She pulls him back toward the Halo and shoves him behind one of the tilted turbines. "What do you think you're doing?"

"My part," he answers.

"Don't play the hero."

"I'm not a hero. I'm a soldier. A workhorse."

"A soldier who left his command for-well, we know why."

"Do we?"

She scowls. "We do. You left for me."

"Don't get so full of yourself."

"You chased me like a puppy dog to Irudiru."

"Hey," he says, rebuffing her. He stabs his finger in the center of her chest. "I wanted to do my part and find Solo."

She grabs his finger and twists. "Great. You found him. Did you then run back to Chandrila with him in a bag?" She lets go and he pulls away. "No. You stayed on. Like that lost puppy."

"You're a brat."

"And you're a thug."

He shrugs. "I'm a thug who's here. I'm a thug who can fight. Don't question my motivations."

She stomps off. "Fine. Do what you want, Barell."

"Fun's over, I guess!" he calls after her.

The commando lingers behind, fuming.

She is a brat.

What's worse, she's not wrong. He did follow her to Irudiru because damnit, he likes her. And that makes him feel exactly like the lost puppy she thinks he is. Imagining her taking the Halo and getting chewed apart by those turbolasers...

He shakes it off.

Time to rejoin the others. Time to do the work. Time to fight.

It has been a month.

Nothing has changed.

Everything has changed.

- Wedge Antilles crosses the white macadam of the spaceport, walking toward a fat-bellied shuttle at the far end. Ahead of him, the wind carries sachi blossoms-petals caught on the breeze, looking like canary moths flitting about the air. His leg is getting better. He no longer needs the cane. The limp is still there, haunting him like a spirit who refuses the exorcism from his bones, but slowly, surely, he's getting up to speed.

Ahead, a Pantoran man with bristle-brush muttonchops polishes the flat chrome plating on the shuttle's fore.

As Wedge approaches, the man turns, then offers a hasty salute.

"Captain," the Pantoran says.

"At ease, pilot," Wedge says.

"Technician, actually. Name's Shilmar Iggson," the Pantoran says. "Help you with something?"

"I'm looking for-"

From behind the shuttle's folded wing pokes a face-one smudged with streaks of dark grease. Wedge almost doesn't recognize her.

"Captain," Norra says. She slides under the wing, her knees on a repulsor creeper. She kicks the platform and it floats away. As Norra stands, she wipes her hands with a rag.

"Captain?" Wedge asks. "Norra, come on, we're friends."

"Oh. Yeah, no, of course, I just-" She offers an awkward smile. "Hey, Wedge. It's good to see you again."

She moves to shake his hand and he moves in for a hug and neither actually happens. There's that awkward moment where his arms are open and her hand is hanging out in midair. They laugh nervously and retreat.

"So," he says, admiring the shuttle. "You're a pilot again?"

"I am. I work for the Senate. Sometimes they, well. They need rides. Later today I'm taking the, let's see if I get this right, the 'Special Senator Council on Galactic De-Escalation Strategies.' Or is it the 'Senate Special Council?' I can't remember. Either way, they're heading out to Lake Andrasha to convene another meeting."

"The peace talks are coming up in a few days."

"And the big celebration."

"Right, right." Wedge has been on special security detail for that event. The liberation of the captives of Kashyyyk was a boost in the arm when it came to morale. Some of those prisoners were high-ranking folks from the Rebel Alliance. Many were heroes and liberators in their own right, and freeing them-well, it was decided that such an event demanded a proper celebration.

Liberation Day, the Senate voted to call it. The chancellor's idea.

And the peace talks will dovetail with that event. Wedge isn't much of a politician, but even he can see the play there-peace talks with the Empire are viewed with a great deal of suspicion. He feels it, too. Imperial oppression has fomented a great deal of bad blood over the many years, and those in the New Republic aren't necessarily keen to give the enemy room to move. Having Grand Admiral Sloane here only stirs up that blood-hell, just thinking of her name makes Wedge's body ache with the memory of what they did to him there in the satrap's palace on Akiva. That woman deserves no measure of compassion-no moment of kindness. Give her that moment and he believes she'll use it to flash a knife and cut their throats.

Then again, he might be just a little bit prejudiced. Which is why he's staying out of it. Either way, a big celebration like Liberation Day will go a long way to cool the hot blood over the peace talks.

"It's been a while," Norra says.

"Yeah. It has. Sorry about that. It's just been-well, you know."

"Everything's hectic."

"Everything's moving fast right now. Lightspeed fast."

Human emotions are basically a pack of tooka-cats chasing shadows, Wedge decides. He is happy that Norra has her husband. And yet...

And yet.

"So," Norra asks. "What's up? Everything okay?"

He dithers a bit before saying: "I don't think it is."

"What? What's wrong?"

"It's about Temmin, Norra."

- Clang, clang, clang.

Temmin knocks the last spring-bolt into place with the handle of the coil-driver, then flips it around and gives the skull one...last...twist.

It buzzes and clicks into place.

The red eyes flicker, then strobe, then stay lit.

Bones's narrow, vulpine head looks left, looks right, then finally his eyes telescope and focus on Temmin.

"HELLO, MASTER TEMMIN."

"Bones!" He grabs the droid and presses his forehead against the flat of the droid's cold metal head. "Glad you're back, buddy."

"I AM GLAD TO HAVE NO ASTROMECH PARTS."

"I know."

"ASTROMECHS ARE MEDDLING, WEAK THINGS THAT REMIND ME OF TRASH RECEPTACLES OR REPOSITORIES FOR HUMAN WASTE FLUIDS. THEY ARE NEARLY AS USELESS AS PROTOCOL DROIDS, WHO SERVE NO FUNCTION AT ALL EXCEPT TO TALK, TALK, TALK, TALK, TALK, TALK-"

"Okay, okay." Temmin laughs. "I get it, pull back on the flight stick, killer." He makes a mental note: Tweak Bones's personality matrix. Something must've gotten knocked around in there-the B1's not usually this chatty. "How are you feeling?"

"I APPEAR TO HAVE BEEN MODIFIED AGAIN."

"Yeah. Mostly just cosmetic." The B1's torso got dented in and torn up enough by those drones back on Kashyyyk that Temmin decided to lean into the skeletal look and just cut out those dents entirely. Now Bones's torso looks more like a human rib cage. Albeit with more...spiky bits.

He thought about putting one of those droid arms onto Bones-those whipcord limbs were pretty primo. Sophisticated stuff.

His father said he could maybe help, but then...

"YOU SEEM STRUCK WITH A MOMENT OF GRIEF, MASTER TEMMIN. PLEASE IDENTIFY THE SOURCE OF THIS GRIEF AND I WILL TEAR IT APART AS IF IT WERE AN UNSUSPECTING BUG."

"I'm good, Bones, I'm fine. Happy to have Dad home."

"THAT'S NICE. BUT IT DOES NOT EXPLAIN THE UPSET YOU ARE DEMONSTRATING ON YOUR FACE. YOUR GRIEF AND WORRY HAVE BEEN ONGOING. EXPLAIN, PLEASE."

What can he say?

Things were good. Brentin came home. Mom seemed happy. Temmin was happy. They did things together. They went to the zoo out on Sarini Island, watched the pangorins in their grottoes and the scuttling caw-crabs splashing about their enclosures and Dad laughed at the ooking uralangs. They ate dinner every night. Dad even cooked, trying to navigate his way through the strange Chandrilan herbs and spices. Mom and he stayed up late for the first several nights, laughing long into morning.

But then something changed...

Somewhere in the apartment, Temmin hears the sound-the clatter of utensils on a dish, the hum of the protein cycler, the splash of the spigots.

"Stay here, Bones," Temmin says, then heads into the kitchen.

It's his father.

That still amazes him. His father. Ripped from his life years ago-dragged out of the house in the middle of the night by Imperial forces. It should be amazing. And Temmin combats that thought by telling himself, It is amazing, you're just too selfish to realize it.

But after those first couple of weeks, Dad hasn't been the same. It's like he's not all there. He's still Brentin Wexley. Still sometimes wears that winning smile. Still is good with tools. Still snaps his fingers like Temmin does when he's thinking, and he's fast with a joke now and again. But...

He usually walks with an easy, effortless lean. Like he doesn't have a care in the world. And music-Dad always loved music. Temmin even went out to a junk shop (which are few and far between here on Chandrila, as the people view junk as junk and not as the treasure Temmin sees it can be) and brought home a small valachord. Dad poked the keys a few times.

Hasn't touched it since.

The doctors and therapists said this was all normal. Nobody really knows what his mind went through. Far as Brentin Wexley recalls, it seems like he was in stasis for most of those years-held fast in those cradles and used to power the rest of the prison ship's security protocols. Mom said that the chems they pumped into her made her feel anxious and afraid-and that was just after a few minutes.

Who knows what Dad went through having that cocktail churning through him for years? Might've been an endless nightmare.

Still. Dad's back but he's not...back.

And that sucks.

"Tem," Dad says. "Hey, kiddo."

"Dad. Hey."

"You okay?"

"Fine. I just...I thought you were supposed to help me today."

"Help you? I..." Then his face twists up like a wrung rag. "With the droid. Your B1. Right, yeah. I'm sorry, Tem. I've just been distracted."

"Where were you?"

"I took a walk."

He does that, now. He takes walks. Lots of them. Morning, midday, even in the middle of the night. The one therapist, Doctor Chavani, said that was normal, too. Said a lot of stuff might've built up in his mind over the years and this might be his way of shaking it out. Everyone assumed he was dead and now he's not-he's risen, effectively, from the grave like a glow-wight from the old Meteor Horror serials.

"I can take a walk with you sometime."

"No," Brentin says. "I think I like to be alone on those walks."

"You think?"

"Everything's not real clear right now, kiddo."

"Oh. Okay. Yeah. You and Mom all right?"

"Sure." But the way he says it, he knows they're not. Temmin's seen that for himself. There's a distance there. And it's growing wider.