One of the last structures that remained from Palpatine's Imperial Palace was the Palace Security Operations Center. The tower spiraled up, one of the ring of semi-dismantled towers that had been built around the central Palace Complex. Lieutenant Caston Nalle, Palace Security, had an excellent view of the ongoing deconstruction efforts. Massive cranes and construction droids busily worked to dismantle the towers that remained. Soon, they would turn their attention to Security Ops—but not just yet.
His fresh cup of morning caf steamed on the desk in front of him as he reviewed the collection of reports from the day before. "Have they found that missing construction supervisor yet?" he asked.
Corporal Corde Brandes, the only other person in the tower, shook her head. "No, sir. I've requisitioned another team to go looking."
"We didn't see any signs of explosions, did we? No other minor disasters or booby-traps?"
"None have been logged."
He frowned. People didn't just go missing from the Imperial Palace.
"Do you think the Empire sent an infiltration team?" Brandes' voice was cautious and carried more than a little caution.
"It's possible," Caston mused. "But the real question is why would they? We have stumbled across a few additional hidden facilities, like the one we found in Tower Fourteen, but nothing as elaborate as that one." His lips pressed together unhappily. "That doesn't mean, though, that there isn't one. And if there is…"
"Yes, sir," Brandes agreed unhappily. "Maybe we should report this to Intelligence?"
"I already sent up a flare," he said. "They just asked to be kept updated. Bringing in more security is really all we can do until we know more—"
The lights in Security Ops suddenly dimmed. His console screen flashed red with an alert, persistent and demanding. "We're under attack!" His hand slammed down on the alert button on his desk, then on his comm. "This is Palace Security! Our systems are reporting an orbital assault! Multiple starfighters on strafing runs, escorting troop transports!"
Brandes' eyes were wide, staring at her console. "Where did they come from!" she gasped. "The entire fleet is here, and we've got multiple layers of air defenses!"
But the computers insisted they were there. Even as Caston watched, two TIE fighter signatures came in for a strafing run, straight through the teeth of the planet's protective guns. Completely unscathed, they raced straight towards him and Corde, and with a pained grunt he grabbed the Corporal and threw them both under a semi-armored console.
On the bridge of the Star Destroyer Lusankya, Atril Tabanne watched as the ship's repairs continued. Captain Kre'fey supervised the repair crews with a gimlet eye as they swarmed over the ship's hull, patching the weaknesses in armor from impact damage and replacing destroyed turbolaser batteries.
She was pacing along the bridge's long walk, wondering how things were going with Captain Rogriss and the Inner Council, when Commander Needa yelped with alarm. "Systems alert!"
Kre'fey, typically, was first to respond. "What kind of systems alert?"
"I don't … know sir!" called back Needa. Even as he did, Lusankya's alarms started to blare, demanding the crew stand to battle stations. "Multiple hostile Star Destroyers!"
"What?" Atril and Kre'fey said together. "Another group of cloaked ISDs?'' asked Atril.
They converged at Needa's station as Lusankya came to life, crew bringing up the bridge shields and guns with a weary belligerence.
"I don't know sir!" Needa called, sounding confused. "They're in orbit! It's like they were already there!"
"They can't have been there," Kre'fey pointed out. "We would have noticed them. Or they would have hit something."
"Yes sir!" Needa's hand was on his ear. "We're getting comms from the rest of the fleet, sir! Other ships are reporting they are getting the same readings! Confirmation from Golan-5, Golan-7, Freedom, and Emancipator!"
"All ships, bear on the enemy!" Kre'fey demanded. "Break us free from the repair station at once! Fighters, scramble, repeat, scramble!"
Atril stared at the console. From all appearances, no fewer than five Imperial-class Star Destroyers were in low orbit over the old Imperial Palace—low enough that even raising the planet's shields wouldn't be enough to protect it from them. TIE fighters were already scrambling—so far without opposition—and darting down over the planet to attack. If those fighters got in before they could be intercepted, even a few strafing runs could do devastating damage to the dense urban canyons…
"Captain Irrarel reports Orthavan sees no enemy ships," Needa called, sounding even more confused. "She is requesting instructions."
"How can we see them but she can't?" Kre'fey demanded furiously. "Either they're there or they're not!"
"Weapons HOLD!" bellowed Atril. "I want visual confirmation on the Star Destroyers! Now! Someone fetch a pair of macrobinoculars!" She pointed at Needa's console. "And run a diagnostic on the main computer!" She looked at Kre'fey, who stared back, his eyes widening with dawning understanding. "Lusankya, Emancipator, Freedom, and the Golans," she explained. "All Imperial-built with Imperial-built main computers…"
Nalle and Brandes hit the ground with a heavy thunk, one that sent a spasm of intense pain through Nalle's old combat wounds. He reeled as his leg collapsed under him, knowing that it would not be easy to stand up quickly. But then, it wouldn't matter… not if those fighters fired on the tower with him and Brandes in it…
Nothing happened.
No scream of TIEs overhead, no detonations, no explosion, just… nothing.
"Where did they go?" he panted the words out, gritting his teeth through the pain.
Leaving him under the table, painfully trying to get back to his feet, Brandes popped up and was back at her station in an instant, reaching down a hand for her boss. Her tone was half surprised, half-wry. "According to the computer, we're dead, sir."
"What do you mean, we're dead?" he asked—frustrated, angry, and hurting.
"That's what the system says. We've been killed in a strafing run." He could hear the way her voice changed, going from amused to grimly serious. "And we've been locked out, too. Apparently the computer thinks we're dead and is treating us as if we are dead."
He was up on one knee, which was enough that he could see her poised at her station. "Check for—" he groaned, his bum knee trembling under him, "—check to see if there are any programs running."
She nodded, her head bobbing. With impressive, hard-earned familiarity with the computer system, she forced a hard reset of her terminal. "There's a program running," she reported grimly, once she had brought up the debugging system. "It's an old one. I thought our slicers cleared everything out... the computer thinks the Emperor is still alive and that Imperial Center's defense fleet is attempting a coup." Her expression was grim. "And it's not just our computer."
This time, the roar of engines was real. Back on his feet, Lieutenant Nalle could only watch as the midsized transport launched from Tower Eight—not far from where that construction tech had gone missing, he realized belatedly—and his comm said he was dead and refused to let him tell anyone.
One of the benefits of living in a skyhook, Leia thought, was the view. She and Mara were sequestered in a semi-secluded corner of the Solo family apartment, behind a leafy tree of Alderaanian origin. Alderaan had been known for many things, but one of its defining characteristics had been its floating cities. Built over many centuries, those cities had loomed above Alderaan's towering mountain ranges. At first, they had been centers for mining, like Cloud City on Bespin, but as Alderaan's mineral resources dwindled and the world's population grew weary of the environmental costs of their extraction, the cities had become centers for culture, governance, and education.
The two of them sat together, looking out over Coruscant.
"I feel like I should ask you how you're feeling about all this, are you okay?" Leia asked.
It wasn't the first time, and Mara's expression of pained tolerance communicated that she was quite aware of the repetition. The twins had awoken—attracted, Leia suspected, to the three Force sensitives and the intense emotion of the moment—and had been a welcome distraction from that emotion. Han was busy coaxing them to leave Mara alone and eat while Leia took Mara to sit in quiet isolation, drinking in the view of the galactic capital.
To Leia's dismay, Mara's anxiety seemed to be getting worse, rather than better. "Yeah," Mara said, unconvincingly. After an uncomfortable pause, she continued, "but the more I think about it, the more…" Mara's voice trailed off, as if admitting discomfort or weakness of any kind was unacceptable.
"Nervous?"
Mara hesitated again, then shook her head. "No. I was already nervous. But I have this… premonition of dread. Like something has gone wrong." Unconsciously, Mara tucked her legs in closer against her chest, looking absurdly young in that moment—Leia had to remind herself that for all Mara's experience, or all her world-weariness, she was younger than the Skywalker twins.
"I had that too, when I was pregnant," Leia admitted. It was her turn to hesitate now, debating how much to share… but this was Mara. Mara was Luke's life partner—of that, Leia had absolutely no doubt—and therefore, she was Leia's sister. She trusted Mara… and Mara needed her. "After I found out that Vader was my father, I decided I'd never have children," she admitted. "Eventually I changed my mind, but during the pregnancy I had a few dark moments."
Mara's lips pressed together. "I'm not worried about that," she replied, and Leia was surprised at the confidence in her voice. "Really, I'm not. But I still have this sense…" her voice faded away and her expression tightened. She turned towards the transparisteel, looking down towards the city, where in the distance the Senate Dome and what was left of the Imperial Palace—most of its towers disassembled and the original, boxy structure it had been built atop increasingly apparent—could be seen.
In the Force, sudden fear spiked. Instantly Mara was uncoiled and on her feet.
"What is it?" Leia asked, alarmed.
"I don't know—"
The emergency alarm had sounded days before, during Daala's hit-and-fade assault on Coruscant. Now it blared again, cutting straight through Leia with skull-splitting urgency. The lights of the skyhook instantly darkened, red alert signals glowing atop every door as if a hull breach had been detected.
Mara batted away the massive leaves of the Alderaanian plant as she charged into the kitchen, Leia following on her heels. Luke was there with Han, both of them wearing matching expressions of confused alarm. "What in the Nine Corellian Hells is going on?" Han yelled, his arm around a suddenly-crying Jacen and Jaina. "Is Daala attacking again? And someone shut that off!"
From the door, Artoo's whistle was barely heard over the alarm, but a few seconds later the alarm cut out.
Leia was already at her computer terminal. The screen was remarkably unhelpful and the words upon it sent a new chill through her. REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE, it instructed. IMPERIAL AUTHORITIES WILL ARRIVE TO SECURE THE SENATE.
"The door is locked," complained Han as he tested the front door controls. "What is going on?"
Winter came in from the office, her expression pale. "All communications are out. Do you know what's going on? Is Daala attacking again?"
Mara gently shouldered Leia out of the way; she moved to the side as the former-Emperor's Hand started typing override commands rapidly into the computer. It took her a few minutes, but eventually more useful information appeared. None of the words made any sense. PARAMETER: ATTEMPTED COUP AGAINST EMPEROR PALPATINE. SENATORS UNDER SUSPICION OF AIDING THE COUP ATTEMPT. GRAND MOFF TARKIN UNDER SUSPICION OF AIDING THE COUP ATTEMPT. INSTRUCTIONS: CONFINE SENATORS. CONFIRM TARKIN'S COMPLICITY AND TAKE APPROPRIATE ACTION. COMPNOR AUTHORITIES WILL ASCERTAIN LOYALTIES BASED ON PERFORMANCE.
"Tarkin!?" Leia said, staring in disbelief at the screen. "What is this?"
"It's a drill," Mara said grimly. "You didn't replace all the computers on Coruscant?"
Leia gave her an infuriated, disbelieving look. "How would we do that? What is going on?"
"It's an old program," Mara explained. "I had Ghent and Cracken's people on this, none of these should still be in the computer systems… It's a drill, one meant to stress-test COMPNOR's responses against a potential coup by Tarkin and the Starfleet against Palpatine's rule." She continued typing furiously. "What set—"
Mara's face abruptly went pale, her green eyes wide. She turned to look at Luke, and Leia saw the moment that Luke realized the same thing Mara had. Her brother's expression was suddenly dire, and that same sensation of dread instantly swept over Leia.
"The Consulate," Mara whispered in horror.
"Tell Wedge to get ships into position over the Consulate," Luke demanded of Han.
"The Emperor's Hand," Leia murmured, feeling her own blood run cold as she put the pieces together herself. "This is Roganda staging an attack!"
"I can't get any communications out," Han said with a shake of his head. "Everything is jammed. Even if the drill isn't restricting the comms, everyone on the planet is trying to make a call right now. The net is completely overwhelmed. There are millions of panicked people out there right now and no one telling them what to do."
Leia turned back towards the window she and Mara had been sitting beside. Through it she saw Coruscant's orderly streams of traffic grow panicked and frenetic. High above the aerial traffic, the Super Star Destroyer Lusankya was stirring to life, and many other warships were clearly on high alert, starfighters starting to swirl from CAP patterns into precise combat deployments.
"We need to get back to the Consulate before it's too late," Mara said, her tone one of dire certainty.
Luke tested the door again. It didn't budge. He looked towards Leia, and she understood instantly what he was asking.
Han was still holding a fearful Jacen and Jaina. Leia knelt down in front of the twins and held up her unlit lightsaber. "Sweeties, who wants to see your Uncle Luke and Aunt Mara break some doors?"
Han and Winter held the twins, three sabers ignited, and the Jedi demolished the Solo Apartment's front door.
Roganda's transport lifted off from the Imperial Palace hangar. Under normal circumstances, the launch of a transport as large as hers would have been an unmissable event. With the chaos unfolding all over the planet, and in orbit above it, the launch went entirely unnoticed. The people best located to see the launch—those in the Palace Security office—had been "killed" in the initial wave of the coup simulation, and it would take them some time to get their systems unlocked to warn anyone else… assuming they had noticed at all.
Being the Emperor's Hand, she knew all of Palpatine's secrets. The most important of those was the secret of the Silencer AI he had given her, of course, though the hidden caches of DT-droids she had programmed were a close second. Further down the list, but still important, was the secret of the override codes that Palpatine had buried in every computer constructed while he was Emperor.
The Rebellion had tried to protect itself against those override codes. Teams of technicians had developed software patches intended to prevent computers from doing things like overloading reactors, firing turbolasers, deactivating shield generators, or initiating hyperspace jumps at inopportune times. They were even making plans to outright replace compromised main computers, completely removing any vestiges of Palpatine's influence, but replacing a main computer—especially in something like a Star Destroyer—was difficult, time consuming, and expensive; the New Republic could not afford to take their most powerful units out of action, so the software patches had to suffice, and such refits would have been noted by Imperial Intelligence.
Roganda had thus opted for a more subtle approach. While in the Imperial Palace she'd been able to access both Palace Security's main computer—yet to be replaced, since the entire palace was being demolished anyway—and its HoloNet connection.
From there, she used her credentials as Emperor's Hand to schedule a drill.
Every warship in orbit with an Imperial-built main computer now believed that a fleet of Star Destroyers and their traitorous Admirals and crews were attempting to overthrow Emperor Palpatine. So too did the planet's Golan defense platforms, the manufacturing facilities, and—most critically—all the local precincts of the Coruscant constabulary. The constabulary in particular was currently receiving orders to suppress possible mass uprisings; loyal Star Destroyers were being called upon to attack the traitors, and all of them were being shown imaginary enemies and being told about imaginary events:
A bomb threat at the Imperial Museum.
The orbital bombardment of the ISB facility nearest to the Imperial Senate by traitorous elements of the Imperial Starfleet.
The strafing of both the Imperial Palace and the primary surface starfighter garrisons.
Dozens, hundreds of others.
None of them were real, but nobody knew that. The population of Coruscant was panicking and when a trillion people panicked, it made quite a mess. She wasn't sure how long it would take the New Republic to sort out the mess, but she was confident it would be long enough.
Especially since the program wasn't done causing panic yet.
Her transport's main computer beeped insistently at her. BY ORDER OF THE IMPERIAL SECURITY BUREAU, THIS VEHICLE MUST LAND IMMEDIATELY. The line of airspeeders it was in came to a sudden halt as all of their traffic computers started seeking landing locations. LAND OR BE FIRED UPON.
Hers was not the only vehicle receiving that order. The neat line of ships in Coruscant's sky came to a sudden halt. Some vehicles stayed where they were, blocking traffic. Others started to try to land. Still others started to make for orbit.
Roganda overrode the autopilot and veered towards her target. She could see the Jedi Consulate out the window of her transport. She was surrounded by consternation and fear as Coruscant's populace tried to figure out what was happening. Roganda drank it in deep and reveled in their terror. Then she sighted the Consulate with the ship's hidden concussion missile launcher and fired.
Transparisteel shattered, sending jagged shards of transparent material slashing into the meditation chambers. Streen stumbled as one of those shards sliced through his Jedi robes, and Kirana Ti felt multiple shards impact her back as she ducked to protect her head. She was thankful that she had insisted on wearing her leather armor. Grabbing Streen with both hands, she thrust him into the protective shadow of one of the meditation benches in the center of the room.
"What happened?"
Streen was wide-eyed, with surprise and sudden fear. His expression was wrenched with pain, and Kirana Ti checked his wounds, but found none of them were particularly deep. "Where are you hurt?" she demanded.
He shook his head, his mouth working silently. "I'm fine," he panted eventually. "But the city… can't you feel that?"
She had no idea what he was asking. "No," she said, reaching to pull her spear into cover with them, grabbing the handle at the end and snaking it through the debris. She could hear the sounds of repulsorlifts through the shattered window, of vehicles idling or racing around, as if in some kind of panic. "What?"
"I haven't felt anything like this since Vader took Cloud City," Streen said, his expression dire. "People are terrified… I think the whole planet is under attack…"
There was nothing Kirana Ti could do about that. Whether Streen was right or not, she knew the Consulate was under attack… and Luke and Mara had given very specific instructions that the artifact they'd secreted away in the temple vault should be kept protected at all costs. She crouched, preparing to lurch into motion.
The sound of repulsorlifts grew louder, almost overpowering. She hadn't realized just how much sound the now-shattered windows had kept out of the serene temple environment. She risked poking her head over the couch to see what was happening, and saw a midsized freighter descending towards the temple's landing pads. Its landing ramp was open, and standing on it were a number of dark-armored figures with blaster rifles. "Imperials."
Streen shook his head in stunned disbelief. "How could Imperials be here, now?" he asked, sounding equal parts astonished and fearful. "How?"
"Stay down, manling," she ordered him. Even if he had not been wounded, he was no fighter. If the Imperials were after the artifact, they would not be coming to this room anyway and he'd be safe here. Leaving him, she ran low to the central core of the building.
The core of the building was hollow, with stairs and lifts that took people up and down. She could look up and see the peaked roof a half-dozen stories above them, semi-transparent to allow some of the morning-sun to provide the building with natural light. She could also look down to the landing pad floor. While the building continued downwards for many more levels, that floor was entirely filled in, giving it the illusion of being a ground floor—something which Kirana Ti appreciated, because when she thought about how high they really were, she got quite dizzy.
Crouched with her spear, she heard the sound of blaster fire resonate through the open air. The Consulate's defenses were kicking into action, and combat droids and fixed defenses were both opening fire. From her position above, she could see blasts of red and green cross-crossing through the large vestibule that opened to the northernmost landing pad.
Roganda stood within her transport, watching as her DTs demolished the Consulate's defenses. She'd lost four units, but their heavy armor had absorbed plenty of fire before they had succumbed to damage, and their counterpart units had turned the fixed defenses to slag.
A quartet of droids moved rapidly through the vestibule, their metal feet clicking softly over the tile. In the center of the space was a statue; and with some surprise, Roganda noted that the statue was dedicated to the Antarian Rangers.
Her mind abruptly full of memories of Belsavis and a dozen other last stands of Jedi refugees and their protectors, she waited until the DT units announced the floor was secure. Wordlessly, she keyed tactical directives into her wristcomm, telling them to storm the upper floors. Roganda knew that she had only so long to secure the Seed before the chaos she had unleashed on Coruscant was resolved.
It was here. She knew it was here. She would not be denied, not again.
Using her wristcomm, she instructed her aerial support to engage.
In an instant, a half-dozen droids drones soared out of concealed hatches on the hull. Each one was suspended by a disc-like repulsor ring and bristled with blasters. They swarmed up and through the smashed in windows, looking for targets.
"Make sure all communications are jammed," she reminded the droid she had designated her aide, who she had renamed DT-130 for the sake of simplicity. "This is a smash and grab. We want to get to our objective and out as quickly as possible. The faster we are, the easier it will be to escape the planet."
Streen's cry of alarm sent Kirana Ti spinning back around. She had seen flying ships before, but flying droids were something entirely new to her. They were so small! But despite her unfamiliarity with them, the combination of her danger sense and her common sense meant she recognized them instantly as threats.
There were two of them, beeping and whirring. Gray and black metallic armor, with angular red eyes and bodies rotating towards her!
She charged.
The first droid's blaster fire went high as she slid over the smooth tile of the Consulate floor, like she was dodging under a particularly energetic woofa fighting for its life with an array of Dathomiri tribesmen. Bursts of energy shot over her shoulder and she came up out of her slide with an athletic thrust. The head of her spear grazed the droid she was targeting; her accuracy was foiled by the droid's sudden defensive retreat, bobbing higher and back in the air. She pursued with an additional thrust—
She hadn't expected her second effort to make contact, but it did. She realized, a second later, why the second had been successful while the first had not. Streen, laying on the couch, wincing from his earlier wounds and at least one blaster burn, had gripped the droid and held it still with the Force. Her spear—which, despite appearances, had been constructed with modern alloys—drove through the floating droid's thin armor and left it sparking as it sank to the floor.
The second droid was coming and her spear was lodged too deep in the first to retrieve. Releasing it she rolled backwards, dodging a pair of incoming blaster bolts, but that was when she heard the harmonized hum of a lightsaber nearby.
"Why don't you pick on someone your own size."
The droid heard it too. Its blaster-cluster pivoted away from her and Streen, reorienting to aim at the new arrival standing in the entrance to the meditation chamber. Tyria Sarkin nearly floated on the balls of her feet, poised and ready, and as the shots came in she wove her green blade in a perfect defensive pattern, batting away the incoming fire with focused determination as her blond braid swung in her wake.
As the droid and Tyria engaged in a furious exchange, Kirana Ti remembered what Luke had taught her and stretched out with her mind for her spear. Getting a solid grip on her weapon with the Force, she tore it free from the first droid's machinery. She snatched it out of the air and with it in hand she turned to help Tyria face the second.
The droid's blaster swiveled back towards her, apparently deciding that shooting at a target armed with a lightsaber was less wise than shooting at a target armed with a spear. She dodged the first two bolts, but the third caught her on the side and sent her sprawling. Her hide-armor outfit dissipated much of the energy, but she still lost her footing and spiraled to the ground, only half-catching her fall
Tyria leapt. Trained as a ranger from the time she was young, she moved well—though it was obvious to Kirana Ti that the lightsaber was still a weapon with which she was still gaining expertise. Despite that unfamiliarity, the tip of her blade clipped through the droid, which fell like a sparking, fizzling brick to the floor.
Breathing heavily, Kirana Ti pulled herself to her feet, smelling the roasting armor and wincing around the pain
"Status?" Tyria asked, her voice a flat-affected channel for information.
"Wounded," Kirana said, twirling her spear, "but lightly. Ready to fight." Streen just moaned and clutched at his injury, and Kirana Ti cursed herself for not anticipating the flying droids.
As Tyria moved towards Streen, she pulled bacta and bandage-gel from a pouch at her belt and set to work, giving an assessment of their situation as she worked. "There are droids marching up from the landing pad and all our comms are jammed," Tyria reported grimly. "Tionne and Kam are somewhere in the building, but other than that there isn't anyone else here. Luke and Mara left early this morning, I'm not sure why. I don't know how long our defenses can hold off their battle droids."
"Corran… isn't here?" wheezed Streen.
Tyria shook her head again. "He's still somewhere on Corellia. Cilghal is on Mon Calamari. It's just us, Kam, and Tionne."
"Well where are they?" Streen muttered, cursing under his breath in pain.
"They're coming," Tyria said. "Rest assured."
Kirana Ti's spear was a trusty weapon, but it would be little help in this fight. She raised the weapon to a guard position anyway.
Tyria eyed it. "We need something heavier than what we've got," she said. "Come on. Mara's armory isn't far."
Tyria watched as the other Jedi hastily armed themselves with the weapons that Mara had in the Jedi armory. Weapons of every type were carefully arranged, each one with guides for proper use conditions and maintenance requirements. Just like the droids that Luke and Mara had purchased to defend the Consulate—sourced from Talon Karrde—they were of the highest quality, and chosen based on ease of use and flexibility.
She wasn't surprised as Kirana Ti changed her spear out for a standard-issue stormtrooper E-11. The Dathomiri witch was uncomfortable with most of the elements of Coruscanti life, but the galaxy's weapons had long since made their way to her homeworld and she clearly knew exactly how to use one. Streen armed himself too, but with far less confidence—unlike Kirana Ti and Tyria herself, he was no fighter. "Just stay behind us," she encouraged him.
He nodded with obvious assent. "That sounds like a good idea," he agreed nervously—
The Consulate rocked and a thunderous boom echoed from the upper levels. Paint fluttered down from the ceiling, stone shuddering, and a second boom followed the first. The sounds of blaster fire echoed down through the structure.
"They've found Kam and Tionne," Tyria said with grim certainty.
She and Kirana Ti sprinted ahead, each holding one of Mara's blaster rifles. A handful of the battle droids were watching the stairs above and they both fell to one knee behind a meditation couch, firing over the limited protection it offered. Through the Force—as limited as her own abilities were—Tyria could feel Kirana Ti's intent, and the two of them blasted one then the other, twinned blaster bolts converging and blasting through armor. The two-legged, dark-armored, red-eyed droids staggered and fell backwards, spitting sparks and smoke.
They were back running before Streen even caught up behind them. Kirana Ti leapt up the stairs to the upper levels, taking them three at a time. As they ascended Tyria could feel Streen come to a halt. Instead of trying to keep up with them—he was far older than either of them, after all—he pointed his blaster upwards and fired. He wasn't really trying to hit anything, but the constant stream of fire gave the two women enough cover to advance.
The Consulate's defense droids fought a losing battle against the invading Imperials, but they were bolstered by a single woman wielding a heavy repeater that appeared far too large for her frame. Tionne's silver hair flashed as she yelled various obscenities, strong blasts from her weapon punching through black armor with ridiculous ease as the double-viol on her back gleamed in the sunlight. But as Tyria and Kirana Ti leapt over the final stair to join the fight, Tionne caught a single shot to the side. Spinning to hit the ground heavily, Tionne let out a single pained cry, trying to hoist her repeater up once more to return fire.
She would have been too slow, but she was not alone. A pair of twinned blaster bolts—one from Tyria and one from Kirana Ti—each took the droid lining up the kill shot in the head and torso. With a small plume of smoke the suddenly headless battle droid collapsed to the ground, twitching.
Another floor above them there was a third heavy boom, followed by a fourth. "Kam!" gasped Tionne from where she lay bleeding on the floor, struggling to stand.
Tyria leapt forward, dropping her rifle and snatching her lightsaber up again, taking a basic guard position. She was still unaccustomed to the weapon—Mara and Tionne had helped her construct it only a few weeks before—but she drove herself forward in a vicious charge. Staggering her steps from right to left to throw off the remaining droids' aim, she dropped into a slide and then catapulted off the ground. Her lightsaber slashed evenly through the torso of one of the droids, then she spun to the side and carved the blade through a leg of a second. Kirana Ti was there, her rifle pumping a point blank shot into the second droid's chest.
The remaining Consulate security droids sparked and hissed, every one showing scorches where their armor had protected them, and none of them any longer combat capable.
From above there was another boom. The building rattled.
"Kam!" Tionne moaned again, clutching at her side.
Streen had finally made his way up the stairs—it felt like it had been minutes, but it could only have been maybe thirty seconds—and he fell by Tionne's side, immediately rendering aid.
Tionne's silver eyes were locked on Tyria. "Go!" she gasped.
Tyria prepared to do just that—
There was a shade in the periphery of her vision. A foe as invisible to her as the droids, a woman in black armor emerged out of the shadows. She held a nasty-looking blaster in one hand and before Tyria could call out a warning she fired.
The shot caught Kirana Ti full in the back, sending the warrior witch flying forward to the ground. The witch's armor smoked but, to Tyria's everlasting relief, appeared intact. Her relief was fleeting. Kirana Ti's jaw hit the ground hard and she collapsed in a heap, moaning, struggling to stand and obviously unable to.
Tionne, Streen, and Tyria stared wide eyed at the shadowy figure. Tyria still found it hard to even focus on her, like she was there but not there, using the Force to cloak herself in the shadows. Dark black hair was matched with equally black lipstick and eyes.
Tyria charged. She had always moved fast and deceptively—as a child on Toprawa, even the older Rangers had recognized Tyria's skill—and she followed her training precisely. Her weight moved from foot to foot, preparing for a perfect slash at her enemy, shifting her weight just exactly as she had been taught—
—the pressure of sudden impact, the wrench of pain, the sudden limpness of her grip—
Tyria found herself twisted into a heap on the ground, dazed and confused. Her attack had been perfect. That same lunge had been difficult for Luke Skywalker himself to deal with when he'd first seen it. The Antarian Rangers had always been trained to fight with Jedi, but they also knew Jedi better than any other paramilitary force in the galaxy, knew their strengths and weaknesses—
"You're not the only one the Rangers taught, little girl," Roganda Ismaren mocked.
Those words made no sense. But nothing was making much sense to Tyria in that moment. A boot caught her full in the chest as she tried to stand and she felt one of her ribs give, the painful crack making it suddenly hard for her to breathe. Her lightsaber was gone—when she had lost it, Tyria wasn't sure, but she saw it in Roganda's hand now, the former Emperor's Hand admiring the careful craftsmanship.
"Impressive, for one of such limited talents," Roganda commented. A second boot caught Tyria and she gasped as the kick drove the air from her. "You must have had help. The false Hand, no doubt."
The dark lady's words stopped abruptly. She spun around, looking up. Tyria's gaze followed, though hers was blurry and unfocused…
Kam Solusar's bronzium armor did not gleam or shine. It was darkened with blaster grazes and shrapnel scars and Kam himself was breathing heavily, clearly exhausted, sweat damp in his hair and blood visible where there were gaps in his armor. He held a lightsaber in a two-handed grip, the blade ignited and humming with an intensity of purpose.
"Surrend—"
Before he could get the single word out, Roganda's hand lifted. With a cackle visible even over the sudden thunderclap, her expression suddenly contorted with hatred, a blue corona of lightning fire erupted from her fingertips, the air around Tyria suddenly heavy with electricity and hatred. She could taste it on her tongue, a tangy, burning that sparked around her.
Kam reacted faster than Tyria could have. His lightsaber swept upwards in an arc, catching the lightning on the blade to prevent it from striking Tionne and Streen. He held the blade in place, his eyes locked on Roganda. Tyria could feel him in the Force, feel the power Kam possessed, feel the intensity of his purpose, his need to stop Roganda at any cause, the need to keep the artifact that Luke and Mara had placed in their custody away from the Empire. Roganda hissed and the lightning burned from her fingers hotter, swirling around Kam's saber. He straightened his arm, confident that he had her attack blocked, the other Jedi were safe.
Roganda lifted her other hand and with a banshee wail that was nearly inhuman, a second burst of lightning erupted from her. Kam's eyes went wide with surprise and he tried to shift his position so he could—
The lightning hit Kam full in the chest. The blue light coruscated around him, lightning tracing all four of his limbs and his darkened armor suddenly gleamed anew, this time with electricity rather than polish.
Roganda was still screaming with rage as Tyria finally succumbed to unconsciousness.
Roganda's throat was dry, her voice hoarse. Kam Solusar lay, electricity still crackling through him, his armor cracked and broken. He was still trying to reach for his saber, trying to fight back, because he knew the cost of his failure.
So too did Roganda.
She smiled at him, tossing the Ranger's lightsaber casually away. She did not try to speak—she did not trust her voice to still work, not after the rage she had unleashed to defeat the Jedi.
She was tempted to kill them all, to strangle the new Jedi order in its cradle, but she did not have the time. Skywalker and Jade were coming. She could feel them coming, could feel their meteoric approach, like a bolt of lightning heading straight in her direction. If they arrived before she could escape she would not be escaping. As much as she would relish every slow death of every fallen Jedi, it was an indulgence she could not afford.
Yet.
She raced up the stairs. There was a void in the Force up there, one she knew was caused by the damnable Ysalamiri. Her battle droids were strewn and broken, sliced with skillful saber strikes—Solusar had destroyed at least a dozen, all by himself—but there were no defenses left. Her droids had seen to that, before Solusar had destroyed them.
In the center of the room, surrounded by nutrient frames containing Ysalamiri, was the Seed.
She could not feel it in the Force. She could not feel anything in the Force. The Seed looked almost sickly, the pulsing green colors that had pumped through it dim to the point of invisibility. She gathered it up in her arms gently, cradling it like an infant, and ran.
Tempered Mettle screamed through the atmosphere of Corsucant like a revenant spirit, swirling through dense clouds of moisture and panicked starships. Coruscant's sky was full of people, terrified and uncertain: had the Empire returned? Should they run? Hide? Surrender? Thousands upon thousands chose to run, leaving the galactic capital's traffic controllers utterly swamped and ignored, turning Coruscant's normally-orderly sky into a hive of treacherous peril.
Mara could see multiple midair collisions ahead of her. Crippled airspeeders spiraling down on damaged repulsorlifts, or streaks of falling debris. When the day was over, she feared the casualty count just from accidents would be in the tens of thousands, if not significantly higher.
They needed to get through that mess.
She didn't let anyone fly her ship, but today, right now, Luke was at the helm. He was the better pilot and they both knew it, so he had claimed the pilot's seat while she took control of her ship's weapons. Her targeting scanners went wild as they detected rogue ship after rogue ship, each streaking along jagged pathways up into the sky. Above them confused warships tried to maintain order, but they too were simply overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of people. Coruscant was home to trillions of sentients, and those trillions were confused and terrified.
Even as Luke maneuvered Tempered Mettle with casual, ridiculous skill, weaving between panicked starships with an ease that Mara knew he did not feel, she knew they were too late. The Consulate was visible now and growing larger quickly, its roof smoking from some kind of explosive blast. A ship Mara had never seen before was fleeing from the Consulate's landing pads, its unobtrusive silhouette just starting to climb towards space. That was their quarry, smaller than Tempered Mettle—Mara's ship was actually quite sizable—and it did not make any attempt to avoid the civilians who filled Coruscant's skies. It raced upwards to join them, blending in, trying to be just one more freighter fleeing Coruscant under siege.
Beside her, Artoo was trying to get a hold of the commanders of the New Republic fleets, trying to contact someone, anyone, to let them know where they needed to be to prevent Roganda's escape, but the comm channels were jammed and even private comms were unreliable. The system had been pushed to its breaking point and nudged beyond.
If anyone was going to prevent Roganda's escape, it would have to be them.
Mara brought up the main gun, knowing the distance was too far for the lighter lasers. Tempered Mettle's primary armament was the long spinal turbolaser, powerful enough to blast through even heavy shields and armor—but only if they made compromises elsewhere. With Luke already stressing the engines, the only place to find excess power was her ship's shields.
Tempered Mettle's alarms started to turn orange and then red as the friction from Coruscant's atmosphere heated up her armor. They streaked through the sky like a rocket aflame and Mara tried not to—refused to let herself—think about the fact that she was pregnant.
"Get us in range," she said aloud as she watched their prey through her gunnery computer.
Luke knew that already and said nothing as they continued to gain speed. She felt no relief when the heat sensors abruptly started to return to normal, because that meant they had exited the atmosphere, and that meant that they were getting close to the edge of Coruscant's gravity well.
She would only have one shot. If that.
"Closer," she murmured—
She didn't have any more time to wait. They were just inside effective range, her weapons were charged. Luke aligned Mettle's bow. Mara felt his satisfaction, made some minute adjustments to the servos, and squeezed her gunner's yoke. A green bolt of energy lanced forward and struck Roganda's ship!
But Tempered Mettle was not the only ship bestowed upon an Emperor's Hand by the Empire's finest shipwrights. Despite the ferocity of the strike, their enemy's shields were equal to it. Mara clenched her free hand, holding her breath, waiting for the gun to recharge for a second shot—
She fired again the instant the gun reached the minimum power required for discharge. This blast lacked the punch of the first but it was just as fast, and their target had already been hit once… but then the target was gone. Mara's last shot coasted out towards the void between stars, dissipating like a bad weld on a pressurized hull.
Roganda had escaped.