Chapter Twenty-Two

Teren Rogriss's office was sullenly quiet as he perused the final reports after Bel Iblis' raid on Ukio. Agonizer remained a heavily damaged wreck badly in need of repairs, though Captain Tigan and his crew had labored heroically to get the Star Destroyer back into something resembling fighting shape. Suwen Station was a complete loss, but most of the facility's crew and some of its final Tibanna gas shipments had been salvageable, which meant that for now he'd have no issues with ensuring that Ukio's garrison could fight ably against a similarly-capable Republican force.

But his quiet fury at Moff Disra's flagrant disregard of his command, and refusal to order the Linuri repair yards to expedite its work on Invidious so it could repair Agonizer, still smoldered. He wouldn't let it show, of course—every Imperial fleet officer knew never to let an Imperial Moff know you hated them—but that didn't make it any less real.

He'd been ordered to hold a system that the Empire no longer needed, to sacrifice men and material that could be used elsewhere to better effect, all just to spite the New Republic. He had sworn an oath, and his personal honor demanded that he keep that oath—for his honor, for the Empire's honor, for his children's honor—but that did not mean he was not blind to the utter futility of his orders.

The bottle of whiskey he had in the bottom drawer of his desk beckoned. Gilad was on duty. What harm would a little—

His intercom buzzed and he pressed it with a sigh. "Rogriss."

"Pellaeon here, sir," Captain Pellaeon's brisk, sober voice brought him back to attention, "Moff Disra is on the holocom and wishes to speak with you. He says it's urgent."

Rogriss scowled, then smoothed his expression into one of brisk professionalism, a mask he'd first put on as a cadet and which had served him very well in the decades since. "Send the message to my station."

Moff Disra's decrepit, wrinkled face peered at him. Disra wasn't that old, not that much older than Rogriss, but he had a prematurely aged face with frown lines permanently etched throughout. "Admiral Rogriss," the Moff greeted him. There was something different about Disra's expression this time, Rogriss thought. Something hawkish and anticipatory. Something gloating.

"What can I do for you, Moff Disra?" he replied formally, keeping his back parade-formation straight.

"I have an opportunity for you, Admiral," Disra replied, and Rogriss could definitely see the anticipation and gloating now. Whatever it was Disra had to tell him, the man was very happy about it. "I have managed to procure a piece of useful intelligence about the fleet movements of General Bel Iblis. I'm sending you full data about his ships and their current readiness as of four hours ago."

Rogriss' back straightened even more. What? "Sir?" he asked, hearing the confusion in his own voice.

Disra's pretense of professionalism lapsed entirely, leaving behind ambition and self-congratulation. "I have a new intelligence asset," the Moff smirked. "More than that, I cannot divulge, even to one of your status, I am afraid. In the information I am sending you, you'll see I've highlighted one of Bel Iblis' ships—a Corellian corvette which appears to be hunting your remaining logistics vessels. I want you to destroy it."

His terminal beeped. Distracted and slightly confused, Rogriss looked at the information. Sure enough, there it was—Bel Iblis' entire fleet, with precise locations and surprising detail on things like ship status and readiness. There were ships he hadn't known Bel Iblis had, too, including a cruiser-carrier. He skimmed through the data, looking for the ship Disra referenced, and found it. Ession Strike, the same corvette which had set up the ambush at Hishyim and slashed through his freighters during Bel Iblis' raid on Ukio. It wasn't that far away, prowling the less-well-traveled hyperlanes to Ukio, no doubt hunting the handful of Imperial freighters still trying to break the Republican blockade.

"Admiral?" Disra's voice brought Rogriss out of his examination of the information.

"I'm sorry, sir. This information is quite detailed. Will this kind of data be arriving regularly in the future?" If it was, Rogriss had a chance to defeat Bel Iblis and prevent Ukio from falling back into Republican hands. The entire operation might actually be worth something.

"It may be," Disra replied noncommittally. "I'm still making sure the source is secure. How soon before you can move on this information?"

Rogriss was already pulling up his terminal to re-assign the vessels he would need. His relative lack of TIE fighters was a problem, and the fact that Linuri had informed him that reinforcements would be delayed compounded that problem. There were ways to resolve the issue temporarily, but it would mean leaving Ukio nearly bare… "I'll have Chimaera moving in thirty minutes," he replied. "Was there anything else?"

Disra smiled ghoulishly. "No, that will be all for now, Admiral. Good hunting." The terminal reverted back to the Imperial crest.

Rogriss pressed his intercom. "Captain Pellaeon, prepare Chimaera, Death's Head, and Stellar Web for immediate hyperspace jumps. I'm forwarding the coordinates to you now. I'm also going to need all of Ukio's ground-based TIE squadrons moved to our ships; you can assure our ground commanders that the move is temporary only. Inform Captain Brandei that he will be in command of the Ukio fleet until our return."

"Sir?"

"I'll explain when I arrive, Captain," Rogriss said, pushing himself to his feet. "I believe we have an opportunity to score our first real victory of this campaign, and I do not intend to miss it."

Luke couldn't sleep.

This happened sometimes; there were nights his mind was too active, or the Force swirled with too much energy, for him to easily rest. On Dagobah Yoda had occasionally talked to him about the voice of the living Force, and told him that once he learned to listen, to really listen, he would also have to learn how not to.

But one of the solutions was meditation and hyperspace wasn't all that conducive to meditation, which was an art best performed surrounded by life. Ession Strike had life aboard, but nothing like Dagobah or Coruscant or even Tatooine. It didn't help that his pilot's quarters reminded him of the days after Yavin, dodging from base to base and crammed in cramped spaces. Luke half expected the Empire to be waiting for them at their next hyperspace destination with a Star Destroyer or two.

It was odd, being back in uniform. It'd been years since Luke had resigned his Generalship and taken up the role of Jedi full-time. There was something oddly reassuring about wearing his orange flightsuit as a member of a fighter squadron again. As a Rogue again. It was a simpler job—though simpler did not mean easier, forbid Wedge ever heard him say that—one without the ambiguities of the nascent Jedi order. Allegiances were clear and unambiguous, responsibilities were given… point your X-wing at the enemy, charge your laser cannons, and just fly.

He didn't even have any of the demands of leadership. Wedge was the General now. Luke really could just fly.

But for all the certainty being back with the Rogues offered, Luke still couldn't sleep. He considered putting himself into a hibernation trance, but he dismissed the thought almost out of hand. He could do that, but it would be a crutch, something to allow him to avoid dealing with whatever it was that was actually bothering him.

He sighed and pushed the sheets back, sliding out of the compact bunk. It was a short walk and climb down to the starboard hanger where his and Hobbie's X-wings sat, prepared to launch. When he'd been a kid, not being able to sleep had never been an issue; waking early to make sure the vaporators captured all the predawn moisture had been a frequent task. But when he'd been longing to escape, or fighting nerves over some teenager drama, he usually found some mechanical task, something to do with his hands. Working on his speeder, or the skyhopper, or one of the droids. It didn't really matter what.

He found himself working on his X-wing. About a half-hour into recalibrating the snubfighter's laser cannons to make sure they were properly zeroed, Artoo rolled past and whistled a surprised greeting.

"Good evening, Artoo," he replied, waving his micrometer at the droid. Artoo blatted rudely at him in reply, and he laughed. "Yes, I know what time it is… I got some sleep, but not very much. I decided to come down and work in the hope that it'd clear my mind."

The astromech examined him, then warbled a reluctant assent, followed by a question. With a chuckle, Luke fetched one of the cranes and helped wench the droid back into his socket. The X-wing hummed as Artoo booted up its main computer and started a full systems diagnostic.

"Make sure to check that the laser cannons are properly calibrated," Luke asked.

Artoo made a dismissive sound, one that Luke knew meant that he should stop being a nag and let his faithful droid do his job. He smiled, putting his tools back in their case, and then the case back in the X-wing's small cargo compartment.

The sound of feet on the ladder down into the hangar, followed by those feet on the metal deck, drew Luke's attention away from his trusty X-wing. Corran Horn was standing there, his own lightsaber hanging from his belt, a slightly tired, slightly amused expression on his face. "You couldn't sleep either?" the Corellian asked.

Luke shrugged. "I guess not. It's been a while since I've traveled in pilot quarters, and these are even more cramped than what the Rogues had on Flurry years ago."

Corran was slightly shorter than Luke, well-sized for an X-wing cockpit. He, like Luke, was Force sensitive; like Luke he had a Jedi heritage, as Corran's grandfather, Nejaa Halcyon, had been a member of the order during the Clone Wars and killed before Palpatine's purges began. His grandfather's lightsaber hung from Corran's belt. Luke thought of Anakin's blade and wondered if it was keeping Mara safe.

"I'm used to that by now, though I think we would all be happy to move back to Orthavan," Corran said dryly. He slid one of the sets of step-ladders over and sat on them. "I even considered trying that hibernation trance that was described in the teaching materials you sent me."

"It's not a good idea to try that one alone," Luke said, frowning. "If you don't prepare the wake conditions properly you can end up sleeping for days, and it's not easy for others to rouse you out of it."

"Just as well I didn't, then," Corran replied with a grimace.

Luke sat back, brushing his hands off over the pants of his flightsuit. He'd tried to convince Corran to do some training as a Jedi in the past, with only limited success; Corran had been too committed to the Rogues and Luke got the feeling that the Corellian wasn't quite sure that being a Jedi was what he really wanted for his future. Just the same, Luke didn't know that many Force sensitives, and after Mara (and perhaps Leia, although all the complications involved with that possibility made Luke grimace), Corran seemed to be the most likely candidate to be a future member of his Jedi Order.

"Can I ask you a question?" Luke asked.

Corran shrugged. "Sure."

"You were a Corellian Security officer," Luke said. "You were Iella's partner while she was there. When we worked together, she talked about what you did—hunting down criminals, investigating crimes, bringing justice whenever and however you could, given the Imperial hold over Corellia." Luke leaned back, pausing as he formulated the question in his head. "CorSec is a law enforcement institution," he settled on observing. "Is that what the new Jedi order ought to be also?"

Corran's bushy eyebrows both lifted in surprise. "You're asking me what I think the new Jedi order should be about?" His expression narrowed. "Are you leading up to asking me to join it?"

Luke shook his head. "No. Well, at least not directly. I've spent the last year in discussions with members of the New Republic council, my sister, representatives of foreign governments, all who have a vested interest in the rebirth of the Jedi order. But they all have wildly different ideas about what the Jedi order should be. Some want us to be advisors to politicians, others arbitrators of disputes, or dispensers of justice, or—" he grimaced "—warriors. Those who remember the Jedi before Palpatine destroyed them don't agree about what they stood for, other than vague concepts of justice and goodness which sound good but ultimately are slogans, not practices."

"And you're trying to think about practices," Corran said thoughtfully. "My father knew he was a Jedi's son," he said after a moment. "He didn't tell me, no doubt to help keep me safe, but I know from the records back on Coruscant that he received at least rudimentary training when he was young. I wish he was here to tell us about why he made the choices he did after Palpatine's purges, but he chose CorSec. I assume he did because it allowed him to get closest to upholding his values." He shook his head. "But, Luke, I don't know if that was because those values were Jedi values, or if they were just my father's values."

Luke sighed and nodded. "So much has been lost. The Emperor destroyed almost everything, and much of what there is that remains he deliberately corrupted. When I do find something, I never know if it is what Yoda and Ben would have wanted. And everyone who still lives seems to have some interest in shaping the Jedi so they can use us for their own ends."

"Including the New Republic?"

Luke was silent. He could feel Corran watching him, those trained CorSec interrogator's eyes judging how best to proceed. But that was all right. Maybe Corran would help find answers. Although even that might be a bit more than he could reasonably expect. Luke just hoped Corran could help him start finding the right questions.

"What would Yoda and Ben have wanted?" Corran asked curiously.

He thought about that. They had wanted him to fight and defeat the Emperor, to free the galaxy from the tyranny of the Empire. But beyond that… Luke found he really didn't know. "I'm not sure. They both wanted me to pass on what they taught me, but beyond that…"

"Could they have told you?"

Luke hadn't had much in the way of communication with Yoda since his master had passed into the Force. But Ben had occasionally been there, guiding him, for years after Endor, until that fateful dream where he had finally said goodbye. Years he could have used to give Luke instructions on the political structure of the old Jedi order. Instead, he'd used those years helping Luke confront threats to life, giving him small nudges. "Perhaps."

"It seems to me," Corran said slowly, "that your masters chose to leave that question for you to answer."

Luke grimaced. Yes, he agreed silently, it did. Somehow, that only made the burden he bore even heavier. "Then I suppose that brings us back to the beginning," he said. "If they had chosen to leave that question to you instead… what would you do?"

Whatever Corran's answer would've been, he didn't get a chance to give it. Ession Strike bucked, a sudden, wrenching vibration shuddering through the ship's hull, sending both Luke and Corran sprawling across the deck. The hideous scream of metal scraping against metal echoed in both of their ears, followed by Artoo's much quieter but far more terrified electronic screech.

Luke felt his stomach drop with sudden, horrified suspicion as he and Corran both struggled back to their feet. The Force battered him with the sense of impending doom, and from the way the color had gone entirely out of Corran's face he suspected the other man could feel it as well.

Combat alarms began to howl, and Luke kicked the stepladder over to his X-wing and started to scrabble up it into the cockpit as Corran sprinted towards his own X-wing on the other side of the hangar.

Atril didn't bother to dress fully as she charged into Ession Strike's bridge with her fatigue jacket slung over the shoulder of her ship-knits. She glanced at the plot that the night shift crew pushed to her console, rapping out orders for information while Traks'zim tried to brief her.

"[—gravity well pulled us out of hyperspace]," her Sensors officer, who had been commanding the corvette's night watch, was saying, sounding remarkably calm for what he was describing. "[There's a Star Destroyer out there, as well as—]"

His voice faded into the background as Atril stared at the plot, her blood turning to ice. There was an Interdictor-class cruiser out there, all right, one that was charging right at her to keep Strike trapped deep within its gravity well for as long as possible. Two squadrons of TIE fighters were out there as well, but it would take at least another three minutes before they were in weapons range. And behind them, its engines running at full burn and building speed fast, was the Star Destroyer Chimaera.

She glanced at the plot. She looked at her speed, the Star Destroyer's speed, the Interdictor's speed, and all three of their vectors. Asking the computer for a quick optimization, she was given the answer she expected.

There's no way to get out of that Interdictor's gravity well before Chimaera is in range. And so there's no way to keep us from spending at least four full minutes in Chimaera's teeth. A Corellian corvette, particularly one optimized for military use, was a hardy vessel for its size, but four minutes in an Imperial I-class Star Destroyer's forward firing arc was a death sentence for anything smaller than a dreadnaught.

She refused to allow that knowledge to freeze her brain. Panic hovered at the edge of her mind but, drawing on the training she'd received at Carida and every erg of experience she'd received since leaving the Empire's service, she forced it back. She'd deal with the consequences of the sudden ambush once there was no more good she could do. Right now there was good she could still do.

Atril thumbed the ship's intercom. "Rogue Squadron to your fighters! Expedite launch sequence!" Then she turned to Traks'zim. "Go work up hyper calculations for the Rogues," she ordered him. "I want every one of those X-wings to have a safe destination they can hit the moment they clear the gravity well."

The Togorian's catlike eyes blinked, then blinked again, this time with somber understanding. By the time she had turned away from him, he was already at work.

"Finalize tractor locks on the corvette," barked Pellaeon, standing on Chimaera's elevated bridge. The corvette's crew was good, but this time they hadn't responded with the impossible alacrity they had at Hishyim, which told him all he needed to know. This time it's not a double ambush. This time we have them.

The two TIE squadrons that Rogriss had managed to find to assign to Stellar Web for this mission were under firm orders not to engage the corvette, and instead were flying escort for Stellar Web. The only way the corvette could get away was if the Rogues first disabled the Interdictor. Pellaeon wouldn't put it past them to do just that, which was why his TIEs weren't on proper escort duty. Instead, they had one and only one assignment:

Shoot down proton torpedoes targeting Stellar Web.

The Rogues were already launching, in the staggered, uneven waves of pilots pulled out of their bunks and thrown into the fighters. He watched as they launched, wondering what exactly they would do.

Luke was the first Rogue into space, and he found himself alarmingly alone. There were no TIE fighters strafing Ession Strike, there wasn't even any incoming turbolaser fire from the two Imperial ships closing on them. It took him only a minute to figure out why, with Artoo's help.

"They're boxing Strike in," he told the droid, "and protecting their Interdictor to make sure we can't disable it before Chimaera gets its guns in range." The sight of Chimaera, so often a nemesis of theirs during the Thrawn campaign, made Artoo's answering whistle sound quite a bit more nervous than it otherwise would've been before a fight.

"Rogues, this is Strike," the corvette's Bothan communication's officer said over the squadron comm. His voice was weary. "We are forwarding you hyperspace calculations for a short jump rimward. From there you can make your way back to Hishyim and inform General Bel Iblis that our mission was a failure."

"Get me Strike Actual," Wedge's voice said firmly, though crackling slightly with the static of Imperial jamming and older Alliance systems. Luke watched his HUD, watching the distance between them and Chimaera steadily tick downwards as X-wings with tired pilots spilled out of Strike's hangars. The first blue ion blasts came from Stellar Web as it closed, but the range was sufficiently long that they either missed Ession Strike entirely or washed over its shields harmlessly.

There was a brief pause. "Tabanne," Atril said, broken up by a bit of static.

"Atril, Wedge said, dropping formality, "Go full reverse and get us a flak window, and we can hit Stellar Web—"

"Not viable, Wedge," Atril's voice came back, dully unemotional. "There's no way for you to take out its CAP and all four of its gravity well projectors before Chimaera has us in range. You'd be risking your pilots, wasting your fuel, and giving up your best chance to get out of here for nothing." Luke could hear the agony seep into her voice. "Strike is lost either way."

"We're Rogue Squadron," said Plourr's voice, a quiet fury burning in her words, audible even over the staticky communications channel. "We don't just run away!"

"Yes, you do," Atril insisted raggedly, the embers of her usual passion flaring back to life. "The New Republic needs the Rogues, and they were clearly waiting for us. This was a very well-planned little ambush, and it wasn't for Strike. It was for the propaganda coup they'll get from parading you lot around. You escaping is our win condition. And I'll make damn sure you get out of here."

Wedge seemed to take a moment, but it was barely longer than a breath as the Imperials crawled closer. "I can't argue with that reasoning. Atril—"

Luke could feel the pain in Wedge's Force-sense even from here. Atril didn't let him finish, her voice cutting in, hiding her anguish and fear almost perfectly. "Likewise Wedge. May the Force be with you."

Luke spun his fighter towards deep space, peering up through his X-wing's canopy. Above him, Ession Strike turned suddenly, the last of the Rogues spilling into space as the corvette aimed its large hammerhead nose directly at Stellar Web. The corvette's large bed of engines flared, all eleven glowing as the ship fought Chimaera's tractor beams.

"Rogues, Rogue Leader." Wedge's voice was totally calm, but Luke could feel a mounting, carefully-dampened fury that matched Plourr's even from a kilometer's distance. "You heard the Captain, invert and retreat, maximum velocity until we escape the Interdictor's gravity well." The twelve X-wings gathered together, Luke settling into wingman formation with Hobbie.

Artoo whistled mournfully. On his HUD, Luke watched as Ession Strike started firing at Stellar Web, trying to force the Interdictor to engage rather than pursue the Rogues. He'd almost forgotten Chimaera before a hurricane of blue bolts poured into the corvette, the Star Destroyer's entire array of forward ion batteries firing as one.

But the maneuver was working. X-wings were swift vessels, perhaps not as swift as TIEs or A-wings but with plenty of speed. Artoo projected a map of the combat area on his screen; the icons representing Rogue Squadron were steadily closing on the edge of the Interdictor's gravity well. As soon as they breached it they could jump to hyperspace, and it would be a few minutes but no Imperial forces were even attempting to engage…

That was when a second Star Destroyer appeared directly in front of them.

Teren Rogriss stood in the center of Chimaera's bridge, the long command walkway above the two crew pits on either side. His datapad showed every aspect of the battle, including Captain Harbid's pre-planned arrival.

The Death's Head scythed into normal space, going through the characteristic pause as the ship's captain and crew got their bearings. Harbid was a good commander, one Thrawn had selected for his personal Star Destroyer squadron for a reason. He was a veteran commander, like Pellaeon and Rogriss, though not as senior, and he had a long history of fighting the Rebellion. Most importantly, he had a long history of using his Star Destroyer to counter snubfighters, and Rogriss and Pellaeon had crammed every one of their fleet's remaining TIE interceptors into the Star Destroyer's massive underslung hangar.

But as timely as Harbid's arrival was, his positioning was not quite perfect. That wasn't his fault; there was no way to predict which escape route the X-wing squadron would use in advance. Harbid's guess had been a pretty good one, but Death's Head had overshot by four klicks and was on a vector that would take the big ship away from the fleeing Rogues rather than directly into their path. Between the momentary disorientation of the reversion to realspace, the ship's inertia, and the Imperial-I's poor turning radius, it would take several minutes for Harbid to get his ship turned around to engage the Rogues directly. Several minutes was all the Rogues would need to escape.

Rogriss took a moment to consider. Then he gave his orders.

"Death's Head launch all TIE squadrons. Engage and destroy enemy snubfighters," Rogriss said calmly to Lieutenant Tschel, who was sitting at Chimaera's communications station. "TIE squadrons assigned to CAP for Stellar Web are ordered to join the fighter group and engage the enemy."

He heard Pellaeon's familiar footsteps behind him. "We have the Corvette in our tractor beams, sir," Pellaeon announced, a hint of triumph in his voice. "They'll be disabled in moments, though Stellar Web reports minor damage."

Ession Strike ought to be disabled quickly, subject to so much firepower. Out the forward bridge windows, a hail of blue weapons fire poured into the still-distant corvette, now being clawed closer and closer to Chimaera against its will, though still angled on and firing at the Interdictor. The ship's crew was good, but there would be no escape for them this time.

"We have the Rogues outnumbered eight to one," Rogriss said to Pellaeon, watching as the TIE icons on his datapad began to multiply, pouring out of Death's Head's hangar with as much haste as was safe.

Pellaeon was quiet for a moment, frowning at the plot. "Yes," he agreed. "But they're not that far from the edge of Stellar Web's gravity well. We might not be able to engage them before they escape."

"Forcing them to run is a victory in and of itself," Rogriss observed philosophically. "And maybe we will get lucky." They were due a little luck, he thought.

Atril barked out desperate orders as ion cannons flickered over her ship, Ession Strike's shields barely holding. At least they want us alive; if they were firing their turbolasers too we'd be ashes by now. She gripped the armrest of her command chair tightly. "Helm, give me full engines. Keep us pointed straight at that Interdictor!" Wedge and the Rogues might not have been able to take out Stellar Web in time to save Strike, but maybe she could hurt it enough to save them. Her mind was oddly calm, and she found herself easing her wounded gunnery officer out of his seat and taking control of the ship's weapons herself.

The Interdictor, its four bulbous gravity well projectors protruding out of its hull awkwardly, was growing steadily closer, and Atril had always been an excellent shot. She'd honed that skill at Carida, training under some of the best gunnery experts and pilots the Empire had to offer, and after she'd defected she'd continued to practice the skill, serving as a gunnery officer on several different Rebel capital ships before she'd found herself in command of Ession Strike. She'd trained her crew with that same precision.

She hit Stellar Web with every weapon she had until her beloved ship finally went completely dark.

Wedge's voice came over Luke's com with the thicker static of heavier Imperial comm jamming. "Rogue Squadron, go . . . as you've cleared . . . gravity well. Rep . . . erspace as soon . . . the Interdictor's gravity well . . ."

"See if you can clean that up, Artoo," Luke snapped at his droid. In the distance, the blue fire between Chimaera and Ession Strike had faded almost entirely, and Strike had stopped replying to any communications prompts at all. The corvette was completely disabled.

But Atril's mad charge at Stellar Web had succeeded in delaying the Interdictor's pursuit, which would reduce the time required for the Rogues to escape the planetary-sized gravity well the ship was currently projecting and enter hyperspace. That saved time might be the difference between all twelve of the pilots making a successful escape or not, especially with the new arrival putting an enormous number of TIE interceptors into space.

It's been years since I've seen a Star Destroyer carrying a full complement of TIEs, Luke thought to himself, shaking his head with a sort of stunned detachment. Assuming the Rogues all lived through this, it would definitely be a matter of pride and subject of bragging that the Empire feared them enough to go to such lengths just to try to kill them.

Unfortunately, that was a large assumption.

"Divert all power to engines and rear deflectors," he said, thumbing his com and flipping his deflectors shields to full aft. He heard an echo of agreement and acknowledgement, and through the Force he felt unease growing alarmingly close to panic. Closing his eyes, letting instincts and Artoo guide his X-wing, Luke stretched out to the Force. His presence soothed tormented minds and allowed each pilot to find calm.

He'd never tried 'battle meditation' in combat before, but now seemed as good a time as any. Reports were that Thrawn had used the ability to great effect, which had driven Luke to research the ability. Sure enough, each of his fellow pilots relaxed, finding greater poise. He could feel Gavin Darklighter, the little cousin of his childhood best friend, still fighting through anxiety after his near-death fighting Invidious at Cracken's hidden prison, and helped him push that anxiety away. He could feel Wedge and Wes' despair at the loss of Ession Strike; they had each known Atril longer and better than the squadron's other pilots, and the fact that she would shortly be an Imperial prisoner—at best—weighed heavily on them. But that pain was a distraction now, and Wedge especially needed to be at his best, and he eased it out of the forefront of their minds.

The X-wings hummed, cockpits rattling as they were pushed to their limits. Someone—probably Tycho—suggested closing S-foils for even more speed. On Luke's HUD, the vanguard squadron of TIE interceptors from Death's Head was still closing, but the first of the Rogues would be reaching the edge of the gravity well in seconds. It vaguely reminded Luke of the Battle of Yavin, watching the distance to the Death Star's exhaust port tick down each second, TIE fighters screaming after them, eager to spit green laser fire—

The first X-wings to reach the edge of the gravity well stretched and vanished into hyperspace, and two allied minds winked out of his consciousness as the distance between them and Luke grew too great for his mental reach. Then the next two, and two more, and Luke felt Corran's mind vanish along with his very alien wingman, and Wes' familiar, jovial presence vanished with Gavin's.

Green laser fire splashed against his reinforced aft shields.

"Go, Luke!"

Luke pressed the hyperspace lever flat and he vanished into the spinning lights of hyperspace.

Author's Notes

Chapter 22 is the final chapter of Act II of Interregnum. We're now headed into the final Act! I wonder what's going to happen between now and the end... we've got 14 more chapters to go, so plenty of time!

Responding to Reviewers:

•DonR: one chapter a week! This week's is going up a bit early because I'm going to be busy tomorrow morning, so Friday's update comes on Thursday night. Glad you're still liking and I can assure you: while the chapters may only be coming once a week, I'm about to hit the accelerator on the story...

•flyhntr: I'm glad to hear it! That was very much my objective at the start of this, capture the Star Wars flavor of the pre-NJO era (which I do like, but I always found the pre-NJO Star Wars, especially the Zahn/Allston/Stackpole novels, more fun. And this year, fun is what I needed.

•Guest: You're welcome, and thank you! I've been idly writing a few post-story and/or missing scenes the last couple days while I try to figure out how to think about potential sequels to Interregnum. (I should note, that I worked on this story for six months before I started posting anything, so once the story is finished there's likely to be a hefty break before anything more comes out, and that assumes my life isn't turned upside down again.)