Ahsoka, redeux.

[Jedi Marso]

Present-day Ahsoka Tano flew out of the mist, landing hard on a path of light and sliding ungracefully to a halt in the same place she'd begun: the starry world between worlds. Anakin Skywalker followed her out of the mist, which crackled twice behind him, momentarily backlighting his form as an armor-clad Darth Vader. “You lack conviction,” he growled as he came on. Ahsoka was slowly scrambling back, then flipped to her feet and ignited her lightsabers as Anakin attacked. His strikes were fast and hard, but Ahsoka found she was meeting him on relatively even terms, alternating between offense and defense. Still, he was the master and she the apprentice. He eventually struck away her lightsabers, one after another, leaving her defenseless.

“Time to die!” he growled. Stepping in with a wide, horizontal cut that should have bisected her. Ahsoka blended with the attack, stepping inside and catching Anakin's wrist, pulling him through the circle as she let her hand slide down to gently snatch his own lightsaber out of his hand. She spun clear, completing the circle to bring the blade around in a humming arc, only to stop the decapitating strike a handspan from Anakin's throat. She held it there for a moment, looking into his Sith-colored eyes with a rare contempt, before closing down the lightsaber and hurling it away into the void.

“I choose life!”

Anakin Skywalker backed up a step, closing his eyes and bowing his head for a moment. When he raised his chin and opened them, they were clear and blue again, and his complexion was normal. He was Anakin Skywalker once more, not Darth Vader. “Then free yourself from this fear, and live.”

“I have been afraid,” Ahsoka admitted, understanding flooding into her. “All these years. You trained me so well, master . . . so well. There is so much of you in me, that I've feared . . .”

“You feared you would become me.” Anakin finished.

“Yes. I've carried that fear inside me every day since the temple on Malachor.”

“My destiny was to bring balance to the Force,” Anakin explained. “Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader represent that balance—good warring with evil—the eternal struggle. But you, Ahsoka, you were trained by Anakin, not Vader. Your destiny lies along a far different path than mine, and the end of your story is not yet written. You turned your back on the Jedi Way—you walk your own path. Follow your heart and let go of your fear. I didn't succumb to darkness—I chose it. You can't succumb to it either, only make choices. You don't have to be afraid of those choices, not if you remain true to the person I raised you to be. Like you did with your choice just now.”

“Master!” Ahsoka cried, tears flowing freely now. “I . . . I . . .”

“I know. Me too.”

“Thank you!”

Anakin grinned, nodding once before turning and strolling casually into the mists. Before he vanished, he waved once over his shoulder. “I'll see you around, Snips.”

* * *​

“We lost Venk along with Turret-3, and we've got five more injured, my lord,” Crix reported.

Baylan Skoll nodded. “Get the wounded to Sion's med-center for treatment, and coordinate with our Imperial hosts for repairs—that was part of our deal. We'll cremate Venk and take him home with us. His share for this mission and the death payout from his contract go to his family.”

“Yes, my lord,” Crix replied.

Baylan was uncomfortably aware of Shin standing at his back. He could feel the conflict in her—raw emotion rolling off her psyche like a cauldron boiling over. He couldn't remember the last time he'd sensed anything like this from her; maybe not since he'd found her, shortly after her family's murder. Her intent was unclear to him, and it was clear she was warring over a course of action. Behind it all was a dark current that he found deeply troubling.

She waited for Crix to leave. “Master, I need to speak with you,” she said intensely.

Baylan nodded, holding out his hand. Shin handed over the map key. He gestured to her, and led her back to his cabin, where there would be a modicum of privacy. “What is it, Shin?”

“On Lothal. What the droid said—is it true?”

Skoll knew there was no deceiving her, not on this point. “It's true,” he replied gravely. “Your family was murdered by an Inquisitor. One like Lord Marrok.”

“And all Inquisitors are agents of the Empire, yes?”

“Yes.”

Her cry was so filled with anguish that it hurt Skoll to hear it. “Why are we doing this, then?”

For the first time in many years, he hated himself when answering. “For money. This is a job, Shin, and we're mercenaries. Our people need the money, and this job pays well—very well.”

“You knew from the beginning!” she said accusingly.

He nodded. “I did.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because there was nothing to gain by it. What would you have done, Shin, if you'd known? Tried to take on the Remnant by yourself? I didn't tell you because I wanted to protect you, at least until you had the power to protect yourself. The Empire is the worst enemy you can make, Shin—I can tell you that firsthand. It's ruthless, powerful, and has access to resources you and I can only imagine. Fighting it alone is a fool's errand. Besides, I killed the Inquisitor responsible for your family's murder. That debt is paid.”

“But it's not,” she said intensely. “You said it yourself: my family was murdered by the Empire!”

“From a certain point of view,” Skoll argued behind clenched teeth. He added: “You need to examine yourself, Shin, before casting too much shade. It wasn't two hours ago that you were prepared to murder a boy no older than your brother was. For nothing more than this,” he added, holding up the map key.

Shin recoiled as if struck. He could feel the conflict intensify within her. Her intent was impossible for him to read, but he understood that she was at a mental crossroad. Years of repressed emotion were boiling to the surface, and she was trembling now, literally shaking.

Baylan placed a calming hand on her shoulder. “Listen to me, Shin. This job is almost all done. We can discuss this further, but here and now is not the time. If you don't want to take any more Imperial jobs, then we don't have to—there are always other jobs. This one, we need to finish—the payout is huge, and will provide a great many things our people need.”

“Ye . . . Yes, master,” she stammered, fighting for control of herself.

Skoll took a deep breath. “Breathe, Shin. Just breathe. I'll take the map key to Lady Elsbeth. You remain aboard the Aldo Nova and settle down. Today was rather intense, and this revelation is quite a shock on top of that. I'm not sorry that you've learned the truth, but I am sorry you learned it this way.”

“This . . . this changes things,” Shin told him. It sounded like a warning.

Baylan nodded. “Of course it does. We'll work through it together, my apprentice. Go back to your quarters and center yourself. Trust in the Force—I know it doesn't feel like it now, but everything will be fine.”

“Yes, master,” she replied. Baylan left her, the taste of bitter regret at the back of his throat. Everything was not going to be fine. That was a lie; a lie he was trying to sell himself more than her, but his prescient intuition in the Force didn't allow him the illusions of wishful thinking.

Damn you to perdition, Huyang!

* * *​

 

[Jedi Marso]

Admiral Ackbar's hologram wore a thoughtful, grave expression. “I've read the reports you referenced before, General Syndulla, along with your after-action report on the recent Lothal engagement. I'm sorry the reinforcements I sent were unable to reach you in time.”

“There was no help for it, admiral,” she replied.

“So now we are forced to wait until the homing beacon you placed gives us the Sion's destination,” he mused, sounding troubled. “That's assuming Aldo Nova stays with the Sion. It's entirely possible the two ships end up at completely different destinations.”

“Ordinarily that would concern me as well, sir, but in this case I believe we already know where they are headed with the map key: The Denab System, on the edge of Wild Space. I'm informed that there is a star map which can be accessed there, containing the data on Purrgil migrations which will reveal the location of Grand Admiral Thrawn.”

“Did you obtain this information from Ahsoka Tano?” Ackbar asked.

“Uhm, yes sir,” she replied, not entirely truthfully. The truth was too far out to be believed—she wasn't even sure she believed it herself. In any case, it wasn't a total falsehood; It was Ahsoka who led the search for the key, and Ahsoka who led them into Lothal's ancient Jedi temple. The fact that her nine-year-old son had inexplicably supplied the actual data didn't need bringing up. She had enough on her plate as it was, trying to wrangle assets sufficient to stop the Imperial effort to retrieve Thrawn.

“Lothal is about as far from Wild Space and the Unknown Regions as you can be, and still be in this galaxy,” Ackbar said. “It's going to take you a while to get there.”

“It is, sir, and the Sion already has a large head start. If the necessity of the mission requires traveling on through Wild Space and into the Unknown Regions, the Ghost alone doesn't have the range without any known ports to refuel and replenish along the way. We're at a decision point, admiral—I've done about all I can do on my own, here. Ahsoka Tano is also planning on heading for Seatos in the Denab System, but she's one woman, Jedi or not. If the New Republic is serious about stopping this Imperial effort to locate and retrieve Grand Admiral Thrawn, it's time for a dedicated effort with major resources.”

“I agree, general. I will speak to the Defense Council immediately and bring Councilor Organa-Solo in on this as well. I think I can convince them that Thrawn's return is a clear and present danger. I'll look at force deployments and begin drafting an operations order for a task force to take this on. Once I have the details, we can plan for you to rendezvous with them.”

Hera felt relief flood through her. Since the battle at Lothal, she'd felt overwhelmed by lack of resources. It was very encouraging to see the sluggish New Republic bureaucracy finally start responding to this threat. “That's good to hear, admiral.”

“What are your immediate plans?”

“I'm going to begin working my way toward Denab. I need to stop at Farloon Station; I'm going to leave Jacen with Garazeb Orrelios for the duration of this mission. It's far too dangerous to drag a child into.”

“I understand, general, but it sounds as if time is of the essence.”

Hera was unyielding. “The safety of my son if my first priority, Admiral Ackbar. Even over this.”

“Very well,” Ackbar replied, obviously not wanting to argue the point. “I'll be in touch as soon as possible. May the Force be with you, General Syndulla.”

“And also with you, admiral. Spectre out.”

Hera sensed Ahsoka Tano standing behind her as the hologram died. She had returned from the temple a few hours before, and the Ghost had rendezvoused with the damaged T-6 so Hera could retrieve her son and Chopper could help expedite repairs to both ships.

“That's good news, at least,” Ahsoka said mildly.

The former Jedi wasn't Hera's favorite person right now—not by a long shot. Her reply was curt and angry. “It is. Now I've got repairs of my own to make, so if you'll excuse me . . .”

“About Jacen—“ Ahsoka started.

“Enough about Jacen!” Hera exploded. “Ahsoka, I can't believe you used him to get into that temple! He's a child! He's not a Jedi trainee, and you aren't even a Jedi anymore! And then those two mercenaries show up and he's caught in the middle of a fight over that map key!?!? What if he'd never come out of that temple? What then? What in the hell were you thinking?”

“I'm very sorry,” Ahsoka said soothingly, attempting to placate her, wanting to bring up what she herself had been doing at nine years of age, or Kanan Jarrus, for that matter. She sensed immediately that bringing up her own childhood would only inflame the situation, not help it. Hera's attachment to Jacen was perfectly natural, and perfectly debilitating—it made Ahsoka see anew why the Jedi were so averse to attachments of any kind.

“Well sorry doesn't help a damn thing, does it?” Hera raged.

“Mom, please stop shouting at Ahsoka,” Jacen said, capturing their attention. The argument had drawn him from where he was helping with repairs. He was dressed in a set of dirty coveralls retrieved from the Ghost, holding a hydrospanner in one hand. His hands were dirty and his face was smudged with grease. He'd slicked his hair back to keep it out of his way, and in that moment he reminded Hera of Kanan more than ever before.

“I'm sorry, sprout,” she said, deliberately calming her voice. “I'm just upset, that's all.”

“You shouldn't be upset at Ahsoka. It was Aunt Sabine's idea—“

“Whoa—hold up there,” Ahsoka said quickly, raising her hand as Hera flushed a darker green than Ahsoka had ever seen, all the way to the tips of her head tails. “Let's not blame Sabine. I asked to bring you along, Jacen. It was my responsibility.”

“But— “

“No 'buts', sprout.”

“Aunt Sabine said I did a good job, that I was a member of the team, now,” he added proudly to his mother. Ahsoka closed her eyes with a silent sigh, waiting for the nova to erupt, but it didn't. Hera was just staring at him, emotions playing wildly over her face.

“The boy handled himself well, by all accounts,” Huyang added from the hatchway. The argument had brought him out, as well. As always, the droid's voice was a soothing influence.

Hera cleared her throat, nodding. She was still trying to wrap her head around what had happened before: Jacen standing in front of a holographic star chart of the galaxy, tracing a clear line for Ahsoka and Hera that led not only straight to Seatos in the Denab System, but far beyond, through the Unknown Regions to where Thrawn was located. Given what Jacen seemed to know and recall on his own, they already had the map. Or at least a very close approximation of it, probably enough to get them all the way where they needed to go. The key now was simply preventing the Imperials from obtaining the same information. It was uncanny to her; what Jacen had done. It spoke to abilities that Kanan would have understood, but Hera didn't—not really. It scared her.

“Really, mom, I'm okay,” Jacen added plaintively, dragging out the first word.

“I'm grateful, for that,” she finally said, reaching out with one hand to cup his cheek. “I'm proud of you, too,” she added. “Uncle Zeb is going to be excited to hear all about it, while you stay with him.”

Jacen's eyes flashed in alarm. “I want to go with you, mom! You need my help!”

Ahsoka felt a slight twisting in her intuition, a disturbance in the Force. She knew Hera would disagree, but she felt compelled to say it anyway: “He's part of all this, now. He should stay with us.”

Hera's finger jabbed at her like the point of a sword. “You can stay out of this!” she hissed. Ahsoka nodded calmly in acquiescence—she'd said her piece.

“I thought I was part of the team, now!” Jacen complained.

“You are,” Hera answered with the sort of motherly logic despised by kids everywhere. “So's Uncle Zeb, and he's not going, either.”

“But mom!”

“No arguments, Spectre-7,” Hera said firmly. “Part of being a member of the team is listening to the captain, and I'm the captain. Now get back there and help Chopper and Huyang, so we can get underway.”

Jacen's mouth set in a defiant line, but he obeyed. “Yes ma'am.”

Hera spared Ahsoka one last angry look, before leaving for her own ship. Ahsoka let her go without comment, eyes downcast.

When Hera was gone, Huyang faced her. “I have some information on the two who stole the map key from us. Baylan Skoll, and Shin Hati. I think you'll find it interesting.”

Neither name meant anything to Ahsoka, at first mention. “We'll have plenty of time in transit, and that way you can tell Sabine and I together. In the meantime, let's get this ship flying again, or we're never going to catch them.”

“Very well, Lady Tano.”

* * *​

Sabine Wren stood in the terrace in Capital City, contemplating the mural she painted years before, after the liberation of Lothal. The faces of her friends—her family—stared back at her. She wore her full panoply of Mandalorian armor and weaponry, and the lightsaber given to her by Ezra Bridger hung at her belt. It had been a long time since wearing the armor had felt so right—so correct. Sabine had grown her hair out over the past few years, but now it was cut pixie-short again, to better facilitate wearing her helmet. She reached out, touching the face of Ezra Bridger in the mural as memories and emotions rippled through her. The touch was almost a caress. She was aware of the T-6 sliding up to the berth behind her, newly repaired and back in action.

Sabine turned and saw her master, Ahsoka Tano, standing just to the side of the ship's entrance hatch. Whatever she had faced inside the temple had taken longer in the real world than it had for herself and Jacen Syndulla. This was the first time Sabine had seen her since they'd entered the temple, and she sensed something was different. Ahsoka wore a simple, homespun cloak and hood of pure white, partially disguising her features. She had either replaced or recolored her clothing and the limited armor pieces she wore; those were white as well, now, with the sole exception of her dark gray boots. The slightly curved hilts of her two lightsabers hung at her belt in their customary places. Clearly, her own experience in the temple had been as life-altering as Sabine's had been.

Sabine stopped in front of her, and Ahsoka looked her up and down, smiling. “Nice haircut.”

“It's more me,” Sabine said, and there was a world of meaning in those simple words.

Ahsoka nodded sagely, gesturing to the hatch. “Let's get going. We may only have once chance left at stopping Grand Admiral Thrawn's return.”

 

[Jedi Marso]

Chapter 11​

Ranger Garazeb Orrelios never felt like he needed permission to board the Ghost. It had been his home for many years, and the Spectre cell was his family. So as soon as the boarding ramp dropped in the landing bay aboard Farloon Station, he simply walked aboard and caught Hera back in the recreation lounge as she exited the cockpit. The two of them shared a warm embrace.

“You're looking a lot better than the last time I saw you,” Hera remarked.

“Yeah, I'm a hard one to kill,” Zeb said self-consciously, letting Hera go. “Thanks for pulling me out of that escape pod,” he added quietly. “It was a bit touch and go there at the end.”

“When did you get out of the bacta tank?”

“Couple days ago. I'm right as rain, now, but I think I've eaten half my body weight since then.” He glanced around. “Where's Jacen?”

Hera sighed. “In his room. He's been in a royal snit since we left Lothal. He's not happy about staying with you while I go after Morgan Elsbeth. Oh, and by the way, when you see him, he's Spectre-7 now. Better remember that part,” Hera added with a dramatic eyeroll. “At least Admiral Ackbar and the Defense Council have seen the light. It finally looks like we're going to get some firepower this time.”

“What about you, though? You're just going to go alone, with the Ghost? No crew?”

“I'll have Chopper,” Hera said defensively. “I'll be meeting with Ahsoka and Sabine, eventually. They've gone on ahead towards Seatos. When the task force arrives, there will be that too. I'm far from alone, Zeb.”

“I don't like this, Hera. I should be going with you.” He made a fist and punched it into his opposite hand. “Besides, I want another crack at those mercs,” he added darkly.

“Those mercs almost took out the Ghost,” Hera replied. “They're dangerous.”

“All the more reason you need me along,” he argued. “Dividing up the team is the wrong way to go. Kanan and Ezra would never have gone for it.”

“Kanan would have wanted Jacen to be safe.”

He snorted. “There is no such thing, and you know it.”

“Zeb, please!”

“All right, all right,” he groused. “How long is your layover?”

“Long enough to fuel up and load some supplies. It'll be a long series of jumps to Seatos. A few weeks of travel time. The Ghost is faster than Ahsoka's T-6 so I should almost catch them, if not arrive at almost the same time. The only question now is the Imperials. A Victory class ship isn't as fast as the Ghost, but it's not slow, either. If their jumps are straight for Seatos without any side trips, they'll get there ahead of us. Hopefully we aren't too late.”

“No time to waste, then,” Zeb sighed. “I'll get Chopper and we'll get cracking on loading supplies.”

* * *​

The sounds of warm conversation, camaraderie, and laughter drew Jacen Syndulla from his self-imposed exile. He wandered into the Ghost's crew lounge to find his mother and Uncle Zeb having a final meal together before her departure, sharing a moment over some hot caf to reminisce about old times and friends long gone. There was an active solido on the table between them, showing a hologram of Kanan Jarrus with an arm around his Jedi-apprentice, Ezra Bridger. It was one of the last stills captured of them, shortly before Kanan died. Ezra was older in this one, as old as they remembered him.

“There he is!” Zeb said loudly. “Are you about ready to go, spro—I mean, Spectre-7?”

“Jacen, what is it?” Hera cut in, noting the way her son was looking at the image on the table. She glanced at the holo, and back to him. “That's just a holo-image of your dad. Nothing you haven't seen before.” Jacen had paled slightly, his features going a little slack.

“That's Ezra with him, right? The one you always talk about?” Jacen asked.

“It is,” Hera said a little sadly. “Why? You've seen this picture before. What's the matter?”

“It's just . . . “ Jacen said, sounding uncertain. He stepped in to study the image more closely.

“What?” Zeb and Hera asked together.

“The more I look at it, the more it looks like . . . him.”

“Who?” Hera asked, exchanging a worried look with the Lasat ranger.

“The one I saw in my vision in the temple, on the moon near the anomaly where the Imperials want to go. The bearded man, living alone.”

“You saw Ezra in the temple?”

Jacen shrugged, unsure. “Maybe? I don't know. The man I saw was older.”

Hera grew animated, quickly. “This moon, Jacen, where is it? You say it's near the anomaly where Thrawn is? And this man was alive?”

“Yes,” Jacen replied. “If we had a star map of the area, I could show you exactly.”

“Well, why don't you, then?” Zeb asked.

Hera sighed. “It's deep in the Uknown Regions, Zeb. We only have an approximation, not a truly accurate star map that shows us the local layout of star systems. The anomaly would be easy to find, once we got close. A single star system outside of it . . .” her voice trailed off.

“I see,” Zeb said, his voice going downcast. “You aren't going that far anyway, not if you can stop the Imperials at Seatos.”

Hera looked intently back at her son. “You're sure this man you saw . . . he was alive?”

Jacen nodded. “Alive, and by himself. No other Humans on that moon, at least that I saw.”

Zeb's look was one of guarded optimism mixed with uncertainty. “Hera, you don't suppose . . .”

“I don't know, and ultimately, there's only one way to find out.” Her lips pressed in a thin line. Indecision warred on her features for a moment. “Jacen,” she said slowly. “If you were out there, near this system you saw in your vision . . . do you think you could find it? Navigate us to it?”

“Of course,” the boy replied immediately, sensing salvation. Mom is going to take us after all!

Hera wasn't so easily convinced. “I mean it, Jacen,” she warned. “It's a serious question—being a Spectre means telling the truth, not just what you think I want to hear to convince me to take you along. Do you really think you can find this planet?”

“I think so,” he answered honestly.

“One thing's for sure,” Zeb cut in. “We're never going to find it without him.”

Hera couldn't argue with that. “If we stop the Imps, how do we get there ourselves?” she mused, stroking her chin. “Ackbar won't send ships into the Unknown Regions on a wild bantha chase like this.”

“We could just let the Imperials win, so we have the excuse to go after them,” Zeb joked.

“Not an option!” Hera replied seriously, missing the attempt at humor.

“Let's take a breath, here,” the Lasat went on. “First things first—let's all go to Seatos and stop the Imperials. Face it, Hera, you need us more than you'll admit. We'll meet up with Sabine and Ahsoka as well, and the whole team will be together. Almost the whole team,” he amended immediately, looking thoughtful. “Once we stop the bucket heads, we'll be free to decide what to do next. We can find a bigger ship—or hire one—something with the range to get where we need to go. Then, we go and get Ezra back.”

“If it is Ezra.”

Chopper finally grew animated after listening to the exchange in silence, waving his service arms and vocalizing his opinion in a long burst of whistles and boops. “You said it, Chop,” Zeb said, placing a hand on the droid's tapered red dome. “Have a little faith, Hera. Who else could it be? Why would Kanan's son be shown this vision in a Jedi temple if it was anyone else?”

Hera nodded. “Alright,” she relented. “Alright. I can't believe we're doing this,” she added, but her face broke into a huge grin, giving away her true feelings. “Spectre-7, unpack your gear. Zeb, you've got about five minutes to grab yours and get back aboard. Let's get after it!”

“Whoo-hoo! Wizard!” Jacen cried. Zeb laughed as well, and the two exchanged a high-five, then danced a little jig around each other before rushing to follow Hera's orders. Spectre cell was back in action—there was an Imperial plot to stop, and if the Force was truly with them, a friend to save.

* * *​

 

[Jedi Marso]

Morgan Elsbeth stood on Sion's bridge, on the catwalk at her array of forward viewports. Baylan Skoll stood with her, but no Imperial officers, even the captain. They had learned to give Elsbeth a respectful berth—there was something about her that people found disconcerting, especially if she looked them in the eye for any length of time.

Baylan kept his features guarded as they were joined by a third figure: Shin Hati. The latter was dressed in a similar manner to Elsbeth, now. She'd given up the armor and cloak that mirrored her master in favor of a two-tone gray and rust-red kimono like the one Elsbeth wore. His apprentice had been spending more time with Elsbeth lately as well, and less with him. The emotional turmoil she'd suffered on Lothal was past, now. Hati was more rigidly in control of her emotions than ever, her cold blue eyes giving no insight whatsoever as to what she felt or thought. Her body language was upright and precise, a touch more regal than before, but giving nothing away.

But Baylan knew.

His great talent in the Force was reading the intentions of those around him. Hati may have appeared solicitous on the outside, but that was only because she had finally decided what to do. Her courtship of Elsbeth's attention and favor was a ruse, nothing more. Shin Hati meant to foil this expedition, destroy Elsbeth, destroy Thrawn, and to the greatest extent that she could manage, destroy the Empire itself. She was fully committed in her mind, and nothing would dissuade her. Even more disturbing, she had said nothing of her intentions to her master—not a single word. He could sense no ill intent towards himself on Hati's behalf, but it was clear that she no longer considered him ally or confidante, either, inasmuch as she ever had. Somewhat sadly, Skoll realized that Hati would be leaving him soon. Ready or not, her apprenticeship was over. If he were still Jedi, he might look upon her self-assigned mission as her trial, the last test before Hati assumed the title of Jedi Knight. But he was no longer Jedi, and she would never be Jedi, especially not if she allowed this dark hate she felt towards the Empire to consume her.

“You look concerned, Lord Baylan,” Elsbeth remarked with a slight smile. “All is well, is it not? We have the map key, and soon we'll have the map with the Purrgil migration patterns and the location of the anomaly. Our adversaries have neither.”

“Yet they are coming,” Skoll answered her. “I feel it.”

“A disturbance in the Force?” Elsbeth asked, her smile giving way to slight concern. Hati watched him with cold eyes as she slowly moved over to stand next to Elsbeth. That was the way of it now, and all of them sensed the shift in apparent loyalties. Shin stood with Morgan Elsbeth, not Baylan Skoll. Elsbeth hadn't remarked on it to him, but she had noticed—this wasn't the first time since the events on Lothal. Elsbeth had not treated it as unwelcome, despite her silence on the matter. She nodded slightly to Hati with welcoming eyes. Elsbeth's expression almost turned to a smirk when she saw Baylan shifting uncomfortably, pretending not to notice.

“Yes,” Baylan confirmed.

“What do you see?” Elsbeth asked intensely.

Skoll closed his eyes, breathing slowly as he cast out with his senses into the Force. “Ahsoka Tano,” he finally answered. “She is the one who comes.” He opened his eyes, sparing a quick glance at his apprentice. Or former apprentice, he reminded himself.

“Can you handle her?” Elsbeth asked.

“It would be a shame to have to kill her,” Skoll replied. “There are so few like us left. That said—yes. I can handle her easily. Repairs to the Aldo Nova are complete, however, and we've fulfilled the terms of our agreement. You are free from New Republic custody, and you have the map key. At Sion's next realspace reversion, I was planning on taking my leave. Unless you would like to extend our agreement?”

“I believe it was made clear to you, Lord Baylan, that Grand Admiral Thrawn has expressed a desire for Force-users such as yourself in his service. The rewards for such service would be . . . substantial.”

“It would appear Lady Hati is interested in the grand admiral's offer,” he said, giving voice to the 800-pound gundark in the room. “I am willing to stay on until you've attained the map, but no farther.”

Elsbeth turned slightly towards shin. “Lady Hati?”

She nodded coldly. “I would be honored to serve the grand admiral now and in the future, my lady,” she announced formally. Elsbeth looked at her for a long moment, as if trying to read her heart and intent. Hati returned her gaze without flinching; her eyes were cold, clear, and guileless. Skoll wondered if Elsbeth could read anything off her—if her Nightsister talents ran that way. Elsbeth's true capabilities were a mystery to him, he had to admit. She seemed willing to defer to him in most matters as it pertained to obtaining knowledge or insight from the Force.

“So be it,” Elsbeth said with finality. Was that a dark note in her voice, or had Skoll imagined it? She looked back to Baylan. “Lord Skoll, I accept your offer of extended employment as well. A doubling of your fee to ensure I obtain the map unhindered, triple if you kill Ahsoka Tano. Force-users on the side of the enemy are to be excised at every opportunity: those are the orders of Grand Admiral Thrawn himself. If this Sabine Wren from your report is with her, she is to be killed as well.”

“As you command, Lady Elsbeth,” Skoll replied, sketching a slight bow. “This time,” he added, “I will accept the loan of some of your troops to augment my crew, if that is agreeable.”

“Take as many as you want,” Elsbeth replied with a wan, uncaring smile.

* * *​

The still silence of Seatos was interrupted by the arrival of sapient beings, in numbers not seen since antiquity. Aldo Nova led the landing force, followed closely by two Imperial landing craft full of stormtroopers. All three vessels set down near the ancient Rakata star map, and the Imperial troops immediately debarked, spreading out and disappearing under the canopy of red-leafed trees to form a wide perimeter around the map site. Their task was made easier by the fact that it was located at the top of a coastal cliff, giving them only a half-circle perimeter to secure, with the end-points anchored by the cliff itself. The landing craft dusted off to make a second run, returning a short time later with two pairs of Imperial Scouts and their speeder-bike mounts.

Four figures emerged from Aldo Nova: Morgan Elsbeth, Baylan Skoll, Shin Hati, and Lord Marrok. The latter took command of the Imperial forces, issuing the few orders necessary to establish their security perimeter. Baylan Skoll, a general during the Clone Wars, assumed overall command of the ground force, to include the Imperials and his own mercenaries. Lady Hati brought a trio of small, spherical probe droids with her, which she immediately sent airborne. Each one would fly a patrol pattern covering a sixty-degree slice of the hemispherical security area, reporting any incursions to allow for an immediate concentration of force and intercept. In space over Seatos, Sion's TIE Fighter squadrons were flying cover, patrolling the area around the planet. In strict military terms, their objective was well secured.

The four Force-users moved to the standing stones, and the pillar located at the center of it. Baylan and Shin watched curiously as Morgan Elsbeth placed the map key into the receptacle clearly designed to receive it. There was a slight pause, before a spherical hologram rose out of the ground and seemingly encapsulated them at its center. Navigation data and marked lines appeared overhead, along with a representation of hyperspace routes leading away from Seatos. Many of these routes were highlighted with pictograms of Purrgil, presumably showing their migration patterns. Some led through Wild Space and into the Unknown Regions, as expected.

“Impressive,” Baylan Skoll noted, and it was.

“Yes,” Elsbeth said, closing her eyes as she twisted the now-hovering map key slightly with one hand. Overhead, the representation of the celestial sphere moved as well, zooming temporarily down one path before returning to its source point here, in the Denab System. She cocked her head slightly, as if listening to something nobody else could hear. Baylan Skoll reached out with the Force but sensed nothing. Nothing other than Shin's single-minded determination to somehow stymie this entire enterprise, and the warning current in the Force telling him that danger was imminent. Elsbeth's intent stood out plainly: to obtain the information she sought, at any cost.

“Is everything alright?” Baylan asked, noting the slight frown creasing Morgan's features. She was paler now than normal, unnaturally so. When she opened her eyes, they were solid black orbs. Again, Skoll felt an inky blackness welling up from deep inside her, a sickly manifestation of the dark side of the Force.

“Fine,” she replied distantly. “The map is complex; it will take some time for me to learn to manipulate it, to decipher the ancient Rakatan language, and longer to locate the exact paths we seek. Signal the ship that I require an astrogation droid to be ready to receive data. We'll record everything the map shows us here and begin making precise jump-path calculations based on what it shows us.” She paused and was silent for a full minute. “This is going to take some time, Lord Skoll. Lord Marrok, we may be here for several days. Troop and fighter duty rotations should be adjusted accordingly.”

“Yes, Lady Elsbeth.”

“Any orders for me?” Skoll asked.

“Wait for our adversaries to arrive, and then deal with them as we discussed.”

He spared a glance at Shin Hati, who merely watched Elsbeth, curiosity showing in her otherwise cold gaze. He sighed glumly. “Very well.”

 

[Jedi Marso]

Side note

Back home again with my better software package. Chapter 10 to this point has been re-posted after some additional clean-up and the correction of numerous egregious typos and grammatical errors. That always happens when I'm going back and forth between my full keyboard at home and my laptop on the road. More to come.

 

[Jedi Marso]

Side note:

Check out the redo of the second post of the thread. (The text crawl). Looks way better now...

 

[Jedi Marso]

“Ouch. Feel outnumbered yet?” Sabine Wren asked after the T-6 reverted to realspace over Seatos.

“Not at all!” Ahsoka replied sarcastically. “What does the Sion, two more full-size Imperial star destroyers, and a small armada of support ships have that we don’t have?”

“TIE Fighters are vectoring towards us,” Huyang warned.

Sabine looked over at Ahsoka, deadpan. “Well, they have TIE Fighters,” she answered. “Any sign of friendlies?” she asked as she unstrapped from the copilot’s seat.

“Negative,” Huyang replied.

“You know where I’ll be!” Sabine said with mock cheerfulness, heading for the rear gunner’s turret. “Like we briefed it, then?”

“Like we briefed it,” Ahsoka confirmed. “Huyang, you’ve got the deflector shields. Keep them angled to maximize our defenses, please.”

“Yes, Lady Tano.”

The T-6 began maneuvering as the first TIE patrol passed into firing range. Green laser bolts ripped through space at the Jedi shuttle, which maneuvered with inhuman precision and timing. Ahsoka tapped into the Force, using it to time her maneuvers and keep them clear of enemy fire. A few shots scored here and there, but they were easily handled by the deflectors. As the fighters passed, Sabine Wren opened fire with the rear defensive turret, forcing the TIEs to open the distance before reversing course for their second pass. It wasn’t much, but it bought them a little time as Ahsoka worked them closer to Seatos, and planetfall. It was twilight at the sight of the Rakatan star map, and it would be full dark soon.

“I’m surprised we made it in time at all,” Sabine remarked from the back.

“We’ve been lucky so far,” Ahsoka replied. “Stay sharp back there. Another two patrols are going to be on us soon, and evading fire from half a squadron is going to be harder than just these two.”

“You’ll think of something, master!” Sabine smiled from the back. The first two TIEs were closing again, and she backed one off with a steady burst of fire from the turret. The other kept coming, and Sabine’s countenance grew serious. This is the way… I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me …” Green laser fire spat from the TIE Fighter; Ahsoka maneuvered them violently, causing most of it to miss wide. Sabine’s return fire was thrown off as well. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. No mind … no mind … She blinked at Ahsoka’s cry of ‘Great shot!’ from the cockpit; the explosion of the enemy fighter was already dying away, quenched by the vacuum of space. One down.

The T-6 jinked violently, then again, as green laser bolts splashed against the shields, causing them to flare brightly. Sabine felt the first bump of turbulence as the shuttle bit air—Ahsoka was starting their planetfall. They were nightside, so it was disorienting and frightening to know that the ground was down there somewhere but couldn’t be seen. Most of the outside view was pitch black, and only the slice of visible sky showing stars told her which way was ‘up’, so to speak. Sabine worked the problem, combining technology with the Jedi Arts the way her temple trial had shown her to do. She used the targeting computer to show her where the bandits were, and queue her as to which one made the best target to shoot at next. Then she trusted in the Force. She fired repeatedly; short, controlled bursts timed by the Force, in concert with Ahsoka maneuvering to give her the best shots. Jedi piloting combined with Jedi gunnery made a major difference. Without them working in tandem, the shuttle would have been destroyed within the first minute of contact with Imperial fighters. Sabine killed a second TIE, damaged a third and sent it home in retreat, then killed a fourth as they leveled out over the planet’s surface. By the time Ahsoka finished the planetfall, only two TIE pursuers remained. In the planet’s thick troposphere, they weren’t having as easy a time of it. Ahsoka spun the shuttle’s wing from vertical to horizontal, giving them an aerodynamic advantage compared to the vertical-wing configuration of the Imperial fighters.

“Status?” Ahsoka said tensely in the cockpit.

Huyang studied the scope. “Another two patrols are starting down to intercept. We’ve got about three minutes until they finish planetfall and their scanners are free from the interference it will cause.”

“Okay,” Ahsoka replied, listening to the Force, and going for broke. She yelled for everyone to hang on, and abruptly leaned hard on the retro-thrusters, while pitching up slightly. The pilot of the closely pursuing Imperial fighter saw his quarry blossom in his view as it braked in front of him, and when he tried to pull up the enemy matched him. His brief scream died as the TIE exploded against the T-6’s shields, shredding what was left of them and leaving the vessel exposed.

Ahsoka shouted at Sabine to be ready, then snap rolled, let the nose fall through, and the T-6 took a stomach-wrenching plunge toward the pitch-black surface beneath them. The last TIE Fighter from the original pursuing group executed a neat rollover and dived to pursue—right into the stream of fire from the Jedi shuttle’s rear turret. It blew asunder, briefly lighting the night sky and illuminating the reddish tint of the forest canopy rising to meet them.

Ahsoka executed a snappy vertical half-roll and leveled the T-6 over the treetops, flying barely below supersonic speed. She heard Sabine’s excited whoop of victory from the back and smiled. “Huyang, give me—”

“—Set 296,” the droid ordered before she finished asking.

“296,” Ahsoka repeated, pulling the shuttle onto the desired course. “Your controls, Huyang. As we briefed it.” Huyang acknowledged as Ahsoka quickly unstrapped and moved to the main hatch, where Sabine was waiting for her. The latter was already dressed in her Mandalorian armor, but now she also wore her helmet and a jetpack—the latter was instrumental to their plan. The two women nodded to each other, tense but ready.

They felt the slight strain against the inertial dampers as Huyang braked the ship hard, bringing it to a momentary near-hover. The main airlock hatches rolled open together, inner, and outer.

“May the Force be with you,” Huyang called from the front. “On my mark . . . go!”

Ahsoka and Sabine stepped through onto the wing of the hovering shuttle, then took the few steps to the trailing edge at a run. Huyang had turned on the floodlights, illuminating the tops of the trees below them. Both women executed diving flips off the back of the T-6. Ahsoka Tano caught herself with the Force; Sabine Wren used her jetpack to break her fall, landing softly on a bed of fallen leaves. Huyang gave them two seconds to complete their jump, then switched off the floodlights and accelerated away with a roar that split the night, leaving silence in their wake. It took several minutes before the local birds and insects felt recovered enough to pick up the chorus of regular nighttime sounds.

* * *​

Baylan Skoll had the report from orbit, as well as the reports from his scouts and perimeter troops. The intruders were just inside the outer boundary they’d set, near the line marking the boundary between sectors two and three of their defensive zone. He studied the deployment of the stormtroopers and ordered the most suitable units to close on the point where they had been detected. He ordered the remainder to collapse back to the site of the star map, where they would establish an inner defensive perimeter. He ordered his own mercenaries to form a third skirmish line as a buffer between the two Imperial groups. Lord Marrok appeared at his side, and the two of them made ready to mount speeder bikes to join the troops soon to be in contact.

Skoll paused and reached out with the Force, seeking prescience, and any additional clues to aid him in his effort. He felt a shock of pain and sadness when he looked at his apprentice. The Force was telling him in no uncertain terms that he would not see her again. Hati was standing near the center of the map, looking tense but excited, and watching Morgan Elsbeth intensely. The latter had not moved in five days. She had used her powers as a Nightsister to overcome any need for food, water, or rest. She was deathly pale now, thinner than before, as if her physical body was slowly being consumed by its own power. Her eyes remained soulless black orbs, focused on nothing that they could see. She continued to manipulate the map and download the information they sought. Yet, even in the throes of her dark trance, she remained lucid.

“I am almost finished here, Lord Baylan. I only need minutes, maybe an hour at the most,” she informed them.

“Very well,” Skoll replied, gesturing for Hati to step away from the map and join him. She did so, reluctantly, after sparing one last glance towards Elsbeth. Skoll spoke firmly, but in a low voice that couldn’t be overheard. “You don’t survive this, Shin. I can clearly see it in the Force—if we part here, it’s the final parting. I know what you’re planning, but it’s not too late to change your mind,” he pleaded. “Come with me.”

“May the Force be with you, master,” Hati replied, equally as firm in her decision.

Skoll shook his head miserably. “And also with you. Goodbye, Shin.” His apprentice watched impassively as he moved over to his S-swoop and mounted up next to Lord Marrok, who was using a standard Imperial model. The two of them rode side-by-side into the forest, vanishing into the diminishing twilight.

* * *​

 

[Jedi Marso]

This is like hunting Elsbeth’s men, back on Corvus, Ahsoka thought, as her lightsaber blades retracted out of the armor of the stormtrooper she’d just killed. Her surroundings plunged into darkness again as crimson blaster fire erupted from three positions around her, converging on her but missing cleanly as she slipped away in the darkness. Off to her left, a tell-tale trail of light from wrist-rockets terminated in a short blast as an Imperial scout trooper and his bike were dispatched by her Mandalorian Jedi partner.

Ahsoka moved through the trees like a phantom, her senses extended in the Force as she used it to pinpoint the position of her adversaries and distract their attention with cleverly used Jedi mind tricks. She activated her lightsabers again, and the surprised shout of her latest victim was cut off as the silver-white blades whipped horizontally, sectioning him into briefly glowing thirds and cutting a double-swatch in the thick trunk of the tree he’d used for cover. Once again the lightsabers winked out, and more wild blaster fire was directed at her from out of the darkness. Then there was the brief, familiar whine of a jetpack, and a fusillade of blaster bolts rained down out of the darkness above, picking off several stormtroopers before the sound cut out, indicating that Sabine Wren had landed once more.

Ahsoka sensed the approach of the two speeder bikes carrying Baylan Skoll and Lord Marrok, and Sabine launched herself into that fight before it even began, using her jetpack and blasters to intercept the latter and shred the bike he was riding. Ahsoka saw the Inquisitor land on his feet a hundred meters away, his crimson lightsaber activating in the darkness. Sabine Wren alighted near him, faintly illuminated by her green lightsaber blade.

Their duel was short but violent. The Inquisitor stepped in with a flurry of strikes, all of which were dodged, saber-parried, or beskar-blocked by Sabine. Marrok quickly ignited the other end of his saber-staff, only to have Sabine execute a jetpack-assisted Force-flip over his head, spraying him with flames from her flamethrower as she went. Marrok writhed as his cloak caught fire, and his saber-staff spun in a desperate but futile circular defense as she aimed explosive darts at either side of his feet, catching him between two blasts that rocked him. The explosions caused a cloud of burning leaves to erupt into the night air, surrounding him like a cloud of firebugs. Marrok staggered, only to have Sabine go airborne a second time, forcing him to flail defensively as blaster bolts sniped at him from out of the darkness. Forced to defend against them, there was little he could do when the fibercord whip entangled his sword-hand and violently jerked the saber-staff from his grasp. Sabine closed in an instant, not giving him time to react. One last blaster bolt smashed into his torso, and her lightsaber clove through him a moment later, entering the top right side of his helmet and exiting his body just below the armpit, cutting him in two.

She was shocked when Marrok’s death failed to produce a corpse, but rather an explosion of dark, eldritch energy that seemed to swirl about his armor in a whirlwind, rising into the night air and dissipating rapidly at the same time. When it was gone, only the empty pieces of his dark armor remained. “Karabest!” she breathed in shock, and then her lightsaber twitched as the Force prompted her to bat away a blaster bolt from a nearby stormtrooper. She launched herself airborne again and went about the grim task of making sure the area around Ahsoka and Baylan Skoll was clear of troops. Their plan was straightforward: Engage the Imperials, draw them to this location, and then Ahsoka would keep them occupied while Sabine leapfrogged them all to the map site. Once there, she would destroy or capture the map key, ending any Imperial hopes of finding Thrawn.

Unfortunately, Baylan Skoll had foreseen this, and deployed his forces quite effectively.

* * *​

Ahsoka Tano smiled slightly as Baylan Skoll dismounted his swoop and strolled toward her, igniting his red-orange lightsaber in the darkness. Two silver-white blades answered, one long, and the other shoto-length. Huyang had replayed the entire conversation between himself and Skoll for Ahsoka and Sabine, who now had a solid read on their enemies, what motivated them, and perhaps some of their vulnerabilities as well.

“Ahsoka Tano,” Skoll said conversationally. “I knew your master—and what he became. I suppose this was inevitable. All you know is war and destruction.”

“It wasn’t inevitable,” she replied. “However, aiding the Imperial Remnant to free Thrawn will result in the death of millions. I can’t allow that.”

“You and your master are responsible for more deaths than I’ll ever be,” he replied thickly.

“I’m not accountable for Anakin Skywalker—I’m not him,” she said sagely. “Events have brought you into my circle, Lord Baylan, so now you’ll be dealt with. In your case, mercy to the guilty is cruelty to the innocent.”

“How ironic,” Skoll replied drolly, launching himself into the attack. Lightsabers hummed and blurred, making harsh contact in a flash of light and sparks. Skoll was a powerful fighter, employing long, hard strikes and attempting to overpower his opponent. He was highly skilled as well; had the Jedi Order survived, he’d have achieved the rank of Jedi Master years ago. Furthermore, his ability to read intent gave him a slight prescient advantage over Ahsoka Tano, who tended to fight in the moment. Her twin blades offered her little advantage in the opening minute of the duel. In fact, it was fair to say that they merely helped keep her alive against Skoll’s relentless onslaught.

As they fought, both were aware of the conflict being fought in the woods around them; a conflict that was rapidly dying off as Sabine Wren eliminated the local opposition after her brief fight with Marrok. Skoll, sensing the danger, pressed even harder. Ahsoka held him off, taking his measure, slowly giving herself more and more to the Force. She had the advantage of speed and youth over Skoll, and although he was a fine swordsman, she’d been trained by Anakin Skywalker, and by extension, Obi-wan Kenobi—two of the Jedi Order’s finest.

Skoll executed a combination of hard, fast strikes that put Ahsoka on the defensive, constantly pivoting in circular movements coordinated with her parries to take away the power of the blows. Her attempts to draw Skoll off balance failed—he could read her intentions in that regard, and simply refused to take the bait she offered in the form of subtle openings and faked vulnerabilities. Ahsoka, however, refused to grow frustrated. She knew time was her ally, in that Sabine would soon be free to carry their mission forward. The blaster fire from the surrounding forest soon ceased, signaling the demise of the nearby stormtroopers. Both duelists heard Sabine Wren’s jetpack rapidly dwindling into the distance.

Baylan Skoll smiled darkly as the two broke apart for a moment. “Your apprentice has abandoned you, it seems,” he taunted. “I warned her that to face me again would mean her death. Apparently you mean less to her than her own life.”

Ahsoka smiled anew; the white illumination of her blades, combined with her clothing, gave the illusion that she radiated a bright, inner light. Her eyes shone brightly as well, reflecting the light of her blades. In the darkness of the surrounding forest, she stood out as a veritable beacon of light. “What ever made you think I needed Sabine for this?” she asked lightly.

That angered Skoll, and he swept in again, hitting harder and faster than before. Ahsoka moved again, as lightly and nimbly as before, if not more, and completely tireless. She drew her strength from the wellspring of the Force, and it was eternal. His style was not so different than her former master’s, albeit much less refined and, truth be told, less flamboyant. Anakin had had an exhibitionist’s style about him, but he could carry it off with strength and power to spare. Skoll was power and efficiency incarnate, but he was no Anakin Skywalker, against whom Ahsoka had sparred with for countless hours in her youth. Skoll let out a gasp as Ahsoka finally scored with a lightning-fast riposte of her own. The tip of her long blade pierced a centimeter into Skoll’s flesh, in his right shoulder, striking the nerve juncture just under his armored shoulder pauldron. Fire burned through Skoll, and the spot she’d hit sent fire arcing down the nerves of his right arm as well. Pain could be controlled with the Force, but the injury itself had a debilitating effect, nonetheless.

Skoll grew fearful, finally. He could still read Ahsoka Tano’s intent in the Force, and it wasn’t to merely defeat him, offering mercy and a chance at redemption. She knew his history as a mercenary for hire, and he’d proven time and again that he’d kill indiscriminately for monetary gain, regardless of how he justified it afterward. No, she meant to kill him, to remove him as a threat for all time—as a future threat to her, her allies, and in her mind, the galaxy at large. Her words rang in his mind: Mercy to the guilty is cruelty to the innocent. It wasn’t the Jedi Way, but he was forced to face the one incontrovertible fact about his opponent:

Like himself, Ahsoka Tano was no longer a Jedi Knight.

Skoll’s fear caused his concentration to waver. Distracted by her lethal intent, he overlooked her actions in the moment. He swept in on the attack, striking diagonally from the left with both hands, and his prescience failed him. She stepped inside the arc of his swing, blending with his motion to intercept his lightsaber with her long blade—not so much in a parry, but in a redirection. She caught his blade on her own, turning hers over and pressing down in the same motion, using the heavy momentum of his swing as leverage to trap his blade in the low guard position beneath hers. She let her right forearm serve as a guide rail to her left as she swept her shoto down to sever Baylan Skoll’s hands at the wrists, almost in the same motion. It was almost elegantly casual, at the end. He gasped in shock and went to his knees as he pulled away cauterized stumps, his lightsaber deactivating as it fell into the leaves.

Normally, the technique Ahsoka used was called the life-giving sword, and it could be an act of mercy, especially when both duelists were fighting with single blades. With the defender trapping the attacker’s blade, there was an opportunity for surrender if the attacker was quick enough to do so. Otherwise, the defender could backswing immediately through the attacker’s torso, with no way to defend against it. Used as intended, it was the most Jedi-like of defensive counters. In this case, Ahsoka used it as a winning move—not to offer quarter.

In the end, Baylan Skoll realized that he had completely misread his last moments with Shin Hati. He had foreseen in the Force that their parting was permanent, but it wasn’t because she was going to perish, but because he was. He realized that Huyang would have told Ahsoka Shin’s story, as he’d told it to Huyang. That meant there was hope for Shin—a chance, at least, he thought, if Tano had an ounce of compassion. He looked up at Ahsoka with pain filled eyes. “Help Shin if you can,” he said simply.

Ahsoka nodded curtly, then decapitated Baylan Skoll with one swift stroke.

* * *​

 

[Jedi Marso]

Shin Hati cursed her rotten luck and timing for at least the fifth time in five days. She had waited for an opportunity to destroy the map key, even sought out such opportunities, but they had been denied her. Morgan Elsbeth kept the map key in her personal possession from the time she’d claimed it until the time they arrived here—there was no opportunity to seize and destroy it aboard the Sion, at least not without coming into direct conflict with Elsbeth and Marrok on the spot. At the time, there was also no guarantee that her master wouldn’t have interfered, either to protect his own fee or in a misguided attempt to save Shin from herself.

There were no opportunities to act during Elsbeth’s five-day trance, either. She remained inexplicably lucid the entire time and was guarded ceaselessly by a squad of stormtroopers as well as Lord Marrok. Shin was confident that she could deal with either of the three obstacles separately, but not all three together. Like Skoll and others who had encountered her, Morgan Elsbeth’s dark side powers as a Dathomiri Nightsister were dangerously unclear. Shin had spent the past several days working on an alternate plan, one that could be executed at the proper moment to ensure the deaths of Thrawn and Elsbeth. Such a plan required her to escape suspicion in the aftermath, since she’d be deep in the Unknown Regions and dependent on her enemies to get back home. Once back in known space, destroying the remainder of the Imperial force would be easy enough for one with her skillset to accomplish. To that end, she’d liberated a half dozen powerful proton charges from the Aldo Nova’s stores and secreted them in her quarters aboard the Sion.

She wasn’t sure what she planned to do after that, but she knew she would never—could never—rest until the last vestiges of the Galactic Empire were destroyed forever. Then, and only then, could her murdered family find the peaceful rest they deserved.

Her commlink signaled for her attention: it was Crix. “Lady Hati, a bogey just overflew our position, too small and fast for us to do anything. I think it’s a single target headed your way. No word from the engaged units, or Lord Baylan. Prepare for close contact.”

“Acknowledged,” Hati replied curtly. Inside, she was in turmoil. How do I play this? She asked herself. Attack Elsbeth when the map site was attacked? Things would be chaotic, but not so chaotic that they’d miss her turning traitor. Even if she killed Elsbeth, most of the navigational data they needed from the map had already been uploaded. If the Imperials were able to warn Captain Pellaeon of her treachery, she’d be left behind and the site probably subjected to bombardment to make sure of her—enemy Force users were to be eliminated, by order of the grand admiral himself.

Indecision clawed at her, and there was little time to decide. Then, without warning, she sensed a brief, gut-wrenching disturbance in the Force. Her eyes widened, and the breath went out of her in shock.

Her master was dead.

She saw Morgan Elsbeth suddenly look up slightly, cocking her head and staring into nothing with her dead, black eyes. “Baylan Skoll is no more,” she confirmed. Shin Hati, orphaned since the age of 8, felt the world shift beneath her feet for the second time in her young life. Tears stung her eyes, unbidden, and her jaw clenched painfully tight.

“Incoming!” shouted one of the stormtroopers. An E-web blaster opened fire, sending a brilliant stream of blaster bolts into the night, arcing over the treetops. The stream of fire wavered back and forth as their unseen target maneuvered evasively somewhere in the darkness. Hati looked up as the holographic features of the star map suddenly dimmed, and then retracted into the ground, leaving the cliffside standing stones shrouded in darkness again, except for a few floodlights from the landing craft and the blaster fire being directed at their unseen adversary. She turned to Morgan Elsbeth, who lifted the map key from the pedestal and tossed it to Hati.

“Destroy it, then withdraw your mercenaries to your ship and lift off for the Sion. We’re finished here,” Elsbeth ordered. She looked tired, perhaps a little unsteady on her feet, but in the dim light Hati could see that her eyes had returned to normal. Hati nodded, holding out her hand and reaching into the Force. The map key levitated into the air in front of her; it was a simple matter to cut it into four pieces with two lightning-fast sweeps of her lightsaber. It looked like her alternate plan for thwarting the Imperials was the only option, now, but with her master dead, she would assume command of Aldo Nova and their mercenary group. That gave her more, better options than the ones she’d been planning with. Rather than departing with Baylan Skoll, they were now hers to command. She pulled her commlink and issued the orders, then hurried to escort Elsbeth aboard one of the landing craft.

She wondered briefly how Ahsoka Tano and Sabine Wren would handle their defeat. That is, until she heard Morgan Elsbeth speaking to Captain Pellaeon in orbit, giving him permission to launch ISD Harbinger’s TIE Bombers and turn this entire part of the continent into radioactive glass. Shin Hati paled slightly as the warning of her dead master echoed in her mind: The Empire is the worst enemy you can make.

* * *​

Sabine Wren grimaced as the targeting sensor in her helmet pinpointed and locked in the positions of a dozen or more of Baylan Skoll’s mercs between her and the map site. They were easily avoided, but the two or three dozen stormtroopers that had taken up positions around the star map were going to slow things down. Worse still, she could sense darkness in the Force ahead of her—Morgan Elsbeth was there with powers that were largely unknown, and Shin Hati as well.

She and Ahsoka considered Shin Hati a bit of an unknown quantity at this point. Huyang had told them everything he’d learned about the mercenary pair, including his deliberate disclosure about the Empire killing her family, which he’d fully intended for her to overhear. The darkness they’d felt inside her on Lothal had an explanation now, and the massacre of her family made her mental state much more understandable. What they couldn’t understand was how her master had singularly failed to help her deal with her loss all these years they’d been together. Whether she remained a willing accomplice of the Imperials or an unwilling one was the big question, one that would soon be resolved.

Or not, Sabine told herself as the Force warned her of an imminent threat. She cut her jetpack and let herself fall as a stream of heavy blaster fire split the night; it would have incinerated her except for the gift of Jedi precognition. She went radically evasive, which only proved that the Imperials were equipped with excellent portable sensor equipment, because wherever she moved, blaster fire followed her.

Sabine took herself down to treetop level, and then into the trees themselves. That helped; the blaster fire still sought her, but the trees provided a lot of shielding as she came on. Numerous Seatosian trees were blasted and blown apart, sending lethal wooden splinters in every direction. These couldn’t penetrate beskar, however, and Sabine was able to pass through clouds of wooden shrapnel with impunity, dodging and weaving until the E-web was finally close enough that it couldn’t track her fast enough to hit her. She swooped out of the trees, using the standing stones and enemy troops themselves as cover for the last hundred meters or so. The E-web gunner stopped firing after accidentally vaporizing three of his stormtrooper compatriots while attempting to hit his squirrelly target. Sabine landed right next to the E-web, igniting her lightsaber as she came. Her first sweeping cut killed two of the three crewmembers serving the weapon; she took off again, firing a single blaster bolt into the weapon’s power center, causing it to blow up brilliantly and taking out four more nearby stormtroopers.

Then she was fighting for her life again for the next minute or so—there were still a lot of stormtroopers dug in here, and every one of them was gunning for her. She felt a welling in the dark side of the Force, and what felt like a shroud descended over the entire area of the standing stones. As it did, the fire of the stormtroopers suddenly seemed more coordinated, synchronized, and accurate. Sabine yelped as a few shots rang off her armor, coming too rapidly and too well-timed for her to dodge or bat away with her lightsaber. Beskar offered a lot of protection, but it wasn’t impenetrable to multiple successive hits. They were going to kill her in the next few seconds, she realized, unless she took drastic measures. She backed herself evasively out past the edge of the cliff, over the surf line hundreds of feet below her, and cut her jetpack. She fell like a rock, passing below the cliff’s edge and instantly taking herself out of the Imperials’ line of fire. Of course, it left her completely ineffective in return.

The stalemate persisted for a few crucial minutes, with Sabine attempting to re-engage, only to rapidly be forced back into mutual defilade. In the meantime, she heard the engines of the landing craft and the Aldo Nova roar to life. The mercenary lighter was the first to raise ship, accelerating rapidly into the sky with full deflector shields engaged. To Sabine in her armor and jetpack, the lighter was an impregnable flying fortress that was beyond her effective attack range before she could even decide what to do. The first landing craft lifted off next, with Shin Hati and Morgan Elsbeth aboard. With Elsbeth’s departure, the unnatural coordination of the remaining enemy troops faded with it, but it was too late anyway. A pair of TIE Fighters descended out of nowhere, making a devastating strafing run through the standing stones to cover the retreat and dust-off of the last Imperial troops. Sabine was frustrated again; in the end she was left by herself among the standing stones as three pinpoints of light—the final landing craft and a pair of TIEs—ascended rapidly into the sky until vanishing into the overcast. To the southeast, a flickering orange glow was gradually spreading and brightening as a portion of the forest burned, set alight by the indiscriminate fire of the E-web blaster and strafing TIEs.

Sabine was searching the area when she saw her master emerge from the forest on Baylan Skoll’s S-swoop, silhouetted against the glow of the fire behind her. She pulled up to a halt, her mouth set in a grim line as she read the bad news on Sabine’s face. The latter held up one of the charred, burnt quarters of the map key orb, vivisected with Jedi precision.

“Too late,” Ahsoka said flatly, stating the obvious. “Spast.”

“Well, hey, I always wanted to see the Uknown Regions,” Sabine retorted without real humor. She angrily hurled the charred piece of map-key to the ground. “Grife, we were so close!”

Ahsoka cocked her head slightly. “I feel a disturbance in the Force. We aren’t safe here.”

“I don’t feel it,” Sabine countered.

Ahsoka spared her a dry look as she pulled her commlink. “Huyang, respond.”

“Here, Lady Tano. I’m grounded about forty-five klicks from you, completely shut down. Say your status.”

“We failed,” she said simply. “We failed, and we’re in danger here—I can sense it. Huyang, move the shuttle out to sea, a few kilometers off the coast, and bottom her there, submerged. We’ll move to rendezvous.”

“Are you going to swim?” Huyang asked.

“Of course not! I’ve got a sweet new ride!” Ahsoka replied with a smile, despite everything. She patted the swoop between her thighs. “Want a lift?”

“Sure,” Sabine sighed. “My jetpack is about overheated as it is. What happened with Skoll?”

“Dead. He had a final request: to help his apprentice if we could.”

“That’s interesting.”

“Isn’t it? Hop on—we’ll talk about it later. We’d better hurry,” she added, gesturing behind her. A dozen points of light were visible in the distance, descending rapidly below the overcast and spreading into a wide, line-abreast formation. They were headed straight for the coast, tracking east to west. Ahsoka gunned the swoop, flying it off the cliff and letting the repulsorlifts catch it over the water. With the added weight of an extra armored rider, the S-swoop splashed into the surf before overcoming inertia and rising back into ground effect, drenching the two women. Then it accelerated smoothly across the waves, headed for the rendezvous with Huyang and the T-6. It was less than a minute before night turned into day behind them, and the first line of mushroom clouds billowed into the air over Seatos.

 

[Jedi Marso]

Chapter 12​

Hera Syndulla’s relief was almost palpable when she spotted four New Republic starships hanging over Seatos. Four MC-80 Calamari Cruisers; Admiral Ackbar had delivered as promised, and then some. Thank the Force! She thought. She was glad to find friendlies here, as opposed to staring down an entire Imperial fleet with nothing but her souped-up freighter. The Ghost’s comm crackled a moment later; it was the New Republic task force requesting her identity and business. Hera provided that information forthwith and was invited to land aboard the flagship Vigil. The Ghost was intercepted and looked over by a pair of A-wing Fighters as well, just to be safe.

Zeb appeared up front long enough to take in the view of the New Republic force, and comment about missing the party. For once in her life, with Jacen on board and enemy Force-users in the offing, Hera was fine with ‘missing the party.’ She wondered if Ahsoka and Sabine had arrived ahead of her, and what, if anything, the New Republic force had turned up.

Her questions were answered in short order. The Ghost was shut down in Vigil’s landing bay less than thirty minutes after their arrival, and they were ushered into flag country then introduced to Admiral Sandik, the officer commanding this task force. Sandik was Mon Calamari, like Ackbar, but boasted a bluish rather than salmon coloring. She was relieved to find Ahsoka Tano and Sabine Wren there as well. Everyone looked rather somber, and the news only reinforced the mood.

There was one happy reunion, however. Zeb and Sabine hadn’t seen each other in several years, and after hugs and friendly barbs were exchanged, the two of them found a quiet corner of the flag bridge to get caught up. Jacen stuck close to his mother, trying to look serious and managing it for the most part by remaining respectfully attentive and silent.

Ahsoka and Sabine brought Hera up to speed on everything that had occurred since their arrival here. The Imperial force had departed about a day and a half prior to the arrival of the New Republic task force—again, the enemy already had a solid head start. There was no time to waste. Now that the Ghost had arrived, the New Republic task force would pursue Captain Pellaeon’s Imperial fleet into the Unknown Regions. Their best estimate was that this journey was going to take them anywhere from four to six weeks, depending on the hyperspace routes they were able to find and use. Ahsoka Tano and Jacen Syndulla would be crucial to this effort. Ahsoka would do most of the work, with Jacen backing her up as best he was able. The youth would have little more than memory and instinct for him to fall back on, but Ahsoka trusted in the Force, and knew that Jacen’s input would be valuable, perhaps even vital.

The four ships of the task force carried a total of three full wings of starfighters, with a New Republic wing consisting of three squadrons of twelve ships. That was over a hundred starfighters in total, a significant force by itself. The majority were X-wings and A-wings, with two squadrons of older Y-wings and a single squadron of advanced B-wing bombers. Each fighter wing was commanded by a colonel; Admiral Sandik requested that Hera assume overall command of the fighters, based on her rank and experience. Hera gladly accepted, happy to contribute and keep busy—it was going to be a long transit. Coupled with the firepower represented by the capital ships, Admiral Sandik felt they had a better than reasonable chance against Pellaeon’s force. Seeing the force Ackbar had assigned to this mission, Hera felt a lot better about it herself.

Of course, that was not factoring in the possibility of Thrawn taking command of the Imperial fleet.

Their goal was to intercept the Imperial force and destroy it before Thrawn could be rescued. This was truly their last chance. Once Thrawn was in play, the Imperials had essentially won the game. All they had to do was retreat to known space, and the war would begin in earnest as soon as the grand admiral consolidated his control over most of the Remnant factions. Either way, it appeared they were going to be in for one hell of a fight at the far end of this transit. It was risky in more ways than one—they were going to be isolated and alone in the Unknown Regions, beyond reinforcement or aid. Any ship too damaged to make it back wouldn’t be making the return trip; it was as simple as that.

Less than an hour later, the other three ships in the task force slaved their navicomps to the flagship’s. Ahsoka supplied them with the jump calculations, based on the information supplied by Jacen after his temple vision, and verified by her through the Force. The ship’s navigator looked pale and uncertain; to her mind, this was little more than a blind jump into uncharted space, with no real jump calculations. The possibility of encountering a catastrophe loomed large in their minds, along with the potential for being permanently stranded if they survived it.

When Ahsoka was finished calculating the jump, she turned to Jacen Syndulla, who stood next to her on the bridge. “Well, Spectre-7?” she asked with a smile. “Do you have a good feeling about this? Or a bad feeling?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” someone muttered in the background, barely audible. One hard look from Sandik silenced any further comments from the bridge team.

Jacen closed his eyes and relaxed, breathing deeply. At this point, it was about all he knew how to do. We’re going to have to start remedying that, Ahsoka Tano told herself. She knew Hera was sore at her, but if Jacen was going to help navigate them through the Unknown Regions, the boy needed to begin some semblance of formal training, rather than merely going on instinct. They couldn’t keep expecting him to perform like a Jedi without committing to training him like one. It wasn’t fair to anyone, especially Jacen himself. Besides, with a month or two of travel time ahead of them, they’d need something to do to combat the sheer boredom.

Jacen opened his eyes and looked up at Ahsoka. He knew all eyes were on him, so he resisted the urge to shrug. “No bad feelings,” he reported solemnly, which wasn’t exactly a rousing confirmation, but it would have to do. Ahsoka nodded to Sandik.

“Captain, execute the jump to hyperspace,” he ordered. Vigil’s commander relayed the appropriate orders, and they watched together as the unfamiliar stars elongated into streaks, before the four ships of the task force completed the transition in a flicker of pseudo-motion.

They were on their way.

* * *​

 

[Jedi Marso]

A few weeks later during a break in her schedule, Hera Syndulla stepped into the small cargo bay that Ahsoka and Huyang had converted into a gymnasium to conduct training in the Jedi Arts. She was looking for Jacen; her schedule was keeping her so busy that she was beginning to feel neglectful of her duties as a mother. All things being equal, she was grateful for Sabine and Ahsoka taking Jacen off her hands for most of each day, and to be fair, he seemed to be benefiting from it.

Hera stopped, watching as she caught sight of her son climbing a cargo chain hanging from the high overhead, about two decks up. He went quickly, hand over hand, his feet dangling below him, unused. Youthful muscles strained, and when he reached the top, he leapt for an adjacent chain without pausing a beat. If he missed the jump or lost his grip, it was a thirty-foot fall onto a hard deck. Hera gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in alarm, but she needn’t have worried. He worked his way back down the next chain, going even faster, and when he was almost to the bottom he leapt again and began repeating the process, going up a third chain and then down a fourth. Sweat glistened on him, but he only seemed mildly out of breath when he finally finished the exercise. Hera wasn’t sure where he’d found the strength to go up the chains twice like that—it was more than she could do on her best day, these days.

As soon as he hit the ground, Huyang appeared from behind a crate. “Catch, padawan!” he called. A curved piece of wood flew toward him, going wide. Hera watched her son reach for it and gasped again as the wooden bokken’s trajectory altered as if by magic, bending towards Jacen but not quite making it to him. He missed the catch, but there was no hesitation on his part. He dove after it, and after a rolling somersault he came to his feet facing Huyang, swinging the bokken up into right hason kamas, the ready position with the blade held vertically at his right side, right elbow up.

“To no go kamas!” Huyang barked. “Yos!” Jacen stepped forward with his right leg, the blade of his bokken centering at middle guard: the Zudan position.

“Goden!” He shuffled back, keeping his right leg forward, moving the blade to low middle guard.

“Kahoy!” A step back with the right foot, blade shifting low, to his right and rear.

“Hason!” No footwork, but the blade is raised to the vertical guard position on the right side, right elbow up.

“Tadon!” The blade shifts to high guard, centered over the head, and poised to strike.

“Zudan!” Step forward with the right foot, lowering the blade back to middle guard.

“Tadon!” Step forward with the left foot, blade returning to centered high guard.

“Goden!” Step back with the left foot, blade moving to low middle guard.

“Kahoy!” Blade shifts low and to the rear, this time on the left side.

“Hason!” Blade is raised to left vertical, with the right hand reaching across the body to the left, elbow forward.

“Tadon!” Back to high guard.

“Zudan!” Middle guard.

“Yo-ke!” Jacen held the middle guard and maintained his focus forward. This was supposed to be a moment of total concentration, to finish properly.

“Yah-taaaay!” Huyang drawled. Jacen stood up, swinging the bokken to the ‘sheathed’ position, held blade up and tip back at his left hip. Hera realized that she’d just watch him move through a form that practiced the formal guard positions in lightsaber combat. She remembered seeing Kanan and Ezra run through these same exercises, years ago. Ahsoka was also watching, strolling around Huyang and Jacen in a slow circle, arms crossed, eyes missing nothing.

“Good,” she said to him. “Don’t forget to breathe. These aren’t strikes, padawan—no forceful exhale or exertions are needed when shifting ready positions. Just focus. Breathe in, breathe out, relax. Always feel the Force, flowing through you, carrying away fatigue and stress.” Her voice dropped as she spoke, into almost a lulling, hypnotic buzz. Jacen’s breathing eased, and she nodded at Huyang.

“And . . . again. Yos!” Jacen stepped back forward into middle guard; his eyes closed this time. Huyang slowly picked up the pace. “Goden! Kahoy! Hason! Tadon! Zudon! Tadon! Goden! Kahoy! Hason! Tadon! Zudan! Yok-ke . . . Again! Yos!” Huyang began the litany of commands again, and Jacen responded by rote. At one point, Ahsoka stepped in and gently rapped the back of his hind leg with the bokken she held, at the knee.

“Leg straight!” she ordered firmly. Hera saw her son make the correction. More to the point, he didn’t allow it to buckle inward again for the remainder of the exercise, even though she knew he must be starting to tire. You wouldn’t know it from watching him, though, she told herself. Kanan used to have endurance like that, she added to herself, and then blushed a darker shade of green as some good memories flooded back to her, unbidden. There were certainly advantages to him being a Jedi.

Ahsoka glanced over and took notice of Hera for the first time, although she’d seen Jacen’s mother enter the cargo bay. She nodded once, respectfully. “Yah-tay!” she ordered loudly when Huyang finished the latest iteration of the form. “Breathe in, breathe out,” she instructed Jacen, watching as he did so. His eyes were still closed. “I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me,” she intoned. She said it again, this time Jacen saying it with her. They repeated it a couple more times, and then Ahsoka fell silent for a moment, before releasing him from instruction. He respectfully handed his bokken back to Huyang using the proper form: hilt to his own left, blade-edge facing toward himself and not the droid. Then he jogged over to his mother with a broad grin on his face, folding himself in her embrace.

“Whoo! You’re a bit ripe!” Hera said, wrinkling her nose. Jacen was shirtless, and a fine sheen of perspiration covered his body. Hera didn’t worry about collecting kid-sweat. She was a mom, for starters, and she was wearing a pilot’s flight suit now rather than a regular uniform, and those were made for getting grubby. Hera noticed that Jacen was developing some real muscle, and his abdominals were showing a real Twi-lek twelve pack. Her boy was slowly transforming into a young man, although he still had a lot of growing to do. He’d mark his tenth lifeday before they made it back to known space: into double digits. Where does the time go? She asked herself, feeling a bit melancholy for a moment.

“What’s up, mom?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Hera smiled. “Can’t a mom look in on her favorite kid and see what he’s up to? How’s the training going?” she asked, half to him and half to Ahsoka.

“Great!” Jacen said enthusiastically.

“It’s going well,” Ahsoka agreed. “We’re still at the very beginning, of course. Mostly a matter of training the body, and training the mind, at this stage. Unlearning old habits. Figuring out the art of the possible, and so forth. The older you start training, the harder it is. Jacen’s at a good age, though—he’s adapting to it all very quickly.”

“Much faster than Lady Wren,” Huyang added.

Ahsoka looked at the droid as if annoyed at his lack of tact, but she really wasn’t. “Sabine was more than twice as old as Jacen when she started,” she reminded him. “That’s a lot to unlearn.” Hera asked where Sabine was and was told that she was doing some maintenance on her gear aboard the T-6 in the landing bay. She sometimes helped with the training exercises, but Ahsoka privately felt that it frustrated her to watch Jacen. So much came naturally to him that Sabine struggled with for years—that was just the way of things. Jacen was naturally stronger with the Force than Sabine, and always would be. Sabine had found the path that worked for her, blending the Mandalorian with the Jedi. Jacen Syndulla’s path would be more traditional.

“No lightsaber training yet?” Hera asked casually, but Ahsoka could sense her concern.

“No—we’ll ease into that very gradually,” Ahsoka assured her. “One needs to achieve a basic level of proficiency with the Force before we start with active lightsabers. There’s too much potential for harm, otherwise. It’s a weapon that can be deadly to the wielder, in untrained or unprepared hands.”

“Good. I mean, I get it,” Hera amended quickly, tripping over herself a bit.

“Don’t worry, mom,” Jacen assured her. “I’m being careful.”

Hera nodded, tactfully not mentioning the jumps between climbing chains she’d seen him make, thirty feet in the air. She regarded him curiously. “You can actually feel the Force? Like Ahsoka does?”

Jacen frowned. “I can, but in a way, I’ve always been able to feel it. I just didn’t understand what it was I was feeling,” he explained. “I’m beginning to see and feel it more clearly, now. It’s more . . . real, if that makes sense.”

“I think ‘tangible’ is the word you’re looking for, padawan,” Ahsoka offered.

Jacen grinned, looking boyish again. “I don’t know that word.”

“Better learn it, then,” his mother told him.

“The Force is in everything, mom,” Jacen went on. “You, me . . . the ship . . . everything. You glow, in a way that I can see when I relax and concentrate. You could feel it too, with enough time and training.”

Hera looked to Ahsoka in surprise. “Really? Is that true?”

“It is,” Ahsoka assured her. “Of course, it’s much more difficult for those not naturally sensitive to it. It would take you long years of devoted study and meditation, perhaps even decades, but eventually you would achieve some measure of success. Will you ever be able to pick up a lightsaber and deflect blaster bolts fired at you from three different directions? That part is doubtful, but I would never say it’s impossible.”

“That’s interesting,” Hera conceded. She glanced down at her son. “If you’ve got a dry shirt somewhere, how’d you like to have lunch with your old mom? Looks like hungry work in here.”

“Wizard!” Jacen said, rushing off to grab his discarded top.

“How are things going for you?” Ahsoka asked.

“These ships are big enough that they have full simulator bays. I’ve got a training schedule in full swing, keeping the pilots sharp. Most of the day-to-day stuff is being handled by the individual squadron and wing commanders. I’m spending a lot of time on contingency planning with the admiral. Which reminds me, we’re completing this jump at 1930 hours. Admiral Sandik will need you and Jacen for the next set of jump calculations.”

Ahsoka grinned. “Has the navigator finished her nervous breakdown yet? It’s been three weeks and we’re more than halfway there, as near as we know.”

“She’s got a few more gray hairs than she had at the beginning of this junket,” Hera laughed. “Thank you for doing this, Ahsoka,” she added sincerely. “I know it’s difficult work, and I also know that Jedi don’t normally take on more than one apprentice at a time. You’ve had your hands full with just Sabine.”

“Sabine’s apprenticeship is over,” Ahsoka informed her.

“Oh?”

“Yes. Unless she wants to formally join a revitalized Jedi Order, at some point. I’ve taught her what she needs to know, and her trial in the temple showed her the proper path—for her. If she keeps up her mental and physical training, she’s going to be just fine in the future. Remember, she and I trained for several years together before reuniting over this mission. She handled herself well on Lothal and even better on Seatos.”

“So Sabine is a Jedi Knight?”

“No, not in the strict sense of the definition. I’m not Jedi, and I didn’t train her strictly as a Jedi, either. I am following more of a strict Jedi regimen with Jacen because I imagine it will be someone else who finishes his training. Ezra, if we find him alive, and perhaps Luke Skywalker if we don’t. That’s your intention, isn’t it?”

“Honestly, Ahsoka, I haven’t thought that far ahead, except for the part about Ezra. It seems natural to me that he should train Jacen if anyone does. We just don’t know if he’s alive, or what sort of shape he might be in.”

“According to Jacen’s vision, he was relatively hale and healthy. At least, if he hasn’t gone mad from loneliness. I take it you’ve briefed Admiral Sandik about your planned side mission?”

“I have. Spectre team will carry it out, except for me. Normally I wouldn’t send Jacen on a mission like this without me, but I have responsibilities here, and he’ll be safer with Zeb if we end up in a pitched battle against the Imperials. You’ll be needed here as our Force-navigator, obviously,” she added.

“And speak of the gundark, eh?” Ahsoka said as Jacen returned to them. “See you later for more?”

“You bet, Lady Tano,” he replied. “C’mon mom, let’s get something to eat. I’m so hungry I could power down a whole bantha!”

“Let’s go find you something, then,” she laughed.

* * *​

 

[Jedi Marso]

Side note: posted as a pic because the board mangles the tabular format and makes it unreadable.

 

[Jedi Marso]

The Imperial fleet dropped out of hyperspace near the anomaly, as close as it could get until the spatial distortions and gravimetric disturbances would begin causing real problems for any starships moving in closer. Admiral Thrawn’s battered communications relay was nearby, so communications with he and his command staff at the center of the anomaly were stronger and clearer than they’d ever been. Contact had been made at each realspace reversion so that information could be exchanged, and schedules revised. According to Thrawn, his star destroyer Chimaera was all but derelict now. Heavily damaged by the Purrgil, she rested in a freefall orbit around the one habitable planet at the center of anomaly, which they had named Peridea in honor of some old legends. Much of the ship’s equipment had been scavenged, and her crew had moved down to Peridea’s surface, where they had survived by establishing a makeshift colony. Portable generators provided power to the colony, in concert with a solar-power system constructed from cannibalized TIE Fighters. Thrawn’s staff described Peridea as a poor world, capable of sustaining life but not well suited for it. It was rather barren, with a cool climate, lacking a sophisticated eco-system, and survival was hard. The ship’s supplies had run out years ago, so they lived on what they were able to hunt and farm. Ironically, the Purrgil themselves had proved to be a staple source of food for the survivors. When pods of Purrgil arrived at Peridea as part of their migrations, the Imperial survivors culled them for resources. Even a small space whale provided months’ worth of protein, among other useful things like their bones and nerve windings—the latter were excellent natural power conduits.

Chimaera herself was manned by a skeleton crew that served on a rotating basis. Only the ship’s landing bay, command tower, and the lift systems that ran between them were powered full time. As each portion of the ship was scavenged for equipment over the years, it was sealed off when no longer needed, depowered, and depressurized. A few heavy turbolasers remained in commission, for defense against space debris and to shoot the occasional visiting Purrgil as a food source. Her engines had been severely damaged trying to prevent the Purrgil from carrying her here. The three larger main engines were burned out completely, and only three of the four smaller secondary engines still functioned. The ship’s fuel reserves had been carefully conserved over the years; Peridea did not have the raw resources to make more, and Chimaera herself lacked the proper equipment for them to build a refinery. They used moderate amounts of fuel running shuttles between the surface and orbit, and they’d expended more than they wanted to in a years-long trial and error attempt to get a single communications relay into a position that allowed them to contact known space. Thrawn’s people estimated that they only had another six to seven years’ worth of fuel remaining at their present rates of consumption, and then the Chimaera would have to be abandoned for good, and what remained of her crew would be marooned and out of contact indefinitely.

Fortunately for the survivors, salvation had finally arrived.

No time would be wasted—Thrawn and his staff knew Pellaeon was coming for them; they’d begun preparations as soon as the map was obtained, and the fleet was on its way. One of Pellaeon’s ships was a brand new, Imperial II Class star destroyer fresh off one of the only remaining production lines held by the Imperial Remnant. She was already christened with the name Chimaera and boasted the same unique paint scheme as her predecessor. This new ship was manned with only about two thirds of her normal complement, drawn from ISD Harbinger, which was now undermanned at a mere third of her normal complement. Harbinger’s crew was temporarily augmented during the transit by personnel from other ships, but the ship’s complement would be filled out by Peridea survivors during the return journey. The survivors weren’t expected to be overly proficient at their duties, but it was only a temporary measure until they returned to known space. About a third of the old Chimaera’s crew were more senior or experienced people that Thrawn wanted to keep with him, and they would fill the empty positions aboard the new Chimaera.

Captain Pellaeon assumed command of the new Chimaera in anticipation of Thrawn’s return, and he was joined aboard her by Morgan Elsbeth and Shin Hati early in the journey from Seatos. Command of ISD Harbinger was turned over to a newly promoted captain. With the crewing arrangements as they stood, their only real shortfall in the near term was going to be starfighter pilots. The pilots living on Peridea these past ten years were hopelessly out of proficiency, and some probably no longer met the physical standards required for fighter pilots in the Imperial Navy. By Pellaeon’s estimate, the combined fleet’s starfighter strength would be down by the equivalent of about four squadrons. Acceptable, for the simple return trip to known space—they weren’t anticipating action.

In the interest of saving time and effort, no effort was going to be made to recover or salvage anything from the old Chimaera other than any intact auxiliary craft such as starfighters, shuttles, landing craft, and valuable hardware like AT-AT’s and AT-ST’s. These recovery efforts would use up most of the old Chimaera’s remaining fuel reserves, but that no longer mattered—nobody was staying behind.

Pellaeon was surprised to learn that there would be a fair number of children coming back with them as well; slightly more than a fifth of the old Chimaera’s crew was female, and nature had taken its course over the past decade in the new colony. The relationship dynamics and social structure that developed with such an imbalance of males and females would have made an interesting case study, if any scientists had been along on this trip. None were, however, and the whole colony was being dismantled and evacuated in any case. Stories of epic competitions and rivalries between the men over the few available females would make an interesting diversion on the return trip—provided Thrawn hadn’t merely exercised his authority to prevent such disruptions. In any resource-poor community, criminal behavior had doubtless reared its ugly head as well. He was confident that such issues were handled summarily, with Peridea being run by Imperial policies and procedures.

Pellaeon stood on the new Chimaera’s bridge now, in communication with Grand Admiral Thrawn. The latter appeared as a hologram on a communications pad, clad in his traditional, impeccable white uniform. Thrawn had always been thin, but now he even looked slightly emaciated. He obviously hadn’t spared himself any of the hardships suffered by his crew during their exile on Peridea. “We’ll commence our penetration of the anomaly shortly, grand admiral. We estimate it will take about forty hours to reach Peridea. Once we arrive, we can immediately begin transferring the survivors aboard.”

“Don’t attempt to bring through multiple ships,” Thrawn ordered. “The new Chimaera will be sufficient for our needs, and it will be difficult enough for Lady Elsbeth to bring you through alone. Attempting to bring others in trail will only result in casualties and damaged ships. Expect a rough ride, captain. It won’t be pleasant, coming or going.”

“Yes, grand admiral.”

“We’ve begun transferring all landing craft and shuttles to the surface, except those which we’ll use to facilitate the transfer of salvageable military hardware such as the all-terrain walkers. Pilots are being shuttled up to man the starfighters which we’ll be transferring over. Let’s keep as tightly to the schedule as possible, captain. As I’m sure you understand, all of us are eager to be away from here.”

“We’re very excited to have you back, sir,” Pellaeon said with some genuine excitement. “It’s going to completely shift our fortunes in this war.”

“I expect it will,” Thrawn replied without bravado. “I’ve had a long time to strategize, waiting for your arrival.”

One of his senior lieutenants appeared, looking baffled and worried. “One moment, admiral,” Pellaeon said. “What is it?”

“We’ve got a saboteur aboard!” the lieutenant said, sounding both offended and perplexed. “The chief engineer found three of these, rigged up to our primary and auxiliary hyperdrive motivators.” He handed the device to Pellaeon. It was a proton charge rigged with adhesives and a timing mechanism, now disarmed. “It was set to detonate during our return transit, after recovering our people on Peridea.”

“Which means whoever set it knows the schedule,” Pellaeon mused. A series of proton charges destroying their hyperdrive while transiting the anomaly would strand the ship inside it, where she’d quickly be caught by one of the gravitational distortions and either pulled into a star or black hole, irradiated with lethal amounts of radiation, or simply ripped apart. It was a sure death sentence—whoever set the devices meant to kill them all. The Imperial captain turned the device over in his hand. “This isn’t a standard Imperial proton charge,” he remarked.

“No sir. I have the weapons officers on all ships running inventories as we speak. So far nothing has been reported missing.”

“Where is the Aldo Nova?”

“Lady Hati took the ship and her men back over to the Sion, captain. My understanding is that she’s the backup to navigate through the anomaly, if something unexpected befalls Lady Elsbeth.”

“That was the arrangement. How convenient that seems, in hindsight,” Pellaeon mused. He turned his attention back to Grand Admiral Thrawn. “My apologies, grand admiral, but it appears we may have a traitor in our midst. An attempted act of sabotage designed to destroy this ship and assassinate you.”

“Put the schedule on hold,” Thrawn replied immediately. “We are under no pressing time constraint, and this is a dangerous, delicate operation. Take the time necessary to deal with this traitor on your end, and then we can resume the operation. Do you have any idea who it might be?”

“I do, in fact,” Pellaeon reported. “It will be dealt with immediately. You have my sincere apologies for the delay, Admiral Thrawn.”

“After ten years, a few more hours are a minor price to ensure our success. Report your readiness to proceed when you are able. Carry on, captain.” Thrawn’s hologram winked out.

Pellaeon turned to his subordinate. “Lieutenant, these may only be the devices we were meant to find. There could be others set to destroy vital systems or subsystems at a critical moment. Put together scanning teams and check all ship’s systems whose loss could adversely affect our transit to and from Peridea. I want this work done in six hours. At that time, see me if you feel there is more to be done, and we’ll adjust accordingly. Good work, and pass that to the chief engineer as well. Carry on.”

“Aye aye, sir!”

“Deck officer!”

“Sir!”

“Pass my respects to Lady Elsbeth and inform her I’ll be calling on her directly. Prep my shuttle for transport over to the Sion, but do not inform them I am coming. Contact Major Davos and order his death trooper squad to gear up and board my shuttle. I’ll brief them on the way over to the Sion.”

“Yes sir!”

* * *​

 

[Jedi Marso]

Shin Hati felt strong danger in the Force as she made her way to Sion’s landing bay. “Crix, come in,” she called. “Crix, respond!” There was no reply, and the reason was apparent a few minutes later when she entered the landing bay. Her mercenary crew was lined up on the hangar deck, on their knees, with their hands clasped behind their heads. A squad of black-armored death troopers stood in front of them, each man covering one of her own with a long blaster rifle. Three more squads of regular stormtroopers were deployed around the hangar, all in good tactical positions. The two figures standing slightly apart were the ones that caused the icy pit to settle in her stomach: Captain Pellaeon, and Morgan Elsbeth.

There could only be one reason they were here.

“Ahh, Shin Hati,” Morgan Elsbeth greeted her. Elsbeth’s eyes, which could be warm when she wished, were as cold as Hati’s were, now. “You know why you’ve been summoned.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Hati lied, knowing that it was probably futile when speaking to the Nightsister.

“Perhaps this will clarify matters, then,” Pellaeon said in his cultured core systems accent, holding up one of Hati’s improvised proton time bombs. “Surely, you didn’t think you could get away with this. And don’t bother to blame any of your crew,” he added, when he saw Shin glance at them and start to reply. “These were placed in highly secure areas aboard Chimaera—areas that your people couldn’t normally access, but one with your talents could. The same talents one would need to force a security officer to erase security recordings, and then make her forget she’d done it afterwards. I suspect we’ll find more proton charges matching this one when we conduct a thorough search of the Aldo Nova. Am I right?”

Hati had no answer for him.

“Why?” Elsbeth asked. “You showed such promise—even more so than your master before you.”

Hati knew she was caught; she didn’t know what else to do, so she acted. Her lightsaber flew into her hand, igniting as it came, and Pellaeon suddenly levitated from the deck, eyes bulging, and gasping desperately as his feet kicked helplessly and his face turned a bright shade of red. Rage filled her—in that moment she wanted nothing more than to squeeze the puss out of this Imperial dog, bearing down until she heard the satisfying snap of his neck, but she didn’t have the time to spare. She hurled him into the line of death troopers, knocking several of them off their feet.

Her crew began to react, but the remaining death troopers opened fire, acting on prior orders. Her mercenaries were cut down on the spot, even as she screamed in defiance and pulled the nearest death trooper towards her, cutting him almost in half with her lightsaber as he flew by. She was already moving, heading straight for Morgan Elsbeth. Without her to navigate the anomaly, there was no mission. If nothing else, she could ensure Thrawn remained stranded.

Morgan Elsbeth held her ground, unmoving except to lift her chin and look slightly to one side. Her eyes rolled back, and they turned a now-familiar inky black within an instant. Shin felt the dark side of the Force descend over the landing bay like a stifling, suffocating blanket. Two dozen stormtroopers suddenly acted as one; their weapons came up, set for stun, and two dozen perfectly timed, perfectly synchronized stun rings lashed into Shin Hati with unerring precision. Stun shots were harder than a regular blaster bolt to deflect with a lightsaber, but easier to absorb with the Force. As skilled as she was, Shin Hati had no chance of deflecting or absorbing that many hitting her with perfect timing. She finally rag-dolled after the fifth hit, and her forward momentum caused her to face-plant painfully on the deck, completely immobilized. Her lightsaber flew from her grip as she fell, straight into the outstretched hand of Morgan Elsbeth. The Nightsister deactivated it and hung it casually on her belt.

The fight was over almost as soon as it began. Pellaeon picked himself up, eyes wide as he wheezed for breath, and rubbing at his throat. He watched fearfully as Elsbeth closed the distance to Shin Hati, reaching out with one hand and lifting the fallen mercenary into the air with the Force. Hati hung immobile before her as the Nightsister placed her palms on either side of Shin’s temples.

“I asked you a question!” Elsbeth hissed, as dark, eldritch green tentacles of energy grew from the tips of the Nightsister’s fingertips and seemed to penetrate Hati’s skull. Even stunned nerveless, her blue eyes widened in sightless terror, before rolling back so far that only the whites showed. Then she screamed.

It was a scream like none of the Imperials had ever heard before, even the battle-hardened death troopers who’d committed countless atrocities to earn the black armor they wore. A few of them stepped back despite themselves, and the blood drained from Pellaeon’s face as his features went slack in horror. When Elsbeth spoke again, everyone in the hangar bay heard her with their minds as well as their ears, her voice amplifying horribly through the power of the dark side of the Force.

Foolish child! You thought to betray ME?! You seek vengeance for the loss of your family—WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF LOSS? Elsbeth’s voice was a scream in their minds now, an anguished howl, and the Imperials began collapsing to their knees, their hands going to the sides of their helmets in shock and pain. Elsbeth’s voice went on, thundering in their heads and reverberating across the hangar. I lost my sisters . . . my entire people! MY WORLD! Yours is nothing compared to mine! NOTHING! Her words were accompanied by the emotional echoes of her loss and pain, amplified in their heads a thousandfold, powerful enough to break worlds. Shin Hati no longer had the breath to scream—her mouth was frozen open in a silent wail. Pellaeon thought sure that the girl was going to die on the spot, her mind shattered by the force of the Nightsister’s powerful rage. After an eternally long moment of that voice in his head, he thought he was going to die.

Then it was over, as suddenly as it began. Troops all over the hangar collapsed to the deck, shaken, and only slowly began to pick themselves up. Although not Force sensitive, all of them could feel the lifting of an intangible shadow around them. The lights suddenly seemed a little brighter, and the painful voice in their heads was absent, giving way to the normal hum of machinery and the subtle, subsonic feel of the ship’s drive in the deck plates. Shin Hati collapsed to the deck in a limp heap. She was alive, but her breath came in short, desperate pants. She spasmed uncontrollably, and she would be unable to move on her own for some time.

Morgan Elsbeth’s eyes returned to normal, and she gestured shortly at Major Davos. “Secure her as we discussed,” she ordered.

“Ye—yes, Lady Elsbeth,” the commando replied, his voice quaking slightly. He moved with alacrity, producing a pair of shock binders, and securing her wrists behind her back. He switched them on, causing the binders to glow slightly with violet energy, crackling slightly on the insides of cuffs where they touched skin. The first shock was delivered immediately, and the girl’s body jerked violently. Hati looked poorly; her face was swelling, turning black and blue where it hit the deck with nothing to break her fall. Blood seeped from her broken nose and her eyes were wide open, frozen and unfocused, with dilated pupils.

“Are you all right, captain?” Elsbeth asked, addressing Pellaeon.

“I think so,” he replied. His voice came out as a whispered rasp, and his neck looked dangerously swollen. He was laboring somewhat to breathe, but Elsbeth didn’t sense he was in mortal danger from his wounds. His eyes were still fearful when he looked at her. “What are your orders?”

“We will return to Chimaera immediately and proceed with the operation.”

“Are we taking the traitor with us, or should we place her in detention here?” Davos asked.

“Neither. Grand Admiral Thrawn’s policy is clear: enemy Force users are to be eliminated with extreme prejudice. Terminate her, immediately.”

“As ordered!” the death trooper replied, raising his blaster. He was forestalled when Elsbeth held up her hand, looking contemptuously down on her captive.

“Not like that,” she amended, a cruel smile crossing her features. “Get your men back aboard the shuttle, major.” She turned to another pair of Sion’s stormtroopers, waving them over and nodding toward Shin Hati.

“Space her.”

* * *​

Nobody paid any attention to the R4 astromech in standard Imperial livery that appeared to help dispose of the executed mercenaries. It was normal for droids to show up when menial tasks like this needed to be accomplished. In fact, the R4 unit was so helpful that it reported to the stormtrooper commander that it would see to the task itself, freeing stormtroopers to resume their normal duties. Under the auspices of going to fetch a hover lift, the droid followed the two stormtroopers dragging Shin Hati’s inert body out of the main hangar, down a side corridor to the compartment that held both an exosuit locker and an auxiliary airlock. They were located on the Sion’s very bottom deck, so this was a deck-level airlock that accessed the underside of the star destroyer, used primarily for external maintenance.

R4 followed them at a distance, waiting until they entered the compartment before accelerating as silently as he was able. He passed into the room behind them and set off an EMP ion charge identical to the one used in their operation to break Morgan Elsbeth off the New Republic prison ship. The lights in the compartment went out, and so did the power in Hati’s binders.

She was only half-conscious and pain-wracked, but Shin Hati understood the desperation of her situation, and that only she could save herself, now. R4 had managed the one thing she couldn’t—restoring her access to the Force. She reached out now, and the binders fell off her wrists with an audible click. The emergency lamps were switching on as Hati used the Force to lift both stormtroopers off the deck, choking them to death as silently as she could manage. There wasn’t anyone else nearby to hear, and it prevented them from calling for help over their helmet commlinks. When their struggles finally ceased, she let the corpses fall limply to the deck.

R4 beeped curiously at her, but she still couldn’t move yet.

She lay there for some time, worried that these troopers would be missed, and that she’d be discovered. R4 remained steadfast by her side as she tapped into the Force, using it to accelerate her recovery, stimulating her nerve centers and easing the pain from her abused face and the multiple stun shots. Eventually she felt the feeling return to her limbs, and she twitched with effort for several minutes, trying to get up. Finally, her body responded properly.

She sat up, looking gratefully at the droid. She’d never thought much about R4, other than as she needed him for their various operations. Re-painting his livery had been nothing short of genius in hindsight, although at the time, she thought she might need him to infiltrate the engineering space of the Chimaera to plant her proton charges. Unintended consequences were working in her favor, or the Force was with her. Maybe both.

“Thanks, R4,” she said, surprised she still had her voice. She figured she’d screamed herself hoarse under Morgan Elsbeth’s onslaught, and her throat was sore. “You are the only friend I’ve got,” she added, pausing a moment to reflect on what that meant. She was truly alone, now, and her predicament was dire. The Empire is the worst enemy you can make. “Well,” she muttered to herself, “I’ve gone and done it now, haven’t I?” She stood up and patted the droid on his dome. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.” His answering whistles were cheerful and brave but inquiring. She informed him that she had a plan, leading him back toward the hangar. Just shy of it was a small control room, with a data access port.

“Can you order the hangar cleared, and the tractor beam taken offline? We only need a few minutes,” she added. R4 whistled affirmatively, producing a rounded probe which he slid into the port, spinning it like a locking mechanism. A minute later, Shin saw the Imperial officer in charge signal all his men that they had orders to vacate the hangar. Once they were clear, she and R4 entered the bay and stole aboard Aldo Nova. She was fully fueled and provisioned as a contingency, but the lighter had nowhere near the range to make it back to known space without known ports for refueling. Shin didn’t have the star charts from the Rakatan map to navigate with, either, but what she did have was a functioning ship and a strong desire to escape the Imperials.

Shin’s face throbbed as she flipped the switches that brought the ship to life, igniting her fusion drive. The whining roar of her engines filled the hangar, and Shin was vaguely aware of a few bolder Imperials charging back in, but it was too late to stop her now. She ordered R4 to raise the shields as soon as they were clear, then eased the lighter up on her repulsorlifts to pass through the magnetic shield into the open space of Sion’s hangar bay. Shin didn’t give the bridge time to react, or to bring the tractor beam back online. She gunned it, flying Aldo Nova in a descending arc away from Sion and the Imperial task force as fast as the ship would accelerate.

What now? she asked herself. The TIE Fighters on picket patrol were already vectoring toward her with orders to intercept and destroy. She accelerated to maximum speed and turned it into a stern chase, but she only had a few minutes before the fighters passed into firing range. If she sustained any sort of damage out here, it would probably strand her. Trust in the Force, she reminded herself. She extended her senses, reaching out for guidance as she brought the hyperdrive online. Near the anomaly, with no charts and no navicomp support, a blind jump was suicide—except for the Force. She knew that was how Elsbeth would navigate Chimaera into the anomaly, so Shin could use it to navigate away. But to where? she asked herself desperately. Anywhere but here! was the answer of her inner voice.

She gave the choice to the Force and listened to its guidance. Her hands worked the controls without her conscious input, and Aldo Nova gradually shifted course, coming around to . . . there. That was it. “Here goes nothing, R4,” she breathed to the droid, pulling back the hyperspace throttle.

Aldo Nova leapt into hyperspace, leaving the Imperial fleet behind.

 

[Jedi Marso]

Chapter 13​

By all rights, Ezra Bridger should have died years before; died, or gone crazy.

Spending ten years marooned on a moon with no technology and no other human beings was more than most people could have survived. Humans were a social species, tribal in nature, and always at their best when working together in groups. Proverbial ‘lone wolves’ tended not to last very long, especially in survival situations pitting them against an alien ecology with unknown predators. One had to hunt and gather for his own subsistence, learning by careful trial and error what was safe to eat and drink, and what wasn’t. A poisonous root or berry, alien bacteria in a drinking source, or a moderate allergic reaction due to chance skin contact with plant life could render someone fatally vulnerable. All it took was a protracted illness, a debilitating injury, or a moment’s carelessness to become low hanging fruit for carnivores living by the law of the jungle. Then, if these physical obstacles to survival could be overcome, one would have to deal with the mental predators. Loneliness was the worst for a Human. It affected people differently according to their tolerance for solitude, but even for the most introverted, loneliness could eventually eat away one’s sanity so gradually they didn’t even notice it. Ezra Bridger had never been particularly solitary, and in the years prior to his exile he’d flourished in the warmth and belonging of a ‘found family’ that was a surrogate for the one he’d lost. He’d willingly chosen this exile to defeat Grand Admiral Thrawn and free his homeworld, but that hadn’t made life without his friends any easier to bear.

Fortunately, Ezra Bridger had advantages not given to most members of his race.

He had the Force, and he was trained as a Jedi. That wasn’t all, either: like many Force sensitives, Bridger’s natural talents in the Force ran a certain way. He possessed a strong ability to commune with animal life through the Force, sometimes approaching the point of real two-way communication. It was an ability that served him well in the past, saving his life and the lives of his friends on more than one occasion. Here, on this world the natives called Valarian, it had saved his life time and time again.

There was a sapient species on Valarian: a race of avian pterosaurs that called themselves the Zef. Their name for their homeworld was the combination of two words in their language: ‘Val’, meaning ‘life’, and ‘Arian’, meaning ‘nest’. So ‘Valarian’ was the ‘Life-nest’. These were more mental concepts than actual words—the Zef didn’t speak in auditory tones but communicated through telepathy. They were highly intelligent, and all Zef were very mildly Force sensitive, but not so much that they exhibited Jedi-like talents. The structure of their bodies, which lacked arms and hands with opposable thumbs, trapped them in a non-technological state. They couldn’t build fires, they couldn’t invent the wheel, shape stone, or build complex structures. The Zef lived their lives in harmony with the natural ecology of their world, and although they were clever astronomers (by eye alone) and mathematicians, they had no practical uses for either skill. They had no written language, they didn’t enjoy art or music in the sense that Humans did, but they had their own mental equivalents of all these things, shared and passed between them and handed down from one generation to the next—the Zef possessed eidetic memory as individuals, and a strong sub-conscious racial memory shared through their mild sensitivity to the Force. They were a peaceful race by and large, content, and well adapted to their world. Unless some other advanced species transplanted them offworld for some reason, the entire lifecycle of the Zef would be spent right here on Valarian, the Lift-nest, and nowhere else.

The Zef were the reason Ezra Bridger had survived the past decade and stayed sane. They were his friends and he theirs, and they’d done each other many favors over the years—some of them lifesaving.

The trip to Peridea was long, dangerous, and exhausting. The Imperials managed to free Thrawn from the confining grip of the Purrgil shortly into the voyage, or he wouldn’t have survived very long. The intervening delay and confusion gave Bridger time to lose himself in the bowels of the Chimaera, and a weeks-long game of cat-and-mouse ensued. The Imperials hunted him relentlessly, and Ezra had fallen back on the Force and the mental powers afforded a Jedi to survive. He became an expert at clouding minds, distracting search parties, and foiling security systems. He remained in mental contact with the Purrgil that grafted themselves to the star destroyer to drag it through hyperspace against the will of its crew, and he could sometimes ask them to cause fresh, damaging distractions to get him out of a potential jam. He successfully re-programed a few droids to aid his effort and managed to keep the fact hidden from his Imperial enemies. He grew eyes in the back of his head and slept in secret nooks and crannies with one eye open and a blaster clenched in his fist. Sometimes he impersonated officers, sometimes stormtroopers, and sometimes pilots, but he never spent very long in one area of the ship, or in a single type of disguise. There were thousands of people in a star destroyer’s crew, but it was surprising how insular it could still be, and how the crew formed small communities and cliques within itself that were difficult for an outsider to penetrate. Staying ahead of the hunters meant staying versatile, and on the move. He stole sustenance where and when he could, and with the help of his droid allies he laid the groundwork for stealing a shuttle and escaping when the opportunity finally presented itself. He understood that he was going to be lost somewhere in the uncharted expanse of the galaxy when he did, but he also knew he couldn’t remain aboard Chimaera forever. Thrawn was far too clever, too forward thinking, and eventually he’d lay a trap that Bridger wasn’t clever or lucky enough to avoid. In the interim, the Purrgil were the dilemma that dominated most of the grand admiral’s time and effort.

Ezra made his move when the Purrgil and their captive star destroyer reached Peridea. This was where the gigantic space-whales had finally released Chimaera, signaling to both Bridger and the Imperials that this was their intended destination. Ezra made his move, making off with the Sentinel class shuttle that he’d earmarked for his escape. He couldn’t stock it with extra provisions, or anything else he needed, because the Imperials kept a close watch on the vehicles, knowing an attempt at theft and escape would be coming at some point. He used his re-programmed droid allies to secure the vessel, springing the trap meant for him and destroying the droids in the process, but he was able to get away. Pursued by TIE Fighters and temporarily confounded by the nature of the anomaly, he made his escape by literally following the departing Purrgil, tapping into the Force and navigating himself out of the anomaly partly through Jedi intuition and partly by following their lead. The Imperials were incapable of following—at least one shuttle was destroyed in the attempt. Thrawn and his bridge team grasped the nature of their dilemma far faster than Bridger would have thought possible, but their attempts to use him as a pathfinder failed in the end.

Between the damage taken from pursuing Imperial fighters and the harsh gravitational stresses of navigating the anomaly, his shuttle was in rough shape when Bridger finally broke free of it two days after fleeing the Chimaera. His mental link with the Purrgil proved to be his salvation; sensing his distress, several of the space-whales led the crippled shuttle through the short hyperspace jump to the mountainous, forest moon of Valarian, where he promptly crash-landed.

It wasn’t long after that he made his first contact with the curious Zef, and they were able to shelter and succor him until he had recovered from the injuries he suffered in the crash. When he’d eaten his way through the limited supply of emergency rations in the wrecked shuttle, the Zef aided him in locating natural sources of food, and safe drinking water. Mostly carnivorous themselves, the Zef also hunted for him until he was well enough to do so for himself and shown the local dangers in terms of dangerous plants and animals. Ezra had Force-guided intuition to aid him as well, but the truth was that he wouldn’t have survived without the Zef. In the first few months, at least, the learning curve would have been too steep, and Valarian’s ecology too deadly for him to survive without the benefit of technology.

Over time, Ezra returned the favor as best he was able. The Zef had one particularly dangerous natural enemy: a semi-sapient race of ape-like simians they named the Ayto. These were large creatures, averaging about eight and a half to nine feet in height, covered from head to toe in mottled brown fur that served as good natural camouflage in most areas. They were slightly larger and much stronger than Wookies, prehensile, arboreal, and almost solely carnivorous. As a species they were at the very front end of sapience, just beginning to use rudimentary tools and weapons, but not advanced enough to have discovered the uses of fire, or to have invented any sort of ranged weapon like a blow dart, bow, or boomerang. Their tribal organization was loose-knit, usually consisting of a few males run by an alpha with two to three times as many females and associated young. They didn’t possess any real form of spoken language, and even basic stone painting or carving was thousands of years in their future. That said, their intelligence was evolving, and they were physically equipped to develop technology when their mental capacity caught up. In a future epoch, they represented an existential threat to the Zef, unless some form of mutual understanding and cooperation could be reached. In the meantime, the savage Ayto regarded Zef as food and a natural resource: the pterosaurs had tough, leathery hides and strong bones and teeth that were useful for making primitive weapons and tools.

The Ayto were a clear and present danger to the marooned Ezra Bridger, as well. He’d been on Valarian less than a week prior to his first run-in with a pack of hunting males, and it was almost the end of him. They were faster than he was over the ground, faster in the trees, and at the time, Ezra was injured and not able to move very fast or well. He no longer had his lightsaber—he’d gifted that to Sabine Wren, long before. He’d escaped the Imperials with a single E-11 stormtrooper rifle and a brace of blaster pistols; he exhausted the power packs for the pistols during his first encounter with the Ayto. The carbine he’d exhausted later, defending the aeries of his Zef allies from encroaching Ayto, who also considered Zef eggs a prize delicacy. Once his blasters were depleted, Ezra was forced to fall back on weapons as primitive as those the Ayto used, coupled with the Force.

Although the Zef couldn’t build, Ezra could. His friends were particularly vulnerable to being hunted at natural watering holes, which tended to be in lower lying areas. However, partly due to their nature and partly as a means of natural defense, the Zef liked to build their aeries in high places, well above the tree-line where it was more difficult for other predators (and especially the Ayto) to approach unseen. Ezra spent months flying on the backs of his Zef friends, prospecting suitable pieces of natural rock, and directing them where to place the stones they could carry in their talons. Over time he was able to fashion a crude aqueduct of sorts that would direct snow-melt into a large cistern that he built with little more than his bare hands, some primitive tools he could fashion, and the Force. This gave the Zef, particularly their young, a much safer place to drink that was also much closer to their aeries. Building the first one was the hardest; after that, he was able to construct a few more in other places where there were large concentrations of Zef. He scouted lines of approach that the Ayto favored when coming up into the areas where the Zef nested, and there he built traps that mostly involved trip lines set to trigger heavy rock falls. Even when these failed to deter the Ayto, they served as an early warning system that spurred the Zef to defensive action.

Given the lack of tools and technology, Ezra did what he could to help his new friends, who had helped him survive those critical first months there. The presence of the Ayto stifled his creative efforts somewhat; not because they were stopping him from improvising better tools and gear for himself, but because he didn’t want to show them those things—their intelligence was advanced enough to be adaptable. If by his own example Bridger taught them the art of bowery, or how to fashion a boomerang, or similar advances, the Ayto would adopt them, and the Zef would suffer for it.

So it was a trade-off, of sorts.

The projects that Ezra took on also gave him something to do: a way to fill the days, weeks, and months, and a reason to work with and interact with the Zef on a semi-continuous basis. They weren’t Human and shared almost nothing in common in terms of culture or lived experience, but they were alive, intelligent, and provided him a social circle of sorts that kept him from locking himself within his own mind and slowly going crazy. He often mentally joked that having the Zef to talk to prevented him from talking to himself.

He didn’t let his Jedi skills atrophy, either. He continued to exercise his body and his mind, and he meditated in the Force every day. There was no way for him to craft a new lightsaber, but on a moon covered with massive trees, there was no shortage of petrified wood available to carve a practice sword. He kept up his forms, primarily as a form of exercise but also as a mental focus. During his visits to the Jedi temple on Lothal, he’d had conversations with Master Yoda across a vast expanse of space, and perhaps even time as well—Ezra was aware that time inside the temple didn’t always work the same way it did outside. Whether those visitations were Master Yoda, or some odd manifestation of the Force, the simple truth was that he’d spoken to someone, and he’d been given guidance. He’d sought that guidance here, on Valarian, reaching deeply into the wellspring of the Force to contact anyone who might be listening.

After ten years of trying daily, nobody had answered.

In one respect, it was easy to be discouraged. But from another, he’d taken it as a sign that things were okay despite his predicament—that perhaps this was where he was supposed to be, at least for now. After ten years, he’d all but given up hope of ever seeing home again, so he simply made the best of it. There were good days and bad days, but his friends among the Zef were quite intuitive, and knew when his spirit needed a lift. Things could have been a lot worse—Valarian at least was a livable world, quite beautiful in its own rugged, natural way, and in the Zef he had found friends and allies. He was alone, yes, but not totally alone.

With stones transported to a remote location by his friends and then using the Force for the finer points of construction, he’d built himself a hermit’s cottage in a small, secluded valley that was mysteriously free of the Ayto. Whether something had happened here to frighten them off en masse, or it was taboo for some other reason, they simply didn’t venture here. His friends had turned him on to this spot; the local Zef enjoyed the valley as a safe place to drink without being hunted, which had the added advantage of bringing them around often for company. Employing the Zef as porters, Ezra had plundered the shuttle for anything useful and transported it here, making himself a home. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been anything aboard in the way of extra clothing. His clothes had worn out over the years, and he’d walked his boots to tatters. These days he dressed in home-tanned skins and furs, and rough, home-made moccasins protected and warmed his feet. His first attempts at making clothes for himself had poor results, but over time his craft improved considerably. He no longer bothered with trying to shave; when his hair, or his beard and mustache got too long, he simply hacked off the excess.

Agriculture was an alien concept to the Zef, but it was something else that Ezra taught them, by accident and in a haphazard fashion. There weren’t any native grains he could farm, but he could garden some roots and tubers, native vegetables, berry bushes, and fruit trees. When the Zef saw what he was doing—basically transplanting these things to grow in a more convenient place—they quickly realized they could do it too, after a fashion. Ezra taught them to plow basic furrows by dragging a sharp edged, heavy piece of stone over open ground, suspended from a cross-bar they could grip in their talons by leather-straps that he made for them. This worked best after a good heavy rain when the ground was wet and malleable. Then they could drop whole uprooted plants into the furrows, and some would take. Ezra once watched them plant an orchard by flying over a field with uprooted trees in their talons, shaking loose the fruit to fall to earth where some of it would germinate, to grow new trees. It was an extremely basic form of agriculture, but still a way for them to increase their own food supply—if not by eating what grew themselves, then by hunting the herbivorous animals that did. In some cases, these roughly planted fields drew the Ayto, to eat and to hunt, and the Zef used those opportunities to savagely cull their natural enemies. In time the Ayto would learn to avoid these areas as extremely dangerous, creating more ‘safe zones’ for the Zef. The Ayto were still far too primitive to grasp the concept of agriculture for their own use. Ezra had his doubts that the practice would last even among the Zef—they weren’t physically built for it, and even with Ezra’s help it was difficult for them. After he died and the rough stone plows eventually wore out or broke, they wouldn’t be able to make any more.

This was the life that Ezra Bridger lived for a decade, and had resigned himself to living until the natural cycle of life and death on Valarian took him in turn. That was the way of things—the way of the Force.

Then, on a day that started like countless days before, things finally changed.

* * *​

 

[Jedi Marso]

The morning was cool and damp; dew covered the stone slabs of his cottage, making it slick and turning the stone’s color a darker gray than normal. Ezra emerged some time after sunup, dressed in his native buckskins and moccasins under a fur poncho. He cast out with his senses in the Force almost by rote, alert to the presence of predators or any other dangers. Just because the Ayto didn’t come into this valley now was no assurance that they never would. He made his way over to the garden and chose one of his home-grown melons for breakfast. He sat down on the stone bench in front of his cold firepit and split open the light green rind, going for the succulent golden fruit beneath. This specimen of melon didn’t have much taste, but what it did have was mildly pleasant. Ezra ate mechanically, his mind wandering, and when he was finished his wiped his hands against the stone of his cottage, using the condensate to wash them clean of the sticky fruit juice before wiping them dry on his pantlegs. He was trying to decide on sitting meditation versus moving meditation (sword practice) when a shadow passed across him, momentarily blocking out the sun.

Who’s there? he called with the Force.

‘Tis I, Samut, came the reply to his mind. He waited until the Zef landed just beyond his garden, kicking up a fair breeze as he did. Samut was the Zef equivalent of a youth, somewhere between teenager and adult. He was a good fifty feet long, with a wingspan of almost twice that. He leaned his head down to look at Ezra through faceted, sapphire-colored eyes with no irises or pupils. The eyes of the Zef whirled and glowed with an inner light; Ezra had always found them quite beautiful. Samut was at that stage in life where each day was a fresh new adventure, and he and his circle of friends would venture far and wide in search of it. In real terms, Samut was about eight standard years old—Ezra fondly remembered him as a newborn hatchling. Zef lifespans only ran about 55-60 Human years. Some of the older adult Zef that Ezra had known in his early days on Valarian had already passed away from simple age.

Greetings, friend-Samut.

Greetings. I bring interesting news, friend-Ezra. Another star-bird fell from the sky last night. I am told by those who remember that it reminds them very much of your own arrival here.

Ezra’s head began to spin, and he reached out blindly behind himself, sitting down hard on the damp ground. His heart was suddenly pounding so fast that he thought he might pass out. “Breathe,” he said out loud to himself. “Breathe.” He was so used to communicating by thought, that he tended to think to himself in speech, as if the two modes were permanently transposed in his brain.

Are you alright, friend-Ezra? I sense distress!

No, it’s alright . . . I’m alright, Ezra assured him. This ship . . . star-bird . . . how far from here is it?

Half a day’s flight. It is nowhere near the site of your own star-bird. I am told by the elders that I should take you there, if you wish to go, friend-Ezra. Others flock there as well, to see it. I am told it is a marvel to see.

Warn our friends to keep their distance, Ezra told him immediately, concern blossoming in his mind. It might be dangerous to get too close—most beings like me cannot communicate mind to mind the way we do. They will mistake you for wild predators, like the Ayto, and possibly strike with weapons against which you are defenseless.

I will relay your message as soon as I can, friend-Ezra, Samut assured him. Ezra had no idea whose ship it was—the odds were heavily against it being anyone from known space unless it was Imperial. Had Thrawn somehow managed to escape the anomaly and come searching for him? “More likely that he’s found me by pure accident, if it’s him at all,” he mused. “More likely still that it’s from some other starfaring species in this corner of the galaxy. Prospectors? Pirates? Settlers? Or someone else who’s simply going to be stuck here?” There was only one way to find out. He asked Samut to wait and vanished into his cottage to retrieve his Imperial issue canteen and fill it with water from the plastic storage tank he’d also torn out of his crashed shuttle. He gathered his best spear and the hunting knife he’d ground from a small, jagged piece of metal alloy he’d recovered from his own crash site. Lastly, he took a small pouch stuffed with jerked meat, and he was ready for an expedition. He stepped back outside and leapt easily onto Samut’s neck with a little boost from the Force.

Samut didn’t waste any time; Ezra braced himself as the powerful young pterosaur pushed off his own muscular haunches, launching himself into the air and beating with gigantic, leathery wings for altitude. Flying on the back of a Zef was a tremendous thrill, but Ezra was too distracted this time to enjoy it. As he squinted into the wind of their flight, soaring higher and faster, he couldn’t help but think about how slow this truly was next to a set of fusion engines and a working hyperdrive. “If that ship can leave . . . if she’s space worthy and not shipwrecked like I am . . . “ his voice trailed off, and his heart beat even faster. It might be his ticket off Valarian.

Finally!

It hardly seemed possible, after all this time. Even if this ship couldn’t reach known space, there were other spacefaring civilizations in this part of the galaxy. Thrawn himself was from the Unknown Regions: The Chiss Ascendency. That wasn’t somewhere Ezra wanted to go, but at this point he’d take anywhere with some semblance of technology and galactic civilization. He trusted that the Force could guide him to such a system, and from there . . . who knew? Perhaps he could find a ship that could take him all the way home.

You are excited, friend-Ezra! I can sense it! Samut said to him.

Yes, I am excited, friend-Samut!

Are you going to leave Valarian?

The thought brought Ezra a pang of sadness. As much as he wanted to leave—burned to leave!—he had formed an attachment of sorts after ten years here. How could it be otherwise? He didn’t hate this place at all; in his own cheerful fashion, he loved it. If it wasn’t so far from home he’d consider coming back, just to visit his Zef friends if for no other reason. But he knew in his heart of hearts that if he did leave, he would never return. After all they’d done for each other, Ezra would never lie to his friends about his intentions.

I don’t know yet, he answered truthfully. But if it’s possible, friend-Samut, yes. I’m going to leave.

* * *​

 

[Jedi Marso]

Ezra knew they were getting close when he spotted a half dozen Zef flying a wide circle in the sky, resembling a pack of carrion eaters patiently orbiting a dying animal. It wasn’t a good look from the perspective of someone sitting on the ground in a starship; the Zef were large pterosaurs, and any intelligent humanoid on the ground would almost certainly interpret them as predators. They were predators, but they would never hunt or eat another sapient.

Friend-Samut, please ask the others to pull back for a while.

Why, friend-Ezra?

It is difficult to explain, but they are putting themselves in danger. Star-birds have weapons that can strike quickly over a great distance. If the visitors inside the star-bird perceive our friends as a danger, your people may be hurt or killed. I would like you to fly a very wide circle around the star-bird, from high up. I want to get a look at it.

I will do as you ask, friend-Ezra. Is there danger to us? Samut asked, clearly excited at the prospect.

A little, yes, but not so much if you fly the way I ask you.

I will do as you ask!

Ezra strained his eyes until the grounded starship came into view. It was corvette-sized, he saw, and it looked to have set down intact—it was not a crash. He felt his pulse start pounding again as they got closer, and he was able to see the lines of the vessel. That looks like a Corellian design! he thought to himself, excited and amazed.

What does that mean, friend-Ezra? Samut asked. Ezra realized he was mentally ‘speaking out loud’ to his Zef friend.

It means that it might come from the part of the sky where I come from, Ezra explained. Can you set me down about a kilometer away, under cover? I must try and contact whoever is inside the star-bird. Samut replied that he could and brought Ezra down where there was a small break in the forest canopy. It was more like two kilometers away, but Ezra was too excited to care—he could cover the distance quickly.

Be careful, friend-Ezra. The coming of the star-bird may draw the Ayto as well. We will keep overwatch.

Thank you, my friend, Ezra replied, grateful for the warning. In his excitement about the ship, it wouldn’t do to forget that there were always hungry carnivores hunting in the great forest; they’d eat him tooth and toenail if he let himself get distracted.

Ezra called on the Force for awareness and endurance, setting off through the trees at a quick, Jedi-enhanced pace.

* * *​

Spast! Imperials! Ezra cursed a while later when he was close enough to observe the ship up close. It was an armed lighter, but it lacked any sort of Imperial markings. That is, except for the R4 astromech that trundled down the boarding ramp and began checking the exterior integrity of the ship, particularly the landing struts. The droid was in Imperial livery, no question about it. There didn’t seem any other signs of life, however. A ship that size should have a crew of anywhere from eight to a dozen, but nobody had shown themselves. He glanced quickly at the sky, confirming the absence of the Zef. They had indeed pulled back out of sight for now, as he’d requested. He was glad that they had—the Imps would fire at them for no reason, even if they weren’t posing an immediate threat.

Indecision clawed at Ezra. He had to make a move before the ship left; it didn’t look like it had the range to make known space, so how had it gotten here? His guess was that it landed on Valarian to replenish supplies of oxygen and water, and maybe source some local food. He knew it hadn’t come from the Chimaera—if this ship had been aboard the ISD, he’d have stolen it instead of the shuttle. Ergo, she was from somewhere else. Were they scouts, perhaps, searching for some sign of Thrawn after all this time? If so, Ezra assigned himself a double mission on the spot: secure the ship, and make sure nobody found Thrawn.

It seemed strange to him, even thinking about these things. He hadn’t really thought about Grand Admiral Thrawn, the Rebellion, or the Empire in what seemed like a couple of years. If the Empire was here in the Unknown Regions, it implied that the war had gone very badly back at home. Once, that thought would have made him angry. Now, he merely accepted it in stride. As fate had shown him, in the eleventh hour there were other places in the galaxy to go—places where they’d never heard of the Empire, or the Rebellion.

He was contemplating what to do when a second figure descended the ramp, and Ezra Bridger felt his heart clench oddly in his breast. It was a young woman, Human as far as he could see, and he felt a blast of emotions, hormones, and longing pass through him like an electric shock. He raised a hand to cover his mouth, trembling anxiously. He saw that she wasn’t wearing an Imperial uniform. She was dressed simply, in a gray outfit that was partially armored, and she wore a brace of blaster pistols, one on each hip.

The woman said something he couldn’t hear to the R4 unit, and for the first time in a decade he dimly heard the electronic chirps and whistles of droid speak. He was jarred again, flooded with fresh memories of Chopper and the Ghost. He was startled when the woman looked around suddenly, drawing one of her blasters, and her eyes locked directly onto his hiding place.

Now, how in the—? Ezra asked himself, casting out with the Force. And there was his answer, plain as day. The woman glowed brightly in his perception of the Force, the same way Kanan Jarrus and Ahsoka Tano always had—or Maul and the Imperial Inquisitors. A hundred thoughts and plans of action ran through his head in an instant, but he realized that running wasn’t an option—not unless he chose to stay on Valarian for the rest of his life. Now that a ship had finally come after all this time, he knew he’d rather die trying to leave than stay here any longer.

“Don’t shoot!” he called, standing and holding up his hands. “I’m not hostile!”

“Drop the stick! And step out where I can see you—now!”

“Okay, okay!” Ezra called, trying for his ‘friendly voice’—the one he’d used to talk his way out of trouble many times in the past. He dropped his spear, made a mental note of where it was (just in case), and took a couple of tentative steps forward. As he got a little closer, he noticed two things: first, she wasn’t wearing a lightsaber, so she probably wasn’t an Inquisitor; second, she looked like she’d been punched in the head by a Lasat. Her face was a black and blue mass, swollen, and her nose was out of joint. Given that she was the first girl he’d seen in many years, he tried to mentally accentuate the positive: she had about the prettiest blue eyes he’d ever seen. Those eyes were ice cold now, locked onto him with frightening intensity. Furthermore, he could feel her probing at him with the Force, trying to take his measure. He could sense she was powerful, maybe even more so than he was, and well trained. The feel of her aura was darkened with emotional pain—she was tired and hurting, more mentally than physically.

Ezra felt a surge of compassion. “What happened to you?”

“Who are you?”

He reached into the Force for guidance and intuited that dishonesty would prove disastrous in the end. This girl, whoever she was, was utterly soul-weary. Another eventual betrayal could push her over a mental precipice, completely into darkness. Honest answers, then. “My name is Ezra. Ezra Bridger. You don’t need to be afraid of me. In fact, I need help. I’ve been shipwrecked on this planet for a long time.”

“You’re a Jedi.”

Ezra nodded slowly, surprised. She knew what he was, could sense it, which meant there was more going on here than he understood. He gestured at R4. “Are you Imperial?”

“I’ll ask the questions,” she snapped. “Where’s your lightsaber?”

“I haven’t had one in years, since even before I was stranded here,” he told her. “I have a spear, and I’ve got a bone hunting knife on my belt. And that’s it,” he added, although they both knew that wasn’t quite true. Ezra Bridger was Jedi, and the Force was with him. “You have no idea how much I’ve wished for one,” he added wistfully; a lightsaber would have made his life far easier, these past years.

“How have you survived here?” she asked quizzically.

“I had some help,” Bridger answered. “You may see some large pterosaurs flying overhead. This is a good time for me to mention that they are highly intelligent, sapient, and non-hostile. They’ve been my only friends and companions, and the reason I’m still alive. I’d appreciate it if you could warn your crew not to fire on them if you see them—they aren’t dangerous to you, just curious.” He saw her blink at his mention of a crew. She was trying to hide things, but Ezra was strongly intuitive in the Force, and saw the truth: she was alone, except for the droid. What happened to her? How did she even get here? He knew those answers would have to wait until he’d gained her trust. She felt threatened even though she had the clear upper hand, and once again his intuition spoke to him: she felt that way because she was already on the run.

He decided to take a different tack. “Do you have any bread?”

The girl looked dumbfounded by the question. “What?”

“Bread? Or crackers? Noodles. Sugar. Starch. Carbohydrates. Anything processed and bad for you,” he added with a rueful, disarming grin. “Look, I’ll answer anything you ask,” he went on, trying his best to sound harmless. “I’m the easiest interrogation you’ll ever conduct, right now, just give me a bite of bread for every answer. I’m serious! Just hearing another human voice . . . I’ll answer you just to hear you ask the next question.”

He saw the beginnings of a smile, maybe even a laugh, but she clamped down on that immediately. “Look,” he continued in the most reasonable tone of voice he could muster, “I’m not here to hurt you—you’re the first person I’ve seen in years, and I thought I was stuck here alone, for good.” He could tell she was reading the truth of his words in the Force, his sincerity, and it was genuine. “What’s your name?” he finally asked.

“Shin. Shin Hati.”

“Ezra Bridger,” he repeated. “I’m glad to meet you, Shin. So glad you can’t even know.” He watched her hesitate, sensed the turmoil roiling up inside her, and that it took a lot of courage for her to holster her blaster. He slowly lowered his hands but didn’t step any closer; he waited for her to approach him. When she got close, she squinted and raised a forearm in front of her broken nose.

“Gods, you stink!”

“I do bathe, but it can be dangerous,” he said, running a hand through his matted, dirty hair. “My tanning skills are a little lacking, too,” he added sheepishly, knowing that half of what she smelled was his makeshift clothing.

“And your hair is a horror. You’re probably covered with parasites, too.”

“All true,” he grinned. “No need for me to stink up your ship. Bring the bread out here and start asking away.”

“R4, bring out a pair of clippers, and a blanket,” Shin ordered. The droid beeped in reply, and he disappeared briefly into the Aldo Nova, returning shortly with the requested items. Shin instructed him to shave his head and beard, then strip off his clothes and leave them outside. Ezra was more than happy to comply, and self-consciously turned his back to strip down when Hati made no move to turn or look away herself. He wrapped the blanket around his waist. “Follow me,” she ordered when he was finished.

“Don’t you want to warn your crew first?” he asked.

Shin’s eyes had shown some signs of life, but now grew cool again. “You’ve sensed by now that I’m alone.”

Ezra shrugged. “I thought so, but I wasn’t sure. I take it my destination is the ‘fresher?”

“R4, show him,” she ordered. The droid signaled his acknowledgement, and Ezra followed him aboard with Hati trailing a safe distance behind them. After a decade of living in a forest, stepping aboard ship again—any ship—was a surreal experience. He was bombarded by familiar sights, sounds, even odors. The ship had only one ‘fresher unit, shared among the crew. He stepped into it and worked the familiar controls, grinning in anticipation. The sonics kicked in, deep-cleaning him from head to toe.

He ran the cleaning cycle three times.

R4 had a fresh blanket for him when he stepped out; the first one was either recycled or thrown outside with his gamy clothes. The droid led him into the small crew compartment, where Hati had opened a few of the storage lockers and laid out a couple sets of underclothes, coveralls, and spacer boots. The gear was all well-used but clean and serviceable, and Ezra wondered again where the rest of the ship’s crew was. The fact that she was casually rummaging through their lockers didn’t bode well for their fate. “Here,” she said somewhat listlessly. “Something here should fit you well enough. After he’s dressed, R4, bring him to the crew lounge.”

* * *​

 

[Jedi Marso]

The smell of food—real food!—assaulted Ezra’s nose before he even made it to the crew lounge. Hati had broken open a couple emergency ration packs, which, among other things, contained a powdered polystarch that reverted to a form of bread when mixed with warm water, turning into a large bun. Baylan Skoll had always been one who enjoyed the finer things; even the emergency rations aboard Aldo Nova were of higher quality than the Imperials or New Republic supplied its forces. The buns looked like real bread rather an mushroom-mold, and the veg-meat stew was thick and savory, at least to Ezra’s eyes.

Bridger looked like a different man, now. He wore a two-toned gray-green coverall and mercenary spacer boots, with a dark brown utility belt that sported an empty holster. His hair was cut down to peach-fuzz, likewise his beard and mustache. He had achieved his full growth years ago, and appeared a little taller than he was for being thinner. Lack of technology meant a life defined by constant physical effort, and his caloric intake was merely adequate by that standard. He didn’t look unhealthy, but he met the definition of ‘wiry’. The new clothing felt like heaven—well-fitting, odorless, and comfortable.

Hati had set out two place setting, one for each of them, but she stacked both buns from the ration packs on his side of the table. He sat down and looked at her for permission, and she nodded. He started with one of the polystarch buns, biting into it and closing his eyes in sheer pleasure.

This time Hati couldn’t help but smile. “You really must be starving,” she commented drolly. “I can barely stand to touch those things.”

“There was a time I would have agreed completely,” Ezra mumbled around a mouthful. “Right now, though . . . Mmm!”

“So, Ezra Bridger . . . are you actually a Jedi Knight, or just trained like a Jedi?”

So we begin, Ezra thought. “Technically speaking, I’m a Jedi Padawan. The short answer is yes, I’m a Jedi. I follow the Jedi Way as taught to me by my master.”

“The Jedi were enemies of the Empire,” she said, stating the fact rather than asking.

Ezra nodded. “That is true. So,” he asked carefully, “the Empire still rules known space, then?”

Hati didn’t answer. She was watching him eat, but her smile had faded. She glanced down at her bowl, pushing around a spoonful of stew. “How did you get stranded here?” she asked.

“That’s a long story,” Ezra replied, and saw her eyes harden immediately. “It’s one I’m willing to tell you, but I’m not sure it’s the best place to start. You never answered my question, Shin. Are you—” he paused, watching her wince painfully as she took a bite of food and chewed it gingerly. “That looks like it hurts,” he said with genuine sympathy. She nodded, saying nothing.

“I won’t ask you what happened—you’ll tell me when you’re ready,” he said steadily, putting down his utensils and looking around. “R4, do you have a first aid kit aboard with some bacta patches?” The droid beeped in the affirmative, and Ezra asked him to retrieve it. The droid chirped questioningly at Hati, who looked at him for a long moment before nodding acquiescence. R4 returned with the kit a minute later. Ezra moved over to the long couch near an electronic dejarik board. “Come sit here,” Ezra told her. “Let’s take a look at your sniffer. If you let it set like that it’s going to cause you nothing but problems. It’s okay,” Ezra added soothingly when he sensed her tensing up. “I’m not going to hurt you, I swear.”

After a long moment of hesitation, Shin moved over and sat next to Ezra on the couch. He reached out tentatively, pausing before touching her face. “This may sting just a bit, but if we use the Force we can remove most of the pain and make this far less jarring. What do you say?”

“Go ahead,” she said. Ezra nodded, gently placing his fingertips around the outline of her nose, one hand for the upper portion, one hand for the lower. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Breathe with me,” he told her. “In and out . . . that’s it. Feel the Force . . .” he extended his senses, giving himself over to the Force and letting it guide him. He felt a little resistance from her at first, but then she relented and tried to work with him. He felt small bones and cartilage shifting under his touch, the Force guiding things back to their proper place. Blood flowed to the affected areas, bringing oxygen and healing nutrients. He felt her relax ever so slightly as the pain eased, but she was still as tense as a coiled spring. By the time they were finished, her nose was repaired and the swelling in her face had reduced considerably, but it would be a few days before she fully recovered.

“There,” Ezra finally said, opening his eyes and moving back slightly. He went into the first aid kit and took a couple bacta patches, sectioning them into strips that he gently placed over her cheekbones and around the double-shiner surrounding her eyes. He leaned back and examined his handiwork, nodding in satisfaction. “You’ll be as good as new in a day or two,” he announced, wasting no more time in getting back to his food. Shin touched the patches experimentally, before rejoining him at the table and discovering that eating was a lot less painful, now.

“Thank you,” she finally said.

“Don’t mention it,” Ezra replied with an easy grin. “Alright, Shin Hati, how about we make a deal? I’ll tell you everything you ever wanted to know about me and probably some stuff you didn’t, and then maybe you’ll consider telling me what brought you here and how you plan on getting back home.”

Shin looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Maybe,” she allowed. “You go first.”

Ezra took a deep breath and began talking. Conversation with another person was a pleasure for him, and Shin was content to let him ramble, which he did for quite a while. She was surprised to learn that he was from Lothal, and knew that it meant something important, but she didn’t know what. She let that point go for now, wondering what else he might reveal that tied into the here and now. Things took a sudden turn when he finally reached the part of his story about the Empire arresting and later executing his parents.

Ezra stopped when he sensed a dark wave rising in her—a sense of pain and loss so crushing that it almost made him feel physically ill. “The Empire . . . The Empire murdered your parents?” she gasped.

He cringed mentally under the onslaught of her pain, resisting the impulse to reach across the table and take her hand, even as touch-starved as he was. “Yes,” he said sadly, sensing perhaps the root of her own darkness. “Is that what happened to you?” he asked gently. Whether it was the culmination of weeks’ worth of loneliness and fear, or both, coupled with yet another recent brush with death, her iron-willed reserve began to shatter. Perhaps the catalyst was nothing more than a kind voice, a gentle, healing hand, and a sympathetic ear that understood. When Ezra spoke of his parents, the echo of his sense of loss resonated with her through the Force. She could feel that he understood because he’d been through it too.

“Yes!” she cried, and it was like a long-stressed dam finally fractured, letting loose the powerful torrent of feeling pent up behind it. “My whole family . . . they murdered them! For nothing!” She was sobbing now, breathlessly, so loudly she was on the verge of wailing. “And then Master Baylan found me, and now he’s dead, and I’m alone again!” She fled the table, running aft to her quarters. She locked herself in and wailed in anguish—years’ worth of blocked emotion and grief, tearing loose in a keening flood.

Ezra didn’t try to follow her. He took a deep breath and blew it out, trying to calm his own shaking hands. There is no emotion, there is peace, he told himself over and over, trying to get his own rattled emotions under control. It had been a life-changing day for him, as well. One thing was certain: Shin needed help, and she had a lot of healing ahead of her. She wasn’t that old; assuming she’d trained with her master for several years—almost a given, with the level of her training—she must have been very young when it happened.

Hoo, boy! Ezra breathed to himself, wondering what he should do now. Kanan, my old friend, if ever I needed your advice, I need it now. But Kanan Jarrus was gone and didn’t answer. He had long since passed on into the netherworld of the Force, killed by the Empire in the end, just like Ezra’s parents.

And Shin’s.

* * *​

 

[Jedi Marso]

ISD Chimaera dropped from hyperspace near the center of the anomaly. A blue-white world lay before them in three-quarters phase, ringed by a wide band of cosmic debris and the bones of countless hundreds of thousands of generations of deceased Purrgil. Peridea was a graveyard for the spacefaring whales, the place they visited during their migrations where their old and sick stayed behind to die.

On the bridge, Morgan Elsbeth’s eyes returned to normal as the ship’s helmsman slumped sideways, falling from his chair. He was caught by two medicos, who placed him on a hover-gurney and took him to sickbay. He’d spent the last several hours being directly mind-controlled by the Nightsister. It was necessary for him to react quickly enough to her commands to execute rapid course changes and move it through countless small hyperspace jumps and micro-jumps to reach this place. He was the fourth helmsman Elsbeth had burned through getting them here. They ended up catatonic, but she promised Pellaeon they would recover with time and rest. A new helmsman replaced the fallen one at that station, reporting ready.

Fortunately, the hard part was over for now. Pellaeon ordered the ship forward and spent a few minutes taking damage reports. Everything was battened down for what they anticipated would be a rough transit, so breakage and injuries had been minimized. Chimaera was still in fighting trim. Commscan reported contact with Thrawn’s old star destroyer over Peridea. For the first time in years, that ship had ignited her few working engines and engaged her repulsorlift system, leaving her freefall orbit to hold station over the planet for rendezvous.

The new Chimaera approached rapidly, rolling so that the two star destroyers were belly-to-belly, their massive docking bays facing one another with some separation to allow for additional traffic to and from the surface of Peridea. Pellaeon and Elsbeth reported to the large landing bay, where an entire regiment of stormtroopers, crewmembers, starfighter pilots, and ship’s officers were arrayed in a single massive formation. Uniforms were tightly pressed, armor polished to a bright sheen, and the landing bay itself ready to pass a white glove inspection.

Minutes after their arrival, a Sentinel class Imperial shuttle eased into the landing bay, coming to a perfect halt within the center of the formation. The ramp dropped, and the Imperial anthem blared from loudspeakers as Grand Admiral Thrawn was properly and officially welcomed back to the Imperial Navy. He descended the ramp with the appropriate gravitas, moving somewhat slowly, all of them enjoying the moment of triumph they’d worked so hard for years to achieve. His own white uniform was impeccable; he’d kept one preserved in anticipation of this day, although it hung just a little loosely on him now. It stood out against his blue skin and glowing red eyes—he was a sight to behold. Officers barked orders, and the entire formation of Imperials snapped to attention as one, the sound of it echoing across the bay. Weapons snapped to present-arms in salute, and the formation commanders pivoted smartly and saluted as well.

Gilead Pellaeon felt a surge of pride such as he had not enjoyed in a long time—since Endor, in fact. He drew himself up to attention and saluted the grand admiral smartly. Beside him, Morgan Elsbeth bowed deeply from the waist, showing a rare smile.

“Welcome aboard your flagship, grand admiral,” Pellaeon said formally. “It is my very great honor to welcome you back to the Empire and the Imperial Navy. You’ve been sorely missed.”

“Thank you, captain,” Thrawn replied. He glanced around the landing bay, nodding approvingly at all he saw. “Lady Elsbeth. Your efforts have made today possible. Your contributions to this effort will be rewarded.”

“My reward will be the destruction of the New Republic, and the resurgence of the Empire,” she said with a slight incline of her head. “I live to serve.”

“Victory will be ours,” Thrawn promised her. “Let us not stand on ceremony, my friends. We have a schedule to keep. Begin loading and transfers immediately. I wish to be gone from this accursed place as soon as possible.”

* * *​

Per General Syndulla’s special request, the New Republic task force made a quick reversion to realspace about an hour short of their destination. Even from here, the star cluster forming the anomaly dominated space ahead of them, and they could see the light distortions from gravitational lensing on a cosmic scale. The only other place they knew of that remotely resembled this one was the Maw, near Kessel in known space. This anomaly spanned hundreds of light years—it was much larger than the Maw. In a fit of humor that went criminally unappreciated in his own opinion, Zeb had taken to calling it ‘Grandmaw.’

In Vigil’s landing bay, Spectre cell was gathered in front of the Ghost’s boarding ramp. “Hera,” Zeb said, “we don’t need to take the Ghost for this. We can go in the Phantom and leave you the Ghost for the battle with the Imperials. Put a copilot and some gunners aboard, and she’s a real force-multiplier. Plus, she can take a few hits without going up in a fireball. I don’t like the idea of you going into this riding a suicide sled.”

Hera shook her head adamantly. “No way. If something happens to the fleet, the Phantom can’t sustain you long enough to get away from this area of space. You’re taking her, Zeb, and no more argument.

“We could take the T-6,” Sabine offered.

“No,” Hera said again. “That’s Ahsoka’s ship, she’s too lightly armed, and all of you know the Ghost, her systems, and capabilities inside and out. Look, we’ve already had this argument and there’s no time to have it again. Get going, and that’s an order! I love all of you,” she added in the same breath.

“I love you, mom,” Jacen replied stoutly, stepping in for one last hug. “Don’t worry—we’ll be fine!”

Zeb and Sabine exchanged a quick glance; it wasn’t themselves they were worried about. Hera was about to be in far more danger than they were when they finally caught up with the Imperial fleet.

“We’ll find Ezra, and bring him home, Hera,” Zeb promised.

Hera nodded, her eyes glistening. “I know. Now go!”

The Spectres headed up the boarding ramp, but not before Zeb turned and jabbed a finger at Chopper, standing next to Hera. “You watch out for her!” he admonished the old astromech. Chopper replied with a series of whistles and boops that were affirming and insulting at the same time.

The boarding ramp sealed up, and Hera watched with folded arms as almost everyone she cared about flew away in her ship. In an hour, she knew she’d be in the fight of her life, and there were never any guarantees. At least they’ll be safe, she told herself. She pulled her commlink. “Ahsoka, they’re safely away. We’re ready for the final jump.”

“Copy that, Hera,” Ahsoka replied. “All squadron leaders are assembled for your final briefing.”

“I’m on my way.”

* * *​

 

[Jedi Marso]

Ezra spent the night on the couch in the ship’s crew lounge, afraid to sleep outside for fear that Shin might leave him behind. She was in a rough state, no two ways about it, and he wasn’t sure what she would do. Sleeping aboard was a risk, but he was half a day’s Zef-flight from his home, so he couldn’t realistically return to his cottage. Given the local ecology, sleeping inside was less risky than trying to find a safe spot outside to camp; like as not he’d end up in the belly of some Ayto. More importantly, he knew Shin shouldn’t be left alone.

He spent a restless night, sleeping with one eye open as it were, and he was already awake when he heard movement from aft. Shin Hati emerged from her cabin, looking pale and tired. Her eyes were sunken and empty as she shuffled into the crew lounge, taking in Ezra’s presence without much reaction. Her energy in the Force was very low—she was emotionally spent. Ezra said nothing, merely waved her to a seat while he brewed a pot of caf and poured her some. She cupped the mug in her hands, trying to derive some comfort from the warmth. She watched with lifeless eyes as he went about rustling them up a meal heavy on carbohydrates. He set the plate in front of her and sat down opposite.

“Go on and eat something,” he told her gently, tucking into his own breakfast and giving her some mental space. Shin watched him eat—it was almost comical, the way he had to force himself not to wolf his food. She couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes either narrowed or closed with each sip of caf—he was so obviously relishing it, and so obviously trying not to show it. He was respecting her grief, not making light of it with his own reactions. After a couple minutes, she began to eat as well. He looked up at one point, and caught her looking at him.

“What did I do?” he asked cautiously, as a mild form of humorous self-deprecation.

“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing. I’m—”

“—Don’t apologize,” Ezra cut her off, sensing what she was about to say. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It seems to me that you have a lot that needs letting out. You and I, we aren’t the only ones, Shin. Thousands, no, millions of people have suffered the same losses we have, all at the hand of the Empire. It’s why the Empire needs to be destroyed, completely, and never allowed to come back.”

“How can you be so normal, and I’m so . . . so . . . “

“Broken?”

“Yes!” She was starting to cry again, and angrily threw down her utensil.

“Because you aren’t really broken, Shin. You’re hurt, grieving, and this is the first time you’ve really dealt with it. I mean, really dealt with it. I went through the same thing when I lost my family. I was lost and alone for a long time, headed down a dark path. Then I found people who took me in, made me one of their tribe, and helped me heal. They were people just like you and me: the Empire had taken all they had. One of them was a Jedi, Kanan Jarrus. He’s the one who trained me. We became like a family, in a weird sort of way. A family of warriors, fighting the Imperials. And then they killed Kanan, and we went through that pain all over again. But that time, at least, we had each other.”

“I don’t have anyone.”

“How old are . . . Grife, what year is it, anyway?”

“You don’t know?”

“No, I don’t know anything! I know it’s been a long time, but when you’re a hermit on a planet with no technology and not much in the way of seasons, everything just . . . blends together. What year?” he asked. She told him, and he drooped just a bit, feeling the loss of every one of those last ten years. So, I’m not quite thirty then, but almost. Still in my twenties! He chuckled with forced humor.

“Has it been longer than you thought?” she asked, sensing his shock.

“It’s close to what I figured,” he admitted. “The Force may have granted me some insight with my estimates, I don’t know. What I was going to ask is: how old are you?”

“I’m twenty-three.”

“How long were you with your master?”

“Fifteen years. It . . . “ she paused, roughly clearing her throat. “It happened when I was eight.”

“That’s a long time to carry this inside yourself. I just can’t believe . . . “ he let his voice trail off, incredulous. Fifteen years training in the Jedi Arts, and her teacher hadn’t helped her deal with her loss? overcome her grief? What in the world was wrong with him? It made him angry, just thinking about it.

“Can’t believe what?”

“Hmm? Nothing,” Ezra grumbled, turning his attention back to his food. The topic of her master and the nature of her training wasn’t one he was ready to tackle yet. “It must have been eating you alive,” he finally added.

“It wasn’t like that,” she whispered. “I pushed it so far down, I hardly felt a thing.”

“That’s the problem,” Ezra told her. “You can’t just bottle something like that up forever. It’s finally coming up now, Shin, for better or worse, and you must work through it. I’ll help you as much as I can, if you want. I do know what you’re going through. Plus, my schedule is clear,” he added, finally daring to crack a small joke.

Shin snorted. “I don’t even know where to start. I don’t know what to do, now . . . I’ve lost everything.”

“No, you haven’t,” he told her firmly. “It may feel that way inside, but it’s never true. You just need to take inventory. You’ll need to let people into your life, for you to care about and who care about you. And you need to find your own sense of purpose, going forward. You weren’t trained to be a Jedi, but you’ve been trained the same way as a Jedi, and it is never too late to adopt the Jedi path. A life spent in service of others is good for the soul.” He shrugged. “Kanan taught me that. It’s something to think about.”

“It’s a lot to think about.”

“You have plenty of time. You just take it one day at a time, Shin. You wake up each day and live it, until you find a way to live around the pain. It never goes away completely, but it’s easier if you accept it rather than trying to pretend it isn’t there. People like you and I have another big advantage as well: The Force. Training and meditation can help us find inner peace. Train the body, train the mind, and trust in the Force.”

“Master Skoll said that once or twice,” she reflected with a slight smile. “He started out life as a Jedi, you know.”

“I’d like to hear more about him,” Ezra encouraged her.

“Later,” Shin replied, sighing. “I suppose you want a ride out of here, don’t you?”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Ezra grinned. “You seem to be a little shorthanded as it is.”

“Okay, let’s start getting ready to lift, and figure out how in blazes we get home from here.”

* * *​