Ten years and five days after the Battle of Yavin…
Or forty-five years and five days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Six months and twenty-five days since the arrival).
An elegant woman—more machine than human—sat on a small but comfortable throne in the heart of her secret refuge.
The man kneeling before her, gazing shamefully at the polished marble floor, was both irritating and intriguing.
A striking combination, considering how much in this galaxy depended on him.
"You were clearly in no hurry to make contact, my apprentice," she said, observing the emotions rippling through the Force from the man.
Mostly fear, slowly simmering into rage.
Exactly as she had taught him.
To transform his weaknesses into his most refined weapon.
And he had every reason to fear her.
Even as a cyborg, she was a lethal weapon, and her apprentice knew full well that despite all his talents, he would perish within seconds if he dared to draw his lightsaber against her whip.
Because, despite his future role in the affairs of the galaxy, he was still nothing compared to her.
Many years ago, she had abandoned her former existence, her essence, and the name given to her at birth.
She had cast aside what made her human, wholly surrendering to the Dark Side of the Force.
Cold and merciless, she tolerated no disobedience, no empty excuses, no incompetence, rewarding such failures with torture, or sometimes death.
And the man before her should understand better than anyone what he would have to endure to atone for his failure.
His actions had disrupted her plans, and now a new strategy had to be devised to elevate him to the pinnacle of power.
Wasted time.
Yet another effort gone to ruin.
In the past, she had often charged headlong, achieving her goals through brute force.
Back then, she still operated under her true name.
And she was not yet a cyborg.
That was why her endeavors ended in defeat, until she embraced the magnificence of Sith philosophy.
Strikes from the shadows, sabotage, provocation, manipulating the weak—these were the methods the Emperor used to become what he was.
A more than instructive example, allowing her to adopt the best of Palpatine's tactics and strategies while mitigating his missteps, born of his own arrogance.
And so, for many years, she had acted solely in the Sith way.
The woman eagerly exploited the foolish, the greedy, the ambitious, and the arrogant, using them in her subtle manipulations to realize her designs, both through the Force and by other means.
Deception was employed as a matter of course, and she often profited from her enemies' misconceptions.
Secretive, deliberately vague, and elusive, she rarely shared the details of her plans with anyone, swiftly changing allegiances when it suited her goals.
Though she firmly adhered to the tenets of the Rule of Two, the cyborg woman preferred to work alone, often in practice, to ensure the successful execution of her objectives.
Trained and educated by the Empire on Carida, she was a skilled strategist who understood that the reward justified a well-calculated risk.
Now she felt it, having made many mistakes but surviving, despite the sacrifices to her ego.
She had learned to craft well-thought-out, multifaceted plans, with hidden layers of betrayal woven into every level, revealing herself only when such plans were executed.
Despite her aversion to politics, she engaged in their insidious manipulations whenever she deemed it necessary, recognizing that such involvement could both secure allies and eliminate enemies.
Lately, she had come to believe that the best plan was one that guaranteed her victory.
Even in the event of her own death, as paradoxical and unnatural as that might sound to ordinary sentients.
But that was the trouble—she, a cruel and cunning woman, was no ordinary human.
The organic part of her that survived her encounter with Luke Skywalker was colder than the durasteel of her prosthetics, and her heart…
A battle droid had more compassion than she did.
She had had plenty of time to observe events from the sidelines.
And she concluded that the galaxy was rapidly descending into chaos, and that the swift leadership of the Jedi, rising from the ashes of oblivion, whose capabilities did not match the expectations placed upon them, was even less effective than those who came before.
She had observed Luke Skywalker for quite some time and could confidently say that this sentient, more than any other self-proclaimed or surviving Jedi of the Great Purge, was least worthy of the title.
But the Sith… That cohort always had the courage, determination, and means to intervene in history where, for the entire galaxy, it was inevitably hurtling toward a black hole.
For the sake of resurrecting the Sith, she had set aside her vengeance against Luke Skywalker and was prepared to wait for her revanche.
She could not personally bring about the full resurrection of the Sith, having mastered their ideology to perfection, due to the Force-limiting nature of her cybernetic implants.
But, to her great regret, there were not many sentients left in the galaxy who understood the necessity of the Sith.
And even fewer who could embark on that path.
And fewer still who could walk it and claim the title of Sith Lord.
Thus, she resolved to bring the Sith back to the galaxy, dedicating as much time as necessary to the cause.
Because, of all those who could wield the Dark Side, only she—despite her cybernetic limbs, partial torso replacement, substituted lower jaw, and life-support systems required for her survival—understood and handled the Sith legacy better and more correctly than those who openly boasted of their connection to the Force.
Quite amusing, considering that, like her nemesis Luke Skywalker, she was a self-proclaimed adept of her doctrine.
Even more ingenious, considering that, deep in the Core, someone who once spread the Dark Side across the galaxy was gathering strength.
But that was merely the official version.
A clone was but a pitiful imitation of former greatness.
A poor copy of a work of art.
To even consider it a Sith was an insult.
"Forgive me, Master, I did everything necessary to avoid detection," the man said. "Negligence could have led enemies to you, which I could not allow."
And yet, in his own circle, he was far more authoritative and commanding.
But now, she saw corruption in him.
He should fear her.
He should hate her.
He should yearn to learn all the secrets known to her.
And then—kill her and become a greater Sith than his mentor.
But for now, fear outweighed all else…
He simply feared punishment.
Which meant he was hiding something from her.
"Is that so?" she clarified.
Her whip leapt into her hand.
With a practiced motion, she swung it, and the metal cables, forged from Mandalorian iron, lashed across the man's torso and face, inflicting not irreparable but intensely painful wounds.
Droplets of blood spilled onto the floor.
"My lady, I acted out of caution… After the Dominion announced Thrawn's death and closed its borders, the galaxy is crawling with New Republic and Imperial reconnaissance and warships that could discover and destroy your refuge…"
A whistle and a strike.
Again and again.
It continued until the negligent and cowardly apprentice resembled a bloodied meat mannequin, kept alive only by his rage.
"That's enough," the woman smiled with her eyes alone. "Now tell me why you truly took so long to reach me to report your failure, Carnor Jax. I couldn't care less about that upstart alien. If he's dead, good riddance."
"Master," blood and other bodily fluids dripped from his bloodied lips. "I… I found a way we can control the Imperial Ruling Council. With these forces, we can not only subjugate the various Imperial Remnants but also eliminate all our enemies, including Palpatine's clones, his lackeys, and then claim the throne by right of strength!"
"Considering you're presumed dead?" the cyborg tilted her triangular head, wrapped in a shawl like the lower part of her face, as if to examine her errant apprentice from a different angle.
"Yes…" Jax said. "A sentient… He was an advisor to Ennix Devian. A representative of a civilization that can aid us in our fight against the rebels and the Imperial renegades. He has connections to many influential members of the Imperial Ruling Council. Together, they are far stronger and more authoritative than Lord Quest. Eliminate him, and we'll be one step closer to realizing our goal. And our new ally will only help in this."
"What intriguing prospects," despite years surrounded by the Dark Side, her eyes never took on the characteristic Sith hue. "And who is your ally, Carnor Jax?"
"Lady Lumiya, his name is Nom Anor," the bloodied man said. "A representative of a tiny race of wanderers called the Yuuzhan Vong. Their goals align with ours…"
"This pathetic species must be used to achieve our goals and then disposed of," the Dark Side adept instantly decided the fate of these potential allies.
"If that's the case, arrange a meeting with this Nom Anor," she ordered.
"As you wish, Lady Lumiya," Carnor Jax bowed obsequiously.
"And he, too, must be eliminated," the Sith Lady thought with clarity.
There would always be someone better than this worm to take on the role of Sith Lord.
Even Luke Skywalker himself.
Mmm… to turn her old enemy, the son of Darth Vader, to the Dark Side of the Force…
Revenge for her injuries and the fulfillment of her plans in one stroke…
A plan worthy of the greatest Dark Lords of the past.
She would need to think on it.
Lady Sith Lumiya.
***
Beyond the walls of the Imperial Palace, darkness reigned.
Night on Coruscant was nothing new, though it could have been eradicated with orbital mirrors.
If there were a desire…
And a biological ability among sentients to forgo sleep.
Still, Mon Mothma suspected she knew at least one sentient who could manage without it.
And now, across the former Imperial Center, celebrations were underway, dedicated to his triumph.
"They say that in the last week alone, no fewer than half a trillion sentients have returned to Coruscant," the red-haired woman said, gazing sadly through the window at the nighttime lights of the city that blanketed the entire planet.
More than once.
"Most of the settlers arrived in the past day," Garm Bel Iblis said dully, staring at the crystal glass filled with amber liquid. "Fey'lya made so many promises during the election campaign that only a fool wouldn't return… The customs service is overwhelmed. Thousands of passenger ships are awaiting inspection. And for every day they wait, they're forced to pay the customs authorities for delaying the flow of transports and freighters."
"Yes," the Chandrilan agreed. "Credits are flowing into the treasury like a river. Who would've thought sentients would pay to wait in line for days just to return to their homes…"
"Honestly, something else concerns me more right now," Bel Iblis admitted, taking a sip. "Fey'lya's election speeches in the Senate…"
"And here I thought you'd be interested in how Asyr Sei'lar and Wes Janson from Rogue Squadron not only survived but are now pledging support to our first head of state," Mon Mothma noted nervously.
"Sooner or later, military intelligence will get to them, and we'll learn the truth," Bel Iblis promised.
"So I'm not the only one who doesn't believe they supposedly survived the Battle of Dystna, where nearly a quarter of the Rogues were destroyed, were captured by the Dominion, and the Bothans orchestrated their escape, then nursed them back to health?" Mon Mothma grimaced.
"I'd sooner believe the rulers of the Bothan clans bought all the weapons, equipment, and production lines their agents have been acquiring across the galaxy and handed them to Thrawn in exchange for their captives," Bel Iblis said firmly.
"That rumor from the HoloNet has more credibility than what Fey'lya announced in the Senate and spouted during his interviews," Mon Mothma agreed.
"Yes, but the citizens of the New Republic swallowed the deception," Bel Iblis noted.
"Fey'lya knows how to spin facts," Mon Mothma darkened. "I think it's no coincidence he first spoke of Corran Horn's collaboration with Thrawn, presenting evidence that your fellow Corellian deserted the military multiple times to carry out the Grand Admiral's missions. And then, those hidden camera recordings surfaced of him arriving on Corellia, dining with his grandfather… Yes, he skillfully mixed verifiable information with outright fabrications."
"So that sentients would believe he's providing objective evidence. If there's proof about Horn, why not trust the living, healthy Sei'lar and Janson, who thank him for their rescue and vow to hunt down and hold their traitorous comrade accountable?"
"It's all just a soap bubble," Mon Mothma shook her head. "That Fey'lya finally fulfilled his long-standing dream of destroying Rogue Squadron's reputation, pinning our failures on Celchu and Horn—former prisoners of the Lusankya who were supposedly Imperial sleeper agents feeding our plans to Thrawn—won't solve the real problem of the information leak."
"The Bothans hardly care," Bel Iblis sighed. "They've already flooded the Imperial Palace and are ready to scour every square centimeter to find spies."
"Well, you can't fault their persistence," Mon Mothma nodded.
"Or their treachery," Bel Iblis gritted his teeth.
"There's nothing we can do," Mon Mothma sighed bitterly. "This round is lost. The Bothans control the New Republic…"
"And they're slandering our heroes while effectively dismantling the state," Bel Iblis glared at the glass in his hands, as if the liquid inside were somehow to blame. "Leia asked you to pin the blame for the failure at Sluis Van on her and Han. Their children and loved ones are safe on Kashyyyk, so they're untouchable…"
"I can't betray those who stood by us in the darkest moments," Mon Mothma shook her head. "Then I'd be no better than Fey'lya himself."
"You stood up for me, Leia, Han, Calrissian—and lost the support of most of the Defense Forces," the Corellian sighed. "You could've won the election…"
"And what would that victory have been worth?" Mon Mothma asked. "Betraying friends? My ideals? Everything we fought for?"
"We've lost it all anyway," Bel Iblis took a large gulp of whiskey. "Now the work of our lives is in Fey'lya's hands."
"Not all of it," the Chandrilan shook her head. "Mon Calamari, Sullust, and Kashyyyk, along with a good dozen sectors, are already expressing their desire to secede from the New Republic. We still have allies. The Mon Calamari and Quarren are ready to keep building ships for our Alliance, having delivered all paid-for ships to the New Republic. The Sullustans haven't yet decided their status, but they won't remain politically neutral like the Sluissi. The Wookiees also sense which way the wind is blowing—they won't align with the Bothans. We have friends," the fiery-haired woman repeated, as if it were a mantra or prayer.
"And enemies," Bel Iblis sighed, finishing his glass.
"Thrawn is dead," Mon Mothma's voice carried a hint of relief. "Vice Admiral Pellaeon announced the Dominion's borders are closed to free movement. Clearly, they're facing a power crisis, so they don't want external interference."
"I don't believe the Dominion's propaganda," Bel Iblis declared. "That Luke Skywalker would raise a weapon against Thrawn… In battle, maybe. But to coldly execute him… That kid's a Jedi—he'd never do such a thing. No, I don't buy it. More likely, Thrawn's gone into hiding to address the Dominion's internal issues and will resurface like a Sith from a box. That kind of multi-layered scheme is just his style."
"Skywalker himself could tell us what really happened," Mon Mothma said. "But he's vanished. Leia says she hasn't heard from him. It's possible, of course, that she's hiding her brother from the public. If he stumbled, he likely needs time to come to terms with it, realize his mistake, and figure out how to atone…"
"Maybe so," Bel Iblis shrugged. "Either way, Fey'lya won't leave them alone. He portrays his own captivity as heroic, while Leia's and the others' imprisonment, the Dominion citizenship of their children, Winter's, Chewbacca's, and the twins' flight from Coruscant right after the defeat at Sluis Van, the order that cost the lives of hundreds of thousands of our fighters… Fey'lya got what he wanted. He's in power, and none of the Alliance's true heroes can restrain or leash him anymore. He can do whatever he pleases with the New Republic. How sentients don't see that he'll ruin everything… The fact that he diverted half the budget to ransom prisoners from the Dominion says plenty. He left the Republic without credits in the budget but gained hundreds of thousands of loyal supporters overnight. And that's not to mention that he halted investigations into everyone in the filtration camps. At least he had the sense to keep quiet about the deal with Isard…"
"Garm," Mon Mothma placed her hand over the Corellian's wrist. "That agreement was a mistake, even I admit that. The Bothans aren't fools—publicizing it would put a cross on their own backs. Because then we'd reveal how exactly we tracked down Iceheart. And then no one, not even Fey'lya, would escape the fallout."
"Let's hope he's smart enough to keep his mouth shut," the former senator grumbled. "Given how many forces—military and warships—are being pulled from the New Republic with the formation of the Alliance, he might try to sabotage us one last time. We're essentially taking an entire fleet of diverse ships with us, and the New Republic doesn't exactly have an abundance of starships to cover such a vast territory…"
"You need to let this go. You're no longer the Supreme Commander of the New Republic."
"I didn't exactly enjoy it," the Corellian muttered. "Back to where we started? You, me, a few hundred capable folks, and the support of two of the galaxy's most oppressed peoples?"
"Yes, the Alliance is rising again," Mon Mothma smiled. "The Mon Calamari and Quarren have already offered us to relocate to Dac and establish the Alliance government's residence there. And they're asking you to lead the armed forces…"
"After all this?" the Corellian said, surprised.
"You know, of all those who opposed Thrawn, you and Solo managed to hit him the hardest," Mon Mothma said confidentially.
"Don't exaggerate," Bel Iblis requested. "Everything he lost, he gained back in full. That's not a victory."
"It'll take immense time or a full-scale mobilization to master such a fleet," Mon Mothma declared. "We might be able to significantly damage his fleet before then. The Mon Calamari say they've laid down a new, remarkable ship—the MC90. Far better than the previous ones…"
"And so, war again," Bel Iblis said with a bitter chuckle.
"That's how it's always been," Mon Mothma sighed. "Tough times lie ahead—we'll have to recall the old ways… Strikes on the Empire, raids…"
""Hit and run" was our best tactic," the Corellian agreed, smiling. "We'll likely return to it. It's just a shame we don't have as many good commanders as we'd like…"
"Not all at once, Garm," Mon Mothma smiled. "The new Alliance, like the old one, was born from nothing. But in time, everything fell into place. We'll find new allies."
"Speaking of which," the Corellian perked up. "For starters, I'd suggest you look at the D'Astan sector. There's a decent democratic lobby there, acting against a baroness with pro-Imperial, and worse, pro-Dominion views…"
***
Han approached his wife from behind and embraced her with all the tenderness he could muster.
The former princess remained a motionless statue, staring through the window into the dark expanse of Kashyyyk's forest, for just a moment before the tension in her body melted away. Turning her head, she kissed her husband on the cheek.
"Are the kids asleep?" the princess asked.
"Winter's handling that right now," her husband replied.
"I don't know what I'd do without her," Leia sighed. "That time when Thrawn's spies captured her during your mission to the Imperial Palace library was the hardest for me…"
"A couple of years ago, you said the same about the time I spent in carbonite," Han said with a crooked grin.
"That too," Leia smiled. "But I'm still unsettled by how easily she identified the spies and did everything to get captured, just to be near me…"
"Yeah, our Winter's quite the risk-taker," the Corellian agreed. "You'd never guess it by looking at her."
"The important thing is that it all ended well," Leia sighed heavily. "At least we can turn that page of our past and forget it like a bad dream."
"I don't know about that," Solo drawled. "Those six months when Thrawn was turning the galaxy's blood cold won't be easy to forget."
The former princess kissed her husband again.
"I never thought I'd say this, but… I'm glad he's dead," she said quietly.
"But there's not much joy in your voice," Han noted.
"I think you know why," the wife of the galaxy's most famous smuggler said absently.
Han hugged his wife tighter.
"We'll find the kid, Leia," he promised. "We will. Now that Thrawn's dead, we're not dealing with geniuses anymore—just ordinary soldiers, easy to handle. You'll see, it won't be a month before the Imperials and Dominioners are at each other's throats."
"Unless they unite against us," Leia said just as quietly.
"Well, for that, they'd need a significant leader," Han remarked. "Kaine, for all his authority, doesn't cut it. And the Imperial Ruling Council… Honestly, it's not even funny to consider them a threat. They'll tear each other apart and feast on the bones."
"We're forgetting something important again," Leia shook her head, turning to face her husband. "Palpatine…"
"Sweetheart," Han smiled reassuringly. "I know a thing or two about strategy and tactics. Trust me—the perfect moment to strike us was during the election week. But Palpatine didn't attack. Let's think about something good. Like the idea that he's just a fiction cooked up by Thrawn and his circle to draw our forces as far from the galactic rim as possible…"
"Maybe so," Leia agreed. "But… I can't shake this uneasy feeling. As if, with Thrawn's death, we're all in mortal danger. Like something that was protecting us, delaying the inevitable, has vanished…"
"You're just winding yourself up with all this uncertainty and worry," Han reassured her, pulling her close again. "Everything will be fine. I'll make sure of it…"
His words were interrupted by a sound that served as the door lock in Wookiee dwellings, one of which was assigned to the Solo couple.
"Sounds like Lando's back," Han grumbled.
"That's good news," Leia smiled. "It means the Falcon's repairs aren't as bad as you thought."
"Yeah, or the price tag's so steep even Calrissian couldn't negotiate a discount."
"Go open the door already," Leia said with a smile, gently nudging her husband toward the living room.
The Corellian strode to the door, mentally wondering if the "doorbell" had woken the kids.
But judging by the silence from the "nursery," all was well.
He felt his wife's heavy, attentive, and tense gaze on his back.
Turning at the door, he looked at Leia.
The former princess hadn't seemed to move, but the fact that a lightsaber now rested in her hands puzzled the Corellian.
Frowning, he placed a hand on his blaster holster before swinging the door open.
"I thought I'd take root on your doorstep," Calrissian declared, stepping inside and shaking raindrops from his cloak, the presence of which the couple had forgotten about, thanks to the dwelling's excellent soundproofing. "Hope there's some hot caf around?"
"If the news is good, sure," Han quipped, noting out of the corner of his eye that Leia was tense as a taut string and moving quickly toward them. "So, what's up with the Falcon?"
"We definitely don't have enough credits to get her back in top shape," Calrissian said, throwing open his cloak. "But there's other news. Good or bad—you decide. To me, they're excellent. We've got new friends among us…"
"Who're you talking about?" Han started to draw his blaster, noticing five cloaked figures on the doorstep that hadn't been there a moment ago. "Lando…"
"Han, back!" Leia ordered, activating her lightsaber on the move and aiming it at the newcomers.
"Guys, it's not what you…" Lando began, stepping back from the entrants alongside Han.
"So this is how Alderaanian princesses greet old friends now?" a voice came from under one of the hoods.
A strong male hand reached for the hood, pulling it back to reveal a slightly tanned face of an older man with long gray hair.
"Oh," was all Leia managed.
The others also removed their hoods.
A middle-aged man with short dark hair and a piercing gaze, slightly sharp features.
Another man with light brown hair—a full head of it and a neatly trimmed beard.
And two young women, contrasting as if handpicked—one fair-haired, almost like Winter, and a dark-haired one with an appraising look and large goggles perched on her head.
"It can't be," Leia deactivated her weapon, pressing it to her face along with her hands.
Tears of joy welled in her eyes.
"Not enough dampness outside, so you're bringing it indoors too," the gray-haired old man grumbled good-naturedly.
"Wroshyr trees don't like moisture in their core," the man with sharp features smiled.
His face now bore a faint smile.
"I can't believe my eyes," Leia Organa-Solo managed to say. "Galen…"
Galen Marek (Starkiller).
"About names," the man grimaced slightly. "Let's… talk about that later. It's not so simple, Princess. But I'm glad to see you either way."
"Call a rancor what you will, it won't stop eating banthas," the gray-haired old man sighed. "But the kid's right—seeing you again, Princess, is a joy for an old soldier like me."
"General Kota," Leia smiled, pulling her hands from her face to embrace the old Jedi. "I'm so glad…"
Jedi Knight Rahm Kota.
"We're all thrilled to see you again, Princess," the fair-haired woman said, exchanging warm greetings with the former princess.
"Juno Eclipse," the daughter of Darth Vader greeted the woman.
Juno Eclipse.
"And you…" Leia turned to the two remaining guests.
"Kyle Katarn," the bearded man introduced himself, giving a slight nod. "And this," he gestured to the woman beside him, "is my partner, Jan Ors."
Kyle Katarn.
Jan Ors.
"You're welcome in our home too," Leia said, greeting the final pair of guests.
"Sounds like a reunion of old friends," Han remarked, leaving his blaster alone.
"Yes," his wife smiled. "These are the Rebellion heroes General Cracken was supposed to find when we thought Grand Admiral Thrawn had his own dark Jedi up his sleeve."
"Dark Jedi?" Rahm Kota grimaced. "Those Palpatine-spawned freaks are crawling out again…"
"Oh, no, Master C'baoth's clone is dead," Leia assured. "We just haven't had a chance to inform Knight Katarn…"
"Just Kyle, please," the hired agent clarified. "I'm not rushing down the Jedi path, no matter how much your brother insists."
"C'baoth?" Kota interrupted the agent. "That scum died thirty years ago, maybe more."
"Mmm, a Jedi clone," Galen Marek smirked, nudging his gray-haired companion. "What do you say now, old man? "You can't clone a Jedi," huh?"
"Here we go again," Juno Eclipse shook her head.
Katarn and Ors exchanged surprised glances.
"Come inside," Leia smiled. "We have much to discuss with all of you."
"Let's start with how you found us," Han said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "This isn't exactly a hot tourist spot."
"When Kyle found us, he said the order came from General Cracken, the director of Republic intelligence," Galen Marek explained. "But when we reached the HoloNet relay, we found things had… changed significantly."
"That's why I remembered Cracken spoke highly of you and your brother, Princess, so I figured it'd be best if you were the first to know my mission succeeded," Katarn explained. "Especially since there's important information for your brother too. And finding people… that's my job."
"Don't show off," Jan Ors advised. "We just learned through our informants about the Millennium Falcon's location, thinking it'd lead us to Skywalker."
"I'm afraid I have to disappoint you," Leia said. "Regarding Luke, I only have bad news for you."
"As we do for all of you," Rahm Kota growled in a displeased tone. "You picked a lousy time to start infighting, Republic folks. The bastard's alive."
"Who're we talking about?" Han asked, hoping against hope that his worst fears wouldn't come true.
"The Emperor," Galen Marek said with a grave expression. "He's almost fully consolidated the Deep Core and plans to attack soon…"
Without warning, the massive wooden door swung open, and a drenched Chewbacca appeared on the threshold.
The Wookiee surveyed the group, looked at Han, and let out a roaring tirade in his language.
"You're kidding," Lando said, stunned.
"Well, that's just great," Han exhaled heavily.
"What's happening?" Leia asked.
"Coruscant's under attack," Galen Marek translated. "The Pentastar Alignment has struck the Core Worlds. And some systems have already fallen… But that's not the worst news."
"We've just come from the Deep Core, fighting Imperial warlords," Juno Eclipse said quickly. "We have intelligence that Emperor Palpatine is alive. And he has an entire armada."
"And here I thought Thrawn was our biggest headache," Han Solo said, looking at his wife with resignation. "Looks like the last Grand Admiral had a habit of telling the truth. As bitter as it is…"
That fact hurt the most.
***
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