Tales from the Rebellion

by Will X

Continuation of the Star Wars special. Candace, Isabella, and Phineas join the Rebel Alliance and become entangled in the war, while Ferb is forced into his own journey by Darthenshmirtz's manipulations. Behind it are petty intrigues, war politics, people being people, and a truly dark plot unfolding deep in the shadows. Rated T for coarse language and violence.

23. Showdown in Mann City!

The rebel Pelta-class frigate Leaveykurarupid dropped out of hyperspace near the gas giant Ivort. Two shuttles detached from the frigate's docking ports and flew towards the planet's fourth moon, and the Leaveykurarupid jumped back to hyperspace.

Inside the lead shuttle four rebel soldiers, disguised in civilian outfits, sat in the cramped passenger space.

"Where are they going, anyway?" Sergeant Mosk, a dark-skinned and tall man from Serenno asked, referring to the second shuttle.

"Commander Harkson said the General herself gave them some special mission." The pilot said from the shuttle's cockpit, which was open to the tiny passenger compartment. "A secret mission."

"What sort of secret mission?" Mosk pressed.

"A secret one." The pilot replied irritably. "What-what the hell do you think I meant by secret? I don't know. It's a secret!"

Mosk didn't bother replying.

"Who's the pilot?" interjected Coleman Retep, a Quarren from Brentaal.

"I dunno!" the pilot snapped.

"Sheesh."

"Quiet." Lieutenant Obitn'pa snapped. A three-eyed Gran, Obitn'pa was the mission leader, personally chosen for the role by the General's right-hand man, Colonel Brucosl.

The fourth soldier, a one-eyed, tanned human with a balding head of red hair, giggled a little at this. He was called Quayle-nothing else, simply Quayle. No full name or even a formal rank, he was just Quayle. Unlike the other three, he wasn't actually wearing a disguise. The grey vest over the dirty brown tunic, eyepatch on his left eye, and black pants were what wore-not even the General herself, the only person in their rebel unit Quayle listened to, could convince him to wear a formal Alliance uniform.

The two shuttles split up as they drew closer to the moon. The lead shuttle continued on a vector that would have it land in a field seven-and-a-half kilometers northwest of Mann City, while the second shuttle's flight path would have seemed-to anyone who was watching-to terminate in the forest surrounding Lake Wiseau.

---

It still haunted him, his experience while under the influence of the Sith-inator. He had almost killed Phineas.

He had almost killed Phineas. His brother.

And that was something that Ferb couldn't get over.

In the couple of days immediately following the Battle of Yavin, everything had moved so fast he hadn't had time to think about it. Then, while imprisoned by Darthenshmirtz, Ferb had usually managed to push the thoughts out of his mind by focusing on ignoring the rage he felt at his captivity. Anger led to the Dark Side, and he would never let himself be like that again. During his escape from Kamino there hadn't even been time to think, and the first few weeks of freedom were spent calming down, focusing on the Sunspring, and figuring out what to do next.

He was afraid of what he could become. Of returning to what he had been. Of possibly succeeding in killing Phineas next time.

Years ago, back on Tatooine, Master Kenobi had warned him that fear could lead to the Dark Side. Especially fear of loss. Kenobi had tried to teach Ferb that he needed to learn to let go.

Ferb tried. It was hard.

---

Located at the northern end of Mann City's Central Forum, the Ivort-4 Imperial complex was a walled compound consisting of a dozen buildings of various sizes. The largest of these was the Government Building, a six-story ziggurat resembling a pyramid placed on top of a box.

On the sixth floor were a seldom-used military command center, a conference room, a special communications suite, and the office and private quarters of Stacy Hirano, the Imperial Prefect of Ivort Four.

Her office overlooked the front gate to the imperial compound and the Central Forum beyond. Standing fully upright with her back to her desk, Prefect Stacy was able to look out the large, floor-to-ceiling window and be at eye level with the north-facing analog clock on the Governor Apporo Clock Tower. The clock tower, rising up from the center of the plaza, was named after the first Imperial governor of the Mubon system, who had ordered it constructed during the Empire's expansion and renovation of Mann City's Central Forum.

Stacy's office was dominated by a large black desk. Her swivel chair was on the side facing the clock tower, while two smaller chairs sat opposite the desk. A greel-wood cabinet, sitting along the right-side wall (or left, from the point of view of someone entering the office), held several crystal decanters filled with various types of wine. On top rested a small marble bust of Grand Vizier Mas Amedda. On the left side of the room was a small, grey couch flanked by two end tables, each supporting a small, crimson lamp of Bukarilarian manufacture. The left wall was dominated by a portrait of Moff Irion, the Empire-appointed governor of the Zoraster sector, which faced a portrait on the right wall of Grand Moff Ardus Kaine, the late Grand Moff Tarkin's successor as Governor of the Outer Rim Territories.

Today, Stacy had scheduled her weekly conference with Chief of Police Bansoro. The conferences were meant for her to receive updates on the state of law and order in Mann City. However, since very little tended to happen in a settlement as small as Mann City beyond the usual shoplifting, speeder hijackings, and spice dealing, along with the occasional fatality investigation (sometimes homicide, more often suicide), the two of them had decided to pass the time by playing a few rounds of pazaak.

Pazaak wasn't the only way the two spent their meetings. Some days it was sabacc. Some days they turned the viewscreen to a broadcast of the faither races at the Clan Homorn Stadium on Boh Jorka. Some days they just drank.

Bansoro had been an Imperial Navy trooper serving as a Lieutenant in the Navy's Military Police. During a campaign against Thalassian slavers in the Elrood sector two years prior, he had lost the lower half of his left leg in a friendly fire incident. He had been fitted with a cybernetic replacement, given an honorable discharge from the service, and used a referral from Veterans' Services to receive the job as top cop of Mann City. He had been there for less than a month when Stacy's predecessor was promoted to an administrative job somewhere closer to the Core Worlds, and she was assigned as the new Prefect of Ivort Four.

He was still adjusting to what was effectively civilian life, after having spent four years in active military duty. She was trying to figure out what to do in her first actual senior role. For six standard months after she graduated she had been the administrative aide to the Magistrate of Pau City on Utapau, but his role had been mostly ceremonial so she had done little.

For different reasons, neither was happy in their roles. They were around the same age and were already working together, so they began to hang out.

Being young and foolish back then, Stacy had been hoping for a more prestigious assignment closer to Coruscant or at least in a star system situated on the intersection of two or more major trade routes. Bansoro, a military veteran, understood the value of duty and service, and had eventually convinced her of the fact that as the Prefect of Ivort Four, she effectively was the Empire as far as the moon's inhabitants were concerned. As such, she had a duty to both the Empire she served and the people she governed.

Chief Bansoro had trouble settling back into what was effectively civilian life compared to the adventure and duty of naval service. Back then he was often uneasy and nearly descended into drink to cope with the loss of purpose. She had turned his own reasoning back at him, arguing that he was still serving the Empire even if he was merely a policeman employed by a backwater municipal authority and it would be foolish to turn to vice.

"A cop on the night shift brought in a drunk Gungan around twilight just last evening. He was causing disruption in the Old Town over in the Corellian Quarter." Bansoro said.

Stacy snorted. "Was that so important that they had to radio it into the Central Precinct? Was last night really that slow?" she asked.

Bansoro shook his head. "It was around 1900 hours. I had nothing else to do, so I got in my landspeeder and drove down there on a whim. The duty sergeant was asleep when he was brought into the Corellian Precinct, so I booked 'im myself."

"Oh."

They reached the end of a round. She won. They were playing for sport, though, and not for money.

"Yeah. While I was processing him, I saw that his chain code said he was a Clone Wars vet. I went and asked him 'bout it."

"And?"

"He fought against the Quarren separatists at Mon Cala!"

Stacy tried to remember her military history courses. "I...I vaguely remember something about the Calamari sector being divided between the Mon Calamari and Quarren colony worlds due to the species' differing allegiances during the war." Not that any of that had mattered in the end, as both species largely supported the rebellion now.

"Yeah, that's right. Even the their homeworld wasn't spared the fighting. I'm a little fuzzy on the details myself, but from what I understand the King of Mon Cala was assassinated by Separatist agitators. The homeworld Quarren, further manipulated by Count Dooku's minions, revolted and, with the assistance of Separatist droids, drove the young Calamari prince out of Mon Cala's capital for a time."

"So what was this Gungan doing there then?"

"I'm getting to that. So, the Mon Calamari warriors and our very own clone troopers-"

"Our clone troopers? Those men were the Old Republic's clone troopers back then."

Bansoro scowled. "Don't interrupt me! Well, the Republic became the Empire! We're the natural evolution of the galactic government in a galaxy that has outgrown democracy."

"Still."

Bansoro waved his hand dismissively. "Whatever. The Republic's clone troopers and the local militias were defeated by the Separatists and their Quarren allies. So, since clones trained in the use of deep-sea scuba equipment were in short supply and our-sorry, the Republic's-army was spread thinly, they called in an allied military. Some Republic officer-I don't remember who, and the records of the battle were all classified when I looked them up this morning-called in the Gungan Army."

"The Gungans came to fight?"

"Naboo was a proud member of the galactic community back then. Not like now, when it has slaughtered its Imperial garrison and provides aid to the damned rebellion. But anyway, under the leadership of General Jar Jar Binks-"

"Now I know that name! Representative Binks was a key ally of the Emperor in the Old Republic's senate."

Bansoro seemed irritated at being interrupted again, but didn't bring it up. "Indeed. As the Separatist agitators grew more and more aggressive, he alone had the wisdom to accept that the supposedly-sacred traditions and constitutional procedures of the Old Republic had to be ignored to solve the issue at hand. That the squabbling senators could not solve the crisis themselves was fairly obvious, or so I understand, but the traditionalists held too much sway back then. On the eve of the Clone Wars, it was Representative Binks who skillfully forced a measure through the Galactic Senate granting the then-Chancellor emergency authority."

"So Binks led the Gungan soldiers to fight at Mon Cala? That's where your imprisoned drunkard comes in, I see that. But what was a politician like Binks doing leading an army?"

"Binks was a war hero before he entered politics. He commanded the ground forces that defeated the Trade Federation army during their invasion of Naboo a decade before the war."

"Wasn't there also the Nabooan Queen? And some pilot who blew up the Federation command ship?"

Bansoro reached under his policeman's cap to scratch his head. "I think so, but I've never heard much about either of them. Available records focus more on Binks' victory. He was also involved in some pretty key events of the Clone Wars in addition to the Battle of Mon Cala. He captured Viceroy Nute Gunray of the Trade Federation on Rodia, impersonated the Gungan leader to convince his people not to ally with General Grievous and attack Naboo's peaceful human population, and negotiated with the stubborn Toydarians to secure passage of arms to Republic soldiers on Ryloth."

"Jar Jar Binks was quite the soldier and statesman." Stacy observed.

The two of them had finished another round of Pazaak. He won this time.

"Anyway, what was I talkin' about?"

"The Gungan."

"Right. I took some playing cards and went to talk with him. He had quite the story to tell. He and 'is twin sister had both enlisted, to honor some family member who fought and died during the struggle against the battle droids of the Trade Federation."

"He didn't say who?"

Bansoro looked uncomfortable. "Well, ah...you know how Gungans, uh, how their, uh…"

"'How their, uh' what?"

"How, their, uh grasp of Basic is a little, uh, a little...accented?"

Stacy recalled a human comedian she had do an imitation of a Gungan on an Imperial broadcast. "Oh, you mean the 'Weesa-yousa-meesa-bombad stuff?" She laughed. "Yeah, it's pretty silly."

Bansoro cringed. "Erm, it's just hard to understand is all I meant. Especially when the Gungan speaking happens to be drunk. Anyway, the two of them signed up. He and his sister were among the soldiers deployed to Mon Cala, serving under the General who had defeated the invading Trade Federation no less. Despite Binks' leadership of the Gungan reinforcements, the coalition of loyalist forces were quickly overwhelmed by Separatist droids and Quarren soldiers."

Bansoro stopped to stretch his arms, then continued. "Their unit was trying to hold a position near a coral forest. Quarren seppies all around. The Gungan claimed to have killed four himself that day." Bansoro paused. "You got anything to drink?"

Stacy shook her head. "There's an Imperial Security Bureau agent flying in later today. I want us to be sober when she shows up."

Bansoro frowned. "ISB? Something important going on?"

"I don't know. I was told to tighten security, but not so much that it's noticeable."

"Why?"

"I wasn't given a reason. I want you to put more officers out on the street. I've already ordered Captain Orsho to have the garrison standing ready in case it needs to be deployed."

Bansoro nodded. "Probably smart. Even if there's nothing to worry about, you can't be accused of negligence."

"I want you to come along with me when I go to meet her."

He shrugged. "Sure."

They finished another round. He won again.

"Where was I?" he asked.

"Quarren and coral."

"Okay. So the Gungan's unit was trying to defend their position on the reef. He said he killed four Quarren warriors. He was turning around to kill a fifth when he heard this scream." Bansoro paused. "His sister."

Stacy's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh no…"

Bansoro nodded grimly. "Cut right through with a vibrolance. The Quarren were joined by Separatist Aqua droids not long after and most of the Gungan soldiers were killed. Those who were captured ended up imprisoned along with the Mon Calamari and them clones." Bansoro paused.

"Well?"

"'Well' what?"

"What happened?"

"I had to do some HoloNet research. Recorded history told me that the young Mon Calamari prince convinced the Quarren leaders to turn on the Separatists. All the prisoners were freed, then the clones redeployed to some other contested water world while the Gungans returned to Naboo."

"That's not much of a story." Stacy said. "No happy ending or glory won or anything."

"That's how life is, I suppose."

"He spent the rest of the time I was there ranting about how the Mon Calamari threw away everything they fought for that day when they started supporting the Rebel Alliance in the current conflict. By the time I left he had started tearin' into the Quarren too, for sidin' with the Separatists back then."

"Is he still locked up?"

"He's due to be released right around now, I think." Bansoro said. "He'll have to present himself to the city's Magistrate before the weekend to pay a fine for public drunkenness, or else an arrest warrant will be issued. He only owes fifty credits though."

"Do you think he was telling the truth?" Stacy asked.

Bansoro nodded. "Like I said, I saw it when I ran his chain code. His story seemed to check out."

Neither said much for the next fifteen minutes.

"Any guesses as to why the Security Bureau is stopping by?" Bansoro said, seemingly tired of small talk. "Or why they're coming to see you here instead of visiting Governor Tiberian on Mubon?"

Hirano shook her head.

"No. There's no rebel activity in the Zoraster sector that I know of, only criminal stuff. And as you know, the syndicates have left the Mubon system alone for a long time. I have no idea."

"Hmm. Weird."

---

Vanessa Doofenshmirtz checked the digital timepiece strapped to her wrist, and swore. She was ten minutes late.

She tried to blend in and be discreet while still running through Mann City's streets. It was another seven minutes until she reached the seedy cantina in the Little Sacorria neighborhood.

She entered it. The cantina interior was dark and lit only by a few orange lanterns hanging from the walls. The booths were covered in shadows, as befitted an establishment whose clientele preferred to attract as little attention as possible.

Her contact was supposed to be sitting in a booth towards the front. Vanessa looked around. The first booth, the one closest to the door, was empty, but the next booth in line was occupied by a male Weequay who was dressed in a smudged tunic, looking down and talking to himself, fidgeting every few seconds. Vanessa knew that this must be her contact. She assumed he was behaving as if he was a little crazy and looking like he was homeless to make people deliberately ignore him. She slid into the booth opposite from the Weequay.

"Can be how like this." he muttered, not looking up. "Like this too wide of the mark?"

Vanessa nodded slightly. That was the code phrase, a grammatically incorrect bit of nonsense recognizable only to them. To confirm her identity, she responded "Like this inequity!"

"You're late," the Weequay said. It was in a more conversational tone than his whispered ranting, but he neither looked up or ceased fidgeting. Vanessa assumed he was staying in character.

"I got lost."

"Mmm. I had to order food." He nodded in the direction of a few empty plates on the table. "This place makes nice arguez sausage. Best I've ever had off of Akiva."

"I'll consider ordering some next time I'm here."

"I already ordered some more. Anyway, to business." He slid a small datacard across the table. She pocketed it. "They'll be waiting for you near the war memorial in the Corellian Quarter's Old Town. I'm told there's four of them. Their leader will approach you. You know the code phrase?"

She nodded.

"Just to be sure," the Weequay said. Then he cleared his throat. "Uh, 'My distance his half kilometer'."

Vanessa knew the response, of course. "Not! Let I to solve him!"

"You sound too eager," her companion admonished her. "And a tiny bit too loud. Don't draw attention to yourself. But, uh, yeah. That's the one."

"Hm. Guess I'll have to get going then." Vanessa started to get up, but the Weequay stopped her.

"No."

"Eh?"

"No. Do not leave. They will not be in Mann City for a while yet, and it might look suspicious if you get up almost immediately after sitting down."

The cantina was nearly empty save for them, a one-armed Zabrak bartender who had a cybernetic prosthetic replacing his missing limb, a couple rusty waitress droids who looked to have been in operation since the Mubon system was settled, a single curly-haired human woman at the bar, and several Selonians in a booth over on the far side of the cantina. Vanessa didn't protest though. It was smart to draw as little attention to themselves as possible.

"It'll look strange to anyone who would be watching that I'm not eating anything."

"I anticipated that." responded the Weequay. "Already ordered another plate of arguez sausage, remember? Have some of it." He frowned. "Is it safe for Twi'lek consumption?"

"I'm half-Twi'lek, half-human actually. And, uh, yeah, it should be safe."

The Weequay actually broke character at this. He sat still and looked directly at her, eyes slightly wide.

"Really now! A hybrid?"

Vanessa nodded.

"I didn't know! You certainly don't look it, and your mother didn't-"

"Don't." she cut in. "Don't bring mother up."

The Weequay accepted this and returned to his fidgeting routine, though he kept looking at her.

"So your da's a human then?"

Vanessa scowled. "Yes. But I'd rather not talk about that either. Besides, it's best we know as little as possible about each other in case one is caught."

They had long ago strayed into the realm of over-cautiousness, but that was approaching absurd. Caught by whom? The few stormtroopers in Mann City generally kept to the garrison in the Imperial compound, and the Mann City Police Department's detectives were usually too busy tracking down shoplifters and other petty thieves to pay attention to anything else. The Weequay accepted this though.

"Fair enough." he said, and looked back down.

Vanessa flagged down one of the waitress droids and ordered a soft drink. She wanted something alcoholic to calm her nerves, but she was a bit of a lightweight and couldn't afford to get drunk on a mission.

"I admit I'm a little nervous today." she said. "I've done missions before, but I dunno. I got a funny feeling about this one."

The Weequay shrugged. "I wouldn't worry too much about that. We've kept ourselves hidden."

A waitress droid delivered the sausage platter and Vanessa's drink. She picked at the food.

"Yeah, still though…"

---

Third time's the charm, or so they said.

For Senior Lieutenant Elphus Garavle (formerly Commander Elphus Garavle), that saying had proved to be true only in that his third command had not yet seen him lose miserably to a small band of rebels.

Following the rebellion's victory at the Armengoltiax Cluster, Captain Needa had swiftly demoted Garavle and kicked the newly-minted junior officer off the ISD Avenger. Garavle resented this for only a moment, as he quickly realised that Captain Needa was attempting to protect him from the legendary wrath of Darth Vader, who in addition to stewing over an Imperial defeat was also enraged by the escape of some valuable prisoner from his Super Star Destroyer.

This worked, of course, and Garavle was still alive when the Admiralty had him dragged in front of a naval tribunal on Coruscant staffed by flag officers seeking to pin the blame for the Armengoltiax disaster on anyone but themselves.

The officers on the Admiralty's tribunal became nervous when they realised that the Avenger had not possessed the standard complement of soldiers, transports, and starfighter craft due to a reorganization initiative spearheaded by members of the very commission Garavle had been sat down in front of. This had left the Avenger woefully unprepared to take back the dismantling station from the Rebel Alliance. The members of the tribunal became even more agitated when they examined how the Avenger had been defeated: reactivated Clone Wars-era droid starfighters and several old Y-Wing bombers that had been left sitting there due to bureaucratic decisions. The various military subcontractors that handled ship-breaking, dismantling, scrapping, and metal recovery were usually very efficient. However, the Armengoltiax Cluster facility was one of many disposal yards that had come under the direct jurisdiction of the Navy due to a successful lobbying effort by the Admiralty. Whatever their stated reasons for assuming control were, their actual intent had been to increase the scope of the Navy's jurisdiction enough to warrant a budget increase that favored their branch of the service over the Army or the Stormtrooper Corps or Imperial Intelligence. Once they acquired the disposal yards, they appointed as overseers incomptent officers who only received their ranks due to nepotism and then promptly forgot about the whole thing. This was how foolish Commodore Briitho had come to be in charge of the Armengoltiax Cluster Dismantling Facility, where her mismanagement had let things grind to a halt so plenty of perfectly functioning droid starfighters and usable bomber craft were sitting around. The tribunal's final discovery saw them react in unanimous horror-a bureaucratic decision made by the Admiralty, a decision made with the intention of cutting costs, was responsible for the large number of cruisers and weapons dumped at Armengoltiax, putting an already-behind-schedule station well above capacity. This was the reason it had been targeted by the Rebel Alliance. It was obvious to the various officers on the tribunal that were High Command, or the Inspectorate, or the Imperial Ruling Council to do even the slightest bit of investigating they would quickly realize how much of the Armengoltiax disaster had happened because of decisions made by the Admiralty.

So Senior Lieutenant Garavle had been booted as far away from the Core Worlds and inquisitive Imperial officials as they could get him. He was now captaining the Quasar Fire-class carrier Atrisa Three, part of Atrisa Squadron.

Atrisa Squadron was a group of three Quasar Fire-class carriers, escorted by a single Raider-class corvette, assigned to carry the various fighter squadrons of the 476th Imperial Fighter Wing. Carrier duty was oftentimes one of the most demeaning duties an Imperial Navy officer could be given. Naval personnel assigned to carrier duty often compared it to working for a shipping company.

Fighter wings of the Imperial Starfighter Corps were usually carried by ships of the fleet, from small patrol cruisers and escort carriers all the way up to the dreadnaughts and command ships, and those squadrons were subordinate to the ranking naval officer. However, certain elite units-like the 467th-instead had navy ships assigned to them to serve as transport. The wing's commanding officer-in this case Colonel Jag-always held authority over the carrier group's ranking officer-in this case Captain Sora, who helmed the carrier Atrisa One.

The 467th Fighter Wing, and consequently Atrisa Squadron, was currently attached to the fleet of Moff Irion, the Imperial governor of the Zoraster sector. Their fleet was docked at the Sector Marshaling Station in the Bigthe system.

Lieutenant Commander Gorraba, the commanding officer of the Atrisan Escort, the Raider-class corvette, had invited Garavle to a small party celebrating the 467th's recent victory in the Roti-Ow system over a loathsome band of brigands known as the Blackstar Raiders. Neither Colonel Jag nor Captain Sora had deigned to attend, but most of the 467th Wing's squadron leaders had, as well as Senior Lieutenant Katagi, commander of the carrier Atrisa Two. She and Garavle had spent most of the celebration flirting with one another before she left to return to her ship, quietly instructing him to leave ten minutes after her so as not to arouse suspicion and then come meet her in her quarters.

Garavle had been a tad impatient and only left eight minutes and thirty-two seconds after she did, something he knew because he couldn't stop looking at his watch after she had walked out the door. Gorraba's party had been held in an empty storage room in the station's central module and he had to take a tram out to the mooring arm Atrisa Squadron's ships were docked at.

The old Elphus Garavle-Commander Garavle-would never have considered having sex anytime other than shore leave proper. But following his demotion and banishment to carrier duty, he had adopted a more relaxed approach to most things, including the concept of on-duty hookups. "Third time's the charm," the saying went, and he hoped that could boost his flagging career. However, Garavle acknowledged that this supposed rule could also work against him. Twice before he had failed the Empire and managed to escape the serious punishment that had become more and more commonplace over traditional court-martials. He was under no illusions that he would be as lucky a third time. He wouldn't let potential doom stop him from doing his job, but he had decided to also not let his job stop him from enjoying life when he could.

Garavle exited the tram when it arrived at the far end of the mooring arm, where their ships were docked. The two navy troopers manning the security desk checked his identity and then waved him on.

He strode towards the entry portal where Atrisa Two was docked. Garavle allowed himself to imagine what would be waiting for him in Katagi's quarters. She almost certainly would have let her hair out of the bun she usually wore it in. Perhaps she'd be wearing nothing but her officer's cap or-

"Second Lieutenant Guhbabble!" A voice rang out. Garavle turned and saw Colonel Jag himself, followed by a young man who was wearing a pilot's uniform and carrying a military-issue duffle, walking down the docking port access hallway.

Jag had (possibly deliberately?) missed both Garavle's rank and name, but any soldier knew correcting a superior officer on both counts together was a surefire way to earn their ire. Garavle briefly debated whether the incorrect rank or the dumb name was more important, but the part of him which still cared about his career won out over his pride.

"Erm, it's Senior Lieutenant, sir. I'm not a Second Lieutenant."

Jag and the pilot stopped about a meter away from Garavle.

"Well, Senior Lieutenant Guhbabble, I have Squadron Ten's replacement flight leader."

Squadron Ten was one of the four TIE fighter units assigned to Atrisa Three. Its previous commander-Second Lieutenant Borph-had seriously wounded himself in a crash landing a week ago and was currently recovering in a medical facility at the Imperial base on Zoraster.

Garavle glanced at the entry portal for the docking tube leading to Atrisa Two and tried to discreetly move a few steps closer to it. "Ah, good. I imagine someone from squad ten will be happy to give them a tour of our carrier."

"You!" Jag said. "You will give him a tour!"

Garavle's mouth fell open in surprise. It was no secret that Jag enjoyed tormenting navy officers. He was a former clone trooper pilot of the Republic Fleet, and frequently, publicly lamented the fact that starfighter operations had been sidelined in the Imperial Navy compared to how things had been back in the Clone Wars.

From his Imperial Academy military history course, Garavle knew why. The Old Republic's Venator-class warships functioned as both carriers and star destroyers, reflected in the ship's twin-bridge design; one tower was for the command bridge and the other was for starfighter control. Many of the clone starfighters used back then resembled the snubfighters the damned rebels used nowadays, and had been designed to work alongside the capital ships, as opposed to the way modern TIE fighters merely supplemented Imperial fleet operations.

Jag used his authority to take his frustrations out on the senior officers of Atrisa Squadron. He had bullied the crews too, or so Katagi had told Garavle, until Captain Sora finally showed some backbone and demanded the Colonel stop disrespecting his crew.

But still? Cockblocking? Garavle knew that even Jag had to be better than this, and given that there was no way the Colonel possibly could've known what he was on his way to do…

Garavle looked at the new pilot. "Tour. Yes. Of course sir."

Jag took a step towards him. "Very good, Senior Lieutenant Guhbabble." He started to turn away, but stopped and moved closer to Garavle. "And Guhbabble?" His voice was a whisper. "Rank's just a rank, kid. Take it from a clone trooper: your name's much more important. It's who you are, Guhbabble." Garavle opened his mouth to indignantly protest this, but thought better of it. Jag smiled and stepped back and walked off. "Good night, young man." Garavle held back a reply about how, despite Jag's older appearance and decades of experience, he could only be around thirty chronologically-just a little younger than Garavle-and that was assuming he was from one of the earliest batches cloned by the Kaminoans.

Garavle gave a last look towards the entrance to Atrisa Two (and the entrance to Katagi's bed) before turning towards the young pilot. He was dressed in the black uniform of a noncommissioned officer, but kept his officer's cap in his left hand instead of on his head. He had tanned skin and blond hair.

"Sir?" the boy inquired.

"Eh?" He grumbled. Stupid work, getting in the way of sex… "What's...what is your name, pilot?"

The boy stiffened and saluted Garavle. "Lieutenant Jeremy Johnson, sir. Uh, the new Squadron commander, er, I mean leader for Squadron Ten." He paused, then added helpfully: "On your carrier!"

"I know that Lieutenant!" Garavle snapped. It was unfair to take his irritation out on the kid, but his night had just gotten very frustrating very quickly. (It should be noted that he did not even spare a moment to consider the feelings of Katagi, to whom it would appear he had stood up.)

Besides, really he was just paying forward what Jag had done to him. Justice, right?

---

The rebel shuttle dispatched from the Leaveykurapid had flown for another half hour to ensure they were avoiding Imperial scanners, before landing in the shadow of a rocky outcropping.

Sergeant Mosk had been surprised how cheerful the pilot, an oft-surly Arcona named Jyph who was from the Inner Rim planet Onderon, was when the four soldiers set off. He had assumed Jyph would grumble about having to wait eight to twelve hours for them to return. Instead, Jyph had set up a camp chair and waved the four soldiers off as they walked away. Mosk supposed that the old Arcona didn't mind the alone time.

After around an hour of hiking through the scrubland northwest of Mann City, the four rebel soldiers had reached the outskirts.

The group walked five blocks into the city before Obitin'pa had them turn quickly, but discreetly, into an empty alley. Retep leaned against a dumpster that smelled like a pile of rotting stinkmelons, while the Lieutenant took a circular imagecaster out of a pocket on his utility belt. He turned it on, and it displayed a miniature holographic map of Mann City. He zoomed in and pointed.

"Our contact will be waiting for us there. At the Mandalorian Wars Monument in the Old Town."

"How far?" Mosk asked.

"Thirty minutes' walk, I think." Obitin'pa replied. "So long as we don't get lost."

"What exactly are we picking up, anyway?" Retep asked.

"A datacard."

"What's on it?" Retep asked.

Obitn'pa seemed to scowl, though Mosk couldn't really be sure (he wasn't good at understanding Gran facial expressions). "I'm not cleared to know. It's a datacard and the General wants it. That's all I know."

The four of them started moving out. The Lieutenant took the lead, with Quayle, looking around nervously, following closely behind him. Mosk and Retep fell in next to each other a good ways behind; the four of them clearly traveling together would look a bit too suspicious. Mosk didn't say anything, and for a few minutes neither did Retep. The two did not know each other well, though they had served on the same maintenance crews at base before and were acquainted as a result.

"Can't tell you how glad I am to actually be doing something, Sarge." Retep said after the fourth minute was up.

"For the rebellion, you mean?" Mosk asked.

"Something...real, I guess. I got recruited eight months ago, right? And since basic training ended-that would be around five months ago-I've just been moved to a couple different outposts. This is the first time I've actually gotten to do something."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Mosk said. "A month ago, I was part of a a raid against smugglers on the Wolftooth Moon. That was my first and only bit of action since I was transferred to the Zoraster Sector Forces. I served under Obitn'Pa-I imagine that's why he selected me to be part of this team."

Retep nodded. "No clue why he chose me though. Still, it's nice to actually have something to do."

Mosk knew that was a sentiment shared by many of the soldiers in their rebel cell. The rebel forces gathering in the Zoraster sector under General Philoswa T. Fenwhudn had seen very little action apart from the occasional skirmishing with space pirates and smugglers. According to Colonel Brucosl, they were all being held in reserve and would be called forward soon, but it was never made clear how soon "soon" was. Mosk knew apart from Fenwhudn's core battalion, their unit had been simply a "boot camp", where raw recruits were turned into soldiers of the Rebel Alliance. Recently-that is, to say, around a month after the Battle of Yavin-orders had come down from Rebel Command that General Fenwhudn was supposed to build up the forces she was training, but keep them waiting to be called up.

Mosk didn't mind the routine, but he could sympathize with Coleman's restlessness.

"I heard a rumor we might be called to join the main Alliance forces in the big push through the Mid Rim." Retep said.

"Nah," Mosk said. "I bet we'll be divided up and scattered across the Outer Rim. Just a few light skirmishes. Rebel Command would do us like that."

"I heard that even General Fenwhudn is getting impatient."

"Wouldn't surprise me." Mosk said.

"Why'd you sign up?" Retep asked.

Mosk considered this for a moment. His hand unconsciously drifted to his grandfather's old X-12 riot carbine in its concealed holster. "It was obvious the Empire was rotten." he said honestly. "It wouldn't have been right to just sit back and watch while others tried to fix the galaxy for me. Not honorable."

Retep was silent. Mosk decided to continue. It felt good to open up a little. "I wasn't the best person when I was a kid. No, that's not true. I was a right asshole. A real shithead. Lying and bein' lazy." There was anger in his voice now, as he remembered the type of person he used to be. "I was a man nobody would ever want to respect. A man nobody could look up to and admire."

"You're not like that now, Sarge." the Quarren soldier said quietly.

Mosk was quiet for a second. He wondered if Retep was just saying that for the sake of being polite. "...Thank you."

"But what does that have to do with-"

"I'm getting there." Mosk sighed. "I'm...getting there. I wasn't someone I could be proud of. I was about sixteen when I started trying to change who I was. At first it was just working out and stuff. That was the first step." He swallowed. "Then...then I started tryna be a better person, just in general, y'know? Doing jobs that needed to be done instead of waiting for someone else to do them, actin' like a leader, and other stuff." Mosk swallowed. "I don't know if that makes me a genuinely good person or just a guy pretending to be a good person, since it wasn't coming from a real place. I...I just started acting the way I thought an admirable man would act because I wanted people to see me as an admirable man."

Ahead of them Obitn'pa and Quayle turned off of the main road and on to a dirtier sidestreet. Sergeant Mosk and Coleman Retep followed them.

"Because...because," he sighed. "Because deep down, that's a selfish reason, right? Not being a good person to be good, but being a good person for selfish reasons isn't good." He was quiet for a moment. "I thought about it a lot. Still do. And so I guess I kept trying."

Retep seemed to be thinking. After a moment, he spoke up. "Well, is it?" Mosk sensed a rhetorical question, and so did not answer. "I mean, if you actually are truly being a good person, that's not really a bad thing no matter your motivations."

"But selfish motivations would mean that one is truly selfish, would it not?" the Sergeant said, stroking his beard. "No matter what their outcome."

"So what?" Retep retorted. "As long as someone's genuinely attempting to emulate the behaviour of good people, because they do want to be good and be seen as a good person, that's not a bad thing. It would be bad if you were knowingly doing it to be false and didn't care, right? Like, there's a difference between some sociopath who cynically behaves the way you're supposed to behave because he knows he can make people do what he wants if he fits in and someone who knows that doing good things is good, and does them because he wants to be good. It's why children's books are full of morals, right? To teach us the difference between good and bad, and how we're supposed to act."

"I suppose," Mosk said.

"Anyway, what does that have to do with you joining the rebellion?"

"I'm from Serreno." Mosk said. "Count Dooku's home planet. It was a Separatist stronghold during the Clone Wars, so the new Empire didn't have much of a reason to treat it kindly."

"You and your parents didn't have it easy, I imagine." Retep said. "Er, just for my own information human children are created through the usual union of one male parent and one female parent right? I'm embarrassed to admit this given how prominent your species is, but I don't remember too many details about your biology."

Mosk chuckled. "Yeah. Families can come in all shapes and sizes, but biological reproduction happens with one man and one woman. I was raised by my grandpa though. My mother died in battle when I was four, fighting the Republic Army, and my old man wasted away not too long afterwards."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

Mosk waved it away. "Eh, I hardly remember 'em anyway. Gramps was the only family I ever really knew. Even though he could barely afford it, he took me in. Had to work an extra job at night to be able to support both him and me. He was hardly around when I was growing up. I kinda resented him for it." Mosk scowled. "I was far more of a dick to him than he deserved. I…" Mosk could feel a lump in his throat; if he kept talking about Gramps he was likely to cry. He needed to hop to a different topic. "It's not really worth going into here, but I'm not proud of it."

Retep was quiet. Mosk decided to switch the topic of conversation.

"You grew up in the Core Worlds right?"

"Yeah," Retep said. "On Brentaal."

"I imagine growin' up on a trade hub exposes you to all sorts, from all across the galaxy."

Brentaal was located at the intersection of the Hydian Way and the Perlemian, the two most important hyperlanes in the entire galaxy.

"Oh yeah." Retep said. "Pilots from alien worlds as distant as Cadomai and Ord Trasi would often stop by my aunt's junk shop to buy spare parts. I heard a lot of stories about the galaxy that way."

The only offworlders that Mosk had ever seen on Serreno were stormtroopers from the Imperial occupation force.

"Must've been nice." Mosk muttered. "Must've been nice."

---

"The rebels rampage unchecked through the Mid Rim!" snarled Ars Dangor. "Striking here and there, then slinking back into deep space before the military delivers a retaliation. They mock the Empire!"

"An entire qaz-class Star Destroyer was just, well, destroyed! It was just last week, near Ultaar!" complained Tilas Magore. "This is a disgrace!"

Director Krennic had returned to Coruscant just that morning to meet with the Ruling Council to discuss the progress of the new Death Star's construction. He was in the Imperial Palace, among a procession of advisors and officers walking to a conference room.

"The Rebel Alliance's offensive capability is limited," said General Byuro, the Imperial Army's attache to the Ruling Council. He was an older human man, whose skin was tanned from years of service out in the field. His face was obscured by a mess of graying facial hair. "Their main strategist, Admiral Ackbar, knows that their fleet is too small for the risk of annihilation to be worth it to deploy too many ships in direct engagements, and the rebel army does not have the resources to wage long-term ground warfare in too many places at once."

Advisor Janus Greenjatus sneered. "Ackbar. Damned Mon Calamari pirate."

He had always been the most vocally anti-alien among the Imperial elite.

"Still!" Dangor said.

"I suggest we concentrate the bulk of our Mid Rim forces in the southern Mid Rim and around Ord Mantell." Magore suggested. "That way-"

"Just give the rebels free reign in every system between Lantillies and Mon Gazza, is that what you are suggesting?" said Kren Blista-Vanee. "You cannot be serious, Tilas."

"Not to mention deploying the Imperial fleet in such a manner would ensure protection of his family's business interests." Sim Aloo, tall and pale, said quietly. From what Krennic knew of the Magore family's holdings, Aloo was correct.

"You insult me, Sim." Magore said quickly. "I simply believe that letting them run a part of the galaxy for a while might prove that they are nothing more than a band of anarchist scum and neo-Separatist agitators."

"You intend to let them kill our soldiers?" Byuro said.

"That would make the Empire appear weak!" said Dangor, his mouth hanging open. "Are you insane?!" The procession of officers and politicians paused near a large painting of a Nabooan lake.

"I…" Magore opened his mouth and then shut it. Greejatus chuckled nastily.

"They control Naboo and all but rule the rest of the Chommel sector as it is now." grumbled Blista-Vanee, looking at the painting of Naboo. "And more and more reports come in each week that should give one cause for concern. Imperial Intelligence believes them to have opened a dialogue with Queen Zil of Sarka-"

"We should have brought the whip down on the Sarkans' backs a long time ago!" interrupted Greenjatus.

Blista-Vanee cleared his throat and continued. "Then of course there was that destroyer which went down near Ultaar, and two days ago a communications station in the Churba sector was just wiped off the map. Admiral Sleanon's task force ambushed an enemy flotilla near the Monor system, but most of the rebel ships there escaped! We can't pin down their fleet's refueling locations and rendezvous points, and if we move to search for those more aggressively-"

"-then we risk leaving Imperial worlds open to Rebel attack, which wastes civilian lives, Imperial troops, and valuable resources. So we must wait, and try to beat the rebel scum back wherever they show their faces." Krennic interrupted. Blista-Vanee scowled, but motioned for Krennic to continue. "But doing so allows them to run and hide wherever they wish. But, were we to deploy the fleet, comb through each sector system by system, planet by planet, continent by continent, then we leave our fortresses and key systems open to attack, humiliating the Empire."

"That's been long established." General Byuro said.

"It's a problem almost as old as interstellar warfare," Krennic said.

"Yes." Dangor said. Krennic knew that he realized where this was leading. "Do you hold your key systems and allow the enemy to move as they please? Or do you hunt the enemy down, leaving the home front unprotected? Really, Director, this is not some secondary school's prep-course for an Academy Basic Tactics Class. All of us here," he shot a quick glance at Tilas Magore. "Well, most of us, at any rate, know that." Enraged, Magore's face reddened, but he wisely held his tongue.

"It's a problem almost as old as interstellar warfare," Krennic repeated. "And as long as there are things to fight over, and people to fight over them, and ships to carry the people to fight, there will continue to be interstellar warfare." He paused for effect. "But gentlemen, I assure you that problem will soon be solved for good."

Kren Blista-Vanee pursed his lips. "With your new Death Star." Krennic nodded. "Your second Death Star." Krennic nodded again, less patiently this time. "The Emperor believes in your planetkiller," Blista-Vanee said. "But you have yet to convince me we're not wasting our resources all over again."

"Same here." Magore said. "We lost a lot of time and credits on the first Death Star. I'm not at all convinced of the usefulness of such a weapon. It's a damn money pit, as far as I'm concerned."

The group started moving again.

"And Alderaan merely galvanised the rebels." Harus Ison, Deputy Chief of the Ubiqtorate, said. "Its destruction did not frighten them into surrendering."

"It only served to make authentic Alderaanian wine frustratingly expensive," grumbled Janus Greejatus.

"How do we know haphazardly causing the destruction of more worlds will cow the rebels into submission?" asked Baron Ulric Tagge, a General of the Empire, one of the three brothers of the late Grand General Cassio Tagge, and current head of TaggeCo."If Alderaan's destruction did not frighten them into surrender, then what will?"

"That's because the galaxy knows we no longer possess the capability to destroy planets." Krennic said, feeling a small amount of pride for managing to remain patient and calm. "They know we were capable of it, but since Tarkin lost the first Death Star at Yavin…" He shrugged. "Currently, no dissidents have to worry about what might happen to the land of their birth. A new Death Star-used simply twice, on the rebellious rim worlds of Mon Cala and Lothal-will keep the galaxy in line. Even the late Governor Tarkin understood that basic principle, at least."

"Will destroying two remote Outer Rim planets even convince the galaxy that we are serious?" asked Sim Aloo. "Like Alderaan, Mon Cala is historically and economically significant. Its destruction would be shocking and show how bold the Empire truly is, but both it and Lothal are practically on the border of Wild Space. So far from everything here in the Core!"

"You're worried it won't make enough of a statement," Krennic said.

"Yes. Yes I am."

"As long as the galaxy knows we could destroy any insurgent world," Krennic said. "I am confident that they wouldn't dream of rising up against the Empire. At any rate, once I complete the new Death Star, Ackbar and the Alliance Cabinet will order the Rebel fleet scattered across the far reaches of the galaxy to avoid having it caught and destroyed in one fell swoop. That would keep them from making any major strikes, effectively ending the war."

"But they would still be out there," said Advisor Magore. "Hiding in deep space, and most likely ambushing whatever patrols they can, out of spite, and-"

"And afraid to do anything, disunited, and losing support!" Krennic said, struggling to remain calm. It wasn't a hard principle to grasp: the Death Star would terrify the galaxy into obedience. The Ruling Council just consisted mostly of foolish old windbags who should have retired years ago.

"In theory, at least." Ison said. "The rebels are notoriously persistent and foolhardy. They may yet strike again."

"Then I will simply deploy the Death Star!" Krennic shouted, waving an arm around for emphasis. "And annihilate their rebel fleet!"

Ison harrumphed, but neither he nor anyone else pressed Director Krennic further. They now entered a room whose floor plan was shaped like a cross. There were various relics in display cases along the walls of the central corridor. Krennic paused for a moment to regard a collection of ancient blaster rifles, labeled as having been used by Sith forces during the Great Hyperspace War. Next to them was a jewel-encrusted dagger whose label said it was believed to originally have been recovered from a wrecked Sith warship on Metellos, a stone tablet labeled as relating to some ancient mythological demon named "TaEbory", a rusted droid chassis labeled as belonging to an 'ISF-E4 Eliminator Droid', and a golden chalice identified as likely being the glass which held the poisoned wine that killed Darth Gaceun at the Banquet of Cordena (whoever and whatever those were).

The group passed by the two side chambers which gave the room its cross shape. At the end of one was a suit of black armor, while the other contained an ancient statue of a Rakatan warrior. Each was guarded by a pair of Novatrooper sentinels.

"I worry," General Byuro began once the group had exited the cross-shaped chamber, and passed through a vestibule into an atrium with a large stone fountain. Two Imperial Shock Troopers stood guard on the far side of the room. "I worry that some may be too eager, and push for the Death Star to be used too much, which in my opinion is merely more than once."

"General Byuro," Krennic said. "The Death Star is merely meant to act-"

"-to act as a deterrent, yes, yes. So we've been told." Byuro said. "I'm an army man, Director. Have been my whole life. Guns weren't invented for show; they have triggers for a reason." He looked right in Krennic's eyes. "You never build a working weapon unless you intend to use it."

"Especially not one this expensive," observed Baron Tagge. He was not complaining about the cost; many TaggeCo subsidiaries were subcontractors Krennic had brought in to construct battlestation components. Tagge was simply making an observation.

The group was past the fountain now.

"Of course it's meant to be a deterrent," said Blista-Vanee. "The Emperor is wise. He would not foolishly destroy his dominions. We," he swallowed, then continued. "We simply destroy one or two rebellious worlds, a necessary evil, and then there will be peace."

"It will be used when it needs to be used." Sim Aloo said, and that was that.

The group walked past the Shock Trooper guards and passed through the doorway. They were now in a great hall, adorned with paintings of Imperial Navy warships. At the far end of the hall was a staircase, and standing on a landing forty flights of stairs up were three people. Two were easily recognizable as Grand Vizier Mas Amedda and Sate Pestage, the Deputy Vizier. The third figure, dressed all in black, was about a head taller than a human of average height, with four long arms and bright yellow skin. They were completely bald, but Krennic believed he could see that they were wearing glasses.

Krennic turned to Kren Blista-Vanee, whom he believed would be the most likely of the group to provide a reasonable answer. "Who is that?" he whispered.

"Who is who?"

"That bloke up there with the Grand Vizier and Pestage."

Blista-Vanee scowled slightly. "That is the 'Master Pulling Augustine,' and he-"

Krennic couldn't contain his confusion. "What the hell kind of a name is that?"

"A damn good question." said Blista-Vanee. "He's been meeting with the Emperor every now and then for the past several years, from what I know. I myself only learned that two

months ago, when he was last in the Imperial Palace. The Master Pulling Augustine is some form of advisor-not in the formal sense, like myself and other members of the Ruling Council, but as someone who usually meets only with the Emperor."

"Meets with him about what?"

"Wouldn't we all like to know," grumbled Blista-Vanee. "I've only spoken with him once, but just from that one conversation…" He trailed off. He seemed on edge. Krennic knew from experience pressing a person too much ran the risk of scaring them into shutting up or unnecessarily irritating them, so he opted to try remaining silent.

After eleven seconds of silence, the advisor spoke again. "Director Krennic have you ever met with my colleague, advisor Yupe Tashu?" They were almost halfway across the hall now.

"I've heard a great deal about him and seen him from a distance quite a few times, but I've only actually spoken with him twice." Krennic said.

"You think that's two times too many, I imagine."

"He...he comes across as a bit too zealous for my taste in his devotion to our Emperor's "Dark Force" powers."

"You mean the Dark Side, but yes. Calling Tashu zealous is an understatement."

Director Krennic agreed. The first time he had met Tashu, it had been at a political function hosted by the Tagge family five years after the formation of the Empire. They had exchanged the usual insincere, obligatory greetings, but nothing more. The second time had been just over eight years ago, during a meeting with Mas Amedda, the Emperor, and the late Admiral Motti regarding delays in the construction of the first Death Star. Yupe Tashu had been there, and the two of them had spoken for a few minutes. Tashu began waxing on about the power of the dark side and how it controlled them all and other such religious blather, all while giving Krennic an unnervingly wide smile and a beady-eyed stare. It had been irritating, discomforting, and left him feeling like he needed to take a shower.

"So this 'Master Augustine' character is another Force cultist? Some kind of mystic?" Krennic asked.

Blista-Vanee pursed his lips. "Not exactly. I got a similar vibe from him, but he didn't talk about the Force. He simply impressed upon me his...erm...respect for the Emperor."

"I see," Krennic said.

They were all at the base of the stairs now, and began to ascend.

"Director Krennic, we will not be needing you today." Pestage announced suddenly. Krennic's mouth fell open a little as everyone turned to look at him.

"I was told-"

"Yes, but we do not require a presentation today. You will come back tomorrow." Pestage said curtly. "The Emperor has called a special session of the Ruling Council. All Advisors are to report to him. Deputy Chief Ison, we require your presence as well." The others turned and began climbing again. General Byuro and Baron Tagge, despite not being invited, continued on up as well. Unlike Krennic, their influence was so great that they could come and go as they pleased.

How he longed to be like them.

"I could come with you and wait up there until your meeting has-"

"That will not be necessary," Mas Amedda said. "But thank you, Director. You will be summoned when we need you."

Krennic suppressed a growl. He bowed, turned, and began walking back in the direction of the fountain room.

Under his breath he swore furiously.

---

A military landspeeder, driven by a young Sergeant in the Ivort Four garrison, flew straight down Lemon Avenue. Two Mann City PD officers on C-PH patrol speeder bikes escorted the landspeeder. Stacy had asked Chief Bansoro to take the front passenger seat so that the back had an open spot for the Security Bureau inspector.

"I always forget how clean the streets are," Stacy shouted over the hum of the speeder's engines.

"Ah, this is jus' the main streets!" Bansoro shouted back. "The side paths are a littler bit nasty!"

"Still, it'll be good for this ISB agent to think that the city is clean!" she said. "It should impress her as long as we stick to the main roads."

The speeder jerked to a halt outside the spaceport, jostling its driver and passengers.

Bansoro and Stacy got out and went inside.

Several navy troopers and officers of the Mann City Spaceport Police, numbering around a dozen plus four all together, were waiting at the landing pad as an honor guard. Bansoro and Stacy stood and waited in silence. A boring six-and-a-half minutes passed before the Lambda-class shuttle appeared, and then one or two minutes more while it landed. The boarding ramp lowered, and a fair-skinned, middle-aged human woman wearing the standard ISB uniform-white tunic with black gloves, pants, and cap-stepped onto the landing field. Stacy got the impression that she was an unpleasant sort who was in the wrong job; like an elderly babysitter or substitute teacher who never liked children but ended up working with them anyway.

As a rule, ISB agents tended to be unlikeable, but they usually at least enjoyed their work, albeit usually due to some innate sadism or love of the power it gave them.

"Agent!" Stacy said. She and Bansoro saluted. "I am Prefect Hirano."

"Chief of Police Bansoro, ma'am." Bansoro introduced himself.

The woman sniffed. "I am Agent Isrua." She looked around at the assembled fleet troopers and spaceport security officers and scowled. "No stormtroopers?"

"They're standing by in the city garrison." Stacy said. "I was left with the impression something was up, but it was not made clear to me what was going on."

The Security Bureau agent gave a "Hmph!" and walked away. Stacy and Bansoro followed her.

"Our speeder is right in front of the main entrance, ma'am." Stacy said.

"Very good."

Stacy had not interacted with ISB agents in a while. Her boss at Pau City had hosted one once, but she hadn't had to deal with one herself since the Academy.

Since that week…

The bad week.

Stacy knew Bansoro had encountered ISB personnel more often than her, having been in the military. He often complained to her about overbearing ISB loyalty officers.

The three of them reached the landspeeder. Bansoro sat in the front while the two women took the back.

"I suppose you're wondering what this is all about," Isrua said as the landspeeder started moving.

Stacy nodded. Bansoro said nothing.

"ISB received a tip that rebel spies are meeting near the war memorial in the Corellian Quarter's Old Town. I want stormtroopers to be ready to converge there now."

Stacy couldn't contain her shock. "Rebels? In the Mubon system?"

"There's hardly anything of value here!" Bansoro protested. "And the whole sector's been at peace since the end of the Clone Wars!"

"It is indeed unlikely," the Security Bureau agent said. "Governor Tiberian certainly thought so, when I contacted him. But it must be checked out."

The other two nodded.

"I'll have Captain Orsho deploy thirty troopers." Stacy said. "Do we know what we're looking for?"

"We were told to look for a purple-skinned Twi'lek woman." Isrua said.

"Don't believe there are many of those in this town," Bansoro grunted. "Shouldn't be too hard to find 'er. Should I have my patrols begin discreetly casing the Old Town?"

"I highly doubt your local policemen can-"

"Ma'am," Bansoro interrupted. "I was a navy trooper and a cop in the fleet's Military Police. I assure you, the iron hand with which I run this department has it up to snuff."

Agent Isrua pursed her lips. "Fine. Very well. Is there a police precinct in the Old Town?"

"Yes, just off of Memorial Square." Bansoro said.

"Good, that's close," Isrua said. "Take me there immediately."

"Sergeant," Stacy ordered the driver. "Take us there."

Inwardly, Stacy cursed. They would have to take the dirty, seedy side streets she had hoped to hide from the inspector. It probably wouldn't matter much, but she did know one could never be too careful with the Imperial Security Bureau.

---

A Gungan veteran of the Clone Wars was released from confinement in the Mann City Police Department's Corellian Quarter precinct. The police sergeant serving as the duty officer, a stern but fair Duros named Banu Jonium, reminded the Gungan to go see the Magistrate to pay his fine.

Instead, the Gungan immediately went to the nearest liquor store and purchased a bottle of tarul wine. It wasn't a drink he particularly enjoyed, but it was alcoholic, so it would distract him. More importantly, tarul wine was created by the humans who lived on Naboo, meaning it tasted like home. He drank half of it in two gulps and then went and sat on one of the moss-covered stone benches next to the Mandalorian Wars memorial.

---

Ferb, still walking aimlessly through Mann City and brooding, headed into the Old Town.

Most of the buildings in the Old Town only dated back, at most, to around 400 years ago (a couple were roughly 730 years old, and one old warehouse, preserved and converted into a museum by the Ivortian Historical Society, seemed to date back more than 3,000 years), but all rested on foundations from the first Corellian settlements on Ivort 4, five-and-a-half millennia ago.

Ferb kept his head down as he walked. A block earlier he had noticed a trio of Stormtroopers talking with a cop-droid painted in the colours of the Mann City PD on the other side of the street, and then shortly afterwards passed by two policemen, one of whom was speaking into a handheld radio while his partner looked around slowly.

Ferb smelled something good, and followed his nose to a food stall under a green and purple awning. He inquired about purchasing a snack but the street vendor, an orange-skinned alien with six eyes on stalks, shooed him away, telling Ferb that his stall's offerings were toxic to humans.

A few buildings down Ferb paused in front of an old holotheater to look at what films were playing that day. The first poster was for that decades-old Pantoran flick The Patient. Ferb had already seen it a few times growing up on Tatooine-the twist got old after the second viewing. The middle one was a black poster advertising something called Das niteMARE b4 xmas, which Ferb suspected was a cheaply-made horror film he'd only be wasting his money and afternoon on. The third and final poster showed a kneeling human man dressed like royalty, his face contorted in anguish. The title was The Tragedy that Reach the Man, with the tagline "He is so strong and big."

This one piqued Ferb's interest. He had nothing better to do, so he walked up to the ticket booth and inquired about the price, only for the Rodian behind the glass to tell him the next showing wasn't for another two hours.

Damn.

Naturally Ferb had no interest in waiting that long, and he saw no reason to throw his money away on either a film he'd seen many times before or a film he was certain would be bad. He walked on. Next he passed an Imperial Credit Union ATM placed outside a watch repair shop. A brown-skinned human policewoman was standing there, talking into a radio. Ferb tried to look as unremarkable as he could when he passed her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her distractedly glance at him but then look away. He didn't feel like the Force was warning him about anything, so she must've considered him nothing more than just another pedestrian.

Despite being a starport on an unimportant moon in a backwater Outer Rim system, Mann City was still quite vibrant compared to Mos Eisley and the other settlements on Tatooine.

Phineas had always loved living on Tatooine. Ferb hadn't cared as much about it, but did pretend like Tatooine was special for his brother's sake.

He had done a lot of things for Phineas' sake.

---

Krennic had not yet left the Imperial Palace. To spite those who had doubted his creation and then dismissed him, he had decided to hang around for a little while longer. He knew such pettiness was beneath him, that it was like the behavior of a petulant child, but he was stressed and didn't care. He had hardly slept in the past week; managing the allocation of raw materials, checking in on supply convoys to the main construction site in the Endor system, supervising Galen Erso, keeping Heinz focused and on schedule…

The price of authority was the responsibility which came with it.

The Imperial Palace had several galleries devoted to housing the many artworks in Emperor Palpatine's private collection. Krennic was standing in one of these, a windowless chamber with several paintings on the walls.

Most of the paintings depicted landscapes of various alien worlds, but the one Krennic was looking at currently was much more interesting. It was titled "Imperial Genesis", and was apparently meant to be an allegory for the founding of the Galactic Empire. Front and center was a younger depiction of Emperor Palpatine (Krennic guessed it to be based on the man's appearance roughly fifty years ago). The Palpatine in the painting was wearing a purple cloak, but an unseen wind seemed to have blown it open, revealing a lean, muscled figure. A tall silver shield, adorned with the black, six-spoked cog that served as the Imperial crest, obscured Palpatine's groin. Krennic was not a man of faith, but he silently sent a prayer in the general direction of every worshipped deity in every religion known to the Empire, informing them of his gratitude for the convenient placement of the shield.

Next to Palatine's bare feet lay scales and an olive branch, symbolizing justice and peace respectively. Palpatine was standing on another shield, this one bronze and circular, which was decorated with the emblem of the Old Republic. Between Palpatine's feet, the scales, and the olive branch, however, Krennic could barely make out what the symbol was supposed to be. This shield was held aloft by the Four Sages of Dwartii, ancient philosophers and lawgivers who were influential in the drafting of the constitution of the Old Republic. The Sages in turn stood on the shoulders of statues of Rakatan scholars. Archaeological evidence and ancient writings generally held that the Rakatan Infinite Empire had held dominion over much of the galaxy more than twenty thousand years ago, and most scholars agreed that they were the first power on record to control a pan-galactic empire. Below them was chaos and strife.

From bottom to top, Krennic realised, this tower seemed to represent the progression of galactic civilization. First came the ancient Infinite Empire, whose rule symbolized the concept of the galaxy being united under a single flag for the first time. Following them were the Dwartii Sages, whose involvement with the founding of the Republic meant that their inclusion in the painting likely represented the dawn of true galactic civilization. The Galactic Republic itself was of course represented by the shield Palapatine stood on. However, the Republic's crest being mostly obscured by Palpatine's feet had the effect of taking twenty-five thousand years of history and representing it in a way that left one with only the vaguest impression of there having ever been an institution called the Galactic Republic in the first place. Above this was the shield with the Imperial crest, representing the Galactic Empire, and an idealized depiction of Emperor Palpatine himself at the peak.

Palpatine's right arm, which as he was facing Krennic appeared on the painting's left, was extended towards a mountain in the painting's lower-left corner. Atop the mountain stood Grand Vizier Mas Amedda, clothed in uncharacteristically simple robes. Amedda was holding two large stone tablets, seemingly given to him by the gigantic Palpatine. The larger of the two tablets read "LAW" while the smaller read "LIFE". Behind Amedda stood three humanoid figures. Two looked to be Ars Dangor and Sate Pestage. The third, to Krennic's chagrin, appeared to resemble Tarkin.

On Palpatine's left was a marble column around which was wrapped a snake. Atop the column rested a translucent blue skill-the crystalline masthead of Xim the Despot. Xim was a great conqueror from before the dawn of the Old Republic, who had unified the worlds of the Tion Cluster and built a great empire before he was defeated by the Hutts. The masthead was likely included to further legitimise Palpatine as the rightful ruler, by connecting him with the legendary military conqueror of old.

Palpatine's left arm, on the painting's right, was pointing to the upper right corner. In that corner, the clouds parted to reveal a bright light. Following the path Palpatine was directing them on were eight starships-an Imperial-class Star Destroyer and seven TIE fighters-headed towards the light. This was meant to represent how Palpatine was leading the Empire towards a glorious and prosperous future, all the way to Heaven.

Frankly, to Krennic, it looked more as if the Emperor was sending the Imperial Navy to make war on Heaven.

The majority of the middle and lower right of the painting was taken up by three figures, all painted in much darker shades than Palpatine. Two were human men-one old, bearded and light-skinned, while the other was dark-skinned, younger, bald, and clean-shaven. Krennic regonised them as, respectively, Count Dooku, rogue Jedi Master and Separatist dictator, and Mace Windu, the Jedi General-turned-traitor who had attempted to assassinate the then-Chancellor Palpatine. The third was a diminutive, green elf-man. Krennic supposed him to be another one of the ranking Jedi traitors.

All three had the ugliest, most hideous expressions Krennic had ever seen on their faces. He correctly supposed it was an artistic device employed to further contrast them with the angelic portrayal of Emperor Palpatine.

(Ironically, Krennic had personally witnessed Palpatine make a similar expression after Grand General Ormeddon sheepishly reported the theft of his shuttle during an inspection of the Berullian Checkpoint)

The robes of General Windu and the other Jedi were marked with iconography associated with Ivax and Kivax, ancient Corellian trickster gods. Count Dooku on the other hand was decorated with symbols related to Kad Ha'rangir, an ancient Mandalorian deity who represented the concept of change through strife, and as such was emblematic of the Mandalorian clans' worship of warfare.

It was plain to see that the connection with the ancient deities was intended to further emphasize the negative aspects Dooku and the two Jedi Masters represented. Dooku, as ruler of the Confederacy of Independent Systems and instigator of the Clone Wars, was connected with war, while the Jedi who betrayed the Republic on the eve of the war's end were associated with deceit.

The two men and the green elf-man were cowering and trying to shield their eyes from Palpatine's bright figure. Their ugly facial expressions were likely supposed to represent how the evil in their hearts reacted to the apparent divine perfection of Emperor Palpatine. They were contorted away from him, almost as if his very presence was drivinng them out. Krennic guessed that this was supposed to be representative of Emperor Palpatine abolishing theconcepts of discord and falsehood (the irony of this did not escape Krennic).

"Amazing, is it not?" someone said. Krennic turned. It was that four-armed fellow from earlier, Master Augustine.

"Oh, it's…." Krennic searched for the right way to describe it. Reviewing and analyzing creative works (apart from anything related to architecture) was not his forte. He was an engineer, not an art critic. "...beautiful."

"Twas commissioned by myself in celebration of the twentieth anniversary of our Empire's founding." Augustine said. He was looking directly at the painting, not even glancing over at Krennic.

The twentieth Empire Day had been a joyous occasion. It had been just a few months earlier, and Krennic was able to make it back to the Imperial capital for a large celebration hosted on the Tagge family's Coruscant estate. Even though Tarkin was dead and he had no other real rivals, Krennic couldn't afford to pass up an opportunity to mingle among the Imperial elite.

"Shouldn't it be publicly displayed then?" Krennic said. "If it's meant as part of a national celebration-"

"Eh. It doth make more sense to place it in this here place."

Krennic decided to ignore Augustine's strange vocabulary and syntax-Heinz had done and said a lot weirder, after all-and simply pressed on with the conversation. "What do you mean?"

"It is the Emperor's. It is for him, of him. As are all things." Augustine said. "And also…" he muttered, in a tone of voice that sounded less haughty and more like frustration tinged with embarrassment, "The visible depictions of those charlatan warmongers, Dooku and the two Jedi councilmen, caused a stir. 'Twas thought that showing three great enemies of the Emperor, whose names and deeds have been pruned out from the public records and sealed away from the eyes of commoners, was inappropriate for something meant to be displayed on Empire Day."

"So it was put here instead of being publicly unveiled?" Krennic asked.

"Indeed."

Master Augustine turned to regard a painting of a great serpent consuming a golden dragon. Then he walked away.

"Walk with me, Director Krennic."

Krennic inwardly seethed at the man just casually ordering him around, but he had nothing better to do, and it seemed like Augustine might be an avenue to increase his proximity to Emperor Palpatine.

The two walked out of the gallery and into a hallway whose walls were also adorned with paintings. Krennic looked over at a portrait of what looked like a large pile of ash. Next to that was a painting depicting several dog-headed demons and large, feathered serpents against a cloudy backdrop.

"I want thou to meet mine associates," the Master Pulling Augustine said after they had walked for ten minutes. They had gone down a staircase behind a door that had unlocked when Augustine typed in passcode on a keypad. After reaching the bottom they had walked a little further before they stopped outside of a large black door. On the door was a sign that read "Voldemprt's lair! Bar n' Grill." in golden aurebesh lettering.

Augustine pushed the door open and walked inside. Krennic followed him.

Krennic was no stranger to dingy, seedy back-alley hole-in-the-wall cantinas. Hell, given his...father's love of drink, sometimes it felt like he had practically grown up in them. 'Voldemprt's Lair' was actually pretty clean, but its small size and the poor lighting made Krennic think of those run-down establishments.

Having to deal with Heinz on a regular basis meant Krennic was so accustomed to the bizarre that it took a moment for it to occur to him that such an establishment had no right to exist within the walls of the Imperial Palace.

Apart from the unstaffed bar, there were two tables. The one closest to the door was occupied by two human men. One was a pale, hook-nosed fellow with long dark hair and a perpetually scowling face. The man sitting across from him had a feral look about him. His skin was light too, though not as pale as his companion's, and he had a head of untamed red hair.

"Dis is Snap and Loopin," the Master Pulling Augustine said proudly, pointing to the pale man when he said 'Snap' and the redhead when he said 'Loopin'.

Snap glowered at Krennic. Loopin held out something.

"Want some gum, Director?" Loopin asked.

"I'm good." Krennic said tersely.

Loopin shrugged. "Your loss."

"Who are you people?" Krennic asked.

"We are da Death Deelers." the Master Pulling Augustine said. "We serve His Majesty the Emperor in all things, for he is so strong and big."

"Dis," Snap said, gesturing to the bar, "This is our HQ."

Kren Blista-Vanee had seemed to know very little about the Master Pulling Augustine. Krennic could imagine the advisor's shock to learn that Augustine had his own little band of fanatics who operated out of a tiny cantina within the Imperial Palace's walls.

"So the three of you work under the Emperor?" Krennic asked.

"Five." Loopin said. "Mr. Noris, da janitor, is off today. And then there's da intern."

"Intern." Krennic repeated flatly. He wondered if Augustine and his cohort would try to pursue him if he fled out the door.

"Snaketail!" the Master Pulling Augustine suddenly shouted. "What art thou doing?"

A buck-toothed and pale-faced young man poked his head up from behind the bar. "Superior."

"Snaketail, this is Director Krennic."

"Yes, Superior." Snaketail said. He eyed Krennic suspiciously.

"Hello." Krennic said gruffly. He was beginning to get frustrated. These people were fanatics and weirdos. It was clear there was nothing to be gained by fraternizing with them.

It would have been more useful to track down Ulric Tagge or even better, his elder sister Domina, the true leader of the Tagge clan. The Tagges guarded their resources with jealousy, and their skepticism of the Death Star meant they were reluctant to invest too much in its construction, even with the Emperor directly backing the project.

TaggeCo had recently discovered a new vein of doonium ore on Tarshish, a mining world in the Deep Core. Krennic was trying to pressure the Tagges to sell it to his Imperial weapons division at a discount, as doonium was a key construction material and one Krennic desperately needed a lot of to construct his new Death Star.

"Mmm, thee thinks thee won't find what thou is looking for among our merry band!" the Master Pulling Augustine said. "Thou wishes to have gone seek yonder Tagge family for resources."

"How did you know that?" Krennic growled, his hand reaching for his blaster. "Are you a Sith, like the Emperor and Lord Vader? Do you possess Jedi powers?"

"I hath telekinesis!" he answered cruelly.

"He means telepathy." Snap said. "The Master Pulling Augustine possesses telepathic force abilities."

"You need TaggeCo's resources to build the second Death Star, and you regret following me here in a misguided attempt to search for more influence among the advisors of His Most Glorious Imperial Majesty."

"That's…why I'm here." Krennic admitted. He decided to not point out that the Master Pulling Augustine had momentarily forgotten to speak in his archaic grammatical style.

"Yes, you built the first Death Star, a battlestation so strong and so big!" the Master Pulling Augustine. "A perfect symbol of our Emperor's power and might! But in an act of such heinous blasphemy that there are no words to truly describe it, the flilthy rebel heretics blew the damn thing up!"

The Master Pulling Augustine suddenly flew into a rage and kicked over the table Snap and Loopin were sitting at. Neither man appeared fazed.

"The filthy rebel heretics disgust me!" he spat. "They reject the awesome power of our Emperor." He turned back to face Director Krennic. "Which is why you must build another Death Star! A fierce machine, so strong and big! Make ended the rebellion!" The Master Pulling Augustine snapped his fingers, and Snap and Loopin stood up.

"Gentlemen, show our guest out!" he said, throwing all four arms out dramatically. "We've kept him long enough!"

Snap and Loopin each grabbed one of Director Krennic's shoulders and unceremoniously shoved him out the door to the bar. It slid shut and locked.

Krennic stood up and dusted himself off. Seething at the waste of his afternoon and the disrespectful treatment he had received, he stormed off.

---

Located in the center of Memorial Plaza, the Mandalorian Wars Memorial had been built fifteen years after the eponymous conflict had concluded, to honor the sons and daughters of the Mubon system who had died defending the Old Republic from the invading Mandalorian clans. One of many such memorials sponsored by Herron Morvis of the Coruscant Financial Exchange, whose son had been seriously wounded in the war, a bureaucratic mix-up had resulted in the monument being constructed on Ivort 4 instead of Mubon itself.

In our own world, dear reader, we are fortunate that the sculptures of those old great Hellenic and Latin peoples, the ancient Greeks and Romans, remain remarkably well preserved for artwork around two millennia in age, give or take a few centuries. The paint is faded, the features timeworn, and the hands and noses often have broken off, but most statues and marble busts are still in a condition which more or less resembles how they may have looked in the classical period's heyday.

If you and I were to go even further back (and to the opposite side of the Mediterranean), we would find civilization of the Ancient Egyptians. Along the fertile banks of the Nile River they built many temples filled with statues of their gods and pharaohs. Egyptian civilization stretches all the way back to the year 3200 BC, when Narmer is believed to have unified Upper and Lower Egypt. In the late nineteenth century AD, two British archaeologists unearthed the Palette of Narmer, which depicts the unification by showing Narmer himself wearing the crown of Upper Egypt on one side and the crown of Lower Egypt on the other. Dear reader, you cannot even begin to grasp how fortunate us modern folk are that the Narmer Palette was preserved in perfect condition for nearly five millenia!

And were we to hop just across the Sinai Peninsula and hike a little further east we find ourselves between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, in the Cradle of Civilization itself: Mesopotamia. A pair of Lamassu, guardian deities who were in this particular case depicted as human-headed winged bulls, were recovered from an ancient gateway in the ruined Assyrian capital and now stand in the Parisian Louvre. These I studied in an Art History class I once took.

It is wonderful that relics of long-vanished peoples survive to the present day, so that you and I could go to a museum and enjoy them, is it not?

'Twas tragic then that the same could not be said for Mann City's Mandalorian Wars Memorial.

The original stone monument had been a ten meter tall humanoid figure holding their blaster in their right hand, near their waist. They had been standing next to a statue of a miniature blaster cannon on a circular stone pedestal that was seven meters in diameter and half a meter tall. The names of all seventy-nine of the Republic servicemembers from the Mubon system who had fought in the Mandalorian Wars had been engraved on the rim of the circular pedestal.

However, the wear and tear of three thousand, nine hundred and forty-five years' worth of exposure to the elements, combined with damage sustained during pirate attacks, had made the original humanoid soldier all but unrecognizable. The head, neck, and a fair bit of the chest had been blasted clean off long ago, the left arm and most of the right one as well had been worn down, and the carved details that made it clear the figure was wearing a military uniform had long since eroded. The stone blaster cannon had simply disappeared several centuries before, probably to some collector's private museum. To top it all off, the original pedestal had cracked down the middle, and the half on which the humanoid soldier had been standing had sunk partially into the ground after a particularly ferocious storm caused a small mudslide. The figure which had once resembled a proud Republic soldier was still visible from the knees up. The right hand, which held the blaster, had at some point in the past fallen off and a handyman hired by the Ivortian Historical Society had clumsily reattached it using permaglue and then bolted it down. Unfortunately, the hand had been reattached a little bit to the left of its original position, so that the blaster, which miraculously had more or less still retained its original shape, now looked as if it was protruding from the former soldier's groin. Generations of schoolboys had remarked that the whole thing now resembled some pathetic, horribly disfigured dwarf with an erection.

For the past sixteen years members of the Ivortian Historical Society had been seeking to restore the monument, but were hindered by the fact that no one knew what the thing had originally looked like. A few images of it dating back a couple thousand years had been accessible in a datacenter on the sector capital of Zoraster, but those had been quietly snatched up a few years ago by operatives of the Empire's Ministry of Information during an initiative to suppress bits of miscellaneous historical information relating to the Old Republic. As such, the Historical Society members spent their time blocking the removal of the memorial, which many considered an eyesore, on the grounds that its historical significance and fragility meant it should remain. The pro-removal lobby had nearly succeeded in convincing the previous Imperial Prefect of Ivort 4, but he had been promoted elsewhere and his replacement, Stacy, had taken one look at the ruined memorial and, once she had finished laughing, decided that the statue of what she called the "ugly, horny dwarf" would stay in Memorial Plaza.

Obitn'Pa and Quayle had stopped at the edge of Memorial Plaza. Mosk and Retep came up behind them.

"I saw a lot of cops," Obitn'Pa said. "I want us to spread out so we don't attract attention. They might get suspicious of a group."

"Why are there four of us, anyway?" Retep asked. "Erm, it seems to me that picking up a simple datacard don't require this, uh, this many people."

"Colonel Brucosl thought it would be good to have backup ready, just in case something happens." the Lieutenant replied. "Quayle, move towards the center and keep ready. Mosk, Retep, you two go walk casually around the plaza's perimeter. Keep your eyes open."

Quayle nodded eagerly and slunk off. Mosk and Retep nodded and strolled away.

"Really though, why are there four of us?"

Mosk shrugged. "Brucosl seemed to think it was necessary. Like you said earlier, 'tis nice to get out and do something."

"Fair enough," Retep said. "Fair enough."

---

Ferb, keeping his head down, walked into Memorial Plaza. He looked up and gazed at the Mandalorian Wars Memorial.

"Ugly statue," he muttered to himself. "Must be one of those 'modern art' sculptures."

Ferb shrugged and continued walking to nowhere in particular.

---

The Gungan veteran woke up with a start. He blinked groggily. The warm sunlight and the alcohol had combined to make him drowsy, and, after spending the past night unable to sleep on the cold floor of his jail cell, he had dozed off without realising it.

After looking around for a second, he took another swig of the wine and stood up, nearly fell down, and then stood up again.

---

Stacy thought that the makeshift command center set up in the Corellian Quarter's police precinct was far too small. It was a back room where terminals and viewscreens connected to surveillance cameras had hastily been set up. Chief Bansoro himself was sitting at one of these stations, while the other was manned by one Sergeant Jonium, a Duros policeman. Stacy and Agent Isrua were both standing, as were Captain Orsho and three stormtroopers, whom Stacy had summoned from the Imperial base.

Isrua's plan had the stormtroopers and police officers organised in a loose cordon around Memorial Plaza, with a radius of about four blocks, with several more on standby in the precinct and a nearby warehouse. To keep the rebels from being spooked into calling off their rendezvous, the security forces were not deployed too visibly.

The cameras had already identified three purple-skinned Twi'leks across the city. One of them was male, but Isrua had decided to keep him under surveillance just in case. However, the surveillance cameras-really, just repurposed traffic cameras-had for some reason disconnected and they were now effectively blind.

"Get them back on!" Isrua shouted for the third time.

"We're trying ma'am." Sergeant Jonium said. "This is an older operating system. It's, uh, all full of glitches and stuff."

"Work faster you stupid alien. We can't afford any mistakes!" Isrua said. "Do you people not have some kind of central security system?"

She had already asked this question too. Stacy could tell Chief Bansoro was holding back his frustration when gave the same answer he had before. "We do, but it wasn't in our budget to cover most of the city. We had to prioritise the main roads and the area around the spaceport. That's why we're stuck with these old traffic cameras."

"Well get them back on!" Isrua repeated.

"Yes ma'am." Jonium said.

"Oh, never mind!" she said impatiently. "Let's just get ready to spring the trap!"

"But you said we should wait and spring the trap when they do the handoff!" Stacy protested, surprised at Isrua's sudden pivot. The ISB agent waved her off.

"Bah."

Stacy was really beginning to doubt that Isrua knew what she was doing.

---

Vanessa had made it to the Mandalorian Wars Memorial with just a few minutes to spare. She looked around. The rendezvous time-early afternoon-had been chosen because it was generally when Memorial Plaza was most crowded. She was waiting in the appointed spot. The sky had been overcast since early that morning, and it had now begun lightly raining.

Vanessa's hand drifted to her stomach. The arguez sausage she'd eaten at the bar, while not toxic to Twi'leks, or Humans or Twi'lek/Human hybrids for that matter, was still very spicy and had given her indigestion. She grimaced.

She watched a Gungan, dressed in a grubby outfit that looked to have been woven around the same time the first stars were born, lurch and stumble his way across the plaza about ten feet in front of her. She hoped that wasn't her contact.

A minute later, a Gran walked up beside her.

"Strange weather we havin' today, innit?" he asked absentmindedly. In fact, it was a nice, clear, temperate afternoon on that part of Ivort Four with only a few clouds lazily drifting across the sky.

"I suppose." Vanessa said.

Was this her contact?

"Back on Kinyen, we used t' get heavy rainstorms, up in th' mountains where me family lived." he said. "Me brother and I would have to go secure the windmills that provided fer our energy supply. Our pet houjix would run out ahead of us, way ahead. We'd get worried, y'know? Cause he'd get so far out ahead of us. My distance his half kilometer, y'know?"

There it is.

"Not," replied Vanessa calmly. She tried to keep what the Weequay had said about being overeager in mind, even though he had been talking about not drawing attention in that bar. "Let I to solve him."

"Right. You're the contact." he said.

---

Mosk and Retep turned and walked a little closer to the memorial and Lieutenant Obitn'Pa.

---

The Gungan stumbled around the memorial for the second time.

---

"That story true?" Vanessa asked.

"Parts of it. I ain't ever had a houjix or a brother, but I did have three sisters. I am from Kinyen though." the Gran said. "You have the datadisc?"

Vanessa reached into her left pocket. "Yeah, hold on. It's right-" She froze, three of her fingers jammed into the pocket.

It wasn't there!

Vanessa laughed nervously while she wiggled her fingers around in the pocket. She shoved her other hand into her right pocket-

Oh thank the stars.

"Here!" she said, pulling the datadisc out of her right pocket. The Gran grunted in acknowledgment.

---

Ferb passed a family of Rodians and paused to look at the Mandalorian Wars Memorial.

---

"So what was with that 'me'?" Vanessa asked.

"What?"

"You said '…where me family lived,' not 'where my family lived.' Were you-were you just saying that as part of your 'character' or-"

"I just said that to contrast with the 'my' in 'My distance his half kilometer.' So you could, y'know, tell I was your contact more easily."

"That's a little neurotic," Vanessa remarked.

---

Outside the police station, Isrua climbed into the speeder which had carried her from the spaceport.

---

The Gran snorted. "Look who's talking. You're the one who decided to focus on such a minor detail."

"It's a reasonable question!" Vanessa protested.

The Gran threw up his hands. "Just gimme the fucking datacard."

"Fine." Vanessa handed the datacard over over.

---

Right as Vanessa gave Obtin'Pa the datacard, the Gungan veteran bumped into Coleman Retep.

---

The stormtroopers and police officers received Isrua's signal and began to jog into the plaza. Isrua's speeder began slowly moving into Memorial Paza as well.

---

"Hey!" Retep snapped. "Watch it!"

The Gungan looked at Retep, blinking.

"He's not worth your time," Mosk said quietly. Retep nodded and began to back away.

The Gungan blinked. Ordinarily he was an intelligent and rational being, who enjoyed researching the history of Naboo, and liked to pass the time analysing the works of Nabooan poet Omar Berenko and the ancient Gungan poem Das Depu Epu Sea. When completely sober he was a friendly and sociable man (even when sloshed he could still make friends easily, which was how he and Chief Bansoro had hit it off the previous night).

Unfortunately the Gungan veteran was (as you, dear reader, probably can tell) currently battling a bout of alcoholism. He had been continuously in a drunken stupor more or less for more or less the past two weeks. On top of this, he was at that moment extremely tired, which in turn made him confused and grouchy. Due to his conversation with Bansoro the previous night, his wartime experiences were at the front of his mind at that moment. So, what would otherwise have been a briefly hostile encounter with a random passerby, due to the Gungan's drunken state, sleep-deprived brain, and recollection of his old animosity with members of the Quarren species, quickly became a physical altercation. Tragically, this rational and cultured man behaved in such a manner that he ended up confirming to many observers that the ugly stereotypes of the Gungan species they believed (which you and I know to be largely the fault of one Mister Binks) were, in fact, true.

"Yousa k-k-killen meesa…messa…messa sister!" the Gungan drunkenly stuttered.

"Geh?" Retep said dumbly, caught off guard. He looked over to Mosk, who shrugged. In the second their eyes were off the Gungan, the drunk alien lunged at Retep and tackled the unfortunate Quarren.

You can be forgiven for thinking that Retep, being younger, more awake, and completely sober, had the advantage in the fight. However, I must remind you that Retep had very little formal training and had only been a soldier for less than half a year, while the Gungan was an experienced soldier, trained for combat both on land and underwater, and could move almost on instinct even if he wasn't quite there mentally.

Just as the stormtroopers and policemen reached the perimeter of Memorial Plaza, Mosk bent down to wrestle the Gungan off his comrade.

---

"Freeze!" the lead trooper in the southeast entrance to the plaza shouted. Behind him, standing in the speeder, Isrua smirked.

"I have them now." she chuckled.

---

The Force warned Ferb just a second before the Imperial forces entered Memorial Plaza, so when the stormtrooper announced their presence he was already on guard. When the trooper made their announcement, his blood froze.

Acting entirely on instinct, Ferb reached out through the Force and focused on the stormtroopers coming from the southeast. Before he or anyone else even realised what was going on, Ferb had used the Force to jam the stormtroopers' blasters.

---

Quayle had been walking towards Obitn'Pa when the stormtroopers announced their presence. He immediately turned towards the stormtroopers and policemen gathered at Memorial Plaza's northwest entrance.

He grinned nastily. With his left hand he pulled a vibroknife out of his left pants pocket and unsheathed it. With his right hand he pulled a blaster pistol out from a concealed pocket on the inside of his vest.

"Game time started." giggled Quayle.

---

Mosk gaped as he watched the stormtroopers and cops advance into the plaza.

"Oh fuck…" he muttered, yanking the Gungan off of Retep and shoving the attacker to the side. The Quarren soldier stood up.

"Was that-?"

"Imperials." Mosk confirmed gravely.

"Shit!" Retep exclaimed, having forgotten about the Gungan. "Should we fight?"

Mosk shook his head. "No. We don't know if they've ID'd us. We might be able to slip out. First we need to find Quayle and the Lieutenant."

Retep pointed in the direction of the plaza's northwest entrance. "Well, there's Quayle."

Mosk turned. "Oh, no."

Quayle was racing full speed towards the stormtroopers there. With nearly everyone else in the plaza frozen in fear, he stood out. The stormtroopers shook off any momentary shock and began shooting stun blasts at him, but Quayle dodged the blaster shots. Once shooting began the crowd screamed and began scattering.

Quayle fired seven shots back, six of which hit stormtroopers. Despite the fact that he was moving and only using one hand to fire, without the other steadying his blaster, all six fell dead to the ground.

"Did he just-?!" Retep exclaimed.

"His shooting accuracy is…insane!" exclaimed Mosk. He had heard rumors back at base about Quayle's unrealistically advanced combat abilities, but hadn't paid them any mind.

The remaining stormtroopers started running towards Quayle, followed by the police officers. Quayle fired off another shot, clipping a trooper on the shoulder, and turned and disappeared into the crowd. The troopers and cops started shoving through the mass of screaming civilians, trying to find him.

Then the Gungan Veteran, whom the two rebels had forgotten about, got back up and lunged at Retep.

---

Vanessa and Obitn'Pa had just been about to turn away from each other when the stormtroopers announced their presence.

"Dank ferrik!" the Gran exclaimed, haphazardly shoving the datacard into a pocket. He started reaching for his blaster pistol in its concealed holster.

"No!" Vanessa hissed when she saw the weapon start to emerge from his vest. "We don't know if they're after us! We shouldn't expose ourselves." The Gran nodded.

"Good point." the Gran said. " I need to find my men." Just then blaster shots rang out from the northwestern direction. As the bystanders began screaming and running, Vanessa spotted a red-haired human running towards several stormtroopers, firing a blaster as they went.

The Gran saw them too.

"Dammit Quayle!" he exclaimed. Were the situation not dire, Vanessa would've shook her head in disbelief. What kind of idiot named a fellow operative during an undercover mission?

"You! Twi'Lek!" someone shouted. "Stop right there!" Vanessa and the Gran whirled around. Three stormtroopers were standing there, blasters drawn.

"I…uh…I…" the Gran stammered.

"Put your hands up!" the lead trooper ordered. Vanessa and the Gran glanced at each other, then complied. Vanessa saw his hand briefly hover over the pocket where the datacard was.

"Search them!" the same trooper ordered her comrades. "Confiscate any weapons."

Before Vanessa had time to think, that redheaded human darted out of nowhere and shot all three stormtroopers in quick succession. The man-Vanessa could clearly see that he was male now-stopped in front of the Gran and saluted.

"The gig is up Lieutenant!" he exclaimed with a dissonantly cheerful tone. "We fight or we die!"

Before either of them could react, the redhead turned and ran off towards the southeast.

"Quayle!" the Gran shouted, again giving out his comrade's name to anyone listening. "Damn it! Quayle!"

Vanessa took out her blaster pistol. She hoped she had remembered to polish its galven tubing and clean out its firing chamber. "I think it's fair to assume they know who we are. We'll need to stick together if we want a chance of getting off this rock alive."

"But protocol-" protested her contact.

"Damn protocol to hell! Troopers be shootin' at us!" Vanessa snapped.

The Gran nodded and took out his blaster pistol.

"Do you think we have much of a chance?" he asked.

"Not likely." Vanessa said. "But I'd rather go down fighting."

---

Agent Isrua stepped out of the landspeeder and onto the cobblestone road leading into Memorial Plaza.

For some reason, at that moment she recalled her first official outing as an ISB agent. It had taken place sixteen years ago in an older neighborhood on the prosperous trade world Uviuy Exen. She was the junior agent assigned to the mission, serving under Inspector Russel Nottal, a former spymaster in Republic Intelligence who had worked behind enemy lines during the Clone Wars.

She and Nottal, accompanied by a squad of stormtroopers, had ridden out in a shiny new K79-S80 troop transport to a rare bookstore. Isrua, Nottal, and two troopers stepped into the shop and dragged the elderly Bothan owner out into the street. Then Nottal gave a sharp whistle, and three flametroopers emerged from the transport. They aimed their flamethrowers and set the bookstore on fire. The Bothan had pleaded with them to stop, trying in vain to impress upon them the importance of the knowledge they were erasing, but Nottal had just laughed.

"All we're erasing are unnecessary ideas and treasonous sentiments." Nottal had sneered. The Bothan shopkeeper then asked how they could do this without giving him a trial. Nottal considered this for a moment, then announced that since all evidence had been destroyed-here he gestured to the burning bookstore-there was nothing to put the Bothan on trial for. The pathetic alien's shoulders sagged in what Isrua supposed to have been a quiet relief. Then Nottal took out his shortsword and with one quick motion slit the alien's throat.

"Besides," Nottal had remarked as he wiped off the blood with the Bothan's own handkerchief, "carrying out the sentence right now is much more efficient."

Isrua was spellbound. So impressed with Nottal's genius, she had decided right then and there to devote her career to him. It was risky to deliberately choose to remain permanently in someone else's shadow, but Isrua had been confident staying at Nottal's side was the right choice. She served as his right hand for the next seven years, as he brilliantly exposed traitors and put the masses back in their place.

The venerable Colonel Yularen, endearingly referred to as 'the Old Man' by Security Bureau agents, reluctantly tolerated the zealous and brutal style with which Nottal ferreted out traitors and dissidents for eight years, until the infamous liquidation of Burtali City. Even without the Imperial Senate screeching in his ears Yularen would not have ignored how Nottal deliberately disobeyed direct orders in order to callously dispense his own interpretation of Imperial justice. The Old Man had Isrua demoted and Nottal hauled in front of a firing squad.

For her role in the Burtali Liquidation, Yularen made sure Isrua was all but thrown out of the Imperial Security Bureau. She spent the next eight years stationed on a succession of remote bases in the Expansion Region, her career stalled. Yularen had gone down with the Death Star, but Isrua's career was already stalled past the point of no return. Most promotions went to younger officers. She had requested a transfer after Yavin, but the best she was able to get were inspections of rimworld garrisons.

When the Empire received a tip from a source in the Hutt Cartel that rebel spies would be passing information on Ivort 4, Isrua had jumped at the chance to do something related to the war. Her superiors hadn't put much stock in the tip, but Isrua had hoped it was true.

And as luck would have it, it was!

Blaster shots could be heard across the square. Someone was fighting back against the stormtroopers.

"You hear that Captain?" she said to the local garrison commander, Captain Orsho. He was sitting in the seat next to her, his face very pale. He looked up at her. "There's fighting going on. There be rebels in this town of yours."

"I hope my men are okay…" Orsho muttered.

Isrua hopped out of the landspeeder. "Troopers!" she shouted at the nearby stormtroopers, still standing guard at the entrance. "Why are you still standing here? Move, dammit!"

Isrua's plan, dear reader-well actually, let's back up. Frankly, it would be charitable to even say there was much of a plan at all, really. As previously covered, the troopers and cops were deployed in a ring around Memorial Plaza. When Isrua gave the signal, they would all rush in. If Isrua had stopped to think, she would have realised that sending in one wave while holding back a second to maintain a perimeter to prevent the rebel spies from possibly escaping. Stacy had realised this, but was too afraid of irritating an ISB agent to raise the issue. Bansoro had realised this, but knew better than to try and offer advice to an ISB agent. Jonium had realised this, but had no intention of correcting the mistake of someone who had treated him like shit. Even Captain Orsho had realised this, and had nearly worked up the courage to point it out before Isrua gave the order to charge.

But Isrua had spent the better part of the past decade out of field service, and even before then, she had only really been executing plans developed by Russel Nottal. She was far too eager to catch the rebel spies and save her long dead career.

The lead trooper, the one who had shouted the order to freeze, turned to face Isrua.

"Ma'am," he said. "Our blasters are jammed."

"The hell do you mean they jammed?" Isrua snapped. "They're blasters! They work or they don't!"

(In the heat of the moment, it did not occur to Isrua that not working was precisely what a blaster being jammed meant)

"Ma'am, they're jammed." the trooper repeated, having to raise his voice to be heard over the screaming crowd. Many civilians were already stampeding towards the plaza's exits while the stormtroopers and policemen tried to shove their way through the crowd. Some were already rushing past Isrua in the northwest entrance.

"Well-"

At that moment several shots were fired. Two stormtroopers went down.

"What the hell?" screamed Captain Orsho.

A redheaded human man with an eyepatch appeared out of the crowd, grinning madly. He fired several more shots, each killing a stormtrooper.

The three remaining troopers reacted instantly. They threw their useless blasters to the side and rushed the attacker. The lead trooper, the one who Isrua had been berating, was clipped in the gut by a blast and fell to the ground, somehow still alive. The next one was eliminated with a shot to the head. The third trooper made it to the rebel and slugged him in the stomach. The man stumbled backwards and fell. The stormtrooper kicked him in his groin-a mistake, for he should have knocked the rebel's blaster away. The rebel picked up his weapon and shot the trooper in their groin.

He got up and limped away back into the plaza.

Isrua and Captain Orsho gaped.

"What…the hell was that?" Orsho said, dropping any pretense of being a professional military officer.

---

Ferb was trying not to panic.

They're going to lock you up again...Heinz has found you...they're going to lock you up again...Heinz has found you…

His hand was inside his jacket pocket, fingers wrapped around his blaster pistol. It was a risk to take a blaster with him when he stepped off his ship, as under the Empire private ownership of weapons was so heavily regulated that it may as well have been illegal. Ferb had decided that it was safer to be able to defend himself, and the sudden appearance of Imperial soldiers in the plaza was proving him right.

Deep breaths...focus, focus.

Ferb saw a stormtrooper run in his direction. Panicking, he pulled out his pistol and fired off three blasts. The first missed and the second only clipped the stormtrooper on their shoulder, but the third hit them square in the chest.

"Over there!" a trooper shouted. Ferb whirled around. Three more stormtroopers were standing next to the war memorial, blasted aimed right at him. Ferb fired off a few shots, but his hands were shaking and he missed. He did succeed in hitting the blaster on the memorial, knocking it off. In the coming days, a few witty fellows would quip that the dwarf had gotten a sex change operation and now identified as a transgender woman.

The stormtroopers fired at Ferb. Ferb yelped and moved to dodge the blaster shots. He fired in the general direction of the Imperial troopers, clipping one on the shoulder.

Suddenly, a Quarren came flying through the air! He landed on the troopers. A second later, an alien with large, floppy ears, eyes on stalks, and an elongated face resembling a rubber beak-a Gungan, Ferb realised-appeared. The Gungan roared and moved towards the Quarren and immobilised troopers. Then a stun blast caught the belligerent alien in the back and he fell unconscious to the ground.

A human man ran up and helped the Quarren to his feet.

"Hey!" one of the stormtroopers shouted as all three stood back up. The human shot them and then their two comrades. The third trooper was hit in their left arm, but they still were able to fire off a shot that clipped the human's shoulder before another blast took them down.

"Hey!" Ferb shouted, his mouth seeming to move faster than his brain was thinking. "H-Hey!" He waved to the human and Quarren. They turned towards him. Ferb started to run towards the duo, but he wasn't looking where he was going and slammed into a large Nikto. The Nikto, wearing a shirt that said in large High Galactic lettering "GALAXY'S BEST FARTER" and then in a smaller font "Er, I mean Father", cursed at Ferb in Huttese. Ferb ignored him and ran off without apologising.

Ferb didn't know why he was running towards the two men. He had no clue who they were or what they were doing.

What Ferb did know was that the Force was whispering in his ear that he was on the right path. Path to what, who knew? But with his survival instincts having fully taken over, knowing he was on the right path was enough.

"Eh?" the Quarren turned. "Kid, what the-"

"Stop right there!" a voice shouted. Another stormtrooper, leading a group consisting of seven more Imperial troopers and a couple policemen, was there. All were pointing their blasters at the group. "Hands up!"

"Now!" one of the policemen, a stocky Rodian, shouted. The human man and the Quarren looked at each other, before glancing over to Ferb, and then exchanging a look again. Two blaster shots were fired and hit the lead stormtrooper in the chest. He fell dead to the ground.

"There!" one of the other stormtroopers shouted, pointing. A red-headed human man, with an eyepatch, stood there grinning madly. The plaza was mostly cleared of civilians by this point so there was little doubt that it was he who had fired the shots. The man shrieked with laughter and took off running, firing shots over his shoulder as he ran.

"Quayle!" the Quarren shouted. "Damn you, Quayle!"

"After him!"

Four stormtroopers and both policemen took off after the Quayle person. The other human seized the opportunity to start firing at the remaining troopers. After a second both Ferb and the Quarren joined in.

One blast caught the Quarren in his left shoulder. Ferb ran forward and caught him as he fell.

"You all right?" Ferb asked.

"Who the kriffing hell are you?" the Quarren asked, still firing off shots in the general direction of the Imperial soldiers.

"My name's Fe...my name is Coryn Polo," Ferb said. "I have no love of the Empire!"

"Heh." the human said. "Based."

The last of the stormtroopers in their immediate vicinity fell.

"Can we trust you?" the human said.

"The way things are right now, Private, doesn't look like we have much of a choice." the human grunted. "We're surrounded by Imperials. We need all the help we can get."

"Are you-are you with th-the Rebellion?" Ferb asked.

"You could say that." the human grinned. "Tell me, Coryn Polo. Why do you hate the Empire?"

"My family...we were taken prisoner." Ferb said. "I was lucky enough to escape."

It was the truth, more or less. Just with most of the details left out.

"Sergeant!" a man's voice shouted. All three of them turned. A purple-skinned Twi'lek lady and a male Gran were approaching them.

"Lieutenant!" the human saluted. The Gran and the Twi'lek woman reached the trio.

"They clearly knew we were coming." the Gran said. "We have the datacard, but as for getting out of here-"

"With all these Imperials around we'll be lucky to make it out of the plaza," the Quarren said glumly. "Not to mention out of the city and back to the ship."

"We're not going down without a fight!" the Gran insisted, firing off a stun blast. Ferb turned as much as he could while still shouldering the Quarren. He saw a policewoman-the same policewoman he had seen next to the ATM-slumped to the ground.

"Why just a stun blast?" Ferb asked. "Doesn't matter if she's only a local, she's still an enemy."

The Gran turned to look at Ferb. "Who the fuck is this?"

"Corn Polor." the Quarren said.

"Coryn Polo," Ferb corrected irritably. "I have no love of the Empire."

"Is that so?" the Gran said.

"They imprisoned my family."

"Well now-" the Gran started to say, but he was cut short by blasterfire from stormtroopers and police department cop-droids. He, the human, and the Twi'lek all ducked and returned fire. Ferb and the Quarren tried to fire back as well, but with the former supporting the latter, it wasn't easy.

A blaster shot caught the Gran in his torso and he fell down. The human shot the trooper who had fired the blast, and then knelt down beside the Gran.

"Sir!"

"Ah," the Gran said. "Dank ferrik, those Imptard bastards got me."

He shoved his hand into a pocket and pulled at a small datacard, then handed it to the human.

"Mosk." the Gran said. "Make…make sure that gets to the General."

"Lieutenant!" the human-Mosk?-shouted. "Sir, hold on!"

"No, no," the Gran lieutenant said. "I'd just slow you down. Get the datacard to General Fenwhudn. That's an order from your commanding officer."

Just then the Twi'lek girl turned and shot a trooper who was moving towards them.

The Lieutenant reached into a pocket and pulled out a small rubber capsule.

"Cyanide pill." the Quarren, still leaning on Ferb for support, said quietly. "So we can't get captured and tortured for information by the enemy."

The Gran popped the pill into his mouth and swallowed it. Less than fifteen seconds later he choked and lay still.

The human stared at him, then grimaced and looked away.

"We're exposed here." he said. "We need to get to cover."

"We need to get out of the plaza." The Twi'lek woman said. She then turned and fired at a cop-droid advancing towards them, taking it down.

"Still too many enemies." The Quarren said, standing up. "We'd never make it out."

"I'll hold them off!" someone exclaimed. The group turned to see the eyepatch-wearing redhead standing on the war memorial. He was breathing heavily.

"Quayle, you-" Mosk began to say.

"Go, sarge!" Quayle said. "I'll stay and hold them off!"

"But-" Mosk said.

"Someone…someone has to stay behind." Quayle said. "I have the best chance of keeping them stuck here for the longest time possible."

"Fair enough." Mosk said. "You three, blasters ready. On my signal, we run!"

Ferb, the Quarren, and the Twi'lek nodded.

"Now!"

The four of them darted out from the cover of the statue. The plaza was nearly empty now.

Six stormtroopers and a cop-droid were standing near the entrance the group was running towards. Both they and the Imperials opened fire. Ferb heard a blaster bolt whizz by his ear.

The cop-droid, being simply a machine and not a person, charged in front of the stormtroopers to give them cover. Ferb and the Twi'lek girl fired directly at it while Mosk and the Quarren man tried to shoot at the troopers hiding behind it.

It took four direct hits for the droid to fall down to the pavement. Only one of the stormtroopers had been killed when it fell, still leaving the group with five Imperials to deal with.

Well, four. Ferb hit the lead trooper with a blast that was aimed at where the cop-droid had been standing right as it hit the ground.

"Eat lasers, you Imptard bastards!" Mosk shouted while firing his blaster. He hit the closest trooper right in the chest, killing the Imperial soldier instantly.

The Twi'lek girl launched herself at the two remaining stormtroopers with a war cry, kicking one down and shooting the other in the neck. The final trooper stood back up, but fell to a blaster shot from the Quarren.

Blaster fire, from behind them and to the right, nearly hit Ferb and the Quarren. They turned-a Khil police officer and a stormtrooper were running towards them. Ferb reacted quickly and started firing, catching the stormtrooper's left leg. The stormtrooper lost their footing and fell into the Khil police officer, sending both falling to the ground. The police officer stood back up but a stun blast from the Quarren knocked him down.

Ferb wanted to protest again that an enemy was an enemy, even if they were only local law enforcement and not Imperial soldiers, but he decided to hold his tongue until they were out of danger.

They reached the edge of Memorial Plaza. There was no one in sight-it seemed civilians had begun vacating the streets. Curiously, there were no other policemen or stormtroopers either.

"Where..w-where do...do we go?" the Quarren asked, panting.

"The sewers." the Twi'lek woman said. "I brought a map of them just in case something went wrong."

"Where is the nearest entrance?" Mosk asked.

"There's one just a few blocks down."

"Let's go." he replied.

They took off again.

---

Quayle pulled the trigger and shot a cop-droid. Like always, his aim was true.

I must pause the story once more and explain to you, friend reader, the nature of Quayle's combat abilities. Quayle, to put it simply, had a degree of force sensitivity. Not to the point that he would have been accepted as a Jedi trainee in the days of the Old Republic, but enough that when he fired his blaster he almost never missed the mark. That alone would not be enough, for raw talent does not equal skill. But Quayle had trained for years, longing for the day when he would be able to take revenge against the Empire, and as a result he was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield.

Several policemen and stormtroopers were running towards him while firing their blasters. Good. He was keeping their attention on him, and not his comrades.

Quayle fired back. One of the cops threw a small sphere at him-a grenade! Reacting with inhuman speed, Quayle jumped up and kicked the grenade back at the crowd of enemy soldiers.

The grenade that Quayle had deflected back was not an explosive-those would not be issued to a police department-but a G-20 Glop Grenade. Upon impact G-20s, or "gloppies" as they were colloquially known to police officers across the galaxy, would release a rapidly-expanding foam that would instantly harden upon reaching the limits of its growth.

The grenade knocked into the ground. In less than ten seconds, a mass of green foam had exploded into existence, catching two stormtroopers and a young policeman. Exclamations of confusion and shock quickly became alarm and horror as they realised that they were now firmly rooted to the spot where they stood.

Quayle giggled nastily and shot down three stormtroopers who weren't caught in the G-20's foam. That left a Zabrak policewoman, a cop-droid, and one trooper.

A blaster bolt from the policewoman hit Quayle's left leg. While lesser men (or saner men, as perhaps you or I or anyone else who isn't Quayle would say) would have screamed in agony, Quayle just yelped like a puppy some bastard kicked. The Zabrak barely had time to register that she had landed a shot before Quayle sent a laser through her skull. Having to limp around while barely dodging blaster bolts meant it took Quayle six shots before the cop-droid went down. He shot one of the immobilised stormtroopers in the chest and launched himself at the sole remaining trooper who hadn't been caught in the G-20 grenade's blast. The two fell and began wrestling each other. The Imperial trooper fired off a shot straight up in the air, and in the confusion Quayle slipped his vibroknife into the gap between the chest plate and the helmet.

"GAH!" the trooper shouted as he died. Once he was still Quayle stood up, only to be shot in the left shoulder by a blast from the living stormtrooper who was caught in the foam. Quayle snarled and shot the Imperial soldier. Then he turned to the young policeman still trapped in the G-20 grenade's residue. His left leg, up to the knee, was caught.

The poor fellow cared not for the politics of Empire and rebellion. Jack V. Lidt'sio-Thwacken, for that was his name, had simply wanted to serve his community. His adoptive fathers had been so proud when he graduated from the Mubonian Law Enforcement Academy three months prior.

He had dropped his blaster in shock when the G-20 grenade hit the ground near him, and it had been swallowed by the foam. Jack then tried to open the pocket in his utility belt where the solvent meant to dissolve the foam-used to free immobilised suspects so they could be taken in for questioning-was kept. However, the young man was so nervous that when Quayle started firing he jolted and threw the container. It had flown through the air and landed just outside of his reach. He had been trying in vain to pick it up when Quayle tackled the stormtrooper. He nearly started crying then.

Jack had only just opened his mouth to scream when a shot from Quayle's blaster tore through his skull.

Quayle was breathing heavily now. His injuries were starting to get to him and the adrenalin rush would probably wear off soon.

You may find Quayle's feats a bit hard to believe and I can sympathize with that. When The Author first went over the skirmish in Mann City with me, I vocally objected to the battle as wholly unrealistic and accused him of lying to me.

"Quite frankly," said I, "To present such obvious fiction as fact would mean I am failing in my duties as The Narrator."

However, while later accompanying The Author on one of his usual fact-finding missions I would have the privilege of personally witnessing Quayle in a fight. So I can trust that The Author was not exaggerating when he described the skirmish in Mann City to me, and therefore I am sure I am not lying to you.

Now we must briefly switch focus to Agent Isrua and Captain Orsho, who had gathered unto them the remaining dozen or so stormtroopers and were preparing to restore order to the plaza. They were on the opposite side of the war memorial from Quayle.

"Set blasters to stun," Isrua ordered. "I want to take one alive for interrogation. A promotion to he who brings me a living rebel!"

Orsho lagged behind. He was out of breath and nearing a state of panic.

Quayle, who had limped to hide behind the war memorial, saw them.

When he saw Isrua there, in her white ISB uniform, he growled.

He remembered the white uniforms. It was the white uniforms who had arrested him for not falling in line and letting the Empire make all the decisions. It was the white uniforms who had tortured him for days and left him a broken wreck.

Quayle hated the white uniforms.

Quayle had spent long hours practicing and perfecting the art of knife-throwing. When he threw the vibroknife, it landed right where he intended it to-Isrua's abdomen.

Isrua screeched when the knife sunk into her flesh. A patch of bright red was already growing in size on her torso. The stormtroopers tried to fire back at Quayle, but he had already ducked back behind the statue. One trooper grabbed Isrua as she fell.

Quayle popped back out to fire off blaster shots at the troopers, killing two and wounding one.

Captain Orsho, officer's pistol at the ready, ran up to Isrua, who had been gently laid on the ground.

"Star's end!" he exclaimed. "Agent, ma'am! Agent Isrua! Oh shit, oh shit, oh fuck! Fuck!"

"She's losing a lot of blood," said the stormtrooper who had caught Isrua. "We need to-AUGH!" He was cut short when a shot from Quayle tore through his head, killing him instantly. Captain Orsho almost threw up.

Quayle was feeling dizzy. There were too many troopers close by for him to be able to dispatch them all. He was starting to miss more. His wounds were getting to him.

He was in quite the hopeless situation.

He had known he wouldn't escape Memorial Plaza, but it still felt scary to be in this position. Quayle wanted to go out fighting and die in a blaze of glory. But he couldn't die yet, not when the General needed him.

But if he were taken prisoner, the Imperials might torture him for information. He could not let that happen.

Desperate times called for desperate measures. Quayle took out a second vibroknife, strapped around his left thigh. Grimacing, Quayle took the knife...and sliced off his tongue!

If he couldn't pronounce any words, it would be a hell of a lot harder for the white uniforms and other Imperials to get any information out of him.

Blood was gushing out of his mouth now. Quayle could barely raise his hand to aim the blaster. He couldn't see well. The adrenaline had long worn off. Quayle lost consciousness and fell to the ground.

Across the plaza, Isrua too had lost consciousness as well. Quayle's vibroknife had sliced open an artery, and she was losing a lot of blood. While she was still awake, she had entered a delirious state. Isrua believed she was reliving a mission to Commenor she had gone on with Agent Nottal fourteen years ago, to brutally deal with communists protesting the poor working conditions in a Sienar Fleet Systems plant. Captain Orsho was extremely unnerved when she started crying, cheering, and incoherently praising him under the mistaken impression that he was Agent Nottal, back from the dead.

Isrua would die of blood loss before first light the next morning. Though she was a sadistic fascist thug, an unrepentant bigot, and generally an unpleasant woman, I must inform you that her ISB wages had gone a long way to providing for the care of her elderly mother.

Quayle's unconscious body would be taken by the stormtroopers to a medical facility in the Imperial complex. Stacy would order him to receive surgery so he would survive until interrogation, and he was imprisoned in the complex's detention center.

---

Mas Amedda, Sate Pestage, and Harus Ison strolled across a catwalk suspended above an atrium in the Imperial Palace. Advisor Kren Blista-Vanee, wearing his trademark dark robe and floppy hat, followed behind them. The four were tailed by a silent pair of scarlet-robed Royal Guardsmen.

The Ruling Council had met in a luxurious conference room adjacent to the Emperor's main throne room. Emperor Palpatine himself had been in attendance, a rare event. They had discussed various top-level clearance subjects: the new Death Star, the various expeditions into the Unknown Regions, further exploration of the Deep Core (this was of particular interest to Kren Blista-Vanee), Imperial Governors whose loyalty or competence was in question, shakeups in the power structure of COMPNOR, the fighting in the Mid Rim, and the resource shortages and logistical issues faced across the Empire as a result of the war (Tilas Magore had several intelligent solutions regarding the last of these. For all that the man lacked in political acumen, Blista-Vanee had to admit he was a brilliant administrator). Despite the meeting's secretive nature and high-ranking attendees, the topics had been relatively mundane.

For all the pomp and circumstance associated with the Imperial Ruling Council, its members were usually relegated to handling only the top-level administrative and political issues. But the deeper secrets of the Empire, ancient Sith lore, Palpatine's long-term machinations…

Mas Amedda and Sate Pestage were in the know, of course. Lord Vader was probably aware of most of the Emperor's secrets. He considered it likely that Director Isard of Imperial Intelligence and most Ubiqtorate personnel were kept apprised of a good many things. Blista-Vanee suspected that the awful fellow, the Master Pulling Augustine, was also aware of quite a few things which he and the other councilmen were not.

This had long irritated him. Surely after his years of dedicated service, he was considered competent and loyal enough. How else could he run the Empire if he did not know everything that was going on?

The group reached the far end of the catwalk and passed into a wide chamber with a window on the left side which gave them a view of the Coruscant cityscape.

On the far side of the room, a young officer who Kren Blista-Vanee knew to be a Lieutenant in the Ubiqtorate was waiting for them. When he saw their group, he walked towards them. Blista-Vanee remembered how he knew the man. His name was Lieutenant Maximillian Vox, and he was the author of several reports about possible strategies for retaking Naboo which had ended up on Blista-Vanee's desk.

"Director Ison," Vox said. "I have the files on Belsavis the Emperor requested." Vox handed what looked like a couple datadiscs to Ison.

Blista-Vanee raised an eyebrow. Vox had unwittingly given him an opening.

"What does the Emperor need to know about Belsavis?" he asked.

Pestage, Ison, Amedda, and Lieutenant Vox turned to look at him.

"That is the Emperor's concern, not yours, advisor." Pestage said curtly. Pestage rarely got along with anyone who was not the Emperor. It had always rubbed him the wrong way that Amedda was Grand Vizier while he was merely Deputy Vizier, and Pestage took out his frustrations in mild, petty digs at those below him.

"I was merely curious as to why His Excellency was interested in Belsavis," Blista-Vanee said slowly. "As I recall, the Jedi holdouts there were taken care of well over a decade ago. Nothing on that planet but glaciers now."

"Perhaps the Emperor considers himself to be an amateur glaciologist." Mas Amedda said dryly.

"It's none of your business anyway." Pestage muttered.

"Belsavis…" Blista-Vanee said, acting as if he was searching his memory. "That's where that nasty business with the Katsuragi Expedition went down, wasn't it?"

Ison's eyes widened and Pestage's mouth fell open. Mas Amedda only raised an eyebrow, and Lieutenant Vox kept a neutral expression.

"How do you know about the Katsuragi Expedition?" Ison blurted out. "That's-"

"That's classified information, but not entirely off limits to someone of Kren's station." Mas Amedda said slowly.

"Still, Advisor Blista-Vanee would have had to do quite some digging to uncover even the existence of the Katsuragi Expedition, let alone the fact that it was on Belsavis." Pestage said.

"True, true," Amedda said. "Tell me what else you know."

"I know it's connected to the enigmatic Project E."

"Careful, advisor." Ison warned. "You're digging a bit too deep. "

"Are you threatening a member of the Ruling Council?" Blista-Vanee said indignantly.

"Just a word of caution was all," Ison replied calmly.

"Anything else you know?"

"That's all." Blista-Vanee replied truthfully.

"Don't go poking around where you don't belong, Kren." Amedda warned. "If the Emperor felt you should know something, you would know it."

Blista-Vanee lowered his head in a gesture of respect. "Of course, Grand Vizier."

He parted ways with the rest of the group not too long after.

The hangar bay where the Ruling Council's luxury speeders were kept faced a large landing field outside the Imperial Palace. When Kren Blista-Vanee arrived, he saw several Gozanti-class cruisers and a couple Harbinger courier ships, along with scores of TIE fighters, parked there.

Arostia, Blista-Vanee's chauffeur, was a tall human woman with short, dark hair and bronze skin. He had messaged her personal comm to let her know he was coming, and she had already completed the pre-flight checklist by the time he arrived.

"How was the conference milord?" she asked.

"Not bad," he replied. "Can't tell you what we discussed, of course. All tip-top secret, highly classified stuff."

"Are the other councilmen well?"

Blista-Vanee laughed bitterly. "Unfortunately, yes."

"Was Greejatus as bad as usual?"

"Fantasizing about wrapping my fingers around his neck and watching him slowly die is what helps me sleep at night, have I ever told you that?"

"I believe you've mentioned it, sir." Arostia said neutrally. In fact, Kren Blista-Vanee regularly talked at length about daydreams which focused on giving Janus Greejatus a long and violent death. Arostia had at first been very put off by the candor with which her employer discussed his violent fantasies, but had decided it must've been cathartic for him and eventually grew used to it.

Besides, from what she knew Janus Greejatus probably deserved to die in such a manner.

---

The Leukish council held in-person meetings in the dining room of a Tenloss Syndicate complex on one of the northern continents of the planet Sperin, in the Baijic sector. Through the inch-thick windows the council members could see a thunderstorm raging outside. It was midsummer on that part of Sperin, and the morning's overcast sky had naturally opened into a downpour sometime after lunch.

At the head of the table was the Tenloss Syndicate's leader, a light-skinned human man with neatly-kept brown hair. Dressed in a suit and tie, he was known as Bandar Tenloss. He looked around at the other eleven council members. It was uncommon but not outright rare for them to be assembled all together in one place.

To his immediate right was Boss Emilio, a green-skinned Duros who was wearing a loose-fitting orange tunic made of fine aeien silk. On the man's left was Julia Polomiq, a grey-skinned humanoid who had three mouths and eight red eyes embedded in sunken sockets. She wore no clothes-her species' anatomy differed enough from that of the baseline humanoid species so she could go nude, as she would on her homeworld, without offending or discomforting her colleagues. Sitting at the other end of the conference table was Savoy, the muscled human man who was in charge of Ororo Transportation. In between Savoy and Emilo and Julia were the eight other bosses and syndicate guildsmen. Everyone sitting at the table had been personally recruited into the Syndicate by the man called Bandar many years before.

Many criminal organizations in the galaxy were analogous to large machines which had been turned on long ago but kept running automatically, powered by the greed and vice and sadism of their members. The current bosses would eventually die and be replaced by the meanest and most ambitious of their henchmen, and so the criminal groups would continue to live on. The Tenloss Syndicate was one of the rarer cartels with a more dedicated purpose and clearer allegiance to a single man.

Currently, Boss Uhsotey, a Zabrak sitting two seats down from Emilo, was going on about his experience at the negations between Black Sun, the B'rappio Cartel, the Tenloss Syndicate, the Cularin Syndicate, and the Red Dragon Crime Syndicate. The man called Bandar did not listen. Uhsotey had already discussed the summit with him in private; summarizing the negotiations now was for the benefit of the other council members.

Bandar Tenloss was not his birth name, though at this point it was as much his real name as any other name he'd used over the years. He adopted and shed identities as was required. The only designation that truly, accurately captured who he was was his title-his real title: The Director. Anything else was simply another role the Director was playing.

Uhsotey finished his presentation and sat down. Boss Ifstel made a general inquiry about the Red Dragon's involvement in the Crymorrah's operations in the Expansion Region, and Boss Emilo launched into a lengthy overview of the two syndicates' activities in that region of the galaxy.

The Director allowed himself to relax and drift away. Most of this was information he already knew, and Emilo would keep as him abreast of anything else.

Before he knew it, the meeting was over. Time passed quickly for the Director; hours felt more like minutes from his perspective. Now it was only him, his bodyguard Ben, and Emilo left.

"Been awhile since the entire Leukish was all together," Emilo remarked. "It's been what-four, five months?"

"Four and a half," Ben said. Ben's complexion, hairstyle, and outfit were similar to his boss's, though his hair was black instead of brown and his sport jacket was fully buttoned instead of hanging open.

"Things are proceeding according to your plans," Emilo said. Out of all the Leukish councilmen, he was the only one aware of what was really going on.

"Yes." the Director said quietly.

Emilo walked to the liquor cabinet on the far side of the room. He poured himself a small glass of toniray, an Alderaanian wine. With Alderaan destroyed and the Empire hunting down the offworld survivors, even such tiny amounts of Alderaanian liquor already cost more credits than most sentients could ever hope to see in their lifetime.

The Director wondered how much Emilo had spent on the toniray. As part of a well-designed charade meant to convince the other syndicates there was nothing too special about the Tenloss Syndicate, Emilo-to outward observers a minor councilman rather than the true right hand man of 'Bandar Tenloss' inside the Syndicate-acted as a triple agent feeding information (sometimes real, usually fabricated) to the Rang clan, Black Sun, and the Zann Consortium. Emilo naturally raked in a fair amount of bribes from this; the Director suspected that was how he could afford Alderaanian wine.

"Mm." the Director mumbled. "Gentlemen, I'll retire to my office now."

Emilo nodded. The Director got up and left the conference chamber, with Ben following him. The two men walked through a dimly-lit hallway towards a turbolift.

"Reports have come in from our recent investigations on Dantooine, Handooine, Belsavis, and Triewahl." Ben said.

"I'll look over them later," the Director said quietly.

"They're already on your desk." Ben said.

The two of them stopped outside the turbolift. Ben pressed the button. Neither said anything in the two-and-a-half minutes it took for the elevator to arrive. When it did, they entered.

The turbolift was spacious and carpeted. The ride up was quick, and the two men stepped out into the atrium on the complex's twenty-sixth floor.

Another five minutes of walking, and they were outside the Director's office. They entered.

"Lights." the Director said, just loudly enough so that the droid brain managing his office's lighting, air conditioning, and security systems could pick up his words on its auditory sensors.

Nothing happened.

"Lights?" Ben said, confusion apparent in his voice. Again, nothing.

"Lights." the Director repeated, a little louder this time. Once more, nothing happened. "Hmm, must be malfunctioning. Ben, go try the manual switch."

Before Ben could walk over, the lights switched on.

The Director raised an eyebrow in surprise, and Ben swore: sitting at the Director's desk was a human woman, with blonde hair, sunglasses on her eyes, and light skin, arms crossed over her chest and legs up on the table.

Ben moved in front of the Director and pulled out his blaster. The Blonde Woman lazily reached out a hand. The blaster flew out of Ben's grip, across the room, and was caught by the intruder.

"Fuck, she has Force powers!" Ben exclaimed, already pulling his vibroknife out of its sheath and preparing to charge the Blonde Woman. The Director held up a hand.

"Ben! She and I go…way back," he said. "It's fine."

Ben scowled, but put his knife back in the sheath. He stayed in front of the Director however.

"Who is she?" Ben growled.

"A…an old friend of mine,"

"Is she a messenger from the Parliament?" Ben asked.

The Blonde Woman smiled. "Not exactly," she said.

"Though I'd wager she's here on their business." The Director said. He walked over. "Give me my fucking desk back."

She obliged and relinquished the chair. He sat down, took a washcloth out of a drawer, and began wiping down the desk.

"Oh, come on." the Blonde Woman complained. "My boots are not that dirty."

"They were still on my fucking desk."

"I wiped them off when I came in!"

"Speaking of that…" Ben said. "How the fuck did you make it all the way in here?"

"Your little compound is secure," she said calmly. "But not that secure."

"How the fuck did-" Ben growled.

"Ben." the Director held up a hand. Ben turned towards his boss.

"If there's a security risk, we need to know!"

The Director smiled. "We could plug one hole, then she'd just find another."

Ben sat down on one of the two couches in the center of the room. The intruder looked around and then sat down on the couch opposite Ben, her legs crossed.

"Why are you here?" the Director asked.

She frowned. "Did you hear anything about what went down on Kamino?"

"Whispers here and there." the Director replied. "The Fletcher boy escaped?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Well, that's preferable to the alternative," he said. "Any lead on where he is?"

"He was last spotted on Ord Mantell a few months back."

Ben snorted. "Just about everyone passes through Ord Mantell at some point. That tells us jack shit about where he's going or what he's doing."

The woman's eyes narrowed. "What exactly do you know about Ferb Fletcher?"

Ben grinned. "I know quite a lot, lady."

She turned to the Director. "Are you telling him too much?"

"I'm telling him as much as he needs to know to do his job."

The Blonde Woman snorted. "That's more than you ever fucking did for me."

"What're you talking about?"

"That time on Umbara?"

"Which time on Umbara?"

"You know damn well which time."

"Oh come on, you can't still be sore about that!"

"I have every right to be, but that's not important right now. We have bigger things to worry about."

"Like?"

The Blonde Woman laughed mirthlessly. "Oh where do I start? Howell's sinking his teeth further and further into the underworld."

"I'm aware of what Howell and 4CG are up to. In case you've forgotten, publicly I am Bandar Tenl-"

"Yes, yes, you like to play at being the head of your own little crime family."

"Hey!" Ben snapped. "Show some respect!"

She ignored him and continued. "Oh, and Da Goffs are active again! Then there's the rebel incursion into the Mid Rim, and Palpatine's new Death Star. Mr. Gaange was spotted on Jocal Four. And of course, the…enemy is making moves now. With Fletcher on the run…" She adjusted her sunglasses slightly. This caught Ben's attention. He leaned forward.

"Why are you wearing sunglasses indoors?" he asked her. "Or for that matter, why would you even need sunglasses when there's no sun outside? It's been storming for around three hours now, and it was overc-it was already overcast this morning."

She shrugged. "I was sitting in the dark wearing them before you walked in and didn't have any problems."

Ben glared at her in bewilderment, but just leaned back into the couch and crossed his arms rather than offer a retort.

"I want you to redirect your information-gathering arm to keep a lookout for Fletcher." she said to the Director.

"Is that a request from an old friend, or an order sent down from on high by the Parliament?" he replied.

She stood up. "You can take your pick. Just do it."

The Director raised an eyebrow. "Leaving already?"

"Oh, are your feelings hurt that I'm not staying longer?"

"Not at all." said the Director. "Just curious where you're going."

"Not that you particularly need to know…" the Blonde Woman said. "But I'm heading to Nar Shaddaa, to parley with the Yellow Devil."

Ben stiffened and the Director's eyes widened.

"Good luck." the Director said seriously.

"You'll fuckin' need it," Ben muttered.

"Don't…don't get hurt." the Director said quietly.

The Blonde Woman chuckled. "I won't." She started to walk out, but paused and turned.

"Oh, by the way…how are the games going?"

The Director stood up quickly and walked over to the side of the room opposite where the Blonde Woman had been sitting.

"Computer, activate all game boards."

Nothing happened.

"Oh, your computer is still disabled." she said. She leaned over his desk and tapped a few keys on the desktop monitor's keyboard. "Sorry."

"I don't like her fiddling around with your stuff," Ben grumbled to the Director, who gestured for him to lay off.

"Computer, activate all game boards." the Director repeated.

"Gameboards activating," a robotic, vaguely feminine, voice said through a speaker. Several hologame boards flickered to life. One board had a game of moebius, one had a game of shogi, two displayed dejarik matches, three had shah-tezh, and two showed chess boards. The Blonde Woman walked over to inspect them and frowned.

"These…these haven't changed at all! They're exactly the same as the last time I dropped in."

"That's not true!" the Director protested, folding his arms and scowling. "Computer, back me up!"

"He lost his Ng'ok on dejarik board two, and briefly ended up in check on chess board one!" the computer said.

"Ha! You're getting sloppy!" the Blonde Woman teased. "Should I recommend you be replaced?"

"Don't even joke about that," the Director said coolly. "And what the computer didn't tell you-and Ben can back me up on this-was that I put myself in check on that particular board taking out a bishop."

"It's true, he did." Ben said without turning around.

"That's a little risky," she said. "Exposing your king like that just to take out your opponent's piece."

"Very risky!" the computer teased. "Perhaps he doesn't really know how to play?"

"You shut the hell up," the Director snapped at the computer. He turned back to the Blonde Woman and shrugged. "The game was growing stale. Sometimes a little risk reaps rewards."

"Hmm." the Blonde Woman said. "You would think that."

"Yes." the Director said. "Yes I would."

No one said anything for ten more seconds.

"Besides…" the Director continued. "In a situation like the one we're in, we don't have the luxury of choosing when we can and can't strike. We have to hit when we can."

"Hmm." The woman said. "Indeed." She began walking to the door. "Goodbye. It was good to see you again."

"It…it was good to see you too." the Director said. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"Mmm." the Blonde Woman said. She stopped and turned towards Ben. "Oh, you wanted to know how I got in."

Ben's scowl deepened. "Yes, I would appreciate it if you'd explain."

"I disabled the ray shield in a maintenance tunnel passing directly underneath one of your ground level storage rooms."

"Which one?" he growled.

The Blonde Woman smiled. "I think you're better off checking them all. One can never be too safe, after all."

Ben angrily stood up, but the Director raised a hand.

"Let her go." the Director ordered. Ben grimaced but complied and sat back down.

"Computer, turn off game boards." the Director said.

The holographic board games disappeared. "Afraid to try making a move right now?" the computer teased. The Director said nothing and walked back to his seat.

"Do you think the Parliament's getting antsy?" Ben asked.

"Almost certainly," the Director said quietly. He glanced in Ben's direction. "Are you still angry?"

Ben was sitting back on the couch, looking at the door. He sniffed. "A bit."

"Hmm." the Director murmured. "Anger is an interesting thing once you think about it, isn't it?"

Ben was confused. "Boss?"

"Mmm. Benjamin, how would you define anger?"

"Sir?" Ben said. "Well, uh, you're angry. Like, someone fucked you over. He didn't pay you back what he owed you. So it, erm, pisses you off. Like, a lot." The Director didn't respond and Ben wondered if there was some correct answer his boss was looking for. "That's how I'd define anger."

"I see." the Director said. "But why do people get angry?"

Ben wasn't sure what to say.

"I suppose because people who wronged you need to know they've wronged you. That's why you get angry."

"So you would say anger is an attempt to communicate how you feel?" the Director posited.

"I…I guess, sir."

"People do crave the understanding of others, after all." the Director muttered, only half-talking to Ben at this point. "From a certain point of view, anger is a natural expression of that desire."

"Uh…yes sir."

"We want people to understand that whatever it is they did was, at least from our point of view, wrong. That is anger. Tell me Benjamin. Why were you angry?"

Ben looked at the floor. "She's sitting in here like she owns the fucking place. She gives you no respect!"

"Mm." the Director said. "And you wanted her to understand-"

"I wanted her to understand she was trespassing!" Ben said. "I take a lot of pride in my work, and she stepped all over that! She walks in here and treats you with no respect."

"As you've stated." the Director said quietly. "She was also dismissive towards you, yet you seem to take more offense at her disrespectful attitude towards myself."

Ben decided to change the subject. "By the way, from what we know-this report is already on your desk-the Eva series is nearing the end of its test stage."

"Yes." the Director said.

"They will likely be deployed soon."

"Yes."

"Things are moving very fast." Ben said.

"Without the Jedi Order, the galaxy spirals further and further into chaos every day." the Director said sadly. "The so-called Emperor upset the galactic order more than people think by forming the Galactic Empire. Firstly, by doing away with the Republic he has destroyed an democratic institution that has stood in some form or another for the past twenty five thousand years. Since he did this more or less legally rather than through a violent coup, one could perhaps argue that the Empire is the legitimate heir of the Republic. Of course, barring the word 'Galactic', its position as the dominant government in our galaxy, and, until just recently, the existence of the Imperial Senate, there's very little to connect the two at all. I would argue the Empire is truly just a massive expansion of the military the Republic raised to win the Clone Wars."

"Which of course is entirely what Palpatine planned," Ben said.

"Precisely." the Director said. "But I've gotten sidetracked." He sighed. "What I mean to say is: Palpatine upset the order of things. And no matter how hard the rebellion may try, that order cannot be simply put back together."

"Especially not without the Jedi," Ben said.

"Perhaps, but that's not really what I'm talking about." the Director said. "I'm looking at this simply from a political perspective."

"Oh, I see," Ben said. "I get it now."

"The Republic had been declining since the High Republic Era, that much is clear to just about anyone with even the smallest knowledge of history." the Director continued. "The hidden plots of the Sith Lords only accelerated that decline by exacerbating the major issues: corruption in the Senate, the growing rift between the old powers in the Core and the worlds of the Rim, and the obscene power enjoyed by the corporate guilds." He scowled. "The Republic became defined by the imperfections which had always plagued it. The seeds of separatism were sown, and the galaxy was halved."

"Even without behind the scenes manipulation from Sidious and Plagueis and…other parties, do you think a secessionist faction would have established itself and gone to war with the Republic?" Ben asked.

"Who knows?" the Director said, shrugging. "But anyway, the Republic was broken. With the Jedi wiped out and the Galactic Senate rendered toothless, there were none to stand in his-Palpatine's, that is-way. The Empire can claim that it is the true heir of the Republic, but as we already established…"

Ben nodded. "That's hardly true."

"Exactly. So now we turn to the Rebellion. The 'Alliance to Restore the Republic' as they call themselves."

"Do you think they have a chance?"

"A chance to, uh, overthrow the Empire?" the Director shrugged. "Who knows. But let's say they do. Now they rebuild the Republic and claim it is the true successor of the Galactic Republic, not Palpatine's Empire."

"But the galaxy won't just line up to recognise it as such." Ben said, realisation dawning. "The old order has been broken forever."

The Director nodded. "Republic is gone. Galaxy is thrown into chaos. And without the Jedi to monitor things and keep nefarious actors down…"

"Without the Jedi to monitor things…" Ben said.

"Everyone who had to stay hidden in the shadows suddenly comes back into the spotlight." the Director said gravely.

---

"Sir!" Vice Admiral Etrim Auatren threw open the door to Moff Irion's office. "Reports from Governor Tiberian in Mubon system. Rebel activity on the fourth moon of the gas giant Ivort!"

The Moff, sitting at his desk, looked up in shock.

"Impossible!" Minister Onf, standing next to the Moff's desk, said. "Rebel activity in this sector?"

"I did receive a report from ISB detailing a possibility of rebel spies meeting up in the Mubon system," said Moff Irion. "But they were supposed to handle it in tandem with local forces."

"Information from Mubon is unclear and contradictory-events are still playing out it seems-but local security forces surrounded the apparent meeting place of the rebel spies. A firefight broke out, and large numbers of stormtroopers were killed!"

"How many rebels were there?" Onf said incredulously.

"Unclear as of right now," said Colonel Rilvert, standing behind Vice Admiral Auatren. "But reports indicate that it could be as low as six."

"Six insurgents took down multiple trained stormtroopers?" Onf exclaimed.

"Reports are still coming in," Rilvert said.

"I've already issued orders for Sector Command to convene, Moff Irion." Auatren said.

"Good, commander. Thank you." the Moff said as he stood up. "Onf, clear my schedule for the next few days."

"Including your meeting with Lord Rostov?" Onf said. "But-"

"Lord Rostov can wait." Irion growled. "The damn rebellion is active in my sector."

---

"Which way?" Ferb said. They had reached another intersection. The Twi'lek took out her imagecaster and activated it. She studied the map for a minute before pointing to the path on the left.

"This way." she said.

"Fuck, it smells down here." Mosk said, for the fourth time. "How much farther?"

"Looks like just a few more minutes." the Twi'lek said.

"Let's hope you're right," Mosk said.

She was. The path they took ended at a sealed door marked with faded aurebesh lettering that read "SPACEPORT SEWERS: NO UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY".

"Seems it is locked." Mosk said.

"Yeah," Ferb said quietly.

"Look," the Twi'lek girl said, pointing to a hexagonal control panel on the wall. "I can probably slice through and override the lock."

"You sure?" Mosk asked.

"I had to do something like this once when I was in a tight spot on Lanz Carpo. That was top-notch engineering. I'm sure this won't be too much trouble-Ah, there we go!"

The console beeped and the door retracted into the floor. They passed through. On the other side was a staircase. It took them two minutes to get to the top. They went through the door at the top of the stairs and found themselves in a storage room full of cleaning droids.

They slipped out the door into a service hallway just off the main concourse. The four of them tried to look natural as they slipped out.

"My ship's docked down here." Ferb said. "The second bay in B Section."

They began walking. Ferb saw the spaceport cantina he had eaten at earlier. Apart from a tall, kindly-faced human man with light skin and bushy hair and the green-skinned barmaid, it was empty. The human man was looking right at them. That made Ferb feel strange.

Three spaceport police officers, a Rodian, a Zabrak, and a human, suddenly ran past them. The Rodian was speaking into a handheld radio. The policemen were just a little ways past the group of rebels when the Rodian suddenly stopped and whirled around.

Reader, have you ever wanted to fuck a femboy? Just lift up his adorable skirt and shove all the way up his-

Oh, right, the story. Sorry, anon.

Right, right.

Ahem.

So, uh, the Rodian policeman stopped and whirled around.

"You!" he said. "Twi'lek! You and your companions need to be held for questioning. There's a warrant matching your description."

Before anyone else could react, Ferb pulled out his blaster and shot the Rodian and Zabrak policemen, killing them.

Ferb would never let himself be locked up again and anyone who tried to detain him would be paying…with much pain.

"Aw shit, here we go again." the Twi'lek girl said.

Mosk pulled out his blaster and shot the human policeman in the chest. Alarms began blaring. The barmaid in the cantina screamed and dove behind the counter. The man just sipped his drink.

"Fuck!" Mosk hissed.

"Run!" the Quarren shouted, and they did.

"This way!" Ferb said. "Follow me!"

Two navy troopers ran out of a side door in front of them, already firing their blasters at the rebel fugitives. The first one was cut down by blaster fire from the Quarren, while the second tore off his helmet and threw it at Ferb. The impact nearly knocked him off his feet. Before the navy trooper could start firing again, Mosk had run up and knocked his pistol out of his hand. Mosk then tried to punch his jaw, but the navy trooper sidestepped the blow, grabbed Mosk by the arm, and flung him to the ground. Mosk kicked him in the balls, and in response the navy trooper fell on top of him, punching him in the jaw.

Ferb would've tried to shoot the navy trooper if he was sure he wouldn't accidentally hit Mosk. He and the Quarren went to pull the Imperial soldier off of Mosk but navy troopers and cop-droids appeared behind them, at the far end of the spaceport concourse, and began shooting.

The Twi'lek girl ran behind a column, while Ferb and the Quarren dove behind a couch in a nearby rest area.

"Son of a bitch!" the Quarren swore. "The…the Imps have us pinned down."

"Are you all right?" Ferb asked. "You took a beating back in the plaza."

The Quarren grunted. "I'll be fine. So long as we make it out of this mess that is."

Ferb popped above the couch and fired a few shots at the Imperials but quickly ducked back down.

"There's a lot of them!" he said.

"Damn, look at the Sergeant!" the Quarren exclaimed.

Ferb looked over. Mosk had clearly broken the navy trooper's left arm and had wrestled the man into submission. Ferb watched as he took out his pistol and fired a stun blast at the enemy soldier. Mosk then dove behind the same couch they were taking cover behind.

"We're in quite a pinch here, Sarge." the Quarren said.

Mosk chuckled. "Not to worry, Retep. I have a little something special for our Imp friends."

"Eh?" Retep said.

"What is it?" Ferb asked.

Mosk removed a small, silver sphere from his coat.

"A grenade?" Ferb said.

"Close." Mosk replied. "An EMP grenade. One of these will disable that whole cohort's blasters and those security droids. Lieutenant Obitn'Pa and I were each given one before the mission."

"Why not a regular grenade?" Ferb asked. "That seems like it would be more useful than a device that simply disables technology."

"Fair." Mosk said. "But the Lieutenant said that it wouldn't be good to be caught with thermal detonators or the like on our person if the police decided to search us. These are still suspicious, but won't immediately raise alarms the way explosives would. Secondly, EMP grenades cause a lot less collateral damage than regular grenades. And in a populated urban area…"

"Makes sense." Ferb conceded. "But why didn't you or the Gran use yours back in the plaza?"

Mosk frowned. "In the chaos I kind of forgot about it. Lieutenant probably did the same. There wasn't much of an opportunity to use it, except for maybe that group we dealt with just before we escaped."

"Why didn't you remember it back then?" Ferb asked angrily. Mosk's frown deepened. "We were lucky to escape the plaza! Anything else that we could've thrown at them would've helped immensely!"

"There's no sense in rehashing what could've or might've happened, kid." the Quarren-Retep-said. "We got out, and if Sarge had used the grenade then, we wouldn't have it now."

"Hm." Ferb said.

"Right," Mosk said. "Here goes nothing."

He stood up, leaned back, and threw the EMP grenade with all his might. Ferb climbed up the couch to get a good look and, in case the grenade fell short, be in a position to use the Force to give it an extra push towards the Imperials.

Fortunately, Mosk had been one of the star throwers on his high school's zoomball team. I had the privilege of watching footage of his performance at the semifinal game. 'Twas quite the experience.

The EMP grenade landed just in front of the navy troopers and cop-droids. Detonation followed just a couple seconds later. There was a blast of blue light, and then the cop-droids sparked and collapsed.

"Dank farrik!" Ferb heard one of the navy troopers swear. "My blaster's fried."

"So are helmet comms!" another Imperial trooper shouted. "Shit!"

"Now!" Mosk ordered. He, Ferb, and Retep all stood up and started firing. The Twi'lek woman emerged, gun ablaze, from behind the column. Two navy troopers fell-one to a stun blast from Retep and another to a blaster shot from Ferb. The remaining navy troopers, with their blasters disabled and no other way to fight back, scattered.

"Run!" Mosk said. "Now!"

"This way!" Ferb said. "Just a little bit farther!" He rounded a corner, and the other three followed him. The Sunspring's docking bay was at the far end of this corridor-

Three stormtroopers, a couple spaceport policemen, and an Imperial Navy Trooper were standing there.

"It's the rebels!" the navy trooper shouted. The Imperials opened fire.

"Shit!" Mosk hissed. He fired his blaster, nearly hitting the navy trooper. "Back, get back!" He felt a laser blast go just above his head. A couple centimeters lower, and Mosk would have been killed.

One of the stormtroopers ran forward, a stun baton in their left hand-a riot control stormtrooper. Ferb reached out and used the Force to make the soldier trip over themselves. Their left arm was stretched out just enough so that the stun baton made contact with Mosk's leg.

"Argh!" he shouted. The riot stormtrooper started to get up again, but the Twi'lek girl shot him dead.

"Sarge!" Retep went to help Mosk. "Sergeant, are you-GAUGH!"

Retep had taken a blaster shot directly to the chest.

He was dead before he hit the floor.

"Retep!" Mosk screamed. He turned and shot the Quarren's killer-one of the stormtroopers. A blaster shot from one of the spaceport cops caught his stunned leg and he nearly fell, but Mosk pushed himself back up and shot both security officers in their chests. Ferb shot down the third and final stormtrooper, and the Twi'lek took care of the Imperial Navy trooper.

Mosk looked at Retep's corpse.

"We have to go," Ferb said. Mosk didn't move.

"Come on," the Twi'lek woman said. "More Imps could arrive any second. Can you stand?"

Mosk shakily got up. "Y-Yeah, I think so."

The Twi'lek woman went to support him.

"Alright, kid," Mosk said. "Take us to your ship."

---

"Understood, administrator." Captain Orsho said into his radio. "I'll tell her right away."

"What is it?" Stacy asked.

They were taking a speeder back to the Ivort-4 Imperial complex. Chief Bansoro had stayed behind in Memorial Plaza to coordinate the cleanup and the search for rebel operatives. When the firing began, Stacy had radioed the Imperial complex to have them inform the Governor on Mubon of the engagement. He had presumably already informed Moff Irion's office.

"That was Administrator Tuphor, ma'am. The missing rebels appeared in the spaceport. Security personnel were already on alert, so it seems a firefight ensued. From what the administrator could tell me, they made it to a waiting ship."

"Ah, I see." Stacy said. The landspeeder turned onto Brown Street, which they would take through the Hosnian Quarter all the way to the Central Forum. "They're going to escape that way."

"Indeed, Prefect Hirano." Captain Orsho said. "I already had the pilots on standby. Shall I give the order to launch?"

To call the starfighter unit based at Mann City a squadron was being generous. It was just four TIE fighters sitting at a small airfield within the walls of the Imperial complex. Apart from regular training flights, the pilots did nothing.

But they had to make do with what they had.

"Launch the fighters."

"Yes ma'am."

---

Ferb finished running through an accelerated version of the pre-flight checklist. He slowly eased the Sunspring up.

"Okay, I'll take us into orbit and-"

"No, belay that!" Mosk said. He and the Twi'lek were in the cockpit with Ferb-him sitting in the copilot's chair and her sitting in the chair behind him.

"What?" the Twi'lek said.

"We came here on a shuttle that landed six or seven kilometers northwest!" Mosk said. "The pilot's still there! I'm not leaving anyone else behind today!"

Ferb gritted his teeth. "Fine."

The Sunspring cleared the spaceport and was now in the open skies above the city.

Ferb moved his ship in the direction Mosk had indicated.

A second later, he heard the roar of a TIE fighter.

"They launched TIEs!" the Twi'lek woman said.

The ship shook. Alarms blared.

"Gah!" Ferb snarled. "They landed a hit on my ship!"

"Shit!" Ferb said. "You two-get to the cannons!"

"Right!" Mosk said. Both he and the Twi'lek stood up and left the cockpit.

---

Mosk took the lower cannon while Vanessa climbed up to the top one. Vanessa immediately fired in the direction of the TIES, missing every shot.

Ferb fired the engines to give the ship a speed boost. Around ten seconds later Mann City was no longer beneath them. The TIE fighters sped after them, firing emerald laser bursts at the Sunspring. The lead TIE fighter landed a direct hit on the Sunspring's hull. Had Ferb not just raised the shields, the blast would have destroyed the engine.

Mosk and Vanessa tried to line up shots so they could take down the fighters, but neither had the experience necessary. To complicate matters further, Ferb was a young and inexperienced pilot.

Mosk aimed and fired at the lead TIE fighter. The blasts just barely missed it.

Ferb suddenly slowed the Sunspring down. The TIE fighters were unprepared and zoomed past the freighter.

Ferb should have turned the ship (port or starboard, it didn't matter which direction) so Mosk and Vanessa would have clearer shots at the TIEs, but again, Ferb was a young and inexperienced pilot. Instead he angled the ship down towards Ivort Four's surface, trying to get beneath the TIEs.

"Kid!" Mosk shouted over the com. "We can't go right to the shuttle! We'll lead these Imps right to it!" If the TIEs followed them, the might blow up the shuttle and kill Jyph. That could not happen.

"No!" Vanessa shouted, trying to hit the TIE fighters above her. "We don't have time to waste! We should leave the system now." Her priority was the mission above all else.

"We're not leaving anyone else behind!" Mosk shouted.

The TIE fighters turned and dove towards the Sunspring.

Ferb was annoyed at both of them for bossing him around on his ship.

"We'll-!" he started to say, but before he could finish one of the TIE fighters landed another hit on the Sunspring!

"We need to leave now!" Vanessa shouted. The job had to be completed. And more importantly, she didn't want to die.

"But-!" Mosk protested, before stopping. The Lieutenant had entrusted him with the datacard. It was his duty to see that the mission was completed.

I'm sorry Jyph.

"Go." Mosk said. "Just…just get us out of here!"

"Right!" Ferb shouted. "Keep the Imps off our back while I make the jump calculations to get us out of here."

Ferb put the ship into a steep climb. Though he didn't intend for it to-again he was a young and inexperienced pilot-the angle he was rising at gave Vanessa a clear shot at the TIEs. She landed a direct hit on the spherical cockpit of one and it exploded.

"I got one!" she cheered.

The other three TIE fighters split up and turned so they were all coming at the freighter from different angles. Vanessa fired at them but kept missing.

Ferb put the Sunspring into a roll and turned the ship around so it was heading directly towards the TIE fighters. He hoped to outfly and confuse them. But these were trained military pilots. Ferb had no realistic hope of outflying them.

One of the TIEs landed a direct hit on the Sunspring, almost destroying the upper cannon-and Vanessa with it! The freighter shook. Alarms blared.

"Kid!" Vanessa shouted.

"The calculations are almost done!" Ferb shouted.

"Hurry!"

"Do you people have any idea how bloody hard it is to manage a navicomputer in the middle of a battle?" Ferb snapped.

"Just get us out of here!" Vanessa shouted over the com.

She and Mosk kept firing at the TIE fighters, failing to land any shots. Mann City was well behind them now; they were currently above Lake Wiseau. Ferb brought the Sunspring to almost a perfect 180 degrees angle and hit the boosters. The TIE fighters followed. One of them managed to land a hit near the airlock. The ship shook again.

"Coordinates in!" Ferb shouted just as they broke the atmosphere. He could see the stars now.

"Punch it!" Vanessa shouted.

Ferb pushed the lever, the stars outside the viewport stretched from pinpricks of light into bright lines, and the Sunspring jumped to hyperspace.

---

Colonel Jacques Brucosl was a portly and tanned human man from Salliche, the great agricultural hub of the Core Worlds. His Rebel Alliance uniform was just a size too small, fitting tightly around his round figure and making him look even fatter than he was. His right hand was missing its pinky finger-the result of harsh discipline from the aunt who raised him.

Brucosl had run away from home at age fifteen, shortly before the outbreak of the Clone Wars, and wound up waiting tables in a cantina on Brentaal. The war was over and the Republic replaced by the Empire by the time he turned eighteen.

Tired of being a waiter, Brucosl enlisted in the Imperial Army. The Emperor had ordered a massive expansion of the military under the pretext of keeping the shaky peace in the aftermath of the Separatists' defeat. Like many young men, women, and enbies of the human race, Brucosl longed for adventure and believed Imperial service was a way to see the galaxy. He longed to make something of himself and prove wrong his aunt, who had often sneered about how unbelievable it was that her sister's womb could produce something so worthless.

Boot camp was easy for him. Compared to the random punishments his aunt and uncle would hand out with no regard to how severe his offense was, the reasoning behind discipline and the clear structure was downright refreshing.

As an Imperial Army trooper he served with distinction in campaigns against Separatist holdouts in the Western Reaches. In one battle on a remote and nameless world his platoon leader Lieutenant Crefet (known to you and I as the future garrisonmaster of Tipoca City) led their unit through an unmapped cave system in a desperate bid to break through enemy lines.

It took Brucosl four years to see how fucked Palpatine's Empire really was. It was another three years until he was able to defect to the nascent rebellion.

It was a dark and stormy night on Iskto-Tok. The uprising, one the thirty-two Colonel Aureliano Buendía would lead in his lifetime, was in its fourth week.

Brucosl couldn't do it anymore. The Empire was rotten at the core, and it was spreading its foulness across the galaxy. When the company commanded by the now-Captain Crefet was deployed to the front lines on Iskto-Tok that night, he saw his chance to be free of the Imperial Army.

….We all want to be free don't we?

:(

….

I want to be free. I want to be free of this emptiness, this inability to feel. Sometimes it seems as if the only way I'll feel anything again is if they drill a hole in my skull and start pumping liquid dopamine and liquid serotonin in.

I want to be free of the existential despair that comes with watching your motherland crumble.

I want to be free of being unable to love my motherland, of having to only pretend because A) I know loving the motherland is the right thing to do, and B) I want to spite those who hate my motherland.

There used t'be nuance, ya hear me? WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO NUANCE? Now history is all black and white according to the woke mob, and their goddamned toxic way of thinking has infected me. I hate this! I hate this! I hate this! I hate this! I hate this! I hate this!

….

I want to be free of all this.

…

I want to be free of being alone.

.

.

.

. . .

:(

.

.

.

What do you want to be free from, anon?

….

Right, the story. The story. I need to get back to the story.

Sorry.

Whatever Brucosl's psychology and deeper emotional troubles, that stormy night he was certain he wanted to be free of the Imperial war machine.

When he saw his chance, he took it and snuck away from camp. Evading scout trooper patrols and probe droids he crawled across no-man's land to rebel territory, then discarded his blaster rifle and Imperial armor to lessen the chance that Colonel Aureliano Buendía's sentries would kill him on sight.

He walked through the Isktoian forest with his hands up to appear less threatening. Roughly an hour before sunrise, Brucosl was arrested by Twi'lek commandos of the Free Ryloth movement, sent there as part of an agreement made between Colonel Aureliano Buendía and the great Twi'lek revolutionary Cham Syndulla.

They brought him back to the Rebel camp.

It was that night on Iskto-Tok that Brucosl met Philoswa T. Fenwudhn.

Though the Isktoian Uprising would fail, as all thirty-two of Colonel Aureliano Buendía's uprisings would fail, Brucosl would go on to serve the future General faithfully. By the time she was given command of the rebel forces in the Zoraster sector, he held the rank of Colonel and was her right-hand man.

In that capacity, it was he who was to oversee Lieutenant Obitn'Pa's mission to Ivort Four from the frigate Leaveykurarupid.

The Leaveykurarupid and its escort ship, the Braha'tok-class gunship Fist of Pammant, were currently holding position in interstellar space near the Mubon system. After the Leaveykurarupid had delivered the two shuttles to Ivort Four and then immediately jumped out of the Mubon system, Colonel Brucosl had departed the bridge for the temporary quarters that had been given to him.

He ate a small meal consisting of seven freeze-dried slices of jogan fruit, a glass of Moogan Tea, and a single butter pastry. After playing a couple games of dejarik against the computer, he took a nap.

Nearly two hours later the Colonel rose. After washing up and having a cup of caf, he put on some music-"Yocola Ateema", played on a loop for forty-five minutes. He relaxed for a good few hours before the com chimed, summoning him to the Leaveykurarupid's bridge.

As Brucosl walked he ran his right thumb over the stump where his pinky finger had been-a nervous habit he'd had since he was a boy.

He reached the bridge in seven minutes.

"Captain," he grumbled. "What is it? 'Tis far too early to have received reports from Obitn'Pa's away team."

Captain Beilert Slagtimiq, a red-skinned Koorivar man and fellow member of General Fenwudhn's inner circle, turned to Colonel Brucosl.

"That ain't it, Colonel." he said gravely. "We intercepted an Imperial transmission from the Mubon system." He turned to a crewman and nodded. The crewman hit a switch, and the holotable turned on.

A hologram of a man-human, slender and of average build with close-cropped hair-appeared. Colonel Brucosl recognised him as Gaius Tiberian, Imperial Governor of the Mubon system.

"Please inform the sector governor that there has been rebel activity within my jurisdiction." the holographic Governor Tiberian said. "An ISB operation to apprehend rebel spies on the moon Ivort Four resulted in a firefight that left multiple soldiers dead. Reports indicate there could be at least six insurgents, possibly twice that number. Details are scarce at the moment, and I will update Zoraster as my office receives more information. Thank you."

Tiberian bowed slightly and the hologram switched off.

"This…this is bad." Brucosl said. "I must contact the General. Monitor Imperial frequencies to see if you can get any information, and try to raise Captain Zhal's men."

Captain Zhal and his commandos were the passengers of the other shuttle sent to Ivort Four. They were meant to wait to begin executing a later step in General Fenwhudn's plan, but Brucosl decided he might need to deploy them if the situation warranted it.

"Yes, commander." Captain Slagtimiq said.

Colonel Brucosl turned and left the bridge, heading for the communications suite. His right thumb was furiously rubbing the spot where his pinky had been.

He reached the communications suite and entered. He was nervous and breathing heavily. He locked the suite door behind him.

General Fenwhudn responded less than a minute after he commmed her.

Philoswa Thurnion Fenwhudn was a large, incredibly muscled Quarren woman. She was so strong and big.

Once her unit had abducted an Imperial officer who had gassed an entire village to punish its chieftain for providing aid to rebel soldiers. Brucosl had witnessed her use her authority as commander to sentence the sick fuck to death and then carry it out personally by crushing his skull with her bare hands.

"What is it, Colonel?" she said. Brucosl swallowed.

"We, er, the Leaveykurarupid, that is, intercepted a transmission from the Mubon system's Governor." he said. "The Imperial Security Bureau was apparently aware that rebel spies would be present on Ivort Four, and made preparations to, uh, to apprehend them."

General Fenwhudn growled softly.

"So, it would appear a firefight broke out. That's all we know." Brucosl finished.

"That…enrages me, Colonel Brucosl." she said. Brucosl was starting to sweat nervously. He saw her clench and unclench her massive fist. "That datadisk has the coordinates. Our deal with them…."

General Fenwhudn trailed off. She didn't need to explain further. Both of them knew the importance of what Obitn'Pa had been sent to retrieve.

"Continue to monitor the situation. Contact the away team's shuttle pilot. If you learn that they have taken prisoners or something like that, order Captain Zhal to intervene."

Brucosl bowed his head. "Yes, General Fenwhudn."

---

Ferb brought the Sunspring out of hyperspace in a binary star system designated "ZS-B438", just near the Mubon system.

He set the scanners to watch for any Imperial patrols and then got up and left the cockpit. Sergeant Mosk and the Twi'lek woman were in the common area. Mosk was tending to his injuries with one of the medkits Ferb had left lying around.

"We're no longer in Mubon system." Ferb said.

"Mm," Mosk said. "Yes."

"So where do we go from here?" the Twi'lek girl asked. She looked directly at Ferb. The boy blushed slightly and broke eye contact with her, flustered.

"Uh, well…"

"What's your name, anyway?" Mosk asked. "Never got a chance to ask you in all that chaos back in the city."

"I'm…Vanessa." the Twi'lek said.

"Coryn Polo," Ferb lied.

"Mosk," said Mosk. "Always nice to meet a comrade in the rebellion, Vanessa."

"Yeah..the rebellion," she replied. "So anyway, where do we go from here?"

"I have the datadisk," Mosk said. "We have to complete the mission and get it to the General."

"Where do we go, then?" Ferb asked.

Sergeant Mosk exhaled. "We were supposed to rendezvous with a rebel frigate under the Colonel's command. Only the Lieutenant and the shuttle pilot knew where it is though."

"So…?" The Twi'lek girl-Vanessa-asked.

"So we need to go back to General Fenwhudn's stronghold." he said. "Her base is hidden on the third planet in the Misdicso system."

"I'll go punch in the coordinates," Ferb said.

"We're coming in an unfamiliar ship," Vanessa said. "Will they shoot us down on sight?"

"Not if I'm on the radio," Mosk replied.

Ferb nodded. "Right then. The Misdicso system. Let's go."

---

Princess Leia's flagship, the Imperial-class Star Destroyer Freedom, was currently escorting a rebel convoy in the Mid Rim's Bortele sector.

General Draven's office was located a few decks below the bridge. Sealed behind two doors and guarded at all times, it had nothing beyond a desk, three chairs, and a computer terminal that Draven regularly wiped.

Draven regularly employed anti-snoop probes, which he had programmed himself, to scan the walls, ceiling, and floor for eavesdropping devices.

Presently, Draven was hosting General Dodonna, Major Francis Hologram, and Captain Cassian Andor. The only light in the room was from an electric lamp set up on Draven's desk: the Rebel Alliance barely had the resources to keep a whole Imperial-class Star Destroyer running so power was cut to many non-essential areas of the cruiser, including Draven's office.

"My people intercepted an Imperial transmission to Moff Irion, the governor of the Zoraster sector." Draven said. "There has been rebel activity on a backwater moon in the Mubon system. A firefight erupted in an urban population center."

"So at last we have come to this." Major Hologram said gravely. "Fenwhudn is finally moving on her own."

"We don't know that for sure, Francis." General Dodonna said. "The generals in charge of the sector forces are allowed to operate as they see fit as long as they're not directly disobeying Alliance Command. It's not a certainty…." Dodonna sighed. "But to be perfectly frank, it's the most likely explanation. What do we know about this firefight in the Mubon system?"

"Very little." Draven said. "It might not have even been a deliberate act of aggression against the Empire. But if it was…"

"If it was it confirms all we've suspected about General Fenwhudn." Francis Hologram said.

"I will inform Alliance Command," Dodonna said, standing up. "Continue to monitor the situation, General Draven."

He turned and left Draven's office.

"If Fenwhudn is planning on splitting from the Alliance…" Hologram said.

"We have your son undercover in her forces." Cassian Andor said. "Monty is one of our best agents. If anything's going on, he'll let us know."

---

Another report from Prefect Hirano informed Governor Tiberian that they had captured a rebel agent-this agent was, of course, Quayle. Tiberian, in turn, again personally contacted the office of Moff Irion. This time his transmission was relayed directly to the Moff and Sector Command. Once again, Tiberian's transmission was intercepted by both the crew of the Leaveykurarupid and General Draven's officers.

Upon receiving confirmation that a rebel agent was being held prisoner, Colonel Brucosl contacted Captain Zhal and ordered him to take his commandos, break into Mann City's Imperial base and rescue the rebel operative in a desperate bid to retrieve the datacard.

And now I have narrated to you the story of how war came to the Mubon system.

---

32,460 words not counting this author's note. Damn. Since I'm not pretending that this story is a serious project, I can write whatever and however I want. Plotwise it's full of random digressions and liberal use of what TVTropes calls "Author Appeal". I suppose it's comparable to Sonichu, though without the complete lack of self awareness, delusional narcissim, or deranged homophobia. I'm having fun playing with the writing style too-it goes from descriptive to diaolgue-heavy to action-filled to context-laden to employing what TVTropes calls a "Lemony Narrarator"-a narrarator who speaks directly to the reader.

There's a lotta references to other media in this. A lot of stuff is a nod to Backstroke of the West. Snap and Loopin, as well as other things from that scene, are from My Immortal, the infamously horrible Harry Potter fanfiction. Plot elements from Neon Genesis Evangelion and Sonichu are both teased. Since I don't care about this seriously and almost no one is reading it, I can have fun and make it one of those dumb fanfictions that are a giant crossover.

I an probably going try to average ten thousand words for whatever future chapters I write and post. I'd like to devote more time to the Super Mario fanfiction I'm trying to write. That's a serious project so I will probably put this on the backburner.

---

QUICK NOTES:

-The name "Coleman Retep". So, in Attack of the Clones there is a Vurk Jedi by the name of Coleman Trebor. In Revenge of the Sith there is an Ongree Jedi named Coleman Kcaj. These Jedi are named after production crewman Robert Coleman and his son Jack, respectively. Following this logic, I decided it would be fun to create a character named Coleman with a surname that's a reversed English first name. I chose the name"Peter", and this Coleman Retep was born. As it would turn out, in the Mid Rim the "Retep system" exists, so perhaps Coleman's family immigrated to Brentaal from there?

-Colonel Jag. So, the clone pilot who shoots down Plo Koon in Revenge of the Sith is Captain Jag (or "CT-55/11-9009" if we want to use his ID number). It would seem he stayed in the Imperial Military and now commands his own starfighter unit.

-A lot of the historical discussion Stacy and Bansoro have is pretty clearly inaccurate. This is deliberate-I wanted to show the result of the Empire erasing the Jedi from the records.

-The street vendor who won't sell to Ferb is intended to be a member of the Azumel species. As someone raised in the deserts of Tatooine, Ferb wouldn't immediately recongise every single species in the galaxy. As an aside, it's always confused me how in Star Wars novels the protagonists often recognise most species they encounter. There's got to be hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of sentient species traveling the stars in the galaxy after all.

-Bansoro is intended to be Asian.

---

If you read this far, thank you! Happy New Year! Let's hope 2022 won't be as shitty as 2020 and 2021 were!