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| - Cale Wilos had just sat down at the massive dining table in his new Thrakian mansion for breakfast when Zeya burst through the double doors at the far end of the hall. Her persona radiated alarm, on the verge of panic even, something he had never seen her give in to. Her usually pale skin was flushed bright red in distress, and he watched the muscles contract under her uniform like tightly knotted cords. “Cale, we have a problem,” she was on the brink of breaking into a jog trying to close the distance between them. He felt his formerly ravenous appetite dwindle into an unsatisfiable hollowness. He dropped his eating utensils, both fork and knife clattering to the plate. “What is it?” “The entire enemy fleet has disappeared,” Zeya finally reached his chair, chest rising and falling in tiny shudders. In the time it took him to blink, Cale literally saw the splendid image of his dynasty shatter into a billion tiny little pieces at his feet. His eyelids snapped open and he coughed, strangled on disbelief. The Channel had given him such flashes of doom and insight only twice before in his life, but both times the vision had come to pass. He was in trouble. They were all in trouble. He rose from the chair unsteadily, and Zeya reached out to lend a hand, taking hold of his forearm. He slapped her away, angry. “How can this be? What do you mean?” “I was just given the report from our scouts in the Hapes system. The fleet disappeared fifteen standard hours ago, and hasn’t reappeared anywhere. It’s gone. I have a very bad feeling about this, Cale.” Her black eyes resonated something else new: fear. He let her use of his first name slide. He didn’t have time to chastise her on propriety, especially when there was no one there to see the breach. “No, it can’t. What about the Hapan Home Fleet? The Queen Mother?” “She is still on Hapes, by all indications,” Zeya was talking fast, her tongue trying to keep up with the furious wheels of her mind. “And the Home Fleet has made a blockade around the planet itself.” “Where could they have gone? What is their purpose?” he asked, even though he knew she hadn’t the answers. Her dainty nose curled into a sneer of distaste. “It’s those accursed Jedi. They move against us quietly, like a serpent underfoot. They will be the end of us.” “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Cale took a calming breath. He was not ready to concede defeat, not by a long shot. “The Baci are still strong. Even if they mean to move on Thrakia, we should be able to defend it.” Zeya’s jacket pocket began to humm. She scrambled to pull out her communicator, and managed raised it to her lips with steady hands. “Consul Wilos.” “Sir, a squadron of enemy fighters has just entered the edge of the system. They’re moving on the Ogilath,” a tech at the defense building named a medium-sized cruiser orbiting the new Baci homeworld. Zeya and Cale shared a frightened look. “Engage at will. Drive them off,” she ordered. “Yes, Consul.” She stuffed the communicator back in her pocket and spun on her heel, heading back out of the hall at a fast clip. Cale struggled to follow. “Where are you going?” “You have a control room here, you know,” she said over her shoulder. “Of course I know,” he answered, sounding offended, even though he really had had no idea. It was a large house, and he didn’t have time to explore it all. He let her lead the way, and soon enough she turned into a small room full of data stations and a huge holographic map of the Thrakia system. She stabbed a thin finger into the image. “There.” Cale watched as the enemy squadron swung around the lumbering cruiser, and a counter squad of his own one-man fighters struggled to launch. The rival group made a single pass over the hull of the Ogilath, firing both lasers and a storm of torpedos. Huge blossoms of fire spurted from its side. The squadron swung around as if to make another circuit. Cale tensed, a reflex, even though he was nowhere near the danger and there was no way it could get through his entire navy to harm him planetside. The Baci squad came in range, and opened fire. He held his breath, watching the engagement. In the end, a few paltry shots were fired and then the enemy group fled suddenly into hyperspace. It was over, just like that. Zeya looked as stunned as he did. She leaned forward into the holofield, as if it would afford her clairvoyance. “I don’t understand. What could their motive have been, with so small a force?” “Tell them to trace their jump,” he ordered, arms crossed over chest. The vague sense of dread in him was growing. It was completely uncalled for, considering the diminutive size of the attack, but there nonetheless. She took his order obediently, and relayed the message to the defense department. It was several minutes before she got a definite reply. Her expression was chagrined. “There’s no system in the direction of the jump, Premier,” she told him after putting the communicator away. “They’re sending a team to investigate, but they doubt they could trace their ion trails any further.” He cursed softly. “This is not good. We have to find them.” “We have to destroy the Jedi,” she reiterated her earlier sentiment. “They are the key to victory. No Jedi, no problem. We were doing fine until they arrived.” “How can we possibly eradicate them?” Cale scowled at her. Her eyes flashed dangerously. “I’ll work on it.”
* * * The triumphant return of Rogue Squadron was met quietly, but not without recognition. All twelve fighters settled in a tight ring on the hangar deck of the Pillory, then began the powering down process. Gavin Darklighter’s X-wing was at the forefront, and his swaying helmet could be glimpsed from the ground where Luke and Wedge waited. Wedge shifted his weight from foot to foot, hands behind his back, unable to hold still. He was excited and edgy, all too anxious to learn the details of their first strike at the heart of the beast. Luke, beside him, was naturally the very definition of centered calm. “They all made it back,” Wedge observed, almost bouncing with tension. “That’s a good sign, I think.” “There’s a good feeling coming off them, as a group,” Luke nodded. He smiled at his old friend, amused by his nervousness. “I think it must have gone well.” Wedge mopped his brow with one hand. “I sure hope so.” Finally Gavin climbed out of his cockpit and lightly descended the ladder propped against the side of his ship. He marched towards Luke and Wedge with helmet under one arm, a smile peeking from beneath his mustache. His bright orange flight suit was stained under the arms with sweat, but other than that he looked fit and unhurt. They all shook hands, murmured general noises of greeting, and headed towards debriefing. Gavin strode between the two older men, towering above them both. They passed through the durasteel maze of corridors into the innards of the Star Destroyer until Wedge signaled a stop with one hand, and they entered a nondescript conference room. There was a small table—as far as conference tables go—and several empty chairs. They wordlessly took a seat, Wedge and Luke on one side, Gavin on the other. “All right,” Wedge spoke first, anxiousness urging him to fidget. “Give us the rundown.” “We entered the edge of the Thrakia system as planned, and we definitely weren’t expected,” Gavin began without preamble as he sat his helmet on the floor beside his chair. “We made a strafing run on the nearest ship—a medium-sized frigate—and they barely got a response up in time. They deployed a squadron of their own to deal with us, but we were gone long before they could even fire a half-hearted shot. As far as I could tell, that frigate’s not going to be good for anything else but a scrap heap.” “Did it return fire, or just try to get their own fighters after you?” Luke leaned forward in his seat, eyes pinched in thought. “They tried,” Gavin shrugged, “but it wasn’t very effective. We went in hard and fast, and were out before they were ready.” He used his hands like figurines to demonstrate the Rogues’ attack run. Wedge glanced over at Luke’s furrowed brow. “What’re you thinking?” “It would be to our advantage to know how well their capital ships fare against small fighters,” he answered sagely. “We should test that ability.” “One man blew up the first Death Star, after all,” Wedge grinned, knowing. “And it only took two for the second,” Luke countered with a laugh. “In my estimation,” Gavin drew them from the legends they had lived back to the present, “the Rogues weren’t all that challenged against that one ship. I’m confident we would perform just as well if given a similar situation. The curved profile of Baci vessels could be easily exploited.” “Explain,” Wedge ordered. “The inside lip of their ships,” Gavin curved one hand in the shape of a C and ran a finger along the concave side, “faces each other at certain angles. If you fly through there at the right spot, they won’t fire back in fear of damaging themselves.” “The danger comes from their fighter squadrons for other reasons, too,” Luke nodded. “Mainly because of the group Force sensitivity. They can commune with each other intimately in a split second, in a way normal pilots can’t, even the best of them. Their reaction time is quicker, too. And this advantage is more easily seen in an individual, rather than in a capital ship.” “I’ll talk to Ackbar,” Wedge rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe we can come up with something to work this to our advantage.” “In the meantime,” Luke spread his palms on the surface of the table, “we need to arrange more hit and runs like this. And not just at Thrakia, either. At Bilbringi, and Bespin, Clak’dor…” “And make sure that the squadron commanders pay attention and look for other weaknesses,” Wedge added. “It may also be to our advantage to stage some ambushes along their shipping routes. We know they’re moving tibanna gas to Bilbringi, for example.” “The Rogues are ready whenever you need us,” Gavin stood. “That’s a good thing,” Wedge rose form his chair as well, and Luke followed suit. “We’re stretched thin. The next month is going to be tough as hell.”
* * * Padmé had just taken her and Jaina’s dinner out of the oven when the door to their small apartment chimed. She sat the steaming pan of food on the counter and threw off her cooking mitts, then scurried to answer it. She palmed the latch open, and her countenance flourished in delight. “Jacen!” the old woman wrapped her oldest grandson in a hug and dragged him inside. “Come in, come in. I was just fixing something to eat for myself and Jaina. But there’s more than enough, here, I’ll fix you a plate.” “Oh no, Padmé, that’s alright,” he flushed at the attention, but took a seat at the counter just the same. “I just came from the mess.” “Nonsense,” she said, back turned to him as she separated the meal into three dishes. “That stuff isn’t fit for a growing boy like you,” she fussed with the silverware drawer. He chuckled helplessly. “Really, I’m full.” She paid him no attention whatsoever, and in a few minutes a heaping platter of sweet-smelling food was placed before him. Padmé smiled like a child waiting for approval, and with a sigh he picked up his fork and began to eat. To his amazement, it was simply delicious. “Padmé, this is wonderful,” he said around another large bite. After swallowing he looked up and finished, “Where did you learn how to cook like this? I thought Queens and Senators had people to do that for them.” She busied herself by plucking at a loose string on her apron. “Yes, but exiled women who live alone for decades don’t.” Jacen sobered, her melancholy palpable. “I don’t know how you did it,” he shook his head. “You’re a stronger person than me.” Her brown eyes—the same as his mother, his sister, and himself—sparkled with something akin to amusement. She sat down across from him and pulled her own plate in front of her. She twirled her fork around aimlessly. “You learn to live with anything, if the incentive is compelling enough.” “And yours was Mom and Uncle Luke?” he asked, truly interested. He knew the basics of her life, but suddenly he wondered if anyone had yet taken the time really ask her about it. Things had been so rushed and hectic since Jaina had returned with her from Nirauan, they were all just happy to have found her and to make her a part of the family, as if she had always been. She nodded, chewing thoughtfully. Then, “Mostly them, yes. After the first few years or so it was all about them. But the delusion of solitude is hard to fight off, and it took hold of me in those first few months. I—” she paused, fighting back sudden tears. He saw her face harden in iron-clad resolve, refusing to let the moisture in her eyes fall. “I loved Anakin very much, Jacen. And living alone, knowing he was alive and thinking I’m dead along with our baby…that was a hard burden to bear. He consumed me, my thoughts, my dreams. I’d fantasize about him finding me and making things right, and of the four of us being a family. It almost took me completely, became my alternate reality. But I pulled out of it somehow, thank the Force.” Jacen was mesmerized by the emotional depth and intensity she so suddenly exhibited. The love she still felt for Anakin Skywalker was like a burning star buried deep inside her, and he had just caught a glimpse of its blinding passion. “How?” he asked. She looked up from her food and smiled sweetly. “Problems set in, and the truth was thrown in my face. I was discovered by a warrior named Thrawn.” Jacen had known she had had some dealings with the former enemy of his parents, but hearing her say it prickled his skin in undefined fear. “What happened?” “I’d been living on Nirauan for, oh, two years when the Chiss arrived. If you read accepted history, Thrawn never established a base there until around 3 ABY, but I can tell you that is not the case. He had scouts in the area long before the Emperor sanctioned his little project. In any case, I met him, and we made a deal.” “I can’t believe he didn’t turn you in,” Jacen frowned, truly perplexed. “It obviously would have made the Emperor very happy.” Padmé sipped on her glass of blue milk, eyes in a far away place. “Yes, it would have. But Thrawn was cunning enough to understand that Vader was, at the core, a political enemy. If he claimed possession of our children, he would have been unstoppable. He would have overthrown Palpatine and become something even more despicable,” she said this last flatly, as if she had pondered it for so long there was no other conclusion to be made. “Thrawn new that. It was in his best interests to keep me hidden, so that Vader was kept in check.” Suddenly she chuckled, though it wasn’t really mirthful. “And besides, I could have told Palpatine about his little side army.” “Why didn’t he kill you?” he asked at last. “Would have been simpler, from his perspective.” Padmé shrugged. “Leverage. If he ever did need to gain sudden favor on Coruscant. And…I think he felt sorry for me.” They ate in silence for a while. Eventually Padmé murmured something about Jaina being late, and put her dinner in the refrigeration unit for later. Jacen continued to ponder what she said. He was amazed at her strength and perseverance. He also couldn’t understand how she had managed to love someone like his grandfather, even now. It had been wrong, but she had done it anyways. His mind invariably drew a parallel between himself and Tenel Ka. “I need to ask you something,” he said at last. “Anything, dear,” she smiled, and laugh lines pleasantly creased her face. “What made you decide to take the risk of marrying my grandfather?” She seemed a little taken aback at that, but didn’t shy from an answer. “Well that is a many faceted question, Jacen Solo. The most obvious reason is that I loved him. I was lonely and so was he. We needed each other in a way I can’t explain. It was like being sucked into a black hole. No matter how hard I fought, it never made a bit of difference. And Anakin just didn’t care about the risks. He was like that, such a devil-take-all attitude.” Jacen chewed his lip, watching her talk about the man she had given up everything for, the man who had betrayed her, with an inexplicable affection. His feelings for Tenel Ka had not yet grown to that strength, and suddenly he was terrified that they might. “Love? Love drove you to that?” “I guess it did. And it drove him to the dark side as well. Make no mistake, Jacen,” once again her eyes filled with tears, “any sin he committed, I am just as much to blame for. Anyone that curses Vader curses me, because I made him what he was.” “I can’t believe that,” he reached out and grabbed her hand, anxious to comfort her. She wiped at her face with one sleeve. “It’s true. He loved me too much, and I never should have let him. And maybe I could forgive myself for that. But I can’t, because even now I don’t regret it.” “You don’t regret it?” he blinked, incredulous. “Really?” “Horrid of me, isn’t it?” she grinned sadly. “But I can’t regret something so beautiful.” They fell silent again, hand in hand, and this time it was Padmé who put an end to the introspection. “Well this has been interesting, but I’m sure you didn’t come here to talk to me about a dead man. I’m sorry to have distracted you with my foolish old tales. What is it I can do for you?” He patted her hand and stood. “I was just looking for Jaina to congratulate her on the new squadron. But since she isn’t here, I guess I should be going.” “She said she was coming back for dinner,” Padmé sighed and began to clear away the dishes. “But I’m sure she’s too busy trying to put things together to worry much about it. She’s become obsessive over this squadron.” “Maybe Uncle Luke knows,” he mused. “You can ask him,” she untied her apron and laid it over the back of a chair. “He was going with your mother again to the work room, after meeting with Wedge. Talk about obsessive. That woman is determined to run herself to an early grave.” “That’s Mom,” he smiled, one foot already out the door. “Thanks for dinner and, you know, everything.” She winked at him playfully. “Any time, sweetie.”
* * * “Help me Aunt Mara. I can’t find anyone to fill the last two slots. I’m desperate,” Jaina fell forward on her aunt’s couch and groaned into the soft fabric. She had been working her fingers to the bone the past two days trying put together a fighter squadron, and it was turning out to be more work than she had anticipated. “Have you asked Jacen?” she suggested. Jaina lifted her head just enough to fix Mara with a dirty look. “Very funny.” “I’m serious,” Mara shrugged. “He’s not bad.” “Jacen doesn’t care about flying, and he’s not that good, either,” Jaina pursed her lips, frustrated and more than willing to take it out on the closest target. “I want this squadron to be good.” “It’s going to be full of Jedi!” Mara laughed loudly, one hand holding her stomach. “It’s going to be kriffing fantastic. Don’t worry so much.” Jaina sat up and sighed, wondering if her master actually got how important this was to her. “Can’t you get the new Council to assign me someone?” “I guess we could,” Mara shrugged, “but that would kind of defy the purpose of it being your squadron. It would be our squadron. And besides, we’re kind of busy right now with this whole holocron mess Luke’s determined we do.” “You don’t think it’s a good idea?” Jaina lifted one inquisitive brow. She didn’t know much about the projects Luke had outlined in the last big Jedi meeting, but they had sounded reasonable at the time. Besides, Luke Skywalker rarely did anything without a great deal of forethought. “No, I do,” Mara grunted, staring at the place where her feet were propped up on a caf table. “It’s just a headache, that’s all.” She turned to examine her fingernails critically and switched gears, “Now, back to your problem. Do you have a name for it yet?” “I’m tossing some stuff around,” Jaina tapped her temple indicatively. “Why, you have a suggestion?” “Vornskr Squadron,” Mara grinned slyly. “Vicious hunters who use the Force.” “Oohh,” Jaina’s eyes widened in appreciation of the suggestion. “I like.” “I thought you would,” her master replied. “Now if I could only fill this last gap,” the small victory was lost in the overall predicament, and Jaina rubbed a dismal hand down her face, “everything would be perfect.” “Who do you have so far?” Mara pressed, then shifted her position to sit with one leg bent beneath her and the other hugged to her chest. She rested her chin on her knee. Jaina went dutifully through the list, and Mara listened intently, occasionally making instructive remarks about some individuals and how to deal with their colorful personalities. At the end she stated, “I think you have a well-rounded group, there. A lot of talent, but not a lot of experience. Throw in someone a little older.” “Like who?” Jaina frowned. She had picked people she had had personal experience with, people whose skills she knew intimately. Changing that strategy now irked her a little. “Octa Ramis and Kyp Durron.” “No,” Jaina was adamant, slicing both hands laterally through the air in a negative gesture. “No way.” “Why not?” “You hate him!” Jaina accused, one finger jabbing forwards. “You’re just mad Uncle Luke put him on the Council, so now you’re trying to get him out of your hair.” Mara feigned indignation. “I would never!” “Come off it, Aunt Mara,” Jaina laughed. “He’s disobedient and is always undermining Uncle Luke. I don’t want him in my squadron.” “But he’s a great pilot,” Mara argued. “And he and Octa are on very good terms. They would be better as a pair. Put them in a wing trio with someone else, and you’ve got a strong set.” “That’s not the point,” Jaina crossed her arms over her chest. “And besides,” Mara pressed, “it would be good for him to take orders from someone else for a while. He’s entirely too sure of himself. Just take it into consideration, will you?” Her emerald eyes were pleading. “Fine,” Jaina spat, more to get her to be quiet than anything. “I’ll think about it.” “Good,” Mara grinned like an overfed Hutt. “Now, let’s talk about this new infatuation of yours; the one that goes by Fel.” Jaina drew up immediately, her internal barriers rising. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.” “I just need to know how serious this is,” Mara raised both hands placatingly, palms forward. “I don’t want you getting your heart broken. He’s going to leave soon, Jaina, and there’s nothing you can do about that.” “I know,” she was tight-lipped. “And I am trying very, very hard to keep this as casual as possible.” Her aunt’s eyes narrowed. “Have you slept with him?” “Mara!” Jaina leapt to her feet, outraged. Mara only sat and looked up at her with that clench-jawed expression that meant she was determined. “It’s a valid question. The sexual tension between you two is thick enough to cut with a lightsaber.” After a tense moment Jaina collapsed onto the couch and said, almost disappointed, “No, I haven’t slept with him. I’m not that stupid.” Mara seemed to breathe a little easier. “Good. That’s all I needed to know. There’s no harm in a little fun, as long as you remember there’s an expiration date.” Something about that jogged Jaina’s memory. “That reminds me,” she murmured, “I was supposed to tell Uncle Luke something about the Chiss. Will you tell him for me?” “Of course,” Mara agreed. “Jag told me, and it’s kind of strange, but it seemed really important to him. I felt like he wanted us to be careful with the Chiss. I don’t know what he knows, but I get the feeling there’s more to their help than meets the eye. Just keep watch on them, okay?” The older Jedi nodded sagely. “Of course. I’ll tell Luke.” “Thanks,” Jaina stood to leave. “Where are you going?” Mara asked. “I promised Padmé I’d be home an hour ago,” she exhaled noisily, looking at her wrist chrono. “I gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
* * * “Hand me that hydrospanner, will ya?” Han asked, sticking one hand backward, out of the access hatch where he was hanging, upside down, trying to fix yet another problem with his beloved Falcon. He heard Anakin’s footsteps scurry across the deck, and then the needed tool was placed in his palm. “Thanks,” he muttered, and continued his work. “No problem, Dad,” came the answer, and Han was thrown unexpectedly off guard by the deepness of it. His youngest child no longer spoke like in that whiny, awkward teenage voice. He was turning into a man. Han sighed, feeling suddenly a decade older. “Something wrong?” Anakin asked. Han didn’t know if he’d heard the unhappy breath or he was using one of those Jedi mind things. Either way, he wasn’t about to express the sentiment in question. “Nah,” he shrugged it off, his outward attention fixed on tightening a loose coupling fastener. “Oh, ok.” He heard the mild thump as Anakin took a seat next to the hatch. There was a pause, and then, “Hey Dad?” “Yeah?” Han finally got the fastener where he wanted it, then turned to the next one. Anakin’s reply was soft, as if he was embarrassed. “How’s Mom doing?” Well that wasn’t what he had been expecting. The former smuggler repressed another sigh and hauled himself up out of the hole, already knowing it was going to be a conversation he needed to look his son in the eye for. Breathing hard from the exertion, Han dropped down onto the deck next to Anakin and leaned against the bulkhead. “What do you mean?” he panted, even though he thought he had a pretty good idea. It was better to know ahead of time exactly what he was dealing with. Anakin shrugged, trying and failing to me nonchalant. “You know. Is she all right? She doesn’t talk about it, and I don’t want to ask.” Han closed his eyes and slumped down into a more comfortable position. “I know this whole thing hasn’t been easy on you kids,” he began. “And I’m sorry for my part in that. But we’re really trying, Anakin, and I mean that.” “I know you are, Dad,” he smiled thinly. “I’m just worried. She’s working so hard with Uncle Luke, like she’s got something to prove. I thought…well, after losing the baby and all, it might be better for her to relax a while.” “You’re not alone there,” Han chuckled. “But in some ways, this is the best thing she could be doing. I know it’s hard to see her this way, because she’s your Mom and she’s always been the strong and stable one. But you don’t know her like I do. This is who she is. Everything she’s ever gone after, she’s gone after with this kind of crazy compulsion. It’s how she deals with things: she attacks it. The fact that she’s doing that now gives me hope that she’s becoming the Leia we all love again.” Anakin seemed to digest these words, mull them around in his head a little. When he spoke again, he once more caught Han off guard. “What about you? How are you holding up?” Han pulled his famous Solo smile, and found that it came a little easier than it had been of late. “Hey, don’t you worry about me. I have your Mom, you kids, Chewie, the Falcon…life is good.” “What about the Baci? Are you nervous about the war?” “Why should I be?” he shrugged. “This is just one more battle in a string of wars it feels like I’ve been fighting forever. It always turns out all right in the end. So don’t you worry either, kid, ya hear?” he nudged him a little with his elbow, and Anakin smiled. “We’re not gonna let them win.” “Okay, Dad.” Han stood and ruffled his hair. “Well all right then. Now why don’t you come help me in the rear hold? There’s a wall with a hole the size of my head in it.” Anakin hopped lightly to his feet. “That big?” “Don’t push it, Junior.”
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