The Imperial-I class Star Destroyer Stormhawk lurked in the Leria Kerlsil system. Deep in New Republic territory, the populated system sat directly on the Corellian Run: the trade route between Coruscant and Corellia which then headed out to the Outer Rim. For months the New Republic's military efforts had been dedicated to securing as much of the Corellian Run as they could, and for months Admiral Natasi Daala had been preventing them from doing just that.
She stood in the center of Stormhawk's bridge, staring out into the total blackness. Total blackness, because the only way to get an Imperial ship this deep into New Republic territory was under cloak. The screen that made Stormhawk invisible to the New Republic also blinded her, and Daala had no idea what would be waiting for them when the time came to drop that cloak. But that was the risk of the strategy she had adopted to foil the New Republic's advance.
Captain Markarian stood at her side. "Almost time, Admiral?" he asked.
She checked her chrono. "Almost," she agreed.
"Are we waiting for anything in particular?" he asked curiously.
"Imperial Intelligence's report of when the New Republic convoy would be departing Coruscant indicates that our best chance of catching them will be in thirty minutes," Daala reminded him. "And given where we are, it's best not to hang around long after we intercept it."
"Yes, sir." Markarian nodded.
"The New Republic's capture of Perma and Lolnar puts us well behind enemy lines," she mused aloud. "Stanz has moved his ships forward to Lolnar to continue putting pressure on Corellia, but that stretches their supply lines and gives us a chance to hit their rear."
It was nothing that Markarian did not already know, but it was good to explain to Stormhawk's bridge crew their intent before the battle. Since she had taken command of the fleet she had completely rewritten Imperial doctrine. Instead of meeting the New Republic in the slugging matches that had once been the Empire's only fleet tactic, she made ruthless use of cloaking devices to sneak Imperial formations into places where they would have force advantages, used hit-and-fade attacks, and focused on pulling the New Republic's logistical units out of hyperspace with Interdictors or Empion mines. Her commanders had complained bitterly that the new Imperial way of war was cowardly and not befitting of the Starfleet. She had taken those complaints as resignation notices and replaced them with officers who more fully comprehended that the glory days were done.
"Captain Markarian, you may deploy the Empion mines at your discretion," Daala said formally as she watched the chrono tick down to zero. "Drop the cloak. Launch our TIE interceptor squadrons, but inform their commanders to hold off on engaging the enemy until they receive explicit orders to do so."
"Not our TIE Droids?" confirmed Markarian.
"Not yet," Daala said. This mission wasn't nearly important enough to reveal to the New Republic the existence of her sudden growth in starfighter strength, even if she hadn't received nearly as many as she had been promised. That moment would come.
As the cloak came down she saw the world of Leria Kerlsi for the first time. With a population of only 300,000 it was one of the smaller Core Worlds, and wasn't considered important enough for a military garrison—nor strong enough to field a significant system defense force. Indeed, she saw only a handful of ships that might have military capacity in orbit, and nothing worth hunting. As long as they stayed within the planet's gravity well, she'd leave them alone.
"Mines active, Admiral."
She nodded. "Jam the local HoloNet to prevent messages being sent." She checked her chrono. "It will take the New Republic three hours to get substantial reinforcements here. We will stay for two hours. If we don't catch anything in that time, we'll leave to try again another day."
Seventy-five minutes later a New Republic formation including a Nebulon-B escort frigate, half a squadron of Y-wings, and six New Republic military freighters came smashing out of hyperspace. The Empion mines wreaked their havoc and it took Stormhawk only twenty minutes to finish them off without a single casualty.
They were gone before any reinforcements could arrive.
Massive, strong, and stately, the Sadashassa Senatorial Skyhook stood out like a beacon in Coruscant's low orbit, now the permanent seat of the New Republic government. From its outer observation ring, Wedge could see the massive spacescrapers pushing up into the sky, pointing up like the quills of a Ralltiiri porcupine, and just as prickly.
"I seldom saw my homeworld from this angle until I went Fleet," his aide, Commodore Atril Tabanne, commented from his side. "From the ground, skyhooks looked like these gleaming gemstones, white or red depending on the time of day. It's just as strange to be on one of them looking down at the city. Most natives of Coruscant never leave—there's a whole galaxy down there. Neighborhoods and rivalries and scattered local governments and gangs. If you slip too far down towards the surface you'll run into gang wars which have been waging for longer than the Galactic Civil War, and half the people don't even realize the Old Republic has fallen."
"One war at a time, Atril," Wedge sighed. "We have enough trouble with the one we're fighting up here."
She laughed. "I know, Wedge. And I wouldn't even know who to sign up with, or how. The history is so muddled that none of them really know what they're fighting for, other than control of a street or a corner shop, and no one knows what victory would even look like. If any of them won, they'd just split and the war would start all over again." She offered him a humorless smile. "At least we're fighting for something and our war has a chance at ending."
"Let's just hope that the Inner Council isn't about to make ending it more difficult," Wedge muttered darkly.
Behind them, the Sullustan sentry outside of Admiral A'baht's office pressed a stubby hand to his ear, then chittered to gain their attention. "[The Commander-in-Chief will see you now]," he announced.
"Thank you, Sergeant," Wedge replied, and he and Atril entered the room.
Admiral A'baht's office was much as Admiral Ackbar's had been, before the Mon Calamarian had resigned his post in the New Republic military to assume the role of Senator full-time. The Dornean had replaced Ackbar's oceanic artwork—still holos or impressionistic canvases of oceans, or sculptures reminiscent of tides and waves—with entire ethnographies of abstract, minutely-detailed mosaics done in every medium imaginable.
The pieces offered equal measures of intrigue and order, and Wedge resolved to ask the new Admiral about them one day when both men had more free time.
Wedge was not surprised to see that A'baht was not alone. General Airen Cracken was with him, and so was an unexpected face: the new Senator for Corellia-in-exile, Sena Midanyl. "Come in, General," A'baht greeted him. "You know General Cracken and Councilor Midanyl."
"I do," Wedge agreed. "General, Councilor."
"You can still call me Sena, you know," the older woman replied with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She waved a graceful arm, demonstrating all the poise of someone who had been a Senate aide before she was Wedge's age. "Sit down, Wedge."
Wedge knew that tone of voice and didn't like it.
"Admiral Daala hit us again today," A'baht announced with a frown. Wedge sat up, a sense of dread swelling at those words. The new Imperial fleet commander had been a relative unknown just a year before, whose reputation owed more to the improprieties of the Imperial Starfleet than to her combat abilities. That was no longer the case now—whatever the Empire thought of her behind closed doors, the New Republic had learned not to underestimate her. "We lost a proton torpedo resupply convoy—six replenishment ships, loaded with three-hundred-plus proton torpedoes each."
Wedge winced. Fifth Fleet needed as many proton torpedoes as possible to take Corellia. "Another mysterious Star Destroyer suddenly appeared in a system we thought secured, pulled the convoy out of hyperspace, and vanished before we could get reinforcements to help?"
"It would appear so, given the reports from the survivors. But I think, given what I've managed to learn from the local surveillance systems, that I have an idea of how she's doing it. General Cracken?"
"The Star Destroyer Stormhawk appeared out of nowhere about an hour before the attack," Cracken explained promptly. "And by 'out of nowhere', I mean that literally. There was no indication of a hyperspace emergence, and when the Star Destroyer appeared it was with zero relative velocity." He frowned. "That's a pretty good indication that Daala is not just having ships come out of hyperspace at a distance, power down and come in dark, and then light up when they're in combat range."
"So she is using cloaking devices," Wedge said with a sigh. "We were afraid of that."
Cracken nodded. "Best guess, Stormhawk was already in-system when Fifth Fleet captured Leria Kerlsil. She waited under cloak until Fifth Fleet moved on, then waited some more, probably using couriers to pop out from under the cloaking shield to keep an eye on things and relay communications. Then once there was an opportune moment Stormhawk dropped the cloak and laid an Empion mine.
"By the time reinforcements could arrive," Cracken continued, "Stormhawk was gone. Admiral Stanz was able to set up some blockades along the most-likely hyperlanes, but without luck. Likely Stormhawk retreated into the Deep Core. The Empire knows the unstable hyperlanes of the Deep Core far better than we do and is more willing to risk traversing them."
"It's exactly the kind of maneuver we would have pulled ourselves before Endor," A'baht said, his voice full of rueful admiration. "But we didn't have cloaking devices or Empion mines."
"Or Star Destroyers," Wedge added. "This is going to slow down efforts to retake Corellia," he warned, looking at Sena.
The Senator representing all the Corellians in the New Republic, forbidden to return to their Imperial-controlled homeworlds, didn't even nod. "I know. And that leads us to our second order of business, and the reason we scheduled this meeting with you." She turned to Cracken. "General, would you care to do the briefing?"
"General Antilles, things are heating up on Corellia," Cracken began. "The Corellian HoloNet has been locked down by the Diktat, but we know that major protests are kicking off throughout the system. I'm not sure what exactly set them off, but it sounds like a Drall was murdered while in ISB custody. That set off a chain of protests on Drall, which led to sympathy protests on Selonia and Corellia. I can confirm major protests in Coronet, and there are… certain indications… that Drallan and Selonian civilian and military forces are preparing for more active resistance against Imperial rule in the Corellian system."
Atril gasped. "That's suicide!"
"It could well be," Cracken agreed. "But that doesn't mean that it won't happen. it sounds like the aliens and sympathetic humans were reacting against the imposition of new discriminatory laws across the Corellian system." He frowned. "Since the coup, COMPNOR and the New Order have been imposing those laws on aliens all across Imperial space. So far only Muunilinst has avoided them."
"The Selonians and Drallans aren't likely to tolerate that," Wedge said, feeling an angry crease in his brow. Those ISB scumsuckers are picking one hell of a fight for no reason at all. There was a reason the Empire had long left the Corellian system to its own devices.
"Until now, Corellia's internal politics have largely been left to Corellia," Sena said, putting voice to his thoughts. "With ISB fully in charge of the Empire, that's changed. But it means we are working with a tight window of time. If the revolt can't be suppressed with mass arrests, the Empire may well resort to limited orbital bombardment to restore order. And if that doesn't work, perhaps not-so-limited orbital bombardment."
Wedge had seen, not that long ago, the consequences of even a short-lived orbital bombardment. The Imperial Academy on Carida had been bombarded for two, maybe three minutes by a single Star Destroyer, and even that had caused upwards of fifty thousand casualties. "You said there were protests in Coronet?" he asked warily.
Sena's grim nod told him that she too foresaw the possibility. "And if they resort to bombing Coronet to put down the protest…"
Coronet City was the pride of the entire Corellian Sector. The center of Corellian wealth and prosperity, it was a flourishing capital of arts and culture, with millions of residents and millions of additional commuters from throughout the Corellia system. Wedge had snuck in to see Coronet after the Ukio campaign on a date with Iella, to remind himself exactly what it was he was fighting for. Even under drab Imperial grays and blood red banners the old city hadn't disappointed.
The thought of Coronet City suffering an Imperial orbital bombardment…
But the consequences of rushing in to try to stop it could be just as dire. "If we push the timetable on the Corellian operation too hard," Wedge warned, "that will leave us vulnerable to Daala's rearguard actions. I won't be able to deploy much in the way of serious force to protect convoys along the Corellian Run. And Lusankya is still weeks away from being ready to return to action."
"We'll be deploying units from Home Fleet to cover your rear when the time comes," A'baht assured him. "Right now, the most important thing is to put pressure on Corellia. Any ships that you can draw out of the system will be ships that aren't available to contain a full-blown revolt. And if we're lucky, maybe with their attention divided you'll be able to catch the Empire between your fleet and the successful rebel forces to liberate the system quickly."
Wedge sent a skeptical glance to Atril, who shrugged. "It's not ideal," she warned. "But with Fifth Fleet's new reinforcements from Kuat and Rendili, our capital ship strength is greater than it has ever been."
"Stanz hasn't been able to force a decisive engagement with Daala," Wedge said, looking at A'baht. "She's been too good at keeping her forces moving and hard to pin down. And I'm concerned about what other tricks she might have that we haven't seen yet. From what little we were able to gather from her record, she always had a reputation as an aggressive hothead. That matched her actions at Dorin and Chazwa, but that's not the sort of tactics we've seen from her since then."
A'baht's expression was firm. "Our intelligence suggests that they have not been able to replace the ships they lost at Carida, much less the manpower. And with Moff Ferrouz and Admiral Pellaeon's little rebellion of their own the Empire is divided. Now is the time to strike, General Antilles, and Corellia needs us to act."
A'baht was right, Wedge feared. But in the Rebellion he'd learned more than once the heavy cost of attacking fortified and prepared targets who knew when, where, and why you were coming, and his gut told him that this would be another one of those times.
"General?" prompted Sena.
"I don't like it," Wedge said suspiciously. "We got lucky at Carida with good intelligence and better timing. Now we're short undamaged ships and our crews haven't gotten a full rest cycle. But I don't see that we have a choice. Our home needs us and billions of lives are at stake." He stared at the Admiral and the Senator with an even, measuring gaze. "I need some time before my fleet will be ready, but I'm in."
"Since they know we're likely coming, I'll organize a volunteer transfer for any Corellian expatriates who want to join your fleet for the operation," added Sena sadly. "Until Corellia."
"Anything I hear, I'll get you by fast courier or emergency broadcast," said Cracken.
"And I'll dispatch more of Home Fleet to patrol the Corellian Run and prevent Daala from staging any more of those rear ambushes," said A'baht, stroking his barbed mustache. He nodded at the Corellians in the room, "Until Corellia," he said, adding the now-familiar phrase out of respect.
"Until Corellia," Wedge echoed, Areta Bell's dying words sticking sickeningly in his throat. He rose, saluted the General, and swept out at a fast walk with Atril following in his wake.
"That's strange," Atril said.
A few hours later, they were bunkered down in his office, reviewing battle plans they'd already examined a dozen times over, and trying to guess where Daala would strike next.
"What's strange?" Wedge asked.
"Take a look at this." She slid a datapad across his desk; he stopped it with a hand before it could slide over the edge and fall. "That's Daala's service record. It was attached to her intelligence file—the one Cracken just updated?"
Wedge looked at it. Daala had been a cadet at Carida then caught Grand Moff Tarkin's eye and been assigned to his staff. She'd been promoted rapidly and, despite the widespread perception that her promotions were due solely to Tarkin's favor, performed well in each assignment she'd been given. Upon Tarkin's death, though, she'd been effectively exiled to the Outer Rim. "I know all this already," he said.
"Look closer, specifically at the dates and known associates."
Wedge frowned and did. "What am I looking—" he stopped. "Oh," he said.
"I thought that was interesting too," Atril said, but her voice sounded distant as Wedge lost himself in the name on the page.
In the latest version of the file, Airen Cracken's staff had gone through everything that was known about Daala's history. With the capture of Carida they did not just have their own intelligence records, but the Academy's own files—the academy records building had survived largely intact—and the Imperials had kept meticulous records.
One of the names was Soontir Fel.
Baron Soontir Fel had been the Empire's finest pilot. He was also Wedge's brother-in-law, because Syal Antilles—who had wed Fel under her stage name of Wynssa Starflare—had left Corellia at seventeen for the bright star of Coruscant. Wedge had only been seven, and though his memories of her were somewhat faded over the years, his memory of her smile and her ability to spin a yarn blazed brightly still. When his parents had been busy—which was often—she had been the one to read to him at night, and those remained treasured memories.
Wedge loved his big sister.
Syal and Fel had been celebrities and their wedding had been the subject of sludgenews gossip for years. Until, that is, Fel's capture by the Rebellion, combined with his increasing disillusionment with the Empire, had led to his defection. For a time, Wedge and Fel had even flown together in Rogue Squadron—and the Rogues who remembered him insisted that, of all the pilots the Rogues had ever had, Fel was still the very best.
Fel's time in the Rebellion had come to an abrupt end thanks to Ysanne Isard, who had made it a personal mission of hers to hunt Fel down for his betrayal. Wedge still didn't know exactly what had happened to Fel and his sister, but he was reasonably sure they had evaded Imperial ire—if only because a public example had never been made of them. The fact that Syal and Fel had managed to vanish so thoroughly was comforting, though their absence still stung like a fresh wound every time he thought about it.
Wedge had sworn on his parents' memory that he would find Fel and Syal and the rest of his family. But he had not yet done so, nor did he have any idea where to even start.
It was an odd coincidence to find Fel's name here, but Wedge knew that Fel's name was not the one which had attracted Atril's attention, because the second name on the list was Han Solo.
"Han and Daala were at the academy at the same time?" he asked, pushing past his momentary reverie.
Atril nodded. "Looks like. They shared some classes, too, long before she became entangled with Tarkin." She shrugged. "She's a looker. You think he'd remember her?"
"It's Han," Wedge said. "I'll bet you a bottle of pre-Empire Whyren's they were at least friendly."
"I'll bet you a month of desserts from Iella's favorite bakery on Coruscant that they weren't," Atril replied, somewhat archly.
Wedge chuckled. "You're on. Let's find out, but I'm flying."
On the trip from Dathomir to Coruscant, Luke and Mara started Kirana Ti on some Jedi basics. Tempered Mettle was not an ideal place for meditation, but the lounge had been gradually reworked to create a space for it. It was little more than an open piece of floor on which they could lay a mat and a few sitting cushions, but it was better than nothing, and Mara was surprised at how natural its addition felt. She knew that more changes would come with time, and was even more surprised at how comfortable she was with that knowledge.
Kirana Ti knew how to meditate, but the lack of intent in this meditation was clearly unnerving her. They were not meditating for any particular purpose. They were not seeking knowledge. They were merely emptying themselves of thought to allow the Force to fill those empty spaces, and if the Force chose to guide them it would.
Mara knew that the witches called upon the Force typically in moments of desire and need. Their spells conjured its power to create the effects they desired, not unlike a Jedi using the Force for telekinesis. But the witches would need, over time, to grow comfortable with the idea that the main gift the Force offered was not an instrumental one.
"The Force is not just about power," Mara murmured, her eyes closed as she concentrated. Luke stood back, allowing himself to fade into the background as he watched, her red-gold hair seeming to shimmer in the occasional flicker of a faulty ceiling light. She looked at peace, calm and centered, radiating with an inner light—and she reached out to him through the Force, gently chastising him for distracting her. "It's about guidance. Visions of the future, or warnings about present dangers. When you listen to the Force and let it guide you, it will help you with everything from choosing amongst the options you see, to helping you see an option you didn't know you had."
"Then you do not intend to teach me the lightsaber?" Kirana Ti sounded confused, and just the slightest bit perturbed. "The Jedi are great warriors."
"Wars do not make anyone great," Luke said at Mara's gentle prompting in the Force, drawing the attention of their new apprentice. "We will teach you to fight, yes, and teach you to wield a lightsaber, because sometimes only the respect a lightsaber commands will let you implement the will of the Force. But allowing ourselves to become warriors first is part of why the Jedi fell."
"Then what are Jedi?" asked Kirana Ti.
It was Luke's turn to nudge Mara through the Force; she caught the nudge and leaned into the touch, allowing her Force sense to mingle with his. "We serve," Mara said, her voice calm even as she leaned into the invisible intimacy they shared. She turned to look at Kirana Ti, fixing the Dathomiri witch with an intense gaze, one of instruction and command. "Sometimes we serve food to those who have none, sometimes we serve justice to those who need some, but always we must be seekers of truth—and sharers of truth. And, if we have to be, defenders of truth."
Kirana Ti did not look entirely persuaded, Mara saw, but that was alright. It was merely something they would have to watch for—and that was a necessary part of the task Luke had been given, and she had reluctantly chosen. As Luke had told her many times, Yoda had told him to pass on what he had learned, and with Kirana Ti they had another promising candidate.
Tempered Mettle descended towards the Jedi Consulate building. A small complex located at the unfashionable edges of Coruscant's Embassy District, the building had once been the Topwara Embassy and cultural center. Toprawa had moved its embassy to the Sadashassa Senatorial Skyhook and given its previous home to the Jedi in permanent trust, refusing any offer of repayment. No doubt their interest had been spurred by the fact that one of their natives, Tyria Sarkin, had become one of the newest Jedi apprentices, but it still made Luke feel vaguely uncomfortable. People all had their own ideas of what the Jedi had once been, but no one knew yet what the new Jedi would be, because that was still taking shape.
The structure was small but not unattractive. A hexagonal structure topped with a high dome, it flowered outwards halfway up, offering six large flat landing pads for spacecraft and airspeeders—a necessity given all the coming and going. Lower down it flowered again, offering another six. After that, it descended down into the lower levels of Coruscant.
On the top tier was the landing pad which was now reserved for Tempered Mettle. Luke glanced behind him, at where Kirana Ti stood watching—with no small amount of awe—as the city swelled through their forward windows. "Welcome to the home of the Jedi on Coruscant," he greeted her.
The witch could only nod, wordless in her awe. Luke was sympathetic; a world more different than Dathomir was hard to imagine.
Mara and Luke set the freighter down comfortably. "Well, there doesn't seem to be a panicked welcoming committee," Mara observed. "That's good."
"Hopefully that's because there's no panic," Luke said, "and not because they're all panicking behind closed doors somewhere."
The entry to the Consulate from the landing pad was one of six entryways. Each was remarkably decorative, though decades of damage and ill-repair—particularly after the Empire had come to power on Coruscant—had left their toll. Still, they entered through one of the six vestibules into a large, open space, with lifts and stairs going both up and down. In the center was a monument that predated the Jedi, one dedicated to Toprawa's slain in the war against the Empire—including the many Antarian Rangers who had made Toprawa their home, an enclave that had survived until just before the Battle of Yavin. Vader himself had completed their destruction.
Though the complex had ample room for dwelling, 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 single concrete location as their permanent home, but it was both a message and an outstretched hand to Mon Mothma and the New Republic government.
We're here. We're still here and growing stronger again. Let us help. Let us serve.
Perhaps it meant that the boyish hopes Luke Skywalker once pulled from his heart with ease would never fully fade, even with all the trials and travails of re-establishing the Order, a culture and way of life once hounded nearly out of existence by his own father.
Up the stairs was another large, open space. Without the need for vestibules that opened to the landing pads, there were instead large windows that allowed in copious amounts of sunlight—too much, even, at some times of day. Water fountains were inlaid into the walls between the windows, creating the constant sound of running water—a luxury that Luke, child of Tatooine, would never have imagined as a child—and were interspersed with plants and even a handful of tame animals. Those were there are the request of his nephew, who insisted on them, and thankfully Tionne had taken cheerfully to the task of making sure they were all comfortably at home in what was becoming the closest thing they had to a Jedi Temple. In the center of the room, soft textile rugs were arranged in a circle, though chairs and a round table could be brought in for more serious meetings.
Returning to this space, and seeing it… not filled, but busy, with the Jedi's trainees, filled Luke with hope for the future. For the first time since Ben had left him with the epithet "first of the new," Luke Skywalker was starting to believe the rebirth of the Jedi could be possible, and not just the embers of his carefully banked dreams.
But if they were to survive, first they would have to deal with the Inquisitorius, which remained determined to wipe them out (again), and this mysterious Emperor's Hand now working for the New Order.
It was best not to get too bogged down in the things haunting him, though. Luke was back on Coruscant, he was with Mara, he had his growing Jedi Order, and his family were all on-world with him. "Let's go see Han," he said.
She shook her head, frowning. "First I need to see Cracken. Then we go see the namesake of Solo's Folly."