Ten years and five days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-fifth year and fifth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Six months and twenty-five days since the Arrival.)
An elegant woman — more machine than human — sat on a small but cozy throne in the middle of her secret refuge.
The man standing before her, kneeling and shamefully contemplating the polished marble floor, was both irritating and intriguing.
A remarkable combination of traits, considering how much in this galaxy depended on him.
"You clearly weren't in a hurry to make contact, my apprentice," she said, watching the man's emotions ripple through the Force in waves.
Mostly it was fear, slowly boiling into rage.
Just as she had taught him.
To turn his weaknesses into his most perfect weapon.
And his fear of her was far from groundless.
Even as a cyborg, she was a deadly weapon, and the apprentice knew full well that despite all his talents, he would die in the first seconds of a fight if he decided to draw his lightsaber against her whip.
Because, despite his future role in the galaxy's affairs, he was still nothing compared to her.
Many years ago, she had renounced her former existence, her essence, and her birth name.
She had set aside everything that made her human, surrendering herself entirely to the power of the Dark Side of the Force.
Cold and ruthless, she tolerated no disobedience, no empty excuses, no incompetence, and rewarded them with torture, and sometimes death.
And the man before her, more than anyone else, had to understand what he must go through to atone for his failure.
His actions had ruined her plans, and now a new combination needed to be constructed to bring him to the pinnacle of power.
Time wasted without talent.
Yet more labors lost to futility.
In the past, she had often charged straight ahead, achieving her goals by brute force.
Back then, she had still acted under her real name.
And she hadn't been a cyborg.
That was why her undertakings had ended in defeat, until she understood and accepted the magnificence of Sith philosophy.
Strikes from the shadows, sabotage, provocations, manipulation of the weak — the very things the Emperor had done to become who he was.
An example more than instructive, from which to take the best of Palpatine's tactics and strategy and negate his miscalculations, caused by his own arrogance.
And so, for many years now, she had acted exclusively in the Sith way.
She eagerly exploited the feeble-minded, the greedy, the ambitious, and the arrogant, using them in her subtle manipulations and implementing her designs with their help, both through the Force and by other means.
Deception was practiced as a matter of course, and she often profited from her enemies' misconceptions.
Secretive, deliberately vague, and elusive, the details of her plans were rarely told to anyone, and she quickly changed allegiances when it suited her goals.
Despite firmly adhering to the provisions of the Rule of Two, the cyborg woman preferred to work alone, often pragmatically, to ensure the successful execution of her objectives.
Raised and trained by the Empire on the planet Carida, she was a skilled strategist who felt the reward was worth a properly assessed risk.
Now she felt that, having made many mistakes but managing to survive despite the sacrifices made to her ego.
She had learned to develop well-thought-out, multi-layered plans, with hidden layers of betrayal woven into each stratum, and only revealed herself upon the execution of such plans.
Despite a distaste for politics, she engaged in their treacherous manipulations whenever she deemed such actions necessary, realizing that the necessary intervention in this process could both facilitate the acquisition of allies and the elimination of enemies.
Lately, she had come to believe that the best plan was one that guaranteed her victory.
Even in the event of her own death, however paradoxical and unnatural that sounded to simple sentients.
But that's precisely the problem — this cruel and cunning woman was no ordinary person.
The organic part that had survived the collision with Luke Skywalker was colder than the durasteel of her prosthetics, and her heart...
A battle droid had more sympathy than she did.
She had had plenty of time to observe events from the sidelines.
And she had concluded that the galaxy was rapidly descending into chaos, and that the hasty leadership of the Jedi, rising from the ashes of oblivion — their capabilities not matching the expectations placed upon them — was even less effective than those who came before them.
She had watched Luke Skywalker for quite some time and could confidently say that this sentient was even less worthy of the title than the other self-proclaimed, or surviving, Jedi of the Great Purge.
But the Sith... This cohort had always had enough courage, determination, and means to intervene in history precisely where it was, for the entire galaxy, inevitably flying straight into a black hole.
For the sake of resurrecting the Sith, she had set aside her revenge on Luke Skywalker and was ready to wait for the rematch.
She couldn't personally achieve a full resurrection of the Sith, penetrating and mastering their ideology perfectly, due to the Force-limiting nature of her cybernetic implants.
But, to her great regret, not many sentients remained in the galaxy who understood the necessity of the Sith.
And even fewer such sentients could embark upon that path.
And precious few — walk it and declare themselves a Sith Lord.
And so she set out to bring the Sith back into the galaxy, devoting as much time as necessary to it.
Because of all those who could channel the Dark Side, only she — despite her cybernetic limbs, part of her torso, a replaced lower jaw, and the life support systems necessary for her survival — understood and knew how to handle the Sith legacy more, better, and more correctly than those who openly flaunted their connection to the Force.
Quite amusing, considering that, like her enemy Luke Skywalker, she was a self-proclaimed adept of her own doctrine.
Even more ingenious, considering that there, in the Deep Core, lives and gathers strength the one who once spread the Dark Side across the entire galaxy.
But that's just the official version.
A clone is but a pathetic imitation of former greatness.
A poor cast of a work of art.
Calling even that a Sith is an insult.
"Forgive me, Master, I did everything necessary to avoid detection," the man said. "Carelessness could have led enemies to you, which I could not allow."
And yet, in his own circle, he was far more authoritative and powerful.
But now she saw corruption in him.
He must fear her.
Must hate her.
Must desire to learn all the secrets known to her.
And then — kill her and become a better Sith than his teacher.
But right now, fear outweighed...
He was simply afraid of punishment.
Which meant he had something to hide from her.
"Is that so?" she clarified.
Her whip leaped into her hand.
With a practiced motion, she swung it, and the metallic cords, made of Mandalorian iron, lashed across the man's torso and face, inflicting — albeit non-lethal — excruciating pain.
Drops of blood fell to the floor.
"My Lady, I was acting out of caution... After the Dominion announced Thrawn's death and closed its borders, the galaxy is swarming with reconnaissance and combat ships from the New Republic and the Empire that could discover and destroy your sanctuary..."
A whistle and a strike.
Again and again.
This continued exactly until the negligent and cowardly apprentice began to resemble a bloody meat puppet, kept alive only by sheer malice.
"Now, that's enough," the woman smiled, her eyes alone. "Now tell me why you really took so long to get to me just to report your failure, Carnor Jax. I couldn't care less about that upstart alien. Since he's dead, good riddance."
"Master," drops of blood, mixed with other bodily fluids, trickled from his bloodied lips. "I... I found a way we can control the Imperial Ruling Council. With these forces, we can not only subjugate various Imperial Remnants but also eliminate all our enemies, including Palpatine's clones, his minions, and then, by right of the strong, seize the throne!"
"Considering you're considered dead there?" The cyborg tilted her triangular head, wrapped in a shawl like the lower part of her face, as if to examine the negligent apprentice from a different angle.
"Yes..." Jax said. "A sentient... He was an advisor to Ennix Devian. A representative of a civilization that can help us in the fight against the rebels, as well as the Imperial renegades. He has access to many influential members of the Imperial Ruling Council. Together, they are far stronger and more authoritative than Lord Quest. Eliminate him, and we'll be one step closer to achieving our goal. And our new ally will only help with that."
"What interesting prospects you speak of," despite the years she had spent surrounding herself with the Dark Side, her eyes had never acquired the characteristic Sith hue. "And who is this ally of yours, Carnor Jax?"
"Lady Lumiya, his name is Nom Anor," the bloodied man said. "A representative of a tiny race of wanderers called the Yuuzhan Vong. Their goals align with ours..."
'And if so, then this pathetic people must be used to achieve our goals and then disposed of,' the follower of the Dark Side of the Force instantly determined the fate of the potential allies.
"If that's the case, then arrange a meeting for me with this Nom Anor," she commanded.
"As you wish, Lady Lumiya," Carnor Jax bowed obsequiously.
'And he will also need to be eliminated,' the Lady Sith thought with clarity.
There would always be someone better than such a slug for the role of Sith Lord.
Even Luke Skywalker himself, for instance.
Mmm... turning an old enemy, Darth Vader's grandson, to her side, the Dark Side of the Force...
Revenge for her injuries and the fulfillment of her plan simultaneously...
A plan worthy of the greatest Dark Lords of the past.
She needed to ponder this.
* * *
Outside the walls of the Imperial Palace, darkness reigned.
Night on Coruscant was nothing new, though it could have been abolished with orbital mirrors.
If there was a will...
And the biological ability for sentients to forgo sleep.
However, Mon Mothma had a suspicion she knew at least one sentient who could indeed manage without sleep.
And now, throughout the former Center of the Empire, celebrations were being held in honor of his triumph.
"They say that in just the last week, no less than half a trillion sentients have returned to Coruscant," said the red-haired woman, looking sadly out the window through which she could observe the night lights of the city that covered the entire planet.
And more than once.
"Most of the settlers arrived in the last day," Bel Iblis said hollowly, looking at the crystal glass filled with amber liquid. "Fey'lya made so many promises during the election campaign that only a fool wouldn't have returned... Customs is overwhelmed. Thousands of passenger ships are waiting for inspection. And for every day of waiting, they are forced to pay customs authorities because they are obstructing the flow of transport vehicles and freighters."
"Yes," the Chandrilan woman agreed. "Credits are flowing like a river into the treasury. Who would have thought that sentients would be willing to pay to wait in line for days on end just to return to their own homes..."
"Honestly, something else concerns me right now," Bel Iblis admitted, taking a sip. "Fey'lya's election speeches in the Senate..."
"And here I thought you'd be interested in how Asyr Sei'lar and Wes Janson from Rogue Squadron not only survived but are also showing support for our first head of state," Mon Mothma noted tensely.
"Sooner or later, military counterintelligence will get to them, and we'll learn the truth," Bel Iblis promised.
"So I'm not the only one who doesn't believe that they supposedly survived the Battle of Distna, when barely a quarter of all the 'Rogues' were destroyed, ended up captured by the Dominion, and the Bothans organized their escape, after which they were treated and nursed back to health?" Mon Mothma grimaced.
"I'm more inclined to believe that the rulers of the Bothan clans purchased for the Dominion all those weapons, equipment, and production lines that their representatives had been buying up across the galaxy lately, and handed them over to Thrawn in exchange for their prisoners," Bel Iblis said firmly.
"This rumor from the HoloNet has more basis for trust than what Fey'lya reported at the Senate session and preached during his interviews," Mon Mothma agreed.
"Yes, but the citizens of the New Republic swallowed this deception," Bel Iblis noted.
"Fey'lya knows how to present facts properly," Mon Mothma darkened. "I think it's no coincidence that he first talked about Corran Horn's collaboration with Thrawn and provided evidence that your countryman had deserted the army multiple times while carrying out the Grand Admiral's assignments. And then the fact that hidden camera recordings appeared in the nets showing him arriving on Corellia, having lunch with his grandfather... Yes, he skillfully mixed the information for which he had evidence, seasoning it with outright tall tales."
"So that the sentients got the impression that he was providing them with objective evidence. If there's data on Horn, then why not believe the alive and well Sei'lar's and Jenson, who thank him for saving them and promise to track down and call to account their traitorous comrade."
"All this is just a soap bubble," Mon Mothma shook her head. "The fact that Fey'lya finally fulfilled his long-time dream and destroyed the reputation of Rogue Squadron, placing the blame for our failures on Celchu and Horn, former prisoners of the Lusankya, who supposedly were sleeping agents of the Empire and leaked our plans to Thrawn, will not help solve the real problem of information leaks."
"The Bothans are hardly concerned about that," Bel Iblis sighed. "They've already flooded the Imperial Palace and are ready to check every square centimeter to find the spies."
"Well, you can't deny their persistence," Mon Mothma nodded.
"As well as their treachery," Bel Iblis gritted his teeth.
"We can't do anything," Mon Mothma sighed bitterly. "This hand is lost. The Bothans are running the New Republic..."
"And they also slander our heroes and are effectively destroying the state," Bel Iblis looked with hatred at the glass in his hands, as if the liquid inside was somehow to blame. "Leia asked you to place the blame for the failure at Sluis Van on her and Han. Their children and loved ones are safe on Kashyyyk, so nothing threatens them..."
"I cannot betray those who were by my side in the most difficult moments," Mon Mothma shook her head. "Then I would be no better than Fey'lya himself."
"You stood up for me, Leia, Han, Calrissian — and lost the support of even the majority of the Defense Forces," the Corellian sighed. "You could have won the election..."
"And what would that victory have been worth then?" Mon Mothma asked. "Betrayal of friends? Of your ideals? Of everything we fought for?"
"We have lost everything anyway," Bel Iblis took a large gulp of whiskey. "Now the work of our whole lives is in Fey'lya's hands."
"Not all of it," the Chandrilan shook her head. "Mon Calamari, Sullust, and Kashyyyk, as well as a good dozen sectors, are already declaring their desire to secede from the New Republic. We still have allies. The Mon Calamari and Quarren are ready to continue building ships for our Alliance, since they transferred all paid-for ships to the New Republic. The Sullustans haven't decided on their status yet, but they definitely won't remain politically neutral like the Sluissi did. The Wookiees also smell which way the wind blows — they're not on the same path as the Bothans. We have friends," the flame-haired woman repeated like a spell or a prayer.
"And enemies," Bel Iblis sighed, finishing the contents of his glass.
"Thrawn is dead," some relief was heard in Mon Mothma's voice. "Vice Admiral Pellaeon has announced the closure of the Dominion's borders to free movement. Obviously they have a power crisis brewing there, so they don't want outside interference."
"I don't believe the Dominion's propaganda," Bel Iblis declared. "For Luke Skywalker to raise a weapon against Thrawn... In battle — maybe. But to cold-bloodedly execute... That guy is a Jedi — he would never do that. No, I don't believe it. More likely Thrawn decided to lie low, solve the Dominion's internal problems, and then resurrect like a Sith from a box. That kind of multi-layered move would be just his style."
"Skywalker himself could tell us how it really happened," Mon Mothma said. "But he's disappeared. Leia says she hasn't heard anything about him. Possibly, of course, she's hiding her brother from the public. If he stumbled, then he surely needs time to recover, realize his mistake, figure out how to atone..."
"Maybe so," Bel Iblis shrugged. "In any case, Fey'lya won't leave them alone. He presents his own capture as heroic, but the capture of Leia and the others, the Dominion citizenship of the children, Winter's escape, Chewbacca and the twins fleeing Coruscant right after the defeat at Sluis Van, the order itself that killed hundreds of thousands of our soldiers... Fey'lya got what he wanted. He's in power, and none of the real heroes of the Alliance are any longer his authority or his straitjacket. He can do whatever he pleases with the New Republic. How can the sentients not understand that he will ruin everything... The very fact that he spent half the budget on ransoming prisoners from the Dominion already says a lot. He left the Republic without a credit in the budget, but instantly gained several hundred thousand supporters loyal only to him. And that's not to mention that he stopped investigations into everyone in the filtration camps. It's good that he had the brains to keep quiet about the agreement with Isard..."
"Garm," Mon Mothma placed her hand over the Corellian's wrist. "That agreement was a mistake, even I admit that. And the Bothans aren't idiots — by making it public, they would sign their own death warrant. Because in that case, we would tell how exactly we found the Ice Queen. And then no one would be safe from trouble. Even Fey'lya."
"Let's hope he has the brains to keep his mouth shut," the former senator grumbled. "In light of how many forces — military and warships — are being pulled from the New Republic with the formation of the Alliance, he might spite us at the last moment. We're practically taking with us an entire fleet of various ships, and the New Republic doesn't exactly have many starships to cover such a huge territory..."
"You need to let all this go. You are no longer the Supreme Commander of the New Republic."
"Well, I didn't particularly like it anyway," the Corellian grumbled. "Back to where we started? You, me, a few hundred skilled guys, and the help of the two most oppressed peoples in the galaxy?"
"Yes, the Alliance is rising again," Mon Mothma smiled. "The Mon Calamari and Quarren have already offered us to move to Dac and set up the Alliance government residence there. And they ask you to lead the armed forces..."
"After everything that's happened?" the Corellian was surprised.
"You know, of all those who opposed Thrawn, you and Solo managed to rough him up the most," Mon Mothma confided.
"Don't exaggerate," Bel Iblis asked. "Everything he lost, he got back in full. That's not a victory."
"To absorb such a fleet would take a huge amount of time or a general mobilization," Mon Mothma stated. "Perhaps we can manage to maul his fleet thoroughly before then. The Mon Calamari say they have a new amazing ship on the ways — the MC90. Much better than the previous ones..."
"And again — war," Bel Iblis smiled bitterly.
"That's how it's always been," Mon Mothma sighed. "Clearly a difficult time ahead — we'll have to remember the old ways... Attacks on the Empire, raids..."
"Hit-and-run was our best tactic," the Corellian agreed, smiling. "Most likely we'll return to it. It's a pity we don't have as many good commanders as we'd like..."
"Not everything at once, Garm," Mon Mothma smiled. "The new Alliance, like the old one, was born from nothingness. But in time everything got back to normal. We'll find new allies."
"Speaking of which," the Corellian perked up. "For starters, I'd like to suggest you look into the D'Astan sector. There's a decent democratic lobby there, working against the baroness with pro-Imperial, and worse, pro-Dominion views..."
* * *
Han approached his wife from behind and embraced her with all the tenderness he was capable of.
The former princess remained the same motionless statue for just a moment, staring unblinkingly through the window opening into the gloomy Kashyyyk forest, then the tension in her body melted away and she, turning her head, kissed her husband on the cheek.
"Have the children fallen asleep?" the princess inquired.
"Winter is just dealing with that," the husband stated.
"I don't know what I'd do without her," Leia sighed. "That time when she was captured by Thrawn's spies during your mission in the Imperial Palace library was the hardest for me..."
"And a couple of years ago you said the same thing about the time I spent in carbonite," Han smirked wryly.
"That too," Leia smiled. "But I'm still bothered by how easily and simply she identified the spies and did everything to get captured by them, in order to be near me..."
"Yes, our Winter is quite the risk-taker," the Corellian agreed. "You wouldn't say it by looking at her."
"The main thing is that it all ended well," Leia sighed heavily. "At least we can turn this page of our past and forget it like a bad dream."
"Well, I don't know," Solo drawled. "Those six months while Thrawn was spilling blood across the galaxy, I definitely won't forget."
The former princess kissed her husband again.
"I never thought I'd say this, but... I'm glad he's dead," she said quietly.
"But there's not much joy in your voice," Han noted.
"I think you understand why," the wife of the most famous smuggler in the galaxy said absently.
Han hugged his wife tighter.
"We'll find the kid, Leia," he promised. "Definitely. Now that Thrawn is dead, we're dealing not with geniuses but with ordinary soldiers, who are a piece of cake to deal with. You'll see — within a month, the Imperials and the Dominioneers will be at each other's throats."
"Unless they unite against us," Leia said just as quietly.
"Well, for that they'd need a significant leader," Han noted. "Kaine, for all his authority, doesn't cut it. And the Imperial Ruling Council... Honestly, considering them opponents isn't even funny. They'll tear each other's throats out and feast on the bones."
"We keep forgetting something important," Leia shook her head, turning to face her husband. "Palpatine..."
"Sweets," Han smiled placatingly. "I know a thing or two about strategy and tactics. Take my word for it — the most opportune moment to strike us was during the voting week. But Palpatine didn't attack. Let's think about something good. Like that he's nothing more than a fabrication by Thrawn and his circle, to make us pull our forces as far away from the periphery of the galaxy as possible..."
"Maybe so," Leia agreed. "But... I can't shake these anxious feelings. As if with Thrawn's death we all found ourselves in mortal danger. As if something that protected us, delayed the inevitable, has vanished into oblivion..."
"You're just working yourself up over all these uncertainties and worries," Han assured his wife, pressing her to him again. "Everything will be fine. I'll make sure of it..."
His words were interrupted by a sound that served as a door lock in Wookiee dwellings, one of which was assigned to the Solo couple.
"Looks like Lando's back," Han grumbled.
"That's good news," Leia smiled. "So the Falcon's repairs aren't as serious as you thought."
"Yes, or the price tag for it is so exorbitant that even Calrissian couldn't get a discount."
"Go on, open it," Leia gently pushed her husband toward the living room with a smile.
The Corellian strode to the door, mentally assessing whether the 'chime' had woken the children.
But judging by the silence from the 'kids' room,' everything was fine.
He felt his wife's heavy, attentive, and tense gaze on his back.
Turning around at the door, he looked at Leia.
The former princess hadn't seemed to change her position, but the fact that a lightsaber had appeared in her hands greatly puzzled the Corellian.
Frowning, he placed his hand on his blaster holster, then flung open the door.
"I thought I'd take root on your doorstep," Calrissian declared, stepping inside and shaking raindrops from his cloak — the couple had forgotten about the rain thanks to the excellent soundproofing in the dwelling. "I hope there's some hot caf?"
"If the news is good, then of course," Han joked back, noting out of the corner of his eye that Leia was tense as a bowstring and moving quickly toward them. "Well, what about the Falcon?"
"We clearly won't have enough money to get it into perfect condition," Calrissian stated, throwing open his cloak. "But there is other news. Good or bad — you decide. But to me, it's excellent. There's an addition to our friends..."
"Who are you talking about?" Han drew his blaster from the holster, noticing five figures in long cloaks on the threshold who hadn't been there just a moment ago. "Lando..."
"Han, get back!" Leia ordered, activating her lightsaber on the move and pointing it toward the newcomers.
"Guys, it's not what you think..." Lando said, also taking a few steps back from the newcomers.
"So this is how Alderaanian princesses now greet old friends?" a voice came from under one of the hoods.
A strong masculine hand reached for the hood, and then it fell back, revealing a slightly tanned face of a middle-aged man with long gray hair.
"Oh," was all Leia said.
The remaining ones also uncovered their heads.
A middle-aged man with a short dark haircut and a penetrating gaze, somewhat sharp facial features.
Another man with light brown hair — a lush mane and a trimmed beard.
And two young women, contrasting as if chosen — one fair-haired, almost like Winter, and the other black-haired with an appraising look and massive glasses on her head.
"It can't be," Leia deactivated her weapon, pressing it to her face along with her hands.
Tears of joy appeared in her eyes.
"So the dampness outside isn't enough, you're also creating it inside the house," the gray-haired old man grumbled good-naturedly.
"Wroshyr trees don't like moisture in their core," the short-haired man with sharp features smiled.
However, a slight smile was already playing on his face.
"I can't believe my eyes," Organa-Solo barely uttered. "Galen..."
"About names," the man winced slightly. "Let's... leave that for later. It's not so simple here, Princess. But in any case, I'm glad to see you."
"No matter what you call a rancor, it won't stop chewing on banthas," the gray-haired old man sighed. "But the kid's right — to meet you again, Princess, is a joy for an old warrior like me."
"General Kota," Leia took her hands from her face and smiled, hugging the old Jedi. "How glad I am..."
"We are all glad to see you again, Princess," the white-haired girl declared, with whom the former princess also exchanged heartfelt greetings.
"Juno Eclipse," the daughter of Darth Vader greeted the girl.
"And you..." Leia turned to the remaining two guests.
"Kyle Katarn," the bearded man introduced himself, bowing slightly. "And this," he indicated the girl standing next to him, "is my partner, Jan Ors."
"You are also welcome in our home," Leia stated, having greeted the last pair of guests.
"It looks like this is a reunion of old friends," Han stated, leaving his blaster alone.
"Yes," his wife smiled. "These are the heroes of the Rebellion that General Cracken was supposed to find when we thought Grand Admiral Thrawn had his own dark Jedi in his pocket."
"Dark Jedi?" Rahm Kota grimaced. "Those Palpatine spawns are crawling out again..."
"Oh, no, the clone of Master C'baoth is dead," Leia assured him. "We just didn't have the opportunity to inform Knight Katarn..."
"Just Kyle will do," the mercenary agent assured her. "I'm in no hurry with the Jedi path, no matter how much your brother insists."
"C'baoth?" Kota interrupted the agent. "That scumbag died long ago. Thirty years ago, maybe more."
"Hmm, a Jedi clone," Galen Marek smirked wryly, nudging his gray-haired comrade with his elbow. "Well, what do you say now, old man? 'A Jedi cannot be cloned,' huh?"
"Again," Juno Eclipse shook her head.
Katarn and Ors chose to simply exchange surprised looks.
"Come inside," Leia smiled. "We have much to discuss with all of you."
"Let's start with how you found us," Han squinted suspiciously. "This isn't exactly a popular tourist spot."
"When Kyle found us, he said the order came from General Cracken, the director of Republic Intelligence," Galen Marek explained. "But when we reached a HoloNet relay, it turned out that everything had... changed."
"So I remembered that Cracken spoke very warmly of you and your brother, Princess, so I decided it would be best if you learned about the successful completion of my mission first," Katarn explained. "Especially since there is equally important information for your brother. And finding people... that's my job."
"Don't show off," Jan Ors advised. "We just found out through our informants about the location of the Millennium Falcon, because we thought it would lead us to Skywalker."
"I'm afraid I have to disappoint you," Leia said. "Regarding Luke, I only have bad news for you."
"As do we for all of you," Rahm Kota rasped in a displeased tone. "You picked a bad time to start infighting, you Republican gentlemen. The bastard is alive."
"Who are you talking about?" Han asked, with great hope that his worst suspicions would not be confirmed.
"About the Emperor," Galen Marek said with a serious expression. "He has almost completely subjugated the Deep Core and intends to attack soon..."
Without the slightest warning, the massive wooden door swung open, and Chewbacca appeared on the threshold, soaked from head to toe.
The Wookiee, looking over those present, gazed at Han and roared a tirade in his own language.
"You've got to be kidding," Lando was stunned.
"Well, we've joked too far," Han exhaled noisily.
"What's happening?" Leia asked.
"Coruscant is under attack," Galen Marek translated. "The Pentastar Alignment has attacked the Core Worlds. And some systems have already fallen... But that's not the worst news."
"We're straight from the Deep Core, where we fought against Imperial warlords," Juno Eclipse said quickly. "We have information that Emperor Palpatine is alive. And he has an entire armada."
"And here I thought Thrawn was our biggest headache," Han Solo pronounced, looking at his wife with resignation. "Seems the last grand admiral had a habit of telling the truth. No matter how bitter it was..."