7 months after the Battle of Yavin

When the buzz of her comlink interrupted Juno, she immediately felt relief. She didn't know how long she'd been talking; time became vague as she slipped into memory, describing how she'd met the man called Starkiller, their missions in Vader's service and how their deception became fact. She'd passed over (best she could) the bleak year when she'd thought him dead, then described his surreal return at Kamino, where he'd drawn her from the brink of death and bested Darth Vader.

All that was left was Shenandor. This was the hardest part to tell; hard to relive, hard to put into words, hardest of all to speak to this young man in front of her, who listened with such innocent curiosity.

Thankfully, just as she was starting, she got an escape route. She tried to hide her relief as she removed her buzzing comlink from her pocket and opened the line. "Report," she said as Skywalker looked on.

"It's the senator," said the voice of Nevetts, her chief comm officer. "He's requesting direct communication."

"All right. I'm on my way." She switched off the 'link and forced herself to look at Skywalker. "I have to take this now."

"I understand." Skywalker rose from his chair. It seemed like a minute and forever since he'd sat down and listened to her begin her tale, but the longer, harder parts were to come. "I'll give you some privacy."

Juno rose too. "Actually, I have to take this at our comms center."

She went straight for the door. Skywalker followed her out into the empty corridor, his R2 unit rolling like a metal pet behind him. She realized they were shadowing her and asked, "Do you know your way back to the barracks?"

"To be honest, no. This base you've got is a little confusing."

"You've barely seen any of it. All right, you can come with me. But I need to talk to the senator alone."

"I won't intrude." Skywalker picked up pace to walk beside her. A little timidly he asked, "Who is this senator?"

Juno snorted. She couldn't believe he'd hopped in his X-wing and flown all the way to Peralta without knowing anything of what was happening here. "Senator Consantius. I should say former senator, since there's no senate anymore. As soon as it got dissolved he came back to Peralta to agitate against the Empire. Right after that Alderaan was destroyed. That was what sparked this little war."

"Leia said you came here after the battle of Yavin to help the local resistance."

Juno couldn't believe this young man used the princess's name with such intimacy, but his friendship with her had to be real. When Skywalker had walked into his chamber his little trailing astromech had struck Juno as familiar. Leia Organa had once loaned Juno an unusually resourceful blue-and-white astromech to help fix PROXY. Though Juno could hardly believe it, that very same R2-D2 was now Skywalker's, which proved his connection to the princess.

And that meant everything else he'd said—about Yavin and the Force—was true too.

It staggered her and Juno tried to concentrate on his question. "I came with a team of commandos. We've lost almost half of them by now but some are still here, or at our other bases."

"And this senator is your leader?"

"That's right," Juno nodded. He was adored by locals as an inspiration figure, but her own relationship with Consantius was complicated, and was probably about to get more so.

"Do the Imperials have much of a presence here beyond the strike cruiser and its garrison? Or are you mostly fighting Governor Vancon's loyalists?"

"Mostly loyalists. Which is good in some ways, since the PPM are second-tier forces with second-tier equipment. It's also bad, because my soldiers are mostly killing fellow Peraltans, which is harder than faceless stormtroopers."

"I'm surprised so many people still side with the Empire."

"People side with the Empire for all kinds of reasons," Juno said with an ache. "It's not just because they don't know any better, or because they're afraid or been brain-washed. Do you know what this planet's main export is? Superconducting charge coils for turbolasers. We're Taim and Bak's second-largest supplier."

"I've read that," Skywalker said, as if to prove he wasn't totally ignorant.

"A lot of people's livelihoods depends on the Imperial war machine, and not just industrialists and executives. Factory workers, miners… Most people will choose their pocket books over their morals any day."

"You may be right," Skywalker sounded doubtful.

Juno was definitely right. This was a civil war on Peralta and she was on the losing side. The Rebels had less people, less equipment, less weapons, and less backing from their offworld allies. After Yavin she and others had expected a groundswell of support, a mass uprising of emboldened people ready to throw off the Imperial yoke.

She'd been a fool, and not for the first time. But fighting was all she could do now, so she fought on.

Juno had hated this underground base since the moment she'd first stepped inside. Its maze of branching tunnels reminded her too much of Shenandor Prime. Nonetheless she'd learned the paths perfectly by now. They began passing through larger chambers packed with equipment, then a barrel-roofed gathering hall where soldiers on downtime sat at long tables for chat and card games. Eyes lingered on her and on the newcomer; in the warrens of this Rebel base news traveled fast and everyone wanted to know about him. Juno hadn't decided what to tell.

After the gathering hall they passed through more tunnels, then into an even larger area. What had once been a vast circular strip-mine had been converted into a storage area for landspeeders, airspeeders, and repulsor-bikes which sat packed onto the descending stone tiers. Juno led her guests onto a long metal walkway that spanned above the pit. Soon Skywalker stalled behind her, and his astromech chirped curiously.

"Good question, Artoo," Skywalker agreed, apparently understanding the droid perfectly. To Juno he said, "I had no idea your base was this large. How did you even get all these speeders inside?"

"You came in through the back door," she said drolly.

"I guess so. How many bases like this are there on Peralta?"

"Need to know, Commander."

"Right. Of course. Is your comm center this impressive?"

He looked like some Outer Rim hick who'd wandered offworld for the first time. "It gets the job done," she said. "You're welcome to review the equipment, if you'd like. I'll find you later."

She waited just long enough for a nod before turning heel and walking quickly away. For the first time since he'd shambled into her cabin, she could breathe easy.

Juno had heard the rumor that a Force-user had blown up the Death Star, and of course she'd wondered. More than man or woman, human or alien, she'd really wanted to know how this person compared to Starkiller. Now she had her answer, and she couldn't believe it. This Skywalker was almost a total inversion of the man she'd loved. Starkiller had seemed old before his time, bowed by so much suffering and suffused with simmering anger. Skywalker was terrifying young, open and guileless. Even in appearance his shaggy blond hair and bright blue eyes seemed an intentional opposite of Starkiller's short-cut pate and heavy-browed glower. Yet Skywalker had that lightsaber and Leia's R2 unit as proof he was the Rebels' new savior. He made her heart ache for the old one.

Soon Juno reached the domed cavern that hosted their comm systems. Holographic transmissions between the rebel bases scattered across Peralta were extremely risky. It was possible at all only because Consantius had allies managing the satellites in orbit who arranged for encrypted signals to be bounced back and forth across the globe. Even then direct channels were opened very rarely, for important business, which meant Consantius had big news for Juno.

Nevetts was there when she arrived, standing by the room's one holo-projector tucked away in a private niche. "Comm's read, General," he said.

"Good," Juno nodded. "I'll take it from here."

Nevetts stepped purposely across the room, and the few other techs in the chamber turned away, giving her privacy. Juno stood with her back toward them and face toward the projector console, then opened the link.

In the six months she'd been on Peralta, Juno had only met Consantius twice. All their other talk has been through blurry blue holos like this. Nonetheless, the miniature figure conveyed the straight-backed dignity of the veteran senator. His long graying mane reminded her of Garm Bel Iblis, though his beard was fuller, his hair still mostly dark.

"Greetings, General," Consantius said. "I received your report. How is the pilot you recovered?"

She'd sent him everything except the pilot's identity; while damned important, Consantius couldn't have anticipated that and she doubted this was his main reason for calling. That identity was something she didn't want to divulge over the comm, even an extra-encrypted line like this, so she said, "He's in good condition, Senator."

"Have you debriefed him?"

"I've spoken with him. It's unusual, sir, but he came to Peralta for personal reasons, not because Alliance command sent him. I don't think this will affect our strategy going forward."

"I see. You're certain this man can be trusted? The Empire can go to great lengths to insert spies in our midst."

Juno knew that better than anyone. "I trust him."

"And why is that?"

A tiny pause. "He's a colleague of Leia Organa. I know that for certain."

Consantius frowned. "You said he wasn't sent by central command."

"He wasn't."

She expected Consantius to press the point—he was a stickler for detail—but instead she shrugged it off. "If that's your guarantee, General, then I'll trust your judgment. Security must be critical for our next operation."

That 'next operation' was surely why he wanted to speak directly. "What operation is that, Senator?"

"I've decided we need a major strategic shift. These guerilla raids are keeping Vancon and the Imperials one edge, but they're not gaining anything. We need supplies and equipment to sustain our effort. We also need a victory to sustain our spirits, and if Alliance command won't help us we'll have to surmount obstacles by ourselves."

He'd raised his tone to a lofty pitch. Apparently he'd been quite an orator in the old senate. But Juno was a practical woman, and she asked, "Are you suggesting a new offensive, sir?"

"Fortunate favors the bold. We need to actually take and hold territory. We're going to have to mobilize three regional armies, including yours, but I believe it can be done."

She sucked in breath. "What target did you have in mind?"

"Antea."

Her mind spun. Antea was one of the planet's two major spaceports, and its largest industrial export center. Most of the turbolaser charging coils that were Peralta's lifeblood got shipped out through there. Of the different regional armies hers was the closest; one could follow the wind of the Benton river down from the mountains, across the plain, and reach Antea in three standard days.

"I've already spoken with Colonel Podessa and Major Calomar. They're readying their units to attack from the south and southeast. General Eclipse, I need you to prepare an assault from the northeast."

Juno felt dizzy. First Skywalker, and now this. The dull grind of her war was being upended, and not in a good way.

"Taking Antea will be difficult," she warned. "Even if we do succeed, it will be hard to hold. The Imperials haven't sent Vancon much support yet, but they will if we seize the export center. This is a major escalation."

"Of course it is. The Empire will notice, and so will Alliance command. They need those turbolaser coils even more than the Imps do."

Juno couldn't hide her scowl. "This is a gamble. They may not be able to send support even if they want to. I'd prefer if we discussed this with Alliance command first."

That was an understatement. Deep down, Juno craved order. Hierarchy comforted her; it was a bit of Imperial training she just couldn't shake. This situation on Peralta was all kinds of confused. Consantius was the local hero, the man all the anti-Imperials could rally around. He had political acumen and a deep personal knowledge of the planet, to say nothing of his charisma, but he knew nothing about warfare. That was Juno's specialty, and the first time they'd met they'd agreed to act like a duumvirate, each staying in his or her zone. In practice, she was second in line. All the other rebel officers on Peralta were local and Juno would never carry authority with them the way Consantius did.

She chewed the inside of her lip. This would have been a little easier to take if Consantius had discussed it with her before getting Podessa and Calomar on board. It was hard not to feel affronted.

But if Consantius had been a reasonable, risk-averse consensus-builder, he'd have never turned rebel. The ex-senator said, "Sometimes we need to force our friends' hand. A victory here will be huge for all the Alliance."

"That's if we can achieve it."

"We can," Consantius smiled winningly. "I still have connections, General. I've arranged for a distraction to keep the Imperials busy."

She raised a brow. "Can I ask what it is?"

"I'd prefer not to say, but rest assured, we won't be the only thing happening in this corner of the galaxy. Trust me, General."

That's what it all came down to: trust. She'd trusted Commodore Viedas and General Kota, Bail and Leia Organa. Without trust in unlikely but worthy comrades the Rebel Alliance would have never gotten off the ground.

But other times she had badly misplaced her trust. In this instance, it seemed like the choice had been made for her. "When do you want to move on Antea?"

"Not for six days at least. Weather may be a factor. Prepare your troops, develop a strategy. Bounce me a preliminary plan within a day. I'll relay Podessa's and Calomar's."

"Very well," Juno swallowed. "You can count on me, Senator."

"I know I can, General. Together, we're going to show the galaxy what we're really made of."

With that, the holo winked off. Nevetts and the other techs must have noticed, but they kept their safe distance and allowed Juno to stew in private.

This kind of brazen plan wouldn't have scared her once. In her three years with the Rebels she'd helped bring down a star destroyer shipyard at Raxus Prime, uprooted a skyhook on Kashyyyk and stormed the nascent Death Star. All of them, really, were madder feats than this.

Of course, she'd had Starkiller by her side then. The hero was gone, and his replacement didn't impress her much. Gone, too, was the illusion of invincibility. She was still trying to figure out how to live without those things. Maybe she never would.

Maybe she'd just have to keep trying, day after day, until her days stopped for good.

-{}-

Governor Tate Vancon was what happened when the Empire ruled with a soft touch. Rather than an installed moff from the Core he was a Peraltan native, placed in office by an actual planetary election. He nonetheless firmly sided with the Empire in all things, in part because his planet's economy depended so much on the Imperial war machine, and also (it was suspected) because his lifelong political rival, Senator Ontar Consantius, had picked the other side.

Many on Imperial Center said you could never trust local rulers. The only way to properly govern the galaxy was with moffs and grand moffs installed as potentates over foreign worlds, because their loyalty alone could be relied on. Wilhuff Tarkin had been the strongest proponent of this centralized, iron-fisted method of governance.

And look where it had gotten him. No, Miltin Takel much preferred to get the locals involved. It made them feel they had a stake in the Empire and thus bred loyalty. It also took weight off the army and navy, which (despite claims to the contrary) did not have infinite resources. An empire that was too rigid cracked; a military that threw all its weight behind massive shows of power (a moon-sized space station, say) got scattered to bits over desolate star systems. In reward for his actions at Shenandor Prime, the Emperor had made Takel suzerain over the Mandalorian sector and adjacent regions, where he had determinedly cultivated relationships with local leaders. He never let them forget who was ultimately in charge, but he let them pretend their worlds were still their own. It was, he thought, the best way to run an empire.

That being said, Tate Vancon could still be a supreme pain in the backside.

"Grand Admiral, I truly believe this may be a prelude to a larger rebel invasion," the governor said. His holo-image, projected into Takel's quarters, displayed a man with bald head and gray goatee, dressed in a severe tunic that mimicked an Imperial naval uniform. Clearly, he was trying to play to his audience.

Vancon didn't know that Takel had thrown on his own uniform just a minute ago. Men like Grant and Tigellinus probably slept in theirs, but Takel rarely wore his in private. It was too stiff, too plain; the epaulets chafed.

"I admit that little X-wing is curious," Takel told him, "But it's indicative of nothing. We have no report of Rebel activity anywhere in your sector."

"My recovery crews were able to find the crash site. The pilot was missing, as was his astromech droid. They must be messengers with important information from the Rebel leaders."

"It is possible," Takel said. "Rest assured, I'm getting to the bottom of it now."

"How?"

Vancon was rarely so rude; strange one little X-wing would get him so rattled. Smoothly, Takel said, "I have sources within the Rebel forces. You know this."

"I know only what you share." Vancon softened his tone. "Please, Grand Admiral. My military advisors believe the Rebels will try a push soon, possibly before winter sets in on our southern hemisphere. They may even try to take a city. Terdan, perhaps, or Yanta. Even Antea."

Takel considered how much to reveal. "My spies tell me the rebels are moving troops through the forests of the Pantoli lowland. There's also activity in the Ekhetan mountains."

Vancon's brow furrowed. "They could strike north to Terdan… or south at Antea."

"That was my conclusion as well."

"Terdan is a smaller city… The terrorists might think they can take it."

"I suggest reinforcing defenses at both sites."

"Of course," Vancon nodded, "Though I doubt they can take Antea. It's too big a target."

"That also makes it tempting. Don't you always tell me that Ontar Consantius is ambitious?"

The governor scowled. "He's ruthless. He's willing to throw this entire planet to the Rebel scum, just to further his own lust for power."

"Then you should prepare to defend either city. Spread your local troops evenly."

"And your stormtrooper garrison?"

"They'll remain in place at the capital… for now. When more information is available, I'll move them accordingly. Until then their main priority will be to protect you."

Vancon seemed mollified. "I understand. Thank you for your support, Grand Admiral. Together, I'm sure we'll vanquish those terrorists."

"I'm sure we will."

Before Takel could reach for the comm console and close the transmission, Vancon added, "You will, of course, let me know the moment you learn Consantius's location? If we can remove him, the entire Rebel movement will collapse."

And you will be rid of your nemesis, Takel thought. "Of course. Good day, Governor."

He shut off the holo, sighed, and tugged open the collar of the uniform. Now that he could breathe easily he glanced out the viewport of his cabin. Through the transparisteel he could see the off-white sprawl of the Magic Dragon's topside, tapering off at the point. Beyond the star destroyer was the mottled, brown-orange ball of Gargon. His big brother Griff had always yearned to get away from the spice world, but to Takel it was home.

"That man yaps on and on, doesn't he?" came a soft female voice.

Takel turned from the viewport to his bed, where lovely golden Comara was sitting amongst tangled silver sheets. Even more colorful were the hand-woven carpets that covered the steel-gray deck and tapestries which covered boring wall space. The cabin aboard his star destroyer was even more flamboyant than his shuttle's. Takel understood the need for military decorum, but he'd never tolerate the Imperial-standard in his own quarters. Palpatine's taste in interior design was suffocatingly bland.

He stepped across the patterned carpets on bare feet, which had been out of range of the holo-transmission. Pulling open his white jacket further, he said, "Vancon relies on Imperial support. He knows he'd lose his head without us."

"Is Consantius so popular?"

"He's got his following. He's got more charm than Vancon, which served him well in the senate. From what I've read he's clever at politics… quite clever."

"Not as clever as you," Comara poked his back as he sat down beside her. "Or as charming."

Takel merely smirked. Birth had gifted him with sallow skin and buggy eyes, while middle age added a paunch and receding hairline. Were it not for his rank, a woman as beautiful as Comara would never look twice at him. Power, even more than money or spice, was the ultimate aphrodisiac.

Leaning against him, the comely Mirialan asked, "Is that really all your spies told you? Or do you know more than you told him?"

"Ah, my lovely, that's beyond your pay grade."

"I'm sure you're keeping some secrets, cooking up some clever plan..."

"Always," he smirked, but pulled away from her touch. "Join Veespa in the mess. I have some things to review."

She mussed his hair. "I was looking forward to having you all by myself."

"Go on. I have work."

That time she complied, and he swatted her backside as she hopped off the bed, threw on a robe, and left the cabin.

Finally, Takel could do some thinking. He fished into his bedside dresser, pulled out a container of spice, and popped one capsule in his mouth. He closed his eyes, waited, and felt the little high take him. Sansanna wasn't quite glitterstim, but it was indeed good stuff.

It was a truism that a drug dealer should never get hooked on his own supply. Takel fulfilled that, technically. Gargon's spice was of average quality, and he'd long ago required stronger stuff. His personal store was a mix of Kessel glitterstim and refined variants like sansanna which his Hutt friend cooked up for him, in exchange for his selling them larger quantities of Gargon spice.

Once his mind felt energetic and clear, he unlocked his personal datapad. Comara had been right; he was keeping things from Vancon. His most well-placed spy had told him that Consantius was preparing to take the city of Antea, Peralta's largest industrial spaceport. This matched the troop movements he'd observed, and while Takel was a little surprised the Rebels would mount such a bold offensive, it would be easy to turn that to his advantage. It would require the majority of their forces on Peralta to take the city, and once they did they'd have to spend all their lives and equipment to hold it. It was the perfect trap, and Takel hadn't even needed to set any bait.

Not that he could explain this to Vancon. The governor would throw everything he had into defending Antea. The Rebels would be repulsed and scatter back to their mountain hideouts. No, it was better to draw them all together in one place and then annihilate them. For that reason, he'd lied. If Antea got ravaged by war Vancon would act furious but do nothing. After all, he needed Takel more than Takel needed him.

Such was how it went when you ruled the Empire with a soft touch. A hassle sometimes, but better than vaporizing planets every time you woke up feeling grouchy. After reviewing the last report from his spy, Takel began composing orders for his sector fleet. In order to fully pacify Peralta he'd need the Magic Dragon, plus the star destroyers Vituperator and Objurgator, which were currently keeping watch over the Mandalorian sector. His pocket despot there, an old Mando schismatic named Lorka Gedyc, assured him that the so-called Mandalorian Protectors under that rascal Fenn Shysa were no threat. They'd better not be; Takel intended to finish the Peralta business quickly and forever, and that would require a judicious display of overwhelming force.

Sometimes, just sometimes, a heavy touch was needed. Takel was a connoisseur of pleasure, physical and otherwise. Bringing these Rebels to heel would be a particularly exquisite joy. Not even sansanna could compare.

-{}-

Before retreating to the Mid Rim and his waiting command, Grand Admiral Tigellinus had one last task to perform. After his visit to Procopia, his shuttle took him to Tepasi for what would hopefully be the most important event of his sojourn to the bright center: a lunch date.

Since the rise of the New Order, the line between military and civilian powers had become blurred. Many assumed that meant the generals and admirals became overlords of civil affairs, but the truth was more complicated. Palpatine had elevated his handpicked moffs and grand moffs to levels of power far beyond the regional governors of the Old Republic. The moffs might not have technically led armies and navies, but as Tarkin proved they could command tremendous war materiel and personnel. Tigellinus had learned since gaining his new rank that a grand moff had more tangible power than a grand admiral.

Therefore, the lunch date. He met Grand Moff Ardus Kaine at the man's private estate on a lovely outdoor patio overlooking the man's manicured gardens. They'd talked some at the Tapani Day gala, and Tigellinus had secured an invitation for this subsequent visit to Kaine's property. They drank good wine and ate good food beneath a mild benevolent sun while avians chirped in trees and flitted through the sky. If this wasn't class, Tigellinus didn't know what was. Especially impressive was that this abode was Kaine's secondary home, kept for his visits to the Core. His larger estate was on his homeworld of Sartinaynian in the Outer Rim, half a galaxy away.

Kaine waited until the dinner was half-eaten and small talk exhausted before broaching more serious matters. After swallowing a deliciously spiced piece of nuna breast he said, "Tell me, where do you see yourself in three years? Not commanding a Mid-Rim fleet, surely?"

It was a direct, aspirational question. Tigellinus liked it better than the similar one Grant had posed on Procopia. "I've thought about that quite a bit, and if you'll forgive presumption, I think I'd like to be in your position."

Kaine frowned. "In the Outer Rim? I hardly imagined that."

"Not geographic." Tigellinus put down his fork amidst scraps of salad. "Your position within the Empire. Some of our most elite units- Stalker Squadron, the Hell's Hammers- are yours to command, not some admiral's. In terms of resources—planets, raw material, warships, infantry—you're probably the most powerful man in the Empire after Palpatine and Vader."

Kaine shook his head. "You vastly overestimate me."

"I know, there's power and there's power."

"Yours is nothing to scoff at. A grand admiral, and at your age."

"I'm not so young, and there's much more I want to accomplish for the Empire."

"Are you telling me you want a moff's privilege?"

"A grand moff. I'm not asking for a downgrade." Tigellinus smiled and sipped his wine.

Kaine drank too and considered. "It's not impossible. Of course, possible is whatever our Emperor decides it is. You'd have to earn is favor, more than you already have."

"I know. But my resources are limited."

"You command fleets across half the Slice. Hardly to be scoffed at."

"And you have a third of the known galaxy."

"Again, you overestimate my authority. I have dozens of moffs, thousands of local governments, and hundreds of naval officers to corral. And there is a power in the Outer Rim that supersedes my own."

"Ah. Lord Vader and his Death Squadron. I wonder where they might be lurking now."

The grand moff considered. "I believe they're currently active in the Jubilar sector."

Tigellinus was cheered that Kaine saw him worthy of that classified morsel. "If I can bounce that initial question back, where do you, Grand Moff, want to be in three years?"

Kaine laughed tiredly. "Ah, want. Desire is for the young. I know where I'll be, unless I earn the Emperor's displeasure. Where I am now, wrangling the Outer Rim."

"But still," Tigellinus pressed, "where do you want to be?"

The grand moff said gravely, "One day, hopefully soon, the Rebel threat will be exterminated and Imperial power will be firm across the entire galaxy. That power will come from the Core."

"I agree. And that is where I want to be."

Kaine considered. "On Coruscant? The Emperor's court? I've noticed you do enjoy official functions."

"You're right. I also want to be among the people who will decide the future of the galaxy. I want to be at the beating heart of history."

"Some would argue the Empire's fate is being decided in the Rim. Darth Vader, for example."

"But we do not," Tigellinus said.

Kaine smiled faintly at that presumption. "I suppose not. So tell me, oh aspiring young man, what will get you to the place of your desire?"

His words could have been mocking, but Tigellinus heard warmth in them. "You know what they say. It's not about what you know, but who you know."

"That's politics. You're fighting a war."

"War is just politics through urgent means."

"Perhaps. But politics is also about give and take."

"I can't offer you anything specific now, and I'm not expecting anything concrete from you. But in the future, I think a partnership would benefit us both. Tell me, if you didn't have Lord Vader sulking through the Rim, who would you most like to have in charge of your fleets?"

"You're volunteering? You want to be in the Core."

"I can get to the Core by winning major victories against the Rebels. Right now, Vader is hogging the whole show."

"Be careful not to step on his toes. It never ends well," Kaine said seriously. "As to your question… I've always had a good relationship with Octavian Grant."

"With all respect, Grant is a man of the past."

"Don't naysay your elders. He's a brilliant tactician."

"In the Clone Wars I'm sure he was. But this Empire needs new blood, in the Rim and the Core both."

"Then you must have plenty to give." Kaine sighed, finished his wine glass, and set it down. "I will be frank. You are a fine officer with a promising record. You will go far. You may even get what you desire. But you're less than three years into this nebulous new rank the Emperor invented for you. Be patient. Do his bidding, do it well, and stay out of Vader's way. The rest will take of itself."

This was not what Tigellinus wanted to hear. "I see. Well, I suppose I'll thank you for the meal at least."

"That wasn't a refusal," Kaine said. "If you truly believe you have an exchange worth a partnership, I'm open to it. But understand that I'm quite discerning."

This would have to be good enough. "I understand, then." Tigellinus lifted his glass, one mouthful left. "I look forward to proving myself to you, and to our Emperor."

He toasted and drank, while Kaine sat there with a tiny unreadable smile. Tigellinus wasn't sure, but it almost looked like nostalgia.