"I really think we should be talking with High Command." Lando slammed his hand against the round durasteel table in the small room where they had been secreted following their none-too-subtle return to the Alliance Fleet. Half of the deck staff on their arrival greeted the well-known heroes with cheers, thinking they had returned from some grand conquest. The others, familiar with their quick and unauthorized departure, glared as they refueled fighters and moved crates of supplies. Only Luke's humble diplomacy kept them from getting thrown in a brig on Home One. He sought out the commander on duty and asked for immediate access to High Command. After being passed through a few different officers, they were seated in front of Lieutenant Commander Rossa Scouto and the door slammed shut behind them.

The tall Eriaduan woman waited patiently for Lando to calm down. "I understand you feel that way," she told him, "But you've got me. And I'm the best you're going to get for the moment. So why don't you tell me what you've learned?"

"I am a general in this army," Lando began again, "And if they think I'm going to report to some Lieutenant…"

"You were AWOL, Mr. Calrissian," Scouto told him firmly, emphasizing the honorific. "Your commission has been rescinded, at least for the moment." Mollified, Lando pursed his lips and sat down heavily.

"Pay was no good anyways," he muttered under his breath.

Luke help up a hand to try to quiet his companion. "I'm sure you have proper clearances to take this information directly to High Command," he said pleasantly, but waited a moment for her to nod her assent before continuing. "The Empire is plotting to trap the Alliance fleet again. You need to warn them against any assault on the Lette system."

Scouto's eyes narrowed. "The Lette system?" Her voice was light, but Luke could sense her anxiety.

"They are planning an assault, aren't they? On the Imperial Council there?"

"Mr. Skywalker, I'm not really at liberty to say anything about High Command's plans."

"It's a trap," Luke said firmly. "The Imperial Fleet is going to be waiting. They are coordinating ahead of their entry because the local pulsar creates a communications blackout in the system."

Scouto was stonefaced. "I'll pass this information along. May I tell High Command how exactly you came across this intelligence?"

"Well, uh…we were on Kuat."

"On Kuat? And you weren't arrested?" She raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Skywalker, we haven't had the pleasure of meeting but I have a hard time believing that you of all humans would go unnoticed in an Imperial facility."

Chewie broke in, "Are you saying that he's lying?" The woman shook her head, not understanding him.

"He wants to know what you're getting at," Lando translated, seething. "Are you saying Luke is a liar?"

"I'm saying that your story is a bit suspicious." Scouto stood. "I was instructed before this meeting that you might have ulterior motives for directing the fleet in particular directions."

"Ulterior motives?" It took Luke a moment to understand her implication. "You mean they think I'm trying to mobilize the entire Alliance Fleet to rescue Han Solo and Princess Leia? That's what they think of me?"

Scouto shrugged. "I'm just sharing what I was told. Don't shoot the messenger." She stepped over to the door, opening it just enough to slip out. "Gentleman." With a decisive click, it closed behind her.

"One day you're a big hero and they're begging you to be a general," Lando muttered, shaking his head, "Next day, you're locked in a conference room that doesn't even have a liquor cabinet. Some government…"

Luke rolled his eyes and turned to Chewie. "They have to believe us. The fleet will be completely devastated if they move forward on Lette."

"Not sure what you expect me to do about that, cub," Chewbacca grumbled.

"We have to get out of here and talk to someone. Maybe Rieekan will listen." He looked around at the room. Shiny and bare, the only room appeared to have only one exit. "There has to be an air intake here or something."

Lando ducked down, checking under the table as Luke felt along the seam between wall and floor. Finally he felt the edge of a panel. He searched for something to pry with, and settled on the prong of his belt buckle. Ignoring the sensation that his pants might fall down at any moment, he jimmied the prong into the sliver of space between the nearly invisible panel and the wall. It popped out with a clang, revealing duct work barely wider than the young Jedi.

"You sure you can fit in there," Lando asked, peering into the darkness.

"Me?" Luke frowned. "Why do you assume I should go?"

"I'm a little too old to shimmy down tunnels, don't you think?" Lando retorted. "Besides, you're already dressed for it."

"Cubs," Chewie tried to interrupt.

"What if I get stuck?" Luke said, "At least I have a way to cut you out."

"You could leave your lightsaber here. I think I can handle waving a laser around."

"Cubs!" This got their attention. They turned to see Chewie standing by the open door. "It wasn't locked."

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"I'm dying. I'm dying. I'm already dead."

Having sat by the side of many people who were in fact dying or already dead, Leia had little sympathy for her overnight host's whining. But she forced herself to plaster on a sympathetic smile and fetch a glass of water for Alba.

Alba took a sip and then groaned, falling back onto her pillow. She snatched a small garbage basket from the floor and positioned it strategically next to her bed so she could simply roll to the side as it became necessary.

Leia fought to keep from wrinkling her nose at the sweaty alcohol smell wafting from her companion. Smeared lipstick and rings of mascara combined with the greenish tone of her skin made Alba look like some kind of perverse clown.

"I think it's time to head up to the kitchen," Leia told her firmly, hoping Alba would pull herself together. She needed the other woman to make herself scarce so she could rendezvous with Han and share her observations from the previous night.

It was a cleaning droid that left their door open, she told herself. The clumsy droid had made its way down the hallway last night and took little care to close doors behind it. That was the simplest explanation and the only reason why their room wasn't ransacked and they weren't sitting in an Imperial dungeon. That had to be it. She ignored the nagging uncertainty at the back of her mind, chalking it up to anxiety around their plan.

"Oh, gods, I can't," wailed Alba. "I'm going to be sick." She leaned over the basket and dry heaved, Leia lurching back in disgust. "Kim, please. You can fill in for me, right? Please?" She heaved again.

Kriff, Leia thought to herself. The best laid plans ruined by a hangover. "Yes, Alba," she said with a tight smile. "You just get some rest." The only response was a loud snore.

Leia ducked into her room to grab her uniform and dressed hastily as she listened to the sounds of the dormitory waking up around her. Groans and trudging footsteps told her that Alba wasn't the only one suffering this morning. She shoved her hair up into her cap and walked towards the men's hallway, hoping Han would spot her. Maybe they could find a private spot before the day's work began.

"Psst." She glanced up as she passed a cracked doorway. She saw a familiar hand gesture her inside. Looking over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching, she ducked in.

"We only have a couple minutes before Joern comes back," Han told her, giving her a quick kiss. His stubble scratched against her chin. "What did you see?"

"Cleaning droid," she told him emphatically. "It was a cleaning droid. No one is spying on us."

"Yeah," Han was thoughtful. "I saw it too. I suppose that could be what happened."

"You suppose? It's the simplest explanation."

"Or someone is trying to throw us off." He sat down heavily on the unmade bed. "Sweetheart, I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Why would someone spy on us here?" she asked, "If they thought it was us, why not just arrest us?"

"I guess." He looked at the chrono by the bedside. "Better get going. We can try to publically make up later so I don't have to sleep in here again. Joern snores."

"So does Alba," Leia said wryly, "But I'm used to it."

"Hey!"

"See you later, nerf herder."

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"General. General!" Luke spotted Rieekan across a multipurpose room stuffed full of procurement staff and communications specialists, all tripping over each other to keep up with the flow of materiel and intelligence flowing in after Endor. Luke dodged two Twi'leks pushing an enormous crate of CPUs and caught up with the officer.

"Luke, I'm sorry, I have to get to a meeting."

"This isn't about Leia," Luke blurted out. "You have to trust me."

Rieekan grabbed Luke's arm and pulled him close. "Scouto gave a full report," he whispered, "But the battle plans are not common knowledge so keep your voice down!"

"Sorry." Luke whispered, "But she said you all think this is about getting the Fleet to go after Leia."

"You have to admit your story is a little farfetched."

"But it's still true," Luke protested. "If I was only worried about Leia I wouldn't have come back. I got a lead on her whereabouts."

"You did? Where is she?" Rieekan caught himself. "That isn't what we can think about right now, Luke."

"But my point is that I came back because I knew she would think it was more important to warn the Fleet," Luke continued. "Please. You can't go through with this!"

"I'll do what I can," the other man said grimly. "Now, tell me what you found out about Leia."

"She and Han were transferred to a shuttle during the battle. Its designation would have had the prefix Bandor or Ressen."

"That's not a lot to go on, Luke," Rieekan told him. "SDs have a lot of shuttles."

"But it's something. It means she's alive."

Rieekan smiled at him sympathetically. "I hope so too, Luke. Now let's see what we can do about this intelligence you brought us."

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"Julienne the nuk root and then start frying the roddie patties in vina oil. And make sure you keep the oil moderate. They'll burn if it gets too hot." Chef Skiren bellowed over his shoulder, not noticing that his normal sous chef was absent.

"Yes, Chef," Leia said politely, hoping she remembered correcting what it meant to julienne something. Han often teased her about her cooking skills, or lack thereof, but she didn't think Alba was in much of a state to hear those excuses. Besides, all she had to do was follow instructions.

Skiren turned around with a glare. "Where's Alba?"

"Sick, I'm afraid," Leia told him, pulling out a cutting board.

"Sick," Skiren spat, "Sick with wine flu, I'm sure. You'd better not scoruff anything up, girl. We're cooking lunch for the full council and then have to turn around dinner right away."

"Yes, chef." Leia imitated the respectful tone she had heard Alba use to placate Skiren when he got worked up. She found the knives and began peeling the nuk root.

Skiren huffed off back to the stove, where he threw something delicious smelling into a pot and then jotted down some notes on a piece of flimsy tacked to the wall above the cupboard.

Pretending to search for some additional tools, Leia peered into cupboards, hoping to figure out where the wine was stored. The prep area held only the typically kitchen tools—bowls, mixers, an impressive array of knives, a crock of heavy wooden spoons stored on the countertop. As she knelt down in front of the cupboard, she saw a likely looking closet behind her but was disappointed to see it only held dried beans when Skiren strode over to pull out some ingredients. Not wanting to be too obvious, she stood and got back to her slicing.

The morning passed relatively quietly. Leia was joined in the kitchen by two other women who headed straight into the dessert prep area and started whipping cream and beating batter. The aroma of baking cakes mingled with the pungent smell of roasting root vegetables. The kitchen became pleasantly warm.

As Leia continued her work on the vegetables, she let her thoughts stray to the Alliance. Luke must be beside himself with worry she thought, realizing with sudden guilt that she hadn't been worried about him in days. They hadn't seen him since the ill-fated speeder pursuit, she reminded herself sternly, but she still couldn't make herself worry. Somehow she knew he was just fine.

And what of the Fleet? They must have had heavy losses in the battle over Endor. Who knew which of her friends and compatriots she had lost in the cold space over that lonely moon? Was High Command even still intact? She wondered what they would be planning as their next step in this war. Hopefully taking out the council would create enough chaos that they could make another significant blow against the Empire.

"What are you doing, girl?" Out of nowhere the knife was snatched from Leia's hand. "I told you to rokking julienne! You esponceki idiot!" He shoved the knife back at her, with only luck keeping him from forcing her hand to wrap around the sharp blade. "Slice each of those again." He pointed at the enormous pile of thinly sliced nuk root.

"Yes, chef." He cuffed her on the back of the head, stomping away. Leia looked up to see one of the pastry chefs watching the exchange fearfully. She gave her a brave smile and went back to her work.

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"Hand me that hydrospanner, will you?" Han lay on his back, trying to avoid having unidentified liquid drip in his face as he worked to repair an old utility line. He spat as a drop landed on his lips. "How long has it been since they fixed this stuff?"

Joern shrugged. "It's a big place and they won't let us use droids. Though I wonder if we could ask again now that we're under new management."

Han almost guffawed. He stayed silent though, unsure as ever of Joern's true loyalties. It seemed like the man was just interested in a steady job, but sometimes those were the guys who were most likely to rat you out. To stay safe, he changed the subject.

"Thanks for letting me crash last night, friend. I don't know what got into Kim."

"What was she upset about?"

"She thought I was messing around on her. It was a misunderstanding. Some drunk woman crashed into me at a bar and she thought we were dancing."

Joern gave him a knowing look. "Rough luck, man. She seemed pretty mad."

"Well, you know…"

"Time of the month?"

Han laughed. He wondered if Joern had similar arguments of his own that sent him fleeing to Coruscant for work. "She'll get over it."

"Yeah. You catch the Dreadnaughts game while you were out?"

They bantered on, Han letting Joern get just far enough ahead of him in the dim crawlspace so that he wouldn't notice Han pausing to read the labels on each of the electrical runs. A big cluster read Chamber 1, and Han made a mental note. That had to be where the Imp Council met. It could be useful information at some point, considering that Leia was hellbent on moving forward with this assassination plot.

He still wasn't entirely sure what he was thinking when he volunteered to serve as a general for the strike on Endor. Obviously he wanted to impress Leia after what she'd gone through to bring him back, but he'd never really thought they had any chance of success. Did he?

Before the battle, even as far back as their chilly retreat on Hoth, he'd been dumb enough to think that getting rid of Palpy and Vader would end the war. He excused his naiveté by reminding himself that he believed they would never, ever, ever in the ninth circle of Hell get rid of Palpy and Vader. And now he was somewhat dismayed to find that while they apparently had achieved the impossible, it had done little to actually end the years of ceaseless war.

Leia, he knew, was motivated by practicality in the end. She saw the council as another major impediment to a free galaxy and would do what was needed to remove that impediment. But, he mused, she was also fairly adamant that revenge against the Empire was her right, and something she'd been cheated of when they were captured. He reminded himself never to get into a position when that woman would want revenge on him. She was unstoppable.

He was fairly proud of his plan to poison their drinks. It had a certain fairy tale quality, but was also a bit more likely to work than trying to get poison into the food. He just hoped Leia would be able to find a moment to locate and identified their preferred bottles without the psycho chef she told him about asking too many questions.

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"Kriff," Leia muttered under her breath, hastily turning down the flame on the stove. The oil popped and sputtered, sprinkling her with blazing hot droplets. She ignored the tiny burns and tried to flip the roddie pattie. It broke apart on the spatula, the burned pieces dropping back into the pan of smoking vina oil. "Kriff." She shut off the stove, hoping to dump the evidence and start over.

Looking across the room, she saw the two pastry chefs looking wide eyed at the door. She turned slowly, knowing Skiren would be there. He stood watching her, a wooden spoon clutched in his hand.

"Tell me what time it is," he said softly. He stepped towards her, flaring nostrils belying his outwardly calm demeanor. He was a big man, tall with a belly pouched out over his pants from years of working with good food. His short beard was speckled with grey but the hair on his head that peeked out from his chef's cap was still jet black. One eyebrow was missing, and his big hands were gnarled with calluses and scarred with old burns.

"Eleven twenty seven," Leia responded, glancing over at the clock. Just over an hour until lunch, which presumably was his point.

"Eleven twenty seven…no, eight now," he said, coming closer. "And you have decided that this is a good time to ruin the food we are to serve to the Imperial Council in exactly one hour and two minutes."

"I'll fix it," Leia stammered. She prided herself on not being easily intimidated, but the fuming chef was easily twice her size. On top of that, she couldn't run for it. Leaving the kitchen would ruin their plans entirely. She'd just have to deal with whatever happened.

With shocking speed for a man of his girth, Skiren reached around Leia's back and grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him. She shrieked as he struck her in the center of her back with the spoon he wielded. Wriggling away, she ducked as he swung the spoon again, wincing as it caught her on the arm.

She looked over to the other two women for help, but they were huddled behind the counter, too terrified of the raging chef to intervene. She jumped back, frantically trying to decide how she could get out of this without letting him beat her to a pulp.

With a bellow, Skiren charged her, pushing Leia backwards into a corner. She crouched down as he pummeled her first with the spoon and then with his fists. "You ruined everything, you magneer teabont."

Covering her head and trying to squeeze past the chef's trunklike legs, Leia saw one of the women sprint from the kitchen. Not knowing if the woman was fetching help and unwilling to take the risk that Skiren would actually kill her for burning the food, Leia shoved her leg around Skiren's and pulled the massive man to the floor. He snagged her as she jumped up, dropping her down onto the mat that floated above the layer of grease on the floor. Hanging onto her leg, he pushed himself up and dragged her towards the walk in freezer. Yanking the door open, he shoved her inside and slammed it closed, leaving her to shiver.

"Where the scoruff is Elera?" he shouted at the remaining pastry chef. "Get back to work. This doesn't concern you. I'll show that little teabont." He stalked to a closet, yanking out aprons and placemats. The young pastry chef stood paralyzed in fear, knowing she should open the freezer but unable to will her legs to move. Finally Skiren found what he was looking for. An old metal fireplace poker, wrought iron and heavy. He slapped it against his hand experimentally and stalked back towards the freezer.

The blow caught him in the back of the head, dropping Skiren to the floor like a dying rancor. With Elera standing behind him, panting from her sprint to the utility corridors to find her colleague's husband, Han snatched the fireplace poker and for a split second considered shoving it through Skiren's cerebellum. Instead he pitched it away and kicked the chef full in the ribs. Skiren pushed himself up with a groan, whirling back to throw a punch at Han. Crouching down to slam him in the stomach, Han floored him again, smashing his fist into Skiren's nose over and over until he heard a sickening crack. "Not so tough now, huh, big guy?" Han spat in his face.

In a panic, Skiren brought his knee up, catching Han in the groin. The smaller man jumped up, ignoring the pain, and pulled back to kick again. This time, however, Skiren was ready, and rolled out of the way as Han fell backwards. Skiren took his opportunity and rolled on top of Han, preparing to pummel him.

A resounding clang echoed through the kitchen as a heavy pot made contact with the back of Skiren's head. He collapsed onto Han, unconscious.

Leia stood shivering, her lips blue as she clutched the handle of the pot in both hands. Beside her, the young pastry chef wept as she held onto the handle of the freezer.

"Oh my gods."

The remaining conscious residents of the kitched looked over at the doorway to the dining room. Perfectly coiffed as ever, Morena stood taking in the scene in horror. "Who," she said slowly, "is going to make lunch?"