After rendezvousing with the Alliance fleet drifting through deep space in the Atrivis sector, Rogue Squadron transferred its ten surviving X-wings to the flag vessel, a mighty new Mon Calamari vessel called Liberty that had been constructed for peace but recently and very effectively refitted for war. Its curving bulkheads and cool blue interior lighting were remnants of its previous life and meant to soothe, but Luke Skywalker knew he wouldn't be satisfied until he got to talk with the most senior Rebel leader onboard. She was a busy woman and it was a struggle just to get on her schedule, but after waiting seven hours and dealing with layers of obfuscating Mon Calamari bureaucrats, he finally got what he wanted: a private sit down, in her own cabin, with Princess Leia Organa.

When he stepped into the chamber and saw her standing there in her formal white dress, looking very much the heir of an ancient noble house, he felt a brief disbelief that this was the same woman he'd fought off stormtroopers and swam through garbage compactors with.

Then she opened her mouth. "I'm glad it's you who walked through the door, Luke, because if it had been the Noonar ambassador I'd have probably just committed murder."

Luke was pretty sure she was joking so, he laughed. "Are they giving you that much trouble?"

She heaved a very un-princess-like groan. "Of course they want to do their part against the Empire but they'll only help if we meet this and that precondition and guarantee they'll never be under threat themselves." She ran hands over her head like she wanted to tear out all the elaborate braids. "You'd think blowing up a Death Star would make people take you seriously."

"It's worked for me, mostly."

His light tone and little smile disarmed Leia. She sighed, "I'm sorry, Luke, I just needed a chance to blow off steam."

"I hope you have better manners for the ambassador."

"Yes, but only because my father taught me iron willpower." She gestured to a sofa and cabinet. "Have a seat. You're my guest too. Do you want anything to drink?"

"I'll take the seat and skip the drink."

"Suit yourself. I heard Kemparis got ugly."

As he dropped into the soft, clean sofa (so much better than what pilots got) Luke said, "We lost two Rogues and a lot of people I didn't know. But Armiger made it out and we got some vital supplies through. I'm not sure what I'm going to do about replacing those pilots… but I'll figure out some-thing."

"That's good. Han's on a mission to Gyndine, if you were wondering. He's picking up some supplies for us but I think he's trying to pull some score for himself too, not that I blame him, what with that debt-"

"Leia."

"Yes?"

"Do you know anything about a man named Starkiller?"

Leia had moved to the cabinet and opened it, but she froze with empty glass in hand. She eyed him sidelong, without turning to face him, and said in a very diplomatic voice, "I'm familiar with him."

"You mean you knew him? Personally?"

Leia looked into her empty glass, then put it back on its shelf and closed the cabinet. "He saved my life once, when I was being held prisoner."

"Like I did?"

"He didn't have a stormtrooper outfit." She tried a feeble smile.

"Was he a Jedi?"

A tiny pause. "I think so. He worked with another Jedi, Rahm Kota."

"I never heard of Starkiller until recently. Wedge says- and I can't believe this- the man rode on top of his Y-wing during the attack on Kamino two years ago."

Leia hugged herself. "Starkiller was very powerful. From what little I saw of him, it sounds possible."

"Was he a general from the Clone Wars, like Ben?"

"No. He was far too young for that. I don't think he was much older than you or me..." She trailed off. A frown creased her face.

"There was a Jedi our age fighting the Empire… but who trained him? Kota?"

"Partially. It's complicated. I don't know the whole of it."

Luke hunched forward. "Leia… I heard other things too. I heard that Starkiller defeated Darth Vader at Kamino. Did that happen? Did the Rebel Alliance really take Vader prisoner?"

Leia stared at the floor for a long moment before she repeated, "It's complicated."

"Why did you never tell me about this? You know I've been trying to learn all I can about the Jedi. It turns out just a little while ago you had two powerful Jedi who scored a huge victory and even beat Vader… and you just forgot to mention them?"

"Starkiller wasn't just a Jedi."

"Then what else?"

She forced herself to look at Luke. "He was Darth Vader's apprentice."

Luke hadn't expected that. He stared through Leia, trying to collect his thoughts. "If he fought for the Rebels, he must have changed sides. Didn't he?"

"It's complicated."

He was getting agitated now. "Leia..."

"Starkiller died fighting the Emperor. And then he came back."

"Came back… how?"

"I don't know. A clone, some think."

"Is that possible? I've heard about flash-learning, but could he have the original's real memories?"

"I don't know anything about that. I just know what I've been told. I never even met him after he… came back."

"Which Starkiller was at Kamino?"

"The second one."

"Did he really defeat Vader?"

"I don't know. I really don't."

"But we captured him-"

"Or he surrendered, as a ploy." Her voice was bleak.

"You think Starkiller was… working for Vader?" Luke guessed. "The whole time? Is that why you never told me? Because he was a plant, a traitor?"

"What Starkiller really was, what he did… I'm not the person to ask."

"Then who is?"

Leia glanced at the cabinet, like she was reconsidering that drink.

"I've heard a few rumors," Luke said. "After Kamino there was another battle, and that one was a disaster. I'm guessing that's where Vader broke free. Where we lost Kota."

She simply nodded.

"Starkiller too?"

She nodded again.

"Leia… did anyone make it out of that fight?"

"There was one survivor."

"Just one?"

"Just one."

"And this survivor, do they know anything about Starkiller?"

"More than anyone. She and Starkiller were… close."

Leia said nothing more. Luke pressed, "Is she still alive?"

"Yes. At least, I think so. Six months ago she went to Peralta, off the Salin Corridor by Mandalorian space, to help an uprising against the Empire. I think she's still there."

"What's her name?"

"Juno Eclipse. She started with the Empire too, but now she's a general."

The name sounded elegant to Luke, but also bleak like a moonless night. "Is there a chance I can talk to her?"

Leia shook her head. "We can't get stable communications with Peralta. The planet's too contested."

"That's unfortunate."

"Luke, you have to get this out of your head. What happened with Starkiller is done and over. It doesn't matter to you."

But it did, and he had to explain it to himself as much as Leia. "My father was a Jedi. Ben said it was my destiny to be one. If there aren't any Jedi left, how am I supposed to learn?"

"I don't know, Luke. But you can help the Alliance even if you're not a Jedi. You have, in ways nobody else has."

"But don't you see, that's because I have the Force. Some piece of me, a piece I got from my father, is a Jedi." He tapped the center of his chest. "That was the piece that destroyed the Death Star. I want to help the Alliance, and the best way for me to do that- to keep doing what nobody else can- is to learn about the Force."

"You won't learn anything from Starkiller. He's gone."

"So you say." He spread his hands. "But he's still the best chance I have, isn't he? This Eclipse woman's my best bet."

But Leia shook her head. "You can't just run over to Peralta for a chat. It's too dangerous."

"More dangerous than the Death Star?" He smiled a little.

"Luke, you're not going to Peralta."

"Is that a royal order from Her Majesty?"

She rolled her eyes. "Have you been taking lessons from Han on how to annoy me?"

Luke smirked. "Well, he has given me a few pointers."

"I'm not surprised." She smiled too, but it faded fast. "Luke, please, just let it rest. You're your own person, your own… well, you may be your own Jedi, some day. There's nothing you can learn from Starkiller."

"Not even how to defeat Vader? Or do you really think that was a ploy, and Starkiller was a traitor the whole time?"

Serious again, Leia said, "I don't know. What happened is still… unclear."

"Didn't anyone debrief this Eclipse woman afterward?"

"Yes, but she couldn't tell us much. Or wouldn't. Which is why you can't expect her to tell it to you either." Leia glanced at the chronometer on her wall. "Listen, Luke, I still do have to meet that Noonar ambassador and I need to get ready."

"I understand." He stood up. "Well, thank you for being honest."

She stepped in, put arms around his shoulders, and drew him in for a brief hug. "Just let it be, Luke. Focus on the future. Whatever Starkiller was, he's all in the past."

"I know," he said, and smiled, and walked out of the room. As soon as he was through the door he dropped the false grin and walked back to the Rogues' barracks as fast as he could.

Leia told him to forget it, but he couldn't. Starkiller's very name tolled in his thoughts like a bell. Was this the Force talking to him, compelling him not to let it go? Or was so much stress and grief wearing him down? He still didn't know what the Force really was or what it felt like when it touched you, which was the whole problem.

When day-cycle turned to night Luke found himself laying in his upper bunk in the Rogues' barracks, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. A feeling had been shadowing for months now, darkening all his thoughts, and it seized him stronger than ever. In the silence of the night he was finally able to name it as loneliness. Yes, he had friends in Han and Leia, and comrades in Wedge and Rogues, but they were not enough. His aunt and uncle were dead, the husks of their bodies forever burned into his memory. Obi-Wan Kenobi, protector and guide, had sacrificed himself before Luke's eyes. When Ben had died, he'd also lost his links to his father and to the Jedi he might become.

Luke could know so much more. He'd proved that when he'd destroyed the Death Star. But now it all felt painfully out of reach. He could become much more, but instead he was just a man.

"Talk to me, Ben," Luke whispered in the dark. "Please, tell me something."

There was no reply except the gusty drone of recycling air. Luke squeezed his eyes shut and cycled through deep breaths, trying to call on the bits of meditative skills Ben had tried to teach him. During the Death Star run, Ben had spoken to him. He was sure his teacher had reached out to him from the place beyond death.

"Please," he whispered. "Give me anything. I need guidance. I need to know what a Jedi is."

His only reply was the same dull noise. Apparently Ben was stonewalling him now. It felt like the universe itself had turned his back on him.

"Dammit, Ben, what am I supposed to do?"

Finally he got a reply, and it was from the next bunk over.

"Gugh… Luke… You all right?"

He sighed. "I'm fine, Zev. Go back to sleep."

"You… talkin' to someone?"

"I wish."

Luke kicked back the covers and clambered down the ladder to the deck. He paused just long enough to stick boots on his feet and walked into the curving outer hallway. The door shut behind him with a whoosh of air, and then a voice

Go, Luke.

He looked around and found an empty corridor.

"Ben," he whispered, "was that you?"

Frozen in place he listened hard but heard only the drone of the air system and the throb of his own pulse.

"Or," he admitted, "maybe I'm losing my mind."

There was no response to that either.

Go. Go where? The only possible answer was Peralta. He knew next to nothing about that planet, only that it was a mid-sized industrial world that had made some move toward joining the Alliance, but of the course the Empire wasn't giving it up easily. Whatever had happened to her before, Juno Eclipse was still fighting the good fight.

Right now, he was struggling to do even that much.

Go, Luke. There was only one place he could go. It might have been Ben's voice, or the voice of the Force, or his own mad compulsion. Either way, it was pointing him in a single direction.

He stood in the empty corridor for a long time, wondering if he really wanted to do this, weighing the regret he'd have if he didn't. When his choice was made, he went back into the still-dark barracks. As quietly as possible he changed clothes, gathered his things, and left.

At night-cycle there was only minimal staff working in the hangar, but his orange flight suit stood out and a young Mon Cal crewman trotted across the deck to intercept him.

"Good evening, ah, Commander..."

"Skywalker," Luke supplied.

That always brought them short. The crewman blinked big eyes and said, "Commander Skywalker, are you planning to take your X-wing on a flight? You're not on the departure schedule. Actually, nobody's on the departure schedule until morning."

"I couldn't sleep, so I decided to take my ship on a test drive. Repairs have been completed, right?"

"Yes, sir, the shields are operational again, though we haven't patched all the hull damage."

"But she's good to fly?"

"For a test flight? Of course, sir."

"And my astromech?"

"Plugged into the charging port, sir."

"Excellent. That will be all, crewman."

"I… see, sir."

That warded the Mon Cal off. After he left, Luke retrieved R2-D2, who whistled inquisitively as he rolled out of the wall-mounted charging port.

"We're going for a little ride, Artoo. Actually, a long one. You're good to compute hyperspace jumps, right?"

The droid beeped indignantly.

"I know, I just wanted to be sure. Let's go."

While the flight crew plugged R2 into the X-wing's dorsal socket, Luke dropped into the cockpit, did quick preflight checks, then typed two messages into his datapad. The first was for Wedge, officially handing over command of Rogue Squadron for an undetermined length of time. The second was for Leia, and it was much shorter:

I have to do this.

When he was done he uploaded the messages into his X-wing's computer and did one last preflight check. When he received go-ahead from flight control he kicked his X-wing into the air, maneuvered gracefully out of the hangar mouth, and flew a gentle arc into space that took him away from the cruiser.

When R2-D2 affirmed that he'd patched in the proper hyperspace route, Luke hailed the flight deck one last time. "Control, I've got two messages I'm sending to you now. One is for Lieutenant Antilles of the Rogues, the other's for Princess Leia. Make sure they're received."

He could hear the comm officer's confusion. "Commander Skywalker, we thought you're out on a test flight."

"I'm sorry," he said gravely. "Make sure they both get that too. I'm sorry."

With that he closed the comm, allowed R2 to steer him onto the proper course heading, and pulled the throttle that catapulted him past lightspeed. For the first time since Kemparis, Luke felt relief.

Hyperspace whirled outside his cockpit, and he lowered the blast shield on his helmet to cancel the light. R2-D2 tweeted curiously.

"Don't worry, Artoo. I know what I'm doing."

So he hoped, anyway.

It was a long ride to Peralta, but that was okay. He was on his way now, and with that comforting knowledge Luke was able to settle into the seat of his X-wing, close his eyes, and finally sleep.

-{}-

The Tapani Sector was not technically in the galaxy's Core, but it was nonetheless a beacon of wealth, refinement, and high culture. At least, it was if you were a member of the hereditary human aristocracy that had formed the Tapani Empire thousands of years back. That ancient polity had been absorbed into the Republic and eventually the New Order, but its old noble houses remained intact. This was well-evident in the gardens and hallways of the palace complex on Procopia during the annual Tapani Day celebration commemorating the old empire's unification. The main gala hall was a quarter-kilometer long, with brilliant chandeliers and massive gold-framed mirrors stretching from floors to high ceiling that created the illusion of infinite light and splendor.

This was the kind of life he deserved, Rufaan Tigellinus thought as he drifted amongst the crowd. In addition to the heads of all the Tapani houses, the palace was filled with visiting dignitaries from across the Empire. Tigellinus counted a dozen moffs and three grand moffs in their olive-green uniforms, including Tarkin's successor Ardus Kaine. Captains of industry were present also: multiple Kuatis in traditional green and red robes, Rendilli and Sienar executives in darker suits. There was also Ars Dangor, Palpatine's left hand, dressed in his violet robe and miter. They said the Emperor himself had attended Tapani Day galas in the past, though it seemed he preferred to fortify himself on Coruscant nowadays, so Dangor would have to do.

Amidst all that multicolored glamor, there were a few flecks of glaring white. Tigellinus, in his shining grand admiral's uniform, was one of them. There was also Miltin Takel, spent the evening mollifying many an aristocrat with his crude jokes and lewd insinuations. He always seemed to have a pleasantly aghast audience. Meanwhile, Danetta Pitta tried less successfully to muster his own following. Even from a distance, Tigellinus could see that the part-Etti had made up his face to camouflage it sickly, alien-blue tint. (Tigellinus had thought being placed among the Emperor's twelve elite naval officers was a great privilege. Then he'd met his peers).

The real guest of honor, who was of course followed by a flock of well-wishes and bootlickers all evening, was Tapani's own Octavian Grant. Unlike the mongrel and the spice-junkie, Grant was a man of proper breeding and he comported himself with the class the occasion deserved. Out of all the grand admirals attending the gala he was the only one Tigellinus was interested in talking to, though he found Grant's company less pleasant than educational.

Tigellinus was the youngest of the grand admirals; Grant was the oldest. His hair was almost as white as his uniform, which seemed too big for his skinny frame. Tigellinus kept an eye on him, and as the evening wore on Grant's energy flagged. Despite being a most decorated admiral, a man of good breeding, and Tapani's favorite son, he was a most melancholy man who seemed to have forgotten to enjoy the fruits of his struggle. One day Tigellinus would reach the same height of respectability as Grant, and when that day came, he'd not make the same mistake.

For now he kept climbing. It was cliché that politics, especially Imperial politics, were just another form of warfare. In both fields information was key, and there was information aplenty at the Tapani Day gala. He's spent years cultivating sources both overt and covert, and when he scanned the crowd he could name most of the attendees off the top of his head as well as their lesser-known secrets.

Take, for example, Kodir of Kuhvult, the Kuati with whom Tigellinus spent a good while chatting. He knew that Kodir coveted leadership of her noble house (no surprise there) and was plotting against her elder sister Kateel (not present this evening). He knew about Kodir's hidden bank accounts on Muunilinst and how she was conducting extended corporate espionage against KDY's rivals on Rendilli and Lianna (some of whom flitted among the crowd).

But Kodir was also a fine source of information herself. Over glasses of wine the most handsome woman gave him all sorts of tidbits about KDY's new production schedule, while he fed her crumbs about fleet operations in the Slice. They were both using each other and knew it, but that was how Imperial politics worked and Tigellinus enjoyed it. He certainly preferred ambitious women like Kodir to the alien trollops Takel collected.

Tigellinus tracked the other grand admirals surreptitiously while they talked, but Kodir was sharp enough to notice. With a sly smile she commented, "You grand admirals have been drifting all evening without locking orbits. Will the Emperor's elite have a private party later tonight?"

"Oh, we hardly warrant that. We're just guests of the Tapani, like you."

"How modest. Though I'm curious, does the Emperor often bring you all together to pool your talents, or does he send you off to work separately?"

"We all have our special tasks. The Emperor recognizes our diverse talents."

"I see. So it's not a very close fraternity, then?"

Though he held Takel and Pitta in contempt, it wouldn't do to say so in public. "We're all united by our service to the Emperor."

Kodir smirked. "Of course. Though I was wondering about something else…"

She leaned closer. He leaned too. "Go ahead."

"Which of you has the special task of taking down those terrorists who destroyed the Death Star?"

Tigellinus smiled blandly. "We all do, of course."

"You know what I mean. The Emperor needs to find whoever was responsible, specifically, and make an example of them. There are rumors that the Death Star was destroyed by a single Rebel pilot. A torpedo down an exhaust vent is what I've heard. It sounds preposterous… but people believe it."

She wasn't the first person to have asked him in hushed tones what really happened at Yavin. He gave her the same smiling admonishment. "You can't believe every outlandish rumor."

"Oh, I know. And I'm not saying I believe it… but the terrorists got lucky somehow."

"The method doesn't matter. Neither do the rebels. They're being exterminated across the galaxy. Just this week my men wiped out four major terrorist cells." More like two and a half, but at galas like these you were expected to exaggerate.

"Oh, I know, you're hard at work. And Kuat is happy to build you more ships." She leaned in again, close enough to give him a whiff of her perfume. "Between you and me, Grand Admiral, losing the Death Star is a boon to us both. Tarkin's pet project sucked up incalculable credits and resources for decades. Now it's being spent on warships."

"Your warships."

"Our warships." She tapped her wineglass to his. "To the fleet, Grand Admiral."

"To the fleet." He toasted and drank.

Kodir of Kuhvult was right, he reflected as she drifted off. The Death Star's loss was indeed the fleet's gain. She was also right about making an example of the Death Star's killer. As grand admiral he was privy to some of the Emperor's best secrets. One of them was a name: Luke Skywalker. He didn't know how the Emperor's spies had found the name of that lucky pilot, but the Emperor wanted him. Vader seemed to want him more. Whoever offered him up to Palpatine would win the highest favor. Alas, Tigellinus's spy network hadn't picked up a whiff of him.

But in politics, as in war, you had to fight multiple campaigns at once. After his talk with Kodir of Kuhvult, Tigellinus had chats with a less-charming Sienar executive, then a comely Tapani noblewoman. While engaging the latter, he fell unfortunately close to Miltin Takel's orbit, and was forced to overhead the grand admiral regaling his hosts with a story from his suzerainty over Mandalorian space.

"They have a wealth of curious customs, you know, all based on this warrior's image they harbor for themselves," Takel was saying. He had a glass of some dark liquor in one hand, a smoking cigarra in the other. Flecks of liquid clung to his mustache but at least his uniform was clean. "These permeate every level of their lives, even mating."

"Does it really?" asked an older Tapani man.

"Oh, of course. Now, I heard this one story-" Takel paused to suck on his cigarra. "-about members of a certain Mandalorian cult who never, ever take off their helmets, not even in presence of each other."

"Not even when…. you know?" prodded a younger woman.

"Well, that's the thing. Baby Mandos have to come from somewhere, after all. I once heard a story of a mated pair from said cult who finally decided to shuck tradition and see all the other had to offer. So they lock themselves in the bedroom, take off the rest of their armor first, and finally take the buckets off there heads. They looked into each other's eyes, scour each other's faces, and finally the woman says, 'I like you better with the helmet on.'"

That roused some chuckles, but Takel continued, "They try to salvage the marriage after that. The man keeps his helmet on- and nothing else- like his woman requested, but one look at his ugly mug just soured the whole arrangement. The poor sod's desperate to please his woman so he lets her spice things up in the bedroom however she wants. Mandos are practical people in their way, so he lets her make clever use of some of his traditional weapons to heighten her experience. Blunt end in first, you know."

Aghast faces spread through Takel's audience. Still he went on. "But it just won't work. Finally she just can't take it anymore. 'It's over,' she tells him. 'We have to split.' Now, their cult doesn't look too highly on divorce either- warrior culture, honor vows, all that, plus it's just humiliating- so he drags his feet and says maybe they can split up but still keep the vow alive, to save face, as it were. So she stews a bit before she decides, 'Fine. We can keep the vow but we'll go our separate ways. Take everything you've got- especially that helmet- and get out of here. Just leave me one thing: your beskad.' And he protests, saying that sword's been in his family for generations. But she says, 'You've got to give me something. I have needs, you know.'"

The women gasped, the men guffawed. Tigellinus couldn't hide his scowl. The worst part about the glitbiting boor was that he was a good field commander. He'd been the talk of the Emperor's court after saving Darth Vader almost two years ago, and in reward he'd been given control over Mandalorian territory and adjacent sectors in the Mid Rim- which included Takel's homeworld, the spice planet Gargon. Takel cultivated the image of lecherous rogue in order to toy with Core aristocrats but even that image was just a sheen. Through his sources, Tigellinus knew the grand admiral made a tidy profit selling spice to both legal and illegal buyers, which made him a criminal as well as a clown. And his personal habit of cavorting with sub-human tarts while indulging spice-highs was perhaps worse. But because of that victory at Shenandor, he was firmly ensconced in the Emperor's favor.

Tigellinus knew the universe wasn't fair. It just deepened his craving for ascension.

The gala was winding down and the crowd in the great mirrored hall was thinning out. People were drifting into the gardens or back to their lodgings. Taking one more glass of offered wine, Tigellinus drifted into the cool, fragrant night. A soft glow illuminated the flagstones on garden paths. Overhead, a full moon shone. There was no other lighting, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust.

Once they did, it was not hard to spot the white uniform and white hair of another grand admiral. Octavian Grant was standing alone on a balcony overlooking the gardens, though in mere moonlight the cultivated plants and sculptures were mostly occluded.

Tigellinus considered, then decided to pay brief respect to a member of his fraternity.

Grant was leaning with elbows on the platform railing, eyes tilted up to watch the moon. When Tigellinus stepped onto his left flank, the old man glanced sidelong and said, "Good evening."

"Good evening to you," Tigellinus nodded. "Did you enjoy tonight's gala?"

Grant looked back at the moon. "Oh, it sufficed. Did you enjoy it?"

"It was very memorable."

"Hmmm, yes. This is your third time at the unification gala, isn't it?"

"That's right." Before that he hadn't been a grand admiral, just one Imperial officer among thousands, not special enough to warrant an invite. "How many have you attended?"

"Almost as many years as I've been alive," Grant said dryly. "Well, since I passed my coming-of-age ceremony. I missed a few, during the Clone Wars." His old lips twisted in a smile. "Those were the good years."

Tigellinus sipped his drink. "I'm sorry to have missed them."

"It was a time for men to prove themselves. There were always battles to be had, enemies to defeat," Grant's tone was soft with nostalgia. And, Tigellinus suspected, too much wine, though he had no drink with him now.

"There are still opportunities," he suggested, "even if these terrorists can't muster fleets like the Separatists could."

"Don't underestimate the Rebels." Grant wagged a bony finger. "Tarkin made that mistake and look where it got him. They may be a rabble but they have some excellent commanders, and those are the ones who make or break a fleet. I knew many of them during the Clone Wars. Firmus Nantz, Adar Tallon, Jan Dodonna…"

"We've dealt with the last one," Tigellinus reminded. He respected Grant's accomplishments but he didn't want to listen to an old man pine for lost glories.

"This is true. And we'll deal with the others." Grant glanced at the night-dark gardens. "May I ask a personal question?"

"You may." He prepared himself to lie.

Grant faced Tigellinus and pinched the epaulet on his left shoulder. "What is it you want from this?"

What you have, Tigellinus thought. Wealth. Respect. The Empire's finest circling around him in admiration. Yet for some reason, none of that seemed to satisfy Octavian Grant.

"I want to promote the glory of the Empire, of course, and snuff out its enemies."

"Pah," Grant waved a bony hand. "Be honest. It's just the two of us, in the dark."

Honesty did not come easily to Tigellinus. His whole life was putting on a front, pretending to be what he desired instead of what he was. "I want to be part of the center of things," he said.

"Is this the center of things?"

"Tapani may not be the center, but it's far closer than where I came from."

"This is true." Grant said wistfully, "It's curious. When I was younger I loved these galas. The splendor, the wealth, the dignity. It was very important to be dignified, to be a noble person from a noble line… but in time anything can become a bore. If you haven't learned that yet, you will."

Tigellinus was in no mood to be lectured like a teenager. "In that case," he said, "the Rebels are a gift to us. They'll keep us on our toes."

"Yes. Yes, I've had the same thought." He turned his eyes to the full bright disc in the sky. "Success can be a trap. You'll learn that too, I'm sure."

"I'm sure." Tigellinus took one more gulp of wine. "Good night."

The youngest grand admiral left the oldest to ponder his moon and his pasts. As Tigellinus stepped back insight the bright mirrored hall, now nearly emptied, he promised himself that he'd never decay into a maudlin old fool like Grant. He had goals to strive for and he'd achieve them. He didn't know how he'd do it yet, but he was determined to conquer any obstacle. That was, after all, was what a grand admiral did.

-{}-

Luke had passed the outbound flight to Peralta first with sleep and then by studying the navigational database, so when he dropped out of hyperspace over his destination he was prepared for what he saw: a middle-sized planet with two gray moons and a surface that mixed greens, blues, and snowy whites to create a somewhat gray, vaguely gloomy countenance.

The database was less clear about the current state of the battle for this world, and as soon as he entered realspace, Luke let his X-wing drift and focused on running every scanner at high intensity. He waited minutes, watched the data roll by his screens, and scoured the space about Peralta with naked eyes.

R2-D2 cooed questioningly.

"You're right," Luke replied. "There's… nothing."

He'd braced himself for running into the middle of a hot battle, or at least having to dodge hostile ships. Instead it was just cold empty space over the planet. As he drew closer he scanned the surface and picked up all the heat and energy signatures expected of a mid-level industrial world. When his scanners detected the first ships moving in orbit his heart leaped, until the computer identified them as unarmed Damorian haulers pushing cargo outbound.

To all outward appearance, Peralta looked like a world at peace.

R2 queried again, and Luke said, "Start broadcasting the standard hail. Cycle Alliance frequencies and cycle encrypt-ions too. There's got to be some of our people down there."

R2's warble sounded less confident. As the droid worked the comm system, Luke checked his scanners again and steered his X-wing into lower orbit, moving counter-spin. The planet's nightside drifted beneath and he spotted the glowing pattern of city lights.

It was almost like he'd come to the wrong planet, but he hadn't. He knew it with that weird knowing which must be latent Jedi skills. The truth he was seeking were down there, somewhere.

When confirmation came it was in the worst way. Peeking over the planet's ecliptic was what his sensors marked as a single Loronar Strike-class medium cruiser.

That was definitely enough to ruin Luke's day and he immediately dove into the planet's atmosphere, intent on putting as much distance between himself and the strike cruiser as possible. As he shuddered and burned their aerial entry his sensors momentarily burst to static. When the fires cleared his checked his long-range scanners and saw that the strike cruiser had launched a trio of TIE fighters. They were still well outside firing range, but it was all the evidence he needed that he'd been spotted.

Luke plunged lower, dropping altitude over a sprawling landscape coniferous forests and snow-dusted plains inter-rupted by mountainous spines. The TIEs didn't seem to be in much of a hurry, but they were definitely shadowing him.

"Artoo, any luck with the comms?"

The astromech wailed an affirmative and Luke opened a hail to whatever active Alliance channel R2 had found.

"Does anyone hear this? I'm… I'm a commander in the Rebel Alliance. My X-wing is currently under pursuit. Please respond."

Tense seconds ticked by. Luke dove lower and those TIEs remained at high altitude, out of firing range but in great position to track him.

"I repeat, this is an Alliance X-wing. My authentication codes are-"

"We see you, X-wing," said a male voice.

"Well, that's great, because I can't see you. I have three TIEs shadowing me, upper altitude. Requesting instructions."

After a second the voice said, "Make for the mountain range at your three o'clock. If you draw the TIEs down we can hit them with our anti-air."

Finally, a plan. Luke adjusted course and said, "Heading your way. Those TIEs are maintaining altitude. I don't think they're in your range."

No response. Luke tensely watched the forests and hills whip past below him. If he was being watched there was no way he'd be able to land at whatever hidden base the Rebels kept. He'd have to fly up and engage the TIEs, then draw them back down into range of the anti-air batteries. Unless these Imperials were especially stupid, they'd be expecting him to try just that.

But there seemed no other choice. Luke tapped his controls and his S-foils shifted to attack position. "Warm up the shields, Artoo," he said. "This is going to get hairy."

R2-D2 squealed, not in dismay but surprise. Luke checked his scanners, then scoured the skies with his eyes. Sure enough, approaching from his right flank, running low over the mountain ridges, were two more starfighters. These ones were definitely not TIEs. His keen eyes and marked them even before his scanners as Incom Z-95 Headhunters. They were pretty common with local security forces and planetary militias, and it wasn't a surprise to see the Peraltan Rebels field some of their own.

"Thanks for the air support," he told his benefactors on the ground. "Tell your pilots to form on my wing and we'll take out those TIEs."

The reply was frantic. "X-wing, break port and run! Do it now!"

"But with your fighters we can-"

"Evade, Commander! Those aren't ours!"

Confusion dulled Luke's reaction time. He wrestled his X-wing into a sharp port turn, but not before the approaching Headhunters began lancing his ship with laser bolts. R2 tried to raise shields, but hot red plasma burned through Luke's upper-right S-foil and tore off part of his engine. The X-wing shuddered and dropped, trailing smoke. Swearing, he shunted power to his other engines, but the Headhunters were on him, shooting now with close-range accuracy.

R2-D2 screamed and the cockpit shuddered around him as Luke's X-wing fell from the sky. Two engines were down- no, three- and he'd lost two S-foils. He put power to repulsors and those worked for the moment. The Headhunters soared past but were wheeling around for another pass. If they got him with a second barrage he wouldn't even reach the ground.

His only hope was to crash-land. Luke killed power to his last engine and let his ship plummet. He aimed for an expanse of forest between two mountain ridges, using his repulsors to make minimal directional adjustment as the forest came up on him fast.

There wasn't even time to be afraid Luke's X-wing sheared into the canopy, cutting off the tops of tall conifer trees. Soon he was amongst the trees; pine-needles slapped across his viewport, obscuring all else.

Then, with enough force to throw him twenty meters, the X-wing impacted on the ground. Luke's crash webbing held him in place, though he was sure he'd have bruise-marks across his chest after this. Suddenly everything was still. R2 moaned, like he disbelieved that he was still alive. Luke himself breathed a sigh of relief. The Force really was with him.

Then a mighty tree, trunk as thick as his X-wing's body, groaned, snapped, and came crashing down like a hammer. He heard R2 wail and metal tear, felt a rush of cold mountain air. Then he felt, heard, saw, and knew nothing at all.