The galaxy is home to a great many divisive figures. The mere mention of names like 'Mon Mothma' and 'Wilhuff Tarkin' are often enough to reopen old wounds and set old Rebels and Imps back at each others' throats. It's not every day that someone gets applause from both sides of the political aisle, but today was one of those days. The Old Man of the Empire, Gilad Pellaeon, walked down to the presenters' couches with a big grin on his face. Without his navy uniform, he looked more like a normal grandfather than the Grandfather of the Imperial Navy.

'What's that?' Pellaeon yelled, gesturing to his ear. 'These old ears aren't working as well as they used to! Come on, I know you cheered louder for Garm!'

The cheers rose to properly rival the pop Garm Bel Iblis got several episodes ago. Given the number of Corellians in the show's fan base, it was unsurprising that both men would receive such warm receptions from the crowd.

'Welcome, welcome, Grand Admiral,' Janson said, shaking the man's hand. 'It's an honor to have you on the show, sir.'

Pellaeon and Janson took their seats, simultaneously letting out the 'Oof' that old people tend to let out when they sit on things.

'That's how you know you're getting old,' Pellaeon grumbled. 'That and the fact that your entire wardrobe and music collection have gone out of style.'

'You have a wardrobe?' Janson raised an eyebrow. 'I thought all you had were twenty Imperial Navy uniforms, a set of dress blues, and a pile of Imperial Navy manuals. And now here you are, dressed in civvies and working a crowd. Admiral, should we be concerned?'

With a laugh, Pellaeon said, 'We were all young and fashionable once, Janson. I have some old suits that have been sitting in a closet for decades. Just you wait. When they're back in fashion, you'll see me strutting down the street and tearing up dance floors like it's 30 BBY. Besides, I'm on leave. Can't be wearing the uniform when you're on vacation.'

'You have a point, Pellaeon. Maybe you should stop by Adumar, see if your suits match their sense of fashion. But anyway, this is a show about starships. Anyone want to hear Pellaeon talk about starships?'

More whoops and cheers.

'Good,' Pellaeon said, 'because I was running out of non-starship things to talk about.'

'I have that same problem every day,' Janson said. 'So tell us, Grand Admiral, what's the latest, juiciest news on Imperial shipbuilding?'

'Well, for one, the Imperial Navy has green-lit the Imperial-III project, which has put me in a fantastic mood these past few weeks. You've seen the announcements on the news, I'm sure. As you can expect, the Imperial series of Star Destroyer hull classes is very near and dear to my heart. My old girl, Chimaera, is first in line for the ImpStar "threefit" as the kids call it. Basically, rather than spending all of the Navy's budget on building entirely new hulls, the Navy wants to figure out ways to modernize the hardware in the existing Imperial-class ships that we already have. There's plenty of them, our crews have more or less kept them in great shape, and the guns and hulls are still the gold standard of naval warfare. What they need now is new computers, new targeting systems, new shield generators, new navigation data, new cooling systems, and an improved AA package. Prepping Chimaera for the threefit makes me feel like I'm preparing for a second honeymoon. This is all publicly announced information, by the way. If there are any ImpInt spooks waiting in the shadows, you can check the Navy's holonet news announcements.'

'Very cool,' Janson said, smiling at the idea of Pellaeon swearing vows with his beloved Star Destroyer at the altar. 'You and Chimaera, you're basically married to each other at this point. You've been together for how many years?'

'She and I go way back,' Pellaeon said. 'We saw the birth of the old Empire together and aside from that brief hiccup during the 40s ABY-you all know the one-we've basically been inseparable. She's a survivor, Chimaera. I think at this point Warspite is the only other active ship in the Imperial Navy with a record as active and long as her. All the others are dead, scrap, museums, or in drydock for maintenance.'

'Warspite is a name I haven't heard in a long time,' Janson mused. 'Keyan Farlander used to dread the idea of facing her again. Do people in the Empire still call her the "Grand Old Lady?"'

Pellaeon nodded. 'They do, they do. By today's standards, she's about as fast as one now, as well, so I suspect she'll be due for a refit soon.'

'Speaking of speed,' Janson said, 'you took a reasonably-priced starfighter around our track. Do you do much starfighter piloting these days?'

Pellaeon shook his head. 'I have not. I put in a few hours of simulator time with TIE Fighters, Lambda shuttles, and Sentinel transports but I always have been more of a warship man. I hadn't seen the inside of a starfighter in decades.'

'Well, how do you think you did?'

'Better than Garm, hopefully.' Pellaeon chuckled. 'I need to get him back for beating me in sabacc the other day.'

'Better than Garm is your main priority,' Janson confirmed. 'I see the Galactic Civil War is still alive and well on the Top Gear test track.'

'You Rebels merely adopted speed with your A-wings,' Pellaeon said. 'The Empire was born in it. The Empire's dominance in the field of going fast must remain unchallenged.'

'Well, in that case,' Janson announced, 'who wants to see Grand Admiral Pellaeon take it around our track?'

Everyone in the audience did, unsurprisingly, and they expressed it as loudly as they could.

Cut to Pellaeon in an Imperial black flight suit. A mustache had been painted on the upper lip of his helmet's face plate courtesy of a cheeky intern. The lights counted down. Three.

'Alright, old girl,' he said, patting the instrument panel of his Z-95. The producers hadn't yet got around to budgeting for the new Z-114 Sabercat mentioned in an older episode.

Two.

'Time to show the other Corellian how the Empire flies.'

One.

'Aaaand-'

Zero.

Pellaeon got off to a rocky start, still not quite used to the Incom control layout. The Headhunter jolted out, slowed, then stuttered forward again.

'Oh dear. This is fine. There we go, throttle is cooperative, we're underway. Bloody Rebel bias, I tell you.' Pellaeon chuckled as he smoothed out his flight path and came in tight on the next corner, blasting one of the practice targets set up on the course.

'Now we're getting it,' Pellaeon muttered, banking neatly into another turn and splashing a pair of targets with a dummy missile. Unfortunately, he still hadn't fully worked out all the kinks, cutting a corner and hitting some micrometeorites on the way.

'I hope this thing is insured,' said Pellaeon, glancing at the shield readout and cosmetic damage reports. He powered down the penultimate straight, shooting another pair of targets, rotated ninety degrees to dodge a piece of debris from a nearby wreck, then pulled up hard on the stick, taking the Headhunter into a hard turn around the course's derelict Hammerhead, just barely avoiding a collision with an abandoned laser cannon.

Pellaeon righted the Z-95 and raced past the final corner. 'Flying dangerous here, just how the 181st like it. Here we go, across the line!'

Back at the studio, Janson let out an impressed whistle. 'Impressive flying for someone who hasn't touched a flight stick in so long. Aside from those few hiccups, you took the course pretty well. But did you do well enough to defeat the Rebel Alliance?'

Pellaeon was on the edge of his seat. 'Don't leave me in suspense here, Janson.'

'Garm Bel Iblis beat the course in one minute and forty seconds flat.' Janson 'That was a tie with Edor Crespin, yet another one of us Rebels. If you beat Garm, you've beaten two Rebels for the price of one.'

Janson took out a marker, scribbled Pellaeon's name on a magnetic strip, and walked up to the lap time board. He cleared his throat and in his most imperious voice, Janson announced the time, rolling his r's as he spoke. 'Grrrrrand Admirrrral Pellaeon, you did it in one minute.'

Pellaeon leaned forward in eager anticipation.

'Thirty-nine. Point nine.'

The old grand admiral tried to leap out of his seat but was undone by a pulled muscle. Nonetheless, he still raised a fist in celebration. 'Victory for the Empire!'

'Well done, sir, well done,' Janson said, clapping alongside the audience. 'But you do know what that means, right?'

'What does it mean?'

'It means that Tahiri Veila is about to make a couple of new friends.'

Pellaeon laughed. Janson laughed. The audience laughed. The ImpInt spooks in the audience decided not to assassinate anyone today. Everyone had a good time.

'Thank you so much for visiting us, Grand Admiral,' Janson said, shaking Pellaeon's hand and ushering him off the set. 'It's been a pleasure to have you on the show, sir.'

'The pleasure is mine, Major. I'll be sure to wear some body armor next time I drop by Corellia.'

As the two finished, the holocams turned their attention to Hobbie and Tycho.

'When we last left off,' Hobbie said, 'the producers had given us a challenge to go speeder racing for less than the price of golf.'

Tycho nodded sagely. 'To answer that challenge, we traveled to Manaan, one of the premier hubs of the galactic speeder racing community, along with some cheaply purchased vehicles. After some initial tests, it was time to really put the pedal to the metal and put our speeders through the Hrakert Cup.'

Janson shuffled into the holocam capture zone. 'I actually died.'

'Yes, Wes died,' Tycho affirmed. 'It was very sad. Some of the fish may have shed a tear. I think Hobbie almost frowned.'

'Now without further ado,' Hobbie declared, 'let's get back to Manaan.'