Galaxies Apart

Forty Eight

"Luke Skywalker. So pleased you could join us," Grand Admiral Thrawn inclined his head politely as he spoke.

They had been hit with the tractor beam whilst still recovering from the effects of the desymbiosis wave the destruction of Site Zero had triggered. Before any of them could consider thoughts of escape, the ship been gently touching down in one of the Death Star's cavernous hangar bays. Sadly, due to an obvious design oversight, Imperial shuttlecraft lacked hidden smuggling compartments.

Looking at Thrawn, though, sitting casually at the opposite end of the conference room table, Luke got the impression he wouldn't have fallen for that particular trick. Not for one second.

"Where is Mara?" Luke asked.

"She required medical attention," Thrawn's adjutant – Pellaeon, was it? Luke wasn't altogether sure – answered on behalf of his superior officer. "She's in our medbays."

Luke could hardly argue with that, although he wondered how exactly medical science treated the after-effects of spontaneous resurrection.

"You seem concerned for her welfare."

"Why shouldn't I be?" Luke returned.

"Given that she was one of the vaunted Emperor's Hands, I would have surmised that made your ideologies fairly…distinct from one another," Thrawn observed wryly.

Luke felt a chill as a moment later all lightness dropped from Thrawn's face. "I've already had to take decisive action against one of her fellow Hands intent on a suicide mission. Quite what I shall do with Mara is something I haven't decided yet."

"She's not a threat," Ben said, before Luke could respond. He placed a calming hand on his brother's arm. It was a fleeting gesture, but it was noted by Thrawn, as Ben had suspected it would be.

"Indeed? We shall see. But I did not invite either of you here to discuss the fate of Mara Jade," and he leaned forward, his blue hands pressing down on the conference table as he regarded them with a full-intensity stare, "I want to know what happened over there. I am not accustomed, gentlemen, to being at a loss to explain events. I want answers. And I want them now."

"How long have you got?" Ben replied.

"As long as it takes."

Ben laid it out for him. The Chlorians. The revelation that the station did not alter the past, but merely opened a window to an alternate universe in which time ran completely independent to their own. The Chlorians' re-gathering at Site Zero and their departure from reality upon its destruction. Thrawn made him explain this several times.

"History in this universe cannot be altered?" he asked.

"No."

"The Force is gone?"

"Completely. Forever."

"In my experience, nothing is ever forever," Thrawn said softly. He gestured to one of the stormtroopers lining the walls in the conference room. The man approached him and snapped to attention, awaiting his orders.

Thrawn lazily pointed to Luke.

"Shoot him," he said.

"NO!" Ben cried out. He tried to spring, but was instantly restrained by stormtroopers on both sides, clamping their arms around his, pulling him back. "Thrawn, you son of a bitch, NO!"

Luke could only watch as the trooper lifted his weapon and took aim. He had time for a glance at Ben, still struggling mightily but in vain. He saw, to his mild surprise, a look of shock and disappointment on Pellaeon's face and he wondered if it would be the last thing he ever saw.

Images of Yoda, his father, Leia, and Mara Jade flashed through his mind as the barrel of the trooper's rifle came to bear-

"Hold your fire," Thrawn said, an instant before the trooper would have squeezed the trigger. Everyone in the room was frozen to the spot. No-one breathed, save Thrawn, who regarded Luke and Ben dispassionately.

"I believe we can term that an effective demonstration," he said. "Release him."

The troopers holding Ben let him go. Panting, Ben shot Thrawn a look of naked rage, even as Luke's heart remembered how to beat and he slumped into the nearest chair. "You were testing us. You wanted to see if the Force was really gone."

"It seemed the most efficient way," Thrawn admitted readily.

To his mild surprise, Ben continued to challenge him. "You must have felt it, Thrawn. Even inside your ysalamiri bubble, I'm betting you felt a sudden chill pass through you. A feeling that something had been taken from deep inside you didn't even know was there."

Thrawn's face was as impassive as ever, but both Ben and Luke could see Pellaeon's eyes bulge in recognition of the sensation he was describing, and at that moment Ben knew Thrawn was convinced.

"So now you know. We've told you everything."

"What happened to Vader?"

Ben and Luke exchanged a look. It was Luke who spoke. "He gave his life so we could escape," he said.

"How very noble of him," Thrawn said, after a pregnant pause in which it became clear any further information would have to be specifically requested. There was more to it, Thrawn was certain of that, but the simple fact was that Vader was dead; nothing save the shuttlecraft had survived Site Zero's destruction. Details of his demise were, at this point, immaterial.

"So what now? A detention block?" Luke asked, trying to muster as much defiance into his tone as he could. "Or are you just gonna kill us now?"

Thrawn eyed him with, it seemed, a trace of amusement. "That's what you expect," he said, almost to himself, "I've had my use for you, and now it's death or imprisonment. And the Death Star goes back to Imperial space and resumes its campaign of terror to keep the Empire's worlds in line. That about cover it?"

He sighed. "Luke…Ben…I am not Palpatine. I admit that since learning of the existence of Site Zero and hearing that everything we've done could be wiped away, I acted quickly and with more than a little ruthlessness more in keeping with the characteristics of my illustrious predecessor. I did that because I refuse to stand back and allow the progress we've made be undone. But with what you've told me, that's no longer a danger."

He pointed at a map of the galaxy hung on one of the conference room walls. "Need I remind either of you that the Alderaan is still out there, sitting square in the middle of Coruscant's system. Until we arrive, I intend to give orders that my Imperial forces there are to stand down and surrender."

"What?" Ben and Pellaeon gasped simultaneously.

Thrawn sat back, as ever enjoying the attention and the amazement of those around him. "I had fully intended to open negotiations for a peaceful settlement with the Alliance before the truth emerged regarding Site Zero and my hand was forced into action. With that behind us, I see no reason why we can't resume where we left off."

"How about that after Ackbar's death in this exact room, the Alliance will never trust another flag of truce you wave under their noses ever again?" Ben returned.

"He's right, sir," Pellaeon nodded. "They'll never-"

Thrawn waved their protests away. "No doubt you're correct. But they may have cause to pause and consider if the offer comes from a hero of the Alliance."

"Me?" Luke spluttered. "I'm far from-"

"No," Thrawn shook his head. "I wasn't thinking of you," and he flicked a switch on the communications tablet on the table in front of him. "Send him in, Lieutenant."

The doors to the conference room swooshed open. Two stormtroopers were framed in the doorway, and between them-

"Wedge?!" Luke blurted out. "Wedge Antilles?! What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Wedge replied, sweeping the room with a single look and not looking one bit thrilled with its contents. He himself looked, to put it bluntly, like hell. Exposure cuts and bruises covered his skin; Luke recognised the symptoms of emergency explosive decompression.

"Captain Antilles led a valiant attack on our exhaust port during the drama with the portal," Thrawn said. There was not a trace of superiority or gloating in his voice. "An attack from which he was the only survivor."

Luke felt his stomach turn to ice. No. Rogue Squadron, gone? He took a step toward Wedge, only to stop at the hostility he saw in his former friend's eyes. "Wedge…" he said, "Wedge, I'm so sorry…"

"Yeah. Me too. So is this where we get the victory speech and our date of execution, or do I have to stand here and ache a while longer?"

"I must say, you're all remarkably eager to run off to your executions," Thrawn said, amusement circling his mouth once again. "As I've informed your friends here-"

"They're not my friends. I don't even know who you're supposed to be," Wedge said, referring to Ben.

Ben regarded him without much regard. He had known Wedge Antilles in his own past, of course; he had been one of the few New Republic commanders who had never really warmed to him.

"I'm his clone."

"Naturally."

"-as I was saying," Thawn continued, a little more edge creeping into his words at the annoyance of being made to suffer interruptions, "and sorry to disappoint, but barring extreme stupidity on your parts none of you are to be executed. Captain Antilles, I would like you to contact the Alderaan and inform them to break off their attack on Coruscant's defensive fleet, who have been instructed to surrender immediately and unconditionally."

Wedge's eyes merely hardened further at this news. "Another one of your little tricks, Thrawn?" he said harshly. "You're so in love with your own cleverness, aren't you? Well here's the thing: I don't react well to taking orders from the guy who's just murdered every last member of my Squadron. I hope the Alderaan blows every single Imperial ship to hell and back."

"I did what I believed was necessary, Captain," Thrawn countered, not sounding one bit apologetic. "After Sluis Van, I would have assumed this was something you would be familiar with."

That one stung. Luke could see its impact on Wedge's face, and that impenetrable façade of hatred cracked just a little. Thawn saw it too, and pressed further.

"Believe me or don't, Captain, but I found Admiral Ackbar's death every bit as much of a tragedy as you did. I did not enjoy telling my finest TIE pilots to deliberately employ suicide tactics. Nor do I derive any particular pleasure that one of the finest squadrons of starfighter pilots ever to be assembled has been all but eradicated. But if we work together, you and I, we can prevent events like these from happening again."

"I don't believe you. And I won't help you."

"Wedge – you don't understand," Luke said. He could keep silent no longer. "He thought – we all thought – that the instant anyone got through that portal we'd all be history."

"Portal? You mean that light show that the space station was putting out?"

"Yes. It was a little more than a light show, Wedge. It was a one-way gateway to the past," Luke told him.

In response, Wedge merely snorted. "So how've you been these last five years, Luke? Before you joined the Empire, that is. Been chowing down on any good hallucinogenics I should know about? Because it sure as hell sounds like it. Go to hell. All of you, go to hell. Throw me in a cell. Shoot me. Talk me to death. I don't care. You should all be dead anyway. I didn't miss. I know I didn't miss-"

"Ah," Ben said.

All eyes in the room turned to him. He shrugged, and looked almost embarrassed.

"I…uh, I think I can explain that," he said.

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They found it after only a few hours. Filed away neatly in one of the massive storerooms aboard the Death Star where it could quite easily have lain undisturbed for another few decades.

"What is it?" Thrawn asked, when the object had been brought up to the conference room for him to inspect. He turned it over in his hands.

Ben told him.

"Impossible," Wedge said. "Impossible. They don't exist. They – it's – I don't – my entire Squadron – it's impossible." He looked as if he were about to throw up.

"Tell me about it," Luke said, with some feeling. He was patting Wedge on the shoulder and Wedge wasn't protesting.

"I brought two," Ben explained, "one to act as backup in case the other had a system failure. Palpatine must have found one of them. That's how he knew about the time travel in the first place."

"You knew the Death Star was impervious to exhaust port attack and you neglected to inform me of this?" Thrawn said.

"Hey, when I was here it wasn't an issue. Proton inhibitor or not we were about to be sucked into a time-portal to the Forc…to…" Ben trailed off, "…to space knows where. Besides, Grand Admiral, in case you've forgotten, I was your prisoner, not your guest. I had to hold back something in case I needed to bargain for my life."

Thrawn looked as if he were seriously considering taking this further. With a supreme effort of will, his fingers uncurled from the inhibitor. He threw the cylinder to Wedge, who caught it.

"Examine it," he said. "Take it to your Alliance scientists if you wish. In two days, Captain, we drop from hyperspace back into the Coruscanti system. What happens then to us, to the Alderaan, to the entire galaxy…that decision rests entirely in your hands. Stop the war or begin the bloodbath anew. The choice is yours."

Seemingly finished with Wedge for now, Thrawn turned his gaze on Luke and Ben. "And you," he said, "with the Force gone, neither of you will become the Jedi Knights you were once perhaps meant to be. So the question becomes: what place will you make for yourselves in the galaxy? What will you do? Fade into obscurity, or rise to the challenge?"

It was Luke who spoke first. "Nothing in this galaxy is the way it was supposed to be," he said with quiet conviction. But as the others watched, for the first time, something approaching a smile ghosted his lips.

"But maybe," he said, "maybe that's not always a bad thing."

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"He's dead, isn't he?"

Crix Madine couldn't look her in the eye. "Winter…we don't know what's going on. I wish we did," he said, quite truthfully. When the Empire's Death Star (they were really going to have to name that damn thing, he was getting tired of that unwieldy way of describing it) had absconded into hyperspace a few days previously, it had been so simple at first.

They had blown nine Star Destroyers to atoms with the superlaser; the Executor itself, former flagship of the Imperial Navy, had escaped destruction only through fleeing to the other side of Coruscant before the Alderaan could lock on. The rest of the Empire's forces had followed suit when it had become obvious that the Alderaan's engines remained inoperative.

And there they had remained, ever since, in a stalemate. The Alderaan had the capabilities to destroy any ship unwise enough to poke its nose out, but without mobility, it lacked the support ships and the personnel to do anything with that superiority other than sit there…and wait.

Wait for word from Rogue Squadron.

None had arrived.

They couldn't stay here forever. Supplies onboard for even the skeleton crew they were running with were not limitless. Eventually Madine would have to make the call to fall back to one of the very few Alliance-friendly worlds. That threw up a whole host of exciting new dangers; when operating from small freighters, Alliance ships could dock on worlds and receive assistance relatively safely for them and their supporters.

It would, Madine thought with a trace of gallows humour, be somewhat more difficult to disguise the existence of a world's Alliance sympathisers when a Death Star the size of a moon popped into orbit above.

If Rogue Squadron had succeeded, they would have been home by now. He knew it. Winter knew it. Every single person on the Alderaan knew it. They had failed. They were dead. Wedge Antilles was dead.

"He's the best," he told her.

She nodded, grabbing onto the words like a lifeline. "He is," she said. "You should have seen him on Sluis Van, Crix…he pulled stunts in a Speeder – a Speeder! – that most pilots couldn't have pulled in a V-Wing…if I'd been flying with anyone else, I would have been killed."

"Exactly," he said, as cheerfully as he could muster, experiencing the strange sensation of wishing she would walk away from his command chair. He needed to be focussed more than ever, and lying to the face of someone so lovely was a tiring business.

She touched his arm. He jolted a little at that, and experienced another unwelcome sensation; the faintest of dark stirrings within him that whispered that for all the tragedy that would befall the Alliance if Wedge were never to return, there would be one upside…

"Thank you."

"Any time," he said.

She had, quite literally, just left the bridge when his tactical officer's console lit up. "Hyperspace exit vectors, sir – something's coming in…"

Indeed, something did.

In his adrenaline rush, Crix couldn't even begin to think about remembering the words commence primary ignition. "Fire her up!" he barked instead to the Chamber Master, who got the message nonetheless and shouted his compliance.

"We're being hailed…?" the communications officer said, with some disbelief.

"Keep her charging," Madine instructed the Chamber Master. "Alright, put it up." Let's see what bantha fodder Thrawn wants to trick us with this time…

But the holo that appeared was not of Thrawn.

"This is Captain Wedge Antilles aboard the Death Star Skywalker. I have assumed control of the vessel from Grand Admiral Thrawn of the Galactic Empire. I am requesting, formally, that you escort us to Coruscant orbit."

In his amazement, in his speechlessness, the one coherent thought that Crix Madine could form was – they finally named the damn thing.

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"Where are you going?"

"Away. Far, far away."

He was standing there, in her doorway. Not blocking it as such, not deliberately or obviously, but if she wanted to get past him with her things (such as they were) she would have to push past. And he knew it.

"Just like that?"

"Yes, Skywalker, just like that," she snapped. "What were you expecting? An epic poem lining out my motives for leaving in rhyming stanzas? Have you met me lately? This speech I'm giving you right now is probably the most I've talked to anyone the last eight, nine years, anyone but…"

"Him?"

"Yes," Mara sighed, too tired suddenly even to rile herself. "Yes, Palpatine. My master. You remember him. Pale guy, fond of shrouds. The one who hollowed me out, left me to die. The one who made me kill your father from beyond the grave."

She sat heavily on her cot's mattress. They had been put up in as much comfort as the Death Star's officer quarters could offer, which was meagre, but a thousand times preferable to the detention cell they'd all been expecting when that tractor beam had first locked on a few days and a million years ago. It was such a complicated galaxy.

"I don't think anyone will miss me. Peace talks to settle galactic civil wars were never my forte as a trained assassin, astonishingly enough. So I'd like to slip out and vanish somewhere before Thrawn comes off whatever insane medication he's on and reconsiders his decision not to have me dealt with."

"You think he's crazy because he let you live?" Luke said, with some surprise. He probably thought she sounded ungrateful, the idiot.

"If he wants to paint himself as the anti-Vader to make this peace con work by not executing any of us, fine," she said. "You don't exactly hear me arguing. But don't expect me to stick around on his radar when he tires of that particular hand of sabacc and tosses us into the nearest black hole. And I don't know about you, Skywalker, but thanks to the whole no more Force thing I don't have an early warning system for danger like I used to, so I'm feeling cautious…"

"Luke."

"What?"

"Call me Luke."

"Fine – Luke – whatever," she stood up, slinging her bag around her shoulder, feeling the comforting weight of the blaster she'd managed to palm two days ago nestled in her concealed holster. "It's been fun, in a horrifically life-altering permanently psychologically scarring kind of way. Be seeing you."

She half-expected him to block her way, but he stood aside and let her pass. She was walking down the corridor battling the various emotions vying for supremacy within her when he called out her name and a question she didn't quite catch.

"What is it now?"

"I said – can I come with you?"

She simply stared at him, having trouble believing what she'd just heard, searching his face for some hint of the facial tic that would betray the fact that he was kidding and seal his doom and imminent departure from the world of the living. But nothing showed. Every nuance of that blasted farmboy face of his oozed utter sincerity.

"Why in the mouth of the Maw would you want to do that?"

He shrugged. "Peace talks aren't my thing, either. And…well," he seemed embarrassed, "…the truth is, with everything that's happened, I kinda realised that I don't really have any plans for what I want to do with my life."

"I'm not-"

"And I thought, I guess…that with you around, at least I'd never lack for excitement at least."

"But-"

"And I do have those two million credits stored on Bilbringi."

There was a pause.

He coughed, delicately, discreetly. "I've had what you might call a profitable few years skating on the thin edge of the law. Spent a lot of money customising my ship, but the rest I sank into accounts in case I ever needed it. Well…" and again, he shrugged, "…I guess we could have some fun with it. If you wanted to."

"What about your brother?" she said.

His expression changed. He averted her eyes. "We're different, he and I," he said quietly. "We have different ideas of what we want to do. I'll see him from time to time. I'm pretty certain of that."

He sounded certain, sure enough. He also sounded slightly concerned by the prospect.

"So does that mean I can come with you?"

And she laughed. It shocked her, that laugh. She hadn't laughed in what felt like decades, but she laughed now. Truthfully, if only for the ability to make her laugh, she had already decided that Luke Skywalker could stay in her life a little while longer – two million credits or not.

"Get your stuff. Be there in five minutes, understand? Beyond that, I'm not waiting around."

"Artoo and I will be there," he promised her, and was gone before she could even muster the question of Artoo…?

---------------------------------------------------------

The conference that would eventually produce what came to be known as the Ackbar Accords was delayed in starting by fifteen minutes.

"Sorry we're late," Wedge Antilles apologised, as he and Winter sat down in their reserved seats. Winter was as composed and as beautiful as ever. He wished he could have said the same for himself. She flashed a smile at him that made him ache; as crazy in love with her as he was, as head-spinning as the events overtaking them were, he couldn't help but think of Dack, of Jansen, of the friends lost in the insanity of war for whom days like today were forever out of reach.

He caught Thrawn's eye and the knowing gleam behind them, and then the Grand Admiral was all business as he began the opening speech to officially begin the negotiations.

Five days later, the Galactic Civil War was over.

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Coruscant at night. He never tired of it. With the view offered from the apartment they'd given him, chances were he never would.

Luke had gone without a goodbye. He was surprised at how calmly he had absorbed this; not with suspicion, or hatred, merely with a kind of unsurprised acceptance. His brother had been through a lot, to put it mildly. Their relationship would not be easy, but it was worth working on. He knew that now.

They had offered him the rank of General in the new army. Even stripped of his Jedi abilities, thanks to his time-travelling origins he had the unique and incredibly powerful advantage of foreknowledge of at least some of the pitfalls and perils of the years to come.

Added to that, Thrawn himself had pulled him aside only a few days ago and told him that he saw potential in him. He had sensed that he had challenged the Grand Admiral's beliefs somewhat; Thrawn, he suspected, had always imagined Jedi to be completely reliant on the Force for their talents.

He had accepted the rank.

His door buzzed for attention. He pressed the release button, to reveal a squat mail service droid. "Delivery," it informed him in a monotone, and after a rapid identity check, he was left holding a package. There was a holo-cube attached to it. He slipped into the reader.

"Consider this a gift, given in good faith," the holo of Thrawn told him. "You of all people should realise the importance of remembering the past even as we move to the future. To new beginnings, Ben. For all of us."

The message ended. Ben unwrapped the package, though he had long since guessed its contents.

Snap-hiss.

His father's lightsaber lit the interior of his apartment, bathing it in a crimson glow. Naked of the Force, Ben knew he could never again wield the weapon in battle, never use it to block blaster bolts or to scythe through opponents.

That didn't matter.

The blade hissed as a single tear fell into its beam and was vaporised instantly. Ben deactivated it an instant later and placed the hilt carefully, reverentially, in a prominent place amongst all he had to call his own.

This done, he walked to the window and looked out onto the vista of life outside.

"Well, father," he said softly, "I'm finally home."