Talon Karrde sat heavily in his office chair in the Imperial Palace, frowning. "So that's the whole story," he finished, rapping his fingers on his desk. "Unfortunately, I don't know anything else about Vorru's intentions, and he has been very careful in our subsequent communications to hide his location."

Airen Cracken nodded, unsurprised. "To be honest," he said with a sigh, "if I had a choice between Acib, Durga, or Vorru to be in charge of Black Sun, I'd choose Vorru. He's clever and ambitious, but also predictable." He offered Karrde a thin smile. "You may not be able to trace his location, but I'm quite sure that the place to start looking is the Corellia system."

"I would agree," Karrde said with a nod. "So for now I ought to humor him? With the unofficial blessing of the New Republic?"

Cracken's eyes slid to the third person in the room. "Councilor?" he asked.

Leia wore a deep frown. She sighed and rubbed her temple. "I don't like it," she said flatly. "This kind of informal bargain between the galaxy's criminal elements and the ruling authority is very… Imperial."

"Perhaps," Karrde said, not disagreeing. "But at the same time, I believe Vorru can and will follow through on his threats. For the moment, he has a powerful weapon that he can use against us. With his newfound wealth, and with Eliezer's aid, not to mention his ties to Black Sun…" Karrde offered a helpless gesture. "It may be distasteful, but an informal bargain may be better than an informal war."

"It is the first step towards something very dark," Leia said, her tone as dark as her words. She sighed. "But politics is the art of the possible," she admitted. "Courting a war with an empowered Black Sun while we also try to establish a formal galactic government seems foolish."

"It doesn't have to be a permanent bargain," Cracken pointed out. "Eliezer and Vorru are both old, and everything I know of Eliezer says that he'll take his secrets to the grave. I've got a team of historians and HoloNet techs scouring everything we know of his history, looking for any hints for how he does what he does."

"In the meantime," Karrde added, "I'm removing all holocomms from vessels associated with the Smugglers' Alliance, except the ones on routes we want seen."

They both stared at him. "That seems… drastic," said Cracken.

"It is," Karrde admitted. "But it is the only way to ensure Eliezer cannot trace our ships. It will make business more difficult, but the well-being of my people comes first." His lips firmed. "I do not like being threatened," he grated.

Vorru had threatened his people. Karrde would not tolerate living under the threat.

"So, for now," Leia said, still sounding stunned, "it seems we have little choice."

"For now," Cracken agreed. "But I've already put some of my best people on the problem." He grinned thinly. "The Wraiths have been looking for a challenge. Now they have one."

Karrde leaned back with a frown. "What do I do with the credits he bribed me with?"

Cracken and Leia looked at each other, then at Karrde. "Keep them," Cracken said.

"Excuse me?"

"You could have sold us the cloak for a significant fraction of that sum," Cracken pointed out. "I respect your reasons for giving it to us, but still." He smiled thinly. "You're not the only one who believes in paying his debts."

"You'll need the credits," Leia added. "Holding the Smugglers' Alliance together will be a tall order, and having that reserve should help you do that." She smiled. "I doubt you'll be wasting it on frivolous luxuries, so I agree with Airen. Keep them."

Karrde blinked. "Very well."

Cracken leaned towards him. "You mentioned that Tavira or Vorru stole your ysalamir?"

"Ah, yes. Chin is quite put out about it. He likes having creatures from his homeworld aboard the Wild Karrde to look after. I suppose with Mara staying on Coruscant, I can bring Sturm and Drang back aboard without having to worry about their hunting instincts anymore." Karrde frowned. "Why do you ask?"

Cracken gave Leia a look. Her expression was resigned more than unhappy. "It's always worth noting which of our foes have taken precautions against Jedi," he answered after a moment. "Speaking of which, there's one more thing," Cracken slid a datapad across Karrde's desk. "Here."

Karrde took the datapad and read it. "The deed to a freighter? And under Mara's name?"

"Along with a number of other things we believe belong to her," Cracken confirmed. "We pulled them out of storage on Lusankya." He stood. "I'll have them sent to the freighter. Tell her the ship needs a new name."

"I'll do that," Karrde agreed, standing and offering both Cracken and Leia a handshake.

"Also, remember that General Bel Iblis is returning to Coruscant today, and there's going to be a little celebration over at the Adarian Building this evening," Leia added with a smile.

"Ah. Don't worry, Councilor. I wouldn't dream of missing it."

Mara stood at the foot of L6000-H-82688's boarding rampand wasn't sure how to feel. New Republic Intelligence had scoured the vessel, found everything that there was to find, and proclaimed it fit for operation. The wreck of the ship's holocomm sat at her feet, still bearing the lightsaber slashes she'd used to remove it.

The moving droids hadn't delivered that many boxes. Each one still bore stickers proclaiming "evidence" and "property of NRI", and she was hesitant to open them. These were her past, and having them back… did she want them back?

"Are you going to open those?"

Mara turned and offered Iella Wessiri an uncertain look. "I haven't decided yet." She shrugged. "These belonged to who I was before," she explained. "Even the ship," she pointed at it, "I'm not sure I want it back."

Iella shrugged, walking to stand next to her and examine the unopened boxes. "It's just a ship," she said. "A nice one, too."

"But every time I go inside it, I feel like the Emperor's Hand," Mara said with a sigh. "It's a reminder of who I was, and not… who I want to be."

"You can always sell it," Iella pointed out. "NRI would buy it off you for a hefty sum. We're always looking for new intelligence vessels."

Mara offered her a smile. "It's worth a thought." She turned towards Iella. "You came back in-system with General Bel Iblis?"

Iella nodded. "Got in just a few hours ago. I just finished my debrief with Cracken; he told me you were down here." She peered around Imperial Palace Tower Fourteen, the former base of operations of the Emperor's Hand. "Thought I'd come say hello."

The words sent warmth through Mara. It was nice to have friends. "Why don't you help me open these up," she suggested.

The first box was a smattering of Mara's personal possessions. The globe of Ghel Daneth. She could still remember the awed thankfulness of the planet's governor when he'd offered it to her; she probably should have said no, but the object had a beauty to it that had appealed to her, glittering in the light, and he'd been so earnest in his desire for her to have it. Not every mission when I was Emperor's Hand was bad, she thought.

Iella pulled a print of Chandrila's Silver Sea out, and Mara smiled. "I bought that at the Imperial Museum," she said, brushing off a flimsi-bound book about dance that she put next to the globe. "I've never been to Chandrila."

"Maybe you should take a little vacation after this," Iella suggested. She glanced at Mara sideways as she pulled open the second box. "Clothes," she said with a grin, lifting a blue dress out of the top of the box gently.

"That must've been from my quarters in the Imperial palace," Mara said, surprised. "I wonder why Isard kept it." She took the dress and held it up. "I think I last wore this to a performance of the Imperial Opera I attended shortly before Endor."

"It would definitely make an impression," Iella smirked. She peered at Mara, lifting an eyebrow. "You should wear it tonight," she said with a firm nod.

Mara laughed. "Why?"

"Because Luke will be there."

Mara froze in surprise. "Why do you say that?" she asked carefully, trying not to let her sudden discomfiture show…

"Mara," Iella said with an amused smile and a knowing look. "If I hadn't already been sure, your reaction just now would've given it away."

Mara sighed, feeling her cheeks go red with a hint of blush probably for only the second or third time in her life. "I'm supposed to be the galaxy's best covert operative," she muttered.

"Uh-huh," Iella teased. She gestured at the boxes. "So, are we taking these into the ship, or do you want them back at your apartment?" She nudged Mara's arm. "Also, there's a great pair of matching heels in there."

L6000-H-82688 loomed over them and Mara turned to look up at it. It was a fine ship, she admitted. It had room for a Z-95 if she bought a new one. Or an X-wing, perhaps… She took a breath, still feeling the heat in her cheeks. Maybe she could keep it for a while. She could always sell it and buy something custom later.

She took the datapad off the box, took a moment to think, then gave it a name.

Iella peered over her shoulder. "Tempered Mettle," she read. "I like it. Karrde will appreciate the wordplay."

"Come on, let's get all this inside," Mara groused. She hesitated for a moment, then pointed at the box. "And bring the heels."

Iella laughed.

"And stop teasing me, unless you want me to make a point of interrogating the Rogues for blackmail material."

"Oh please. You're going to do that anyway."

Luke sat with Han at the kitchen table in the Organa-Solo residence, sipping a mug of hot chocolate. In the other room, he could feel Kyp, willful and curious and untutored, gleaming in the Force as he played a game with Chewbacca.

"He's doing better," said Han with a sigh. "Force, Luke. He was seven years old when he and his parents were dropped on Kessel. First he watched the Empire bombard his home city from orbit with turbolasers, and let me tell you an orbital bombardment can do everything a superlaser can do, just slower. And then he spent ten years on that rock." Han shook his head, and Luke could feel the fury dripping off of him in waves. "His parents were killed after Endor, and he was just eleven. Eleven, Luke! Eleven years old and alone on that rock, in the dark." Han's fist clenched and rested on the table, knocking a few times.

Luke took a breath, looking out into the late morning Coruscant sun.

"He still finds the sun too bright," Han said bitterly. "Too many years in total darkness or the dim lights of the prison facility. The docs say he'll get over it, but they're not sure how much of it is physiological and how much is psychological. Winter's taken to tutoring him, but he's so far behind." Han's voice grew plaintive. "He's a bright kid who never had a chance."

"He's an immensely talented kid," Luke said seriously. "From what you told me, he was using Force abilities that took me years to master, and he was doing it with absolutely no training. Just instinct. I never did anything like that—not that I remember, anyway."

"Yeah," Han muttered. "When are you going to start training him?"

"I already have started with the basics. Mindfulness, awareness of surroundings, meditation. He's good at some of them—he's got an impressive ability to focus on a problem, probably from all those years using his Force-sense to hunt down glitterstim filaments in the dark. Others he struggles with." Luke offered a wry smile. "But, so did I."

Han shook his head. "It just makes me so mad. So, so mad, Luke."

Luke nodded. "I know. But we're giving him what we can, now. We can't give back everything that was stolen, but we can help him get a new start." He reached out and patted Han's hand. "You're a good father, Han. The best."

Han scoffed. "Not sure where I got those skills, given my own upbringing." In the other room, there was a Wookiee yowl of dismay and the sound of a human teenager's victory. Han paused and laughed. "No, I take that back. I know exactly where I got it from."

Luke chuckled. "Yeah."

Han stood, taking the plates and cups and moving to the sink to wash them. "What about your stray?"

"Kam is settling in. He still doesn't talk much, but he's starting to relax. He's been spending his afternoons in the Jedi museum, looking through the records. Leia helped me find an apartment for him not far from mine."

"What about that group he was a part of after he left the Inquisitors? The Jensaarai, was it?"

Luke nodded. "They're one of the Force-adept orders out there that didn't follow the Jedi mainstream and went into hiding from the Empire. The Jensaarai apparently are beholden to Tavira somehow—he's not quite certain on the details, but it was part of a bargain struck by the group's leader, the Saarai-kaar. He either can't or won't take me to them; they took him in after the Emperor's death and he feels he owes them a debt."

"Do you think they're a threat?"

"To the extent that Tavira has them as a resource, yes. But I suspect that Kam was the strongest and most capable member of their order, which was why Tavira took him as her bodyguard. I don't really want to push him on it; he isn't willing to betray their secrets beyond the ones we've already learned, and I respect that." Luke shrugged. "I don't think they're evil, like the Emperor was, so for now…"

"Leave that problem for another day?"

"Or at least save it until Tavira turns up again. Kam's feeling stressed enough going through debriefings with Cracken. Cracken was positively giddy to find a former member of the Inquisitorius alive and willing to talk."

Han scoffed. "Spooks." He inclined a finger towards Luke. "I'm not going on any other missions. I'm going to stay right here in this house and raise my kids. Clear?"

Luke gave a military salute. "Clear, General." He glanced around. "Speaking of your kids, is their mother around? I've been meaning to speak to her."

"You mean about whatever it is you've been holding back for half a year?"

Luke winced. "That obvious, am I?"

"I wouldn't try for a career in Intelligence, kid."

Jacen and Jaina wanted to play. Their Force-sensitivity meant they always knew when Luke was nearby, and the older pair of Skywalker twins together was like a beacon of light to a pair of juvenile flittermoths. It was all they could do to bundle them into the other room with Han and Chewbacca, leaving the ex-smugglers to keep the toddlers entertained while Luke and Leia had a long-overdue talk.

Luke sank into the comfortable upholstery of their couch, his head resting on the cushions. Leia put a glass of wine on the side table next to him, keeping a second one for herself. "Are they always so much work?" Luke asked tiredly.

Leia sipped her wine, nodding. "Yes, but usually Winter is here to help. She's magic." Leia laughed softly. "I'm sometimes jealous at how easily she can get and hold their attention, or convince them that sleeping is something they want to do. And all without the Force, too."

"Whatever you pay her, it isn't enough," Luke sighed. "Where is she this afternoon?"

Leia offered a small, knowing smile. "Out with Tycho." She scooched over on the couch, resting her head on his shoulder. Through the Force, he could feel her now-practiced mental nudge, letting him feel her sisterly love and concern. "I've been worried about you."

"I know," he sighed. He wrapped his arm around her. "Leia, around a month after Thrawn was killed, an old Imperial banker approached me. He said he had…" Luke hesitated, sighed and leaned over to kiss Leia's hair softly. "He said he had Vader's will."

Leia stirred, turning her head to peer at him. She didn't really look that surprised. "Inheritance?"

"He left everything to me." Luke sighed again, grimacing. "There's a lot there, Leia. Billions. Some listed properties and passcodes." He shrugged his shoulders awkwardly. "I spent weeks trying to figure out if I could give it back, donate it to charity… I don't know. Anything to get it back out of my life." He was silent for a long moment, feeling the turmoil in her Force sense. He could well understand it; he had felt much the same. "I was sure you wouldn't want any of it."

"Definitely not," Leia muttered. "Besides, I have enough for my needs, between my salary and the inheritance from my parents." Luke grimaced, knowing she meant Bail and Breha Organa and most certainly did not mean Anakin Skywalker. He just nodded, and she put her head back down on his shoulder. "What are you going to do with it?"

Luke tensed. "I'm going to fund the Jedi order with it," he answered. "So that we're not reliant on New Republic funding."

There was a moment of quiet; Leia's Force-sense probed against him gently, and with trepidation he let her in, letting him feel his turmoil and uncertainty as he talked her through each of his concerns. His worries about the role of the Jedi as servants of all life in a galaxy where there was more than just the New Republic. His qualms about the Jedi being used as weapons of war, as they had been during the Clone Wars, and not servants of the peace. His fear that she would see his desire to separate his project, the Jedi, from her project, the New Republic, as an affront.

"Oh Luke," Leia sighed as he finished. She sat up, turned towards him and took his hands in hers. "You didn't really think that I'd let this come between us, did you?"

He blushed slightly, looking down. "No, not really," he said. "But you work so hard fighting all the fires threatening to consume the Republic, trying to rebuild what the Emperor broke, and here I am trying to step away from it." His eyes met hers again. "Maybe for good. And I know the Republic was counting on the new Jedi Order as a tool that would help add to its legitimacy. The Senate and the Jedi reborn together."

"Maybe," she said. "But if the only thing holding the New Republic together is the memory of the Old Republic, we're as doomed as it was. It will complicate things, but there are always complications." She frowned at him, her expression one of affectionate reproach. "You should have just told me," she chastised him gently. "You've been miserable for months with this hanging over your head."

"Well," Luke said, "I know we can talk about almost anything together, but any time Anakin Skywalker, our Jedi heritage, or Republic politics rears its head, I know they scrape over old wounds. This happened to be all three, so…" He felt his cheeks heat slightly. "Besides, it wasn't the only reason I was miserable."

Leia offered him a crooked smile. "No?" she asked knowingly.

Luke blushed some more. "No."

Her eyebrow quirked. "You said that in the past tense," she pointed out.

"Yes, I did," he agreed quietly, his voice small.

Leia grinned at him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head, his cheeks now very red. "No... not yet." He offered her an embarrassed smile. "We're still figuring it out, and we want to…" he waved his hand, his voice trailing away.

His sister gave a snort completely unbefitting of a politician used to constant media scrutiny, the sound clashing with the affectionate, tender and simply happy smile she wore. She, Luke could tell, was entirely unsurprised. "I don't suppose you've found appropriately dashing formalwear for tonight's party? Your orange flightsuit perhaps, for some color at least? Or were you planning to go in your usual drab black?"

Color drained from Luke's face. "I don't even have my flightsuit," he said with a grimace. "I had to abandon it in my quarters when we lost Strike."

She sighed affectionately. "You idiot. Don't worry, Threepio's been busy while you've been saving the galaxy one sentient at a time." She reached for one of her datapads, and he could see that his sister already had a range of new wardrobe options she'd prepared in anticipation of exactly this moment. She sent him a smug grin. "Let's find you something that'll knock no one in particular out of her battered combat boots."

Leia paged Threepio who arrived bearing the half-empty bottle of wine, then she went about asking unabashedly probing questions. Luke delicately dodged them as she took him through increasingly ridiculous outfits. Her contented glow matched his own, and the twins treated the wine with far less respect than such a fine vintage deserved.

"Come," Garm Bel Iblis said on the other side of the door. Wedge moved his finger from just above the chime to hit the door release. It slid open and he walked inside, squaring up and saluting as he stood at attention. Bel Iblis nodded at him and returned it casually before gesturing to a chair. "Sit down, Wedge."

Wedge dropped his hand and sat.

They had returned to Coruscant aboard the damaged Orthavan, which would be going on to Sluis Van for a full repair cycle. In the meantime, Wedge and the Rogues had enough time to pack up their things and move them back to the surface while they awaited new assignments.

Although, if Wedge had his way, there would be a lengthy gap before that next assignment.

"I understand you've put in a request for extended leave," Bel Iblis said, folding his hands on his lap. "How long do you think you'll be gone?"

"Sir, if my services are vitally needed, I can postpone for a time," Wedge said awkwardly. "But I was hoping to have a few weeks, maybe a month."

Bel Iblis peered at a datapad on his desk. "From this, it seems like you've got no less than eight months of delayed leave time you can take if you want it," he said seriously.

"One month will be fine, sir."

"Good," Bel Iblis said, putting the datapad back down. "You know you're being groomed for fleet command, don't you?"

Wedge winced. "All the special interest and reading suggestions from Dodonna and Ackbar were pretty good indications, sir."

"Admiral Ackbar identified you as one of the New Republic's best young strategists even before you re-founded Rogue Squadron. According to your file—" Bel Iblis gestured at the datapad "—you've more than proven your ability to organize and run an extended military operation, even with limited resources. The Thyferra campaign in particular stands out as an example of the kind of thing you're capable of, not to mention your efforts with the Wraiths."

"I have excellent subordinates, sir."

"I am not ignorant of Colonel Celchu's contributions, General," Bel Iblis agreed. "He is also on Ackbar's list." He folded his arms across his chest. "Doman Beruss intends to step down as Senator for Corellia-in-exile at the end of next year."

Wedge blinked at the non sequitur. "Sir?"

"You're not the only one who needs a break," Bel Iblis said with a sigh. "I have been asked to take her place, and resume my old position as Senator." He frowned. "There seems to be no doubt that I would win the election should I run."

Wedge blinked again. "I'd vote for you."

"Perhaps," Bel Iblis growled, not sounding convinced. He leaned forward, focusing intently on Wedge now. "You haven't heard my preferences for the organization of the new government. As it stands though, my fleet is going to need a new CO."

Wedge's jaw went slack. "You're not serious."

"Deadly serious, General." Bel Iblis leaned back in his chair. "I know. You're not ready, not yet. You have no experience commanding capital ships, and you should have at least some before taking over a fleet. So, when you return from vacation, you're going to serve under me as flag captain aboard the fleet's new flagship. During that time Sena and I will do our best to make sure you are ready before I must return to the Senate."

Wedge stared at him. This wasn't a surprise, not really—Bel Iblis was right, he had known that Ackbar was grooming him for higher rank—but he still hadn't been expecting it. "Do I have the right to refuse, sir?"

"No, not unless you want to resign for good." Bel Iblis smiled. "Take your vacation, Wedge. Go sneak back into Corellia and remind yourself what you're fighting for. Hells, if you decide while you're away that you're done and don't want to do this anymore, no one will hold that against you, least of all me. I know as well as anyone the toll this life takes." He paused, took a breath and folded his hands back over his lap. "But when you come back, as I am confident you will, the fleet will be waiting for you."

"Yes sir," Wedge said. He frowned slightly as a thought occurred to him. "Sir, if you don't mind, do you know what ship will be the next fleet flagship?"

The corner of Bel Iblis' mouth tugged in a subtle smirk, and he slid another datapad to Wedge. Wedge picked it up, turned it on—

"You're joking. Please, please tell me you're joking." Wedge stared at the profile of the Executor-class Super Star Destroyer Lusankya with sudden horror.

"Congratulations, General," said Bel Iblis, now not even trying to hide his smirk.

Wedge groaned and sank into his chair.

Feeling somewhat dazed, Wedge made his way back to the pilots' mess. Orthavan felt spacious to the point of absurdity after their stay on Ession Strike (though his quarters were still somewhat cramped for two, not that he and Iella had complained on their way back to Coruscant).

He went straight for the caf, poured himself a cup, then sat heavily in a chair. Outside the transparisteel window Coruscant slowly turned, gleaming in the twilight, its orbit busy with ships. He'd be going down to the planet himself in an hour or so, which would give him enough time to drop off his belongings at Iella's before heading to the gathering to celebrate the end of a victorious campaign.

He sipped the caf. It was better than what they'd had on Strike, but not by much. My first act as CO, Wedge thought dryly, is ordering new caf machines for the pilots' mess. The thought made him chuckle softly, then he started to review the document that Bel Iblis had given him to look at. He already knew a whole lot about the operation of Star Destroyers (mostly from the perspective of trying to take them apart), and found himself engrossed in the material.

The Executor-class Super Star Destroyer had thirteen Executor-50.x ion engines, which combined could produce a total of—

Janson sat down across from him and lounged. "Hey Boss," he said cheerfully.

Wedge lifted an eyebrow. "What?"

"Do you have anything to wear for the party tonight?"

"I was going to wear my dress uniform," Wedge said dryly. "I didn't bring it with me to Ession Strike when we were transferred before Hishyim, so I still have it."

"That sounds boring. See, I had this magnificent outfit that started with a base of translucent Zebari Shimmersilk—"

Wedge was getting ready to tune Wes out when he saw Myn Donos standing near the door, watching them awkwardly. Eager for any reason not to hear about Wes' wardrobe, Wedge waved him over. "Yes, Lieutenant Donos, what is it?"

Janson gave him a hurt look. Wedge kicked him under the table.

Myn looked between them awkwardly, then sighed. He offered Wedge a pained look and placed an open jewelry box containing his rank and unit insignias down on the table. "I'm done, sir."

Wedge sat up straighter. Wes did the same, his expression suddenly going serious. "Are you sure, Myn?" Wedge asked.

Myn offered him a pained smile. "I lost two X-wings in the last month, and took some hits at Linuri." He took a breath. "Whatever instinct or sense of flow I had for this, it's not as potent anymore. Any good sabacc player knows when it's time to fold before you bust." He glanced between Wedge and Wes and lowered his voice. "Besides, there's someone waiting for me, and I think it's time to go find her." He shrugged apologetically. "Time to… start again."

"I understand," said Wedge with genuine feeling. He reached out and placed his hand over Myn's insignia; he closed the box. "You're not the only one. Nrin told me that he was retiring again on the way here, and of course we were never going to keep Luke or Plourr for long." He glanced awkwardly at Wes, but now wasn't the time to announce his own impending departure; Tycho deserved to hear that first. He stood, extended his hand. "It's been an honor serving with you, Lieutenant Donos. If you ever change your mind, there will always be a place for you with the Rogues."

Myn offered a small but genuine smile, more emotive than he usually was. "Thank you, Wedge. For everything."

Wes clapped an arm around Myn's back. "Young man, there's a whole world out there just waiting for you. Now, if I tried to explore it I'd drown from the sheer weight of my own potential, but I think you'll be able to swim just fine. Besides," he leaned in close, "I'm rooting for you two crazy kids."

Myn's expression was one of typical baffled confusion. Wes had that effect on people. "Thank you… sir?"

"Now," Wes tightened his arm around Myn's back, whispering conspiratorially. "Tell me, what do you think about coveralls? Very stylish or the most stylish?"