Councilor Leia Organa Solo stood in the center of Chimaera's bridge. Standing twenty paces in front of her, Admiral Pellaeon rallied his crew to finish the job of destroying Silencer Station. She let out a breath she had not realized she had been holding as Termagant swung away from the World Devastator, and falling behind the line of Imperial-class Star Destroyers that the Empire—both New Order and UREF—had provided to help win this battle. Next to her, and equally useless except as a figurehead, Grand Moff Ferrouz watched stone-faced as masses of turbolaser fire chewed deeper and deeper into the crumpling mass that had been their enemy.

Leia had too much to worry about. Her husband, commanding Lusankya, had moved the New Republic's only Super Star Destroyer to physically shield Corellia from splintering debris. The Star Destroyer's massive bulk created an umbrella, deflecting debris from falling into his homeworld's gravity well, using turbolasers and tractor beams to capture whatever did not disintegrate on impact with Lusankya's shields. Her brother, and his pregnant future-wife, had been trapped aboard the massive enemy battlestation, and for long, agonizing minutes Leia had believed that to save the galaxy from Silencer Station they would have to die aboard it. Captain Rogriss and Streen—she could feel the Jedi aboard Termagant, guiding it in and out—had prevented that disastrous outcome.

She would not have to watch another world die. She would not have to watch more of her family die. The echoes of Alderaan would not resound here, not today. Not again.

"It's over," Ferrouz said softly beside her.

She knew that tone of voice. Ferrouz did not sound vengeful, exactly. But neither had so many Alderaanians after the destruction of their world. His tone was one of bitter relief, of vindictiveness achieved and found wanting. "The Empire, the war, this battle… all of it."

Reluctantly, Leia drew herself out of the moment of relief she had luxuriated in. Councilor Organa Solo, right hand of Mon Mothma, Senator for Alderaan in Absentia, was needed once more. She remembered her father, taking her aside before she went to Coruscant for the first time. "You are not just Leia Organa," he had told her. "Not just my daughter. You are the representative of Alderaan in the Senate. You are a symbol as much as you are a woman. You do not just represent Alderaan, it is your job to embody Alderaan. To be the person all Alderaanians would want to be on their best day." He had smiled then, a sad smile, one that had borne the weight of responsibility too heavy for any one person himself. "It is not an easy life, Leia."

Though she had just witnessed the salvation of her husband's homeworld, the survival of her brother and sister-in-law, the largest victory since Endor and Yavin… Ferrouz was wrong. It was not over. It would never, could never be over.

You taught me, Father. We Organas are a stiff-necked people and we don't do easy. And we remember that that past always informs the present.

She surveyed their surroundings, and saw they were alone in an offset alcove of the bridge, with everyone intent on the battle, and no one to hear them.

She saw weakness and she struck.

"Not yet," she said quietly. She turned towards him. "I must know. What you said to me after dinner. Were you serious?"

Ferrouz, briefly, looked affronted. Then he stood straighter, adopting that perfect Imperial demeanor that any governor or Moff had to be able to don. "Of course, Councilor. It will not be easy. Many in the Empire will resist the changes. I will be called a traitor. There will be pretenders for power. But—" he gestured out at the wall of Star Destroyers "—I believe the Fleet is solidly behind me now. So too is the remaining Stormtrooper corps. The last dregs of the New Order will rebel and be crushed."

She was sure that he recognized the irony of those words, just as she did. She tried not to relish it too much.

"Then we have much to do," she said. She fixed him with her fiercest gaze, the one that had made lesser Imperials wilt. "We are going to take a formal proposal for peace to the New Republic's Inner Council. We are going to do it in the next day, two at most. Right now, Grand Moff, you are the man who arrived to aid Corellia and the New Republic in the moment of its greatest need. You are the man who lost his world and selflessly came to protect others, with no obligation to do so. We will propose peace now, before the Councilors remember that you are also an Imperial, with all that entails." She stepped close. "If we act today, when the emotions are still at their peak, I will be able to persuade the Council. If we wait a few days… I can promise nothing."

"Of course," Ferrouz said. "How—"

"But understand this," she stopped him, raising a single finger. "I want this war to be over. I want the fighting and killing to stop. I want the galaxy to be able to return to true peace for the first time since the Trade Federation blockaded Naboo. But do not assume I am so desperate for peace that you can take advantage of me or the New Republic."

There was a reason she had put herself with her back to Chimaera's bridge window.

Beyond it, Lusankya and Garm Bel Iblis led the collected fleets of a hundred New Republic worlds.

She had no doubt that Ferrouz understood.

"Then I suppose," he said after a moment, "that we should begin our work, wouldn't you?"

"Get me a yeoman, a workspace and a caf machine," Leia said, rapping out orders like a battle-hardened princess planning a gala. "And get my husband over here. We'll need something that isn't Imperial rations."

"As you command, your Highness," Ferrouz said, instinctively subservient to her tone, though with faint good humor.

Leia smiled, and then shuddered as she considered the unrealized potential of her parentage, and all the paths not traveled as she was addressed thusly by the last Grand Moff of the Empire.

This was one victory not to relish. Just the peace that comes from it. If it does. If it lasts.

Former Rogue Squadron pilot Myn Donos had only volunteered for the Corellian Civil Defense after a long argument with his fiancee. Persuading Kirney to let him get back in an X-wing had been difficult at first, but once the extent of the threat had been made clear, she had joined up too.

Her business partner, Kolot, had ferried them to the coordinates provided by Civil Defense for volunteers. There they had met acting-General and fellow-Rogue Corran Horn, who had just rolled his eyes, waved at the Ewok, and pointed them and their astromechs to an entire field of green-painted X-wings resting on the tarmac.

That field was mostly in ruins, now. It had been one of the World Devastator's first targets. Luckily, most of the X-wings had been in the air before the TIE droids arrived.

Coronet City was burning. There were multiple tooth-gap absences in the once-familiar skyline where tall towers had once been, and the plumes of smoke billowing into the sky from where they had stood made Myn want to cover his nose and mouth, even from the clean confines of an X-wing cockpit.

But there would be no more damage. Even as he watched, Kirney lined up the last of the TIE droids and laced it with a pair of twin-linked laser blasts. The droid exploded in midair, leaving a smear of fire and shrapnel behind. On his HUD, the last of the red dots vanished.

In the sky, out towards the horizon, debris cascaded downwards onto Corellia's planetary shields, a rain of steel and fire pluming into explosions on contact. He couldn't tear his eyes off of it… but thankfully, Kirney had a better sense of priorities.

"I have the coordinates where Wedge went down," she reported tightly as her X-wing flipped around and raced off towards the city outskirts as he followed close behind.

It was only a few minutes before they found the remains of what could only be Wedge's X-wing. Then they found a TIE Defender with red lines on its solar wing arrays, settled onto the ground next to Wedge's ejection seat, and Myn let out a long, relieved breath as he saw Soontir Fel helping the General out of his seat to lie beside it.

"Oh thank the Force," said Kirney, voice hushed, over the comm.

They set their X-wings down next to the Defender. Myn popped his canopy hastily, jumping out of the seat and using a small toehold and tension to reach the ground. Kirney—as usual—was already on the ground, her astromech whistling a triumphant song as she ran across the muddy ground to Wedge and Fel.

Myn pointed up at the astromech. "Tonin, tell the fleet that Wedge is alive!" he ordered.

Kirney's astromech's head whirled towards him, then spun around twice as he whistled happy agreement.

Ahead of him, Kirney was offering Wedge an awkward hug. "Beware the ribs," Wedge said, pained but cheerful.

"And the leg and the arm I see…" Kirney said, looking suddenly uncertain, as if her enthusiasm and excitement had gotten ahead of her.

"General," Myn put in, cutting through the confusion and offering Wedge a grin. "We're so glad you're alright!"

Wedge laughed then winced, placing a hand over his chest with a frown. "You and me both," he sighed after a pained moment. He looked almost embarrassed. "I got confused for a moment, lost my focus and…" he sighed. "That X-wing and I had been through a lot together. Did Gate make it?"

Myn shook his head. "I don't know, sir. I'm sure a salvage team will get right on it."

"Stubborn droid insisted on piloting the X-wing down himself. I was going to do it just to make sure I didn't fall short… but it seems like Gate handled it just fine." He shook his head. "Iella is gonna to kill me…" Wedge stopped and looked at Kirney. A burst of recognition and a small, pained smile slashed its way across his face, and Myn could feel Kirney tense beside him.

"I recognize you," Wedge said after a moment. "You're Kirney Slane. You and Myn went into business together."

"That's me," Kirney said lightly. "It's an honor to meet you. Myn has… talked a lot about you."

"He's invited to a Rogues' reunion in Coronet as soon as we can finish scheduling it and find a venue," Wedge said, eyeing Fel. "You should come as his plus-one."

Beside them, something on Soontir Fel's flightsuit buzzed. The Imperial General frowned and fumbled with his outfit. "Fel, go."

"One, Two," said another Imperial voice, with the familiar modulation caused by a TIE pilot helmet. "You're needed aboard Termagant as soon as possible."

"What for?"

"The Boy Emperor is still alive. They're not sure what to do with him."

Fel glanced at Wedge and the others. Wedge leaned closer. "What about the infil team?" he asked. "Any report on their status?"

"The Jedi are all still alive," came back the TIE voice. "They lost some stormtroopers and commandos. Also, the NRI operative is in critical condition—"

The sudden tension in Wedge's body drew all of their attention. Wedge's hand latched on Fel's bicep, squeezing until Myn saw his fingers turn white from the effort and Fel winced. "We're on our way," Wedge said.

The intelligence operative must be Iella, Myn realized. He and Kirney shared a somber look; she nodded. "We can get you a transport promptly, but you can't get back up until the planetary shields come down."

"No need," said the TIE pilot. "We've already sent a transport for the Baron. Corellia Civil Defense has agreed to lower the shields—it looks like all the major debris has already been blocked or detonated, and the atmosphere should take care of anything that's left. They want to start getting teams down to help with emergency services. ETA eight minutes."

Wedge turned slowly towards Myn and Kirney, his expression ashen, and for the first time Myn noticed threads of gray hair amid the brown, and stress lines Myn hadn't seen when he'd left the Rogues. Myn stepped close and offered his former commanding officer a half-hug. "She'll be alright, sir."

He was used to Wedge being totally confident and self-assured. Seeing his former CO so visibly shaken… after the transport arrived to take Fel and Wedge back to orbit, he brought Kirney in close and hugged her tightly as the New Republic's relief teams arrived to aid the smoking city of Coronet in the distance.

Wedge was having trouble thinking straight as the Imperial troop transport scooped him and Fel up and dashed into Corellia's sky. The old vehicle rattled as it fought the planet's gravity; ahead of him, Wedge could see the assembled fleet of warships, still patrolling vigilantly, guns sweeping over the debris cloud for any potential threat.

He had a lot of questions for his brother-in-law, but in the face of Iella's status none of them mattered.

Fel seemed to know that nothing he could say would make a difference to Wedge in that moment. He offered a light, vaguely-reassuring smile that Wedge found unhelpful, his hand patting Wedge's back. "You and Wessiri?"

Wedge's voice was hoarse. "Yeah."

"I should've known you're dating a spook. Imperial Intelligence was sure you had taken up philandering—you've been seen with a dozen different women in the last few months. That's not like you."

Wedge shook his head, his expression flat. "Disguises. Iella knew you'd be watching, so…"

"Smart," Fel said approvingly.

"Don't tell me she'll be all right unless you know she'll be all right," Wedge said hoarsely. He closed his eyes, an aching pain in his chest. "I've lost too many."

"I know," Fel said. "We'll be aboard Termagant in just a few minutes, but I promise she's getting the best possible care."

Iella returned to consciousness slowly. She was on her back, on a comfortable bed, and quite warm, cozily so. Slowly, her awareness extended past temperature; the room she was in smelled crisply sterile. The lights above her were bright, the ceiling medical-white.

She tried to sit up but couldn't push herself upright and she found herself staring at the absence where her arm should have been. Memory returned with thunderous suddenness; her mouth dropped open as she gasped in sudden remembered—and present—pain and surprise—

"Iella?"

She turned her head to the side. Mara was sitting there beside her, brilliant green eyes peering down at her with concern, watery.

"The…" Mara's breathing hitched, "the doctors say you're doing well."

"Where are we?" Iella asked, the words coming stronger than she would have expected. She tried to smile reassuringly at Mara, but it wasn't easy—smiling took energy. She lifted her right hand upwards, it rose as it should, and Mara's hand clasped it tightly.

"We're on Captain Rogriss' ship," Mara explained. "Termagant. Streen helped her pick us up."

"Wasn't really expecting to survive after the transport blew," Iella admitted, not letting herself look back at her absent limb despite the urge to do so. She swore she could feel it there, but… instead, she distracted herself by examining the room they were in. Termagant's medical bay was an impressive one. Built and designed with far more care than the Empire usually gave such facilities, it featured expensive, top-of-the-line medical droids aiding sentient doctors.

"You saved me," Mara whispered. "From taking that burst of Force lightning." Mara squeezed her hand tightly.

Before Iella could respond, a medical droid rolled over. Sharing a nod and a smile with Mara, Iella let the droid affix a bacta cap to the stump of her arm.

"Wedge is on his way," Mara said. "He was with Baron Fel when the battle ended and should be here any minute."

"General Antilles requires less invasive medical attention," the medical droid who had tended to Iella's arm said, its voice surprisingly warm and soothing—something that, paradoxically, had the opposite effect on Iella.

Iella squeezed Mara's hand in her own. "The fact that he needs any medical attention… but I suppose under the circumstances I'm not one to talk," Iella murmured. She tried to have her smile be reassuring, be friendly, but she could see that Mara was not placated.

"The rescue shuttle reports a rough ejection," the droid continued, "and my programming reports that the psychological toll of losing a fighter can be great. That can be traumatic for a pilot and—"

"Lost his fighter?!" Iella gasped, her squeeze abruptly much tighter. "What happened!?"

Iella was ready to come after the droid, one handed or not, but she had no opportunity. The medical bay doors slid open and Wedge was standing there in his orange flightsuit, bedecked with bacta patches and a compression boot around his leg, opposite arm in a sling. He looked haggard and terrified, but for Iella the sight of him was only a sudden, soaring reassurance. His first glimpse of Iella, however, seemed to have the opposite effect.

"Oh, El—"

But any words beyond that were lost as Iella forced herself to sit up with Mara's help, bringing him in for a crushing one-armed embrace. "I'm alright," she whispered, as reassuring as possible, giving Wedge that one-armed hug until his arms carefully wrapped around her in return. "I'm alive, we're alive, you're alive," she whispered.

Eventually, Wedge slackened his grip and drew back, offering her an ashen smile.

"I'm hardly the first to lose a limb in combat," Iella reminded him, clearly putting on a brave face. "And we won, didn't we?"

"What happened?" asked Wedge, his hand on her waist.

"She saved me," Mara said softly. Mara's hands flexed and Iella could see her consciously keeping them where they were. "She saved me, I was in trouble with the Emperor's Hand and…" Mara's voice faded away, resuming with strength and purpose as she extended her circle of trust to someone she already trusted like what she assumed family was. "I was in trouble and there was lightning and I couldn't get hit," Mara confessed softly. "I couldn't get hit because I'm pregnant. Iella saved… us."

Wedge's jaw dropped open.

Iella did not have the Force, but she could hear the voice too. It was written all over Mara's face. Despite her weakness, despite her missing arm, Iella disentangled herself from Wedge and threw her good arm around Mara, hugging her tight. "Of course I did." Iella's voice was fuzzy and almost belligerent. "Of course I did. You're my friend, you idiot."

Iella suspected that for Mara Jade, being called an idiot to her face was a novel experience.

Mara buried her head against Iella's shoulder.

"Besides," Iella said, voice slightly muffled, "I've got to be one of the only people to headbutt a Dark Jedi in close combat. I want that on record."

Wedge sat down heavily on the hospital bed. "You did what?" He shook his head, punch-drunk. "And you're pregnant?" he asked Mara. "What… when?"

"I found out right before the attack on the Consulate," Mara admitted, looking embarrassed. "But things just kept happening and I haven't had much time to really think about it."

"Well… Congratulations are in order, I think. Where's Luke?"

"Where is Luke?" Iella echoed Wedge's question.

Mara pressed her lips together. "Dealing with the Emperor."

Luke Skywalker was not a doctor. Yes, Owen and Beru had taught him all the basic necessities of first aid on Tatooine, and then the Rebellion had put him through the training needed to perform basic triage on combat wounds, but he wasn't a doctor—not like Cilghal, the most recent recruit to the Jedi Order was a doctor. But the Order's Mon Calamari member had not been available for their infiltration team (and would have had trouble serving as a member of it even if she had been available), so she wasn't here.

Kirana Ti was doing her best to help. She sang and half-danced, making intricate gestures that helped her channel the Force to encourage Irek Ismaren's body to heal.

The harm that had been done to the teenager—he looked astonishingly young—was not so easily healed. Dathomiri witch healing was sufficient to encourage cuts or broken bones to heal themselves faster. The Force was capable of greater acts of healing, but Luke had never been able to perform one deliberately, or on anyone other than himself.

What Irek needed was quite beyond him.

He couldn't even really explain what was wrong with him. In the Force, Irek was… divided… against himself. There were pieces missing, places where his mind and spirit had intermingled with the machine before Luke had forcibly severed the connection. Parts of Irek had been left behind on Silencer Station… and some of Silencer Station had been left behind in Irek.

Irek was conscious, of sorts. His eyes were open wide, but they never focused on Luke, always locked on some distant point. He twisted on the medbay table within the restraints the droids had latched to his limbs to keep him from flailing, straining and gasping, muttering incoherent sounds that were closer to the sounds Artoo would make than anything that Luke recognized as language.

Next to him, Artoo whirred uncomfortably, wobbling from side to side, his photoreceptor swiveling between Luke and Irek. The medical droids continued to attach sensors to Irek, causing new flatscreens to illuminate with bio-information, talking amongst themselves in quiet droid binary as they debated what exactly was wrong and what could be done.

In the Force, Luke heard only a broken litany. I AM THE WILL I AM THE WILL I AM THE WILL

The boy was reaching out to the Force too, even as he struggled against his binds. He lashed out, grasping for something to hold on to, looking for things that were missing. Luke tried to help, tried to give him something to hold on to while the doctors fought to figure out what was wrong. Gradually, Luke felt Irek's exhaustion overwhelm his mindless panic. The constant repetition of I AM THE WILL faded into an uneasy silence.

Irek's breathing was short, uncertain and terrified. Glancing back, Luke saw Nichos and Cray standing in the corner. Nichos was on a pair of crutches and accompanied with a medical droid who was maintaining an IV; he looked exhausted. Cray's expression was flatter, almost vacant, even as she clung to Nichos' hand.

Nichos slowly inched forward until he was beside Luke, looking down. Irek's wide eyes finally focused, seeing the faces of the two cyberneticists. His lips parted, as if trying to speak, but no words came. Struggling some more he made an angst-filled sound of mounting panic.

The pair of cyberneticists turned towards one another, talking quietly. After a few sentences Cray turned and approached one of the medical droids, asking a series of questions; Nichos leaned heavily on his crutches.

"Can we do anything to help him?" asked Luke. "In the Force I can feel him…"

"I'm not sure," Nichos admitted. "Not exactly. It'll take Cray and I some time to figure out exactly what happened. He could have been hurt while merged with the AI—parts of his brain might have been damaged by the merger. The Coronation procedure was intended to forge permanent connections with Silencer Station… when we severed them…" he shook his his head, offering Irek a reassuring smile. It calmed Irek only a little. "I don't think he understands what we're saying any more than we understand anything that he is trying to communicate. And the flailing of his limbs… he might not remember how to use them."

"Will he recover?"

Nichos shook his head slowly. "I have no idea, but… I doubt it. He might recover some of his function slowly, but we'll probably have to build him prosthetics." Nichos sighed. "It'll be a long recovery. I'll be long dead before he walks on his own again, if he walks again."

The sentence was said with such calm finality that it drew Luke's attention from the wounded teenager to the clearly ailing man. Nichos just offered a small shrug.

Cray returned, holding a simple cybernetic head attachment, not dissimilar to the one that Lando's cyborg aide Lobot used. She fussed with it. "I'm going to try to set this up like the one I made for him to interface with the Silencer AI," she said. "At least to let him make the connections he's looking for."

"It's stock?"

"No alterations," Cray confirmed for Nichos. "Right out of the box. The Imperials have a stash of them." Offering Irek a reassuring smile—one that seemed to calm the young man—she helped him turn his head, then attached the headset to the back of his skull.

Artoo whistled softly, Luke's attached datapad suddenly illuminating.

AM I DEAD?

"No," said Nichos and Cray as one. "You're not dead," confirmed Cray.

But Irek's expression remained blank, uncomprehending. His hand shaking, Nichos took the datapad from Luke and typed into it slowly.

YOU'RE NOT DEAD.

Ireks' expression relaxed, his lips parting slightly with anguished relief.

IS SILENCER DEAD? CORELLIA IS SAFE?

YES, Luke typed.

Irek shuddered with relief.

PLEASE. IT HURTS. TELL THEM I AM SORRY. TELL THEM I NEVER WANTED IT. TELL THEM … TELL THEM… TELL THEM…

Luke reached for the boy's shoulder, then up to his clammy forehead and the data-port at his temple, stretching out with the Force to feel a path, and using newly-acquired sensitivities that had allowed him to sense and fight the droids.

Irek's mind was a blazing fire of flicking synapses, and it felt like nothing so much as a once-verdant forest at the end of a fire, everything scorched and sensitive.

But the scorching and the fire didn't scare Luke. What scared Luke was that hidden in the scorched brush was a lurking, coalescing presence. Smoke coming together into something solid. Something menacing. This is the will, it whispered.

Luke could both feel and see Irek's sudden alarm. Nichos and Cray both could as well—all the medical equipment Irek was attached to started beeping with alarms. The medical droids whirred around… but the problem wasn't one of Irek's body.

The presence… the will… was familiar. Luke had felt it before on Nar Shaddaa. He wasn't sure what had become of the Seed that Roganda had stolen, if it was still aboard the World Devastator or not, but its presence lingered in Irek's consciousness.

The datapad that Irek was using to communicate was a scrolling chain of gibberish, interspersed with occasional words. The boy's heart was racing, his eyes wide and silent mouth wide with fear. Luke responded to the boy's need by reaching out with the Force, urgently sending the boy reassurance and companionship as he closed his eyes.

Luke stepped into the burned wasteland. Irek stood with him, standing on uncertain feet, silent and terrified and alone. Luke moved to his side defensively. Nichos and Cray were there with him, confused and uncertain but still doing their best to be there, to offer a reassuring presence.

"I am the will," the voice whispered out of the razed trees, seeming to rise out of the ashes and dirt, everywhere at once. It closed in around Irek, encroaching, and the boy closed in tighter to himself, terrified. The voice probed at Luke too, but Luke's footing was too secure, too stable, too sure. Luke could feel a concerned Mara, not that far away, and a confused and even more distant but loving Leia.

Irek Ismaren looked up at him, terrified… terrified and resigned. His mouth did not move, but Luke could hear his voice nonetheless. You should go, it whispered. It just wants me. I deserve it.

"Not a chance," Luke said with a smile. "The Empire has turned enough children into weapons."

The voice echoed through the void. "Reclamation process is underway. Reclamation process is underway. Reclamation process is underway."

I'm scared.

"I'm scared too," said Luke. He reached out his hand to Irek. "Let's be scared together."

The boy took it, holding tight.

"You don't belong here," Luke instructed the will. "And it's time for you to go."

Luke stood between Irek and the presence, a bulwark against the Dark. It grew, rippling out of the air itself, darting forward towards Irek, sending the boy tumbling to the ground. Luke put himself between the voice and the boy, forcing it to go through him first. It swelled threateningly, but Luke stood against it nonetheless.

Luke Skywalker was a Jedi.

The Sith took from the Force, stole from it. The Jedi embodied the Force. They relinquished themselves to the Force and allowed the Force to take what it needed from them… so Luke Skywalker gave himself to the Force. He sank into it, feeling all his dreams and hopes and loves diffuse into it. There they did not vanish, but were echoed by the dreams and hopes of all those who had come before him, all those who were now, and all those who would come. All was one, in the Force, and Luke Skywalker was one with all.

That was the strength of the Jedi, after all. The Sith had only the power they could take. Luke Skywalker had all the power the Force could give.

Cray Mingla held Nichos' hand and watched in silence as Jedi Skywalker and Irek remained in frozen repose. Neither spoke, and both were aware that they were watching something… sacred in its focus.

For some minutes the two remained, both breathing shallowly, and in sequence, and Cray tried to stretch out with her rudimentary instincts before a wall of fire and pain approached her, and she drew back into Nichos' arms in shock.

And then the moment was passed. All the tension and pain that held Irek fixed and rigid faded and the boy passed into blissful, exhausted unconsciousness. A minute later Skywalker drew back, his eyes slowly opening and returning to focus, regarding them with a bright blue gaze that spoke of passion and pain in equal measure.

"Is he all right?" she asked warily.

"No," said Luke seriously. "He's not. But the… presence… that he was carrying with him is gone."

"He'll… have a chance to recover now," Nichos said weakly. Cray wrapped her arm around his waist and held him close, suddenly realizing that they were free, that the World Devastator was gone. She buried her head against Nichos' shoulder as he wrapped an arm awkwardly around her. "Eventually."

"We all will." Luke said, and Cray finally noticed the exhaustion in his voice, and then he appeared to pause, and brighten, "If you'd ever like to explore your connection to the Force, Doctor Mingla, please do get in touch. And if there's anything else I can help you two with, please let me know."

Then he was gone.

Summoned to Termagant by Fel, Grand Moff Ferrouz and Leia Organa watched through the observation glass as Irek was tended to by the doctors.

"If he hadn't brought the shields down," Fel said seriously, looking at the other people in the room, "the price of victory would have been much higher. We might have lost Corellia altogether."

Leia looked through the observation glass, seeing the doctors cluster around Irek, doing their best to find out what exactly had been done to him. Beside her, Ferrouz just watched in silence.

"Whatever responsibility he had for all of this," she said quietly, "I think he has paid the price."

Ferrouz sighed, closing his eyes. "It's hard for me not to hate him," he admitted. "Poln Major is gone, and that was because of his Empire, if not him personally. But… I agree. Even if we wanted to hold him accountable for it, what punishment could we inflict that would be worse than what he has already suffered? And his responsibility is not his alone… everyone who served the Empire owns some of the blame, including myself."

"The UREF will take responsibility for him," Fel said firmly. "We'll take him with us to the Unknown Regions, far away from all the political controversy. One of the assets that Thrawn—" there was something odd about the way Fel said the Grand Admiral's name, a slight hint of exhausted distaste, which Leia had not seen from him before "—was sure to accumulate on our colonies was medical expertise, including cybernetics. He's an Imperial. He's our responsibility. We will care for him."

"Leave him with Doctor Marr and Doctor Mingla for a while at least," Leia said. "My brother said they're a sort of lifeline to him and they understand his condition better than anyone after what Roganda put them through."

Fel nodded, his expression a dire calm. "Our people will heal him as best as we all can with what we have available. We'll work out the details for long-term care after the current crisis."

The list of Imperials we will be able to hold to account in court is rapidly dwindling, Leia thought. Those Daala did not have killed on Stormhawk died aboard the World Devastator. But despite that, when she gazed through the transparisteel at the teenager laying on the bed, unable to communicate except through the cybernetic interface, she could not bring herself to wish upon him any greater punishment. Ferrouz had lost his home, and Ferrouz was right. What more could they do to him? And to what purpose?

The Empire had destroyed so many lives. So many of its enemies, but also so many of its own. Leia thought of Mara, who like Irek had been raised to serve the Empire, to perform an Imperial purpose. It was a reassurance that these few Force-sensitives saw through the Empire's lies. That soldiers like Fel and Pellaeon and Daala had finally been forced to reckon with the reality of the Empire and had chosen to stand and fight it at the end.

Cray and Nichos spent the next twelve hours working at Irek's bedside, then they collapsed. Both medical droids and Termagant's steward tended to them, aiding Nichos through the worst of his symptoms and helping Cray feel like she was human again.

She hunched over the console in the very pleasant room that Captain Rogriss had provided them, bringing up HoloNet connections to her database at the Magrody Institute. The main database was gone—not surprising, given the hazy memories she had of their kidnapping—but her backups were still operating… slowly. The old files, each with a date of last access more than a year old, slowly downloaded over the Corellian HoloNet node to the computer and to her datapad. She read through them quickly, refamiliarizing herself with the work she had been doing before Roganda had prematurely ended it.

Each file was a litany of ideas for how to fight Nichos' progressing illness. Everything she could think of, every idea she had been able to interrogate… with one in particular that had seemed promising, one which had lingered in her mind even as the months in captivity had passed.

ADAPTATION OF SSI-RUUK TECHNOLOGY TO REPLACE COMPROMISED NEUROBIOLOGICAL COMPONENTS WITH ARTIFICIAL ONES.

She remembered writing those words in a desperate fit one late night after Nichos' illness—and its inevitable conclusion—had become unavoidable. If his body was going to fail, well, she was a cyberneticist! She was the best damn cyberneticist in the galaxy, and she was going to save the man she loved—

"Cray."

She turned around. Nichos was there, leaning on two crutches, looking exhausted but calm. He smiled sadly, his eyes gentle, and he slowly eased himself into a chair next to her.

She leaned against him. The allure of physical touch was irresistible, especially now that it was something they could share. But his body trembled with weakness and exhaustion, and she felt like she was handling porcelain that might break at any moment.

"Oh Cray," he sighed. "We haven't even been free a day."

"We don't have time," she insisted, but the words sounded more desperate and teary than firm. "We've lost so much time already, the Empire stole it from us. If we have any chance to save you…"

"Cray," he said again. He shook his head slowly, one hand gently touching her cheek. "Cray, I don't have any chance. I never did."

Denial and anger bubbled up, but he continued before she could issue a retort. "We're lucky, Cray. Neither of us expected to survive Silencer Station. The fact that we're alive at all is miraculous. Instead of spending the time we have left desperately trying to find a solution that we both know isn't there, can we… spend them as us?"

"What… what do you mean?" she asked weakly, eyelashes blinking away tears.

"Let's find a project. Let's do it together, like we used to. Let's spend the time we have left being us again." He caressed her cheek. "Luke's new Jedi Order could use our skills. It could use your strength in the Force. Let's build something special, something that will last." His expression flickered, and it was like Cray could feel his exhaustion, could feel his weariness… and could feel his intense, profoundly deep desire to not disappoint her. "Cray, I don't want to live the rest of my life terrified about what's going to come next. I just… want to be me. As best I can, for as long as I can, with you. I don't want this to define my every waking moment for the rest of my life."

She still thought she could save him. Deep in her gut, she knew that there was a solution, one that was just outside her grasp. But…

She turned off the terminal, wiping her eyes. She looked at him and nodded firmly. "Okay," she agreed, her voice thick with sorrow, but meaning it nonetheless. "What should we do?"

Nichos leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose, then pulled back slowly, with an enigmatic smile. She hadn't seen that smile from him since… since before he had become sick. She decided it would be her mission to see it as many times as possible before they ran out of time.

Soontir orbited around Corellia slowly. The thousands of ships that his computer continued to insist were "hostile" kept a close watch on him. He had received dozens of warnings and instructions, but his built-in communication system was limited in the messages it was permitted to send.

FRIEND. DO NOT ENGAGE.

He sent that message to each inquiry. The fact that he had not been shot down yet was a good sign that the message had been received… but who knew how long that would last.

So what if they killed him? Their lasers would pierce his metal chassis and scatter his components all over Corellia's atmosphere… would that even be so bad? Now that the battle was over, Fel had a chance to think about who and what he was. Was he even a person?

What did he have to live for?

There was only one place he might—might—find an answer to that question. Sending a quick message to the assembled ships, and not really caring if they heeded it or not, he flipped over and started down towards Corellia.

GOING HOME. DO NOT ENGAGE.

His memories were perfect, unhindered by organic foibles. They repeated perfectly, requiring no imagination, preserved as if in amber stasis. He recognized the continents and contours of his home world—

He also felt the no-fewer than thirty snubfighters keeping a close eye on him on his way down.

—as they passed below him. He descended slowly, enjoying the view, glad that the season was a green one and not a Corellian winter. The sun remained high in the sky as Fel passed above the long, rolling fields of his childhood. There was a hill that overlooked much of the countryside, one that Fel could remember climbing both as a child and as a young man, and he headed towards it, feeling his processing components start to relax from the familiar surroundings. He switched from his engines to his repulsors, then settled to the ground, facing the fields he had grown up working, and the ruins of a farmstead that had long ago held warmth and laughter.

HOME.

Soontir Fel wasn't sure if it was home, really. But it was the closest thing he had to one.

Keeping only his optical sensors online, he slowly shut down all his other components one by one. Weapons, shields, and communications were unnecessary. He was tired and had used up much of his energy in the previous combat; Corellia's sun would eventually recharge him. He would sit here and rest, waiting until…

He didn't know. But maybe, with enough time to think about it, he would come up with something.