"What?" Korgale says. Then his voice lifts: "I asked for reinforcements. Perhaps now that Orlan is dead, they've listened."

"It's not one of ours. It's a freighter. Old Corellian make-"

Han's eyes jolt open. He looks to Chewie as she says the rest: "A YT-1300."

He mouths the words to his copilot: The Falcon?

But who the hell is piloting it? Wexley?

"The craft is hailing us," the comm officer says.

"Put it through," Korgale says, "but then launch a contingent of TIE fighters. We must take no chances."

Over the comm comes a voice that lifts Han Solo's heart the same time as it sinks it: "This is Leia Organa of the New Republic. You will stand down your ships or you will be destroyed."

Korgale's paunch shudders as he offers one stiff laugh. "One craft? She thinks she can take down three Star Destroyers with one rattletrap freighter? Is she daft? Let the TIE fighters cut her to pieces. She's not even a pilot. She's a politician."

Han grins ear-to-ear. "You've never seen a politician like this before." But in the back of his mind, he can't help but wonder: How does she plan on doing this alone?

- Evaan Verlaine gives her a look. No, not a look-but rather, that look. An all-too-familiar arched eyebrow and smug smirk and a gaze pregnant with the question: What have you gotten us into this time, Princess?

Leia isn't quite sure. For a moment, she feels overexposed: a tooth without its enamel, a ship without its armor, like she alone is dangling out in space on a tether. Maybe this wasn't a very good idea...

Dead ahead, the Dominion begins spitting TIE fighters into the black.

"Leia, we're about to have company," Evaan says. She doesn't mean the TIE fighters. Sensors indicate incoming ships.

A dozen stars behind the Falcon zoom close-stars that aren't stars at all. Ships. Starfighters. X-wings.

She actually flinches as they swoop down out of hyperspace and zip past the Falcon on all sides, their cannons flashing. A TIE fighter rockets forth going the other direction, fire belching from its top just before it implodes. Over Leia's comms comes the voice of Wedge Antilles: "This is PhantomLeader," says Wedge Antilles. "Phantom Squadron's got your back, General Organa. Let's save the day and bring it home."

- Korgale sucks in a small intake of breath: a moment of weakness that Solo detects. A moment of fear. Han likes that moment.

He likes the moment that comes next even better.

Because Korgale snarls, "A dozen X-wings and a crippled freighter is all they've brought? We have three Star Destroyers. Call the Vitiator and the Neutralizer. Time to eliminate this cloud of flies before-"

Another ship comes into view.

What follows is the moment Solo truly enjoys, as the vice admiral makes a tiny little whimper sound. Like vermin caught in a trap.

The comms come alive with the sound of Admiral Ackbar's voice: "This is New Republic Fleet Admiral Ackbar, commanding the Mon Cala cruiser Home One. Surrender or be destroyed."

Korgale paces. Nostrils flaring. Cheeks puffing out. He speaks to no one but himself as he runs through the motions: "We...we can't surrender. We must mount a vigorous defense. G5-623 is our world, and it's still three ships against their one-"

Chewbacca is apparently done with it. All of it. The Wookiee roars, swinging his head around and connecting with the helmet of the stormtrooper holding the hairy beast against the wall. The trooper cries out and tumbles to the floor and the Wookiee kicks away from the wall, charging toward Korgale. The other stormtroopers turn, rifles up.

They're gonna shoot Chewie.

Han gets underneath the trooper closest to him and slams the man up and forward-he careers into the next. Sinjir ducks and darts out with his foot, hooking it behind another Imperial's knee and dropping him. Jom and Jas take out the last together, each crushing the trooper between them-when he falls, they stomp and kick until he's still.

Chewie completes his trajectory.

He hits Korgale like a crashing ship.

The man bleats and falls. The Wookiee roars in triumph.

Outside, on the viewscreen, the X-wings swoop and pivot even as the Vitiator moves closer and the Neutralizer moves in beyond that. One of the Phantom Squadron ships is shredded by a trio of TIE fighters on its tail even as the Falcon cuts in and takes them out-a few seconds too late.

Solo knows that Korgale was right: They do have three Star Destroyers. The odds are still against them. It's like a long game of sabacc. When the chips are down and you have squat for cards, what can you do?

You even the odds.

And the way Han likes to even the odds is by cheating.

Jas, panting, stands next to him, her hair plastered down on her thorny head-horns. "What's our next move, Solo?"

"Won't be long before we've got stormtroopers all over this bridge," he says. "We need to take control of this bridge and lock it down, but first that means we gotta find a way to get these binders off-"

Chewie yawps, then bares his teeth as he wrenches his arms apart. The shackles snap like they were made of brittle candy instead of steel.

"That works," Solo says.

Chewie moves to help Solo and the others with their cuffs. Jom says, "I got the door," and then heads over to lock it down. Sinjir and Jas reapply the cuffs to the knocked-out stormtroopers. But one person is missing: Korgale. He's nowhere on the bridge. That pig wriggled away.

No time to worry about that now.

"Let's figure out how to fly a Star Destroyer," Solo says, clapping his hands. "Time to properly even the odds. And somebody get on that comm, make sure those X-wings don't try to blow us up in the process!"

The battle rages for a time. Wedge's Phantom Squadron-comprised of a scattered remnant of washouts, burnouts, and capable freaks-deftly cuts apart the swarms of TIE fighters, though they lose a few. The Falcon flies true and soon Leia feels like the ship is a part of her. There are even moments when she can feel the battle unfolding around her in space-invisibly, as if all of it is a warm stream in which she has dipped her hand. The Force, she knows, is guiding her. A little bit, at least.

Luke will be happy.

Eventually, the compromised Dominion begins firing on the others, and the Vitiator breaks in half in a sharp knife slash of light before the vacuum of space crushes what remains.

"Your deranged plan worked," Evaan says, smirking.

"Then maybe it wasn't so deranged."

"Oh, no, it was full-bore moonbat, Princess. They always say it's Han who has the good luck, but I'm starting to think it's you."

The Force was with me today, she thinks. But better yet, my friends were here. And in this galaxy, maybe that's all one truly needs.

Ackbar's voice fills the air: "The Vitiator is down and we are receiving a full surrender from the crew of the Neutralizer."

"Well done, Admiral. And thanks for coming when I called." Leia called him after she called Wedge. It was a gamble, of course; Ackbar could've stopped her. But he came. And because of that, she knows this will cost him. It will cost her, too, and Wedge as well. As it should. This happened outside politics. No vote made this happen. Nobody sanctioned putting these ships and these people at risk. Even Ackbar working with a skeleton crew on board his own ship and Wedge calling on a stable of forgotten pilots-many thought to be already out to pasture-won't pass easy muster with Mon Mothma. But that is a problem for Future Leia. Right now, the Leia of the Present is very pleased with herself.

And it's time to see her husband. She brings the Falcon in for an easy landing inside one of the Dominion's hangar bays. A few stormtroopers offer casual resistance, fruitlessly firing their blasters.

The Falcon's turrets make short work of them.

And with that, Evaan says, "I'll leave you to it. Give Han a kiss for me. Unless he still has that beard. Because really? Ugh."

Leia laughs. She steps off the ship.

The door at the end of the hangar bay whisks open.

A man stands framed by the light behind him. He steps forward, but she already knows who it is: It is her husband, Han Solo. One blaster in each hand. Suddenly, there's movement from the side as one of the stormtroopers clambers up over a crate, his rifle aimed right at her- Solo's pistols flash fast and the trooper falls.

Han walks toward her. She leans against the Falcon, smiling.

"Your Worshipfulness," he yells, seeing her.

"Hello, scoundrel," she calls back in return.

"Making me walk the whole hangar, huh?"

"I like watching you walk."

"You okay?" he asks.

"I am now. I'm very angry at you," she says.

"Hey. I'm angry with you. Making me rescue you like this?"

Incredulous, she says, "You? Rescue me? This was me rescuing you, you hotheaded, thick-skulled ruffian."

He smirks.

"I love you."

She rolls her eyes. "Just kiss me already, you dolt."

He does. They swoop each other up in an embrace so tight, it feels to her that for a moment they are not only together, but they are one being that will never again be separate. As they pull away, his hand moves to her midriff and holds steady there. "How's our baby?"

"He's fine."

"He? Oh, he's a he now? I told you it'd be a boy. Didn't I? We're gonna need to think of a name for the little bandit-"

"Don't you dare say he's going to be a bandit. He'll be an angel."

"Nothing wrong with bandits."

"Nothing wrong with angels."

"Kiss me again," he says.

And she does.

Norra gazes out over a sea of people. Thousands of them have gathered here in the plaza to see Chancellor Mon Mothma speak and to hear the stories of those liberated from the prison on Kashyyyk. Next to Norra stands Brentin-she grabs for his hand and gives it a little squeeze, and finds his palm slick with sweat. He looks pale. He bites at his lip and stares out over the crowd, but not at the crowd-rather, he's gazing out at a fixed point in the precise middle of nowhere. She fears she looks the same. A host of emotions runs through her: anxiety at having to speak in front of a crowd, the certainty that when she does she will probably throw up all over her formal naval attire, and finally, worry over Temmin because he's still not here and that means he may truly be angry with her.

It's not just them on the stage. The chancellor has stepped out in front of dozens of those liberated from Golas Aram's strange prison ship. And other officials have come, too: senators, generals, admirals. She doesn't see Ackbar present, but she does see Commodore Agate, whose face wears that trademark pride and sorrow, both born of war. Norra thinks that she sees General Madine on the end-and next to him, the senator from Chandrila, Durm Harmodius.

Quite the company she's keeping (after all, she is a deserter).

If she looks over the sea of faces, the plaza is ringed in by the white clifflike buildings of the Hanna City center, and beyond that, the sea. Dead ahead is a series of dark lines: balconies, climbing the Old Gather-House like a ladder, all reserved for diplomats, senators, and other emissaries so they can view the day's celebrations.

At the very top, she sees the balcony reserved for the Imperial monster, Admiral Rae Sloane. Norra tries not to think about her. She tries not to think about any of it. Not that woman, not Temmin, not how she feels like she needs to run away before she pukes.

Mon Mothma steps up, flanked by her two advisers: the Togruta, Auxi Kray Korbin, and the Chandrilan man, Hostis Ij.

On each side and over the heads of the crowd float cam droids: holo-lenses extended, some snapping static shots with blue flashes, others capturing events as they unfold. Norra tries not to look at those.

Mon Mothma steps up to an old stone podium-it's chalky and white, crumbling around the edges but still surviving the ages.

"Hello, Chandrila. Hello, New Republic. And greetings to the galaxy beyond. I am Chancellor Mon Mothma-"

Applause erupts.

- The applause roars, and Temmin yells over it to the guard blocking his way into the plaza: "I need to see my mom! She's on stage!"

Behind him, Mister Bones sways back and forth, impatient.

"Plaza's full," the guard says as the crowd dies down. "You are going to have to wait."

"I can't wait. This is important."

"I'm sure it is." Here, the guard steps forward, pushing Temmin back a little. "And even still, it's going to have to wait, kid."

"I'm not a-" Never mind that. "People may be in danger." That is an assessment he makes, though he doesn't really know that it's true. He does know that something is up, though. And danger is usually the outcome of this kind of mystery. "Please."

"Danger, huh?" The guard pulls a baton off his leg. Its white tip sparks blue. It's a shock-lance. He thrusts it toward Temmin-not to hit him, but to threaten him with it. "Step back, kid. Or I'll use-"

A whine of servomotors fills the air as Mister Bones dances forward, grabbing the guard's arm and twisting it upward-the shock-lance jabs hard under the man's golden helmet. The man cries out, stuttering, as he falls. His heels twitch and jump against the ground, though the rest of him is still.

"Uh-oh," Temmin says.

"THREAT TO MASTER TEMMIN NEUTRALIZED."

"At least you didn't kill him." From behind them, shouts reach Temmin's ears-and sure enough, here comes a trio of guards. Two with shock-lances, one with a blaster. "Come on, Bones!"

- Mon Mothma speaks: "-the citizens on this stage represent the best the galaxy has to offer. Many of them are the original architects of the Rebellion, an Alliance of right-minded, freedom-seeking worlds who wanted all of us liberated from the leash-and-collar of an Empire that subjugated countless systems, maintaining order through brute force and callous autocracy. That time is over and the Empire's edge has gone dull."

More applause.

Out there in the crowd, Norra sees movement. Her pilot's eye is trained to see such things: In the deep black of space, it's vital to know what light is a star and what is an enemy ship coming out of lightspeed. Here, it's like seeing a tremor in the gathered throng: She can't quite make out what's happening, but she spies the jostled bodies and the turning heads.

The chancellor continues: "Slowly but surely, the Empire is being pushed back-planet by planet, system by system. Its time is dwindling, and where it crumbles, the New Republic rises from the ruin to collect the pieces and rebuild what they had damaged. And note that I say damaged, not destroyed-the Empire left us reeling, yes, but what they did was not permanent. The way is not shut. The path forward is clear and it is ours."