surprise. The two had encountered one another on Kintoni about five years before, while Mara had still been flitting from system to system to evade Ysanne Isard's intelligence operatives. She had taken the opportunity to warp up old business. The encounter had ended amicably enough, although not before he had tried to kill her with her own lightsaber. "This is a surprise."

"I can assure you, Miss Jade," he replied, his intonation carrying the barest hint of amusement, "it is not as much of a surprise as our last meeting." He approached and his bearing had none of the expected wariness. Instead he held out his hand. "Let me formally introduce myself, since we weren't the last time. I'm Crix Madine." He ducked his head in a nod as he waited for her to take his proffered hand. "Thank you for your help on Kintoni, by the way."

Mara paused for a moment, evaluating the man, what she remembered of his record, and his sense in the Force before she took his hand. She didn't bother to return the introduction. "I take it you were satisfied with your share of Governor Barkale's ill-gotten gains," she said.

"It covered the New Republic's expenses for the better part of a year," Madine replied as he released his grip on her hand. To her surprise he stepped past her to the stone railing, looking out over the view. "I haven't come up here before," he commented, watching the view. It didn't seem to offer him any more inner peace than it was currently offering her.

Mara watched him cautiously. Madine wasn't acting like an enemy, but there were only so many reasons for him to have approached her like this—for him to have deliberately sought her out. Leia Organa Solo had assured Mara and Karrde that there would be no punishment meted out for her time as Emperor's hand—Leia's voice had been so soft, so understanding, so forgiving in that meeting that it had only added to Mara's anxiety—but Leia was not the New Republic's Empress and her word was hardly law.

"I did my research after our encounter," Madine said. "I wasn't sure who you were at first. Imperial Intelligence was my first guess, but you didn't seem like one of Isard's. The way you let me go and let us have Barkale's stash told me you weren't ISB. The only useful hint was—"

"The lightsaber," Mara finished for him.

"That's right. Only a handful of Imperial Agents carried lightsabers. So, I started collecting intelligence reports and I asked General Cracken to send me all the reports he had. Put together a little dossier on a mysterious woman who went by the title Emperor's Hand." He rested both his hands on the rail and Mara could see in her peripheral vision that his belt had a blaster holster. She could also see that it was empty. "The dossier was incomplete, of course."

"Of course," Mara echoed stiffly.

"I gave it back to Cracken when the word started going around that we had the Emperor's Hand in custody, and he quietly passed it around the Provisional Council members when you escaped again." Madine paused, letting the cool Coruscant breeze flow around them both. "I wasn't surprised when you came back with Jedi Skywalker as a confirmed ally."

Mara was abruptly tired of the conversation. "Because Skywalker has a history of turning foes into friends? Or because I once held a blaster to your head and didn't pull the trigger?"

Madine's head turned towards her, seemingly not put off by her scowl. "Because over and over again your record was of someone who punished the guilty and protected the innocent. Poln, Kintoni, Qiaxx, Ghel Daneth, Neftali… every mission was a display of careful precision. And yes, because if you'd really been an enemy of the New Republic you would never have let me live on Kintoni."

Mara firmed her lips together and locked her gaze on the glittering skyline. I just didn't want to run from the Rebellion and Isard at the same time, she thought. "What do you want, Madine?"

"You know Governor Ferrouz said something else in his report," Madine's voice was soft, understanding – he sounded like Leia, and she abruptly knew that Leia had sent him, or at least discussed this meeting with him before he'd deigned to come up here, and she felt a burst of indignation that she had to be handled like some kind of asset— "He said you brought Imperial Justice."

Mara's anger flamed away into surprise. "What?"

"Imperial Justice," Madine repeated, and she could hear the capitalization for each of the two words… but there wasn't any dread. "I believed in it too," he said after the words had fully diffused into her thoughts, and this time there was no mistaking the compassion in his voice. "During the Clone Wars the Old Republic had fallen apart, gone to chaos, and service in the Imperial Army, service to the new Empire was how I could make a difference." She could hear the darkness of the memory, of gleaming past purpose darkened by the shadow of experience. "I could make a difference," he repeated. "But then Dentaal, and I finally saw Palpatine's Empire for what it was." He looked down. "I remember what that was like. Twenty years of loyal service and I had been the enemy all along."

Mara's anger flamed back into existence as quickly as it had fled. "And you think that's what I'm feeling now, is it? Guilt?"

Madine shrugged. "Of course. But dealing with guilt is easy—it drives us to act. The hard part was realizing that I never really knew who I was, and that if I didn't know who I was before then how can I know who I am now?"

Mara scowled at him and his presumptions. She especially scowled at how close he was hitting home. "I see your lips moving but I'm hearing Organa Solo's voice." She crossed her arms across her chest and glared at him. "She put you up to this."

"Not exactly," Madine demurred. "We discussed it but I would have come even if we hadn't. You made an impression on Kintoni and I thought it was important that we talk, after what happened on Wayland." He gave her a small but genuine smile and Mara got the impression that Madine wasn't a man who smiled very often—it looked uncomfortable, almost alien on his face. "I just wanted to tell you that if you ever wanted to talk about it, I know a lot of ex-Imperial defectors who have faced exactly this, and so does General Skywalker. We'd all be happy to talk about it, if you ever want to."

She could stay angry—with Leia, with Madine. Or get angry with Luke, because she was sure this was all actually his fault—he had probably asked Leia to look after her while he was away. She'd just have to remind him that she didn't need looking after when he and Karrde got back from Ukio. But she found that her anger was hard to sustain. "Fine," she said sourly. "Was that all, or were you also going to try to recruit me for some mission just vital for galactic security?" She narrowed her green eyes at him, and if they'd been blasters his impeccable uniform would have had two smoking craters in it.

"Not this time," Madine said. He shrugged one shoulder. "But if something comes up, I'll be sure to ask. Or send Karrde a request for your services."

"I don't come cheap," she retorted, as if to remind him that she hadn't gone and done anything stupid like sign up for the New Republic Defense Force.

"Nothing Talon Karrde provides does," Madine replied dryly. He pushed off the stone railing and straightened his uniform. "Well, I've said what I came to say. I'm sure you can find me if you want to continue this conversation." He nodded and headed back towards the door.

She heard him turn back briefly to look at her, but she was gazing out over Coruscant again.

Mara sighed and leaned forward, her chin lowering toward her chest as she closed her eyes. Her anger—which had been mostly for show anyway—passed back into an ache of loss and loneliness and uncertainty. She should have stayed with Talon on the Wild Karrde, she thought. At least there she had routines and a sense of what normal meant. She knew who she was, the role she was supposed to play. Here she was still trying to figure it all out, figure herself out, and with Skywalker gone the closest thing she'd had to constancy was missing.

But at the same time, talking with Madine had helped, which surprised her. And as she opened her eyes back up and peered out over the cityscape, watching all the people go about their evening business, she found a bit of the inner peace that she'd found the last time she stood up here. And pride.

Imperial Justice.

"Madine?" she called.

"Yes, Miss Jade?" he asked, his voice distant.

She breathed in the Coruscant night air and wondered if she'd ever be free of the weight Palpatine had laid on her shoulders. "There's a service elevator down the hall on the left. It'll return you to the ground floor from here much faster. The passcode is 5997." She waited another two seconds, until she heard the door open, and then called out again. "If you want, General, I'm free for lunch tomorrow."

He turned back, regarding her curiously.

His regard made her self-conscious. "You're right. I need to talk about it and … no one understands."

He nodded. "Certainly. I'll make the time. See you tomorrow." There was the opening and then the closing of the door, and he was gone. She sat and watched the city, alone again.

The longer Mara spent working on the shipping part of the Smugglers' Alliance's responsibilities, the more she hated the liaison job. Now that the business relationship between the New Republic and the Smugglers' Alliance was formal, the list of requests for shipping had started to grow. And grow. And grow.

No wonder the New Republic was so desperate to bring in independents, Mara thought, astonished at the sheer volume of requests. They are starving for shipping. Even with the Smugglers' Alliance and all the independent shipping cartels we represent, we still don't have enough for all this.

She still didn't have a droid to help her manage, but Ghent's computer program did almost all the work for her. It automatically took requests, pinged the HoloNet for available ships, and then sent out possible shipping assignments. The ships then took the assignments they wanted, sent their confirmation back through the HoloNet, and the database updated which jobs were available. Much of it was automated, so Mara found herself in the utterly dismal position of being customer service.

Earlier that morning she'd met with the Senator from Exodeen and personally assured him that their 'vital' shipment of Juju powder had already been picked up and was on its way. There was a rather lengthy list of dignitaries all with their pet project or concern, all who insisted on speaking personally to the Liaison from the Smugglers' Alliance.

This isn't going to work out, she realized. Karrde and Leia and Skywalker had talked her into taking this position because she had a degree of trust from both the New Republic and the Fringe; she had one foot in both worlds, so to speak. She took it because they had all been right. But she was already bored. Mara, even more than most smugglers, was used to a life of action and adventure and challenge, and she felt woefully suited for the life of a bureaucrat. In a few months they'd have a full staff on duty, with droids and personnel hired that would take the onus off her to do all the day-to-day communication herself; she hoped that would make it less frustrating.

There was nothing to do but do it for now, and talk to Karrde when he got back. She'd made a commitment, and she intended to keep that commitment. Maybe once the bureaucracy (her mind shied away from even the word) was established, she could focus on the big picture organizational practices and diplomatic responsibilities of the role. That might work, although diplomat sounded only marginally better than bureaucrat. And that was assuming she didn't get frustrated and blast someone for being an idiot.

Her terminal beeped and she brought up the message, which was, like the previous two from the same sender, labeled urgent. She read it, growled with irritation, and shut down her terminal. Exodeen didn't need Juju powder badly enough to warrant the Ambassador requesting three personal meetings with her in three days! She fervently regretted that Karrde had not yet found her a reliable office droid.

Mara practically stormed out of her office, wishing that Luke was still on Coruscant. She missed having the Jedi around to practice with; what she needed was a good spar. But that required a quality opponent and with the Jedi gone she was unlikely to find one.

The aircar ride to Woonseer's Cafe was short, but helped her relax a bit as the familiar skyscape whizzed by her but really, it was the distance. The distance between her, the office, and the bland aura of a stolid respectability. Which was, she thought as she stepped onto the tastefully-appointed docking pad, why she'd decided on Woonseer's. The maitre'd knew better than to attempt smalltalk, given her expression, and ushered her to her usual, secluded table with a view of the Senate building, and the Palace looming beyond.

She recognized Madine even before he rounded the ornamental plants hiding her from sight. He had the unmistakable step of a stormtrooper, one that echoed of the teachers Palpatine had brought in for her when she was young. Mara moved her menu down slightly from her eyeline and slightly arched an eyebrow.

"Miss Jade," Madine greeted her.

"General Madine," she replied with a nod in the direction of the empty chair. "Won't you join me?"

He sat, looking around him with a tired expression.

"Long day?"

He took a look at the menu, then put it back down. "It's been a long time since I was here," he said, and his voice was as tired as his face. Through the Force, she could sense an old, painful ache. "I hadn't realized they renamed Doriana Tower when I got your lunch invitation, or I'd have requested we meet somewhere else."

Mara frowned. "We could go elsewhere, if you would prefer?"

Madine shook his head. "Oh, no. It's fine. It's just that I haven't been here since before I defected." He sat, looking at the menu again. "I had a fiancée. A life even, before." Madine explained without looking up. "Karreio. She was a member of the Imperial aristocracy who saw something in a rough-edged trooper that I hadn't seen in myself. She introduced me to this place. A secret hideaway, in the heart of the Palace District. Privacy in public."

That had always been what Mara used it for, too, when she'd been pretending to be a member of that aristocracy. Of all her personas, Countess Claria had been most comfortable cycling through those rarefied circles, but Mara had always found that particular persona tiring.

"I left her behind when I defected," Madine continued. "She was still a true believer, so I never could tell her about the things I did. The things they asked me to do. Perhaps I should have." He glanced over the menu at her, taking a sip of his water before putting the tall glass back down. He looked back at the menu. "She died during the invasion of Coruscant."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too," Madine sighed. "I never looked up how she died, if any of her family survived. This war, brought about by the need of the powerful to have still more power… it killed her, surely as it killed everyone on Alderaan, but living in that system, even at the middle rank, we were both a party to evil, and we incurred a debt. Eventually, that debt comes due. Perhaps a blaster bolt, perhaps a trial, perhaps a grey existence on the Fringe."

Mara frowned.

"I suppose that's as good a transition to the reason we're meeting as any," Madine said wryly. The waiter came over and the conversation paused as they ordered.

"The Imperial guilt conversation, you mean?" she asked, resting her hands on the table. She sighed and turned to look out the window. The external towers of the Imperial Palace loomed, the old gunnery platforms visible and still manned, but now by Republic soldiers instead of Imperials. The skyline of Coruscant was beyond, with a long near-wall of towers glittering in the evening sun. Beyond that were the Manarai Mountains, steeped in white and orange as the sun hovered above. "I think you said all you intended to say when we spoke on the roof."

"But you didn't say very much at all."

She sighed and turned back away from the view, her attention returning to Madine. "Palpatine groomed me from childhood to be his agent. He molded me, my strengths and weaknesses, my abilities, my mindset. He turned me into … a living testament to his cleverness and his power." She scowled. "I was a trophy as much as I was an asset." She shook her head. "You know all that already. So do I. What else is there to say?"

"Maybe nothing. Maybe a lot," Madine replied. "We—former Imperials, I mean—all live with a great deal of guilt. We all have a different reason for not acting sooner than we did. Sometimes, often, it was fear; resistance against the Empire from the ranks is dangerous, what with ISB always on the lookout for the enemy within. Sometimes it was because we didn't see. Most of the time though, it was because we chose to look away." He frowned. "That's for those of us who had consciences, though. Many in the Empire weren't conflicted at all, they didn't care as long as it brought them wealth or power."

Mara was quiet, her gaze turning back to the mountains. She found herself wishing Luke was here instead, but she felt certain there were things that Luke, with his farmboy innocence and endless optimism, should never have to face. Madine would understand. "He could have warped me fully," she said quietly. "Could have broken me to his will, turned me completely into a puppet. He didn't. I don't know why he didn't… I don't know why he left me…" she shrugged helplessly, groping for the right word and not finding it. Innocent was certainly not accurate.

"Why do you think?"

Mara shook her head. "The only thing I can think of was I served his purposes better as I was. That because I believed in Imperial Justice, he could use me as his tool to convince everyone else that it actually existed."

Madine surprised her with a humorless laugh. Her gaze darted to him, expression darkening. "What?" she asked, tone dangerous.

"Miss Jade, we all believed in Imperial Justice. At first. Everyone told us it was real, that the Empire was a force for good, for order, that the old Republic had been an unstable relic. That last part might even have been true. But we all believed that the Empire was a force for good, outside of the darkest souls in ISB. Even Isard believed in the Empire, I think." He leaned forward. "The difference is how far could you push us before we broke and stopped believing. Some never did. Men like Rogriss and Pellaeon, they still believe. For me," he sighed, looking weary, "for me, it took being ordered to kill every living being on Dentaal. It took me a long time to break, because I believed."

"He never gave me orders like that one," Mara whispered.

"No," Madine agreed darkly. "He saved them for those of us he'd already pushed to the brink and had nonetheless remained loyal."

"But why not?" Mara demanded. "I would've followed those orders. I would—"

"Would you?" Madine interrupted her sharply. "Would you have followed those orders, Miss Jade?"

She swallowed hard. No, she thought, and knew in her gut that it was true. If Palpatine had broken her more, warped her, molded her… but the Emperor's Hand had believed in Imperial Justice, believed in it more than anything else in the galaxy, upheld and fought for it. The Emperor's Hand had detested Grand Moff Tarkin for what had happened to Alderaan, because it had been the antithesis of the Imperial Justice she had believed in. The Emperor's Hand had always believed the Empire and its Emperor were better than that.

Because Palpatine had let her believe it.

"That's why he didn't give them to you," Madine said, almost kindly. "Because he knew you wouldn't follow them."

Mara wasn't sure if that made her feel better or worse. She wasn't sure how that made her feel. Good? Bad? Prideful? Ashamed? Yes, there was a fair bit of shame in that mix.

"One thing I have learned, something I tell all of us, Miss Jade," Madine said quietly, "is that ultimately, the most important thing is how we move forward. Some of us…" he shook his head, "some of us, it doesn't matter how much good we do, we'll always be damned for the evil we failed to stop. We will spend the rest of our lives paying back our debts, and what matters is that our payment has meaning to the living people we help in the present."

The living people we help in the present.

She'd never been ordered to destroy a world. Never been ordered to murder an innocent—at least, someone she had been told was an innocent. But it almost didn't matter, she thought. Palpatine could have made her do those things. She would have done them, all he had to do was twist her mind a little more… and the knowledge that he could have made her do them, but didn't, somehow made her feel even more guilty. Why spare her what he inflicted on others?

And then, of all things, she thought about Tatooine, the Tuskens, the venality of Mos Eisley and the Hutts, and all the hard choices Luke had doubtless grown up with, followed by the subsequent challenges of his life. He had remained a beacon of light through it all.

She had only just realized what she had thought, started to interrogate it, when her train of thought was interrupted by a familiar beeping, one that sent shivers down her spine and made her instinctively inhale. She froze, anticipating a mental touch, a knife of telepathy pushing into her mind—but no. Palpatine was dead. She forced the spasm of dread back, then patted herself down, looking for the source of the beeping.

Mara pulled the wristcom she had found on L6000-H-82688 out of her pocket. She'd entirely forgotten about it since she and Skywalker had found her old ship, and she stared at it in confusion and mounting alarm.

"What is it?" asked Madine.

She glanced up at him, saw his own confused and mildly alarmed expression, and shook her head. "I'm not sure," she said, fumbling with the wristcom. She'd always worn one on Coruscant, at least when she was younger; the device had been one of Palpatine's less invasive forms of communication, and a way for her to communicate with her myriad handlers (when she had still needed handlers). She pressed on it, following the alert to a more detailed explanation of its cause—

"Miss Jade?"

Her frown deepened. "I found this in my old possessions," she said without looking at him. "It's something Palpatine used to communicate with me. I'm… not sure why I took it." She scowled at the device. Damn Skywalker and his Force intuitions.

Madine had the grace not to press, perhaps recognizing a Force thing when he saw it. "Why is it beeping?"

"It says one of my old safehouses—I had about a dozen of them, scattered all over the planet in areas I operated in when I was younger, while I was still in training—has been compromised." She glanced up at him, saw his eyebrows lift with curiosity. "The one in Argosy District. Apparently someone is trying to breach the main door… and just succeeded." She frowned, thinking back and trying to remember everything she could about the Argosy safehouse. "I operated in Argosy District about fifteen years ago," she mused, "there wasn't much at the safehouse, but I have reason to believe Isard co-opted all my old facilities after Palpatine's death."

"Fifteen years? How old were you?"

Mara shrugged, pressing the wristcom and trying to elicit more information. "I'm not sure. Ten or eleven standard," she replied distractedly. "I'm going to go check this out," she continued as she moved her lightsaber from its concealment in her clutch to its more convenient location on her combat belt. "I doubt it's a coincidence that I explore my old facility here in the palace, and a week later someone breaks into another of my old facilities on the other side of the planet." She stood. She'd need to go back to the office first; her primary blaster was there, and her extra power packs. It was too bulky to wear easily concealed, but it wasn't wise to go into a potential fight without it. Her holdout was already in her sleeve. "Shavit, I need to call Cracken too," she cursed, annoyed, and reached for her comlink.

"I'll come with you," Madine volunteered. "If it is related to Isard, you might need backup."

She frowned at him. "General Madine, I work very well alone," she said. "I don't want to have to protect you while I investigate—"

Madine held up at hand, his gaze hardening. "Miss Jade," he said stiffly, "I am not some desk jockey. I was an Imperial Storm Commando. I was the Imperial Storm Commando. I'm probably one of the few members of the New Republic military who can rival yourself in terms of field experience." He smiled thinly. "And, most importantly, Mon Mothma hasn't allowed me to go on a field mission in years. I'm craving a chance to stretch my legs, and this sounds like fun." He nodded at her. "You call Airen and let him know where we're going. I'll arrange transport to Argosy District; I guarantee I can get us there faster than you can."

There didn't seem to be much room for argument. Besides, he was probably right.

And it did sound like fun.

Ultimately she hadn't needed to go back to her office for her blaster. The transport Madine commandeered was small, fast, and equipped with enough commando gear to storm Coruscant all over again. Mara smiled, remembering the best Stormtrooper units that had served with her. That Madine reminded her of them shouldn't surprise her given Madine's history, she thought as she finished equipping herself, pulling on a lightweight blaster-resistant vest. I should've asked Cracken if I could recover my old gear, she thought with a frown. It was all much more expensive than this. Nothing but the best for the Emperor's Hand.

Still, the equipment Madine provided was better than mere trooper grade, and it was much better than harsh language. She checked her borrowed blaster pistol and her holdout, plus the vibroblades at the small of her back and the lightsaber secured to her belt. It was nice to be well-armed, but the whole arsenal didn't mean much until she knew what she and Madine might be facing. Weapons were tools, and it was always important to have the right tool for any job.

Madine had offered to call up a commando unit, but it would have delayed them by half an hour and Mara thought that too long to wait, so they would be coming along behind as reinforcements. In the meantime, Mara quickly briefed Madine on the facility as the transport finished its low-orbit hop.

"It's located in the mid-levels of a nondescript apartment building," she explained. "Three floors, taking up what appears on maps of the building as a condo unit and empty space, close to one of the building's landing pads. On the inside it's essentially a three story loft. The first floor is a living space; refresher, bedroom, kitchenette. The second floor, at least while I was using it, was the primary workspace, with computer access to the planetary intelligence network and the Imperial palace. The third floor had a holocom, which I could use to confer with the Emp—" she wrinkled her nose with irritation "—with Palpatine, without needing to return to the palace."

Madine nodded. "And the defenses?"

Mara shook her head. "Not much. Its primary defense was anonymity. When I used it, I had a Kaythree protocol droid, which interfaced with the computer network, and two Imperial officers; one was a tutor, the other was a computer expert, who served as my handlers. This was before I started operating independently. The safehouse was designed to be abandoned if found, and had one escape route on each floor. We can use them to enter as well, although I'll have to cut through the walls."

"A tutor?"

She thought back, remembering the two men. Her teacher had been rather elderly even back then, but she remembered him as an excellent teacher with just the right amount of patience for someone as young as she had been. The other man had been one of the many faceless Imperial officers who had shuffled in and out of her life without leaving any impression at all, as replaceable as spare parts for her blaster. "General Alsdoxe," she said, his name coming to her in a moment of remembrance. "He didn't teach me for very long. Two, three months. I assume he had to get back to his normal duties."

"Alsdoxe?" Madine said in surprise. "Dertimo Alsdoxe?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, I never knew his first name. I'm pretty sure he was on leave from Carida when he was teaching me, though. Palpatine mentioned that."

Madine hummed thoughtfully as he tugged his own protective gear on, then checked and double-checked his blaster. Unlike Mara, who was content with her pistol and her holdout, he had shrugged on a black New Republic shock trooper combat plastron and bore a customized E-11 with a pair of extra powerpacks in long, slim pockets on his back. "General Dertimo Alsdoxe was a veteran of the Clone Wars," Madine said, "and was one of the better trooper instructors at Carida. I think he taught there for thirty years, going back to pre-Imperial days." He chuckled. "I haven't thought about him in years, but he was one of my instructors too, although about a generation before he was yours, and for a command-level course. I assume he's retired by now, but he may actually still teach at Carida. He transferred to instruction young; a lot of the existing army back then was displaced when the Republic introduced clones to its fighting force."

That was curious. Mara wondered if he'd remember her. Almost certainly, she thought; she doubted General Alsdoxe had often been assigned to teach preteens Stormtrooper commando tactics. "How long until we reach Argosy District?"

The transport had made an orbital hop; darting up out of atmosphere so it could use its engines at full burn around the planet, before dipping back down into the atmosphere. Madine had been right about being able to get her here faster than she could herself; there was no way Mara would have gotten clearance to perform the maneuver in a ship of her own, even if she'd had one. She really needed to replace the Z-95 she'd lost at the Katana battle.

"Just a few minutes. I'll have an airspeeder waiting for us at the docking bay, and from there we can get to your safehouse in maybe ten minutes; more if we hurry. I assume you'll want to be circumspect, though?"

She nodded. "Best not to give whoever has breached the safehouse warning. I doubt they'll know we're coming."

Madine nodded again. "Acknowledged." He strapped the rifle to his back, adjusting his Republic-issue armor to make sure he was well protected, and then settled in to wait.

It was an odd sensation. It had been a long time since Mara had sat in a commando transport headed into a mission with an Imperial officer or Stormtrooper contingent at her side. Madine's presence reminded her of those days; steady, quiet, speaking only what needed to be said (at least now that they weren't discussing her Imperial past). It was like any dozen missions she'd done with some faceless Imperial officer, all trained and disciplined the same, all obedient and patient.

For a moment, she felt like she was the Emperor's Hand again. The old routine and habits settled around her easily, were welcoming and familiar, bespeaking stability and normality and damned if she didn't crave them sometimes.

As they came down the transport's landing ramp, waiting for them was an airspeeder with a protocol droid sitting in the pilot's seat. Mara excused him and took the seat herself; Madine hopped in the passenger side. It was a decent enough vehicle, and Mara kicked it into gear and entered the thinning lines of nighttime traffic. She didn't rush, but she did take the most expeditious route.

Her mission in Argosy District had been one of her first. It hadn't been particularly difficult; surveillance of a Black Sun meeting, attended by some of the lesser Vigos at the time. The details were blurred in her memory, but she remembered that the exercise had been about stealth, infiltration, and exfiltration. She also remembered that her lack of size had been both an advantage and a disadvantage, making tasks that required strength more difficult but tasks that required squeezing through tight spaces a breeze. Alsdoxe had been patient and kind, which was more than she could say about a lot of her tutors at that age.

She brought the airspeeder down into the landing pad, trying to fly casually. The vehicle's repulsors went silent as she put it into park, then she hopped out of the car, glancing around and hoping that no one would be there to see them approach. She wasn't trying to hide the blaster in her belt holster, and Madine's E-11 was rather prominent as he unstrapped it and carried it in a Stormtrooper's professional two-handed grip.

Luckily, she still remembered where the secret door on the third floor was. It exited directly onto the landing pad, although there was no sign of its presence from the pad. She stepped over to the wall, reaching out with the Force as she ran her hands over the wall, looking for the hidden seams.

There.

"Stand back," she said to Madine, gripping her lightsaber and pulling it off her belt. She thumbed the weapon on with its familiar snap-hiss, tracing the blade gently along the hidden seam, careful not to punch it through the wall just yet as she skimmed with the tip of the blade.

She could feel Madine watching her, watching their surroundings. His awareness was keen, nervousness suppressed under a professional's intent.

Mara ignored him. The pressure of the Force grew in her mind as she reached out into the space beyond—and then she felt it. A presence in the Force, a powerful one. One skilled and perceptive and one who had just become as aware of her as she was aware of them.

The Force also told her something else—that she had reached both the place and the moment to strike. With Skywalker's persistent lessons to let the Force guide her echoing in her head, lessons that said she needed to let the Force show her what she needed to do when she needed to do it, she placed both hands on her lightsaber and thrust the blade through the wall to the hilt.