"We've got to help Hera," Sabine said, her heart racing. She tried keeping her mind off of how Ezra was faring, but that was very hard to do. They hadn't heard from them for a long while, and the lack of communication upset her. The Imperials they were trying to divert were making things tough for them. Their mission had now turned into one of survival. Sabine only hoped that Hera and Ezra were all right. Meanwhile, Sabine focused her full attention on keeping all of them alive. The stormtroopers were not letting them get away so easily.

While Sabine and the rest of the team were doing all they could to stay alive, Chopper was advancing on two Imperials, hoping to create a diversion of his own. The little droid thought it was hysterical when one of the guards asked the other if Chopper was talking to them, like that was an extreme possibility. They appeared less efficient than the crafty droid in their clanking, dirty suits of armor. Of course he was speaking to them; were they as dumb as they looked? Good, the droid thought when the other replied:

"Looks like he's malfunctioning..."

The guards were away from their post, which gave Hera time and opportunity to get past them. Ezra told her he'd cover her. She complied, whisking herself unobtrusively past the engaged guards. Chopper was really acting his part. Like a wary slink-cat she slipped past the preoccupied stormtroopers, but right into the blue-skinned Admiral, their offensive nemesis, and the grouchy commander Slavin in his company. Why had they turned up now, at that precise moment? Talk about incredibly bad timing.

Ezra felt his heart leap into the middle of his throat. Through the Force, he told himself to relax.

"Out of the way, servant," Slavin curtly barked. "You're not permitted on these floors. I have told you people to restrict your movements to the kitchen."

Hera was only too glad to make herself scarce. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

Thrawn's commanding, "Just a moment," filled the foreboding silence in the chamber as servilely, Hera persisted, trying politely to excuse herself. "Guards, bring her here." No good. Her scheme had failed. As her heart thumped away, she composed herself as best she could. If her nerves betrayed her, she was as good as caught—red-handed with her family's heirloom. At that moment, the Kalikori felt as if it weighed a ton in her trembling hands.

That was the young jedi's signal. As the guards advanced on Hera, Ezra appeared from his hiding place, joining the detail, acting as though he was a higher-ranking stormtrooper. Surely, the one in charge. He came up to Hera, bullied her as he shoved her before Thrawn. If he were going to use a mind trick, he'd have to act fast.

Act fast, he told himself, but acting fast wasn't happening. It was as though his brain had frozen, along with an alternative plan of action that would get them out of this mess. If they lived to tell the tale, it would make for a heated discussion around the common area table. Kanan most likely would nitpick, going over with him what he might have done better.

"May I see that? Thrawn asked, with exaggerated facile. Obviously, she'd stolen that piece, he judged, appraising its value. Hera had no choice, but to hand the Kalikori over to him. He faked interest in the culture that had produced the heirloom. "I am a visitor to your world. It occurs to me that it might be beneficial to hear what you have to say about Imperial occupation." He had to be kidding with that last bit, right?

She might have given him an earful, under different circumstances, but the Imperials were the ones with the upper hand, at the moment.

All Hera wanted was to get out of here, which was turning out to be a lot easier said than done.

"I don't think I could be of any help to you," Hera murmured, staring at the Kalikori in Thrawn's hands.

His face, a tinge or so darker than blue milk, could've been the mold for what smirking meant. "No…I disagree." He knew a rebel when he smelled one. To Slavin, he officiously directed, "Bring her to your office for questioning."

As Hera was being marched out, Chopper's photoreceptors were trained on her. He was safely hidden away from their enemies as he was busy calculating what it would take to rescue Hera. Thus far, he was coming up empty. Where was Ezra? Oh, there he was, standing along with the real Imperial guards, but he wasn't doing anything constructive to rescue Hera from the goons. It appeared as though it'd be up to him to save his mistress.

Throwing her into a seat, Slavin relished Hera begging, "Please—I am a poor refugee."

"Captain, do you recognize this?" Thrawn asked, sounding critical with deceptive gentility.

"Yes," the captain responded, "it—it was here…in my office."

Hera was wholly believable when she pleaded, "I thought I could sell it for food." She cringed when she admitted, "My family is starving." The family she now called hers wasn't, but somewhere in the far-flung galaxy, wherever the Empire perpetrated its reign of terror, many families hungered for sustenance. She begged for mercy in the name of those desperate people, wherever they were.

The captain cried, "That's no excuse!" He took pleasure in seeing Hera squirm. "You shall make a valuable example to others of your kind who think to steal from the Empire!"

Thrawn stuck his arm out and Slavin placed the heirloom into his outstretched hand. "She is far more valuable than you realize," he huffed, strolling away, but not too far from Hera, who glared up at the back of his large head, then lowered her eyes.

"H-how do you mean?" the captain stammered.

"To defeat an enemy, you must know them. Not simply their battle tactics, but their history," Thrawn asserted. "Their philosophy." He muttered something in addition, which both Hera and Ezra couldn't make out clearly. Then, he switched tack, after he'd studied Hera's family portrait on the wall. "So, I will ask you again,…Captain. Do you know what this is?" Thrawn was the epitome of smug, because he knew what he held in his hands.

Ezra sensed that as he looked at him through the stolen helmet he wore.

The captain, irritated, blurted, "Some primitive, native trinket."

"It's a Kalikori…"

That meant absolutely nothing to the ignorant captain. Aesthetics were unimportant to him. He was a military bootlicker.

Though having tried to keep herself under control, Hera winced, her mouth dropped open, when she heard Thrawn get it, right on the nose.

"A revered Twi'lek heirloom," he continued, as smugly as ever. "Passed from parent to child through generations. Worthless to outsiders. Priceless, to family."

"Yes, well—she stole it," Slavin insisted, grimacing, gritting his teeth.

Thrawn nodded, agreeing, surprisingly. "Yes, but why?"

Hera became like stone, nothing more than a statue where she sat, holding her breath, not daring to move. Her face had grown hot; her hands were cold and clammy. The faces of her beloved crew flashed before her eyes.

"It's all you've ever known, isn't it? You were so young when you survived the Clone War. No wonder you are so quick in spirit to fight as you do." Ambling past where Hera sat, he casually commented, "War is in your blood. I study the art of war to perfect it." He got too close for Hera's comfort, so he could funnel into her ear, "But you…you were forged by it."

The captain squawked, "But, sir, she's just a peasant!" A very pretty, feisty one, but a lowly one, nevertheless.

Her temper up, Hera barraged, "It doesn't matter where we come from, Admiral. Our will to be free is what's going to beat you!"

"You—you dare!" The captain was livid now.

"Slavin, please," Thrawn called, "you embarrass me in front of our host."

Astonished, Slavin cried, "Huh? What?"

"May I introduce Hera Syndulla," Thrawn flourished, pandering, half-bowing in genuflection and hinting at the portrait on the wall. "Rebel, and freedom fighter, and military leader." He said those things as though they were the worst of curses. Slavin reeled, and Thrawn fleshed out, "Daughter of your nemesis, Cham Syndulla."

Ezra nearly died in the suit, but sprang into action by reaching for his weapon at his side, only to be blasted first by a quicker-on-the-draw, Thrawn. Hera gasped in horror, fearing the worst. Had she just witnessed the brave teen's death? Thrawn placed his gloved hand on the back of Hera's chair.

Mystified, Slavin inquired, "How did you know?"

"Because Rebels have friends always rushing to the rescue," Thawn flatly replied, as though spitting puke out of his mouth.

After being thrown into a containment room, Hera and Ezra tried consoling each other. To her acute relief, he'd only been stunned, not killed. She would have been inconsolable if he'd been shot dead, and forced to be with his dead body as sadistic punishment.

"An unexpected pleasure to meet you, Captain Hera Syndulla," Thrawn badgered her while she lay on the floor.

"Wish I could say the same, Admiral," Hera spat, rising quickly to her feet, her eyes holding him in derision.

"It is a pity our first encounter might well be our last," he said, his cloying voice was like teacle that was much too sweet. He still held the heirloom like a trophy. "I will keep your Kalikori in a place of honor."

Hissing, Hera bit off, "If I knew you'd take it, I would have smashed it when I had the chance."

Thrawn mocked, "You surprise me. Is your history worth so little to you?"

"My family legacy belongs to us, alone. It is not for some collector's curiosity."

"What did you say?" Slavin vehemently cut in. He so wanted to rip her lekku from her head, tearing them to pieces.

Thrawn raised a hand, waving him off. "Forgive him. I thank you for your hospitality."

And not saying anything further to Hera, he left, Slavin looking after him as Thrawn went. The massive door to the pantry, the Imperials were now using as a holding room, shut, locking Hera and Ezra in the dim room with a single, decoratively painted window. The Admiral was taking the Kalikori for himself. Thrawn nearly lost his cool with Slavin when the captain suggested that the Kalikori be destroyed since it was only a worthless piece of Twi'lek trash. Regretting his rashness, Thrawn made his apologies, reminding the astonished captain that not everyone had appreciation for fine art, as he did. He gave himself a pat on the back for his wonderful discovery, this day.

Thrawn served Thrawn; working for the Empire was merely a means to an end, which was, purely selfish. He could steal what he wished from societies, when on Imperial business. He felt entitled to plunder whatever he judged worthy of grabbing, answering to no one but himself. He had the Kalikori, and now it was his for the keeping.

On the other side of the door that separated Rebels from Imperials, Ezra revived, much to Hera's relief. She shied away from imagining Sabine's reaction, learning that her spouse had lost his life because of her personal mission.

"What did I miss?" he asked, rubbing his throbbing head, which felt as if Banthas had stomped on it. They had no idea that at this exact moment, Captain Slavin was stipulating terms for their release. Cham, in exchange for Hera and Ezra. If his terms weren't met, they'd be terminated. No one could talk Cham out of doing what he felt he had to do. Sabine felt Ezra's vexation and helplessness through their bond, but was relieved that he was still alive, despite their current situation. Getting him back became her own personal mission.

"I'm sorry, Ezra," Hera lamented, sorely regretting that she had gotten the self-sacrificing teen involved. She prided herself on not being a reckless sort. The toll this mission had taken was etched in her face, which suddenly looked older than she was. Ezra had seemed to age as well. "It was selfish of me to go after my Kalikori. I put you and everyone else in danger," she rued. Personal missions sh—"

"But, we wanted to help," Ezra reiterated. "Because it was important to you."

His sentiments were sweet, but sweet wasn't cutting it with Hera when she felt this guilty. "We weren't ready for that Admiral. I should have known better."

While she spoke, Ezra had begun crawling over to the door. He heard a familiar droid squawking its head off on the other side of their prison. In the next split second, Chopper crashed his way in; that droid was sure pushy, which was annoying. But, right now Hera and Ezra couldn't have been happier to see the bogarding little tyrant. The droid was a fountain of information.

"My father is actually surrendering?" Hera exclaimed, incredulous.

"To free us," Ezra declared, his voice bursting with admiration for her father's bravery. "Well, they can't make a prisoner exchange, without prisoners. Let's go." He was on his feet, all set to get as far away from this holding tank as he could.

"Not yet. We won't make it out there. They're too many guards." Even as she spoke, she was thinking of a way that would equalize the playing field.

Scratching his head, Ezra agreed with Hera. Thing was though, he hated having to wait around. His Jedi nerves were twitching, and he thought either Sabine, or Kanan, or both at once, even, were urging him to do something. As long as it wouldn't get Hera and him killed, they should go for it.

He was about to suggest another idea when Hera startled him. "We're going to go through with this exchange-but on my terms." Wasting no time, she defined what she meant by her terms. "Chopper, I want you to raid the Imperial armory and get as many explosives as you can."

The little droid rocked on its runners. Blowing anything up, especially Imperial was so much fun. The bigger the blasts, the better he liked it. Ka-boom-boom-boom! He waved his hand-like wands in delight before rubbing them together. Then paused. Now, where was their armory? He babbled on, stunned when these words left Ezra's mouth:

"Whoa-you're going to blow up your house?" Why would she recommend doing the unthinkable? She was giving the 'ok' to do what the Empire was do throughout the galaxy. Destroying what the vast sum of populations held dear, heritages and cultures, ways of life. Homeworlds.

Placing a hand on Ezra's shoulder, Hera said with solemn dignity, "My home is my crew, and family."

Chopper agreed. Although he didn't like the idea that Hera's home had to go, she was the boss. Not hesitating, he went into seek and destroy mode. "Roger that. I'm on it." And off he went. Everything depended on him, and the determined droid wasn't about to let his family down. He'd 'die' first. Soon, he was entering the armory and went right to where the Imperial cache of explosives was. Pay dirt, he rejoiced, waving his wands in triumphant. Quickly, he gathered what he needed, and set about his task, strategically planting explosives.

Back in the holding room, Slavin paid Hera and Ezra an annoying visit. He drew his blaster on them and said with a condescending smirk, "Time to say goodbye to your father."

The Ghost arrived with Cham as Slavin, Ezra and Hera, as well as a guard, watched the battle-tested ship set down upon the platform. The Twi'lek and the human tingled with anticipation. When the detonations went off, there'd be no time for dilly-dallying.

"Steady, at my command," Slavin, with his hand clamped around Hera's bicep, ordered the stormtrooper in attendance. Cham came into view, and Slavin gloated. "Syndulla, at last we meet…face-to-face. Step forward, alone. And turn yourself over as promised."

Hera's father obeyed, his facial expression listless, anticipating a blaster bolt to his chest. Never trust the Empire, rattled around in his brain. His eyes were on Hera, memorizing every facet of her lovely, poignant face. "Not until you release them," he particularized.

"We'll make a simultaneous exchange," Slavin fired back. To his prisoners, he ordered, "Start walking."

In the Ghost cockpit, Sabine had her mind riveted on her husband, beseeching the Force to protect him. She kept thinking over and over: Ezra, be ready. If you see a chance—take it! Come back to me, alive, and in one piece!

Cham began walking too, grimacing as his eyes searched his daughter's eyes that never left his.

His assignment completed, Chopper suddenly appeared, rolling into position in the doorway of the soon-to-be wrecked house. Laughing as he'd done his thing, he'd placed explosives anywhere he'd seen fit, as if he were hiding presents. Feeling mighty pleased with himself, as Hera and Ezra went to the Ghost, and Cham left the ship behind, Chopper prepared himself, all systems go.

With bravado, he bravely sped past the unsuspecting Slavin and the testy stormtrooper, tooting, "Ha, ha, ha, all the way to the Ghost. His neural network was standing by. He was hair-trigger alert, waiting for Hera to give him the word.

"Droid, what're you doing?" Slavin barked.

You'll see, Chopper thought, smirking in his own droid-al way, leaving robotic laughter in his wake.

"I am sorry, Father," Hera said with a heavy heart.

Cham reassured her, placing his hand between her neck and the ball of her shoulder. "It's all right, Hera. Even I have been captured before." Yet, never when his daughter was being used as a bargaining chip. He didn't let that fact show on his resolute-looking face that he softened with a tender smile.

Hedging, as she changed her tone to one of apology, Hera said, "Uh…I'm sorry about the house." Swiftly, she cried out to her faithful droid, "Chopper!"

Here goes the ka-boom, the cagey droid reveled, hitting the detonator to set off the ground-rocking explosions that caught everyone but him, Hera and Ezra by complete surprise.

From aboard his cruiser, Thrawn drew his own conclusions after hearing the concussive explosions.

Cham, holding his head as his mind reeled, exclaimed, "You were serious!" The family home had been blown apart; fire leapt from diverse corners. The place was a disaster, but…perhaps not beyond refitting once the damage was evaluated. Hera and Ezra helped him to his feet, and the three raced up the Ghost's ramp, leaving a defeated Slavin groveling in the dirt.

"Stop them—stop them," he cried, with blue egg on his face. Oh, the humiliation! He prided himself on always being such the clever one.

The little 'mad bomber' sailed past the sentients, telling them to get moving.

Hera, Cham and Ezra wasted no time doing as the droid commanded.

A surviving stormtrooper and an Imperial walker laid down blaster fire, but their shots never hit their fleeing marks. Kanan was on the retracting ramp, deflecting shots like the valiant warrior he was. He was blind? If that wasn't already known, an observer would never know that to see him in glorious action. The masterful way he deflected the incoming bazooka blast was a testament to Jedi expertise.

He gave Slavin a mock salute and disappeared into the Ghost as it rose higher, victorious.

Sabine, in full control of the starship, came away like a zephyr from Hera's destroyed home under the watchful eyes of Thrawn, who, owing to his quirk of thinking, permitted them to escape. "Hold your fire. They've earned their victory today." To a holograph image of Slavin he airily justified, "Oh, not to worry, Captain. I've found this whole experience to be very enlightening…"

Later that night, after Hera basked in her father's presence, thanked the crew, and assured Kanan she didn't need the Kalikori to remember her mother by, Sabine taught Ezra the true meaning of the word 'enlightening,' when they quickly excused themselves from weary present company, retreated into their bedroom, and…

To be continued…