BLOOD OF HEROES REDUX
Act I

Chapter I - Chapter X

by Charles Sonnenburg (sonn@sfdebris.com)


CHAPTER I

	Like a knife cutting through black velvet, the star destroyer slid slowly 
through space towards the blue-brown world.  As it approached, others joined it, 
emerging from hyperspace -in astronomic terms- on the planet's doorstep.  Vong defenses 
were already scrambling; it was going to be a race.
	Without a moment's pause two squadrons of H-Fighters launched from the lead 
star destroyer and raced towards the planet.  Within their midst, as out of place as a 
Klingon at a beauty pageant, a single TIE Bomber soared in its protective cocoon.  Vong 
skippers were already approaching; it would be close.
	Coralships were already engaging the star destroyers, and the space above the 
world was alight with the beautifully horrible glow that comes from continent-battering 
energy weapons striking armor.  Without concern for the battle behind them, the 
fighters raced on.  They neared the atmosphere as the skippers approached.  One 
squadron broke off to engage them; the other shifted their positions to continue to 
provide cover for the bomber.  However, whoever was running things for the Vong was 
clearly suspicious of anything that was entitled to an escort, and they continued to 
pursue the bomber.  Even as the fighters began tearing into them, the skippers remained 
focus on the bomber.  Soon the space around it was filled with weapons fire as its 
escort tried to keep them away.  Half a minute later, it was alone, a new squadron of 
skippers already approaching.  The pilot dipped it into the atmosphere where he'd have 
the advantage, his eyes glued to the targeting computer.  The old Sienar-era ship still 
had a few tricks up its sleeve, and he kept the skippers from getting too close.  He 
counted down as the target approached, his eyes flitting between the HUD, the view in 
front of him, and the targeting computer.  As the computer lit up and a beep indicated 
the position, he hit the button, and the side pod fired its target.  Even as it cleared 
he yanked back and headed for space.
	The skippers pursued the TIE, ignoring the projectile plummeting towards the 
planet.  It was vaguely egg-shaped and as black as infinity itself, ringed with the 
reddish-orange tinge of superheated air as it dropped towards the planet's surface.  It 
left a trail of fire behind it like a falling star, its heat-absorbing armor the only 
thing ensuring the contents wouldn't meet the same kind of end.
	By the time it reached thirty kilometers above the planet's surface the Vong on 
the ground realized that it was neither debris nor an energy weapon.  The surface 
cannons began firing in the hopes of detonating the potential bomb before it got within 
range, but it did something they hadn't expected: it opened.  There was a single 
slowing burst of energy before the sides of the pod exploded away and twisted off in 
the distance, leaving a roughly humanoid-shaped suit streaking towards the surface.  
With only a slight movement it skidded out of the way of the passing energy beams, 
still continuing its suicidal head-first drop.  Retro-rockets were already firing, 
slowly reducing the speed, but still the metal glowed with the heat of re-entry.  It 
dipped to the right and back to avoid a passing energy beam.
	A coralskipper came out of the clouds to intercept him, weapons firing.  The 
suit jerked hard to avoid both as it roared past.  A hand slapped a hatch, which 
opened, dropping a cylindrical object into its grip.  As the skipper came around again 
the suit tossed it end over end like a throwing knife.  It didn't strike the ship; 
instead it simply spun through the air until the skipper flew directly into it, with 
explosive results.  The suit neatly slipped out of the way of the passing fireball, 
then checked the altimeter.  At ten kilometers, the rockets burst off; by now the 
meteoric drop had been turned into merely a stomach-twisting plummet.  
	Clouds were everywhere now, and the Vong weapons continued to pound the air 
around the dropping figure.  Still, like a witch dancing through raindrops, the 
descending figure managed to avoid every single one.  It wasn't that it was zigzagging; 
every slight move simply ensured that it wasn't where a passing bolt was about to be.  
It was like a high-speed slalom with an extra dimension to worry about, but there was 
nothing in its graceful movements to suggest even the hint of nervousness.  At five 
kilometers a small chute opened, slowing it down even further.  It also impeded 
mobility, but only slightly, so that the figure seemed to laze out of the way of the 
Vong bombardment.  Soon the clouds were above instead of below, and the smear of color 
now was identifiable as roadways and buildings to even the untrained eye.  The second, 
large parachute was opened, and the figure jerked at the sudden drag, and suddenly was 
no longer falling face first, yet there wasn't a single moment when the evasive 
movements were sharp or erratic.  Handles were pulled and rockets fired to assist at 
these low speeds, but it was as if someone had dropped a Jawa on a ballet dancer and 
the performer didn't seem to notice.  
	With a gentleness that shouldn't come from someone who'd fallen from orbit, the 
figure touched down on the roof of one of the taller buildings, narrowly avoiding being 
skewered by the antennae, sensors, and other towers that projected from its surface.  
One button released the chutes, which flailed off in the high winds.  The second caused 
a panel to slide back on the chest, revealing a flashing red button.  The figure pushed 
it, and the armor opened and dropped off, leaving only the helmet.  There was a bang as 
a hatch opened nearby and the Vong started to climb onto the roof.  The moment the 
first had its footing it charged, but the helmeted figure made a slight gesture, and it 
tumbled over the edge of the roof.  There was no scream, even though a five hundred 
meter plunge meant certain death.  A scream would imply fear, and the Vong didn't 
believe in fear.  Well, they did, but fear was something that happened to other people.  
There was Vong, and there was other people... the weak, the unworthy, the afraid.  But 
the ones who climbed out after their comrade stayed back; not from fear, of course, but 
from caution.  They'd learned, at some great price, there was a third category, those 
with the strength and heart to stand against a Vong in battle.  They waited as he 
reached up to remove his helmet, partly out of respect for the duel, partly to avoid 
the same fate as their late companion.  
	Sebastian Skywalker tossed the helmet aside.  His hair stuck to his head with 
sweat, but other than that, he looked as if he'd just stepped off a shuttle.  In one 
motion he unslung his lightsaber with his right hand and lit both violet blades.  The 
rising and falling hum as he slowly spun it with one hand mixed with the sound of the 
wind as it buffeted the three of them.  He didn't take the time to give some clever or 
witless remark like "Mind if I drop in?" or "Watch that first step," like some mindless 
adventure holo.  Perhaps it would steady the nerves for other people, but in his case, 
that wasn't necessary.  When he fought, it may have been with the skills of a Jedi, but 
inside his head was the frosted machinery of a Borg, emotionless and calculating.  
Nevertheless, he was still human and only killed when he had to.  Sebastian knew the 
value of all life; in these circumstances, down to the decimal point.
	He stepped forward.  The Vong, well-trained warriors in their own right, 
quickly adopted a joint strategy when fighting an outnumbered opponent.  The one 
engaged Sebastian while the other circled around behind to attack where he was exposed.  
Except, as his amphistaff struck, he wasn't exposed.  The opposite blade was catching 
the blows without the front missing a beat.  They were strictly defensive, but 
infuriatingly, he seemed to be controlling the situation.  He was drifting slowly 
across the roof, and the two Vong found themselves dragged along to maintain their 
assault.  The wind howled around them, but above it all was the clear, crisp sounds of 
impenetrable weapons slamming together like a titan eating a mountain range.  
	Sebastian's strategy seemed to change.  It wasn't that he was moving on the 
offensive, just that it was no longer the simple expedient strokes of defense.  He was 
swinging much wilder now, more like a dance than a fighting technique.  They were 
pointless swings, the kind of showmanship egotistical fencers employ because they never 
face a real enemy, but the blades were still moving so fast they'd become a blur, still 
blocking every advance, high or low, front or back.  Had it not been for the noise of 
wind and war they would have heard him counting down under his breath.  As he reached 
single digits his movements somehow became faster, almost desperately quick, despite 
the fact the Vong were no longer even getting close with their blows.
	"Zero," he said, his voice full of spite, as if the number itself was the 
source of all his worldly troubles.  He swung his right foot back while he brought the 
blade around hard.  It struck the armor, but the armor refused to yield.  Instead, the 
warrior did, falling backwards over Sebastian's outstretched ankle even as the Jedi 
shoved the blade forward like a lance through the other Vong's eye.  Before the body 
started to fall Sebastian stepped forward, shutting off the lightsaber and reaching 
towards the tower.  
	It was then clear that the legs had been sheered through, and that only the 
smallest nudge was required to send it toppling forward.  It dropped on the remaining 
Vong, leaving him pinned beneath the network of crossbeams.  Sebastian didn't stop to 
check; instead he ran to the edge and secured a cable to it, letting the other end 
unwind down to the distant ground.  He pulled himself over the side and began to rappel 
down the side.  It was half a kilometer, so it took time, unfortunately.  It gave 
Sebastian time to think.  "A few more seconds," slipped from his lips.  He'd been so 
close at getting both, at ending the fight without killing, but he knew the longer he 
took up there, the more time the Vong would have to prepare, and the more he might have 
to kill later.  It was the horrible balancing act of the Jedi: kill now to try to avoid 
killing later, or spare now and risk having to kill far more.  It was the paper-thin 
boundary between defense and attack, between light and dark.  A few more seconds, and 
he could have done it, he thought.  
	But you don't know that, he thought again.  A few seconds here, a few seconds 
there, and suddenly it's Remus all over again... or did you like killing a dozen 
Kazons?  There comes a time when the hard decisions have to be made, when mercy for the 
few must take a back seat to mercy for the many.  
	He wondered for a moment if that was a bit too Borg, then decided against it.  
A Borg wouldn't have thought that way... mercy is a zero sum equation.
	His boots hit the steelcrete, and he took off, his arms and legs pumping almost 
without effort as he drew on the Force.  He ducked behind a nearby wall as two Vong 
rode by on Kyar-beasts at at least seventy kph.  So, they knew he was there, but did 
they know why?  He slipped into the shadows and moved as quickly as he dared, finally 
spotting the target.  Yes, they'd figured out what he was up to, but, unfortunately for 
them, they were thinking like Vong.  He slipped closer.  This was the dangerous part; 
the Vong were empty space as far as his Force senses were concerned.  There was no way 
for him to tell if they were aware of his presence, or even suspicious, if they were 
preoccupied or off guard.  All he had were instincts honed by experience and twenty 
years of tactical analysis.  Fortunately, as he reached to his belt, it looked like it 
was enough.
	Transport-scrambling technology was decades old throughout the Empire, but even 
after all this time the Vong still hadn't perfected their own versions.  It was 
probably their xenophobia, Sebastian thought; the transporter was such an abomination 
to them that they refused to study it.  Their blind efforts to thwart the device had 
made almost no headway, and, much to the Vong's distaste, the Imperial devices found on 
captured worlds were allowed to function in the same way as the replicators, disposals, 
and other mechanical devices that allowed galactic civilization to function.  This kept 
the hostages alive and thus had drawn out the conflict, giving the Vong a chance to 
hold on to their shrinking territory until more forces arrive... but that didn't mean 
they had to like it.
	Unfortunately, they hadn't considered that their enemies knew the technology 
better than they ever would.  Sebastian immediately thought of thirty-seven ways to 
shut down that scrambler... the Vong had prepared to stop four of them.  Sebastian 
settled for number three as he activated the timer and, with Borg-enhanced strength, 
tossed the sphere.  There was a high-pitched ting sound as it struck the wall, and then 
the high-powered ion grenade detonated, leaving the stink of ozone in the air as all 
electronic devices within a hundred meters shut down.  
	There was silence, and then a hum that indicated there wouldn't be silence 
again for quite some time.
	The ground shook, and an armored foot the size of a shuttle dug into the 
steelcrete just a few meters from where Sebastian was standing.  The Heavy Walker 
turned its head and dealt with the scrambler using a variant on method number one, 
which the Vong were unable to stop.  The air was alive with weapons fire as armored 
vehicles and squads of stormtroopers faced off against the nimble Kyar-beasts, the 
giant lumbering Fan'cals, and the swarms of Vong warriors that now streamed out into 
the streets.  But Sebastian remained in the shadows.  This wasn't his fight; he wasn't 
even here.  He flipped on his comm link.  "Status?" he whispered.
	"Another twenty seconds, sir," came the response.
	"The battle's already started!" Sebastian hissed.
	"The captain insisted on deploying first," came the helpless reply.
	"Then get them out as quick as you can," Sebastian said.  "There's twenty-six 
prisoners."
	"Twenty-four, sir."
	Sebastian screwed his eyes shut; he wanted to thump the wall, but that would 
only attract attention.  "Understood."  A minute later he appeared in the transporter 
room on board the star destroyer.  Gorren was waiting for him.  "Who were the 
casualties?" Sebastian asked.
	"Bensen and T'lork," the Klingon replied.  He read Sebastian's mood.  "But they 
died fighting."
	"We needed them alive fighting," Sebastian said, storming out of the room, 
Gorren rushing to catch up.  The two swept into the turbolift.
	"You look angry," Gorren observed.
	"Part Betazoid, are you?" Sebastian remarked.
	"Going to thump someone?"
	"I'm a Jedi; we're not allowed to thump."
	"I think you'd feel much better if you did.  Good for the heart."  Sebastian 
said nothing; finally the doors opened onto the bridge.  The captain turned as 
Sebastian and Gorren marched out of the lift, his executive officer stepping to his 
side.
	"By the Sith, what is that?" said the XO, looking at the Klingon.
	"Mr. Skywalker brought it on board," the captain replied.
	The XO looked Gorren up and down again.  "Does it do tricks?" he asked.
	Sebastian stopped in front of the captain.  "Your orders were to wait until the 
POW's were secure before you invaded."
	"And give up the element of surprise?" the captain replied.  
	"Two died because of your breach of command."
	"What command?" the captain said smugly.  "What orders?  Or are you admitting 
that you were here and that the ISB was involved?"
	"I needed those men-"
	"Bush rebels are a dime a dozen," the captain said dismissively.  "Better them 
than one of my AT-HT crews."
	"Ten seconds would not have made a difference," Sebastian said, a rumble in his 
voice.  "But it was everything for men and women in the Vong cells."
	"The Empire doesn't need the backwater aid of inbred civilians to end the Vong 
threat," the captain said.  "It doesn't need your simian-like allies.  And despite what 
you might think, Mr. Skywalker, it doesn't need you.  You should be happy I let them 
get beamed out at all.  Now, if you don't like it, feel free to go and complain... but 
since you don't exist, who will you tell?"
	Sebastian took a deep breath through his nose.  "Gorren, thump."
	Without a moment's thought the Klingon's fist hit the captain in the face, 
lifting him off his feet before he dropped solidly on the floor in an unconscious heap.  
"It's the only trick I know," the Klingon said with a grin to the XO.
	Everyone had been reaching for their blasters, but the snap of the lightsaber 
activating froze them like a premature ice age.  Sebastian's voice was quiet, but in 
the silence of the bridge it filled every corner.  "Before you make the next move, here 
is what the future will hold.  The captain will be reassigned; nothing beneath him, but 
someplace where he won't be able to cause much harm.  The commander," he indicated the 
XO, whose eyes were flitting between Gorren's dagger and the Klingon's toothy smile, 
"will have a choice of remaining with his captain, or remaining with his ship.  The 
rest of you... you get to decide whether you value your captain's pride over your 
lives.  You see, gentlemen, I may not really exist, but I assure you, the people I 
answer to do... and they have a very, very long reach."  He shut down the saber and 
gave Gorren a tap on the shoulder, his eyes drifting over the assembled officers and 
crewmen.  Together they turned and walked back towards the turbolift.  No one dared to 
try anything.
	"Tell me," Gorren said under his breath, "whose side are we on again?"
	"Our side," Sebastian replied.
	"Ah, good.  I'm glad someone is."

	No one noticed the humanoid in the restaurant.  It wasn't that he was hiding in 
the shadows, or that he was trying not to attract attention, it was that he had simply 
blended right into the surroundings.  If the dictionary had required a picture for 
"typical unnoticed restaurant patron," his image would not be in there, because the 
photographer wouldn't have noticed.  It was a survival trait; it had allowed Nom Anor 
to not only avoid capture, but to walk unencumbered amongst the people currently 
fighting a bitter war against his own.  He was the Yuuzhan Vong's primary insurgent, a 
man with more connections throughout both galaxies than most private governments.  Nom 
Anor's operations covered everything from minor mob activities to manipulating the 
Senate itself. 
	The latter was the reason he was here on Chandrilla, the capital of the Empire.  
It could be considered an extreme risk; he was the most wanted man in the galaxy.  His 
safety was that no one knew who he was really... an assortment of aliases and forged 
identification cards and falsified ship markings, not to mention the fact that no one 
had ever seen his true face, was the best shield there was.
	He glanced up as a woman slid into the chair opposite him.  There was a whine 
on the edge of his hearing, and he knew she was carrying a personal scrambler to 
protect them from anyone who might be listening.  She talked while she pretended to 
look through the menu.  "You said this was urgent."
	"The Empire has taken Kordel, Senator," Nom Anor said.
	Senator Alixus froze, but just for a moment.  "I haven't heard that."
	"I'm sure you will soon enough.  Why did we receive no warning?"
	"I don't know!" she said sharply.  "Kordel was on my list of targets to watch.  
If there was an attack being planned, I should have known."
	"Should have," Nom Anor said.  "I'm concerned that our partnership is not very 
equitable."
	"Look, I'm doing the best I can," she said.  "I have stuck my neck out very far 
on this, but for years now your territory has been shrinking.  You came to me with 
great promises, Mr. Anor, but it is starting to sound like it was posturing.  What 
about the beetles we gave you?"
	"We've tried, but your Jedi killed the last four yammosks before we had barely 
started.  They may be powerful, but they attract unwanted attention."
	"Can't you guard it better?"
	"Do you think we are stupid?"  Nom Anor dabbed at his mouth with a napkin in a 
nondescript fashion.  "You understand natural relationships.  The Jedi is simply far 
too efficient of a predator against the Yun-Yammka.  Until he is dealt with, we cannot 
risk losing another yammosk.  Without them, we would have to pilot the coralskippers 
and Fan'cals ourselves.  We tried that, and it was not our finest hour, senator." 
	"I've told you before," Sen. Alixus said darkly, "the Jedi is beyond my reach, 
and he's not the only one."
	"If we are to succeed," Nom Anor said, "you have to find something."
	"The girl-"
	"Too well protected," Nom Anor said.  "And given our experience with his 
father, I'm not inclined to stick my neck out to grab someone and only make matters 
worse."
	There was little else said, but in the back of Nom Anor's mind, he was already 
considering.  Was it time?  Should he take his chance now, or would he only be exposing 
himself?  Every day the Empire pushed further and further into Vong territory, but had 
it pushed far enough?  Too far?  He finished the meal and exited, still weighing the 
possibilities.

	Kyp Durron strode into the tavern with the personal warmth that always comes 
from being with friends the first night of leave.  After a three month duty against the 
Hirogen, it was a welcome opportunity for him to buy a round for the fighter jocks 
under his command that had survived the ordeal.  Fortunately, there were lots of drinks 
to order.  In minutes the group had practically taken over the small bar, laughing and 
carousing in the manner of people who have had to stand at quiet attention for far, far 
too long.
	Suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he had one of those 
gut feelings he often had when he was in the thick of things in a dogfight.  He 
flinched as a hand tapped him on the shoulder.  He turned and saw a dark robed figure; 
the person's presence drove him back a step into the bar.  A few members of his 
squadron stopped and looked.  "He bothering us, sir?" asked Lt. Gail.  There was no 
"me" in a squadron, only "us."  It kept you all alive.
	"What do you want?" Kyp asked, trying to keep the fear out of his voice.
	The hood was pulled back, revealing a red and black mask.  For some reason it 
chilled Kyp to the bone.  "Your life," it said coldly.
	Even as they pulled their blasters the masked man gestured.  Half the squadron 
was tossed off their feet backwards.  Kyp jumped at the figure, but with a single fluid 
motion he had sidestepped the pilot and driven an elbow into the back of his neck, 
knocking him to the floor in a daze.  The masked figure's other hand had already pulled 
out a lightsaber, its red blade catching the blasts of the remaining members of the 
squadron and sending them back into the crowd.  It took only a couple swings more to 
finish that group off.  Then he spun and leapt in the opposite direction, blade already 
dancing before him.  The room was filled with the rising and falling hum of the blade 
and a symphony of screams.  Kyp pulled himself to his feet as the masked figure turned 
around to face him.  In less than half a minute he had done what the Hirogen couldn't.  
Kyp pulled out his blaster, but it tugged from his hand and flew across the room, where 
it was caught with ease.  "Why?!" he half shouted, half cried.
	"Silence."  It wasn't a shout, wasn't even a demand.  It was apparently a 
simple order to the universe, because in response Kyp found himself unable to speak.  
His throat was closing, and he gripped it in mute horror.  "You are a disgrace, Kyp 
Durron.  If the real you could see this pale imitation... he'd probably thank me for 
what I'm doing now."
	Kyp collapsed to his knees and then, with a sound that was half-crack, half-
croak, fell face forward.  The masked man turned and walked out of the tavern.  He 
stepped into the shadows for a moment; when he emerged he was dressed in ordinary 
street clothes.  He walked with the easy gait of people who are going about their 
business, until he saw Molly O'Brien and the speeder.  "How did it go?" she asked as he 
leapt into the vehicle.
	"As always," Ben Skywalker said, "they continue to disappoint me."  With a 
punch of the accelerator they were gone before the sirens were heard.



CHAPTER II

	In another time and place, things would have to be different.  The room, for 
example, should be dark, and candle-lit.  Nasty-looking coils and switches should line 
the walls.  Things should buzz and bubble and crackle.  Outside should be lightning, 
and perhaps a small disfigured hunchback with a kite.  It shouldn't be neat, organized, 
softly lit.  It betrayed the nature of what went on between these walls.  When you 
tamper with things mankind was never meant to know, it should have a hard edge, not 
tool-free access panels.
	The position of mad scientist in this particular drama was uncontestibly held 
by the woman known as the Oracle.  She had had other names once... Janeway, Captain, 
Kathryn, and some rather unprintable ones.  She was not given to her new name because 
she dispensed wisdom; wisdom was easy to fake after all.  Ask questions about a belief 
you disagree with, and it's wisdom.  When someone questions a belief you agree with, 
tell them they don't fully understand it yet... and that's wisdom too.  Beware those 
who dispense wisdom, becuase the truly wise know it's often best to keep their mouth 
shut.
	The Oracle was a source of a far greater commodity than wisdom; she had 
information.  She had stretched and pulled and stitched at time in the manner that the 
mad scientist archetype might well handle fresh corpses, and she'd learned more than 
most could have imagined.  She had looked into what was, what is, what will be, and 
what could have been.  She was an invaluable ally, and an impossible enemy.  A chess 
computer won by considering every possible move that could be made against it.  The 
Oracle only considered the one move you would make and discarded the rest.
	At the moment she was filling a hypospray with a slightly bluish liquid.  She 
handled it in a routine way, in the manner of someone who regularly walked around 
slamming a sledgehammer into the foundation of the universe.  She held it to her neck 
and released it, giving sudden, quick breaths, then a terrible coughing fit.  For a 
second her eyes glowed green, then pink, then blue, before fading back to what passed 
for normal.  She walked over to the datapad and, below the name "Kyp Durron," carefully 
tapped in "Miko Reglia."  Good, she thought, one more before the masterpiece, one more 
before they revealed themselves to the Empire.
	There was no maniacal laugh, but there should have been.  There's a special 
madness for those who cross into insanity and come out the other side.

	The guard stationed outside the barracks housing the POW's did nothing but open 
the security door.  News like Sebastian and Gorren got around even on a star destroyer.  
As they walked in Sebastian felt the group tension rise.  They were unarmed, but it was 
obvious they all had survived by being able to fight with their hands if it came down 
to it.  Borda rose to his feet.  "[We want the bodies of our comrades,]" he said.
	"I've left instructions to that effect," Sebastian said.  "Please convey my 
sorrow to their families."
	Borda remained standing.  A staring contest with a Rodian isn't easy.  "[Thank 
you for freeing us, but I doubt you were motivated by altruism.]"
	"The dissident movement needs you," Sebastian replied.  "When we heard of your 
capture, we knew we had to move fast."
	"Your exploits are known even on my world," Gorren added.  "Some who chafe 
under the Empire point to you as a folk hero to be emulated."
	"Choo-ee iyta val, mooly-ra."
	The expression on Gorren's face quickly darkened.  Rodian, like Wookiee and 
Ithorian, was a language impervious to universal translators, but he had made the 
effort.  Naturally, remarks like that were the first ones he'd picked up.  A Klingon 
hates not knowing if he's being insulted.
	"You are very important, and my friend is very loyal," Sebastian said.  "That 
is the only reason he hasn't killed you for that."
	"Yet," Gorren growled.
	"I ask that you not disrespect him again."
	"[I have heard of them,]" Borda said.  "[They talk of honor in death and sing 
songs about slaughter.  How can you, a Jedi, stand with one of these?]"
	"Because I am equally loyal to him," Sebastian said.  "And I offer no 
apologies, any more than you would offer apologies for your resistance fighters.  A man 
who has stood at your side in the face of death and didn't abandon you is a man 
deserving of your utmost respect; wouldn't you agree?"
	Borda was quiet.  "[Yes.  I apologize; I should have known any a Jedi would 
call friend is worthy of respect.]"
	"[Jedi,]" another Rodian said with scorn.  "[Why do you waste your time with 
him, Borda?  They don't care about the Rim unless it inconveniences their Imperial 
masters.]"
	"I'm from Tatooine," Sebastian pointed out.
	"[Bah!  Tourist trap!  Where were the Jedi when the Ssi-ruuk invaded our 
worlds, Borda?]"  Sebastian knew what he meant.  Borda had become famous along the 
Outer Rim during the Borg War when he led a band of militia against a Ssi-ruuk invasion 
force.  He'd been a security advisor for one of the Black Sun chiefs in that part of 
space, but heroism covers over a multitude of sins, and when he rose up to resist the 
Vong incursion, thousands rallied to his cause.  Almost every rebel force throughout 
Vong space was connected to Borda in some way, which was why the minute he'd been 
captured Volga Terraine had contacted Sebastian.  While Borda as a martyr might help, 
Borda as a living symbol was preferable.
	"Because others were not here then, you would reject help now?" Sebastian 
asked.  "I know you don't trust me, and that's good.  A rebellion cannot survive 
without protecting secrets and being wary.  But, Borda, before you turn us away, let me 
remind you of Yozal."
	Rodian faces are hard to read, but there seemed to be a flicker of surprise 
across Borda's face.  Gov. Yozal had refused to allow Borda's fleet into their space 
because she didn't want them to owe anything to Black Sun.  After the Ssi-ruuk were 
done even the Vong hadn't bothered with the remains.
	"[You want our help, Jedi,]" Borda said eventually.  "[To coordinate our 
resistance with the Empire, perhaps?  Fine.  But, without Bensen and T'lork, I don't 
have the men to help with the resistance efforts on Dane II.  They need training.]"
	"Then we will go to Dane and help."  Sebastian noticed the mild look of 
surprise on Gorren's face when he answered.  
	"[You are familiar with guerrila tactics?]"
	"My family was in the Rebellion for a long time," Sebastian said.  "I've 
learned alot, and Gorren is an experienced soldier."
	"[Then I will escort you to Dane II and explain to the resistance,]" Borda 
said.  "[I hope you will not disappoint us.]"
	Sebastian nodded and he and Gorren left.  "Something on your mind," he asked 
after a while.
	"You're going to have to postpone again," Gorren said.
	"I know."
	"Why'd you volunteer?"
	"You think I should have told them to wait while I took a holiday?"
	"I think you think you should.  You're tapping your ring again."
	Sebastian's hand froze.  Whenever he was thinking about Jorri, he'd tap his 
wedding band against his lightsaber.  He'd never known he did it until Gorren pieced it 
together and told him.  "It's just been a while."
	"Too long, my friend," Gorren said.  "Jorielle is a fine woman and a brave 
warrior.  You spend far too much time from her side."
	"I know.... but we've got no choice.  Officers like Capt. Ozzel are more common 
than I'd like, and without a dissident movement that has a chance, they may move in and 
pull the Vong out by whatever means are necessary.  Billions, would die if that 
happened.  If we can prevent that, then not seeing her is a small price to pay."
	"No, it isn't," Gorren said.  "Just because it's personal doesn't make it 
small."

	From white to starlines to blackness, the routine miracle of hyperspace ended.  
Jorielle Skywalker made a course adjustment and headed towards the planet.  "All wings 
report in," she ordered.  As the members of her squadron gave their report, she looked 
over the preliminary scans.  It was the multitasking of commanders: make sure everyone 
is going in, and try to make sure everyone will be leaving in the end.  "Ali," she said 
to her gunner after the report was complete, "anything on long range."
	"No sign, sir," he reported.  "Looks like all the Hirogen that are coming have 
already arrived."
	"That's more than enough," she remarked, counting fifteen vessels.  "Break 
formation, try to draw them away from the settlements, but stick with your wingmen.  
All gunners, kid gloves are officially off; I want an opening volley of flux torpedoes, 
and shoot to kill."
	Jorri had been one of the pioneers in the tactical application of the H-
Fighter, back when it was still in the testing phases.  The design bore some similar 
wing structures to a TIE Interceptor or X-Wing, and a tapering cylindrical shape that 
was edged with warp nacelles.  The extra maneuverability combined with the heavy 
firepower was leaving every fighter in the dust, but the Hirogens didn't use fighters.  
Their ships were small enough to be vulnerable to attack - trench run syndrome, as some 
in the Academy called it - but they had more raw power and heavy armor.  With the 
Hirogen's numerical superiority, they'd need to do some serious early damage to have a 
shot of getting out of this.  
	The squadron of H-Fighters descended, but the Hirogen didn't seem to care.  
They continued the bombardment right up until the moment those shimmering green lights 
rocketed from the fighters, slipping through their shields and tearing into their 
armor.  Two exploded outright, but Jorri's stomach tightened as the ships turned to 
engage.  "Black 2, cross the T.  Ali, fire at will."
	"Understood, Jorri," he remarked.  The ship's top panel opened and a turret 
emerged, its twin cannons coming around as the two fighters twisted through space and 
flew in between the Hirogen ships.  The laser cannons pivoted and fired as Ali tried to 
compensate for the evasive maneuvers while Jorri raced through at full throttle.  The 
Hirogen scored almost as many hits for them as he did.  Their combat mentality still 
hadn't evolved to the teamwork necessary to face a coordinated enemy.  Nom Anor and his 
cronies could arm them, give them all the choice targets in the galaxy, but he couldn't 
change centuries of an individual approach to combat.  The Hirogen were exceptional 
hunters, but inefficient soldiers.
	They passed through another group of Hirogen ships, their lasers scorching 
across their armor.  As Jorri pulled up a pair of proton torpedoes raced away and 
struck a target of opportunity.  "Nicely done, lieutenant," she remarked as she came 
about for another run.  Behind her, Black 9 and 10 added a pair of flux torpedoes each, 
finishing off the ship.  Unfortunately, Black 10 had strayed too close, and the 
shrapnel shredded two of its wings and left the fighter in a mad spin.  There was an 
explosion, and pilot and gunner tumbled away from the ship a few moments before it 
exploded.  "Hutch!  You okay?" came the voice of Black 9.
	"Commander, Breje is gone, sir!" came Hutch's desperate words.  
	"Radio silence, Hutch," Jorri said.  
	"Sir-"
	"Radio silence, wait for rescue.  Black 9, join up with Black 4."
	"The Hirogen-"
	"Task at hand, lieutenant," she said sharply.  "Ali, what's the ETA on the 
Sentinel and her escort?"
	"Seven minutes, Jorri."
	"Kriff."  The Hirogen would find Breje and Hutch fine trophies, but there was 
nothing they could do about it.  Even if this wasn't a combat situation, they didn't 
have the gear to rescue someone in their escape suit; Hutch would just have to hope he 
could hold out for another seven minutes.  "All wings, change of plans.  Go for the 
turbolaser batteries, let's de-claw these predators."
	The Hirogen turbolasers had gotten over some of their earlier compatibility 
issues and, much to Jorri's distress, were applying them with greater and greater 
skill.  What's more, while she had several combat veterans in her squadron, this was 
their first combat run in the H-fighter.  Old instincts, instincts of survival, were 
obsolete.  Black 5 did a perfect twist out of the path of turbolaser fire, but 
misjudged the maneuverability and sheered right through his wingman's port wings.  In 
the confusion the Hirogen finished both off.  Jorielle tightened her grip on the 
controls, keeping the movements soft and smooth for Ali.  One flux torpedo shimmered 
and hit a turbolaser battery right at the power line.  She banked and raced towards the 
next as the battery went up.  With the wilder shots of the next Hirogen, she found it 
harder to keep it steady without risk of becoming a target.  This time the torpedo only 
damaged one of the guns, but Black 2's gunner dropped a few protons and finished it.  
The dance continued in the timeless environment of combat as each sought the best way 
to atomize the other.
	"Commander," Ali said with a tone of relief, "they've arrived."  Jorri looked 
up at the welcome sight of the Inferno-class star destroyer and her two Imperator 
escorts.  There was a flash of silver as an Interdictor torpedo exploded, causing a 
four minute gravitational distortion that would ensure the Hirogen wouldn't be going 
anywhere.  
	"All wings, break off," she ordered.  "Screen the planet; let's make sure they 
don't decide to take anyone with them."  The H-Fighters pulled off as the Sentinel 
opened fire with its own turbolaser batteries.  Two Hirogen ships fired their anti-
Interdictor torpedo, but without a projector they simply exploded upon arming.  
	"This is the fifth time we've used the Interdictor torpedoes on the Hirogen," 
Ali remarked.  "You'd think they'd know better by now."
	"There's no organization for the Hirogen," Jorri remarked, looking over the 
status of her squadron.  "No intelligence network, no central command, they won't know 
about it until Nom Anor tells them."  Hutch's lifesigns were gone... it could be a 
malfunction, but more than likely he was dead or a Hirogen prisoner, which wasn't much 
different.  The Sentinel had already chomped through half the remaining Hirogen ships 
while the Imperators kept them contained.
	"Black 1, this is Fighter Command," came the voice of Col. Deltone, her 
superior.  "Status?"
	"We've lost five fighters, two ejections with no life signs."
	"Return to base," was all he said.  Jorri took the lead and the remains of 
Black Squadron slipped through the battle to the Sentinel's launch bay.  They hadn't 
even finished docking before the last of the Hirogen resistors were finished.
	Jorri pulled off her helmet after her feet hit the deck.  Col. Deltone was 
waiting.  "We'll go over the recordings at 1800 hours," he said, "but what's your 
initial opinion?"
	She wiped some of the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand while 
she thought.  "We got there much faster," she said, "so that part of the strategy was 
sound.  But we were outnumbered, and even with delaying tactics, we took heavy losses.  
If we want to use the H-Fighters as an advanced response force, we need to replace our 
protons with flux torpedoes and stick to a minimum of two, preferably three, squadrons 
at a time."
	"Most of the H-Fighters have been going to the front line," Deltone said.  "I'm 
not sure we could outfit that many for Hirogen patrols."
	Jorri shrugged.  "Just my initial opinion, but I think that if we're going to 
do this, one squadron isn't enough."
	Deltone nodded.  "The ten casualties," he added, "get me their names and 
personal effects; I'll write the letters later.  Anything you can add would be 
helpful."  Jorri nodded, and went about the rest of the post-mission routine.  She 
talked things over briefly with Black 2, Capt. Relam, then returned to her quarters.  
She smiled when she saw the flashing message, but the minute she read it her heart 
sunk.  With a stab of her finger she deleted Sebastian's message and headed for the 
fresher.  Even the soothing warm water wasn't enough to relax her.
	"Oh, Bastian," she said under her breath, "we had so much to talk about."

	The McCoy Foundation was one of the few organizations from the Pre-Imperial era 
that hadn't allowed the switch to a monetary economy to influence their activities.  It 
was, in fact, partly because of this that it did do so well.  In the chaos of the 
present day, it was an island of Federation ideals.  When people like Jorielle 
Skywalker were done, the Foundation's work just started.
	Charity, as the ship was called, was one of the only Mon Calamari Star Cruisers 
to survive.  Its weapons had been stripped off before it was donated to the Foundation 
by Talon Karrde after some members of the group boarded one of his ships despite the 
fact that the beacon clearly showed there was a plague on board, just to minister to 
the dying.  It was through such generosity that the McCoy foundation was known 
throughout the Empire for their disaster relief efforts.  At the moment, the wake of 
the Hirogen attack had left thousands of casualties that were already overwhelming the 
local hospitals and emergency treatment camps.  Charity could handle them all easily, 
thanks to the huge capacity, advanced medical technology, and crack personnel.  At the 
moment, one of them was asleep in a chair.
	"John," said Dr. Helga Grant as she gave him a gentle but no-nonsense prod, 
"triage is standing by."  Dr. John Ezri nodded and pulled himself up.  He looked even 
worse than usual, his cheeks more sunken, his thin form seemed actually frail.  "Were 
you down here last night again?"
	"Let's see to the patients," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose and then 
brushing his silver hair out of his face.  
	"John, you know you won't do us any good if you don't get enough rest."
	"Bah, the body is miserly when it comes to rest.  Don't listen to it, that's my 
advice."  Dr. Grant was about to protest when he stepped up to the first occupied bed.  
It was as if the sight of the sick and the wounded tapped into him; he seemed taller, 
spry, and his every word was quick and crisp.  "She goes into surgery," he said with 
barely a pause as he stepped to the next bed.  He read the readings over the bed, ran a 
tricorder over the body, and put it back within seconds.  "Give him a local to take the 
edge off.  Dermal regenerator."  He was already on to the next bed.  Dr. Ezri never 
diagnosed during an emergency; he told you what to do.  Giving it a label won't help, 
it'll only start a debate.  "Helga, you want to take the OR or handle things here."
	"I'll handle the surgery, what're we looking at?"
	"Serious rupturing in the chest cavity.  Have a blood-oxygenator standing by, 
and don't be surprised if you have to replace the lungs.  This man needs a Bacta tank."
	"His burns aren't that severe," the nurse remarked.
	"Bacta," Dr. Ezri snapped, then began looking over the next patient.
	"Bacta supplies are low," the nurse said to Helga.  "Can you offer a second 
opinion?"
	"Dr. Ezri doesn't give opinions, he gives facts.  Get him into a Bacta Tank."  
As the patient was wheeled down the hall Helga took a moment to glance down... John 
hadn't grabbed a medical tricorder.  She flipped it open to look at the previous 
reading.  The surface wounds were contaminated with the fungal disease, she saw.  At 
this early stage, the Bacta would stop it, but if the dermal regenerator was used, the 
stuff would be free to incubate.  He'd be dead within a couple of months.
	She shook her head as she watched him wade through the fallen.  Even after 
years he still surprised her.  What was someone with his skill doing in the back end of 
nowhere?



CHAPTER III

	Annika Hansen Skywalker sat up nervously on the bed as the Doctor looked over 
the results of the many tests she'd been subjected to.  She pulled her snow white hair 
into a bun; it gave her something to do.  "Bad news?" she finally asked.
	"I'm afraid it's not news," the Doctor replied.  "It's what I'm sure you 
already figured out on your own; the nanoprobe treatment is no longer having any effect 
on the disease."  He held the hypospray to her neck with a faint hiss of discharge.  
"It is still helping your body some, and your immune system seems to have picked up the 
slack..."
	"But it's not enough, is it."  It wasn't a question; she'd known the answer 
long before Han insisted they return to Earth for a full check-up.  "I'm not going to 
make it."
	"Annika, I can help you if you stay," the Doctor said with restrained 
exasperation.  
	Annika shook her head; the effort made her head swim.  "There's still too much 
to do."
	"Yes, it's called 'life,' Annika!  Running around the galaxy looking for Nom 
Anor is killing you, can't you see that?"
	"I'm not going to just lay here and wait to die," she said.  She took his hand 
kindly.  "I have every faith in you," she added, "but there's nothing you can do for 
me, right?"
	"We're making progress-"
	"But not soon enough... not for me."  She hugged him tight.  "You've given me 
years more than anyone else ever had.  I saw my son's wedding thanks to you.  But there 
comes a point where we have to accept the inevitable."
	The Doctor tried to persuade her, but her mind was made up.  She kept herself 
under tight control and only stumbled once on her way out of the building.  A short 
walk to the transporter station and she was in Paris, but while ground crews were 
looking over the Millennium Falcon, Han wasn't among them.  She had a pretty good idea 
where he was, but you never know when a Cardassian ambush squad or alien doppelganger 
might be involved, so she connected her commlink to her tricorder to track him down.  
She closed the tricorder once it confirmed her suspicions, then, wincing, she walked as 
best she could to the swoop rental depot and set out into the heart of the city.
	Han was standing next to a marker.  It was one of the few times that Leia ever 
wielded the weight of her position, but replacing the apartment complex with a memorial 
park had seemed the right thing.  With the movement of the capital to Sydney, the 
Parisian housing demand had dropped considerably anyway.
	Annika stayed a little ways back in silence.  She hadn't known Chewie - really 
known him - at all before the engagement.  He'd been just another alien to come through 
the wormhole, another partner in their struggle against the Empire and the Borg.  But 
then she became engaged to Luke, and that changed.  He told her, in no uncertain terms, 
that he would protect her if she ever needed it.  She was family now.  Family.  Not the 
way Capt. Janeway had tossed the word around in the "we're all in this together" 
mindset, but that there was an unbreakable bond between them.  Even Han's hatred for 
Luke couldn't sever it, couldn't drive him out.  Family sticks together, no matter 
what... and no one had felt that way about her in a long, long time.  She would never 
forget the way he'd pick her up like she was just a little girl and give her just the 
sort of comfort she sorely needed during the hardest days of her life.  He was truly a 
special being, one deserving all of this and more.
	Han left Chewie's grave and walked over to her, a forced smile on his face.  
"Hungry?" he asked as he led the way to one of the wheeled stands the locals kept up 
for the tourists.  
	"No," she said.  She hadn't eaten in eight days, her stomach couldn't handle it 
any more.  She regenerated and injected nutrients into her system to keep her strength 
up, but even then she still needed to sleep several hours a night.  Han bought a 
pretzel; her insides twisted at the sight of him eating it.  "I brought a swoop."
	"Good, I'll drive," he said crumpling up the pretzel wrapper.
	"It's my swoop," she chided him.  "You don't think your macho ego can stand 
having to take the back seat to a woman?"
	"Oh really?" he said, drawing to a halt.  "Hold out your hand."
	Annika held it out; it was as steady as a mountain.  "See?  Maybe you-"  She 
stopped and blinked after the pretzel wrapper hit her in the face.  She'd been so 
focused she hadn't seen it coming.
	"Nice try," Han said as a droid scurried out of some underbrush, grabbed the 
piece of litter, and vanished.  "I'll drive."  He stepped onto the swoop and hummed it 
to life.  Grudgingly, Annika took the back seat and grabbed him around the waist, and 
they took off back to the docking bay.  "How did things go?" he asked.
	"No surprises," she said.  He didn't probe further, and she didn't volunteer 
anything.  They returned the swoop and a few minutes later the Falcon was heading for 
space.
	"I'm thinking we should change our plans a bit," Han said as he examined the 
instruments and made some adjustments.  
	"What do you mean?"  Annika took a deep breath, ready for the heated argument 
that was coming.
	"Finding Nom Anor is important," he said, "but so's stopping his plans, right?"
	"I suppose so.  Anything he does inevitably furthers the Vong cause.  You have 
something in mind?"
	"Yeah, I was thinking about this fungal disease."  He pressed on before she 
could say a word.  "It's been spotted across hundreds of worlds now, and some people 
are starting to panic.  If we found a cure, I figure that would hamper the Vong 
effort."
	"True... but flawed.  Medical researchers have a much better chance of finding 
a cure-"
	"There's a cure out there," Han interrupted.  "Remember?"
	Annika's mood darkened.  "That is not an option."
	"All I'm saying is, maybe we can find a way to negotiate it from them.  Offer 
them something else."
	"They're not interested," Annika said.  "They made it clear what they want, and 
I'll die before they get it."
	"You never know," Han said, "maybe they've changed their minds."
	"They are Borg."
	"And I thought Borg adapted.  It's worth a try."
	"Han-"
	"I've already buried one co-pilot," he said sharply.  "If I have to steal the 
cure from them, I can live with it."
	Annika sunk back into the chair; she didn't have the energy to fight any more.  
"Okay, you win.  Set course for Sanctuary; that's the best place to start."
	"Actually, we're going to make one other stop first."  He finished entering the 
coordinates into the nav computer.
	"The delta quadrant?"
	"I think we're going to need some help on this one," he said as he pulled back 
on the lever and sent the freighter into hyperspace.

	Garak had been lying back on his bunk, but as the door to his cell opened he 
jerked up, and a grin spread across his face like a plague through a slum.  "Minister 
Terraine.  What a delightful break in my daily tedium.  Have you come to administer my 
daily torture sessions?  I've been hoping they would send a master to do the job."
	"Spare me, Mr. Garak," Terraine said as a chair was brought in.  He sat down; 
with a single nod the guards left and sealed him in.
	"I know you didn't order it, but I'm afraid they do enjoy their petty torments.  
Really quite amateurish in my experience, and I have been in-"
	"I have no interest in today's work of fiction, Mr. Garak," Terraine said 
evenly.  Those who knew Garak was in ISB hands - a small number to say the least - 
would have been surprised to know that no harsh interrogation methods were used on him, 
even though he was the one person who knew everything about his organization.  The ISB 
had met its match in the Cardassian; no instrument was fine enough, no droid precise 
enough, to cut through his lies to find the truth.  If you believed the reports, it was 
one hundred percent certain that Garak was actually a disguised clone of Grand Admiral 
Thrawn, had constructed a fleet of one thousand Eclipse-class star destroyers in the 
Badlands, and that he had rebuilt Cardassia by gathering all the planetary fragments 
and fusing them back together again.  Terraine had once called in Sebastian Skywalker 
to see if he could tell when he was lying; Garak told him he was the temporally 
displaced reincarnation of his father.
	"I see," Garak said.  "In that case, why would the head of the ISB wish to see 
me?"
	"The Emperor has made his decision regarding your appeal of the death 
sentence."
	"Really?  I thought for a while there he must have forgotten about me... it's 
almost as if he kept me alive for a reason."
	"The war is a complication; he wanted to consider all the ramifications, 
perhaps even the possibility of your reform."
	"Ah, you mean to become an Imperial lapdog such as yourself."  Garak took a 
perverse pleasure in Volgo Terraine's look.  "Still, I suppose one should know when 
it's time to switch to the winning side.  I accept.  I think I could be best put to use 
here in the ISB.  Oh, you've done some wonderful things with it, but I think there's 
potential here that's not being explored, for example-"
	"Enough, Mr. Garak," he snapped, then pulled himself back under control.  "The 
Emperor has made his decision, but these things must be handled properly.  You'll be 
brought before the tribunal again the day after tomorrow, where he will render his 
decision.  If he supports the ruling, you will be executed immediately, so I suggest 
you prepare yourself for the possibility."  He stood up to leave.
	"You're not going to tell me?"
	Terraine turned back.  "No," he said sharply.
	Garak gave a half-shrug, half-nod.  "I see you enjoy your petty torments as 
well."  Terraine said nothing as the guards opened the door and let him out.  They kept 
blasters pointed at him as they removed the chair, and Garak took a certain pride in 
that.  At his age, to still be seen as dangerous was a sign that he was doing things 
right.  He lay back on his bunk and reflected.  The Oracle, like she had with 
everything else, had been right.  He still didn't know why, but the Emperor had been 
keeping him alive for this long, and now was going to announce his execution.  If the 
situation were reversed, Garak would have ordered a swift public trial and an even more 
public execution, then gotten down to business.  There had to be a reason; the Emperor 
had grown far more calculating once the galaxies had been conquered.
	There were stories that the Emperor was a Sith, much like his own young 
partner, Ben.  Some say the Sith can see through time in much the same way the Oracle 
can.  Could he have figured out what they were planning?  Did he delay deliberately so 
that he could foil their efforts?  If so, then Garak was beaten; even if he escaped, he 
could never reach the pinnacle of power he'd attained.  They'd just be what everyone 
thought, a collection of terrorists and malcontents, not a force for galactic change.

	Gorren walked up and down the ranks inspecting the rebels.  They were standing 
at what passed for attention among farmers, mechanics, merchants, and anyone else whose 
closest approach to military service was watching adventure holos.  Gorren reached the 
end of the line and bellowed.  Few can bellow like a Klingon; they've spent millennia 
crafting shouting into an artform.  "Stomach in!  Chest out!"  The makeshift army 
shuffled to comply.  "You!"   He pointed a dirty fingernail at a small man in the front 
row.  "What is your name?"
	"Gorlif-" he started.
	"EYES FRONT!!!"
	The man jerked so hard Sebastian winced in sympathy.  "Gorlif Otts, sir.  I'm a 
swoop mechanic."
	Gorren continued down the ranks.  "When they write the songs of the great deeds 
done on Dane II, will they take time to sing of Gorlif the Mechanic, who tended to 
slouch?"  He turned back to them, and there was fire in his eyes and a smirk of 
approval on his face.  "Or will they sing of Gorlif the Warrior, who stood tall and 
proud in the heat of battle and sent a dozen enemies to their judgment with his 
righteous hand?"  He waited.  "Well?!"
	Gorlif stopped looking at his hand and jerked back to attention.  "The second, 
sir."
	Borda shook his head as the Klingon went back to it.  "[Where did you find 
him?]"
	"Qo'nos," Sebastian said.  "He was the leader of a Klingon resistance cell, so 
he knows what he's doing."
	"[These aren't Klingons.]"
	"He knows that; that's why he's not hitting anyone."
	Borda looked back to Sebastian.  "[Why would a rebel Klingon join with you?]"
	"I defeated him with five forms of hand-to-hand combat.  He said whatever cause 
such a warrior fights for must be honorable."
	"[And what do you think of these rebels, warrior?]"
	Sebastian ground his teeth as he looked them over.  "Honestly... I think most 
of them are going to die.  They have no idea what they're going up against."
	"[But-]"
	"But they'll make a difference.  They'll help rid this world of the Vong, and 
that's what they came here to do.  I just hope it's worth it to them."
	"[And the songs?]" Borda asked.
	Sebastian forced a laugh.  "I'm afraid I never found it much to sing about?"
	"[I thought you said you were a warrior?]"
	"I said Gorren thinks I'm a warrior.  The only thing you can do to get a song 
out of me is to end the war this afternoon."
	"[Yet you side with a Klingon.]"
	"He follows my lead, and he's a good person.  He just has a different cultural 
background than I do.  Battle, conflict, war are the heart of Klingon culture.  For 
him, this is opportunity for honorable victory or honorable death."
	"[And you?]"
	Sebastian looked back to the rank and file.  "War is a monster," he said.  "And 
it eats people."
	Borda nodded as he turned to the rebels.  "[You know,]" he said, "[we hear 
stories out here on the Rim.  They say there's a Jedi who secretly works for the ISB, 
that he's got contacts on hundreds of worlds...]"  He turned back to Sebastian.  
"[...but really he's supposed to be in line for the Emperor's throne.]"
	Sebastian's face was blank, but when he spoke, one corner of his mouth turned 
up in a forced attempt at a smile, and his voice was low and unfriendly.  "Never heard 
of him."  He stepped to the front and Gorren drew himself up.  "At ease, Gorren," 
Sebastian said, then turned to the rebels.  "All that is good advice," he said loudly, 
"and I'd think about it.  But two things are most important of all to remember when 
you're out there facing the real thing.  Remember that this is your world, your home 
that you're fighting for, not for cause or glory.  And remember that the best way to 
defend your home is to live to defend it when it's threatened again.  Now, stand at 
ease and pay attention."  Gorren handed him a weapon.  "We're going to learn to fight 
with this, but first, a little tidbit for those of you without training.  I don't care 
what your beliefs or philosophies are, but when it comes to this weapon here," he held 
it up high, "you are now an existentialist.  Every weapon is loaded unless you have 
examined the charge yourself when you've picked it up.  This is a Blastech S-14 Hybrid 
Rifle; it's designed to kill people.  Never point it at anyone unless you are prepared 
to kill them; there are no exceptions to this rule."  He passed it back to Gorren.  
"Mr. Borda's going to take some of you to practice using this weapon; I'd better see 
all of you return.  Now, some of you have mechanical and engineering experience."  He 
rattled off a list of names from memory.  "I want all of you with me; we're going to 
discuss the art of sabotage.  Mr. Gorren will be selecting some of you to learn heavy 
weapons.  Does anyone here speak wookiee?"  A large hairy arm went up, accompanied by a 
few chuckles.  "Thank you, Mr. Shekaaala, I'll keep you in mind.  Is there anyone who 
can translate wookiee into Basic?"  He pointed to a raised hand.  "Good, Mr. Cloudstorm 
you're with Mr. Gorren."
	Borda stepped towards him while Gorren began handing out weapons.  "[I can't 
stay long.]"
	"I know.  Just long enough to get things started, let them know you find it's 
important enough for your time."
	"[You really think they're going to die?]"
	"Most," Sebastian said.  "The new weapons are helping, but even stormtroopers 
have trouble facing the Vong."
	"[Then why are you bothering with us?]"
	"Because I do want the war to end this afternoon, and if I help you, the odds 
can only go up."

	Anakin Solo took a deep breath as he switched on the computer.  "Begin scan of 
holo-network, use filter Sith-3."  He sat back as the computer began searching through 
a trillion trillion listings of the events from throughout the galaxies, tapping his 
hands on the table in boredom.  They didn't sound the same; it was hard to tell, but if 
you were the owner of the hands you couldn't help but notice.  One resonated with the 
vibration of muscle, bone, and blood, of real skin and real flesh.  The other was a 
facsimile of advanced mechanics and complex polymers that Anakin didn't begin to 
understand.  He had it because of a run-in with a Sith... a Sith that seemed to be very 
busy.
	The computer beeped that it was complete, and Anakin held his breath as he 
examined the results.  Two were false positives that he deleted, but the third...  He 
punched the datapad and the full story came up.
	The victim was Miko Reglia, a swoop racer who was competing on the Malastare 
circuit.  Once again, a figure showing no concern for his safety had arrived, dressed 
in black and wearing a black and red mask.  He'd slaughtered twelve guards who got in 
his way before striking down the pilot and disappearing.  It was just like all the 
others.
	Anakin sat bolt upright.  Not quite like the others; they'd gotten an image.  
He stared at it for a long time.  Of course, it was just a mask, nothing special in and 
of itself.  The number of people in the universe who would recognize its significance 
could fit on a single shuttle.  He filed it away with the rest of the reports.  He had 
a theory, but no one was going to listen to it until he had more.  He just wished that 
wouldn't involve people dying.


CHAPTER IV

	Telaaca was as physically intimidating as they come.  His heavy frame easily 
topped two meters in height, and even beneath his fur signs of durastele-like 
musculature was evident.  He stank of sweat and wet hair, and his breath was foul.  His 
mouth was open, and the Wookiee's sharp canines promised that if the claws couldn't 
kill, they could.  He swung a fist; Sebastian dropped under it.
	"Come on, attack me!" Sebastian said, standing back up and dancing about to 
stay light on his feet.  "Mean it!"  Telaaca swung again, but Sebastian easily dodged.  
"This is a waste of my time.  Wookiees are beasts of burden; pack animals.  You don't 
know the first thing about fighting; no wonder you were enslaved so easily.  Why don't 
you go over and start unloading some cargo so I can face a real warrior, ape."
	Telaaca let out a roar as he attacked.  Sebastian caught the massive arm at the 
wrist, then pivoted and shoved to drive his shoulder into the counterswing; by catching 
it near the elbow he managed to dissipate most of the strength.  He then twisted, 
pulling the wookiee off balance and shoved his elbow into his abdomen.  He ducked and 
pivoted, sending the wookiee over him and dropping him on his back on the ground, but 
even as he hit, Telaaca yanked, pulling Sebastian on top of him.  He grabbed a handful 
of the human's hair and pulled him further over, but Sebastian drove his knee into the 
side of Telaaca's head with bone-jarring force.  He repeated the kick several times, 
then grabbed and twisted the arm that held him until his head was free.   He pushed as 
Telaaca kicked, narrowly avoiding the claws of his feet as he stepped back.  He caught 
the Wookiee's back swing and twisted the limb until Telaaca was on his stomach.  
Sebastian leapt onto his back, pulled out his lightsaber, and swung.
	"And had I been a Vong," he said to the assembled rebels, "that would be the 
end of that."  He attached the still unlit lightsaber to his belt, then got off 
Telaaca's back.  He got down on both knees.  "I apologize for the attack on your honor, 
and I place my life in your hands."  The Wookiee grabbed him by both shoulders and 
lifted him back to his feet to indicate that all was forgiven.  "Does anyone think they 
could stand up to Telaaca in a fight?"  There was no answer.  The other Wookiees had 
agreed that he was their finest warrior, and the assembled humans and aliens knew how 
Wookiees often acted when they lose, and felt they'd be lucky to live that long.  "Okay 
then.  The Vong will not use anything different than what you saw here: strength, 
position, and viciousness.  Remember that going up against a Vong hand-to-hand is the 
absolute final resort.  They are at the advantage; it's how they fight best.  Any 
questions?"  He waited.  "Fine.  Mr. Shilof, take care of Mr. Telaaca's wounds.  The 
rest of you, pay attention, this is basic field medicine.  After that I want squad 
leaders to have their groups armed and ready to fall out for drills.  Dismissed."
	The group walked off as Sebastian came up to Gorren.  "So, how about this 
weather?" he asked.
	"Good, good," the Klingon answered.  "Nice and clear.  Hope we get some rain 
soon to help toughen them up."
	"Quite true, quite true."  Sebastian looked up at the sky.  "Maybe it will."
	"It might at that."
	"Are they gone?"
	"Yes."
	"Good," Sebastian said as he fell down and groaned.  Gorren laughed, then 
helped prop his friend up next to a tree.  "What was I thinking?"
	Gorren started patting the dust off Sebastian's clothes, causing the Jedi to 
wince.  "You were thinking that they would only get the point if the Wookiee gave you 
his all.  Anything less, and they wouldn't remember it, especially him.  They'd know 
that he was holding back, that he really could have won if he'd tried.  This way 
there's no doubt, so they'll be cautious.  It was a wise move, my friend."
	"Well, I think this could be the first time in galactic history that wrestling 
an enraged Wookiee was called wise; usually it's the opposite."
	"Nonsense.  You are Sebastian, Son of Luke and head of the house of Skywalker.  
You could have bested two such warriors if you yourself weren't holding back."
	"Are you sure my scalp is still attached?"
	"Hmm, mostly," Gorren said, looking him over.  He found the medkit and gave it 
to Sebastian, who gave himself a pain killer with a sigh of relief.  "You're tapping 
your ring again," he remarked.
	Sebastian smiled and looked at it.  A little piece of her he would always have 
with him.  He missed her, that was certainly true.  With his work they didn't have much 
time together, but it never diminished what he felt for her, only made him wish all the 
more the war could be over, that he could be with her.  Just being with her... he 
always felt like anything was possible, that even the most daunting task was simple.  
	Sebastian recalled the last time they were together.  He was lying in bed, and 
she came in off the balcony dressed only in a sheer robe.  And the light of the two 
moons shone through around her, and she walked towards where he laid, and she was so 
beautiful, that he was paralyzed.  He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think, 
he just laid there, loving her with all his heart and knowing that she was the only one 
who could ever have it.  When she came to him, all he did was hold her, as if anything 
more would sully the purity of the moment.  And he knew, he knew without hesitation, 
that nothing in his life would ever make him regret loving her, because that moment 
alone had been worth more than a month of Vong brainwashing as far as he was concerned.
	"It's a shame we cannot have more missions like this," Gorren went on as he 
tended to Sebastian's wounds.  "If you'd been at my side on Qo'nos we would even now be 
standing at the front of an army of millions of warriors ready to battle the Empire at 
our command."
	"Yes, but we're not at war with the Empire."
	"Yes, it's a pity.  They'd be a far more worthy challenge than the Vong have 
been."
	"And by 'worthy,' of course, you mean 'certain to annihilate us,' right?"
	"Ah, but what a way to end," Gorren said dreamily, sitting back alongside 
Sebastian.  "You have no idea the dishonor the Imperial conquest has brought to my 
people.  Defeat in battle is one thing, but to be reduced to an unarmed state, to be 
forced to resolve all matters with words... I cannot tell you how it fills our hearts 
with shame.  Believe me, one such as you could rally the entire population behind you 
in any cause."
	"You, perhaps, my friend.  But I am no Klingon."
	"Maybe not in your flesh, but in your heart you honor our ways."
	"I respect your culture because I respect you, Gorren."  Sebastian winced as he 
closed the last wound on his scalp.  "But let's be honest, I'm just a human."
	"Maybe so, but I still think they would follow you.  When you speak you are 
genuine; why else would any of these men who are two, three times your age show you the 
respect they do?  You inspire them, show them that you find them worthy, and for that 
they won't disappoint you.  The way you remember every detail about them-"
	"It's just my eidetic memory," Sebastian said.  
	"It doesn't matter where it comes from!  It matters that it is!  These farmers 
and bankers will march into certain death at your command because they believe in you, 
and they do that because you believe in them!  If you lead-"
	"No!" Sebastian snapped.  Gorren said nothing more, and they sat together in 
the shade until the squad leaders arrived.  Sebastian kept trying to put it out of his 
mind, but he could no more do that than stop breathing; sooner or later, it comes back.  
That quiet voice whose tone did nothing to ease the foreboding of those words.
	"They're going to take it all away from you Sebastian.  Everything."

	Two Imperator-class star destroyers dropped out of hyperspace near Gidala III, 
a minor world still under Vong control.  It was a routine mission: arrive, show of 
force, leave.  Let the Vong know that the Empire hadn't forgotten about them, and that 
they could strike with impunity throughout their territory.  TIEs were launched to deal 
with the skippers.  The mission was so commonplace that the new fighters hadn't been 
assigned to these operations.
	Alarms suddenly came to life on the bridges of both ships as the mundane gave 
way to surprised anxiety.  A gravity well projection had arrived, but it wasn't an 
interdictor field; it was biological.  Only one group had that capability.
	Twenty Vong coralships came out from behind the dark side of Gidala III's moon.   
The star destroyers, obviously trapped, moved to engage the Vong, intent on taking as 
many down with them as possible.  But the Vong's strength of numbers was too much.  
Within minutes one was disabled and the other in flames.  The skippers, outnumbering 
the TIEs by thirty to one, made short work of them.  No one bothered to jam the 
Imperials' signal.  The Vong had a message of their own to send.

	Sen. Alixus finished reading through the report, doing her best to hide her 
satisfaction behind a frown of disapproval.  It wouldn't do for anyone to suspect her 
any more than they already did.  She handed it off to one of her aides as the turbolift 
doors opened.  Perhaps this will help solidify things with Nom Anor, she thought as she 
and her bodyguard entered the hall and proceeded to the transporter.  Seconds later she 
was in the garden of her senatorial home, blooming with the radiance that comes only 
from plants grown by calloused hands and bent backs.  The bodyguard led the way to the 
door, entered the security code, and held the door opened for her.  She hung up her 
coat as he went about the daily ritual of checking in with the house security.  
	"Senator," he said, "there seems to be a problem.  Gall and Didara aren't 
checkin-"  He stopped, and she turned and also saw the look of horror in Didara's eyes.  
Perhaps it was the fact that his body was several meters away.
	"Don't move," came a voice from the shadows.  Alixus' bodyguard went for his 
weapon.  As a lightning bolt came out of the darkness to engulf him, Alixus noted a 
cloaked figure wearing a mask.  As the charred remains fell to the floor she decided 
not to disobey.
	"Why are you here?" she asked, keeping her voice even.  Strength was what was 
needed to overcome, she reminded herself.  She couldn't bring it back to humanity if 
she didn't embrace it herself.
	"Your allegiance," the masked figure said.  
	"To whom?"
	"To the Sith... we who will tear down the Empire and make mankind strong 
again."
	"And how will you do that."  She jumped despite herself at the snapping sound, 
and the cloaked figure was eerily outlined by red light.  
	"With this," he said.  "And that datapad."  She noticed the device sitting on 
the table.  He nodded, and she stepped forward and activated it.  A gasp escaped her 
lips.  "You're surprised?"
	"It'll never work," she said as she read through it.  "This is Chandrilla, not 
the Alpha Quadrant.  You can't just-"
	"For the Sith, there is no such thing as 'can't.'"
	She read through it again.  It was impossible... and yet, it included details 
that hinted at her own connections, at the secret network she'd been using to help 
topple the Empire.  With the help of this Sith... "If you can do this," she said, "I 
will gladly play my part."
	"See that you do," he said as the lightsaber went out.  Alixus turned away; 
somehow she knew it would be better not to look at him.

	Dr. John Ezri was leaning over a patient when the door opened.  He nearly 
jammed the medical tricorder into the patient's eye as he saw who came through it.
	"John," Helga said, "Mr. Solo and Mrs. Skywalker asked to see you directly."
	"Hello," he said with a voice like a drop of liquid nitrogen.
	"Do you know them?" she asked.  
	"I'm afraid we've never met John Ezri," Han said.  "But we have some problems 
we were hoping he could help us out with."
	"I'll see what he can do," he said in the same tone.  "If you'll come with 
me," he led the way to the side examination room and sealed the door.  "What are you 
doing here?" he said in a low, harsh voice.
	"We came for you, doc," Han said, getting straight to the point.  
	"Me?"  Ezri was indignant.  "I have no interest in galactic politics-"
	"It's not about that," Han interrupted, "it's about the fungal disease."
	"What about it?"
	"How'd you like to help find a cure?"
	Dr. Ezri looked ready to burst but he managed to contain himself.  "I've said 
before, and I'll say again, I want no part in Imperial Research.  Using condemned 
prisoners as test subjects isn't my idea of medicine, its barbarism."
	"We're not talking about research," Annika said.  "Someone's developed a cure, 
but we're going to need someone who can verify its effectiveness."
	He looked at them both, not sure whether to believe a word of this.  "You're 
really serious," he said finally.  "Who could develop a cure and keep it a secret?  
You'd think someone would at least try to sell it... ever since the Empire came 
everyone's become half Ferengi."
	"They're not interested in money," Annika said.  "But you're right... it comes 
with a high price."
	"It's the Borg," Han said.
	"Borg?" Dr. Ezri said.  "But, there hasn't been Borg for decades."
	"Ex-Borg," Annika said.  "Some movement that wants to rebuild the Collective; 
they have the cure.  They developed one before the collapse of the Collective."
	"How-"
	"It's rather involved," Annika said.  "Suffice to say that they have the cure, 
but we need someone to make sure it's the genuine article."
	"Plus, Annika can use a doctor," Han added.
	"Han!"
	"Her condition's gotten really bad," he continued.  "We need you to keep her 
alive long enough to get the job done."
	"You ass!" Annika snapped at him as Dr. Ezri pulled out his medical tricorder.  
She pushed it away as he tried to scan her.  "This isn't about me!"
	"This is about you," Han said sharply.  "That's why they infected you."
	"This- what?"  Annika was staring at him.  This time she offered no resistance 
as the tricorder scanned her.
	"It's your son they want," Han pointed out.  "Did you think it was all just a 
coincidence?"
	She shook her head, still slightly in shock and also a little embarrassed.  It 
wasn't often that Han put things together before she did.  "I can't believe I never 
thought of that..."
	Dr. Ezri closed the tricorder.  "Well, if that's true, then this might all be 
for nothing.  The Borg may have a cure tailored specifically to your infection.  Still, 
I suppose I could use it as a roadmap even if that were the case, and according to 
these readings, you're not going to survive without medical care for much longer."
	"So you're in?" Han asked.
	Dr. Ezri hesitated.  "I won't work for the Empire," he said firmly.
	"You'll just be working with us, I promise," Han said.
	Dr. Ezri nodded.  "Let me take care of a few things, and I'll meet you at the 
docking bay."  
	Helga was waiting as they exited.  Han and Annika slipped off as she came up.  
"You're leaving, aren't you."
	"I'm sorry," he said, and meant it.
	"It won't be the same," she admitted.  "But you've nothing to be sorry for.  
You've done a lot of good here, John Ezri."
	"Yes," he couldn't bring himself to look at her.  "I suppose it's time Julian 
Bashir did a little of his own."

	Molly O'Brien was just examining the results of the previous hour's work.  It 
was crucial that it be flawless; the stations may have rather lax security, but once 
she actually set foot on Chandrilla there'd be all types of sensors that might pick her 
out if she wasn't careful.  She'd lengthened her hair until it was halfway down her 
back and turned it purple.  She'd attached what was called a Twi'lek clip that gave her 
a dual ponytail; it was the style on some of the core worlds.  She'd adjusted her 
pigmentation to pure white with lavender leopard spots on her arms and legs, and her 
eyes were red.  She'd also turned her lips, tongue, and gums black.  She turned as Ben 
came in.  "What do you think?" she asked.
	"Tacky," he remarked.
	"That's what I was going for," she said.
	"Congratulations.  I'd lose the fur on the back of your hands, though.  That 
can cause trouble in a fight."
	"Good point," she said, although she was disappointed.  Stimulating the hair 
follicles like that had been a challenge, but she couldn't let pride get in the way of 
their work.  She picked up the pigment adjuster and walked over to where Ben had taken 
a seat.  "How did it go?"
	"She'll do her part," he said wearily as she started running the device over 
his head.  "And through her we are aligned with the Vong."  There was no mistaking the 
tone in his voice.  "This is what I've been reduced to; seeking help from the Vong."
	"It's only for the moment," she offered.  "When the time comes, you'll drive 
them out of the galaxy."
	"Of course I will.  But to have to get help from those barbarous fanatics..."  
He pounded his fist on the desk in frustration.  
	"Hold still; the eyes are the hard part."  A minute later she turned it off and 
spun him around.  His hair was now sandy-blond and his eyes blue.  Ben examined it in 
the mirror.  "Not a spitting image," he said, "but more than enough for the task at 
hand."
	Molly placed the device on the table.  She seemed to hesitate before she spoke.  
"Ben... ever since we arrived here I've felt a tremor in the Force."
	"Yes, I have felt it."
	"What's it mean?"
	"Most obvious is the Emperor; even in his old age he makes an impression on the 
Force.  But he is feeble... there's no sign of the great power there... he's a changed 
man."
	"I see," although she didn't.  "And the others?"
	"Of no importance."
	But Molly pressed on.  "They're Jedi, aren't they."
	"There's nothing to worry about."
	Molly knew she was tiptoeing into a dangerous subject.  "It's just... they seem 
so tranquil, serene."
	"Of course they do," he said with contempt, "they embrace the light side."
	"'Light side?'"
	Ben turned back towards her and she took a step back in fear; she could feel 
his anger.  "The Jedi," he said with rumbling undertones, "call their way the 'light 
side,' and ours the 'dark side.'  We've taken their petty label and turned it into a 
badge of honor, because like children they fear the dark.  They deny their feelings and 
preach only of peace."
	"But, peace-"  She froze as she felt his anger expanding like pressure in a 
deep magma pocket.  She straightened up.  "'Peace is a lie,'" she recited, "'There is 
only passion.  Through passion I gain strength.  Through strength I gain power.  
Through power I gain victory.  Through victory my chains are broken.'"
	Ben stepped right up to her; at these moments he filled her worldview, and it 
was terrifying.  "Remember that."  Before anything more could be said, the commlink 
chimed.  "Yes," he said, his eyes still on Molly.
	"We're in position.  As soon as you give the signal we'll have the transporter 
get him out of there."
	"Good," he said, putting the commlink away.  He took Molly's arm in a somewhat 
kind fashion to lead the way.  "Come.  Garak will be waiting for us."


CHAPTER V

	Her friends called her Mouse.  She was small and could squeeze into the tiniest 
of places, and when she ran, there was little more than a quiet scurrying sound.  When 
it came to slipping into the out of the way, the inaccessible, the well guarded, few 
could compare to Mouse.  When Ben Skywalker had brought the Mistryl the details for his 
ambitious plans, Mouse was the only one considered for this assignment.
	It had taken her hours to work her way up the vents, pipes and shafts into the 
access junction.  After all that, it took her only two minutes to install the remote 
scrambler that would cut the power along the one line she'd selected out of the dozens 
in the room.  Without a second's delay she was back on her way out.  As Mouse was known 
to say, it's the little things you have to watch out for.

	The door to the cell opened, and Garak sat up.  "Mr. Terraine," he said with 
the faintest of smiles.
	"On your feet, Garak," Volgo Terraine remarked.  "Then slowly hold out your 
hands in front of you."  Garak did as instructed, and one of the guards stepped forward 
and locked a pair of binders on him.  Garak noticed the other still had his blaster 
pointed at him, and he offered him the same grating smile.
	"I take it the moment for what passes for Imperial justice is at hand," Garak 
remarked as the guard ran a scanner over him just to be safe.  It turned up two 
keycards, a shiv, and Terraine's watch.
	"You will remain silent throughout the proceedings," Terraine said as he 
slipped the timepiece back into his pocket.  "Do not speak unless the Emperor asks you 
a question.  If the sentence is death, you will be allowed final words.  Please do us 
all a favor and keep them brief."
	"Oh, I wouldn't dream of boring you, minister.  I wouldn't want to detract from 
your celebration of the moment."
	Terraine took the lead and the guards led Garak from the cell and out of the 
cellblock.  An Imperial officer was waiting; he looked uncomfortable.  "Orders, sir," 
he said as the entourage drew to a halt.  
	Terraine took them, gave them a glance, and then glared at the officer.  "This 
is a mistake," he said.
	"Sir," the officer said, no doubt undeserving of being the messenger in this 
particular instance, "those are orders from the Emperor himself."
	"Indeed," but there was a rumbling of resentment under his tone.  "You'll 
understand if I want confirmation."
	The officer nodded and gestured to the terminal.  Terraine entered his code 
cylinder and entered his code to contact the Imperial Palace.  The small screen 
revealed Leia Solo.  "Minister," she said, "can I help you with something."
	"Is his highness available?" Terraine asked.  "I'm afraid it's rather urgent."
	"He's already left for the High Court," Leia answered.  "Is there something I 
can help you with?"
	"These orders," he said, sending the information from the datapad to her, "are 
they genuine?"
	Leia took a look.  "Yes, these are correct.  You need to report to the 
Devastator immediately to debrief one of our operatives."
	"Now?  Right before Garak is brought to trial?"
	"I understand, I was a little confused too, but the Emperor was quite insistent 
that there was no time for delay."
	"This doesn't feel right," was all Terraine could say.
	"I agree, but the Emperor has spoken and we cannot question him."
	Terraine held her gaze.  "You'll understand if I ask for your authorization 
code."
	Leia gave a lopsided grin.  "Of course."  She pulled out her datapad.  "I 
authorize Bravo Golf 127."
	Terraine said nothing as he gave a nod of acknowledgement and punched the kill 
switch.  He hit the comm.  "I want a squad brought up to escort him from here into the 
room.  If he escapes before he enters that room every one of them will wish the Vong 
had them instead of me, understand?"  The sergeant on the other end acknowledged.  "You 
two," he said to the remaining guards, "stay here."  He turned and headed for the exit.
	"Not even a 'good luck?'" Garak asked.  Terraine slowed near the door, then 
stomped through it.

	Capt. Iblin was exhuasted, but there was no sign of it as he inspected the 
security arrangements for the sentencing.  Any time the Emperor made a personal 
appearance security needed to be tight, especially with Garak involved.  His capture 
had only made him slightly less dangerous, although Iblin was of the opinion that his 
execution wouldn't go much further in diminishing it.  If you could unmake Garak there 
was a chance he'd stop being a danger, but only just.
	Iblin slipped from his determined stride to a jog as he noticed some trouble 
near one of the entry points.  There was the sound of quiet argument but the 
stormtroopers were visibly uneasy, and Iblin could tell why.  "Jedi Skywalker," he said 
as he drew to a halt.  "What seems to be the problem?"
	"Your men don't seem to want to let me in," Sebastian Skywalker said darkly.
	"He refuses to relinquish his weapon, sir," the corporal informed him.
	Iblin sighed inwardly; he didn't need this.  "I'm sorry, sir, but everyone 
besides the official guards must be unarmed without exception."
	"It's not a blaster, captain," Skywalker said irritably, "it's a lightsaber.  
It's my badge of office."
	And it kills people, Iblin added in his own mind.  "I'm sorry sir, but no 
exceptions are allowed."
	"But a Jedi without a lightsaber is no Jedi."
	"But a Jedi without a lightsaber is no Jedi," Iblin admitted.  It was a badge 
of office, after all, and there was no chance Sebastian Skywalker could be on Garak's 
side.  "Let him in."
	"Sir," the corporal said, signaling to the others to stand aside for Skywalker 
and his alien companion.  
	"Carry on, corporal," Iblin said, heading for the next entry point.  He tapped 
the butt of his blaster pistol as he walked, then stopped and looked back at the door.  
His head told him to get on with things, but his guts were telling him that something 
was wrong.  

	Under the circumstances, the High Court was ill-equipped for the task at hand.  
That's not to say there was anything wrong with it, per se, but clearly the architects 
didn't have a case of this magnitude in mind, or else it would not have been limited to 
a mere ten thousand observers.  But the word that the Emperor was about to pass final 
judgment on the most famous criminal of the era had drawn in crowds like a major 
sporting event.  Ben Skywalker and Molly O'Brien, however, had taken a seat in the 
front row; it was the influence of the Skywalker name even in times of turmoil. 
	The crowds all faced down onto the small area where decisions were made and 
sentences handed down.  Under the circumstances, the platform of the five High Judges 
had been removed and replaced with a single throne for the Emperor.  Only he had the 
authority to overrule the Five, although it was a power he scarcely used.  
	For security sake a forcefield was kept between the crowds and the actual 
court, but that didn't stop the Imperials from keeping stormtrooper patrols visible as 
a reminder to the crowd.  For added security, a large blaster-proof box was firmly 
secured to the floor in the center of the court.  Inside the box was a transport 
scrambler, operating on an independent power source and separate from the network.  It 
operated on time controls only, except for a code chosen random every day and known 
only to the head of security.  It was also designed so that, if anyone tried simply 
blasting the one control panel, the field would stay on, not off.  In the highest 
court, no precaution was too great.
	"Are you sure they can do this?" Molly whispered to Ben.  "With that shield in 
place we don't have a chance."
	"The Mistryl are nothing if not resourceful," Ben answered.  "How else could 
they have fanned a tiny revolt on some insignificant planet into a force to be reckoned 
with?"
	The noise of the crowd died down as Elim Garak was led into the court.  
Stormtroopers flanked him as he was brought behind the defendants table, where they 
remained standing.  A few seconds later one of the two rear doors opened.
	For a time the Emperor had employed genetically engineered creatures to serve 
as his guards, but after they were all destroyed in the Bastion holocaust he returned 
to the traditional red-robed guards.  Still, while times may have changed, standards 
hadn't; these remained the finest hand-to-hand combatants in the Emperor's armies.  
Their dedication bordered on fanatical, despite the fact that no one had gotten even 
close to attacking the Emperor since the establishment of the capital on Chandrilla.  
	Six guards filed out, then stood to attention as the Emperor followed, then 
another six guards.  A squad of stormtroopers then followed, taking up positions around 
the room.  Despite the seriousness, this was rather routine.  The Emperor took his 
seat; Garak remained standing.  The protocol droid that had been standing in silence 
now stepped forward.  "Here ye, here ye," it said, "the High Court is now in session.  
His highness, Emperor Palpatine, presiding.  Come forth and you shall be heard."
	"Present the details of the case," the Emperor said to the droid.
	"The defendant, Elim Garak, was found guilty of treason by the High Court in a 
unanimous decision.  The sentence imposed for this crime was death, also by unanimous 
decision.  Elim Garak appealed the decision to your highness.  The basis for his 
appeal: that he is not an Imperial citizen, and thus incapable of treason.  Your 
highness chose to reserve judgment of appeal."  The droid stepped back.
	The Emperor cleared his throat.  "It is quite clear that I have given this case 
considerable thought.  Mr. Garak, the basis of your appeal is baseless.  It is a matter 
of record that you were a prime agent under Gul Tulvek.  It is also a matter of record 
that that same Gul Tulvek surrendered to the Imperial military and pledged to the 
Empire 'all territory, ships, industrial capacity, material wealth, and citizenry' 
under his control.  Therefore, your claim to non-citizenship is a transparent 
falsehood."
	There was a gasp of shock as the forcefield dropped.  The droid stepped forward 
and called for order even while more stormtroopers poured into the auditorium.  Ben's 
eyes remained on the Emperor as one of his guards stepped over, no doubt advising him 
to exit.  The Emperor, however, merely held up his hand, and the guard returned to his 
position.  The droid called for quiet, and order was restored.  Another squad of 
stormtroopers entered the rear doors while the Emperor continued.  There was no doubt 
that security sensors were checking for any possible snipers in the crowd; to Ben's 
knowledge, they would find none.
	"The reason for my delay, Mr. Garak, is not because of legalities, but because 
of a firm hope that you might be of some use to the society you have so brazenly 
resisted.  Yet you have offered no help in restoring peace, made no effort in bringing 
your allies in terror to justice, or shown any real remorse for the lives destroyed by 
your shameless behavior.  You could have been an invaluable ally, Mr. Garak, but you 
are an intolerable enemy.  For this reason, I cannot and will not overturn the verdict 
of the High Court.  The sentence of death stands."
	Noise broke out throughout the crowd and the droid again called for order.  
Unobserved, Ben Skywalker reached into the depths of his robe and pulled out the mask.  
No one noticed as he slipped it onto his face, but Molly sensed it was about to happen.  
As one person they both pulled their lightsabers out; the sound of the ignition was 
like a crack of thunder at a funeral.  The troopers were still pulling their weapons 
into position while the two leapt through the air, cutting down the guards that 
surrounded Garak.  The screams had already begun, and blaster fire echoed, but Molly 
quickly moved to protect Garak while he dropped down and undid the binders.
	"I thought you'd never arrive," he remarked as he dropped the binders to the 
floor.  Molly said nothing; she didn't care for Garak in the least, but she had every 
faith in Ben.  If he thought the Cardassian could be put to use in their cause, then 
that was good enough for her.  
	Ben, in the meantime, had raced up to the transport scrambler and pierced the 
blaster-proof casing with his saber.  The moment he did Garak shimmered and vanished.  
As he did there was the further sound of transporters as dozens of Mistryl warriors 
appeared blocking the exits.  As planned each group activated their own transport 
scrambler to effectively reverse the situation; now no one came in or out unless they 
allowed it.  The Emperor's personal guards were at a loss; the two emergency exits were 
blocked, and now transporting was out of the question.  They formed a tight ring around 
him as they tried to hold the terrorists off.
	The tide, for the moment, may have been in their favor, but Molly knew that 
they were still heavily outnumbered once the Imperials got more troops inside.  She 
hopped up onto the table, caught three blaster bursts with her blade, then jumped, 
catching two more before beheading the first trooper.  Instinctively she stayed in 
motion, catching another shot she couldn't dodge on the backswing and brought the 
lightsaber around to finish off two more troopers.  She ducked and reversed the swing, 
finishing off the last two, then moved on to the next group.
	While Molly and the Mistryl concentrated on the troopers, Ben went straight to 
the Emperor himself.  The guards fired as he approached.  At one point he had to 
actually stop because they were working together so effectively.  But far sooner than 
anyone could have guessed he had struck down the first.  As one they leapt at him, 
trying to overwhelm him with sheer numbers.  A rifle butt struck the side of his head, 
and the mask was thrown off, revealing the burning anger on Ben's face.  As if filled 
with new strength by the blow he dispatched the remaining guards with three quick 
slices of his saber.  He turned and looked towards the Emperor, still seated on his 
throne.  He spun the blade, brought it up, and as he swung, time stood still.
	This was not poetic license.
	The Emperor stood up amongst the frozen forms.  The Sith was still locked in 
mid-swing, even the energy of his blade was still.  Beyond him, the stormtroopers and 
Mistryls were exchanging weapons fire, and Molly O'Brien was just about in position to 
wipe out another group of troopers.  Further up were the panicking crowds and the 
reinforcements on their way to rescue him.  He sighed, then turned his attention back 
to Ben Skywalker.  Casually, he reached out and pushed the center of the Sith's chest 
until he fell over backwards.  As he hit the floor his lightsaber rolled away and time 
started moving forward for him once again.  He looked up at the Emperor with confusion 
and an edge of fear.  The Emperor was changing before him, growing taller, his skin 
richer, his features smoothing, his voice deepening.  "Did you think," he said as he 
towered over the fallen Sith, "that I was some helpless old man for you to 
assassinate?"  He pulled back the hood of his cloak, revealing the face of Ben Sisko.  
"That I would be a 'disappointment' like Kyp, or Miko, or any of the others you've been 
casually murdering?  Be very careful, Mr. Skywalker," he said, as the walls seemed to 
press in around him and the man's tone became harsher, "the universe sometimes gives us 
the things we ask for."
	Ben jumped back to his feet, backing away.  With a gritting of teeth, force 
lightning jumped from his fingers and struck Sisko in the chest; he didn't seem to 
notice.  "Is there something wrong?" Sisko asked.  "I'm here.  What are you waiting 
for?"
	"This isn't possible!" Ben shouted in frustration.  "No Sith can manipulate 
time itself!"
	Sisko's small grin sent a chill down Ben's spine.  "Can't they?"
	Ben called upon all his strength, sending so much raw power through the air it 
started to grow thick with smoke.  Sisko took a brief interest in his fingernails as 
the air screamed with unfettered Force energy.  Ben dropped his arms, collapsing in 
exhaustion.  Sisko looked up at him.  "Oh, finished yet?"
	"You're not real," Ben said desperately.  "This isn't real..."
	"Real?" Sisko snapped, and his rebuke was like the cracking of a thousand 
whips.  "It was real when you killed twenty-seven potential Jedi on the orders of 
Kathryn Janeway!  It was real when you took a lost and confused girl and twisted her 
soul down the path of the dark side!  It was real when you took that blade and killed 
your own father, just like you killed your mother, and all the members of your 
family!"  Sisko glared down at him like the judgment of the Almighty.  "And this 
moment, boy, is just as real as that."  Ben trembled under his stare.  "You think your 
Oracle can see?  I know it all boy, everything!  Every secret deed, every dirty 
thought, every whispered betrayal, every senseless murder, YOU HAVE NO SECRETS FROM 
ME!!!"  And Ben saw in Sisko's eyes that they were true, that his every shame was on 
display, that in the scale of things, he was found wanting.  In his glare he felt the 
consequence of his every sin, each one dropping on his mind like the blow of a hammer.  
He sank back, the weight of his guilt more than he could bear.  
	"I was your best friend!  How could you betray me?"
	"I gave you a place in my home when everyone turned you away..."
	"I only wanted to help...
	"Why did you do it Ben?"
	"I loved you like a brother..."
	"There were other ways..."
	"Didn't I mean anything to you..."
	"...didn't it count for something..."
	"...couldn't think of anyone but yourself..."
	"...why Ben..."
	"...we loved you..."
	"...the darkness will consume you..."
	"...don't do it, Ben..."
	"...why didn't you stop them..."
	"...it's not worth it..."
	"...please spare the children..."
	"...we just want to help you..."
	"...I'm scared, Ben..."
	"...you'll never forgive yourself..."
	"...I don't want to die..."
	Sisko held out his hand, and Ben's lightsaber flew into it.  "You deserve to 
die for what you have done... isn't that right?"
	Ben screwed his eyes shut, trying to hold it in.  Fear and guilt had wrung him 
out; his Sith pride turned to dust.  "Yes," he said as a sob escaped his throat.  
	"And so you shall," Sisko said.  Then he shut down the lightsaber and tossed it 
on the floor next to Ben.  "But not today."  He turned and walked back towards the 
Emperor's throne.  "My work is done," he said, although whether he was speaking to 
himself or Ben was unclear.  "The galaxies will have to face this on their own.  Unity 
can only exist if it comes from within... if it's what the people want, not if it's 
forced upon them."  He turned and faced towards Ben.  "And I too must pay for my 
crimes... for allowing all the suffering and dying because it was for the greater good, 
because necessity is a reason, not a justification.  This day is about my judgment; 
yours will come soon enough."  He smoothed his cloak out as he took a deep breath.  
"Pick up your saber."  Ben still lay on the floor, panting.  "Pick up your saber!" 
Sisko said with a tone of divine command.  "You are a Skywalker, and for once in your 
twisted life, you will act like one!  Pick up your saber and execute me... know in your 
shriveled heart what you do this day, boy, and maybe there will be salvation even for 
you."  Ben took the saber handle and got shakily to his feet.  Sisko dropped into the 
throne; he looked weary, but the aura of power still surrounded him.  Ben hesitated, 
then plunged the lightsaber through his chest.
	An empty robe was all that remained.


CHAPTER VI

	Borda had a network in place that would make the ISB proud.  With the training 
complete, Sebastian and Gorren were smuggled off Dane II to an uninhabited neighboring 
system.  There they took a shuttle to a liberated Imperial system along the border, 
where they were given a different shuttle to use to reach the rendezvous with the star 
destroyer that would return them to the core worlds.  It took time, but it also would 
make it far more difficult for the Vong or any of their spies to work out where the 
resistance cells were located.
	Sebastian and Gorren came off the shuttle into the docking bay, neither one 
sure what time it was after flitting around on so many systems.  The lieutenant who 
administrated the bay was on hand, apparently well-slept and recently showered.  
	"Welcome back, master Jedi," the lieutenant said.  Sebastian gave him a weak 
smile and a nod of acknowledgment.  "The captain would like to speak to you right away; 
I'm afraid the situation is quite grave."
	"What's the problem?" Sebastian asked.
	The lieutenant hesitated.  "It would be best to hear from the captain himself."
	"What do you suppose this is about?" Sebastian wondered aloud as they headed 
towards the turbolifts.
	"Knowing the Empire, he probably wants to tell you they just Base Delta Zeroed 
Dane II," Gorren remarked.  
	Sebastian let the comment pass, but as they continued through the star 
destroyer, he couldn't help but notice the looks he was getting from the crew.  Had 
word of the incident with Captain Ozzel gotten around?  But then, it was Gorren who 
thumped him, why would they be fixated on Sebastian?  He thought about it a little as 
they made their way onto the bridge.  Here it seemed the crew was working very hard not 
to look in his direction.  The captain finished speaking to his XO and came over.  "I 
trust your assignment was a success?" he asked.
	"It went well enough," Sebastian said.  "What's going on?  The lieutenant said 
there was some bad news?"
	"Yes, very bad," the captain said.  "The Emperor's dead; murdered."
	"And the bad news?" Gorren asked, but Sebastian's expression silenced him.
	"How did it happen?" Sebastian asked.
	"He was killed on the floor of the High Court."
	"That's impossible!  Who managed to do that?"
	The captain shook his head.  "Believe it or not, you sir."

	The mask was knocked clear, revealing the face of the enraged man who hid 
behind it.  The computer zoomed in and enhanced the image; if they wouldn't have known 
better, they would have believed it too.  "It's Sebastian," Jaina said with a shake of 
her head.  
	"Sebastian's been off with the ISB for weeks," Leia said.  "He hasn't been near 
Chandrilla."  Still, it was hard to argue with this evidence.  The tragedy of the 
assassination had led to the horror of accusation as various parties started pointing 
the finger at Sebastian Skywalker as the assassin.  The four remaining Jedi: Jacen, 
Jaina, Anakin, and Leia, had gotten together to try and figure out who was really 
responsible.
	"Obviously we know it's not really Sebastian," Jaina said.  "He's some kind of 
dark Jedi from what I can see."
	"Yes, and I'm almost positive he's the same one that killed Luke," Anakin said.  
"Like I said, he looked a lot like Sebastian did, so it would be pretty simple for him 
to pretend to be him if he wanted."
	"But he wore a mask," Jacen pointed out.
	"Yes," Leia said.  "Because if he didn't we'd all be wondering how he could 
have thought to get away with it.  By wearing the mask and then losing it, he was able 
to make it look like he had something to hide."
	"The mask tells us something else too," Anakin said.  "This is a replica of the 
mask worn ages ago by Lord Revan."
	"Who?" Jaina asked.
	"A fallen Jedi during the time of the Sith Empire," Jacen said.  "That's a 
pretty obscure bit of knowledge, Anakin; I assume you think this implies he is Sith as 
well as a dark Jedi?"
	"I've always thought it," Anakin said.  "This just provides a bit more 
evidence.  It also shows that this person isn't just some mad dark warrior; he's 
familiar with obscure portions of Jedi history."
	"Which begs the question of where he came from," Leia observed.  "His physical 
similarities to Sebastian make this even more of a puzzle.  Could he have been 
surgically altered?"
	"Maybe, but there's more to it than that," Anakin said.  "This Sith... he felt 
familiar."
	"I hate to bring this up," Jaina said, "but you encountered a Jedi from the 
future before, when Bastian went back to the pre-Imperial era.  Could this be a 
descendent transported back to the present?"
	"I thought about that," Anakin said.  "The problem is, we know so little about 
the nature of time, even with what we've learned from Federation studies.  Sebastian's 
trip seemed to be a pre-destination paradox: he was meant to go back in time and do the 
things he did; the timeline depended on it.  If that applies here, this Sith was meant 
to come back and do all this for his own era to take place properly; his history would 
turn out differently had he not killed Luke and the Emperor."
	"This kind of thing always gives me a headache," Leia remarked wearily.  
	"And it's pointless anyway," Jacen said.  "If we presume that all of this is 
part of some grand plan of time or the Force, that still doesn't change anything.  
We're Jedi, guardians of the peace.  This Sith is a threat to the peace and must be 
stopped, no matter what time or universe he comes from."
	"Good point," Jaina said.  "I suppose when we catch him we can have a chance of 
figuring this out."
	"Not to mention why he'd help save Garak's life," Jacen said.  
	"Garak's always been resourceful," Leia remarked.  "The Sith may have been 
depending on him for material and connections."
	"That reminds me," Anakin said.  "The mask that the Sith wore: I've seen it 
before on Malastare.  It's also been described several times in eye witness accounts 
across both galaxies."
	"So the Sith likes to get around," Jacen said.  "What of it?"
	"The Sith has been killing force-sensitive individuals," Anakin said.
	"How do you know?" Leia asked.
	"I've been watching his activity.  Each time he picks people with Jedi-like 
traits.  Miko, for example, was an incredible swoop rider with lightning reflexes.  
Durron was an exceptional pilot who's never been shot down-"
	"That doesn't prove anything," Jacen said.  "You don't need the Force to be 
gifted; Jorri can keep up with all of us in a cockpit, if you hadn't noticed."
	Anakin was annoyed at his brother's skepticism.  "Do you honestly think that a 
Sith would go travel tens of thousands of light-years to murder a swoop jock just 
because he was too good at it?  You think he lost a bet or something?"
	"Even if you're right," Jaina said, "what's it mean?"
	"I think the Sith wants to eliminate potential adversaries," Anakin said.  
"He's killing Force adepts to do it, but there's one problem: how's he finding them?"
	"Perhaps by the same means you're identifying them: their skill."  Jacen leaned 
back and held up his hands.  "You're still just assuming these were Force users."
	"But it goes back to what I was saying before," Anakin said.  "If he is from 
the future, then he would know who the Force potentials would be."
	"Or he could be determining them the old fashioned way," Jaina said.  "The 
masters would identify the Force potentials through meditation, even tens of thousands 
of light-years away."
	"Right, but that would imply he had tremendous abilities," Anakin said.
	"I agree," Leia remarked.  "That's a rather strongly-honed skill.  It would 
probably take a Sith Master to accomplish that, which is a thought I don't relish."
	"Whatever the case, I think it's clear we have to do something," Anakin said.  
	"At least we can agree on that," Jacen said.  "But unless you can identify his 
next target, it looks like our Sith friend has vanished."
	"Well, we're going to have to come up with something," Leia said, getting up.  
"Because I'm going to have a hell of a time trying to convince the Senate to ignore the 
evidence of their own eyes."

	The holonet was awash with confusion.  Everywhere people were talking about 
either the escape of Elim Garak, or, more often, the assassination.  In either case, 
the overall sentiment was the same: what happens now?  Would the small skirmishes lead 
to open revolution?  Would the military attempt to seize power as it did during the 
affair after the Death Star was destroyed?  Would the Vong roll over a confused 
Imperial force?  Would the Empire be forced to give in to the Cardassians to maintain 
their hold on what was left?  
	Nom Anor watched it all, astounded.  Years of work in trying to shake the 
foundations of the Empire, and yet never before had he expected to witness something 
like this.  Garak and his new ally had proven to be even more effective than he had 
ever expected; even killing Luke Skywalker was nothing compared to this.  The little 
terrorist movement had managed to cut off the head of the Imperial government itself!
	Nom Anor turned the sound off, but he watched the recordings from around the 
galaxies.  They were scenes of panic and uncertainty, or open joy at the idea of 
liberation.  It had awakened in some the fear of collapse, or the flame of hope in 
revolution.  Their certainty in the strength of the Empire had floundered, and in that 
failing, one like Nom Anor could get his hooks in people.  
	But there was more to it than even that.  For years now Nom Anor had an ace in 
the hole, one he'd been tempted countless times to pull out as the Vong were pushed 
back by the Imperial war machine.  Yet every time his gut instinct was patience, that 
another, better moment would come, one which would not only bring victory, but allow 
him to take his rightful place in this invasion.  For the first time his instincts 
weren't telling him to wait; it seemed that the time had finally arrived.
	A little more time, he told himself.  Let Alixus do her work in the Senate.  
Let Garak sow his mischief.  Let the Empire face the Vong armies with uncertainty.  Let 
the people wonder if their Jedi heroes had betrayed them.  

	Gorren watched from his bunk as Sebastian continued pacing, which he'd been 
doing for the better part of the day.  There were subtle changes in his steps, his 
expressions, the slight gestures of his hands, but above it all was a dark cloud that 
had been there ever since he'd seen the evidence for himself.  "I don't suppose you'd 
take much comfort in knowing many will idolize you over this?"  Sebastian didn't reply, 
which was all the more disturbing.  He would have expected at least a sharp retort from 
the Jedi.  Gorren pulled himself to his feet.  "Come, my friend.  Let's go down to the 
simulator and dispatch some Vong.  A good sweat and stretch of the muscles is exactly 
what you need!"
	"Not now," Sebastian said.
	"It would take your mind off things," Gorren pointed out.
	"No, it wouldn't; it'd just provide a moment's distraction."
	"Isn't that enough?"
	Sebastian took a seat, showing a rare bit of weariness to the Klingon.  "I'm 
going to become an enemy of the state," he said.  "They're going to assume I'm 
responsible, and with good reason."
	"We will clear your good name," Gorren said, "when we have the head of this 
impostor on a pike!"
	"What about Jorri?"
	"She can hold the pike, if you like."
	Sebastian glared up at him, then a snicker slipped out that led to both of them 
chuckling.  "I'm lucky to have a friend like you, Gorren."
	"And I'm honored that you would call me friend," Gorren said back, patting the 
Jedi on the shoulder like only a Klingon could.  
	"I should have listened to you," Sebastian said.  "I've been away from Jorri 
for too long, and now there's no way I can get near her until this is resolved."
	"She will understand," Gorren said.  "But were I in your place, I would shower 
her with gifts and song for weeks upon your reunion."
	Sebastian smiled and nodded.  "Good advice."  
	The door slid open, and Sebastian wasn't sure to be worried or relieved.  Volgo 
Terraine stepped in, looked for a moment at Gorren, then turned to Sebastian.  "Under 
the circumstances it would be best if we spoke in private."
	"Hello to you too," Sebastian droned.
	"I was just leaving," Gorren said.  "There's an army of Vong in need of a 
bat'leth in the face."
	"Save a few for me," Sebastian said, nodding to the Klingon on his way out.  
"So, Volgo... I leave for a few weeks and you manage to lose the Emperor.  You do know 
what the 's' in ISB is supposed to stand for, right?"
	"Your levity is ill-timed," Volgo said, taking a seat.  "I'm sure you're aware 
of the gravity of the situation, even beyond the obvious."
	Sebastian nodded, although the obvious still was bothering him.  "How could 
this happen?" he asked.  "How can someone, even a dark Jedi, kill the Emperor like 
that?"
	"I think he wanted it to happen," Volgo said.  "He had Leia and I sent off on 
errands so we couldn't be present.  If we had we would have recognized your 
doppelganger and known something was up."  He seemed rather tired himself.  "Perhaps he 
felt this was the best thing for the Empire, or that he was standing in the way of our 
development into a true republic... maybe he was just tired of trying to hold this mess 
together."
	"What's happening now?"
	"Chaos, naturally.  Fortunately with the Senate in place we shouldn't have a 
repeat of when the Death Star was lost.  Your aunt should be able to hold things 
together in his stead; let's just hope the Vong don't try to press the advantage."
	Sebastian nodded, leading him to the inevitable.  "What about me?"
	Volgo cleared his throat.  "Obviously this is going to be a difficult issue to 
cope with.  Minister Solo will be bringing the issue before the Senate to proclaim your 
innocence.  You'll need to appear there to clear your name.  But that's not going to be 
easy."
	"I have an alibi," Sebastian said.  "But if I use it, I'll be betraying those 
guerrillas on Dane by letting the Vong know they're there."
	"And since the ISB doesn't officially exist, we can't vouch for you."
	Sebastian sighed a little as he leaned against the wall.  "You're right, this 
isn't going to be easy," he mused aloud.
	"We've doctored some records," Terraine said, "which should help.  You'll tell 
the Senate the Emperor had sent you to speak with Gul Tulvek on a mission of peace 
regarding Garak.  Cardassian space is remote; there should be no trouble with us making 
it look genuine."
	"I don't like this," Sebastian admitted.  
	"Do you have an alternative?  Because as it stands, the evidence of your guilt 
is insurmountable.  If you fail to convince the Senate, they will arrest you, and 
you'll likely be executed as a traitor... in Garak's place," he added, pointing out the 
irony.
	Sebastian paused, then he laughed to himself.  "Sithspawn, the slimy little 
Cardassian was right!"
	"What?"
	"Garak," Sebastian said, laughing as he shook his head.  "He warned me about 
this.  He told me that by bringing him in I was ruining my life.  I didn't believe him, 
of course, but it turns out he was right.  He knew... somehow, he knew what was going 
to happen, even before we all did."  
	"Sebastian," Terraine said, "you're life is not going to be ruined."
	"Promise me one thing," Sebastian said, now in the dark depression that lay on 
the other side of his outburst.  "Promise me I can be with Jorri before the end.  
There's so much I want to tell her that I never did."
	"Sebastian-"
	"Promise!"
	"All right," Terraine said, holding up his hands.  "I'll make certain of it."
	"Good," Sebastian said, hopping out of the chair.  "Now, if you'll excuse me, I 
have Vong to kill."


CHAPTER VII

	"The woman has undergone some kind of pigmentation adjustments," the chief 
investigator said to the Senate as the recording of the assassination was paused to 
show the person in question.  "We've done an analysis and determined with 99.7% 
certainty this is Molly O'Brien of Section 31."
	"What is her background?" the Chancellor asked.
	"Sabotage and murder," the chief investigator replied.  "She was found guilty 
and sentenced years ago, but she escaped.  She was recaptured aboard a Bajoran station 
a few years ago, but before she was to be executed the station was destroyed and she 
was presumably rescued.  Details are sketchy."
	"What about the others with them?"
	"They wear markings that identify them as a group called the Mistryl, a 
remarkably well-organized revolutionary movement operating within our galaxy.  However, 
this is an operation well outside their normal scope."
	"I see.  And the man?"
	The chief investigator cleared his throat.  "The individual wears a mask for 
the majority of the fight.  His combat technique is superhuman, indicating that this 
person has finely-honed Jedi skills."
	"Is it possible that this is someone mimicking a Jedi?" the Chancellor asked.
	"While I am not an expert on Jedi combat, I would have to say no.  The way he 
senses attacks before they happen, throw people with the use of his mind, and 
skillfully wields a Jedi weapon looks simply impossible for any human without 
preternatural skills."
	"Can you identify him?"
	The chief investigator hesitated.  "As I said, he wore a mask.  However, there 
was a brief time when his mask was knocked away before he put it back on.  The images, 
however, do not allow for as clear a view as with O'Brien.  We have a 62% certainty 
that this is Sebastian Skywalker."
	"That sounds rather low."
	"It is.  I have never used such a low identification in any criminal case.  It 
leaves too much room for mistaken identity."
	"Thank you," the Chancellor said.  "I yield to Senator Alixus."  Alixus had 
petitioned to become involved in the interviews since Garak was from her sector.  
Grudgingly, this had been accepted.
	"I have only one question," Alixus said.  "You say that 62% is too low, yet 
given that there are only five known Jedi in either galaxy, wouldn't you say that this 
is proof enough, under the circumstances?"
	"If we presumed the existence of only five Jedi," the investigator said.  
"However,-"
	"So that's a yes?"
	"A conditional yes."
	"Very well, no further questions.  Thank you."
	The investigator was allowed off while the Chancellor prepared for the next 
testimony.  It was difficult; Alixus seemed more on top of things than the rest of them 
did, knowing just what questions to ask.  He was especially leery of this one.  
"Sebastian Skywalker has volunteered to speak before the Senate on this matter.  He has 
affirmed that he will testify to the truth."  
	Sebastian came out, trying not to look nervous.  It wasn't easy, but he kept 
his mind focused on the truth at the center of all the lies: that he was innocent.  He 
told the story they'd constructed about his trip to Cardassian space.  The Chancellor 
backed up his story with affidavits from Gul Tulvek, the captain of the ship that 
transported him, and so on.  It all painted a clear picture that he wasn't even in the 
same galaxy as the Emperor when this murder took place, and when he finished Sebastian 
finally felt confident they might pull this off.
	Senator Alixus came up then, all smiles.  It was as comforting as a rapidly 
approaching fin while you're stranded in the water.  She asked a few questions that 
probed at the edges of his alibi, then veered off in a strange direction.  "Isn't it 
true, Mr. Skywalker, that seven years ago you were kidnapped and brainwashed by Vong 
agents?"
	"Yes," Sebastian answered, not sure where she was going with this.
	"It's because of this time with them that many consider you an expert on Vong 
tactics, techniques... the way they think in general."
	"It's given me some insight," Sebastian remarked.  "I wouldn't say it makes me 
an expert."
	"Still, you are one of the few who have ever escaped from the Vong," Alixus 
said.  "And you managed to recover from their brainwashing relatively quickly."
	"I was very lucky," Sebastian said.  "And my age probably played into it as 
well.  Made it easier to adjust to that experience."
	"Yes, I've read the report," she said dismissively.  "I also read the report of 
your escape from the Vong.  Rather remarkable, even for your father and the alien who 
aided him.  You'd think an entire Vong base could capture even a Jedi."
	"The Vong's primary concern was with escaping Halva IV before the arrival of 
the Imperial fleet.  Capturing three people was a relatively low priority compared to 
that."
	"Yes, of course," she said with a smile that was anything but friendly.  
"Speaking of capture, you were the one who brought in the terrorist, Elim Garak, 
correct?"
	"Yes."
	"This is the same Elim Garak who was being sentenced at the trial where you 
allegedly murdered the Emperor, correct?"
	"Yes."
	"A strange coincidence," Alixus remarked, "that the person who performed the 
assassination chose to impersonate the same person who was responsible for Garak's 
capture."
	"I'd imagine that's Mr. Garak's twisted sense of humor," Sebastian replied.  
"In my conversations with him, he did tend to take a quite skewed view of reality.  I'm 
sure this made sense to him."
	"So you have an insight into Elim Garak's psyche as well as the Vong?" Alixus 
asked innocently.  
	"In the sense that I have learned to understand my enemies, yes."
	"It has been suggested by some that your capture by the Vong was instigated by 
Elim Garak's organization."
	"That's my understanding."
	"And that Elim Garak was the one to transfer you over to the Vong?"
	"Again, that's my understanding."
	"So there was a time when you were his prisoner, correct?"
	"A time," Sebastian said.  "But I was unconscious, so I couldn't really say."
	"I see.  You've been to the aforementioned Bajoran station on several 
occasions, yes?"
	Senator Alixus seemed to be all over the map.  "Yes," Sebastian admitted.  "To 
visit my mother when she was sick."
	"Yes, your mother spent some time on the station," Alixus said, consulting her 
notes.  "During that time she had a discussion with the aforementioned Molly O'Brien... 
it appears the details of that conversation were lost with the destruction of the 
station..." She looked up from her notes and smiled at him again.  "I'm sure it wasn't 
anything important," she added.
	"I wasn't privy to their discussion," Sebastian said.
	"I understand," she said with a nod of condescension while she returned to her 
notes.  "And your uncle attempted to postpone her execution," she said.  "The 
commanding officer states in this affidavit that he wished to allow Minister Solo to 
examine the possibility of a pardon... a pardon for a convicted terrorist who was to 
receive the death penalty."
	"Senator," the Chancellor said, "this is an investigation into the murder of 
the Emperor; I ask that you remain on that topic."
	"Apologies, Senator, but I'm afraid these facts, which might appear irrelevant, 
are part of a larger picture.  Given the severity of this heinous act, I ask for a 
certain degree of latitude."
	The Chancellor looked to Leia, but she did nothing.  She couldn't interfere 
without making it look like she was covering up for Sebastian.  The Chancellor turned 
back to Alixus.  "Proceed, Senator, but let's not get caught up in any red herrings, 
please."
	"Thank you, Chancellor.  Agents of Elim Garak that have been captured have 
testified that the destruction of the Bajoran station fits the contingency plan 
outlined by Mr. Garak himself.  This explosion occurred shortly before the so-called 
Battle of the Yun-Yammka, but after your capture of Mr. Garak."
	"That would appear to be the timeframe," Sebastian remarked.
	"What were your whereabouts at that time?"
	"I was in my quarters, reflecting on the situation," Sebastian said.
	"The entire time?"
	"The Vong threatened the galaxy, my father had been murdered, and my mother was 
dying," Sebastian said tersely.  "I wasn't feeling very social."
	"I see.  So the only person who could vouch for you would be your wife, yes?"
	Sebastian shot her a look.  "Yes, I suppose so."
	Alixus nodded.  "For the record, eye witnesses fleeing the destruction of the 
Bajoran station observed Molly O'Brien in the custody of a man.  Now, there are 
discrepancies in the details, but they all agree on one thing: this man had the powers 
and weapons of a Jedi."
	"Yes, because he's a Sith," Sebastian said.
	"You claim that this person is the same boogeyman who murdered the Emperor?" 
Alixus asked.
	"He's not a boogeyman.  Obviously he's real."
	"The person is real; what proof, Mr. Skywalker, is there that he is what you 
claim he is?"
	"Anakin Solo said that he was the one-"
	"Ah, another Solo," Alixus interrupted.  "Another coincidence.  They seem to be 
everywhere around your family."
	Sebastian glared at her.  "The Force guides my family, if that's what you 
mean."
	"I don't pretend to understand your religion, Mr. Skywalker," Alixus said.  
"But it does seem rather convenient that it can explain away coincidences.  For 
example, the fact that your father found the Vong base, when the fleets of the Empire 
and thousands of probe droids could not.  That minutes after you claim to have 
destroyed the yammosk the planet was destroyed, leaving no evidence to support your 
claim.  The fact that your mother spoke frequently to Dr. Bashir before he confessed 
his involvement in Elim Garak's organization, only to disappear a short while later 
before he could testify.  It can all just be explained away as the influence of some 
divine power whose total followers can be counted on one hand."
	"The existence of the Force can be easily demonstrated," Sebastian said.
	"Psychokinetic powers aren't proof.  You are claiming that the Force has the 
power to control the destinies of trillions of beings!"
	"What more do you want?" Sebastian asked in frustration.  "You've seen the 
fight on the recording.  You saw how my father moved the moon.  How the Emperor 
destroyed Bastion?!"
	"The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power you give 
the Force."
	"Whether you believe or not, it is the truth."
	"Well, you'd think that if the Force were that powerful you could use it to 
track down this imaginary Sith, wouldn't you?"
	"That has proven somewhat difficult."
	"Perhaps because he doesn't exist?"
	"He does; we saw him on the recording."
	"No, that was you, Mr. Skywalker.  You never went to Gul Tulvek; it's all a 
cover-up."
	Sebastian didn't betray any emotion, but his gut tightened.  He had a very bad 
feeling about this.  "I did not murder the Emperor," he said without the slightest hint 
of uncertainty in his voice.  "I am innocent, and the victim of a frame-up."
	"You falsified the records," Alixus said.  "You tampered with the witnesses.  I 
have a recording here," she held up a datapad, "of my conversation with Gul Tulvek 
shortly after the murder.  I specifically asked him if he'd spoken with anyone about 
Garak, and he was quite adamant that he hasn't spoken to anyone in the Empire for 
years.  And yet, now suddenly he's reversed his opinion."
	"He was keeping my presence a secret," Sebastian said, hoping his nervousness 
wasn't showing through.
	"The captain also backs you up, but curiously, none of the rest of the crew of 
your ship recalls your presence."
	"I keep to myself."
	"And what of your Klingon companion?"
	Sebastian froze.  He glanced over at Terraine and saw beneath the 
expressionless face the mental kicking.  No one thought of an alibi for Gorren; he 
wasn't a suspect.  "I don't know what he was doing," Sebastian replied.
	"You two were seen exiting the same shuttle together," she said.  "And yet, he 
wasn't part of this expedition.  Where was he?"
	"I don't know."
	"Perhaps we should call him up here and ask him."
	"If you like, though I don't see the relevance."
	"He has connections to revolutionary Klingon forces, isn't that right?"
	"Had, senator," Sebastian said.  "He's allied with the Empire now."
	"Really?  He's worked with you; I have reports of dozens of times when you and 
he were sighted together under unusual circumstances.  Curiously, none of them match up 
with any of the official assignments the Emperor gave you.  In fact, you seem to have 
very few assignments compared to the other Jedi, and yet you seem to be everywhere."
	"We all do our part, senator."
	Alixus smiled again and shook her head.  "Admit the truth, Mr. Skywalker.  You 
were not on a mission to Cardassian space.  You falsified the records to manufacture an 
alibi for yourself."  She dropped a stack of datapads on the podium.  "Do you really 
want me to go through every tedious bit of proof?  Every eyewitness, every manifest, 
every sensor log that contradicts your fiction?  Admit to the truth."
	"Chancellor," Leia said as she rose, "I ask for a recess to confer with the 
accused."
	"To get their lies straight?" Alixus asked the senate at large.  
	"Mr. Skywalker has the right to counsel," Leia pointed out.
	"And you have a clear conflict of interest," Alixus said.  "A barrister should 
be able to provide sound advice under the circumstances."
	The Chancellor looked to Leia, then back at Alixus.  He cleared his throat, but 
his voice still sounded dry.  "Agreed.  The accused will be allowed a brief recess with 
a senate-appointed barrister before proceeding."
	There was a bit of senatorial chaos as Sebastian's counsel was allowed to join 
him.  The recorders and such were turned off and no one allowed to hear what they 
discussed.  He had the right to refuse to answer, but with the damning evidence it was 
suicidal.  The recess concluded and he got up to issue a statement.  "I realize what 
I'm about to say will imply evidence of a guilty conscience," he said.  "The truth of 
the matter is, I have been involved in a private mission for the Emperor, off the 
record, to help cause uprisings in Vong space.  I cannot provide details, as that would 
jeopardize their safety.  Yes, the records were falsified, but it was done to ensure 
that I wouldn't have to endanger the lives of people who are fighting the Vong.  I did 
not kill the Emperor, I was not on Chandrilla when the incident took place.  I can 
offer no proof to support this, I ask that you believe me."
	"After you've lied to us already?" Alixus asked.
	"As I said, it was a necessity."
	"A necessity," she said with a slight nod.  "And yet you still claim that this 
Sith is the one responsible?"
	"Yes."
	"Whose existence you cannot prove?"
	"He's right there, on the recording!"
	"Circular reasoning, Mr. Skywalker.  I see a man who looks like you."
	"That's not me!"
	Alixus held up her finger with a bit of bemusement.  "So, then, your theory is 
that a person, one who is trained in the ways of the Force to a phenomenal level, has 
managed to disguise himself as you for the purposes of this assassination, and 
conveniently times it to occur when you can't provide yourself with an alibi.  Is that 
it?"
	He turned to the barrister, who nodded.  "Yes," he said.  "As unbelievable as 
it may sound, it's the truth."
	"I have a theory of my own," Alixus said.  "Tell me what you think.  Your 
father knew Garak for a long time, back during the War of the Alpha Quadrant.  He and 
your mother were morally opposed to the rise of the Empire upon Palpatine's return, 
choosing self-exile rather than involvement in government affairs.  After being forced 
to become involved by the Emperor, Luke Skywalker met with the Vong during their early 
reconnaissance in the galaxy.  He then arranged with Garak that bit of showmanship on 
Earth to paint himself as a hero while in reality he secretly was negotiating an 
alliance between Garak and the Vong.  Your 'capture' was an event orchestrated to help 
coordinate your efforts with the Vong, and your 'escape' just as artificial.  You have 
been aligned with Garak and the Vong since the beginning."
	"That's not true!"
	"When your mother couldn't convince Bashir to keep quiet, you silenced him when 
he tried to turn himself in.  Garak had you 'capture' him to keep up appearances; how 
else could you have succeeded at what the forces of the Empire could not?  You then 
destroyed the Bajoran station to try and eliminate as much evidence as possible, 
freeing Molly O'Brien so you could continue to train her in secret.  Garak's trial was 
a deliberately staged event so you could assassinate the Emperor in public to waylay 
suspicion, since if you'd done it in private it would have been obvious who was 
responsible.  Your attack on the yammosk is a lie, conveniently covered up by the 
planet's destruction.  Your alignment with the Klingon, Gorren, is to solidify your 
contact with revolutionary forces, and all of this is part of your goal to topple the 
Empire that you and your entire family pretend to serve yet secretly loathe."
	"We have done nothing but serve to preserve the Empire!" Sebastian said with 
barely restrained fury.  "You have been working with the Vong!"
	Alixus shook her head at him with pity.  "You can throw your baseless 
accusations at me, Mr. Skywalker, but the truth is out there now for everyone to judge.  
You have put the Empire in the hands of people who have been working with the enemies 
of order.  I have no doubt your life will be spared from your just execution, but I can 
only hope that some who have heard what's been revealed today will rise up and resist 
the efforts to hand our galaxies over to terrorists, invaders, and traitors."
	There were shouts, but they were few.  The terrifying sound wasn't that racket, 
it was the silence of contemplation.  Most would see through it, a stack of lies built 
on circumstantial evidence.  But most wasn't going to be good enough.  Sebastian sunk 
into his seat.  A confession would practically have been better; now was room for 
whispers of conspiracy.  Alixus had inserted a crowbar in the cracks of unity, and 
heaved.


CHAPTER VIII


	There was no mistaking Col. Deltone's look as he read through the datapad; 
Jorri had seen it dozens of times during her assignment to his command.  That telltale 
frown, the attempt to appear neutral, those eyes... still, Jorri stood her ground.  
"It's not a very good time for this," he finally remarked.
	"I understand, sir," she replied.  "But he's my husband; I can't abandon him 
now, sir."
	"I know, although it seems that he abandoned us."
	Jorri leaned forward, her knuckles resting on the desk.  "Senator Alixus is a 
slippery traitor who only remains in office because of her ability to dodge the truth.  
Bastian would never have done something like this; never!"  Deltone cast his gaze down 
to her hands on his desk, but she refused to budge.  "If I'm the only person left in 
the galaxy who believes that, then it's all the more reason why I have to be there."
	Deltone took a deep breath through his nose, then picked up the datapad again.  
"Capt. Relam is up to date, I assume?"
	"Jon is always on top of things," she said with a nod.  He passed her back the 
datapad; it had "Two Week Pass" imprinted over her name, with the colonel's signature.  
"I'll make up for the lost time," she promised.
	"I hope so," he said as neutrally as possible.  "You're a good pilot and 
effective leader, but frankly I wish you were a man.  It'd save me a lot of headaches."
	"Sorry, sir."
	"But you're worth every one," he said, finally warming up just a little.  "I 
hope you're right about him, I really do."
	"Thank you, sir," she said, then tucked the datapad under her arm and walked 
out.  She had her bunkmate pack her things for her to expedite the trip; within half an 
hour she was on a shuttle heading for the wormhole.
	It was never an issue of hope for Jorri.  She knew her husband, and more than 
just what his character was.  This assassin wasn't him; he didn't move right to be 
Bastian, and the way he responded to the attack was all wrong.  Bastian wouldn't have 
gotten mad, he would have gotten even more controlled, aloof.  For Jorri, it was 
practically a wonder that anyone could think this impostor was her husband.  
	Jorri took a deep, steadying breath as she pulled back on the hyperdrive 
controls.  This wasn't how I wanted to do this, Bastian, she thought.  But I guess we 
both have to take what we've been given.

	Dr. Bashir looked at the tricorder with the same expression that all doctors 
have used throughout history.  It was a kind of frown, showing a mix of contemplation 
and disappointment, one that is always used whether there is good or bad news.  It's 
not without reason skilled poker players are usually nicknamed "Doc."
	Still, the lines were a little deeper, the expression a little more downcast.  
Annika lay on the bed as he ran the device over her one more time.  "Is it that bad?" 
she asked.
	"Worse," he said.  He closed the tricorder up.  "Unless the Borg give us the 
cure, I don't see any alternative but admitting you to a hospital."
	"No," Annika said without a moment's pause.
	"Your condition is continuing to deteriorate," Bashir said.
	"I'm aware of that.  But I have too much to do to lie in a hospital."
	"The only thing you're going to do is collapse and die," he said in 
frustration.  "Denial isn't going to make this go away!"
	"Like I said, I'm aware of that.  But I'm not going to just lie in the hospital 
and wait to die, not while I can try to stop whatever else Nom Anor is up to.  This 
mess with Alixus is only further proof of that."
	"You're being stubborn."
	"Damn right."
	"Fine," Bashir said irritably as he closed up his medkit.  "I can't force you 
to seek treatment.  But sooner or later this is going to go beyond what I can do, and 
then what?  Do we just let you lie here in an unconscious heap?"
	"If it gets that bad, do what you have to, but right now, while I still have 
the strength to move, I move.  We're going to bring this Vong down even if it's the 
death of me."
	Han came up the ramp before the subject could continue, although both knew 
which side he'd come down on if he became involved.  "Anything?" she asked.
	"A lead," he said.  "There's word of a Borg settlement on an archipelago in the 
Southern Sea that might point us in the right direction."
	"A Borg settlement on Sanctuary isn't unusual," Annika pointed out.
	"No, but it seems that this group is a bit more isolationist than most.  They 
don't even answer communications most of the time."
	"Is it safe?" Bashir asked.
	"No less than anywhere else we've been," Han said with a shrug.  "But you're 
right, this probably isn't going to be pretty.  That's why I'm taking the Falcon in; if 
we need to get out of there, I want something that can put a couple of light-years 
between us and them if it comes down to it."

	Leia's every waking moment was dedicated to holding the bitterly divided Empire 
together, and Sebastian had been placed in a holding cell to mollify his accusers for 
the time being.  That left only Jacen, Jaina, and Anakin for the discussion of what 
exactly would be their next step.  With the Emperor gone they would no longer be 
seeking guidance from him; they were on their own.  
	It was Jacen who had called for this meeting, and Anakin had a feeling what it 
was going to be about.  His older brother always had been a little too sure of himself, 
and Anakin was betting he was going to appoint himself to decide what kind of work the 
three of them would engage in.  But even Anakin's suspicions hadn't prepared him for 
Jacen's revelation.
	"I've meditated on this a great deal," Jacen said, "and I think there's only 
one thing we can do."  He took a deep breath.  "We need to rebuild the Jedi Order."
	The others looked at one another, suspicious of what it meant.  "You aren't 
suggesting what I think you're suggesting," Anakin asked.
	"We'd need to have some way of training more Jedi," Jaina said.  "And we 
don't."
	"That's right," Jacen said.  "So we'll have to start one.  We'll have to start 
training Jedi."
	"No," Anakin said without hesitation.  "We can't.  None of us have a strong 
enough understanding of the Force-"
	"I realize that this isn't an ideal solution," Jacen said.  "But what's the 
alternative?  Allow the Jedi to die out with us?"
	"We wait until we are ready to start training others," Anakin said.  "If we 
rush into things, we'll only make things worse."
	"I understand if you don't feel ready," Jacen said.  "Jaina and I have been 
Jedi for longer than you.  We don't know everything there is to possibly know about the 
Force, but we know enough to help force potentials learn to harness their powers and 
put them on the light path."
	"That's arrogant," Anakin said frankly.  "Obi-Wan was trained by the best and 
had the guidance of the Jedi Council to aide him, and even he wasn't up to training 
grandfather.  How can you expect to succeed?"
	"The Force will guide us," Jacen said.  "We have to trust that."
	"I don't like this idea very much," Jaina admitted.  "But this Sith has gotten 
these people involved.  I think we may have no choice in the matter but to help them 
learn how to use the Force."
	"This is a mistake," Anakin said.
	"Things are desperate," Jacen replied.  "The Empire is now being thrown into 
chaos.  The Jedi Order once existed to preserve the peace; we need it now more than 
ever."
	"We'll have mom to fall back on if we need help," Jaina pointed out to Anakin.  
"We'll work through this."
	"I'm not saying this is going to be easy," Jacen quickly added.  "But you'll 
see that this will help ensure the survival of both us and the peace we've sworn to 
defend."  Anakin just sat there; there was nothing more for him to say than he had 
already said.  They would do this without him, if necessary.  He only hoped this wasn't 
going to be as fatal a mistake as Obi-Wan's.

	The ocean zipped past the window as the Falcon came back out of orbit for its 
approach to the main island in the archipelago.  As expected, there was a large 
settlement, complete with a series of landing platforms just outside.  "Automated 
systems," Han remarked as he signaled his desire to land.  "Some things never change, I 
guess."
	"Any sign of weapons?" Bashir asked.
	"No," Han said.  "But some kind of shield around the settlement.  Not something 
I'm familiar with."
	Annika looked over the readings.  "I have," she said wearily.
	"Borg stuff, huh?" Han remarked.
	"Yes, similar to what we- they, used inside their ships.  You two won't be able 
to pass through."
	Han settled back into his pilot's chair with his arms crossed.  "I'm not too 
sure I like that."
	"Is there some way we can fool the shields into letting us through?" Bashir 
asked.  "Perhaps with a tricorder."
	"Maybe, but it would be a bad idea.  They may have some automated defenses in 
case of that scenario, or they might simply kill you out of xenophobic spite."
	"Then I'm not so sure you should go," Han said.
	"I can handle them if things turn ugly," she said.
	"No, you can't," Bashir said.
	Annika glowered at him.  "Fine, let's bring in the stormtroopers.  Then none of 
us will have anything to worry about."
	Annika had known just what to say.  Bashir still despised the Empire, and Han 
was still upset over the mess on Deep Space 13.  "Be careful," he said, making it sound 
like an order.
	"Naturally," Annika replied.  She strapped on the hold-out blaster she'd 
started using; she hadn't been able to form a plasma discharger in years.  She made her 
way down the Falcon's ramp and crossed the empty docking bay.  She stopped before the 
shimmering energy barrier, then pushed through.  Almost immediately three ex-drones 
were on hand, sporting disruptors and blasters.  Annika had her blaster in her hand but 
pointed it away from them.  "I need to talk to someone about Sebastian Skywalker."
	The male, Species 7109, nodded at her.  "You're Seven of Nine, Tertiar-"  He 
stopped as Annika held the blaster inches from his face.
	"If you've any sense of self-preservation," she growled, "you won't finish that 
sentence."
	His eyes flitted down to the blaster for a moment.  "She's been waiting for you 
for a long time," he said finally.  "Put down your weapon and come with me."
	Annika glanced between the ex-drones for a moment, then with a flick of her 
wrist, was holding the blaster out butt-first.  He took it and gestured for her to 
follow.  There were ex-drones in all stages, from those that could nearly pass for 
normals, like herself, to ones that looked like something out of the nightmares she 
still sometimes had.  The settlement was an odd marriage of lean-to shelters and 
advanced technology.  Everywhere the people stopped what they were doing and watched 
her; she could tell it wasn't idle curiosity.  Gradually they worked to the main 
building, larger and sturdier than the others, which probably housed the power for the 
settlement and maintained the shield.  She had a feeling she knew who she'd find 
inside; she was right.
	"Annika," the Queen said.  She gestured for her to come in, and Annika noticed 
it was with a mechanical arm… to replace the one Luke cut off, she realized.  Of 
course, it had always been mechanical, but without their advanced technology it was a 
makeshift replacement.  "We've been expecting you."
	Annika glanced at the various ex-drones in the room, then returned her 
attention to the Queen.  "Naturally.  You did this to me, didn't you."
	"We knew we needed some incentive for your family to cooperate," the Queen 
replied.
	"It wasn't enough," Annika said defiantly.
	"Perhaps," the Queen said.  "But we can always hope.  It's all we have left."
	Annika nodded towards the crowd.  "Even now you still speak for them?"
	"I do what must be done," the Queen replied.  "As I always did to ensure the 
survival of my people."
	"Your people are gone," Annika said harshly.  "There are no more Borg."
	"That's true," the Queen admitted.  "But I never claimed that's what we are."
	"Then what are you?"
	"The lost and forgotten," the Queen replied.  "We are the outcasts; the last 
vestiges of the Borg who cannot adapt to your way of life."
	"Excuse me while I shed a tear," Annika said coldly.
	The Queen looked at her with a mixture of contempt and disappointment.  "You 
should," she said.  "You are the lucky one, the hero because you turned your back on 
us."
	"I earned their trust," Annika replied defiantly.  "And I worked beside them as 
one of them, as an individual."
	"As one of them?" the Queen replied.  "Really?  I look at your face and I 
wonder whether you were once an outcast as well."
	"I was accepted-"
	"Were you?" the Queen interrupted.  "Were you really?  Eidetic memory means we 
cannot forget, Annika, even if we want to."
	Annika opened her mouth, but she couldn't reply.  She did remember it all.  The 
Caatati who wanted to torment and murder her out of a petty desire for revenge, just 
because she was Borg.  The times when the Voyager crew referred to her as "our Borg," 
rather than as a human being.  The stares of the cadets at Starfleet when they'd 
returned to Earth, looking her over like some specimen.  The Tsunkatse, where she was 
simply a Borg to fight in the rings for the crowds amusement.  Captain Picard, a man 
she'd come to admire, who when push came to shove, thought her nothing more than a Borg 
agent in the midst of battle.  If even he, whom she always felt represented the best 
the human race had to offer, couldn't see past the implants, how could anyone?
	And then there was Luke, who lied to himself for a long time about what she was 
because he couldn't accept that she could be the same as his hated enemy.  A man with 
the heart of a saint, and yet it had taken even him time and the strong love he had for 
her to see that she was Borg, and to accept that there was nothing wrong with that.
	"You landed in the best possible circumstances, Annika," the Queen said.  "And 
even your path wasn't easy, was it?  Imagine what it's been like for the rest of us, 
who have never known individuality, to awaken to this terrifying new experience.  To be 
captured and put in camps for execution, or hunted for sport, or put on display in 
museums.  The galaxy hates us, and you left us with no way to protect ourselves from 
that hatred."
	"The Borg are hated with cause," Annika replied.
	"And does that justify the treatment of ex-drones?" the Queen asked with fire 
in her voice.  
	Annika's gaze slipped over some of the brutalized faces that were looking up at 
her.  Some reflected that hate, but there was no mistaking the signs of jealousy and 
envy.  She had run into quite a few difficult people over the years, but she had a very 
protective Jedi watching her back; she really didn't know what these people had been 
through, had she.  "I don't know what to tell you," she said finally.
	"Tell me that you understand!" the Queen replied in exasperation.  "That we 
have been abandoned in a galaxy that preaches tolerance and unity!"  Annika was shocked 
at the hint of tears in the Queen's eyes.  "Tell me there's a reason for our suffering!  
Tell me why the few are favored, while the many must live with the scorn of others!  
They fear us, flee us, try not to see us!  Tell me there's a way to end this!"
	"I'm sorry," Annika said, just above a whisper.
	"That is why we have taken the measures we have, Annika," the Queen said.  "We 
have hope now, a single, fragile hope.  Our every thought is bent on it, because it is 
the only way we can endure our suffering without succumbing to despair.  Without it, we 
are lost... it would have been better if we'd never been born."
	"I can't do what you ask," Annika said.  "If you were to somehow restore the 
Borg to what they once were, you would be a threat to millions of peaceful worlds."
	"No," the Queen said.  "We've seen where that path has led us.  Instead we 
could devote ourselves to research and exploration.  You know the propaganda about us 
only learning through assimilation is a lie.  Imagine what we could do if we worked 
with the Empire."
	"I don't have to imagine, I saw it."
	"You know what I mean," the Queen said.  
	"I think it would be a fatal mistake," Annika said.  "And you'd have to be 
insane to think anyone would think otherwise."
	The Queen nodded a little, not really looking at Annika.  "Maybe I am," she 
said quietly.  "But I have to believe that there's a purpose behind this.  There must 
be a reason that we have been allowed to endure our hardships."
	"No, there isn't," Annika said.  "It's been happening for millennia across the 
universe.  All you're feeling is a vestigial Borg desire to impose order on a chaos 
beyond your control."
	"I can't believe that," the Queen said.  "There must be something more.  Even 
if we are merely to die in the effort, we cannot have reached such heights and fall for 
no purpose."
	Annika half-shrugged.  "I am no philosopher.  Maybe it's so you can share this 
cure with the galaxy?"
	"No, it's not," the Queen said.  "We fell to teach us the lesson of hubris.  We 
won't make the same mistake again."
	"That's right, you won't."
	"So you still refuse us?"
	"Even if I believed in your cause, which I don't, he's my son.  I would never 
give him up to you."
	"You hate us that much, you'd rather die?"
	"I love him that much, I'd rather die," Annika said.  "If you'll accept nothing 
else, then I'll be on my way."
	"There is nothing else you could give us," the Queen said.
	Annika nodded.  "Then I'll show myself out."  
	Annika turned to the drone who had led her in.  He glanced at the Queen, who 
nodded at him.  He handed her blaster back, and she slipped it onto her belt.  She 
glanced at them one last time, then walked towards the door.  Just before she reached 
it the Queen called out to her, and she turned, and she could see the pleading in her 
eyes.  "Remember Annika: you made the outcasts... don't cast us out."  Annika looked 
them over again, and then left.



CHAPTER IX

	Annika took a deep breath to steady herself before she walked up the ramp.  
Everything exhausted her these days, even the short trip back through the Borg 
settlement.  Sure that she would present the least decrepit image, she walked up the 
ramp into the Millennium Falcon.  Han and Bashir were waiting with the expressions of 
men who had done a great deal of waiting under tense situations throughout the years, 
and knew how to sit on the balance between apathy and focus that prevented cracking or 
death.  "Well?" Han asked
	"Nothing's changed," Annika said.  "There's only one thing they want."
	"And I assume we're still refusing?" Bashir asked.  He caught the looks of the 
others.  "I just wanted to be sure," the old physician remarked.
	"We could try breaking in," Han said.
	"We could, but chances are they'd kill us or destroy the cure before we got the 
chance.  We don't even know what we're looking for, or even if it's here.  They might 
have it buried on an asteroid somewhere, waiting for the moment when they need it."
	Han knocked on the dejarik table a few times while he thought.  "What if we 
infected them?" he asked.  "That'd force them to bring out the cure, and then we'd know 
where it was."
	"No," Bashir said.  "We can't do that."
	"Why not?  They did it to Annika, and it's not like we'd be killing anyone.  
They have a cure."
	"Yes, but not necessarily the right cure.  If you're wrong, we'd be guilty of 
mass murder."
	"Look, these people have the ability to stop this thing," Han said rather 
hotly.  "And all they're interested in is trying to blackmail us rather than helping 
anybody.  These people deserve whatever they get."
	"No, they don't," Annika said.  Han turned to her in surprise.  "You don't know 
what they've been through."
	Han was trying to say something, but he still seemed stymied by her remark.  
"These people have infected you with a fatal disease," he finally got out.  "How can 
you defend them?"
	"I'm not," Annika said.  "But you've no idea the suffering they've been 
through."
	"It's a tough universe," Han said.  "We've all suffered, but I've never used 
that as an excuse for anything."
	Annika couldn't look at him.  "You are now," she said.  "Take me to Earth."
	Han looked even more confused.  "What?"
	"Take me to Earth, please," she said.  "I'll check in to the hospital, I'll let 
the Doctor do what he can.  Just leave these people alone, Han."
	"Annika-"
	"I love you too, Han," Annika said, wrapping her arms around him.  "You're the 
brother I never had.  But I can't let you do this to them, or yourself, because you 
want to protect me.  Chewbacca, Luke, they wouldn't have wanted you to do this either.  
So, I'll accept the situation Han, so long as you'll do the same."
	Han squeezed her back, then got to his feet.  He pointed at her and adopted his 
command tone.  "I'm not going to stop looking," he told her.
	"I'm counting on it," she said.
	"I'll stay with the Falcon," Bashir said, getting up.  "I can do more good 
helping find the cure out here than in the hospital.  I'd just be one more doctor 
offering an opinion."
	"I'd get started packing now," Han said as he headed for the cockpit.  "Earth 
is just a quick jump away."
	"I will," she said, although she'd probably keep most of this stuff with Han.  
She'd brought some of her most treasured items with her on this trip, and had gone down 
and looked at them every once in a while.  This ship had been her home now for years... 
she'd come to expect she would die on board it.  But part of being a family was knowing 
when you had to compromise for everyone's good.  Han was getting too emotional about 
her condition; she needed to get away from him so he could think clearly, without 
worry.  She knew how resourceful he was; if anyone could find a cure, or a way to bring 
down Nom Anor, she had every faith it'd be him.  She just wished she could have come 
along for the ride.

	It hadn't been a straight journey back for the renegades for obvious reasons.  
Ben Skywalker had to keep his existence a secret to further the deception, and Garak 
had one of the most recognizable faces in the galaxy.  Security at the wormhole would 
be tight, so they had to bide their time with the Mistryl until things dropped enough 
that the group could be smuggled back through to the Milky Way.  Garak's incessant 
chattering had made Skywalker almost regret saving his life, but for the moment he was 
still necessary.  
	The shuttle set them down on the Oracle's planet, which had come to serve as a 
makeshift base of sorts for the Sith and his plans.  Garak, on the other hand, stayed 
not more than ten minutes before taking another shuttle back towards the Alpha Quadrant 
to get his own plans under way.  Traffic to this world had to be kept to a minimum to 
avoid attracting attention, but besides that, Ben could tell Garak was uncomfortable 
around the Oracle.  That a spy and a murderer would feel that way about an old woman 
would have been amusing, if not for the fact Ben found her rather off-putting as well.  
It was fortunate she served him so well, so that he wasn't inclined to kill her.  
	"Welcome home, Lord Skywalker," the Oracle said.  "I trust things have gone 
well?"
	Ben nodded.  "The Emperor's dead, and Alixus has all but convinced the Senate 
that Sebastian is to blame for it."
	"Good," she said.  "Everything is going as planned."  She returned to her work.  
Eventually she glanced back over to Ben.  "Was there something else, my lord?"
	"No," Ben said, snapping out of his trance.
	"You're haunted by the words of the Emperor," the Oracle said.  "They are 
merely the mad ramblings of a being facing his own oblivion.  Do not dwell on them."
	"Of course not," Ben said with visible irritation.  "I don't need you to tell 
me that."
	"Of course, my lord," but it was clear she was just humoring him.  "As expected 
the young Jedi are planning to begin training Force potentials to rebuild their order."
	"That should prove difficult," Ben remarked.
	"Thanks to your intervention, yes," the Oracle said.  "But still, they will 
find them.  You'll have to be prepared."
	"I can handle them," he said.  It wasn't even said with pride, just the rock 
solid sound of belief, as if he'd been asked if he could stomp on cockroaches.  If he 
could kill Luke Skywalker, some half-ass Force user would be simple.
	"Yes, my lord, but why waste your time on the little fish?  Our plans are 
bearing fruit, and you'll no doubt want to take a more active role in the events of the 
galaxy.  There's no sense in you having to take time out to crush a few arrogant 
upstarts."
	Ben looked at her with the distrustful curiosity he usually sent in her 
direction.  He approached discussions with the Oracle in much the same way he might 
cautiously poke an insect hive, wary of what might come out of it.  "What do you have 
in mind?"
	Hardly pausing in her work, the Oracle grabbed a datapad off a stack and handed 
it towards him, still looking at her instruments.  "I took the liberty of assembling a 
list of Force potentials who would be inclined to join the ranks of the Sith."
	Ben yanked the datapad out of her hand and looked it over.  "I have an 
apprentice already," he said even as he read the names.  He recognized two as the 
Mistryl he'd brought back with him from their assignment.
	"Yes, my lord, but I think you might wish to consider breaking with tradition."
	"That 'tradition' exists to preserve the Sith," he replied, still reading 
through the names.  "It ensures that we won't let our ambition cloud our judgment by 
turning on each other."
	"Yes, but even the Emperor took your mother in to serve as his hand," the 
Oracle said.  "The rule existed when the Jedi were strong.  These few trainees are weak 
and their followers will be even weaker.  Your disciples would be more than sufficient 
in overrunning them and serving as your agents throughout the galaxies while you seized 
ultimate control yourself."
	"You are trying to appeal to my ego," Ben said with a hint of anger in his 
voice.  "Do not think I am a fool, Janeway."
	"Of course not, my lord."
	"Still, there is some merit in what you propose," Ben admitted.  "And my power 
is more than sufficient to eliminate any student with ambitions above their station.  
Training them would be time consuming..."
	"At first, perhaps.  But with your apprentice assisting you, they should soon 
learn all they would need to aid you in your conquest of the galaxies.  After that you 
could train them at your leisure or simply eliminate them."
	Ben nodded thoughtfully.  As was often the case the witch's madness contained a 
certain wisdom.  "In the future, you will discuss matters with me before taking 
liberties," he said, just to make things clear where he stood.  Still he tucked the 
datapad into his pocket for later.
	"Of course, my lord.  I am merely a servant of the Sith."

	The detention officer checked over the visitor request form with a frown, then 
handed it back to Jorri.  He punched up the image of the cell; Sebastian was sitting on 
the floor in meditation.  The image was switched off and he nodded to the stormtrooper, 
who escorted Jorri down the cell block and opened the door for her.  It was quickly 
sealed behind her.
	Jorri's presence must have triggered something, because Sebastian blinked his 
eyes opened and looked up at her with excitement and relief before springing to his 
feet and embracing her.  "Jorri," he sighed, squeezing her even tighter, "it's been 
longer than I thought."
	"I know," she said.  She let the moment last longer than it probably needed, 
but she couldn't help herself.  She hadn't realized how much she missed him until she 
saw the recording of the man with his face.  She looked up into those eyes, and saw how 
much he needed her to hold onto him, and it was all she could do not to cry.  This man 
was absolutely astonishing, holding one-on-one conversations with the Emperor, 
accomplishing impossible tasks, but at the end of the day, he turned to her and his 
expression said it all: I need your strength to get through this.  Her, some Tatooine 
girl who'd become a fighter jockey, propping up a man who could face down giant 
tentacled monsters.  Sebastian didn't just hold her and love her; everything about him 
said that she was needed... that a man who touched the pinnacle of power said that she 
was important.  It was hard to be apart, but that look, that look could make the 
absence evaporate... because it said that he never wanted to be away from her.  And she 
always felt the same.
	If they executed him, she had no idea how she'd survive.  Without her Bastian, 
there seemed no point in being alive.
	Eventually they released one another and took their seats in the cell.  "I 
didn't do it," he said emphatically.
	"You don't have to convince me," she said as she took his hand.  "Who do you 
think it was?"
	"The Sith, although why he looks so similar to me is a mystery.  And it's going 
to be difficult to prove it wasn't me who killed the Emperor, especially after the 
disaster in the Senate."
	Jorri nodded a little.  "Could we use the same kind of trick to prove your 
innocence?"
	"What do you mean?" he asked with a frown.
	"Like, had a hologram or something appear while you were locked up.  That would 
prove there was someone else-"
	"Too risky," Sebastian said.  "We tried duplicity once, and look where it 
landed us.  If we tried again, it would only further demonstrate to our enemies that we 
have something to hide."
	"But without proof, they might execute you."
	"I don't think so, although with Alixus poisoning the well it might come down 
to that."  Sebastian caught Jorri's expression.  "There's nothing to worry about," he 
added.  "The Sith is going to come up for air one way or another, and when he does 
they'll see the truth, and I'll be out of here."
	"I hope so," Jorri said, "for the three of us."
	Sebastian wondered what she meant by that for a second.  Was she talking about 
his mother's condition?  Then he realized the two of them weren't alone in the cell, 
not exactly.  He reached out and pulled her close.  "I had no idea," he whispered.
	"I've been waiting for you to come home so I could tell you," she said as she 
gripped him as tightly as she had when she'd first entered.
	"How far along?" Sebastian asked.
	"Three months," Jorri said.  "It's a girl."
	Sebastian shook his head as he tried to take this in.  In the last minute he'd 
undergone a mental transformation.  He was going to be a father... and for the rest of 
his life, that's what he'd be.  It was a terrifying thought to have this new life 
suddenly become his responsibility, far beyond what he'd prepared himself for.  Sure 
he'd saved the lives of many children over the years, but that was simple by 
comparison.  Disarming a bomb may be harder than teaching someone how to walk, but it 
was a short experience... very short if you weren't good at it.  The latter required 
constant vigilance, along with a host of thousands of responsibilities.  The fact the 
child would no doubt be strong in the Force made that even more daunting.  
	And what kind of galaxy am I creating for her? he asked himself.  Civilization 
teeters on the edge of collapse, the Vong stand at the gates, ready to sweep through 
the undefended systems.  Old rivals stand ready to turn their weapons on one another 
once again.  And a Sith ran in their midst, sowing chaos and murdering people.  Is this 
what he was going to bring his daughter into?
	There was a look of grim resolution on Sebastian's face.  Not if I have 
anything to say about it, he thought.  "Tell Terraine to get me out of here," he said 
with steel in his voice.  "I've got work to do."
	Jorri took hold of his arm and held him close again.  "I asked Leia, actually, 
but there's nothing they can do right now.  If they let you go free the divisions could 
spread."
	Politics! Sebastian thought, hopping off the bench and pacing in frustration.  
"I don't suppose you smuggled in my lightsaber," he muttered, frustrated at the 
situation.
	"Gorren still has it," Jorri said.  "Although he's wanted to break you out ever 
since you were locked up," she added with a laugh.
	"Yeah, well, if I thought he had a chance I'd let him try," Sebastian said.  He 
kicked the wall in frustration, then caught Jorri's expression.  "What?"
	"I'm just-" she stammered.  "I've never seen you like this.  You're usually so 
restrained."
	"I just feel so useless!" he said.  "I'm not doing anyone any good in here."
	"Well then, should we try the hologram idea?" Jorri asked.
	Sebastian stopped his furious pacing.  "No," he said, but there was no 
mistaking the fact he hated saying the word.  "There's too great a chance someone could 
see through it... no pun intended, of course.  What convinced everyone was that the 
Sith moved like a Jedi, and that's because he is a Jedi, a dark one anyway.  A 
hologram, a shapeshifter, none of them would be able to put on as convincing a 
performance.  As much as I hate to admit it, it'd probably only make things worse."
	"Then what are you going to do?" Jorri asked.
	Sebastian threw up his arms.  "I wish I knew," he said.  "But I can't stay in 
here, not now."
	"Bastian," Jorri said, getting up and embracing him again, "I'm sorry.  I 
didn't think telling you about the baby would upset you like this."
	"It hasn't," Sebastian said.  "It's given me the kick in the pants I've 
needed."  He finally seemed to have calmed down.  "It's put things in perspective.  All 
my work has been to preserve the galaxies because of obligation.  Now I've got a 
personal stake in it, and I realize that staying locked up and letting them sort this 
mess out is a luxury I don't have."  He gave her a quick kiss.  "I won't do anything 
stupid," he promised.
	"Good, because we both need you," she said.  "More than the galaxies do."  They 
spent two hours together, making up for the time they'd lost as best they could under 
the circumstances.  When the time was up, Jorri activated the call button inside the 
cell.  Sebastian stood well back to indicate he wasn't going to try anything, and the 
stormtrooper opened the door and let Jorri out.  Sebastian returned to the spot on the 
floor and resumed his meditation.  He needed to think clearly if he was going to find a 
way out of this mess.

	It was a nondescript ship, but then, Nom Anor would have it no other way.  He 
slipped through the wormhole protocols with a skill that had been honed by years of 
experience, so much so that it was second nature to him now.  The coordinates came up 
on the navicomputer and he slipped into hyperspace.  He'd made up his mind; the time 
was ripe now.  It was time for him to take a more active hand in shaping the fate of 
the galaxies.


CHAPTER X

	The guard looked up as a stormtrooper entered holding a datapad.  The guard 
continued entering the information in for his report, ignoring him.  These new troopers 
always needed to learn their place when it came to the detention blocks, otherwise they 
tended to overstep their authority and risk security breaches.
	"Sir," the trooper finally said.
	"I am busy," the guard growled.
	"Sir, I need to deliver this message," the stormtrooper said.  "And I have a 
ticket for the gladiatorial games in less than an hour."
	The guard looked up, suspicion on his face.  "You're not being reassigned?"
	"No sir.  I have a message from Volgo Terraine for the prisoner, Sebastian 
Skywalker."  The stormtrooper handed over the orders, causing the guard to bristle 
slightly.  One of those damn ISB cover jobs, which required him to turn off the sensors 
in the cell for "privacy," which usually meant some heavy persuasion.  That didn't seem 
likely under the circumstances, however, but there was nothing he could do about it.  
Every order was checked against the sensor logs, and if he violated it he'd wind up in 
one of their holding cells undergoing very heavy persuasion.  He checked the cell one 
last time to verify the prisoner was still in there, then deactivated the sensors.
	Twenty minutes later the chime rang for the cell.  The guard switched the 
sensors back on and saw the trooper ready to exit, the prisoner lying on the bunk.  The 
guard tapped his lips a moment, then gestured for two stormtroopers to join him as he 
walked down the cell block.  He entered the code and opened the door, the trooper 
inside waiting with the patience of a stormtrooper.  "Prisoner," the guard called, 
"stand up."  The two flanking stormtroopers held their weapons at the ready.
	Sebastian rolled over on the bunk.  "What?" he asked as he got to his feet.  
The guard frowned as he pulled out a scanner, but they confirmed this wasn't some 
illusion.  He put it away with a huff, then gestured for the trooper to exit.  
	Once the trooper was out the guard sealed the door.  "Enjoy the race," he said 
as he led them back down the detention block.
	"Thanks," the trooper replied.  "But it's a gladiatorial match, not a race."
	"Yes, of course," the guard replied shortly.  He resumed his post, checking in 
on the prisoner, he seemed to be lying down again.  The guard thought some more, then 
activated the comm.  "Prisoner, stand up."
	Sebastian rolled over.  "I have a name, you know," he replied moodily, then got 
back to his feet.  The guard ran another sensor sweep, but found nothing out of the 
ordinary.  
	"What did you two talk about?" the guard asked.
	"I'm not at liberty to say," Sebastian said.
	"The ISB give you a rough time?"
	"I don't know what you mean.  There is no ISB."
	"Of course," the guard said.  He hated this cloak and dagger poodoo; it made 
his life difficult.
	The stormtrooper left the building and took a public transport to an apartment 
complex on the outskirts of the capital.  His every step was exact, his choices made 
without hesitation or missteps.  He flashed an ID to a protocol droid upon entry 
without missing a step as he headed for the turbolift.  He exited and continued to the 
room without searching, as if he'd been there a thousand times and knew it by rote.  He 
activated the chime; a Klingon answered.
	"What do you want?" Gorren growled at him.
	The stormtrooper removed his helmet.  "I want my lightsaber back," Sebastian 
said.

	Nom Anor finished connecting to the network relay, an overall unpleasant 
experience for him despite his time living amongst these technophiles.  Still, this was 
the most effective way to carry out his plan, although he was loathe to think that his 
work would have to depend upon Imperial technology.  He made the final connections, 
then without ceremony, hit the send button.

	Gorren had a grin that threatened to drop the top of his head off his body.  "I 
knew it," he said triumphantly.  "I knew you would see the light, my friend.  How many 
Imperial Toh-pahs did you have to kill to make your escape?"
	"None," Sebastian said, getting out of the armor even while he accessed the 
computer terminal.  "We're going to need passage..."
	"Ah, the Jedi way," Gorren said with the same tone a man uses when trying to 
show he understands female hygiene issues.  
	"Jedi had nothing to do with it," Sebastian said, still looking over the 
screen.  "I had help."

	Sebastian was sitting on the edge of the cot in his cell, tossing his ring up 
in the air and catching it while he thought.  He didn't have a lightsaber to tap it 
against, so he made due.  His thoughts were bent on how he could try to resolve these 
problems.  There were so many, it was difficult sorting out where to start.  Clearing 
his name was important, but not necessarily the most important.  Nom Anor, the Sith, 
Garak, they were all serious threats in their own way, and it was difficult to decide 
which would be the most important, yet practical, first choice.  Still, he had his 
contacts; he could probably get a better feel once he was off Chandrilla, which was 
what it always returned to.
	The door opened, and a stormtrooper let himself in.  Sebastian stayed put, 
flipping his ring through the air and catching it casually, as if the trooper weren't 
even there.  "Excuse me," the stormtrooper said.
	"I'm a bit busy right now," Sebastian said moodily.
	"You're about to be," the stormtrooper said, removing his helmet to reveal 
Volgo Terraine's face.  Sebastian was so surprised he missed the ring as it fell.
	"Kriff!" the Jedi cried as he dropped to the floor to find it.
	"Do you mind if we get down to business?" Terraine asked as he continued 
stripping off the plastoid armor.
	"I have to find it first!"
	"It's just a ring," Terraine said.  "Focus on what's important, please."
	"It's important to me!" Sebastian said.  "It's precious.  Ah!" he said as he 
closed his fingers around it, then slid it on his finger.  "You were saying?" he added 
as he sat down on his bunk.
	"We're getting you out of here," Terraine said.
	"Good, how are we going to do it?"
	"One thing at a time," Terraine said.  "You should leave the galaxy as quickly 
as possible; it's the safest option at this point.  Let the heat die down and you can 
start looking into how to proceed.  I'll find a way to contact you if necessary.  Put 
this on."
	"Any advice?" Sebastian asked as he started pulling on the stormtrooper armor.
	"It's all in the datapad inside the armor," Terraine said.  "But one thing that 
might interest you are a couple of leads we have on the alien, Kalib."
	"The one who was caught trying to save me?"
	"Yes.  From what little I know, he was a bit of an information broker.  He 
could probably help."
	"I hope he's inclined to cooperate with me," Sebastian said.  
	"Well, whatever the case, I doubt he has any love for the Vong."  He looked 
Sebastian over.  "That looks fine.  The datapad has a map of the route to Gorren's 
apartment; you'll want to memorize it."
	"No problem," Sebastian said as he looked it over.
	"Get your Klingon friend and get off the planet as quickly as possible without 
attracting any attention.  Oh, and if anyone asks, you're on your way to the 
gladiatorial games."
	"Got it," Sebastian said.  "But how exactly am I going to get out of here?"
	"Simple," Terraine said.  Sebastian took a step back as Terraine's face melted.  
No, not melted, transformed, until he was looking at a copy of himself.  "This will 
fool the guards," he said in a perfect imitation of Sebastian's voice.
	"How the kriff did you do that?" Sebastian asked.  "Are you a changeling?  Why 
are you working for the Empire?"
	"Let's just say that Sisko and I are very old friends," Terraine said.  "But 
this isn't the time for questions, Sebastian."

	"So the ISB is run by one of the Founders?" Gorren said with dismay.  "I didn't 
think any were left."
	"Neither did I."  For a moment he had considered that the changeling might 
actually be impersonating Terraine to lead him into a trap, but he knew the Emperor's 
true identity.  The number of people who did numbered less than a dozen, many of whom 
were dead.  "It explains a few things though, like his animosity towards Garak for one.  
But let's stay focused on our job."

	Jorri was unaware of Sebastian's escape, and unfortunately would have to be.  
Agents of the Vong had been watching her since her arrival, and Terraine had suspicions 
that they had bugged her quarters.  After a couple days on the capital with nothing to 
think about but her husband and her baby, she decided to check in with her squadron.  
	"Everything's quiet," Capt. Relam, her wingman, remarked.  His image was 
grainy, but considering it was being transmitted through the wormhole, that was 
expected.  Years ago this would have required a serious bit of pull, but now it was 
practically routine.
	"The Hirogen aren't putting up a fight?"
	"Not since our last run-in," he said.  "I think we might have scared some sense 
into them."
	"I'm not sure they could be scared or develop sense," Jorri said.
	"Well, whatever it is, it's-" his words were drowned out by a sudden scream."
	"Jon?  Jon what's happening?"  She leapt back from the hologram.  Obviously it 
couldn't do anything to her, but the sight of Jon transforming before her eyes was 
horrifying.  What could be happening to him?

	Across the Milky Way, the signal propagated from relay to relay, each one 
broadcasting Nom Anor's signal.  It was, in and of itself, harmless, yet there was 
devastation in its wake all the same.
	Ten years ago it had started with a single organism Anor had designed for 
infiltration.  It overpowered its targets, absorbed them, and then released an exact 
copy.  Even the memories were the same; you never even knew what had happened to you.  
And yet, when the circumstances were right, instinct took over, and you yourself passed 
it on to the next.  One became two, two became four, again and again, inserting 
themselves into positions throughout the Empire high and low.  Now there were billions 
of them, sleeper agents of Nom Anor.  
	And the signal just woke them up.

	The Oracle emerged from her laboratory.  "It's time," she said.
	Ben Skywalker was in the midst of working with the Mistryl agents who had been 
on the list.  He'd been impressed so far; it seemed that their command of the Force was 
already manifesting in their reflexes and combat techniques.  The Oracle had done a 
good job in selecting them, but that didn't mean he was going to indulge her.  "This 
had better be important, witch," he growled.
	She pointed towards the third Mistryl , the one who hadn't been on the list.  
"It is," she said.  They watched as the woman collapsed and then began to transform.  
"Kill it," she said.  "Kill it or Nom Anor will know everything about us."
	Ben didn't need to be told; he'd faced one of those before, and he didn't like 
them very much.  The affront also fueled his anger, made him stronger.  He blasted the 
quivering form with Force lightning, sending it bouncing across the floor into a wall.  
A tentacle lashed out of the center of its mass, but he held up his hand and it 
deflected away before it could reach him; he sliced it off with a casual swing of his 
blade as he closed in.  It struggled to get away, but he held it in place with a 
gesture of his left hand, even while his right shut down his lightsaber and hung it on 
his belt.  He pulled off a similar looking device, hit a button on the hilt, and caused 
the end to split open into five parts, each about the size of a commlink.  There was a 
deeper hum as he flicked it on, and each produced a thinner lightsaber, angling off 
slightly from the handle to look like some kind of dangerous bouquet.  He plunged them 
into the squirming mass, getting an inhuman shriek for his troubles, followed by a 
stomach-wrenching stench.  Ben poured his power into the weapon, strengthening the 
blade while the creature's tentacles gyrated feebly.  Finally they collapsed as the 
creature began to dissolve.
	"What are these things," he demanded as he turned back to the Oracle.  He 
switched the weapon off and returned it to his belt.
	"Tools of Nom Anor," she answered.  "And of us, in time.  But that doesn't mean 
we can allow them to run amongst us."
	Ben nodded, then noted the expression of awe in the Mistryl's faces.  He gave a 
slight lopsided smile at the sight.  Good... let their desire for power show them the 
path to the Dark side.  He pulled his lightsaber back out again with a flourish.  
"Let's get back to work."

	The airvent was small without any kind of removable access, but that was more 
than enough for Terraine.  Once he had given Sebastian what he felt was enough time, he 
crept up the wall and into the vent.  He slid through it cautiously, recalling all the 
security devices there to catch miniature robots and the like, dropping back out in the 
hallway before sliding into the garbage chute.  It was a less than graceful exit, but 
it did the job.  By the time the guard discovered Sebastian was missing, the Jedi was 
off the planet.

	Securing passage was uneventful.  Finding an inconspicuous disguise for 
Sebastian was uneventful.  Leaving Chandrilla was uneventful.  Of course, that meant 
that the trip couldn't be uneventful; Sebastian knew enough of how the universe works 
to be sure of that.  
	There was the sound of weapons fire coming from the hall outside their 
quarters, and Sebastian could sense desperation in the minds of the crew.  He couldn't 
ignore this.  Sebastian grabbed his lightsaber and headed for the door, but Gorren's 
hand dropped on his shoulder.  "Low profile, remember?" the Klingon warned him, holding 
out a blaster.
	"No time for subtlety," Sebastian replied, pulling out of his grip and heading 
for the door.
	"Remember why you are escaping, my friend."
	Sebastian was just reaching for the door release, but froze.  He was still for 
a moment, then the blaster flew out of Gorren's grip; Sebastian caught it without 
looking.  "Come on," he said, putting away the saber and stabbing at the door control.  
The weapons fire was now much further up the hall, and the two raced after it.  They 
rounded the corner and both drew to a halt.
	The distorted, rolling creature filled the hallway; on the other side was the 
sound of blaster fire, a scream, and something like breaking bones, only wetter.  A 
twisted head turned back towards Sebastian and Gorren, one eye the size of a fist, the 
other normal.  Its face seemed to be half skull, half molten flesh.  A growl issued 
from its throat, and a tentacle flew down the hall towards them, the two stepping aside 
in opposite directions as it passed in between them into the wall.  "I've changed my 
mind," Sebastian shouted, tossing the blaster back in Gorren's direction even as he 
fished his lightsaber back out.  Gorren was already firing with one hand, but snatched 
the blaster out of the air and began firing with that one as well.  A tentacle knocked 
him into the wall, but the Klingon barely missed a beat, screaming like a berserker as 
he continued firing the blasters at the thing.  
	Sebastian lit the lightsaber and lopped a tentacle off, then a second.  The 
creature's torso opened and another tentacle emerged from inside.  He sidestepped it 
while he swung, but another caught him and knocked his saber hand aside.  The first 
wrapped around his neck and with a yank, pulled Sebastian's head and shoulders into the 
gap before it bit down on him.  Gorren called his name as Sebastian's legs kicked 
frantically; he dropped the blasters and trying to yank him free.  He had to drop back 
as Sebastian's blade swung wild, then the legs stopped kicking.  For a second the 
Klingon feared the worst, but then he saw the movements: quick, precise, controlled.  
He stabbed the blade into the mass and swung, tearing a huge gash in the creature.  He 
repeated the gesture, until finally he was tossed back out against the opposite wall.  
Gorren scooped up his fallen blasters and fired madly into the beast, and within 
seconds it had collapsed.  Gorren didn't let up until the hallway was filled the stench 
of burned flesh.  He went over to Sebastian's side; the Jedi was bleeding and looked 
absolutely awful.  "Are you all right?" Gorren asked quickly.
	"No, but give me some time."  Gorren helped Sebastian to his feet.
	"You took the fight out of him, my friend," Gorren said with approval.
	"That's what happens when your food disagrees with you."

	Nom Anor's ship came out of hyperspace into the chaos of the Kolyet system.  
Ships were everywhere, most coming in, but a few trying to escape.  It didn't matter; 
they were only buying a little bit of time.  Nom Anor set his course for the planet and 
took time during the approach to watch the fruits of his labor.  It seemed to be going 
even better than he'd hoped.
	The shield around Kolyet was down now, and would remain down for some time.  
The knowledge stored in the planet's vast archives would be invaluable to anyone who 
wanted to take over the galaxies and that's why Nom Anor had made certain to infiltrate 
a sizeable percent of those in power here.  In fact over one percent of the planet's 
entire population were agents of Nom Anor now; eventually that figure would become one 
hundred.  
	Nom Anor had heard of the Borg upon his arrival, and it had made the bile rise 
in his throat.  That so many lived in fear of a group that had sullied their organic 
form with machinery was mystifying, but not nearly so much as their effectiveness.  Nom 
Anor had lost one of his associates to them when they spread through the Republic.  He 
hated what they were, but even he had to admire the idea of it: the many sharing minds, 
experiences, knowledge, to create the perfect thinking machine.  And anything these 
people could do with their machinery, Nom Anor knew could be done better with Vong 
technology, if given the chance.  And here was the arrival of the proof: billions of 
beings from throughout the galaxy, coming here to share their knowledge of the enemy.  
They would then link together into a single being, equipped with their experiences and 
the contents of the greatest collection of knowledge in the galaxy.  And like all their 
creations, it would exist only to serve the Vong... specifically, Nom Anor.
	In the chaos created by this sudden uprising, no one was able to stop his plan.  
By the time the Empire had pieced it together Kolyet had fallen completely under his 
control.  Those who hadn't escaped were absorbed into the creature, adding their 
knowledge to it.  The planetary shield was up long before the Imperials figured out 
what was going on, and by then all effort was being directed towards restoring order.  
And Nom Anor watched it all from Kolyet, the only living being not part of their 
biomass.  The effort to splinter the Empire had already begun... Nom Anor knew it would 
be finished here.



[End Act I]