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“I can give you money, Regis! A-a-as much as you want! Wait! Women! You want women? I-is that it?!”

Squanto the Toydarian lay on the ground with his wings ripped to shreds, and one crooked hand held up to shield him against his attacker. At least thirty dead Gamorreans were strewn around Squanto’s scrap shop, lying in heaps and covered in plaster where blaster fire had torn through the walls. Still more corpses, and even a few demolished battle droids, clogged up the stairwell and the upper landing, where they had rushed out to protect their master.

The tall, muscular figure of Regis stood over Squanto. His angular, bearded face was partially covered by the smoke from his cigar, but gleaming white stormtrooper armor was visible where he had ripped his shirt open at the beginning of the fight. Regis coolly wiped a streak of blood from his smooth plastoid breastplate and regarded it thoughtfully.

“Is that what you think this is about, Squanto?” said Regis, not bothering to look at the Toydarian.

“Yeah, sure!” said Squanto. “Let’s you an’ me make a deal, eh?!”

Regis sighed with disappointment. He slowly donned his sunshade visors, then turned and strode toward the exit.

“No deal, Squanto.”

Regis flicked the smoking cigar butt away, and the Toydarian watched it falling in slow-motion toward several busted tanks spewing a shimmering haze of combustible gas. Squanto whined and crawled toward the flaming cigar butt, his skinny arms working feebly while the tanks hissed in the background.

Outside the shop, Regis adjusted his sunshade visors. “The Emperor gives me everything I need,” he said, his rasping voice as cold as Hoth granite. Squanto’s shop suddenly exploded in a terrific fireball, tossing debris in a flaming shower that Regis did not even bother to turn and look at. As flaming limbs fell around him, Regis placed a fresh cigar in his mouth, raised his blaster to its tip, fired, and lit the end with a sigh of satisfaction.

The stormtroopers in the audience cheered loud enough to shake the walls of the little theater. Regis laughed uncomfortably, then turned and caught Sindo watching him. She gave him a skeptical smile, then leaned toward him.

“Did a scrap shop really have that many guards?” she asked. “And battle droids, too?”

“Um,” he said. “Well, there was one Gamorrean, sitting with his feet propped up. But believe me, he was a handful!”

Sindo smiled and leaned back in her seat.

“Well,” she said, “I still think it was brave of you.”

He had to admit that it felt good hearing Sindo’s praise, even though, at the time, he remembered she had mostly been horrified by what he was doing. And while he could not help but pick apart the vid, as it did contain a few minor inaccuracies, he still felt proud listening to the soldiers enjoying his exploits.

After the show was over, he and Sindo were surrounded and practically forced to sign autographs and pose for holophotos with eager soldiers. Regis’s eyes kept straying to a row of glossy posters on the far wall advertising Imperial entertainment vids and documentaries, including Triumph of the Empire, Roots of the Rebellion in the Naboo Legislative Youth Program, and Attack on Tatooine! The poster for Attack on Tatooine! featured the actor playing the part of Regis shooting at an off-camera enemy, while the actress who played Sindo aimed a blaster in one hand and cradled a stormtrooper helmet in the other. The actress wore a broken chain around her neck, as well as a revealing “slave” outfit the likes of which Regis had never encountered.

Regis was brought back to reality when he overheard a clean-cut soldier saying to Sindo, “... listening in on some New Republic transmissions, and those alien perverts were saying you were a whore on Tatooine. But we knew it was all lies!”

Several of the young men and women burst into laughter. How could they not laugh at the absurdity of the New Republic’s propaganda ministers? Unwilling to see the look on her face, Regis immediately turned away. He focused his attention on a smiling engineer who was currently gripping his hand, pumping it up and down nervously. Still, even as Regis hid the anger and shame that those words dredged up in him, he could not help but hear Sindo’s response.

“Aliens will say anything.”

* * *

“... and that is my plan for moving forward in the current anti-human political climate of the New Republic,” Lando concluded. “Of course, I’d like to hear what you gentlemen think.”

Lando stood before a row of holo-projectors, where images of four Imperial warlords shimmered in a blue haze. Grand Moff Praji stood at Lando’s right, and Major Regis stood at his left. Regis wore a crisp gray officer’s uniform, and was doing his best to look as if he was not surprised at having jumped so many ranks.

One of the holographic projections shifted slightly as “Grand Moff” Sheckil shook his head. He was a tall, slim middle-aged man, and wore a red cape over his Imperial uniform. “I’ve listened to your plan, Mister Calrissian, but I believe that I have a better one.”

“Is that so?” said Lando.

“It’s just this.” Grand Moff Sheckil turned to Regis, then pointed to Grand Moff Praji. “Major Regis… you kill that so-called Grand Moff right now, and I’ll put you in charge of that Star Destroyer you’re sitting in.”

Praji sighed audibly. “Sheckil, this is outrageous. I ask that you please set aside your petty jealousy while we discuss-”

“What do you say, Major Regis?” Sheckil continued. “Or should I say… Admiral Regis?”

Regis felt blood rushing into his face even as he tried to hold back from insulting an officer. “Sir,” said Regis, “I would not attack a servant of the Emperor. Much less a Grand Moff.”

“Grand Moff?” said Sheckil. “Praji’s not even a proper Imperial officer! Much less a Moff! I’m the Grand Moff!”

“Did somebody say… servant of the Emperor?” said the oldest man in attendance - “Emperor” Loutka. He was a bearded, white-haired man in a long black robe, with his image cut in half as he leaned against a wall outside of the range of his holographic projector. He fought to catch his breath, then said, “I would like to add… young man, you say Praji is… that he’s a, he’s a servant of the Emperor… and yet…” Emperor Loutka looked aside as his attention wavered, but before someone else could speak, he quickly added, “Well, you see, I never hired Praji. And I’m the Emperor. So…”

“Forgive me for interrupting, Emperor, but I need to say something,” said Admiral Freeling. He was a dark-skinned man with one silver eye that did not always follow his natural eye. Unlike the other ex-Imperials, he wore the blue military uniform of a noble house of Coruscant, which had been in exile since the founding of the New Republic. “I must ask Grand Moff Praji a question.”

“Yes?” said Praji.

“Do you really trust Mister Calrissian? He has a reputation for being close to the Empress.”

Praji hesitated. “He is trustworthy,” he finally said. “I have been buying materials from him for quite some time. He could have set a trap for me at any time, but he chose not to.”

Admiral Freeling nodded, but Admiral Mallo Motti, the son of an admiral who had died on the original Death Star, waved his hand dismissively. He wore a brilliant white uniform and cape. “That means nothing, Praji. This could be a Republic plot to ensnare not one former Imperial officer, but five. Even though we are at war, sir, I implore you: Send this man through an airlock. Him, and this puffed-up man pretending to be the hero of the Battle of Tatooine.”

Praji shook his head. “Admiral, I will not make it a habit to kill humans who have come to me for aid.”

Admiral Mallo Motti laughed without humor. “You would not be so reckless without your famed Death Troopers watching over you. Where the New Republic can’t win through military means, they always employ deceit, and division.”

“But what if-” Freeling began, but Mallo Motti cut him off.

“I realize that you have a tentative alliance with the so-called Grand Moff, Admiral Freeling, but please listen while I disclose something that I have recently learned about the New Republic. Have any of you heard of Agenda 718?”

While Freeling and Sheckil shook their heads, Emperor Loutka turned off-screen and muttered, “What did he say?” to a young assistant.

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Mallo Motti continued, saying, “My spies on Coruscant have procured files regarding the New Republic’s most criminal scheme to date. I’m sure you have all been wondering about their program of hybridizing humans with alien genes. We always assumed this was madness, some social trend taken to an absurd extreme. It is not. It is a very calculated plan, I assure you.”

“I’m listening,” said Sheckil.

“Agenda 718 is a far-reaching plan to turn all humans into alien hybrids. The aliens closest to the Empress devised the plan for hybridization as a means of controlling humans, through guilt and rewriting human history. The next step is to control human movement throughout the galaxy. They’ll blame a terrorist attack on humans, so there will be a demand for limiting human access to outer space. First they’ll limit space travel to hybrid humans, or humans who agree to strict oversight. But eventually all humans, even compliant, hybridized freaks, will be planet-bound, completely isolated from the greater galactic civilization. When that happens, our history can be rewritten over the course of a few generations. In this new age, humans will forget that space travel is even possible.”

“That’s just wild speculation,” said Praji, annoyed that the purpose of the meeting was being sidetracked. “There’s no economic incentive for pulling off such a stunt.”

“There is,” said Mallo Motti. “They mean to use us for organ harvesting.”

Praji opened his mouth to protest, then hesitated.

“Disgusting,” said Sheckil.

“Isn’t it?” Mallo Motti continued. “Even with advancements in cybernetics, only the wealthy and powerful can afford organ replacement procedures. Hybridizing humans will make our organs more amenable to alien hosts. There’s always been a demand, but the supply has never been properly marketed. The black market for live organs is a thorn in the side of every government. Except for the Hutts, of course. They run their own organ racket, and they have no qualms about it.”

“Sir,” said Lando, “if this is true, then that gives us all the more reason to band together and live in isolation. We can pool our resources and work together until-”

“No, Mister Calrissian,” Mallo Motti interrupted, “you’re missing the bigger picture. You think we can bribe New Republic officials because you believe they are motivated by economic concerns. They are not. Even considering the wealth that could be created by turning human worlds into organ harvesting farms, I doubt it would cover the costs of removing humans from every position of government and industry. Most aliens depend on humans to survive.”

“So why wipe us out, then?”

“Hatred. Pure and simple. They hate us, and have always hated us.”

“Then let’s work together!”

“Unfortunately, I see what Admiral Mallo Motti is driving at,” said Admiral Freeling. His silver eye glanced off to the side, as if already considering other matters. “If we band together, it puts us all at risk. It would take only one unfaithful soldier to sell us out. And bribing the enemy will be impossible, if they hate us more than they love money. If Mallo Motti’s findings are true, then it seems the only way for us to survive… is to stay as far apart as possible.”

As the Imperial warlords continued arguing, Regis held his fists at his side. There was nothing that he could say, nothing that he could contribute. In that moment he understood that swaying these men would be impossible, for they already knew that his promotion meant nothing. He was a jarhead listening in on discussions far beyond his pay grade. His throat constricted, and he had to focus on every breath.

Listening to the warlords arguing, Regis knew that the Empire would never make its power known ever again. Humans would bicker while aliens decided their fate. Nothing would get done. And as the galaxy slid into a dark age of spiritual decline, the humans who betrayed their own kind the fastest would be congratulated for their bravery.

Regis slowly exhaled. One by one, the officers signed off. The meeting dragged to a close without any real conclusion.

* * *

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Regis wandered the halls of the Aquiline. This had become something of a habit. He was often comforted by the sleek black hallways of the Grand Moff’s flagship. But today, the feeling of being at home eluded him.

He had just gotten through another frustrating meeting with Lando and Grand Moff Praji. Lando had effectively bought them a seat at Praji’s dinner table with a promise of financial aid, but no plans were made for any moves against the New Republic. Regis had lit a fire under the beleaguered stormtroopers, but apparently it was not enough.

He put on a brave front for the young soldiers who stopped to salute him. While he was glad to see the men with their beards shorn, and the women with their hair cut to Imperial regulations, he felt as if he had somehow fooled them. He could not help but wonder if he had given them hope for a better tomorrow, but tomorrow offered nothing but the same disappointments already on display today.

Regis needed someone to talk to, but when he came to Vasili’s class, he found his buddy already speaking to a crowded room. Through the hallway window Regis watched his teammate pacing, his robotic leg clicking on the polished floor.

“So that was how I got ‘em on Dagobah…” Regis could just barely make out Vasili’s voice outside of the classroom. “Not by overwhelming firepower, but fallback positions. I had my escape routes, and I took them after firing one, maybe two well-placed shots. Real life isn’t a combat sim! You might not start every engagement with overwhelming numbers. Or you might start out that way, but not end up with as many people as you started…”

Regis smiled. Normally an elective class headed by an aging spec ops instructor would have only a handful of attendees, usually bookish types or career men looking to get what they needed before moving on as quickly as possible; and yet Vasili’s classroom was packed with soldiers, every seat filled and plenty more standing along the walls, some taking notes at a feverish pace. If there had been a speaker system outside the doorway then Regis had no doubt the hallway would be packed as well.

Regis thought about waiting, but he had no desire to bring Vasili down from his cloud, after being surrounded by so many people eager to hear how he single-handedly thrashed the Cheka on Dagobah. He considered looking for Sindo, then remembered that she was already running resupply flights between the Aquiline and Hoth Station.

He left the classroom and continued on, until he came to the library, a dimly lit, dark-paneled room filled with research stations and rows of datapads. He found Birdy just as he expected, but his teammate was engaged in a deep conversation with a young female librarian. Regis took a seat where he could keep an eye out.

Regis scrolled through a datapad with document about the tangled mess of the New Republic economy. Regis’s attention drifted as the author, a scholar who had long since been run out of his position at Thanid University on Coruscant, went on and on about the dreary state of the galaxy - things that Regis already knew from experience. Eventually Birdy bid farewell to the librarian, then he made his way toward Regis.

“Good to see you, sir,” said Birdy.

“This guy says the New Republic isn’t doing so hot,” said Regis, turning the datapad toward Birdy. “You believe that?”

Birdy laughed unexpectedly, a sound that Regis had not heard in a long time. Regis was glad to see Birdy in an officer’s uniform, even if his hair was still hanging down to his neck. Birdy plopped down in a seat beside him and looked him over, with a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“I take it you’re planning on staying?” said Regis. “Looks like you’ve even got a cute girlfriend.”

Birdy glanced over his shoulder to make sure the librarian was out of earshot, then rubbed his forehead as if stressed. “We were talking about the failure of the Emperor’s vision for humanity,” he finally said.

Regis winced. “No wonder she ran.”

“No, sir. She’s written reports on our failure. That’s why I came to see her. Seeing the state these people are in… our people… well, it’s got me thinking. Maybe I’ve been expecting too much from everyone. I was willing to fight and die for the Empire, and I thought that made me better than everyone else. Even you and the others. Sorry, sir.”

“Have you seen the vid about me?” said Regis. “You’ve got nothin’ on me, kid.”

Birdy snorted. “You’re joking, sir - but you’re right. I wanted total victory after only a few years of struggle. I was so angry, but…” Turning away self-consciously, he said, “But it was childish of me. I expected our species to conquer the entire galaxy in no time at all. And when we didn’t… I guess I gave up. On everybody.”

“We all did, Bird. We all gave up on each other.”

Birdy clenched his jaw. “Don’t cut me any slack, sir. I don’t deserve any. The truth is, I should have been ready for setbacks. Instead of going off on my own and fighting a one man war, I should have hunkered down, and bided my time. I should have been ready to sacrifice anything. Not just my life - I didn’t care about that anyway. No, I should have been ready to sacrifice the glory, the hunger for easy victory.” Birdy looked past Regis, his eyes focused on nothing, and he sounded as if he was quoting something as he said, “I should have been ready to be one more small brick in the edifice that would, one day, in the distant future, provide sanctuary for humankind.”

“Did she write that?” Regis said as he nodded toward the door of the librarian’s office.

Birdy nodded. “She said the Emperor’s brightest defenders get lost in purity spirals when things don’t work out. Turns us into ticking time bombs. We become a liability.”

“You’re not a liability, Bird.”

“But you were afraid I might be. You, and everyone else on the team. You’ve been on edge every time I walk in the room. Wondering what I was going to do.”

“But you’re okay now?”

“None of us are even close to okay,” Birdy said without hesitation. “But I’m home. Such as it is. Anyway. You doing okay, Major?”

“I am now,” said Regis, smiling as he prepared to get up. “Glad to know you’re doing well, old buddy.”

“Wait, sir. I’m not the one you need to check up on.”

“Oh?”

“You need to have a talk with your boy. You-know-who hasn’t stepped foot out of his room since he went in there. He’s nuts.”

“Nuts? Luke? What do you mean, Bird?”

“Crazy.”

“What-”

“I went to check on him. Have a little talk, so I could figure out what he’s about,” Birdy said, glancing at the librarian as she came out of her office with a stack of datapads. “He looked like some of those ex-Imperials I used to hang with. He had the look of a man about to do something… foolish.”

“You talked to him?”

“Tried to.”

“What did you…” said Regis, then stopped. Once again he worried about Birdy. He knew his old point man was an expert at breaking through defenses, both on and off the battlefield. Even for special forces, he could be rough.

“Nothing that bad,” said Birdy. “Yeah, I wanted to get in his head. I wanted to make sure he knew his place while he was here - him and that Wookiee. But once I saw him?” Birdy shook his head, but said nothing.

Regis clasped a hand over his mouth. In a flash he realized that he had been avoiding Luke. Luke’s situation was far removed from anything that Regis understood, and he had been too distracted by his own problems to worry about Luke. He was struck by the sudden fear that Luke might leave. Or, worse, that he might decide his shaky relationship with his sister was more important than being friendly with Imperials that he had been trained to kill.

“I better go,” said Regis, flinging himself out of his chair.

“Wait, sir. I need to tell you something. You were right about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

Birdy leaned to one side and looked over his shoulder. “That librarian is awfully cute.”