Checking in on most of our players, as things move forward:

In the main landing bay of a small station, mostly frequented by smugglers, Amberley Vail, Hand of the Emperor, one of the most powerful women in the Empire, was hiding in the rafters, watching a firefight. She hadn't made it thirty feet off the ship before people had started popping off. But at least they weren't shooting at her for once, not even as she ascended out of the line of fire. A quick consultation-call with Mott, her analyst and his Lobot-Tech implants, was back on the ship and watching through their droid, RK8L, was telling them about the parties. Though not as much as they were telling about themselves. Until Mott was sending more, usefully more, to the HUD on her headset.

One corpse was on the floor and three obvious bounty hunters were spread out and firing on a fourth man, who was pinned down, but had cover. He was calling out, "Come on, guys, I'm literally on my way to pay Jabba back. I've got the cash! This is all a big misunderstanding. I'll even let you fly to Tattooine with me to prove I'm not lying!"

"Don't see how that gets us paid," one of the bounty hunters yelled back. "If you pay him and he cancels the bounty, we get nothing!"

Pelton nudged her and redirected her attention, while Han Solo (as he was now potentially useful, he was promoted to having a name) and the bounty hunters (they weren't and so weren't) distracted one another, two other parties were sneaking around, seeking to flank the others. Amusingly, neither of them had noticed each other. One was a figure she recognized immediately, as she'd used him before. Boba Fett was quite a useful tool. The other was a massive Wookie, presumably Chewbacca, known associate of Solo. Fett was clearly seeking to snatch Solo out from under his competitors, while Chewbacca was moving into position to ambush the bounty hunters pinning him down.

Fett was an opportunity disguised as six feet of Beskar clad trouble, waiting for someone to happen to. This hadn't been the plan, but one of her greatest strengths was her ability to adapt and seize opportunities when they arose. "Zemelda, bring out the Duchess, she has a guest to meet in her natural state."

"Three minutes, Amberley."

"Understood."

She raised a hand and focused. She was by far the weakest Force user of the Hands, which was, of course, why she had never been selected for Jedi training in her youth, but with years of training and experience, she could, very slightly move a delicately balanced tool right next to Fett, causing it to crash to the ground and Chewbacca to notice him. That fight should distract them both, while she and Pelton moved into a different position. Solo was starting to feel panicked to her senses, though he appeared cool and collected as the sound of battle reached the stalemate by the ship.

"What the hell is that?" one of the bounty hunters asked, unwisely turning to face it and allowing Solo a clean shot, which he took without hesitation. The other two spun back and furiously resumed firing. It wasn't futile, the crate he was hiding behind was slowly collapsing. It would fail long before their blasters did. Fortunately, for him, she had a use for him. A quick hand signal to Pelton and blaster bolts from behind dropped both of the bounty hunters.

Solo carefully stuck his head out after a moment of no shots, spotted the corpses, then traced back the angles quite quickly, spotting Amberley after a moment. She waved cheerfully to him. You only got one chance at a first impression, after all.

Han stared at the stunningly beautiful blonde kneeling in the rafters with a blaster rifle, who'd just saved his ass. Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone else. He'd had that under control. That was the message, and he was sticking to that message! He rose with all the swagger he could, gave her half a grin, then heard his best friend scream in pain and remembered he should probably go deal with whatever had kept him from saving Han's butt himself. He'd been supposed to flank these bastards while Han kept them busy.

There was smoke rising as Chewie flung himself to the ground, his fur alight. He was rolling as Han grabbed a nearby cargo blanket and flung it over him, wrapping him in a massive (and somewhat ironic, given the appearances) bear hug, smothering the flames. But that left him awfully vulnerable to the sound he could hear overhead, which sure sounded like-

"Amberley Vail. I am willing to work with you again, but I need to accomplish my current task before I can take outside work."

Fuck. It was Boba. Jabba's favorite bounty hunter, probably because they were both murderous bastards who'd do anything for a credit. Or because their names ended the same way. His chances of talking his way out of this were minimal and his blaster wouldn't do jack shit against that armor. Chewie's might, but he'd dropped it when the fucker set his best friend on fire, which was something that needed answering. But his chances of doing so were...not great, given that apparently the woman who'd saved him had just done so in order to let Boba grab him.

He'd known things were going too smooth after the Consort of Alderaan, husband to the ruler of the planet, had paid him what the old man promised. Still, if anyone could talk, shoot, or sprint their way out of this it was Han Solo. And if not, well, at least he wouldn't take Chewie down with him if he got off Chewie so he wasn't in the line of fire. He rolled off Chewie and started to rise, only to find himself looking down a negligently held blaster. "Come on, Boba, like I told the others, I've got the cash to pay Jabba. Maybe I've even got a little extra."

He pulled the trigger and Han dodged as best I could. Fortunately, he'd been aiming by the slowly stirring (and still blanket-shrouded) form of Chewie. "Don't interrupt, Solo. It is discourteous."

"Boba, I'm afraid this is rather urgent," the woman said. Somehow in the time between him looking away and the present, she'd gotten down from the rafters and now stood on the ground with the rest of them. Or at least the rest of them who didn't have jet packs. Some small, jealous part of him, wanted a jet pack. But the Falcon would probably be jealous if he could fly on his own. Another, less small part of him noted her form fitting clothing was only somewhat hidden by a long coat, and tried to figure out a line that worked for Boba and for her.

"You know how I wor-" Boba stopped talking, because he was screaming. Briefly. Electricity arced through the room, but only hit the flying madman, whose body burnt to ash. His armor fell apart, but the jet pack never stopped firing, sending it flying to the ceiling, where it exploded, messily. A moment later, a heavily cybernetically augmented man stuck his head out of the ship they'd been passing. "Damnit! I wanted that jet pack!"

"You can always requisition one, Yanbel," a purple haired woman said as she walked past, pulling on heavy gloves.

"It's not the same as a genuine Mandalorian forged one!"

"I'm sure we'll find another one soon," Amberley soothed.

"You want all the bits, boss?" the purple haired woman asked, approaching the still-smoking armor.

The woman nodded as she approached, giving him a broad smile, which somehow made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. And only maybe half in a good way. Maybe it was the casual way she'd handed out death, maybe it was the blaster rifle on her back, or maybe it was the nagging sensation of being watched, but the woman, Amberley, put him on edge. Though some part of him did relax as Chewie finally managed to get up, grumbling in Shyriiwook about assholes and fire and what should be done to assholes with fire. But the fact that Boba had apparently been burnt to death in an instant meant that it was just grumbling as he looked around for his bowcaster.

Han gave Amberley a graceful bow as she approached, "Amberley, a beautiful name for a beautiful woman, it truly is a pleasure to meet you."

"I hope you still feel that way after you help us sneak onto the Death Star, Han," she said, before he could finish his introduction, but sliding into the pause so smoothly he couldn't truly call it an interruption.

"Uh...what?" he asked.

And so it was explained to Han Solo what he'd truly delivered to Alderaan and why the Rebel leadership, now undoubtedly including the old man (General Kenobi, apparently) would probably let him join their little muster in the Perlia system without too many questions. How this random woman knew all that was a different question, but one she didn't seem inclined to answer. As to why he should do this, she pointed out at some length that she'd saved his life, but also that she apparently had connections with Jabba and could get the Hutt to back off, if he did what she wanted. He wasn't sure he believed that, but taking a quick look at the sleek, heavily armed ship, with the name 'Deathbringer' stenciled on the side and the equally sleek, equally heavily armed crew she was traveling with convinced him he had few choices, at least unless he could get himself on the Millenium Falcon and them off it.

Sabine Wren had watched many duels. A surprising number of them with swords, though usually lightsabers, not actual blades, but she had to admit to being impressed. Not precisely by the skill on display, she'd seen more skillful bouts, but rarely more one-sided ones. It actually reminded her of her own early training with Kanan-her mind flinched away from the name-and Ezra-her mind flinched away from that name too. Ahsoka glanced at her in concern, her master clearly sensing her disturbance, but Sabine shook it off and shook her head. She didn't want to think about that.

Instead, she watched Cain disassembling the other commissar. The woman was short, but well-muscled and clearly skilled with a sword, but it didn't matter as the larger Cain disarmed her. He wasn't using superior strength, though he clearly had it, or superior speed, though he had that too, indeed, he even shortened his reach somewhat, though that was likely lost on most of the audience. But what was obvious was that he was simply better than her as he deflected each blow easily, then disarmed for the third time in the bout, then stopped to argue his point, which in this case was that Palpatine was 84 years old, but had made no arrangements for what came after him, didn't a commissar have a responsibility to the Empire? The woman had been ignoring him earlier in the bout, but the humiliation and pain (for he had struck her half a dozen times with the side of his blade) wore on her and she snapped back at him in fury, calling him a traitor and a coward.

Before he could respond, she launched an all out, furious assault, forcing him to slowly give ground to her wild swings for three steps, then he slid past her, drawing his blade across her throat. Only the flat, though the edge did draw a cut along her jaw. "First blood to me. I give you a chance to surrender, Commissar Forres."

"NEVER!" she lunged back in, he knocked her blade wide, but she continued forward, trying to catch him in a tackle, only for him to dodge and kick her squarely in the back, sending her sprawling to the ground, blade slipping away again.

"Commissar Forres, you are well trained, but that is not enough. It takes understanding and experience to triumph in this galaxy. Your loyalty does you credit. Your naivete does not. Palpatine has betrayed you. Betrayed us. Betrayed the Empire. Accept that."

She pushed herself to her feet, arms trembling in exhaustion. "I will never surrender." She picked up her blade and advanced, launching a wild, two-handed, and frankly suicidal slash which left herself entirely open, but for the first time in the fight, Cain used his full strength, in a one-armed static block that had to hurt, even with his strength and the size differential. But his other hand lashed out, not in a blow, a grab, not for the throat, but the uniform collar and he lifted her off her feet, then carried her to the edge of the dueling ring and casually placed her outside.

The Duel Master announced the obvious. "Commissar Forres has left the ring and is defeated. Her insults are false and her actions offer you options for satisfaction of your honor, Commissar Cain. What forfeit do you require, for you honor?"

"None. My honor is not so fragile her words can damage it. Commissar Forres, pride is good, loyalty is good, honor is good, but reality is what it is. You did not surrender, you could control that, but you cannot will your way to victory. And you cannot will Palpatine to return your loyalty. Accept that and grow from it, as you do this defeat."

"This is extraordinarily inefficient," Ahsoka said to Sabine.

"I disagree, master," Sabine countered.

"It is good that he is attempting to help free his fellow commissars from their conditioning, but his time is limited. It would be far better to delegate this, while he deals with the many, many difficulties of attempting to integrate the fleets."

"That's not how it works for people who actually fight duels, Ahsoka. Not fighting would mean that he was a coward and no one would respect him anymore. He has to fight. Just like a Mandalorian."

"Perhaps," Ahsoka said, which Sabine thought was Jedi-speak for 'you're all absurd and uncultured children, but I won't make a fuss about it, because it would upset you.'

She changed the subject to avoid chasing that. "Any progress with Cain?"

Ahsoka shook her head. "He refuses to meet with me, or Obi-Wan and insists that only one of us can be on station at a time and we're constantly followed by guards. Lots of guards."

"Imperial propaganda?"

"Maybe. Or maybe the reverse, back in the old days there were a lot of exaggerations of what Jedi were capable of. He may be overestimating us and avoiding us because of that."

"Well, the command conference is coming up and everyone needs to be there. He better get over it soon. Keeping the Jedi out won't sit well with the Alliance, or most of the independent actors."

Ahsoka nodded, then turned to the commander of their escort. "What do you think Sergeant Lustig?"

"Don't, ma'am."

"Don't what, sergeant?" Sabine asked, after a confused glance with her master.

"I don't think, ma'am. That's for officers." his tone was bland she genuinely couldn't tell if he was kidding. The full stormtrooper helmet didn't help. That still creeped her out, but there wasn't any way around it at the moment.

Perlia Station was busy. Luke was having a heck of a time, just watching all the strange people running around. There were so many aliens he'd never seen before, so many devices, so many fashions, so many women not like back on the-his mind skidded away from that thought, denial was a powerful force and he very much was not prepared to face down the death of his entire family.

But despite that, he found himself heading not towards the bar, but back towards their lodging, where Obi-Wan would be waiting. Maybe he could do some more training, try to really dig in and figure out this Force stuff, make sure he wasn't too late ever again and could do more to help than just shoot vaguely in the direction of the enemy...though who that was was disturbingly unclear now. Vader, obviously and maybe the Emperor, but who burned his home was just, some stormtroopers? And there were stormtroopers everywhere now. On their side. Or they were on the stormtrooper's side? It was all messed up! Why couldn't it have been as black and white as it seemed back on Tattooine!

So messed up, but he couldn't give up. He was the last Skywalker. He would be a Jedi Knight and protect people, like his father, like his aunt and uncle, like that beautiful princess he still hadn't managed to talk to, though he saw her every so often, visiting her father (though they didn't look much alike). Indeed, as he reached the weird (but fancy) place Bail (as he'd told Luke to call him) was paying for them to stay (and didn't that make him nervous, to be taking a handout like that, but Bail said it was payment for returning his droids), he saw her reading in the restaurant on the ground floor.

Due to an extreme lack of experience with women, and reading women in particular, he decided that this, clearly, was the right moment to go introduce himself and talk to her.

He was wrong. But he wouldn't give up. It wasn't in his nature.

In the penthouse suite of the finest hotel on Perlia Station, Obi-Wan Kenobi, one of two surviving Jedi Masters in the galaxy and Bail Organa, one of the founders of the Rebellion were talking. Not about politics, or strategy, or even Death Star plans. which were still being analyzed. That was not being shared with their erstwhile allies, as it seemed extremely likely that after dealing with Palpatine, they would have to deal with Cain. The man was an Imperial loyalist, not someone who would welcome the return of the Old Republic. Perlia didn't even have its own senator in the Old Republic, it shared one with the rest of sector, whereas the Moff ruling the sector had at least based herself out of Perlia (and had promptly declared for Cain upon the arrival of the man and the Death Star in system).

No, they were discussing something else. "You couldn't just tell him?" Bail asked, exasperated with his old friend.

"It didn't seem likely to come up, we were delivering the droid to you, not her."

"Still."

"And how exactly would I have explained that his twin sister was adopted by the royal family of Alderaan?"

The ex-senator shrugged, "I admit I'm no better. I haven't found a way to tell Leia that the man who tortured her," and for a moment, Obi-Wan heard and felt an ugly undercurrent of violence in the usually peaceful man, "is her father."

"You are her father," Obi-Wan countered.

"Yes, yes," Bail waved that off. "I was not fishing for reassurance. But we need to tell them. Between you, Ahsoka and them...it's going to come out and it will be worse if it doesn't come from us."

"Especially if I continue Luke's training and begin Leia's. The Force shows us many things we do not understand, but all of which are true, in one sense or another. And Vader is not without his own skills, even without considering the Emperor. Having the news come from them would be worst of all."

"But if the others find out...it could be very bad. Vader is despised by many. Including Leia. And me," Bail admitted.

"Do we trust them?"

"I trust Leia."

"I trust Luke."

"So we're in agreement?"

"Of course."

"We have to tell them the truth about their origin and blood family."

"Of course."

"And we will."

"Of course."

"Sometime."

"Sometime."

"Soon."

"Of course."

Silence stretched as neither of them set an actual date to that requirement.

"Want to have a drink and not think about this anymore?"

"Of course."