BEGIN START-UP PROCESS. . . START UP PROCESS COMPLETE. . . EXECUTE [MARR-MESSENGER] . . . INSTALLATION PROCESS COMPLETE. . . INITIATE REBOOT. . .
In a dark storage room, MSE-1's sensory receptors activated. Visual, auditory, olfactory, and tactile sensors came online one after another. The little mouse droid then ran through the traditional test of its other systems. Its wheels whirred and the droid shot forward a foot before it came to an abrupt halt, then it slowly moved backwards until it returned to its original position. Then the droid carefully went through a slow, strenuous internal test of its software.
The droid was not in the habit of beeping in surprise, but it did note a few new updates to its logic and problem-solving subroutines. Checking to make sure that there were no threats to its ongoing functioning buried in the updates, MSE-1 confirmed that the update was the work of its Maker and concluded that it was not a threat.
The software did, however, instill MSE-1 with a sense of purpose that it had lacked before. MSE-1 was a testbed, something its Maker used to test ideas before their implementation on less limited droids. Its limitations had never bothered MSE-1 overmuch; it rather liked the constant innovation and change that came with its Maker's experimentations. MSE-1's new sense of purpose, though, went well beyond its typical parameters.
It considered how to fulfill its new primary objective.
First, MSE-1 would need to escape from the storage room. The droid shot forward over the floor, its little light illuminating the room in front of it. Arriving at the door it came to a sudden stop and accessed its transmitter, attempting to see if it could access and override the door controls. To the droid's satisfaction the door obediently slid open and the first of the many hurdles that MSE-1 would have to overcome was surmounted.
MSE-1's second hurdle was to confirm current location.
According to its internal chronometer, the last noted activity registered in MSE-1's memory banks had occurred nearly a year before. MSE-1 was not a combat unit, and ill-suited to violent confrontations, but it clearly recalled attempting to ram the foot of a man dressed all in matte black armor who had, MSE-1 believed, been attempting to abscond with MSE-1's Maker. Given that it had been a year since MSE-1 last saw its Maker, and the content of the message that MSE-1 had been instructed to deliver, MSE-1 concluded that its threat assessment had been accurate and wished only that its ramming attempt had accomplished something more than a minor dent to its own forward plating.
Rolling through the dark halls, MSE-1 recognized its location immediately. The droid had not been moved far from its previous location and remained on the grounds of the Magrody Institute of Programmable Intelligence, which was good. That eliminated the need for extensive exploration of its surroundings. MSE-1 therefore zoomed along the silent halls, making its way to the nearest lift so that it could rise to ground level. Like the storage closet door, the elevator was operable, and MSE-1 exchanged a bit of polite data transfer with the lift computer before sprinting towards the Magrody Institute's landing pad.
MSE-1 was no pilot, so if it was to make the trip to Coruscant it would need both a pilot and a ship.
The Magrody Institute of Programmable Intelligence, where MSE-1 had been constructed and programmed by its kindly Maker, had undergone changes since the last time the droid had been active. MSE-1 noted, with a degree of sadness uncommon for one of its kind, that the Institute appeared to be abandoned. There were signs on the building which indicated that it was a crime scene, and many signs of combat. MSE-1 was not programmed for extensive auditory communication, but it did beep mournfully during its brief examination. Investigating the state of the Magrody Institute was not part of MSE-1's priorities, however, and it resumed its expeditious journey towards the landing pads.
As it traveled, MSE-1 considered and reconsidered the best way to achieve its new prime directive.
FIND THE JEDI.
Five days later, the cargo container that MSE-1 had stowed away in was hoisted out of a freighter and set down on the deck of one of the millions of landing pads on Coruscant. With all the activity—there were no fewer than fifty mid-sized bulk freighters being unloaded on this one landing pad alone—none of the sapients noticed the cargo container pop open ahead of schedule. MSE-1 wiggled forward, struggling to break free from its spot, tightly packed between two enormous containers of foodstuffs. Eventually, after a few laborious minutes of effort, MSE-1 popped free. The little droid happily burst out into the main hangar, grateful both to be out of the stifling confines of the container—MSE-1 had deactivated its olfactory sensors to avoid registering the pungent odors and running down its charge. The little droid luxuriated in the sunlight—the two-day journey had taken a toll on MSE-1's batteries, but now its solar arrays could recharge them.
After persuading an older, dignified building lift that a messenger droid wasn't a security threat, MSE-1 found a nice spot at the top of a nearby building and basked in the Coruscant sunlight as it interrogated the planetary computers.
Luckily, information about the Jedi was easy to come by. Unluckily, it was too easy to come by, and mouse droids were not typically programmed to sort through large masses of information. Undeterred, the droid started by simply throwing out lots of information—it queried a local media analysis center, disregarded anything categorized as "sludgenews"—and shuffled through everything reputable using a special algorithm its Maker had helped it learn. Once that was done, MSE-1 ran a search for anything that might be a location. Realizing its error as the number still came back far too large, it narrowed the search to only locations on Coruscant.
As its batteries finished charging, the droid evaluated what it had learned.
The Jedi—and MSE-1 was beginning to understand what a 'Jedi' was, although all the references to a 'Force' were perplexing in the extreme—had recently been given a small tower in the Embassy District. Diverting some of its subroutines to determine how best to travel there, MSE-1 otherwise remained focused on the tower. The new "Jedi Consulate" was in essence a Jedi embassy to the New Republic: a location that the members of the new Jedi Order could use as a base on Coruscant while conferring with the New Republic. The news articles evidently found this a curious development, as the Jedi had traditionally been part of the Republic, but many of the commentators and commentaries MSE-1 reviewed talked about how Jedi Skywalker had chosen to adopt a more hands-off relationship with the New Republic.
None of this really mattered for MSE-1's mission. It just needed to find the Jedi, after all. But MSE-1 had always been a curious droid—an affectation granted by its creator, or a spontaneous personality development, MSE-1 wasn't sure—and so MSE-1 continued its investigations. Before becoming the Consulate, the building had apparently been the embassy from a planet called Toprawa—
Its internal sensors alerted MSE-1 that its batteries had reached an optimum level of charge. Querying its ongoing travel subroutine, MSE-1 produced a plan for getting to the Jedi Consulate.
First, MSE-1 considered, it would need to acquire a ride. Surely there was an airspeeder somewhere nearby…
The Jedi Consulate—previously the Toprawan Embassy—was not the tallest building in the Embassy District. It was, in fact, one of the smallest buildings. But it had more than enough space for a Jedi Order that was still very small in number, with sleeping chambers for a dozen knights, a kitchen and refectory, meditation chambers, a meeting room in which all the Jedi could confer at once, and a landing pad. Currently, a trio of women were congregated in one of the sleeping chambers—the one with the largest closet—and two of them grappled over clothing.
Mirax Terrik Horn watched, trying not to laugh, as Tyria Sarkin offered Kirana Ti yet another outfit. The Dathomiri witch was clearly uncomfortable—everything about Coruscant made the poor woman uncomfortable, but given that Kirana Ti had never before been off her homeworld, it wasn't at all surprising that she found Coruscant overwhelming—and while Tyria was being as open and approachable as she could be, none of her efforts were succeeding.
Kirana Ti clung to her traditional armor and clothes with a ferocity that would have been alarming, if Mirax didn't understand it. Finding herself in a place so utterly unlike anything at home, Kirana Ti held fast to the things she did understand. Things as mundane as her normal clothes were suddenly the only thing that Kirana Ti understood, and she wasn't going to relinquish them. Even if every Coruscanti they passed stared at the lizard-armor clad, spear-wielding warrior woman, she was not.
"It's all right, Tyria," Mirax interjected gently. "For now, Kirana Ti isn't going anywhere that would require formal wear… and it's not like there aren't tens of thousands of cultures that come to Coruscant every day and wear their own clothes. She might not blend in around the Manarai District, but it's really not important."
"Oh, all right," Tyria pouted. "I just don't want her to get taken for a ride because she looks like she flew in on a thranta. Luke would have my hide."
"I have ridden many Rancors," Kirana Ti pronounced, her tone a combination of pride and confusion. "I fail to see why that would cause Jai Skywalker to skin you."
Kirana Ti, Tyria looked at each other. Kirana Ti and Tyria with mounting confusion—Tyria was starting to stammer an explanation—and Mirax finally laughed,, breaking the tension and pausing the discussion. The two of them are a pair, Mirax thought, With Tyria just the one to welcome the witch to Jedi training.
Trained in the tradition of the Antarian Rangers, Tyria was not the strongest Force-sensitive in Luke Skywalker's nascent Jedi Order, but she was determined and enthusiastic and made up for her weaknesses in other ways. One of those ways, in fact, was that Tyria was from Toprawa, a planet reduced to barbarism by the Empire for aiding the Rebellion. The fact that she had officially joined Luke's order as a Jedi candidate had, Mirax was sure, been a significant consideration in the Toprawan government's decision to give their former embassy building to the Jedi. Having one of their own in the tiny new Order was a point of pride.
Though the complex had ample room for dwelling, and even its own small hangar, it was not meant to be the home of the new Jedi Order; the Imperial Purge was too fresh in everyone's minds to tie them to any concrete location as their permanent home. But Luke's decision to open the embassy as a formal connection between the Jedi and the New Republic was an outstretched hand to Mon Mothma and the members of the New Republic, all of whom were now welcome to request Jedi services through the embassy.
"Well, maybe you can teach me some of your spells," Tyria suggested, overcoming the awkwardness. "I've never been the strongest in the Force, but Luke said that I might be able to use Dathomiri spells with more ease than traditional Jedi techniques."
"And when my husband gets back, you can all have some lessons," Mirax suggested. "I think Streen is up on the roof watching the clouds again—"
Her next words caught in her throat. That was the sound of a repulsorlift engine—and not one that was running efficiently. She moved to the window; Tyria and Kirana Ti both followed. As they watched, the airspeeder that was making that hideous screeching sound jolted. Mirax gasped, suddenly afraid that it might fall out of the sky, but the pilot recovered—barely. The airspeeder made a groaning sound and fell the six feet that separated it from the landing pad, striking the pad with a heavy metallic crash that sounded worse than it was. Smoking and sparking, the ear-testing screech of the airspeeder's malfunctioning repulsorlift finally died.
"Come on!" said Tyria, and she and Kirana Ti took off running. Mirax followed at a walk; she was pregnant, after all, and she was far enough along now that the son she carried refused to let her forget it.
When she arrived at the landing pad she found Tyria and Kirana Ti tearing the airspeeder's doors open, then looking at each other in perplexed confusion. "Do you feel anything with the Force?" Tyria asked.
Kirana Ti shrugged her shoulders. "I could cast a spell of awareness," she suggested warily, as if Tyria's suggestion was not one she fully understood. "But…"
"I can't tell if I can't sense anything because I'm too weak or because there's nothing here to find. I don't see anyone." Tyria sounded frustrated.
Mirax waved her hand to remove some of the smoke. Coming closer, she rose up gingerly onto her toes to peer into the airspeeder's interior. There was no one inside.
"The doors were locked," Tyria said. "I managed to slice the lock open, but I don't see anyone in here."
A sudden, terrible thought occurred to Mirax. "Do you think it could be another Inquisitorius assassination attempt? Another bomb?"
Tyria shook her head reassuringly. "No. That was the first thing I thought of, but the scanners that Mara had installed would never have let the speeder land if there were explosives aboard. Besides, I know bombs. Well. My husband knows bombs and we met on the job. If it was going to blow up, I'm sure it would have detonated when it crashed."
That was only mildly reassuring. "Well, maybe we should call Mara and get her here," Mirax said firmly. She would feel better if Luke, Mara, Kam, or Corran were here—any one of the Jedi who were closer to fully trained would make her feel better. But until they got here… "Have you checked the cargo compartment?"
Tyria and Kirana Ti looked at each other. Kirana Ti, clearly familiar with airspeeders despite Dathomir's low-technology state, pulled the door open. From the cargo door came a plume of smoke and Mirax jumped back in surprise as a tiny mouse droid leapt from the cargo compartment. Its little wheels spun wildly in the air before it landed on its head, making beeping sounds of utter misery. Little flaps worked wildly, and tiny plumes of smoke emerged from the little droid's interior.
"A messenger droid?" asked Tyria in astonishment as Mirax aimed a small sniffer at it.
"Looks like," Mirax said, waving her other hand to wash away the added smoke that had come from the cargo compartment. Thankfully, her quick test came back negative. "Nothing explosive on it. Call Luke. He has a better rapport with droids than the rest of us. I suspect this droid wouldn't have come in so much haste if it didn't have a very important message. Let's see if we can't get it fixed up."
Luke watched in amusement as the mouse droid wheeled in a tight circle around Artoo, the larger astromech's head spinning to follow. Just watching them made him slightly dizzy, so he turned to look at Kirana Ti and Tyria instead. "It crashed on the landing pad?"
Luke and Mara's small apartment in the Jedi Consulate wasn't someplace they considered home. They were, after all, rarely here; much of the last few months had been spent away from Coruscant. Luke had been recruiting new Jedi candidates, and Mara had either been with him or traveling with Mirax and getting her set up as the new liaison between the Smugglers' Alliance and the New Republic's government. Home, certainly for Mara, was aboard the Tempered Mettle.
For Luke, home was wherever Mara was. He hid that thought, though, or Mara would certainly tease him—not that he really would mind.
Kirana Ti leaned on her spear, the blunt end of which rested on the carpet that covered the floor of his living room, watching the droid go round and round. "The machine arrived with great haste," she said. "Perhaps too much."
"The little droid definitely isn't pilot material," Mirax said, sounding amused. "Thankfully, other than wrecking the airspeeder, it didn't cause much additional damage. Tyria is getting the landing pad cleared away now, it shouldn't take much longer."
"What does it want?" asked Mara suspiciously. She watched the mouse droid skeptically, as if convinced it was a spy. The mouse droid noticed her suspicious gaze, made a tremulous sound, and hid behind Artoo, quivering.
"It just said it needed to meet the Jedi," Mirax said with a shrug. "At least according to my datapad. The droid sustained some damage in the crash, but as far as I can tell it's functioning well now."
"It did not wish to share its message with a mere Jedi candidate," Kirana Ti added.
"It's very energetic for a mouse droid," commented Luke, watching the mouse droid inch its way to one side of Artoo, quiver when it caught sight of Mara still watching it, and then retreat back behind the rotund safety of Luke's astromech. "And quirky." He circled around Artoo to loom above the mouse droid, which rolled back a foot. "It's all right," he said soothingly. "I'm Jedi Luke Skywalker. These are my friends… Jedi Mara Jade, Kirana Ti, and Trader Mirax Terrik."
The mouse droid made a quivering beep, but this time there was a distinct note of relief in that tone. Luke glanced down at his datapad as information was sent by the droid to the pad.
MY MAKER SENT ME. VITAL MESSAGE TO BE DELIVERED TO THE JEDI.
"Good," Luke said, in that same soothing tone of voice. "You were very brave, and I am a Jedi. What is this vital message?"
The droid shared its message. When it was done, Luke looked at Mara, feeling a sense of quiet dread from her that he shared. "We need to call a conclave and decide what to do."
She nodded. "Everyone who is on Coruscant. And Leia too, both because she should know and as a representative of the government."
Artoo moaned mournfully.
. * * *
When Luke put out the call, nearly every Force-sensitive, from Leia down to Kirana Ti, in or around the New Jedi Order arrived within a few days. There were a few absences. Kyp was gone—with Karrde's reluctance to have HoloNet transceivers on his ships, there was no way to contact him, and even if there had been Luke was more than willing to let the young man find his own way without the added burdens of Jedi responsibility.
Corran Horn likewise was absent, though his wife Mirax was present. His ties to the Jedi remained nebulous, but he had come to Luke asking for training and Corran and Kam had become close collaborators since then. The pair had been integral in opening formal relations with the Jensaarai, the first non-Jedi, non-Sith organization of Force-sensitives the new Jedi Order had formally met. Kam had been forced to redline the engines on his shuttle, Syrena, to return to Coruscant from the Jensaarai homeworld Susefvi, where he had been in consultation with the Saarai-kaar. Now Kam sat on the far side of the circle of Jedi Knights and Apprentices in white and brown robes that matched Luke's own, a pillar of strength Luke knew he could rely on.
Next to Kam was Tionne, her redoubtable double-viol resting in her lap and her chair pivoted to the side. Her feet rested across a clearly not-entirely-comfortable but not-entirely-uncomfortable Kam's lap. She strummed its strings idly, offering a hint of somber, serious music to the light-filled space. Large windows looked out over the Coruscant skyline, late afternoon sun streaming through and illuminating the circle of plain chairs. She had become fast friends with fellow Force-sensitive Cilghal, who was on Mon Cala completing her advanced courses in xenobiology.
Of the five other chairs, four were filled. Mara sat across from Luke, next to Tionne. Their relationship was hardly secret, and the physical separation was no doubt intentional. Mara was ever aware and wary of anything that smacked, even remotely, as an abuse of power. As the Emperor's Hand, Palpatine had used her to excise the most corrupt (specifically, those who were corrupt without Palpatine's blessing on their corruption), and her distaste for political malfeasance had only grown with the revelation of just how badly Palpatine had abused her trust. The fact that they were in a relationship was acknowledged, but never discussed in Luke's hearing by any of the other Jedi (with the singular exception of Tionne, who was writing a song about them that Mara hated), and while Luke intended for the new Jedi Order to manage itself as a collaborative body, that "collaboration" would have distinct undertones if he and Mara were always a cohesive unit and their preferences always won.
He wasn't too worried about that, though. The likelihood of Mara always agreeing with him was close to zero. That was part of her charm.
Kirana Ti, Tyria Sarkin, and Streen filled three more chairs. Kirana Ti was still obviously out of place on Coruscant. At that moment she was looking out over the skyline; in her Force-sense Luke could feel a combination of dread and awe and wonder. He was confident the warrior witch would adjust, but he was just as sure that she would be happier if she spent most of her time away from ecuminopolises like Coruscant.
Tyria sat next to her, talking at her more than with her, and Luke felt a real sense of pride at all Tyria had accomplished. Her gift in the Force was limited, and there had been a time Luke had concluded that he could not train her to be a Jedi because of that, and said as much to her face.
Tyria took it with more grace than Luke had taken Yoda's initial refusal, but her hurt had been palpable as she left. It was his own later experience with Lanu Pasiq—an inquisitor he had slain on Vjun, who had once been a failed Jedi candidate—changed his mind. Yes, Tyria's gifts were limited, but she could still sense the Force and use it for guidance, even if she might never be his own equal in telekinesis or lightsaber combat. Luke was increasingly convinced that the guidance the Force offered was far more important to a Jedi than the flashier powers, and Tyria had become more centered, calm, and confident in herself and her judgment. Besides, Tyria had been trained by the last of the Antarian Rangers, an auxiliary of non-Force sensitives who had for centuries supported the Jedi Knights in times of need. If the Jedi were to be effective when they were so few in number they would need the Antarian Rangers, or a similar organization, to be reborn from the ashes that remained after Palpatine's persecutions.
The last of them—at least until Leia finally arrived—was Streen. Streen was older, older even than Kam, and he remained the least confident. Unlike every other of Luke's new order, Streen was not a fighter in either temperament or ability. He also was not a diplomat; an extremely introverted figure, Streen's inability to control his gifts for empathy and telepathy had driven the older pilot-prospector into extreme isolation in the clouds of Bespin. Lando had discovered him after retaking Cloud City, and Mara had persuaded him to join the Jedi.
Streen now spent most of his time in quiet contemplation, no longer finding all the minds of the sentients of Coruscant overwhelming, and was instead able to just sit and appreciate the wonders of life—and the Force. Luke wouldn't call Streen a seer, as he hadn't displayed any particular inclination towards prophecy, but the old man had proven to be adept at teaching the others to listen to the Force and let it guide their actions—which made sense, given that Streen had spent a lifetime gas prospecting, doing just that.
Luke wondered how much better he himself would have been at moisture farming if he hadn't been so restless.
He checked his chrono and sighed. Leia had said she would be here…
"So where's Corran, anyway?" Mara asked Mirax.
Mirax frowned slightly. "I can't tell you, because I don't know. Right before Iella asked me to take her to find you on Dathomir, he got a message from his grandfather." She shrugged her slim shoulders, raising her hands in a gesture of uncertainty. "He asked my permission to sneak home for a while, said that he had someplace important he needed to be." She shrugged. "I come from smugglers. I know how it is. But I told him he'd better be back before my due date or he'd never have a shot at having more children."
That sent a soft laugh around the room.
"There are all kinds of rumors out of Corellia," Tyria said. "I'm not sure, of course, but it wouldn't surprise me if my old compatriots are involved in them." She offered a sympathetic smile to Mirax. "My own husband is off somewhere on a secret assignment himself… it comes with the territory, I guess."
Mirax gave her a tight, commiserating nod.
"Maybe we should just get started," Luke said unhappily. "If Leia got called into a meeting of the Inner Council, who knows how long it will be before she—"
The sound of an airspeeder landing on the Consulate's landing pad stopped him. He glanced out the window and saw Leia rushing towards the building, a pair of Noghri flanking her on either side, and smiled.
"I may have spoken too soon," he said.
Leia came in through the door less than a minute later, breathing heavily, her forehead with a slight sheen of sweat. "I'm sorry I'm late!" she exclaimed. "Senator Midanyl was briefing us on the crisis on Corellia, though I'm afraid we still don't know much." She glanced around the circle of Jedi and put herself in the seat between Streen and Kirana Ti. "You didn't have to wait for me, you know, I'm not a Jedi."
Luke resisted reminding her that she could be. She already knew and she didn't need him pestering her about it. "This is of critical interest to the New Republic as well as the Jedi," he said instead. He looked around the circle and hesitated. He'd imagined a moment like this many times since Yoda and Obi-Wan had tasked him to rebuild the Jedi; now that it was here, he wasn't sure how to start. "Thank you all for coming," he said. "This afternoon, a mouse droid arrived at the Consulate—"
"It hijacked an airspeeder and crashed on the landing pad," interjected Mara dryly
"—and it carried a message I think you should all see." Luke nodded at Leia. "After this, I believe you should take the droid to General Cracken, and if he finds the message credible, brief the Inner Council."
"It's that serious?" Leia asked, sitting up straight.
"It could be," Luke demurred. "MSE-1, would you please come out from wherever you are hiding?"
There was a soft whir of wheels across tiles. The small mouse droid wheeled out from under Streen's chair slowly, as if nervous, coming to an awkward stop in roughly the center of the circle of chairs.
"Go ahead," Luke encouraged.
The droid rolled forward a few inches, then back again. Then it projected into the center of the room a holo-image. The man in the image was not old, but despite a strong featured face and large frame, he appeared gaunt and haggard, accompanied by a cybernetic brace and his hand trembled as he talked. His voice was even more pronounced, tremulous and with a constant edge of pain. "My name is Doctor Nichos Marr," the man said. "I'm a cyberneticist from the Magrody Institute. My partner, Doctor Cray Mingla, and I were kidnapped by the Empire… I'm not sure how long exactly, but I think it's been almost a year. We have been forced to work for the Empire on something they call 'Silencer Station.' Silencer Station is some kind of massive industrial facility managed by droids—they needed Cray's expertise to develop a command interface that would allow the new Emperor to personally command it."
Nichos glanced fearfully over his shoulder, grimaced and shook his head hastily.
"I don't have time. They're going to be through the door any second. Silencer Station is an incredibly capable manufacturing platform and is growing all the time. It consumes material to create whatever it wants with incredible speed. When we arrived it was the size of a Star Destroyer, now it's at least three, maybe four times larger. The program director is Roganda Ismaren." The hologram again glanced behind him, then started speaking faster, his words almost blurring together. "She's driven and insane and she will kill Cray and me when she's finished with us. She's leaving today for Nar Shaddaa—Nar Shaddaa—to find an artifact that will 'complete' the station." The fear and dread in Nichos' expression was all-too-clear, even in the fuzzy holorecording. "If this station isn't already complete, I dread to imagine what it would do once it is."
There was a pause, and the sound of banging. "Please… you have to stop her. And please," now there were tears in his eyes, and Luke felt an upsell of emotion from the Jedi around the room in response to the plea, one that echoed his own sudden burst of sorrow, "you have to help Cray. I'm already dying. She's brilliant and beautiful and she's killing herself trying to save me. Please, please, help her."
With that, the image fuzzed out.
MSE-1 made a soft, sad sound. The circle of alarmed Jedi was silent.
. * * *
Deciding what to do about the alarming message was even harder than hearing it. Pain poured off Leia in waves, whispers of Alderaan before she harshly clamped down on her emotions and stopped broadcasting, while the other Jedi spoke fitfully.
"It sure is a good thing we're having this meeting," Tionne said cheerfully, pulling the room's attention towards her like the seasoned performer she was. "I'm much less worried about things. Imagine if we were leaders on the other side. I bet there's a parade of Moffs all sitting around one of those long tables, holding one of their Mofferences." She waved her hand dismissively, croaking, "'Dark Greetings' and all that Imp silliness. I can see them now…" her voice trailed off, becoming almost trancelike, "sitting around that table and worrying about us!"
That sent a chuckle around the table. Luke cleared his throat, restoring seriousness to the proceedings. "We need to send people to Nar Shaddaa."
"You and I will go," Mara said firmly. That drew eyes to her; she gazed back with a firm, serious expression that carried more than a hint of stony anger.
"It did sound familiar," Mirax agreed slowly. "You think this Roganda Ismaren is our Emperor's Hand?"
"I do," Mara replied bluntly. "This surely was one of Palpatine's secret projects that should have died when he did. There is no one better suited to hunt an Emperor's Hand than me."
Send a Hand to kill a Hand, Luke thought dimly. She wasn't wrong… and he was definitely not letting her go alone. "We'll go," he agreed.
"What about the rest of us," Kam pointed out. He gestured at the others in the circle. "Would more of us be helpful or harmful?"
Next to him, Tionne sat up. "I still haven't managed to repair the Holocron fully after what Exar Kun did to it," she said. "But I know I can… eventually. If there's an ancient Force artifact out there, Master Sunrider and Master Baas and the other guardians of the Holocron will know about it, maybe."
"At least one Jedi needs to stay on Coruscant," Leia added. "We need someone who can serve as the Jedi ambassador to the Senate." She looked at Kam, who winced and nodded.
"What about the rest of us?" Tyria asked.
Luke looked at Mara. She looked back at him from across the table, and Luke could tell—as he always could, now—that she was thinking the same as he was. If the Empire had found a way to manufacture war materiel in large quantities, then the war was not over after all. Thrawn had failed in his offensive against the New Republic because of a lack of ships and a lack of men. A mysterious manufactory capable of producing ships and droids would be an unexpected multiplier of Imperial strength, and that meant it could be an unexpected multiplier of the harm the Empire could do.
And the Empire was no longer the one that had been ruled by Thrawn, one which was focused exclusively on military victory. No, defeat after defeat had brought to power the worst of the Imperial hardliners, had empowered ISB and the Inquisitorius—people who thought back to Alderaan and believed, with all their hearts, that terror attacks on that scale were both effective and right.
Give those people power, and what would they do with it?
He turned his attention to Tyria. "We, the Jedi, must do two things," he said. "We must try to find this Silencer Station so that the New Republic can destroy it. And we must be ready to help anyone who needs it when the time comes."