There was a moment just after the Rebel fleet's arrival when Miltin Takel wondered if this battle was really happening, or if he'd taken some very weird spice.

He wasn't a connoisseur of hallucinogenics, though he'd dabbled. It would have required some powerful concoction to dream of this fight. First the old Clone Wars ship carrying Luke Skywalker (but not really) which had brought Imperials to shed Imperial blood. Then the threat of destroyer-versus-destroyer violence. Then the moment when it looked like the Rebels might accomplish a miracle escape. Then Takel's saving throw: he'd rushed Magic Dragon past Peralta's gravity well, only to order his crew to do a lightspeed jump back into it. The destroyer had spent one seventeenth of a standard second in hyperspace before being wrenched back into realspace by Peralta's pull, only now it lay directly in front of the fleeing Rebel convoy (which, Takel still prayed, contained the real Luke Skywalker somewhere).

The jump hadn't been easy. The wrench of acceleration and re-entry had tossed Takel into a wall and some of his crew were bruised or bleeding. Systems had overloaded across the ship and minor alarms panged on the bridge, but backups all held. Guns still worked. So did shields and sublight engines, though too much of a strain might cause cascading systems failures. But now that they were in place, taking care of a rangy convoy of civilian ships would be no problem.

Takel had been thinking exactly that when the Rebel fleet appeared behind him. When turbolaser fire from not one but two Mon Calamari cruisers began pounding Magic Dragon's port shields he dearly wished this was a weird spice-dream but no, this was truly a fight for his life.

Again.

A little wearily, he wondered how badly the Magic Dragon would get savaged this time around. Assuming he survived today, he was never getting involved with Jedi business again, Emperor's grace be damned. No reward was worth this.

As the ship rocked and fresh alarms wailed, Takel said, "Comm, send a message to Avatar. Compose it now. Make it simple."

"Sir?" Like everyone else on the bridge, the comm lieutenant looked stupefied.

Takel bit his lip so hard it drew blood, then made himself say it. "Tell Grand Admiral Tigellinus that I humbly request his assistance."

-{}-

"Sir?" asked Captain Roddiger. "How do we respond?"

Tigellinus looked thoughtfully out Avatar's viewport. The fleeing convoy was like a chain of faint jewels streaking away from Peralta. Reprobation gnawed at it from the rear; the Magic Dragon was poised to tear it apart from the fore. Only now, two Mon Calamari warships were rushing Takel's star destroyer. Even from hundreds of kilometers away, Tigellinus could see the energy scatter across the Magic Dragon's beleaguered shields.

An Imperial star destroyer was no pushover; but then, neither were these new Rebel cruisers, despite their alien origin. It would be an extended brawl, and in that time many ships in the Rebel convoy would sneak away. Luke Skywalker would almost certainly be among them, although if the stories about Jedi were true, he'd stay in the thick of it until seeing all his comrades to safety.

At best speed, the Avatar was at least six minutes out from the battle zone. Tigellinus ordered Roddiger to take them in at two-thirds maximum sublight, and to run systems checks to make sure they were fitfully prepared for battle.

Roddiger looked confused, but he obeyed. As always.

It was so tempting to let Takel burn in a pyre of his own recklessness, but the Emperor would be very displeased if Tigellinus stood back and let another grand admiral die. So he'd do his Imperial duty and help his comrade.

But he'd make him sweat first.

-{}-

It felt good to be behind the control of a starfighter again. A Z-95 was no X-wing, but it felt liberating to fly. No more staggering through lethal cold, no more creeping through the dark, no frozen rivers to cross, no reek of charred flesh and ozone. Now it was just Luke and his ship, darting free through space.

Well: Luke, his ship, and the TIE fighters coming at him. Couldn't forget those. When they swarmed him, Luke had to wrench the old starfighter into more dizzying maneuvers to avoid their endless emerald hail. Blasts battered his shields, and R2-D2, tucked behind him in the Z-95's enclosed socket, wailed that shields were about to fail.

Luke tried to be optimistic. During repairs he hadn't expected the shields to work at all.

There was no hope of fighting off this many TIEs. There was simply too many to try an offensive. All his energy was focused on evasion and he lost track of everything else, even Juno's TIE bombers, even the ships in the Rebel convoy.

But he knew that if he held out long enough, the cavalry would arrive.

The sight of ruby laser bolts meant salvation. Luke veered toward their source, dragging a stream of TIEs after him. The scarlet blaze intensified and for a second he thought he'd be caught in friendly fire, but the blasts skimmed past his shields and caught the trailing TIEs head-on. Clustered close, they exploded together in a bright fireball that sent remnant solar panels and twisted pylons spinning into space.

A welcome voice sounded over his comm. "Headhunter, we've got you covered. Form up on our wing."

Luke replied, "Is that you, Rogue Leader?"

"Identify yourself, pilot."

"Rogue Leader, this is Rouge Leader." Luke chuckled in relief as he spun toward the cluster of X-wings. "It's good to see you Wedge."

"Likewise, Luke. This is a hell of a mess you've got yourself in."

"You don't know the half of it." He edged his Headhunter onto Wedge's flank. "You certainly have dramatic timing."

"It was unintentional, I promise. It was hard to muster enough ships to get here, but when that first star destroyer showed up, Princess Leia pressed hard."

"I hoped she would. Wedge, you've got to tell your pilots not to fire on a TIE bomber if they see it. General Eclipse is aboard. Long story."

He heard Wedge's consternation. "Luke, there's a whole bunch of bombers heading our way. We can't not fire at them, they'd take out half the convoy."

Luke checked his sensors and saw it too. "Tell our fighters, all our fighters, to be careful. Only fire on them if they fire on us."

"I'll see what I can do."

Wedge didn't sound enthusiastic Luke didn't blame him. The space over Peralta had become hectic, the once-simple chase a chaotic brawl. He prayed Juno was alive somewhere in that mess. He even dared hope she'd take her TIE bomber and fly toward the nearest Mon Cal cruiser broadcasting her identification code on all channels. It would be her best chance at survival.

But he had a feeling she wouldn't. Not because she wanted to die, not anymore, but because she couldn't leave a fight until all of her self was spent. It was something she had in common with Luke and, he believed, the man she still loved.

-{}-

The Magic Dragon was like an old sailing sip foundering on rocks. It was stuck with no place to move, but assailed on all sides. It had been bad enough battling a Mon Calamari cruiser at Shendanor; now Takel was assailed by two. One slammed his port flank with broadside fire while the second had pulled to a higher relative elevation and was pumping missiles from its ventral batteries onto the destroyer's topside. Nearly the entire view from the Magic Dragon's bridge was obscured by the glow of shield scatter.

Even worse, the ship's hyperspace-skip along the edge of Peralta's gravity well had left it with a cascade of power fluctuations. The destroyer's main rectors were straining to produce the energy required to hold up shields. Powering engines for an escape attempt was out of the question.

Reprobation was on its way, though the strike cruiser could at best distract one of the Mon Cal ships. What Takel really needed was another star destroyer to tip the fight back in his favor, but Avatar was slow in approaching.

He had his comm officer open another channel with Tigellinus's ship, and he snapped, "We require assistance immediately. I know your destroyer can move faster than that!"

"We are merely making sure we are properly prepared before leaping into battle," Tigellinus said. "You've already demonstrated the risks of acting too hastily."

Takel gnashed his teeth. Good gods, he needed spice. "You can be fast and dignified at the same time. Damn it, man, I don't know how much longer we have. The Emperor will never forgive you if you let me die!"

"More likely he'd thank me for removing a criminal filthy from the fleet."

"Don't act righteous, you preening imbecile! We both know the Emperor cares about results."

"Perhaps," Tigellinus demurred, "I might be able to speed our preparations."

"You want me to beg? Is that it?"

"Normally I'd never ask a fellow grand admiral to act so undignified, but in your case..."

"All right! All right! I need you, gods damn it. That's why I asked you to come here and you accepted. To help me!"

"I think that can be arranged." He could actually see Tigellinus's smug smile.

Takel growled and shut off the link. He looked to the tactical display, heart pounding. The marker for Avatar was drawing closer to the battle zone. It was coming faster and, he saw, spilling more TIE fighters and bombers from its hangar bay. The Mon Cal cruiser holding above the Magic Dragon began to veer off on an intercept course for the second destroyer.

Salvation at last. Takel knew he'd have to pay Tigellinus recompense for this. It would be galling and humiliating, but at least he'd live another day, and that was what mattered.

-{}-

Yet again the battle shifted. Sealed inside her TIE bomber, Juno felt like a helpless observer. The arrival of so many new Rebel ships had lifted her heart but also increased her danger exponentially. Any of those X-wings and Y-wings now swarming around the convoy could mistake her for an enemy and blast her to pieces.

Therefore she formed up with a squadron of TIE bombers, not from Reprobation but from Magic Dragon. The new Rebel starfighters warded off major attack runs from Imperial bombers but this new TIE squadron kept clipping at the edges of the Rebel convoy, launching missiles at trailing freighter where they could. Juno hung at the back of the formation and never popped off warheads herself, but she had to watch with sickening guilt at one small barrage punched through the hull of a Correllian YT-model and turned it to flame.

She couldn't just sit and watch Rebels die, but exposing herself meant certain death at the hands of the other TIEs. She'd thought about making a run for the nearest Mon Calamari ship but very likely she'd be shot down on approach, even if she tried broadcasting clearance codes. And she still had those eight warheads in her armament pod, begging to be used.

Thus she had to continue flying beside her enemies, waiting and searching for the chance to strike for her cause.

Was this how Starkiller had felt, battling with Vader at Shenandor? Perhaps, but Starkiller had done so much more. Even when he and Juno were home free, he'd thrown himself from the Y-wing, out of her life forever, and sacrificed himself to save his evil maker. She still couldn't understand why. Maybe she never would. But she was no longer certain he'd been Vader's slave and nothing more.

She had to create her own opportunity and make her mark. She listened in on Imperial channels and scattered amidst standard combat communication she picked up plenty of comments implying those two star destroyers and their respective grand admirals were not happy allies. That explained why the second destroyer, the Avatar, had taken its sweet time to engage the new Rebel cruisers.

There had to be a way to use that. Her TIE bomber was Black Eight, assigned to Reprobation, which (she learned from chatter) was subordinate to the Magic Dragon. That destroyer was still battling for its life on the outer edge of Peralta's gravity well; the Avatar was closer.

An idea came to Juno. It was quite simple, actually. When your enemies were set against each other, sometimes the only option was to pick a side and fight alongside one enemy to help your real friends. For Juno, like Starkiller, the choice between two foes was obvious.

She broke away from the Magic Dragon's bomber squadron, claiming she'd suffered a malfunction and needed to retreat. They barely paid her attention. She flew well clear of the combat zone, maintaining safe distance from the Rebel snub-fighters at all times. When she checked long-range scanners she saw that ships from the convoy were finally beginning to flicker into hyperspace. She felt special satisfaction as the Damorian hauler lurched to lightspeed, safe. Flying a broad arc, she made her way toward the Avatar.

The star destroyer was engaged with the second Mon Calamari cruiser now. The gap between them was kilometers long but lit up by turbolaser fire. A few TIE fighters buzzed picket patrols around the Avatar but most of its fighter screen was elsewhere. The Rebels, for their part, seemed to have thrown their snubfighters into defending the convoy.

It was therefore very easy for Juno to approach the Avatar. The destroyer had shields up over its starboard flank to absorb all that laserfire, but port shields were down over much of the hull. A defensive screen was up around the front of the command tower, fully protecting the bridge, but her sensors reported the topside shield generator on its port side was only lightly protected.

Yes, it was just the opportunity Juno needed.

She hadn't gotten into this ship planning to die, but she found the prospect no longer worried her. She'd keep her charade and could finally strike one enemy in favor of another, to ensure the lives of her real allies. As long as she succeeded, she'd be okay with that.

Was this close to how Starkiller had felt in the end?

She hoped so. He still shadowed her in the cockpit, as did her actions at Callos. Gripping the TIE bombers controls brought that battle back through the fog of years. Vader had told her to bomb the planet's main reactor and she'd done it, not imagining the cascade of environmental damage which would ruin that verdant world. Her first crime, and the last time she'd been Imperial in her heart. In everything after that—Starkiller, Salvation, Shenandor, Peralta—she'd been driven by the need to absolve herself of that sin.

Maybe she could do it now, at the end. In memory of reactor dome swelled over Callos's forest. The Avatar's shield generator sphere rose just the same before her now. Like the Callos reactor it invited destruction.

At least this time she could get the right target.

Juno was already in a dive. Her targeting lock was set dead ahead. All she had to do was squeeze her trigger again, and again, and again.

Missile after missile streaked ahead. The first burst against the generator's outer shell, crumpling it. The second tore through, and the third and the fourth. The explosion was so great it enveloped all of Juno's viewport, and she thought she might as well just sail into the fireball and burn forever.

But that nagging will to live kicked in. She pulled her stick and veered away as fast as the TIE bomber could. Flame furled away from the Avatar's command tower like a banner, marking it as vulnerable.

Good enough. It might not be absolution, but it was good enough.

-{}-

Grand Admiral Tigellinus was thrown off his feet when the shield generator exploded. He might have fallen flat on the deck but instead his head slammed the edge of a console. As he tried to stand pain bloomed in his skull. He palmed his temple and found it wet. Blood, running down the side of his face, staining the white collar of his uniform. So ugly; not dignified at all.

Alarms brought Tigellinus back to his senses. The bridge seemed to spin around him and he was forced to brace himself on the same console he'd fallen against. He gasped, "What happened?"

Roddiger supplied, "A bomber just knocked out all bridge shields, sir."

"What? How did a Rebel ship get past our screens?"

"Not Rebel, sir," the tactical lieutenant supplied. "It was a TIE bomber."

"Impossible," Tigellinus gasped, but even as the word left him he wondered. "Where? Where did the bomber come from? Not one of ours?"

The lieutenant checked his readout. "Transponder marks it as… Black Eight. From the Reprobation. It's fleeing now. Should we pursue?"

"Of course! Destroy the damned thing! Helm, gets us clear of that Rebel cruiser. And comm, get me that piece of…. get me Magic Dragon."

"Your personal 'link, sir?"

"Yes, yes, do it."

He couldn't stride all dignified to the front of the bridge this time. Tigellinus stamped one palm against his forehead to staunch the bleeding and used the other hand to hold the comlink close to his mouth. As soon as the line opened he growled murderously, "You bastard. I knew you were a hedonist and a hoodlum, but I never thought you'd do this to me!"

"What are you ranting about?" Takel sounded annoyed.

"You bombed me! My bridge shields are gone! I can't fight the Rebels like this!"

"Why would I bomb you? Dammit man, I need your help!"

"It was your fighter! Yours!" Tigellinus squeezed the 'link so hard its metal edges cut his palm. "You traitor, I hope you burn in every hell there ever was."

"Rufaan, wait!"

Tigellinus shut off the 'link. In a burst of frustration he threw the little cylinder across the bridge. It skipped nosily across the deck before tumbling into the crew pit. Those who noticed stared at him in shock.

Tigellinus knew he should have been ashamed of such a display, but right now he was simply too angry to care.

Roddiger asked, "Sir… What should we do?"

Tigellinus looked at the blood on his hands and uniform; he wondered how he'd gotten so ugly. "Take us back to the planet," he said. "Down there, at least, we have victory."

-{}-

As the Avatar's TIE fighters closed in behind her, Juno decided she was satisfied. Not happy (in her life she'd made many mistakes, lost too many people) but content she'd at least found a good way to end it. A way like Starkiller's.

She didn't bother to evade. Rather, she pointed her TIE bomber toward the distant Mon Cal cruiser and gunned ahead. With its payload emptied her ship accelerated better than before, but those TIEs would still catch up to her soon, and that would be it.

She let herself so. At maximum acceleration that Rebel cruiser swelled quickly to span her octagonal viewport. It was so different from the star destroyers on which she'd been trained. Warm earth colors replaced cold gray, harsh angles melted into organic curves. A more welcoming place.

A few green laser-bursts slipped past her cockpit. The TIEs were almost on her. Juno continued to peer ahead at the Mon Cal cruiser; a blue emblem painted on its hull caught her eye. The ship grew closer, the emblem bigger and more clear. What else could it be but the crest of the Rebel Alliance?

"Do you know why chose the symbol we did as the Rebellion's icon?" Leia had asked her on Dantooine.

"It was a family crest," Juno had replied. "Galen Marek's family."

"But do you know why we chose it?"

"Why?"

"As a reminder."

"Of… him?"

"Yes, but there's more than that. It's a reminder of what we choose to believe... He inspired us all to be better than what we are. I think, maybe, it's the best gift anyone can give."

It was the last thing Juno wanted to see. She kept staring even as more shots from the chasing TIEs overtook her. Even as one bolt winged starboard solar panel, and another nicked her armament pod. Alarms wailed, the cockpit smelled of smoke, and the Rebel cruiser eclipsed her entire viewport. Starkiller's crest filled her vision. More laser blasts were fired, now from the Rebel cruiser toward her. Well, she thought dully, it didn't really matter who fired the killing shot. It was bound to come, one way or another.

Then a laser bolt (she couldn't tell whose) clipped her port solar panel. The TIE bomber went into a spiral; Starkiller's crest slipped up and out of view. The Mon Calamari ship's smooth hull swept by ahead of her, and she was sure she'd impact on its shields. Instead something tugged her hard, arresting the spiral, and reeled her in the opposite direction. A tractor beam, pulling hard.

Interior light blinded her. The docking bay's interior, busy with incoming ships, flashed by. Then her crippled bomber hit the deck hard. Crash webbing dug into her shoulders as her cockpit thrashed her about. The wound in her side tore open and she tasted blood. Smoke filled her nostrils and she felt heat from an unseen fire.

Her bomber skidded across the flight deck and finally crumpled against the rear bulkhead. Impact cracked Juno's cockpit without breaking it. The air filled with smoke; it became difficult to see.

Despite the pain, despite her dazed mind, she wanted to live. Juno unbuckled her restraints and tried to reach the overhead hatch. She tugged on the release levers above her seat but nothing opened. The crash had warped the hull and twisted the metal seal, trapping her inside the smoky burning ship.

So hot; sweat poured down her face. Smoke filed her lungs and tickled her skin. Vision blurred black. Not like this, she thought. She'd have rather died in a fireball than choke to death on the ashes of a stolen ship.

But maybe it was fitting. Her original sin had been committed in one of these bombers. She'd get her final punishment where it had begun, in Black Eight. Strength gave out; she collapsed into her pilot's seat and waited for thought and vision to leave her.

Then there was light. It broke through the overhead hatch like a burning spear and worked quickly to cut apart the warped edge. Then the hatch was pulled away; artificial glow fell into her darkened tomb and smoke welled up through the gap.

Juno was not sure what was real any longer, but when she craned her head back she saw a vision, edged by darkness and wreathed in smoke, of a man standing above with her a lightsaber in one hand, the other stretching down toward her.

Starkiller, she thought.

No, not Starkiller. Someone else. Someone new.

With her last strength, Juno reached to take his hand.