"Why do you darken our door today?" Mon Mothma asks.

"I come to reveal myself."

"Reveal yourself? I can't say I understand-"

"I am the Operator."

No, Leia thinks. It couldn't be. This woman has been her counterpart, in a way-the two of them operating as a voice speaking to the wider galaxy. Each trying to secure fresh footing among the citizens. Each speaking for her people-Leia for the resurgent Republic, Sloane for the dwindling Empire. And so it seems impossible to believe.

The others don't believe it, either. Agate says: "That curtain is all too thin, Admiral Sloane. It's easy to see the lie."

"I'm sorry, who are you again?" Sloane asks.

"Commodore Agate."

"Ah. Yes. The one who led the charge on Kuat. A convincing victory and deserving of respectful congratulations, Commodore."

Agate isn't having any of it. "You were on Akiva. You were part of that secret cabal-and the Operator turned us onto it and against it. That put your life in danger. You cannot be the Operator. It makes no sense."

"I gave you targets," Sloane says, "in order to strengthen my position within the Empire. The events on Akiva allowed me to seize control. Relatively speaking. All the targets, you will find, stood in opposition to my ascent." Leia mentally tallies their victories performed in service to the Operator. She wonders: Could Sloane be right? Leia wondered what exactly the Empire would have to gain by sacrificing parts of itself, and there, so clear they should've seen it, was the answer: the elimination of competition.

"Why tell us any of this?" Leia challenges. "More likely you discovered the identity of the Operator and had him or her executed."

"Ah. Leia. So we meet-or as close to it as we can muster. It is an honor to meet you. Genuinely. You have done so much. Amazing how so much of the galaxy has changed based on the actions of one Alderaanian princess."

"I am only as good as those who surround me," Leia says. "Now answer the accusation: You killed the Operator and are lying to us."

"No. I'm using the Operator's channel because we are losing this war, Princess. Your victory at Kuat demonstrates that neatly. And I'm tired of losing. I'm tired of all of this, to be frank. It is time to negotiate."

"Surrender?" the chancellor asks.

"Don't be hasty," Sloane chides. "I offer you surrender and the Empire takes my head. They'd probably send it to you packed into the nose cone of a thermoclastic missile. It is time for peace talks."

Ackbar's chin tendrils curl inward upon themselves. He must be feeling what Leia is. Her own instincts light up like an alarm: Something's off kilter here. Sloane is playing with them.

And yet the loss of Kuat is significant. A major wound.

The Empire would certainly want to stanch the bleeding...

But what should the New Republic do in response? Allow them time to tend to their injuries-an act of compassion against an Empire that has demonstrated none? Or press the advantage, grinding them into the dirt? Leading to more lives lost, more instability, more madness across the galaxy? Giving them a place in the future of the galaxy allows for some measure of constancy and peace...and here, Ackbar's words haunt her: Nobody wins a war. Best we can do is to find a way to stop fighting.

This could be that. It could be an opportunity.

Or it could be a grievous mistake.

"We will need to speak about this and then put it to the Senate," Mon Mothma says.

"I understand. Palpatine did away with the Senate because it cooled the engines of progress, but his way has not been proven effective. He is gone and you remain, so here we are. Talk to your people. I would suggest having the peace talks on your world with minimal guard. I am offering that as a concession of trust."

"So noted, Admiral Sloane. Thank you."

"Good day. And congratulations again to you all. I am a warrior before I am anything else, and what you have accomplished is impressive. I hope to hear from you in time. Use this channel and I will respond."

And with that, her hologram blinks out.

It leaves behind a considerable vacuum. The four of them are silent-the others are surely like Leia in that they are bewildered and bemused by what just transpired. Could this be real? And if it is, then what?

"I will convene an emergency session of the Senate," the chancellor says. "Let's hope this is something. It may be a way forward to peace. May the Force be with you."

When the chancellor is gone, Leia says to Agate and Ackbar: "May the Force be with us all. I fear we are going to need it."

The quiet of Kashyyyk is unsettling. Nothing is here. No life. No insects buzzing. No rustle of underbrush as creatures pick through sticks and leaves. In contrast, the jungles of Akiva are alive, too alive-Norra remembers how the canyons of Akar were home to hooting ateles and squawking clever-birds and hissing bladder-bugs. The cacophony of the rain forest was almost deafening-louder at night than it was in the day.

This is not that. It's a dead channel. A null frequency.

At least here, in this small section of the planet, the Empire has killed everything. And Norra sits, staring off into the silence. Wishing for a moment she had a little jaqhad-leaf-chew. Muddle the black leaves and pink petals of the jaqhad flower, then chew it to make yourself awake, alive, aware. An Akivan tradition.

It would make her ribs feel better.

It would make everything feel better.

Right now, not far behind her, the rest of her crew is helping bring the rest of the captives out of the prison ship, preparing their egress from the planet's surface. Brentin, her husband, is with Temmin-last she left them, they were both on the Halo looking over the pieces of Bones, who had been ultimately torn limb from limb. The droid is still functioning, but can't seem to speak-he can only broadcast garbled, mechanical static blasts.

She hears someone coming up behind her. A glance over her shoulder reveals Han Solo.

"Hey," he says.

"You did it. You found him."

"We did it. You were right. I couldn't have done it without your help."

"You going soft on me?" she asks.

"No, but I'm in a good mood. Just go with it." He comes up alongside and looks out with her. He's got that aw-shucks sheepishness about him, suddenly. Hands in pockets. Waiting to say something but not really able to say it out loud. "So, ahhh, you know. Thanks."

Norra doesn't have much to say in return, and talking only makes her two shattered ribs-now swaddled in a hasty wrapping of bonding tape courtesy of the oh-so-compassionate Jas Emari-feel like they're stabbing her. So instead she just nods and keeps on staring out.

"That really your husband back there?"

"It is."

"Then we both have cause to celebrate."

"Absolutely."

But he must detect the tremor in her voice. "Why aren't you with him? You're out here, instead."

"I wanted him to have time with my son."

"Sure, sure. Nothing more to it than that, huh?" He's poking around, feeling her out. "Nothing on your mind?"

I failed Brentin.

I found him here only by accident.

It's been so long.

Everything is changed. I've changed. Temmin has changed.

The whole galaxy has changed.

But Brentin hasn't.

"No," she lies. "Nothing." She feels like a failure. A traitor-and here, her mind flits to Wedge, and that only deepens her sense of treachery. It's not that she doesn't love Brentin. She does. And will. He is her husband and the father of her child and-she can't face him. Not easily. Not now.

"I got a kid on the way," Solo says suddenly.

"I...yes. I suspected."

He kicks at a stick. "I should be there. I should be there now. For Leia. For that kid. But I got this...thing hanging over me. This thing I gotta do. I'll never be all the way there long as it isn't done. I'll never be me. I can't be a good father until..." He curls his hand and presses a knuckle into the tree-not a punch, but hard enough that the bones in his fingers crack and pop. "I'm just saying, sometimes you have to do what you have to do."

"You're not leaving, are you?"

"Am I that transparent?"

"As clear and as tough as a sheet of blast glass."

"You take the Falcon. It's the fastest ship in the galaxy, and we got just shy of a hundred prisoners who need medical attention. It'll be a tight fit, a real cattle car, but you'll manage. Plus, some of those prisoners are staying here with me and Chewie."

"The refugees?"

"Yeah, and a couple other poor undesirables who got swept up by that Star Destroyer. See what kind of damage we can do."

Norra stares off into the dead forest. "Looks like the Empire already did its damage."

"It isn't all like this. Right now we're at the edge of the Shadowlands. Closer to the cities, that's where you find the camps, the mines, the labs. That's where you find the Empire."

"You're going to liberate it all by yourself?"

"Or die trying."

"Leia? And your child? How will they feel about that?"

He scratches at the back of his head. "I don't know. They'll hate me, probably. But maybe in time they'll get it. They'll see I had to do this."

"Better come back alive, then."

"Guess I'd better."

Norra grimaces as she reaches out with her hand. Solo takes it, shakes it. "It's been an honor," she says.

"Go be with your family. Take them home, Norra Wexley."

"Thanks, Solo. Good luck here."

"Luck has saved my tail before. Let's hope that trend holds."

- Not long after, Norra gathers the whole crew.

Everyone except Temmin. He's with Brentin, still. As it should be. And she doesn't want to give him this choice.

The darkness here on Kashyyyk is lightening now-a gray, gauzy light from the sun in this system. Fingers of that light shine through the trees and the mist, and Norra steps into a beam of it and tells them all what's happening. She explains that Solo is staying behind.

"A fool's crusade," Sinjir mutters. Then, louder: "An idiot's parade!"

"I think some of you should stay with him," Norra says.

"I'll stay," Jas says with zero hesitation.

"What?" Jom asks.

"What?" Sinjir echoes.

Jas shrugs. "We took out Gedde, but we didn't free any of Slussen Canker's slaves. That didn't sit right with me. We can do differently here."

"This is a whole fragging planet," Jom says. "We're going to free it? Ourselves? We're good, Emari, but we're not that good."

"Besides," Sinjir says. "I don't think there'll be a payout for this."

"I can usually wring a few credits out of any situation. And maybe this payout isn't about money. We helped free Akiva. That felt good. Sinjir, how did it feel almost sticking a sharpened antenna into Aram's ear?"

Norra watches-the ex-Imperial starts to answer, but instead just looks down at his feet.

"You shouldn't feel bad about it," Jas says. "You did a bad thing because you had to, because sometimes you have to do bad in service of good. But once, just once, I want to do something really good. Good even though it's stupid. Good because it's right."

Sinjir makes a faux-gagging sound. "Oh, yuck. Jas, no."

"Sinjir, yes."

"Fine," he says, rolling his eyes. "Blah blah blah I crave purpose and recompense for my crimes and et cetera, et cetera. I'll stay, too. Besides, this is an Imperial-governed planet. Maybe news of my treachery has not yet reached these forested coasts and I can press that advantage."

"You've all gone batty," Jom says. But then he sighs and throws up his hands. "But I've already gone off the map on this one. Might as well stick around a little while longer, see what kind of damage we can do here to the Imperial war machine. Soldier is as a soldier does and all that."

Norra nods and smiles. It's what she hoped would happen.

"How about you?" Jas asks Norra.

"I'm taking my family and the captives-along with my injured self-home. But I'll be thinking about you, and I'll see if I can send help."