The closest Rebel outpost was an unassuming XQ3 space platform halfway between Hutt Space and the Centrality, and this was where the flight of the Bryar Force and Bandit Squadron ended. The station was predictably eager to offer haven, and so did not closely scrutinize what it took to be a ragtag band of civilians who'd just escaped an Imperial attack. While they were still on approach to the platform, Commander Ru Murleen satisfied the Bryar Force's questions in a brief, private transmission.
Kentamine Farwanderer's disappearance had caused a stir in Orion Base, but to everyone's surprise, Admiral Krane left on personal business very soon after. Having managed to stay under the sensor, Ru continued with her duties as Bandit Leader, which would be dispatched on a series of long-range recon missions. What her message neglected to mention to Kent was that she'd planted a tracking beacon in the Y-wing. When that beacon went off several times within a small region of Hutt Space, she contrived to divert her reconnaissance in that direction. This brought the Bandits close enough to pick up Kent's distress signal in the Cyax system, whereupon they flew to the rescue.
Being too large to fit in the actual docking bay, the Bloodshark set down on one of the platform's clover-leaf arms while the Moldy Crow and Kent's Y-wing nested inside with the Bandits. While still in his cockpit, Kentamine caught sight of Ru down on the flight deck as she climbed from her A-wing, removing her helmet to let auburn hair fall loose in a glorious tangle about her shoulders.
Get a hold of yourself, farmboy, he thought. What'd you learn after Imdaar? There's no such thing as happily ever after.
"Guess I owe you another drink," he said, joining her on the flight deck, "and then some."
Even restrained, Ru's smile was almost enough to knock him over. "I won't say no to that. I knew you were getting yourself into deep trouble." Her voice lowered a fraction. "Based on what your droid told me, though, I didn't expect it'd be Imperials on your tail, let alone a Star Destroyer."
"Well, it wasn't all Imperials. It was..." Kentamine trailed off. What could he say? Where to begin? With the danger far behind them at last, the import of all that had happened was beginning to sink in for him—like massive asteroid chunks falling into a planet's gravity well. From the ruins of Searchlight Station to Krane's mocking face tinted by a force field, from the grimy streets of the Vertical City to the palace of the Supreme Slavelord, to the depths of the Pinnacle Moon...
Imaged flashed through his mind, images of fire and smoke and madness and gore. Hard-won triumph, embittered by losses that could never be forgotten. His eyes sank, his cheerful expression melting like Deneelian fizz-pudding jelly in the heat of the Twin Suns of Tatooine. There was no mistaking it; Kentamine was a changed man. "Well, it's a really long story," he said finally.
"That's fine. I can make time for the whole thing." Ru drew in a little closer, her blue eyes tightening. "I lost two of my pilots saving you and your friends, Kent. I need to know it was worth that price."
Unable to speak, not daring to blink, Kentamine gave a slow nod. Weeks ago, a lifetime ago, he had asked Kyle Katarn how to decide whether Ru could be fully trusted with the secrets, the mission, and the burden of the Bryar Force. Now he saw the folly and the vanity of his former self's worries. This was now the second time Ru had stuck her neck out for their cause, based on nothing but her trust in him. The question was no longer a question at all.
Just then Kyle and Jan emerged from the Moldy Crow and started toward them, and Kent—not for the first time—was relieved to not be the one running this whole show.
It couldn't be done immediately. As Bandit Squadron's commander, Ru Murleen's first duty was to send a transmission back to Orion Base, where she had launched from, and report on the engagement in the Cyax system. Since the Bandits had specifically been out on recon, it was possible they'd be issued new orders or even recalled due to the casualties. In any case, though, they would have to wait for a reply.
Commander Murleen was then welcomed to the conference room aboard the Bloodshark, where she was joined by Kyle, Jan, Rookie One, Wade, Mort, R2-Q8, Dr. Zaposug, MIMIC, Hoole, and the Arrandas. Explaining everything that had happened, from the controversy of Crix Madine to the assault on the Pinnacle Moon, was a grim and grueling task. Kyle had barely slept since arriving at the space platform, and he was deeply grateful for his companions, who periodically took over leading the discussion and answering Murleen's questions. She was willing to give them a fair hearing just for Rookie One's sake, but she also knew of Kyle's reputation; he was Mon Mothma's top guy, after all.
The most difficult part to tell, of course, was what had happened in the Gree ruins beneath the former Rebel base—the sordid ritual, the demise of Ezra, the execution of judgment. He took no pride in anything he had done, nor did any of the three harrowed men who had been brave enough, or perhaps foolish enough, to follow him down there. Kyle was not sure if he had truly become more attuned to the Force, but he could sense the difference in each of them, how the experience had both destroyed and, in its own way, reborn them. It was the subtlest in Mort, but the most pronounced in Wade, whose eyes seemed permanently shadowed. Kyle's disdain for him in the aftermath of Nar Shaddaa had never seemed so petty or irrelevant.
When it came to the thing called Cycsila, the origin of all this madness, Kyle was particularly grateful to have Wade, Rookie One, and Mort on hand. Part of him had feared that nobody would believe that part of the story, but his three squad mates had been equally subjected to the creature's telepathy; they had heard its words of explanation and command, even seen the same vision of the hypergate, the folly and demise of the Gree. Each of their memories from the cultists' execution and onward were somewhat spotty and confused, but they pieced it together between the four of them.
Kyle omitted the details of their escape from the ruins—the Lorrdian gemstone, Valenthyne Farfalla, and so on. Not because it was more unbelievable than the rest of the story, but claiming to have rescued all three of his squad mates and led them to safety single-handed was sure to sound egotistical. The bigger reason, though, was that it just felt too personal. He had opened himself to the Force, a thing that he still really didn't understand, in ways that he'd never dreamed were possible. Things had happened that he'd never heard of, even in the most fanciful tales of the Jedi that got passed around on Alliance FleetNet. It was something intimate and private that he alone would need to make sense of. So in his truncated account, the squad simply returned to the elevator after finding that Cycsila was too big for them to kill with the weapons on hand.
But when Kyle had gotten through that, he caught the knowing looks coming across the table from Zak and Tash Arranda—Tash, who had given him that Force-imbued stone—and knew that the secret was not entirely his after all.
The entire story took hours to tell, not counting caf breaks. Ru Murleen asked many questions in the course of it, but as time passed it became clear that her skepticism was more from horror and disgust than true unwillingness to believe them. She passed through all the turbulent emotional states that the rest of them had—first through the Madine scandal and then through their trials together as the Bryar Force. Grief and betrayal, disillusionment and righteous anger, and finally resolution—and all this while visibly maintaining composure, more or less.
"I understand why you didn't tell me," she said to Rookie One, her eyes lost in the dry bottom of her caf mug. "It would've been too dangerous. What happened to Shaparo and the others proves that, but I still wish you could have. Everything I did to help you with this, I'd have done it sooner—and a lot more."
All the pilot could tell her was, "I know." In a way he seemed more distressed than Ru, watching her process the horrific magnitude of all this, the implications for the Rebel Alliance. Kyle could see they shared a rare bond, like the one he had with Jan.
Damn shame they ever stopped being wingmen, he thought to himself.
When the tale was finally over, the room was silent for several minutes. People stared at their hands or their caf mugs or the table. Wade Vox let his arms hang and tipped his head back, looking like a corpse as he stared out at the stars. Zak Arranda scratched himself. R2-Q8's dome twitched once.
Kyle Katarn rubbed his eyes, wishing he could drift off to sleep. The darkness and the quiet were so tempting, but rest had been continually elusive. Everything he had seen and done was constantly waiting in his eyelids, all jumbled and chaotic: mad scientists and deranged killers, sick rain and rusty corridors, lonesome moons and planets. Bodies ripped and torn. Shaparo, Troomis, Max, Polio, Rianna, Quagga, everyone who had died to bring him to this point... The merciless enemies, raving Deena Demarakesh and Hellannah Glittersky, the sinister Trioculus, the lumbering Fale Rottwerm... Visions of purest light and blackest insanity, words of comfort and of evil...
And something...something scrabbling on the edge of it all, as if someone was trying to give him a warning...
Then Ru Murleen raised her head. "So now what?"
"Now...?" Shifting in his chair, Kyle blinked, and noticing Jan's stare brought him back to himself. Of course they couldn't mire in their emotions like this forever. There was a bantha in the room, and Murleen had just pointed it out.
"This isn't over yet. There's still work to do." Seeing he had everyone's attention, he went on. "We can be certain the Transcendent died in those ruins, but those were only a few dozen people, the elite. One of the biggest problems for Shaparo and the inner circle was not only did we not know who the enemy was, but we also didn't know who might be helping them without actually being members of the cult.
"For every Crix Madine, for every Utric Sandov, there had to have been dozens across the Alliance who covered for them, took bribes. People who looked the other way while children were abused and kidnapped—and murdered. Who looked the other way while witnesses disappeared and evidence was destroyed." He remembered the holorecording of General Cracken and the Hospital Platform's coroner. "Who threatened and intimidated the good people into silence. Who tried to stop Shaparo and his team, the ones who actually wanted to do something about this from the very beginning. The cult may be gone, but everything that's happened is on them, too: the collaborators. We can't just let them continue serving in the Alliance. They're all guilty. They have to be found. They have to be exposed. And they have to be punished. No matter who they are."
Looks were traded back and forth across the table. "How would you propose we do that, Commander?" asked MIMIC.
"We need to collect all of the data that R2-Q8 saved from Searchlight, get the files in order, go back to the Rebel fleet—and blow this open like a Felucian spore plant." Kyle's hands seemed to tingle as he spread them on the table. "We can definitely nail Cracken with that conversation you recorded, MIMIC, and it's only the beginning. The Rebellion is done with secrecy and silence—that's what allowed the evil of the Transcendent to take root. To fester. It has to end. We'll take everything we know and drop it everywhere—FleetNet and every single other Rebel network. Everyone in the Alliance needs to know, deserves to know what happened back on that moon. On the Hospital Platform. And on Kolaador. And we need to tell them, never forget. Never again. Once the truth is out, the good people in the Alliance can organize, launch investigations, and clean out the mynocks. And we'll be right there with 'em, every step of the way."
The declaration sank in for a moment—until Mort spoke up cautiously. "Sir, are you sure that's...strategically prudent?"
"What do you mean?" Kyle's voice was harsher than he meant it to be.
"I mean we're still at war. The Empire's still hell-bent on destroying the Alliance. This will cause chaos in the ranks. It will compromise our leadership and disrupt the entire war effort."
Wade jumped in before Kyle could answer. "It's already been disrupted by these people! We can't just let them stay where they are, doing their jobs across the Rebellion like everything's normal! If the Transcendent could corrupt them, anyone can. They're a security risk, if nothing else."
"But this could also jeopardize your security," MIMIC pointed out. "If the Alliance's organs and institutions are turned against themselves and each other, investigating and hunting down suspected collaborators..."
"Then what are you saying?" Kyle asked sharply. "Should we just do nothing?"
The droid almost sounded hurt. "Certainly not, Commander..."
Jan spoke up. "Kyle, they have a point. I'm on your side, but if we're gonna do this, we need to know what the consequences could be. The Madine scandal will be nothing compared to this. Exposing what the Transcendent was, what they did, and how they were enabled by officers and officials all over the Alliance? It would create chaos."
"Prosecuting a war while in a state of mass hysteria will prove difficult," added Dr. Zaposug, his antennae curling.
Kyle paused, reluctantly surrendering some of his momentum.
"But...what's the alternative?" asked Rookie One. "Wait until the war's over, then bring this up? That could be a year from now. Two years, five, ten. Is it going to be easier then? Is it going to cause less damage then? What if we wait for the Alliance to win and set up a new government, only for us to collapse it by bringing up this scandal?" He shook his head. "It stinks like bantha skrag no matter how you look at it, but...well, my old man always said it's best to rip off the bacta bandage fast, instead of peeling it slowly."
Kyle couldn't help but smile at that, ever so briefly. It was exactly the sort of practical wisdom he had gotten from his own father on Sulon: straight talk and plain dealing. "The truth has been supressed for years," he agreed. "It has to come out. It has to win out, no matter what."
"Beezeedoowoorp zooneedooree," offered R2-Q8 carefully.
Mort crossed his arms. "What good is exposing all of this immediately if it means losing the war to the Empire?"
"What good is winning the war if it means handing the galaxy over to these people?" demanded Kyle. He leaned over the table and thrust a finger at the Arrandas. "The people who looked the other way while children were raped?!"
The veteran was unfazed. "If you destabilize the Alliance now—"
"You may have destabilized it already." Mammon Hoole was so naturally calm and collected that when he raised his voice only a little, the entire room froze as though a bull rancor had growled. Kyle and the others settled into their chairs as if in slow motion, giving their full attention to the unassuming scientist. On his left and right, Zak and Tash curtailed their agitation, while the Shi'ido casually steepled his long fingers beneath his chin. His eyes became slits of obsidian, and the next thing he said cut like a vibro-scalpel:
"It all depends, Kyle Katarn, on whom exactly you killed down there."
It was a hell of a thing to admit, but it was true—and not just for him, but for Wade, Rookie One, and Mort as well. Since departing the Pinnacle Moon, none of them had given a moment's thought to the actual identity of any of the cultists. No wonder, either. That scene of indescribably depravity followed by the frenzy of slaughter, the darkness and madness and confusion... In the moment, Kyle had vaguely thought he recognized some of the faces as he mercilessly and righteously gunned them down, but remembering them with any sort of clarity was next to impossible.
They were still pondering the import of this when Commander Murleen quietly pushed her chair back and stood up. "I suppose you people still need time to figure this out."
Rookie One looked up at her, startled. "Ru, wait—"
She held up a gloved hand. "This is something you need to resolve. As for me, I'm still in command of Bandit Squadron—and more time I spend here, talking to you away from my pilots, the harder it'll be for me to explain it to them. Whatever you decide to do, you can count on me to help..." She offered her former wingmate a sad, sad smile. "...if there's anything I can do to help, whatever happens next."
She left, and Wade Vox went back to staring exhaustedly out at the stars.
Not much time had passed since Da Soocha V, and Kyle Katarn was not the only one who hadn't slept, so the meeting adjourned without any conclusion. However, the words of Mammon Hoole proved to have the character of an omen.
The next morning, the space platform woke up in a frenzy. Rebel personnel from the top the bottom activated their datapads and logged into FleetNet as they were wont to do—only to find that it, and every other Alliance comm network below the top levels had been locked down. Chief of State Mon Mothma had declared a Code Obsidian-Pulsar Emergency—the first one since the founding of the Alliance to Restore the Republic.
According to the dispatch, the Code Obsidian-Pulsar was in response to the simultaneous disappearance of more than a dozen key figures across the Alliance. Alliance Naval Security's First Lieutenant Colonel, a Thisspiasian named Bronwyn Falensarano, as well as her Karkarodon deputy, Grok Gorp. The Bothan Minister of State Samuul Hhyde and other chairs of the Cabinet. Chief of Staff Kwyntehstchmi'anya, a Theelin. Several members of the High Command Advisory Council, on which Crix Madine had once sat—which was not to be confused with the Alliance Advisory Council itself. That body was missing four out of its seven members. Several senior officers of the Navy, including the decorated Rear Admiral Xero Krane.
Equally distinguished, General Airen Cracken—who hailed from Contruum in the Mid Rim Territories, where he had fought as a resistance fighter in the earliest days of the war, later to become Chief of Alliance Intelligence and to be known (for a time) as a close friend and colleague of Major General Crix Madine of Alliance Special Forces, before conducting the investigation of that man's alleged sexual misconduct—was among those who had gone missing.
The absent high-ranking officers and officials—nineteen in total—had been stationed across the galaxy in the performance of their various duties. Coincidentally, all nineteen had left their posts and offices at roughly the same time for various reasons—some professional, some personal—but all had simultaneously failed not only to report back to their superiors, but also to contact any colleagues, relatives, or acquaintances; not a single one of their personal shuttles had arrived at any of the destinations stated in their various manifests and departure logs; nor had any of those shuttles appeared at any other location with an Alliance presence.
In short, they had all vanished without a trace.
To say the space platform's personnel went berserk would be an understatement. Somehow the Alliance had lost nearly a third of its most important and highest-ranking leaders overnight. In response, the Rebellion was locking down. A very long list of the remaining senior staff, officials, and a great many other important persons had been issued; Mon Mothma and her fellows were recalling them all to the main Alliance Fleet to help select replacements for the missing personnel, as well as to reevaluate all major Rebel military operations and their security protocols.
Nobody knew what to think. Every face on the station was pale and haggard, as of men suffering from proton mortar shock. This was a worse catastrophe than the battle of Hoth; crushing though that defeat had been, all of the Rebel senior staff had been able to evacuate successfully. Now, it seemed that the Empire had compromised their security so silently, so thoroughly, as to launch a campaign of assassination which had nearly decapitated the Alliance! But how had they done it? Was it some new, deadly infiltration unit of the Stormtrooper Corps? The sinister and shadowy Inquisitors? A resurgence of the Phantom TIE threat? Or some other, even more terrible secret weapon of the Empire that had never been seen before? No one knew.
No one except Kyle Katarn and his small band of allies—and whoever was among the collaborators of the Transcendent.
That was only the beginning, though. Alliance FleetNet was locked down, but the HoloNet naturally remained operational, along with other semi- or quasi-illegal networks sometimes used by Rebel personnel. From these channels it was discovered that a similar rash of disappearances had swept the upper echelons of galactic finance and industry. Senior members of the Tagge Corporation, Sienar Fleet Systems, Corellian Engineering Corporation, the InterGalactic Banking Clan, and more. Among these notable disappearances was the Falleen Prince Xizor, head of Xizor Transport Systems, which was known to the Alliance as a front for the Black Sun criminal empire.
Though it took a few more days for it to come out, the Empire had apparently been visited by the same destroying angel, losing several Moffs, distinguished generals, and even a Grand Admiral, the opulently mustached Miltin Takel. As one would expect, the Empire was publicly denying that these men had disappeared, but people had talked. The government and military were far too massive to be significantly endangered by such an event, but word had it the disappearances had caused a great deal of alarm, interrupting or delaying a number of Imperial campaigns and classified projects which had been planned or were underway. Rebel terrorists were most popularly fingered as the culprit, and while one Imperial of some prominence likely knew better, Kyle thought it unlikely the Supreme Slavelord would step forward to correct the record.
Clearly, it was more than the Rebel Alliance that had been destabilized. What the galaxy would look like when it finally righted itself was anyone's guess.
Kyle wiped sweat from his brow, put his hands on his hips, and stepped back to have a good look at the hull of the Moldy Crow. With the generous help of the Rebels here, he had just finished refueling it, affixing hull seal patches, and fixing up a few minor issues. Between the Pinnacle Base and Da Soocha V's orbit, it had gotten shot halfway to Chaos, and would need quite a bit of repair work—more than they had time to do here at the space platform, but the ship would still get them to the Rebel fleet.
Jan sauntered up beside him, admiring the piece of junk that had served them so well. "I've been thinking, Kyle. You've done a lot for me over the years."
"Have I?"
"Well, you sprang me from that cell on Jabba's star yacht, saved me from going for a lava swim on Mylok—"
"Don't forget that wine-tasting party on Taanab."
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, there was Taanab. Other things, too, but of all the favors I ever thought I might get from you..."
"Yeah?"
"Killing my old boss in Intel wasn't one of 'em."
Neither of them laughed, but they also didn't need to. It was a start. In fact, it was the first joke Jan had told, the first time she had smiled, in far, far too long. As for Kyle...
He wasn't exactly sleeping well now, but he was sleeping. Many times he dreamed of those ruins in the depths of the Pinnacle Moon, flooding scaly flesh and ichor, the hypergate, the faces of victimizers twisting and flashing as he killed them. Sometimes those faces were clearer in his dreams than they were in his actual memory, and Cracken's was often among them.
One dream, though, had not been a simple reenactment. In it, he had stood in the aftermath, stood in the corpses and the ashes and the slime...but on the other side, standing on the hypergate's rim, was a lone human wearing the light brown uniform of an Alliance Special Forces officer. Turning around, the man was revealed to be Crix Madine. He didn't say anything. Just stood with his hands at the small of his back, smiling a strange, knowing smile before walking away toward the edge of the ancient machine, toward the edge of the pit—but right before he would have stepped into the abyss, Kyle woke up.
"How are the others?" he asked, facing Jan.
"Ready to go when we are."
"Then we should get underway. Catching up to the Rebel fleet will take a few days. If we waste any time...well, who knows what could happen by the time we're there."
They climbed aboard the Moldy Crow, acquired departure clearance, and alerted the others via comlink. Moments later, the battered freighter was gliding out over the clover-leaf, flanking the Bloodshark and the Y-wing as before. Clusters of cargo containers hung in space around the platform, while X-wings and a handful of larger craft circled around the nav buoys in furtively nervous patrols.
"It'll be good to see the headquarters frigate," mused Rookie One over the comlink. "Last time I was stationed on the flagship of the fleet, it was the Independence."
Kyle was nonchalant. "Eh, they're basically the same."
"Maybe so. Guess I'm just a little homesick."
When the comm channel was closed, Jan remarked, "He's nervous."
Kyle glanced out at the twin red glows of the Y-wing's jet engines. "He's technically a fugitive, but he's been a straight-laser his whole life. Not really used to breaking the rules. Never took a walk on the dark side, like some of us."
"I don't think it's really about that."
"When he says he's homesick, he really means he misses Ru."
Kyle was silent a moment. "Oh."
Commander Murleen had left with her squadron two days ago. Despite the Alliance being under Obsidian-Pulsar, they'd been told to conduct one more leg of their original reconnaissance path, then return to Orion Base, and she intended to follow those orders to the letter. Kyle and the others understood. She was essentially one of the Bryar Force now, though none of them had said it out loud. Still, whatever she might be able to help with by accompanying them, she still had nine pilots under her command. It was her duty to get them home.
"You know," Jan said, "he really ought to ask her to marry him."
Kyle frowned thoughtfully. "Yeah. Probably."
"Kyle, do you really think this is gonna work?"
It was a fair question.
The Bryar Force was as much a ragtag band with scraped-together resources as it had ever been. Except for the addition of a Shi'ido scientist and an Imperial war criminal who had disappeared from prison, they didn't have much more at their disposal now than before. The files R2-Q8 had saved from Searchlight were only a fraction of what the inner circle had collected, which meant proving their case to anyone was going to be difficult.
They were in agreement that Mon Mothma was almost definitely among the Transcendent's collaborators. She'd been closely tied to Cracken, as well as most of the other Rebels who had "disappeared", and had played a key role in obfuscating matters back during the Madine incident. In all likelihood, she was panicking right now—scrambling not only to reorganize the Alliance in order to prosecute the war, but also to cover up her own involvement in everything that had taken place.
Be that as it may, the Bryar Force didn't know what exactly they were going up against. How the Chief of State might react when they arrived at the Rebel fleet, what the other collaborators might do, whether she would be coordinating closely with them or whether they might be fighting among themselves instead. Kyle and his allies were flying straight into what might well be the nest of what remained of their mortal enemy—an enemy that was cornered and wounded and probably very, very desperate. They were entering a battlefield defined by information, persuasion, reputation, and intrigue—weapons with which only some of them had any real experience.
And the only weapon they had in their arsenal, to begin with, was the truth: supposedly one of if not the most powerful things in existence, though in the opinion Kyle Katarn they would be putting that to the test.
After a deep breath he said, "I have no idea. But we can't let this go. We have to try. We just have to."
"I know."
"Besides...I'm in the mood to keep a little optimism for a change. If Tash is right—if her friend is going to be on the flagship, if we can talk to him, if we can win him over—I think we'll have a fighting chance."
There was a smirk in Jan's voice. "Really?"
"You know how they talk about that guy. The whole Alliance thinks he's a miracle worker. Let's hope they're right. I mean, if he can't help us, who will?"
"I seem to recall you dismissing his help a while ago. Something about not trusting anything but me and your blasters. Not the Force and not legends."
"Well...let's just say my perspective's been broadened."
A moment later they passed the nav buoy, engaged the hyperdrive, and jumped away.
Several standard days later, a man with sandy blond hair was picking his way across the crowded, noisy main hangar bay of Home One, the headquarters frigate. The chaos around him reflected the general atmosphere of stress and fear that pervaded the entire flagship. As for the man himself, he was not in a good mood. He was commander of one of the Alliance's top X-wing squadrons, but they had failed in their most recent mission at Gall—a mission to rescue a dear friend of his who was also a hero to the Rebel cause.
And then the Code Obsidian-Pulsar had been declared, after the mysterious disappearance of over a dozen key Rebel leaders. The blond man himself had narrowly survived an assassination attempt immediately after Gall. Since then he had been mired in dark thoughts and speculations, wondering if all these events were connected—if he had been the only one lucky enough to escape what had happened to the others.
A message from the deck officer had taken him out of these thoughts, though. It seemed that a couple of ships had been cleared to land, and their passengers included a certain three refugees who were urgently asking for him by name. It came as a shock. It had been several years.
He laid eyes on a ferocious-looking, battle-scarred assault transport, sitting just beyond a row of landed X-wings. Heavy equipment was scattered around the fighters, and he had to pick his way through. No sooner had he done so than a teenage girl with blond hair jumped him, almost tackling him to the ground. He barely recovered in time for the girl's brother to join in.
He returned their hugs, then stepped back. As he found them grinning from ear to ear, the look proved infection. "Tash! Zak! It's been so long, it—I—you're so much taller now!"
He meant it, too. The Arrandas had grown a lot since he'd last seen them at Kiva, only a few years ago, but much more was different in them than he could put into words. As a wise teacher had once told him, Size matters not.
"I-I've missed you, Luke," Tash stammered, brushing at some of her hair that had come loose from her braid. "I've thought about you a lot."
Luke felt a pang of guilt. If he had to be honest, he had sort of forgotten about these people.
Her brother Zak saved him from having to answer; like Tash, he was barely keeping still. "Aw, man! Luke, this is so prime! I know you're probably real busy, but we've got to catch up! We've had so many crazy things happen to us. We've been to Hoth, and Manaan, and Kashyyyk, and—and, hey, are your friends here on the headquarters frigate?" His head whipped back and forth as he looked around the hangar. "Is the Millennium Falcon here? Is Han Solo here? It'd be prime if I could talk to him!"
"I'm afraid Han's not around, Zak."
The two teenagers paused, somehow sensing what he meant, and their mirth evaporated. "Oh...oh no," said Tash. "Is he—"
"He's alive." Luke's smile was a sad one now. And as he looked at Zak and Tash now, he could see something new in them that was far more than a couple extra years. Weight. Gravity. Pain. Fire-tested love. Uncertaintly.
All things that Luke Skywalker could relate to. "A lot of crazy things have happened to us, too," he told them. "I should be able to tell you about some of it, when there's time."
The two teenagers stepped aside, admitting the approach a tall, thin, very grave-faced Shi'ido. He looked exactly the same as Luke remembered. As they shook hands, Luke told him, "Mister Hoole, it's a pleasure to see you again. Welcome aboard Home One."
"I'm gratified," said Mammon Hoole. "It's unfortunate we had to meet again under such circumstances as these."
Luke frowned slightly. Did he mean the Code Obsidian-Pulsar? That wasn't necessarily something a civilian should be privy to. Seeing him hesitate, the Shi'ido gestured to the left, where some of the other arrivals were coming from a landed light freighter and Y-wing.
Hoole introduced them, and Luke had to fight off niggling distractions. This gunslinger in the long coat, with pants like Han's and a haircut like Luke's own—and the Y-wing's pilot with sandy blond hair and a familiar accent—they both felt deceptively familiar, like people out of a dream. The latter he thought he knew by reputation, but it turned out Luke had his name wrong.
"That would be Keyan Farlander, sir," the pilot explained.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Luke started.
"Don't worry about it. People mix us up all the time."
Modestly, Kentamine stepped aside, making room for a bearded mercenary who introduced himself as Kyle Katarn, then Jan Ors, apparently formerly of Alliance Intelligence.
"Skywalker," he said gruffly, glancing at the Arranda kids. "I know this is a reunion for some of us, but we need your help with something. With what's happened to the Alliance."
The living legend's eyes narrowed. Kyle was daunted—something about that look—going from zero to a hundred, pretty boy to warrior, in an instant. Maybe he really was the real deal. After everything Kyle had seen, he wouldn't be too surprised.
"What do you know about what's going on, Katarn?"
Kyle looked around without turning his head. "Everything."
The two men stared at each other for a long moment, themselves under the watchful gazes of Jan, Kentamine, Hoole, Zak, Tash...and who knew who else?
"We can't tell you here, Skywalker," Kyle went on. "But we need to know right here, right now, if we can trust you to do the right thing with what we know. If you're willing to follow it wherever it leads. We need to know whether you believe whether truth can ever be too dangerous."
Luke Skywalker's face hardened. "If you're talking about keeping the truth from people who deserve to know, because you're afraid of hurting them...I know a thing or two about that. About dangerous secrets. I think the longer they're kept, the worse they become."
"Then maybe we're two of a kind," said Kyle, reaching out. "Will you hear us out?"
"I'm a good listener," Luke said, and shook his hand.
CHAPTER COMPLETE
PASSWORD: MAREK