The Battle of Cimmerian ended, and the New Republic fleet, under the command of no other than Admiral Ackbar himself, closed on the dreaded station. It was called Cimmerian – darkness.

One need say no more than that. It had been named as such for its deadly intent. It had been named as such by the man who called himself the New Emperor, the man who had just now fled in his Eclipse-class Star Destroyer, the Resurgence. Its name was also self-explanatory.

But the Cimmerian had been a dangerous threat before now. Before it was defeated. It had not been a superweapon – it was not like the Death Stars at all, for it had few guns of its own. But it did have weapons. Or potential weapons, anyway.

For the Cimmerian had been a school – a school for dark Jedi, the New Emperor’s vision of the future. It had been formed with the purpose of the Shadow Academy, though it grew much differently. Its students were stronger, and extremely dark. They did not walk the fine line between light and dark. They did not want to be Jedi.

They wanted to kill the Jedi.

It was only when the assassinations began that the Jedi caught on. It was not until they felt the first death – that of Vei Talvey, a recent graduate of the Academy at Yavin 4 – that the Jedi even considered that there could be a threat. And they would not have known, save for that one of their number had sensed the darkness involved. She became the leader in defending the Jedi because she was the only one that could lead them, given the circumstances.

But even Mara Jade had not been able to feel the way the darkness was spreading or discover the army that the New Emperor was building of dark Jedi. It was only when Jedi after Jedi encountered their dark counterparts that they all began to understand – their praxem had its dark equivalent as well, and it was spreading poison throughout the galaxy that they had sworn to protect. They now knew that the dark Jedi had to be stopped.

Though in that they were fortunate. History did not repeat itself; time did not run full circle. They asked for aid of the Republic and the Republic obliged. Not many weeks later, they learned of the Cimmerian and of its fixed orbit around a dead planet – Korriban. Days after the discovery, Admiral Ackbar’s fleet departed Coruscant, in hopes of destroying the station and halting the spread of dark Jedi. They were successful, at least in part.

Many dark Jedi died that day trying to defend their station. Their overconfidence was their downfall; they had believed themselves a match for the Republic’s pilots, thinking that the dark side would compensate for their insufficient training in TIE fighters. They were wrong.

But many dark Jedi escaped. The New Republic’s fleet had been forced to watch helplessly as the station was hurriedly evacuated under the cover of the Resurgence and her escorting Star Destroyers. But the station would soon be destroyed, after any intelligence information left on board had been gathered and all remaining Imperials evacuated and taken into custody.

And so Wedge Antilles, at Admiral Ackbar’s side, stood on the bridge of the Galactic Voyager, watching the first ships of the boarding party exit the Mon Calamari Star Cruiser’s launch bays. He was due to head down to his X-wing in moments, yet he still lingered, looking at the station that it had taken over two hours for them to win.

"Ugly, isn’t it?" Ackbar asked.

"Yeah," Wedge replied, finding a catch in his voice. "It fits the ‘New Emperor’ well."

"And to think that he would have destroyed the Jedi with this as the centerpiece," the Mon Calamari mummered. "I wonder if he would have succeeded."

"I don’t think so," Wedge answered. "The memories of the past are still too strong in the Jedi for their extermination to succeed."

"And the memories of trying to govern without them too fresh in ours." Ackbar gestured to the assembled task force beyond the viewport. "You had better go down with your squadrons to command the landing."

Wedge nodded. "As ordered." He turned to go, but was just descending from the observation deck as he stopped and halted and looked over his shoulder at the Supreme Commander of the New Republic Armed Forces.

"Admiral?" he asked. Ackbar turned to face him. "This wasn’t just for the Jedi. This was for Luke."

For a moment, the Mon Calamari’s eyes again focused on the station. "Yes," he said. "In it’s own way, it was."

"In his own way," said Wedge. The Admiral’s eyes traveled back to the General as Wedge snapped to attention and saluted. Ackbar returned it, and Wedge hurried down to the forward bay.

The time for mourning would come later. That night, perhaps, they’d hold a service for their dead friend, and the sacrifices he’d made.

And the warning that he’d tried to give them.

* * * * * * * * * *

His name was Clite. Clite Palpatine. And he was the New Emperor.

He also was the son of Palpatine, the creator of the Galactic Empire that Clite now was fighting to rebuild. Like most other children of his father – for there had been many, before he’d concentrated on killing the rest – he was Force-strong, and in his case it was extraordinarily so. Though unlike the others, he was legitimate. And acknowledged, even.

He had been young when the Empire had fallen – only four. But it was during the reborn Emperor’s reign that he’d received his training, and that had come from the Emperor himself. And Clite Palpatine was determined to carry out what his father had unjustly been deprived of finishing himself. He was going to reestablish the Empire and destroy the Jedi for good. But first he was going to kill Luke Skywalker.

That Jedi had been his father’s bane, and for that reason alone Clite would have killed him. But he also had every intent and purpose to carry out the curse the Emperor had placed upon the Skywalker blood – and to kill them all, Luke Skywalker had to be the first, to be prevented from saving any of the others. Or he at least had to be helpless and unable to stop Clite. Dead was good, and an inevitable conclusion, but pain first was better. And pain, of course, had been done.

Clite had executed the perfect plan to be rid of him once and for all. For all practical purposes, it had succeeded, and he should have been happy about it. But at the moment he was furious.

"You did what?" he snarled at the Major quaking before him.

"I… did not… bring the package out, sir?" the poor man formed a question instead of an answer.

"You ‘did not bring the package out,’" Clite mocked him, seething with rage. His temper was indeed horrible, fueled by not only that of his father, but that of his mother as well. Ysanne Israd had never been known for being kind.

"No, sir," the Major answered meekly. "In all the confusion there was no time…"

Black lightning shot from Clite’s outstretched right hand. It was not enough to kill the major, but it was enough to shut him up. Clite could not stand to listen to whining, panicky blabber. He began to move forward to finish the man off with his bare hands, but a movement to his left halted him. General Moridian Rieyu, his right hand, stepped forward. The man had been with Clite since his birth, and was the only who would dare approach unbidden.

Rieyu knelt at the New Emperor’s feet. "I will take responsibility for the failure, my Lord," he said.

Clite grabbed his hair and jerked his head up to face him. "Did you relay my orders, General?" he asked.

"I did, my Lord," Rieyu responded. The man was afraid, but not so much as to be a fool – he knew better than to lie to his master.

Clite released him and he fell to his knees on the deck. "Then you are not at fault." He moved to stand over the Major. "You, however, my dear Major, are at fault. And you shall pay."

The man’s screams were heard throughout the Resurgence, reminding its crew never to anger their master – or pay the consequences.

* * * * * * * * * *

His quick reaction would award him with yet another medal, though Kell Tainer did not know that when he screamed. His objective was to save a life.

"Medic!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. Three flight was clearing a hallway for the Wraiths, and they’d thought they were done. Obviously, they were not.

He’d busted down a door and stumbled upon a man – or at least what must have been one once. The prisoner – he had to be one – was barely breathing, more dead than alive. Kell knelt next to him, only then looking down and realizing that he knelt in a pool of blood. "Sithspit," he whispered, gently rolling the man to his back. "Who did this to you?"

He didn’t get an answer – not like he was expecting one anyway, but the man’s eyes opened. They were bright blue, startlingly so, really, but terribly unfocused.

"Kell!" Face Loran screamed from down the hall. "We got company!" Then there was a thud.

Kell stood. "Face?" he called. There was no answer, so he headed around the corner. "Face? This isn’t funny."

There was a clank, and Kell jumped and spun, ready to face his attacker. Of course, it was Face. "Face, dammit!" he yelled at him.

"The one and the only," Face replied with a self-satisfied smirk. "I got you there, didn’t I – by the…" Lieutenant Loran dropped to one knee next to the man – whoever it was. Kell followed suit, amazed once again at Face’s abrupt change in attitude.

The man’s eyes slid shut once again.

"Who is it?" Face whispered.

"I don’t know," Kell replied.

"A good guy?" Loran inquired.

"They wouldn’t have kept him like this otherwise," Kell answered.

"Yeah."

Gingerly, Kell checked the prisoner’s pulse – former prisoner’s pulse – but yanked his hand back as the man tensed in pain.

"That’s not good," Face commented.

"No, it’s not," Kell agreed. "Call General Antilles."

"Why me?" Face protested. "I’ve got rank on you."

"Whatever," Kell snapped. "Just do it, Face."

"Yeah. Sure. Fine." Face turned on his comlink as the medic ran up. It wasn’t the squadron medic, but was one of the medical personnel attached to the landing team, Lieutenant Regis, or something like that. The man grew pale rather rapidly at the sight.

"Who in the galaxy is this?" the lieutenant whispered, as if a loud voice would hurt the man further. Kell almost yelled at the medic for gaping, but Regis started moving the mystery man onto a stretcher immediately after asking the most repeated question of the day.

Kell tried not to wince as the man tensed weakly in pain. "We have no idea," he replied, averting his eyes from the dying – he had to be dying, the shape he was in – man.

"But the Imperials must not like him much," Face added, obviously trying and failing to inject humor into a dismal situation. "General Antilles is on his way. He should be – "

"Sithspawn!"

The curse came from down the hall, accompanied by running footsteps. Wedge Antilles slid to his knees next to Kell. "Who is it?" he asked.

That’s three, Kell thought to himself. "Have no idea," he responded.

The medic spoke. "Sir, this man’s in bad shape. He’s got multiple broken and shattered bones in addition to – "

He was cut off by the weakest of whispers. "Wedge…?"

Antilles started. "What?" he gasped. "Who are… Luke?"

The man coughed weakly. "Ye-es…"

Wedge’s eyes grew as big as Face’s ego, then he yanked his comlink off of his collar. "This is General Antilles," he ordered. "I want a medevac shuttle at the marked corrdinates right now." He spun to the medic, almost startling the poor man out of his wits. "Lieutenant Regis, I want you to get him up to Admiral Ackbar’s flagship, the Galactic Voyager, stat. Rogue Squadron and Wraith Squadron will escort you there. The shuttle will be here in two minutes."

Wedge looked urgently to his officers, and Kell found himself unwittingly tensing for action because of Wedge’s demeanor. "Get the Wraiths and the Rogues in their fighters, and have my R2 unit fly mine up," he said briskly. "You have one minute."

"As ordered," they replied in unison.

* * * * * * * * * *

Kell hated playing guard, but there he was, outside a door in the medical bay, making sure that no one could get in and harm the man – whoever he was – any further than had all ready been done. He didn’t know why he was there, but General Antilles had said so, and his orders went – even with the medical bay staff. Rumors had it that Admiral Ackbar was in full agreement with Wedge, and that, of course, just made the orders more clear.

But Wedge seemed awfully worried.

General Antilles and Admiral Ackbar stood quietly by the bedside, watching the doctor at her work. She frowned and looked up at them, clearly not pleased with their presence.

"How is he?" Wedge asked, sounding more concerned than even he realized.

"I don’t know," Anne – that was the doctor’s name – replied. "I can’t isolate all the problems, and I’m reluctant to put him into a bacta tank until his condition stops fluctuating. He’s got all kinds of substances in his blood, and a number of other problems that I can’t even begin to identify."

"What are they from?" Ackbar asked.

"I’m not sure," she replied, "but it appears that aside from the torture they subjected him to, they preformed a number of experiments on him."

"Experiments?" Wedge gaped.

"Yes." Her reply was emotionless, as a doctor’s should be. "But I can’t tell what any of them were – just what they did. And if I can’t figure out what they were, there’s no chance of fixing them."

"Do your best, Doctor," Wedge said quietly.

"I always do."

* * * * * * * * * *

Face had finally gotten out of playing guard duty with Kell. It was murder on the nerves, and didn’t do any good for his acting skills at all, except to stress that anyone assigned to guard duty got stupid after fifteen minutes, and he already knew that. He wandered aimlessly toward his quarters, but came up short as he heard voices.

It wasn’t polite to eavesdrop, he knew, but hell, he was a Wraith, wasn’t he? It was his stock in trade to be obnoxious, rude, and uncivilized. He listened.

The first voice was Tycho Celchu’s. "Wedge, the Rogues are wondering why you’ve been spending so much time in the Medical Bay," the commander was saying. "They’re starting to worry about you."

"So are the Wraiths, Wedge." Face recognized the second voice as his squadron’s second-in-command, Wes Janson. "They’re tired of making up stories and want to know what’s going on."

Wedge sighed. "So do I," he replied. He sounded tired, Face realized.

"What do you mean, ‘so do you’? Celchu asked.

"I mean that we’ve got no idea if… the man Kell found is going to live or not," Wedge replied shortly.

"Who is it, Wedge?" Janson asked. "You and Admiral Ackbar spend so much time in there, he must be important."

General Antilles hesitated. "It’s Luke," he replied.

"Luke?" Celchu gasped.

"Luke Skywalker?" Janson said at the same time.

"Yeah," Wedge whispered.

"But we thought he was dead," Celchu protested.

"So did everyone," Wedge replied. "But apparently Clite plays games like his father and didn’t think death was enough for Luke."

"And you don’t know…" Wes trailed off.

"Nope. All we can do is hope."