Luke only learned the sum of the Battle of Peralta hours after the fight was well over. He'd landed on the Mon Calamari cruiser Liberty, which was, fittingly, the same ship he'd deserted weeks before. Word of his arrival spread as soon as he set his Headhunter down, and an hour after the cruiser had initiated its lightspeed jump away from the planet he was taken to meet with Liberty's captain for an informal debriefing.
Luke told what he could and got much in exchange. The Imperials had, of course, succeeded in retaking North Antea. Most of the spaceport was intact, though the surrounding cityscape was ravaged by heavy urban fighting. It would be weeks before the planet resumed its full export schedule, but only weeks.
As for the convoy, fifteen ships of varying classes had escaped. Six had been destroyed during the flight from the planet. The number of those who'd died was unknown and probably always would be, but the survivors numbered over eight thousand. Among them was General Eclipse, who was currently undergoing badly-needed procedures in Liberty's medical ward.
Of Senator Consantius, there was no account. It was believed that he'd stayed behind too long during the evacuation of the spaceport and been either killed or captured. For his sake, everyone hoped the former.
Luke received a more personalized update when he went to the Rogue Squadron barracks, which seemed exactly as he'd left it. All the pilots he knew were still alive. His old bunk was still available. His squadron-mates crowded him with questions and he did his best to explain until Wedge warded them off.
The two of them retreated to one of the small mess rooms, which was thankfully empty. Luke hadn't realize how hungry he was until he helped himself to a bowl of reheated salathia bean paste, which was never meant to taste so good.
As he swallowed down spoonfuls, Luke said, "I'm sorry I ran and left you in charge of the squadron. That was a dereliction and I shouldn't have."
"I have a feeling Alliance command will forgive you." Wedge opened a bottle of carbonated beverage and sat down across from Luke.
"I have a feeling you're right," Luke sighed.
Wedge understood him. "If you get special treatment, it's because you deserve it. I heard about your little gambit with the Aethersprite. It was very clever."
"It wouldn't have worked nearly as well if those two grand admirals hadn't been as set on fighting each other as us."
"Well, now you've outsmarted two of the Emperor's dirty dozen. Not quite blowing up a Death Star, but a hell of a thing to have on your resume." Wedge guzzled from his bottle, set it down, and asked seriously, "Did you find what you went looking for?"
Luke took time to consider. "I suppose I did."
"This other Jedi… what was his name again?"
"Starkiller."
"Did you learn what happened to him?"
"As much I ever will."
Wedge leaned forward. "So you learned how he defeated Darth Vader?"
Defeat Vader, serve Vader, betray Vader, fight with and against Vader, die for Vader. Starkiller had done all of those things. Luke understood why Juno had believed the man had been the Dark Lord's pawn the entire time; it seemed the easiest way to reconcile so many contradictions. But Luke believed otherwise. It was more than what he'd heard; it was what he felt, in the strange way of feeling he'd been slowly learning the past seven months.
Starkiller had done all those things not because he was a puppet, but because he was a Jedi. Because the Force compelled him, even to his end. It terrified Luke and inspired him, and it made him wonder where his own path would lead. He prayed he wouldn't be called upon to make such a dreadful sacrifice. Even more than that, he prayed he wouldn't hurt the ones he loved.
Staring into his emptied bowl, he said carefully, "I think… sometimes there's ways to beat an enemy other than just defeating him."
After a pregnant pause, Wedge asked, "If you speak in weird riddles, does that make you more of a Jedi?"
Luke smirked. "Maybe."
"Well in that case, keep riddling. I won't understand, but I'll trust you."
"Thanks, Wedge."
Luke rose, leaving his friend and his empty bowl behind. He stepped inside Liberty's gently curving corridor, closed his eyes, and breathed deep. Just the sound of air recirculating overhead.
"Do you have anything for me, Ben?" Luke muttered.
He waited, listened to the soft roar, and watched the blackness of his eyelids. Nothing came, not even a whisper. Maybe Ben would never talk to him again; maybe he never had. Maybe he was just conserving himself for when he was really needed.
Because right now he wasn't. Luke opened his eyes and walked calmly down the corridor, back to the barracks. Once night-cycle came, he knew he'd get a deep and restful sleep.
-{}-
Though shades had been draped over the viewports of Miltin Takel's cabin, the unsteady strobe of hyperspace slipped around the edges and tickled the grand admiral's vision as he lay in the darkness of his bed. Comara was warm and fast asleep beside him, but he couldn't drift off. His latest spice-high had cratered and left him exhausted, but he could not rest. He missed having a body on his other side, but it was more than that.
He was on his way to Imperial Center in his private shuttle, and he felt suspended between past and future. The Battle of Peralta had been declared and victory and propagated as such on the news-nets. Looked at objectively, this was true; the Rebel uprising had been crushed, its agents chased off the planet. Ontar Consantius, Imperial senator turned terrorist leader, had been captured and would be published publicly and severely. Takel and Tigellinus had both been ordered to the capital with the promise of honor from the Emperor himself.
But Palpatine was a cunning man, and his rewards often contained daggers of punishment. Peralta had been Takel's purview, and as such he should have wiped out the Rebels entirely. Instead he and Tigellinus had wrestled with each other and allowed most of the convoy to escape. Imperial had fired on Imperial. Both Magic Dragon and Avatar had suffered heavy damage and were currently being repaired. Most embarrassing for Takel, it was the Hell's Hammers who had captured Consantius, which meant Tigellinus would reap that reward.
There was also the question of Skywalker. That name had only been whispered on a few select comm channels, mostly between Tigellinus and Takel, neither of whom wanted to the Emperor to know his most wanted man had slipped through their fingers. In theory, that secret failure should have been safe. Much as they loathed each other, neither man would risk speaking Skywalker's name.
But the Emperor knew all.
Takel did not think his life was in danger. Shenandor, he figured, had bought him a little forgiveness. No, if he was going to be punished it would be something subtle and creative, the kind of thing only Palpatine could conjure.
He had no idea what that was, so he could only lie in his bed with Comara and wait.
-{}-
Rufaan Tigellinus had come to Imperial Center as a hero and was determined to act like one, no matter how his personal audience with the Emperor went. He'd received congratulatory messages from eight moffs, four grand moffs (including, of course, Ardus Kaine), nine admirals and a long list of civilian dignitaries and officials, plus as invitations for dinner and intimate conversation from most of them. His actions at Peralta, especially dragging in the errant Senator Consantius, had made him a popular man, just like he'd always wanted.
There were many people he intended to be wined and dined by; too many, indeed, to fit into the short scheduled visit to the capital while the Avatar was being repaired. He did, however, make sure a slot was reserved to meet with the only grand admiral to have sent him an invitation. This was Octavian Grant.
They met at the Great Expanse, a Tapani-style restaurant located not far from the old senate. From its high windows you could see the derelict senate hall's dome, a number of government spires, and elegant residential towers which the capital's most powerful residents called home. Tigellinus wasn't at those heights yet, but he was on his way.
Two men in white uniforms and gold epaulets earned their own corner of the Expanse, one with a wonderful view of all those splendors cast in a sunset glow. As they sat down across a small table, Grant ordered wine from the young waitress and recommended local dishes.
After their wine-glasses were filled, Grant raised his up in a modest toast. "Here you are, at the center of things, as you always wanted. Congratulations."
Tigellinus decided to play modest. "I haven't even met the Emperor yet. I have no idea what kind of treatment he'll give me."
"You're being feted in the press, which you know is no accident. I'm sure that capturing Consantius and cleansing the Rebels off Peralta has earned you favor." Though they had the nook to themselves he lowered his voice. "All the other business, I'm sure, he can overlook."
Tigellinus stiffened. The fact that he and Takel had come close to firing on each other was definitely not in the press, but a man with Grant's resources would have heard. He wondered how much more Grant knew, because if he'd heard they'd let Skywalker slip through their fingers, the Emperor surely had as well.
Grant smiled wryly. "To be frank, the Emperor won't be surprised by that… other business. Ours is an elite fraternity, but not a happy one. There is a reason he keeps us apart in our duties."
So he'd only heard about the skirmish. Good. "I may have overstepped my bounds and gone into Takel's system, but I also completed the victory he should have. The Emperor will understand that. He will also understand, I hope, that some among our fraternity are more worthy of the rank bestowed than others."
"He is a wise man." Grant took a sip.
"Then I'm sure he'll reward those of us who embody the ideals of the Empire, and who comport ourselves like true gentlemen."
The older man set his glass down. "You know, in some ways, you remind me of my younger self."
"Thank you," Tigellinus nodded.
Half of Grant's smile tipped toward inexplicable frown. "Well. Here you are, at the center of things. Is this where you aim to stay?"
"I'll go where the Emperor sends me, of course. But yes… I aim to stay here." He looked out at the city. The first lights were flickering on in distant towers.
"You are an excellent field officer," Grant said thoughtfully. "Are you certain you're best off trading a star destroyer for an office suite?"
"I'm sure the Emperor will let me keep the Avatar. But this is where history is made. This is where power comes from." It was heady just to say it. Tigellinus felt a rare urge to speak truly. "You know that I was not born to such heights as yourself. Cyrillia is a middling world. My family was successful only by local standards. I was born locked out of greatness. I had to take it myself."
"And your striving has led you here."
"Yes." Tigellinus took a long drink from his wine-glass.
With a wistful look, the older man said, "After the Clone Wars, the Emperor rewarded me for services rendered. I spent a spell on Coruscant, managing the Home fleet..."
He trailed off. Tigellinus prompted, "I'm familiar with your record. Do you have recommendations for me?"
"Advice, perhaps," said Grant. "Power and influence are lovely things, of course, but they have a calcifying effect. They stiffen you from the inside like arthritis in the joints. Commanding your ship, sailing the stars and defeating your enemies, those are more than just paths to ascension. They are what keep you alive, in mind and soul."
Grant trailed off and his eyes drifted out the window. So he was becoming maudlin again, as he had at the Tapani Day gala. Tigellinus felt pity toward the old admiral. He'd been a great officer once, but age and nostalgia had dulled his edge.
Tigellinus still had his. It was sleek, sharp, and precise. Takel's edge was jagged and reckless, and all the more dangerous for it. At Peralta the escalation between them had been shocking. He still could barely believe the other admiral had bombed the Avatar's bridge, especially when, looked at rationally, he'd stood to gain nothing by it.
The Imperial fleet was built on rivalries between proud men all striving for the Emperor's favor. The grand admirals were the proudest and ablest of them all. A violent clash between them had once seemed grim possibility; after Peralta it was inevitable. If something ever happened to the Emperor the great men would fall on each other with their sleek or jagged blades. Blood would be spilled and ships would burn.
If that day ever came, Tigellinus would be ready for it. So, surely, would Takel. As for Octavian Grant, he'd probably be the first to fall.
Something stirred Grant from his thoughts. The old man looked back to Tigellinus, picked up his half-empty glass, and offered another toast. "To the future, whatever may come."
"Whatever may come," Tigellinus said, and tapped his glass.
-{}-
The planet called Nikora lacked Dantooine's gentle splendor, but the Rebel base located there was nonetheless scenic, perched as it was on the edge of a cliff, looking down on chains of rocky islets which jutted from foamy sea. At high tide the coastline became a place of violence, but Juno Eclipse found it strangely comforting to watch. Through the constant crash of waves to stone, the shore endured.
Like Dantooine, this was never meant to be a permanent base. Just a place to resupply and hide for a while before moving onto a new temporary home and continuing the fight elsewhere. And for Juno, it was a place to heal. Her wounds were not just physical, and they all needed time to mend. But, sooner or later, she'd be back in the fight.
Juno was surprised when Leia Organa appeared on Nikora. She'd had no idea the princess was even in this sector, nor any reason to think the younger woman might single her out as worthy of attention. But she appeared nonetheless, and after meeting with the base's leaders she diverted time to simply sit with Juno on a cliffside overlook and watch the brutal coast.
It turned out that she'd already gotten the truth about Starkiller from Luke. Apparently he and Leia really were close. Juno felt slighted, as though he'd betrayed a confidence, but that faded. It spared Juno the difficult task of telling the story again, and Starkiller was not her secret to guard. Every phoenix crest she saw was proof of that.
As they watched the waves Leia said, "Luke believes that Starkiller was a Jedi to the end, even when he joined with Vader."
"And died for him," Juno said. It still hurt to say.
"Yes." Her father had clearly taught her diplomatic circumspection.
"Skywalker… Luke is special. I see that now. He's more of a hero than Starkiller ever was. And maybe more of a Jedi."
"Luke doesn't think he's a Jedi at all. Do you?"
"I think he will be one day. Not that it will make things any easier for him."
"No," Leia agreed. "If anything it'll make things harder. But I can't tell him that."
"He'll find out on his own. Hopefully."
Waves roared against rock. When they receded Leia asked, "Why do you believe Starkiller did what he did, at the end?"
"I have no way of knowing. I barely understood him when he was alive."
"I know. That's why I asked your opinion."
Yes, she had Bail's verbal precision. "For a long time," Juno confessed, "I thought he was Vader's puppet. Since he… came back to me. Maybe since I'd first met him."
That he'd been grown or shaped in some laboratory and implanted to cruel subliminal commands, all to destroy the Emperor's enemies, and like an idiot Juno had happily made herself an accomplice to it. Remembering that conviction threatened to return her to the pit of black despair that had until recently claimed her life.
But she remembered the blaze of a lightsaber cutting through smoke, an outstretched hand. The Force really did mean miracles beyond her comprehension.
"I don't think that way anymore," she told Leia.
"Do you think Luke is right? Because that would mean Starkiller was right too, about Darth Vader too."
"I don't know. Vader… he's the most evil man I've ever met, unless you count Starkiller's clone, but I don't think that was really a man." Juno shuddered at the memory. "I've never seen Vader do anything except out of the blackest of motives. He's cruel, brutal, and calculating. But he's still a man. And probably, he was a Jedi once."
Like Luke, like Starkiller.
"Then you believe it' s possible?" Leia asked. Her voice was thick with doubt.
If it was possible, then Starkiller had died as he'd lived, a hero, and his choices had been his own, not the string-tugs of a puppet-master. Like PROXY, like Juno, he'd become more than he'd ever dreamed of being.
"I choose to believe," she said.