A/N: This story has contained some references to events between the end of "TIE Fighter: Command Decisions" and the start of this one. While I am planning to begin posting the start of "TIE Fighter: Resurrection", I will also be working on several other stories that cover both events in the intervening years ("Shadow Dancing" will show a bit of Thelea and Aleishia's training, "Ronin" will go into more detail about why Captain Niriz is Thelea's favorite surrogate uncle and why she's so confident in her father's shooting skills, and "Defiance" will explain how Rurik's career has taken off) and at least one to tell the story of the mission Parck, Niriz, and Thelea are off on at the end of this chapter ("Hidden Fortress", and if you can't tell . . . I'm not a big fan of Admiral Daala.)

To clarify the epilogue at the end of this chapter-you may recall I said that "Resurrection" will be a crossover (though set almost entirely in the GFFA and with no canon characters from the other universe actually making the trip.) "Command Decisions" featured several hints, both in the type of villains, themes, and even an episode title drop. The epilogue here should make it more obvious. And as people who've read my notes have probably gathered, I'm a big fan of TV Tropes, even if it ruins your life. So remember, while there is a trope called "Put On A Bus", remember that there's also one called "The Bus Came Back."

Mopping up at Wayland was not going to be a quick process. The examination of the cloning chamber alone showed that if anything the initial reports had understated the damage. The Rebels had done a thorough job, shattering the cloning tanks and destroying much of the supporting electronics. Of their mad Jedi clone, there was no sign, but there was evidence of a lightsaber battle within the throne room. Some effort had clearly been made to get into the other storerooms, including those that Imperial crews that not yet had a chance to investigate, but the rapid withdrawal the loss at Bilbringi had prompted meant they did not appear have made any greater progress than Imperial teams. And of course the schematics for the cloaking device were long gone and they seemed to have been more interested in destroying the cloning cylinders than stealing the technology.

Thelea, all things considered, was pleased.

Her quarters on the Chimaera were small but adequate, reminiscent of those she'd had on the Executor. Here, though, she did not have a shared 'fresher, and there was no set schedule of shifts she was required to adhere to, other than being ready to respond to a request from her father, and a standing order to report for a medical exam to check on how she was adapting to her new arm. She would push that as far back as she could, as there was no sign of infection and so far the hand had performed much as her own flesh and blood limb had. Still, there were the cosmetic issues.

She set aside the mug of caf she'd been nursing (Navy caf, the one thing she craved when training or on missions in the Unknown Regions, but she'd accepted her father's as-usual unassailable logic that carrying a supply would be far too distinctive a trait for someone operating on the fringes) and stared at her gloved hands. She already wore gloves mostly out of habit–TIE pilots who lost their craft and survived the experience rarely had time to put on gloves with seals, so she was accustomed to going about with her hands covered. It had also been one more small patch of her distinctive blue skin covered, though outside a cockpit there was no way to hide her face and eyes. Even in the Unknown Regions, where her species was hardly a mystery in many systems, it was often better to minimize attention. Now, though, she deliberately pulled both gloves off and held her hands out in front of her.

It was bizarre. Downright unnerving, really. Synthflesh was very convincing, warm or cool to the touch, fine lines like real skin, even the smooth nails looked correct and as if they could grow, except her left hand and forearm were decidedly the wrong color. The tech had been limited not only by time, but by the available prostheses, where being female was as much a limitation as being alien. There were far more to chose from for larger male frames. Her new hand and arm were more or less the same size and proportion as her natural arm, but the false skin was an unnerving pale whiteish-pink color that was perfectly ordinary on the human range of fleshtones, but completely alien to her eyes. She placed both hands flat on the small table, looking at the right, with its normal powder-blue hue, and the strange, pinkish beige limb that was now her left hand.

They both flexed when her brain commanded it, both sets of fingers curled or stretched when she commanded, and yet somehow the human-tone hand seemed a foreign thing attached, but not part of her yet. When there was time, or when she had cause to return to the fortress on Nirauan, she could look into having the synthflesh tinted to match her own natural skin, but for the moment . . . .

Her door chimed, and she pulled her left glove back on. "Enter."

She knew before the door slid open that it was her Master, and she didn't even need the Force to note the distaste in Aleishia's eyes as she took in the bare, sparsely-furnished berth. "The Grand Admiral is requesting our presence," she said without preamble and almost without irony. "He hasn't called for you?"

"More efficient to send you." Thelea picked up her other glove and slid it on. "Besides, he's still feeling guilty about my arm. You know how he deals with that sort of thing."

"Better than you know." Aleishia grimaced. "He doesn't feel guilty, or at least that's not the worst of it. He's afraid. He made an error, and it nearly killed you. If you hadn't been there, it would have killed him."

"Well, he can't be afraid," Thelea said, suppressing the shudder that thought prompted. "He's the only commander we've ever had who doesn't second-guess himself or worry so much about potential losses he loses before he starts a battle. Or worse, thinks he's invincible and will let bodies pile up until he proves it. We're so close to taking back the Core now, he can't afford to worry about making mistakes. It's not about me or him. It's about the Empire."

Aleishia's lips pressed thin, in an expression Thelea knew meant she had an opinion, but thought better of expressing it. "We had better not keep him waiting." There wasn't even any attempt to hide the sarcasm, but then if she hadn't allowed it in her voice Thelea would have sensed it. She tried to keep eavesdropping on her Master's emotions to a minimum, but some things Aleishia couldn't have hidden if she wanted.

Thelea automatically straightened her jacket as she stood, a plain black officer's tunic without rank plates and with a single cylinder tucked in one of the pockets. It was comfortable to be back in the familiar cut and even the heavy fabric she'd used to complain about felt natural. The lightsaber at her belt, though, felt decidedly strange on an Imperial uniform, even if wearing it had become second nature in the last few years. She saw the looks, too, as they walked through the Chimaera's passageways, eyes on them and quickly averted, voices lowered until they had gone by. Strangely, though, she sensed none of the hostility or resentment she remembered from the Executor. True, Thrawn was Admiral here, and like the Admonitor's crew they weren't completely unfamiliar with her species. That explained a lack of anti-alien bias, but not the strange aura of . . . respect? Curiosity she'd been used to, as well, but this was more like fascination and while she'd never understood the difference before, she did now and it was giving her the chills.

After the third group of crew had respectfully stepped aside and waited, surreptitiously watching until they had past, Thelea was starting to add "annoyed" to chilled. I think I liked being 'that alien female' better. Jedi alien is apparently too strange for them. Even if it saved the Grand Admiral's life.

It's not the Jedi part. Even silently, Aleishia could sound so drolly amused it was infuriating. Even if your father hadn't openly called you his in front of a squad of stormtroopers, by now what happened on the bridge would be all over the ship. Not your saving him, but his response. You're the Admiral's daughter. They're curious.

How would that tell them anything? It's not as if he . . . cried or something. The entire notion would have been revolting even if he weren't a Grand Admiral. Her people simply didn't do that sort of thing. He'd have cared as much about anyone who was willing to die to save him.

If you believe that, Apprentice, you still have a great deal to learn.

You apparently still have a great deal to learn about my father, Master.

Thelea noted that her command cylinder apparently worked on the inner door now, as it slid aside and admitted them immediately. Her father barely glanced up from the holo display, which was tactical, not artistic, now. Captain Pellaeon was beside him, and Thelea remembered something her mother's apparition had said about limpets. Pellaeon certainly believed in the Grand Admiral, though he didn't seem hesitant about voicing objections to him, either. It would probably be a few years yet before he was quite as blindly accepting of anything Thrawn came up with as Parck. Or maybe he never would. Maybe that was why, when the time came, Thrawn had chosen the Chimaera and left the Admonitor to hold down the Unknown Regions.

"Excellent. We've been reviewing immediate plans for the campaign," Thrawn said, gesturing for them to join him. Thelea stood to his left and Aleishia stayed just a bit farther away. Thelea felt the flinch from her Master, even if the Jedi didn't let the physical reaction show, and mentally shrugged. "The Rebel fleet will be some time in regrouping from their failed attack at Bilbringi. They will expect an all-out assault and a push to the Core on our part, to take advantage of both their reduction in arms and the resultant political fallout." The thin, humorless smile would have sent shivers down the spine of almost anyone, even without the effect of his eyes. "Our intelligence resources may not be as extensive within the Imperial palace as they were, but reports indicate that Admiral Ackbar's star may have permanently fallen after this latest failure."

Thelea knew gloating over an opponent's fall was neither a very Jedi-like nor the way of an honorable warrior, and she knew her father felt no personal vindictiveness towards the Mon Calamari admiral. He was simply an obstacle to be overcome. But her father had not been at Endor. She had, and she could feel the same vindictive satisfaction from Pellaeon, too. Even having a small part in bringing down the commander who'd caused the death of the Executor felt gratifying. "Since they're expecting an all-out push, what are we doing instead?"

Thrawn frowned, and she heard Pellaeon's sharp intake of breath. Aleishia was smothering a smile, though. "To be honest, sir," and Pellaeon was clearly trying to salvage Thrawn's dramatic reveal for him, "I don't see why now would not be the time to make a final push on the Core worlds. On Imperial Center itself, even."

"Because while we have the strategic advantage, and our numbers have improved, we are not unscathed from this engagement ourselves," Thrawn said patiently. "And the Rebels have not utilized all their resources. With the destruction of the cloning facilities we must husband our resources more carefully and look for other means of expanding them, and we should seek to eliminate some of theirs before the Rebels can call them into play."

He touched a control, and a portion of the galactic map enlarged. Thelea heard the sharp intake of breath from Pellaeon at the same moment she felt a quickly-suppressed surge of alarm from her Master. She studied the star system displayed, and the scrolling list of assets. "The Hapans? I didn't think they cared about galactic politics."

"Their new ruler, Queen Teneniel Djo, and her husband are allied with the Rebels. Thus far, they've limited their forces to defense of their own worlds, but that seems likely to change." Thrawn was smiling again, the sort of satisfied smile that would make his enemies very nervous, if they were ever present to see it. "We will need to demonstrate the error of their ways, or risk making an assault on the Core worlds only to find Hapan Battle Dragons at our backs." His expression had a wry edge. "Not an insurmountable problem, as they are a predictable people, but more potential damage than I would prefer to deal with."

"I saw what Hapan ships could do against pirates back in the early days of the Empire," Pellaeon said, and Thelea didn't need the Force to know this was not the plan he'd been hoping to hear.

"They were never very fond of Jedi, either," Aleishia said. "Insular, and very matriarchal." Thelea didn't miss the raised-eyebrow look that was her father's only response.

Pellaeon did. "Even if the Stormhawk were ready to return to action, I'd prefer to have a few more Destroyers if we're going to confront the Hapans directly."

"As would I, Captain," and Thrawn touched another control. "Which is why we are both waiting until the fleet has effected repairs, and why the Emperor's storehouse, damaged through it might be, still has some useful weapons to provide us." Another segment of the map replaced the Hapes Cluster, this one a massive black hole cluster that going by the intake of breath from Pellaeon he recognized as well. "It seems that the late Grand Moff Tarkin was given a place to work on further projects as his Death Star was such a successful notion." Thelea bit down on a laugh, and she heard Pellaeon do the same.

Aleishia, though, only arched her eyebrows. "Hoping to find a prototype superlaser? Or something even nastier? That isn't normally your style, Mitth'raw'nuruodo."

Thrawn looked less than pleased, and Thelea cast the thought in her Master's direction, Is it really necessary to bait him? Mother wouldn't approve, you know. And in any case it's my prerogative.

Pellaeon, meanwhile, seemed determined to defuse the situation yet again. "If I might ask, sir, that's the second time I've heard Master Aleishia address you as . . . as . . . well, that name. And I believe you called Commander Thelea something similar."

"Mitth'ele'arana," Thrawn said, and he looked at her, the amusement in his eyes obvious at least to a fellow Chiss. "Thank you for not attempting to pronounce it, or my own fullname, Captain. Our names seem to be exceptionally difficult for most humans and the mispronunciations can be unintentionally offensive. Or entertaining." Thelea could see her father was actually fighting down a laugh. "Pronounced improperly, my daughter's name can inadvertently sound like our language's word for a small tunneling rodent that lives in the high snow pack on our world."

"And believe me, I've heard worse when other species try to say it," Thelea said. "But those are our formal names. Among our own people, our core names-Thelea, Thrawn from Mitth'raw'nuruodo–are for personal use among friends and intimates, not among the chain of command."

Pellaeon looked rather taken aback. "So we have been referring to you both by the equivalent of a human's given name?" In fact, judging by the sense of embarrassment she could feel glowing like a small sun, he might be well beyond taken aback and into mortified.

"Don't worry, Captain," Thrawn said, once again reaching for the controls on his command chair. "I don't expect you to learn the proper pronunciation of my name now, and I shan't start calling you Gilad."

Thelea couldn't help it. The look on Pellaeon's face beggared description. She covered her mouth, but the laugh escaped before she could completely smother it. She did at least have the presence of mind to switch languages before saying, "Father, be kind! You're torturing the poor Captain."

Thrawn merely gave her a small smile, before returning to the topic at hand. "As it happens, I would not be completely averse to finding a functioning prototype of the Death Stare, or similar weapons which could be put to future use." He glanced at Thelea and then at Aleishia, and Thelea understood in the same instant she felt her Master grasp his meaning–the creature Mother had warned them about, the one that would have to be destroyed. "For now, however, my immediate interest is the ships Tarkin left to protect the installation. Newly constructed, fully crewed, with complete fighter and ground-assault complements." As he spoke, he brought up the schematics, and once again Thelea couldn't demonstrate proper decorum, and she saw her own disbelieving glee reflected in Pellaeon's eyes. Even Aleishia looked as if she couldn't quite believe they had such good luck within their grasp.

"Four Imperial II-class Destroyers?" Pellaeon sounded as if he weren't sure he trusted his own eyes. "Sitting there for the taking . . . ."

"Full crews? TIE fighters, walkers, everything intact?" Thelea tried to add up the numbers. "Tens of thousands of crew, even if they weren't fully manned . . . it almost makes up for the Executor. And we don't have to train any of them."

"What's the catch?" Aleishia asked, but even she didn't sound as archly superior as she might otherwise have.

"The 'catch', as you put it, is the installation is located within the Kessel Maw," Thrawn said. "There is a safe way of navigating the black hole cluster, but it is not an easy route. And there are no means of direct communication. As such, it is unlikely they have any notion of events that have transpired since their last communication with the Grand Moff. As such, they may require a certain amount of convincing before agreeing to a reassignment." He turned to Thelea. "That is where you come in."

"If these are hardcore Tarkin followers, an alien female who was a lieutenant commander when last their systems got an update hardly seems like the ideal person to send," Thelea said. "Though that is not a suggestion you go yourself."

"The Chimaera will be preparing for the Hapes campaign," her father agreed. "Of course, with the unfortunate loss of both Master C'baoth and the potential for replacement, we may be facing some difficulties with certain strategies." The sideways look he gave Aleishia was not lost on anyone.

The Jedi Master looked away for a long minute, and abruptly her thoughts were as closed to Thelea as a duracrete wall. "I will assist in coordination in a very small way," she said finally. "Not on a grand scale, and I will not attempt battle meditations to enhance your entire fleet. I haven't yet fallen to the Dark, Mitth'raw'nuruodo, but like any Jedi, I have my limits. I don't especially want to test them at my age."

Thrawn stared at her for a long minute, but Aleishia met his gaze unwaveringly. "Very well. I had hoped you would understand the necessity. There is another matter as well, one which we can discuss later, in private. That can wait until after Hapes."

Pellaeon looked less than at ease about this new strategy, and in some ways Thelea sympathized. I'm not sure Pellaeon is entirely comfortable with having you help in any way, Master. Try not to antagonize Father and make the situation worse.

Don't worry about our good captain, Apprentice. Aleishia's mental voice was as serene as her smile. I'll have him eating out of my hand by the time you return.

That was a mental image I did not need, so I hope you're speaking figuratively.

Oh, I don't know, and while there were overtones of teasing, Thelea also had a distinct reminder why her Master had left the Jedi Order. He seems like a gentleman, and the moustache is rather dashing.

Suddenly navigating a black hole cluster looks terrifically inviting. "So how am I going to persuade whomever this commander in the Maw is that I'm telling the truth?"

"You will not be doing the persuading. You will be there to make sure the commander does not decide to do anything rash to those who are." Thrawn activated the comm. "Lieutenant, is that holonet channel I requested ready?"

"Ready to open channel on your command," said the voice from the bridge.

"Do so." Thrawn turned toward the empty section of the command room. There was a brief flicker from the projectors, and the holo resolved itself into two officers, one a Vice Admiral and one a Captain. Both saluted Thrawn, who returned the salutation with a grave nod. "Admiral Parck, Captain Niriz. Thank you for joining us."

"Of course, Grand Admiral," Parck said. "And may I say, I am pleased to see both you and Commander Thelea are unscathed."

"Commander Thelea's concerns were well-founded, but as you see, we are both perfectly fine," Thrawn said. He looked expectantly at her, and she gave a proper salute. She'd remind them about the resigning thing later. Parck had been present when she'd thrown her commander's rank plates at her father's head, but he had never commented on the situation.

"It was a near thing, Admiral Parck, but you know how stubborn Father can be." The smile she gave the other captain was a great deal less formal. "It's good to see you again, Captain Niriz."

"And you," the elderly human said, not without affection. "Staying out of trouble, young lady?"

"Keeping my father out of trouble, which usually puts me neck-deep in it. You know how it is."

"I certainly do," but he gave Thrawn an apologetic glance.

Thrawn, for his part, looked unfazed by the exchange. "Allow me to present Captain Gilad Pellaeon of my flagship Chimaera. Captain, Vice-Admiral Voss Parck and Captain Dagon Niriz of the Admonitor. They have been with me since I was assigned to the Unknown Regions. Parck even longer."

"It seems like forever, Admiral." But Parck, like all her father's men, didn't sound as if that were a bad thing at all.

"Vice Admiral, Captain," said Pellaeon, who looked as if he were relieved at least some of Thrawn's associates were normal by Imperial standards. "A pleasure, gentlemen."

"I'm happy to finally meet you, even at distance, Captain Pellaeon," Parck said. "The Grand Admiral thinks quite highly of you." Pellaeon didn't quite blush, but he did stand a little straighter. "I hope this meeting indicates we'll be working together in the near future."

"Not immediately, but it does relate." Thrawn once again called up the display showing the Maw. "You received the information I transmitted, Vice Admiral?"

"Yes, sir, and I must say, even if there is no further value to this installation as a research station, four Destroyers are too useful to pass up." Parck's hologram studied the tactical display. "You wish the Admonitor to lead the recovery effort?"

"I do. And I will be sending Mitth'ele'arana to assist you, discreetly, of course, if the installation's commander proves recalcitrant, or actively dangerous. The desired outcome is any remaining engineers and their projects will be removed and transferred to a secure location. Our construction yards at Ord Trasi should have sufficient resources to complete any manufacturing requirements. The Destroyers themselves will form a new battle group, with the Admonitor as its flagship. "

There were hundreds of light-years between them, but Thelea could see Parck and Niriz both stand taller, and the appropriately-professional smiles were just shy of beaming. "So we're to come home at last, Grand Admiral?" Niriz sounded relieved, but also happier than Thelea could ever quite recall hearing, even when he'd realized who, precisely, had come to rescue them both on Azuke when they'd first met in person.

"If all goes well, this will be the beginning of the push to end the war of rebellion once and for all," Thrawn said. "It is only fitting that the Admonitor be there when this phase ends and our real work begins."

"It hardly seems possible, sir," and Parck sounded almost wistful.

"I wish I could say it meant peace in our time, but it will, at least, mean a truly allied central galaxy at last." Thrawn was staring at the tactical readout, his expression almost dreamy. "And then . . . let the storm come. We will meet it, and we will break it. The enemy at our gates now, and any others who dare come after."

Thelea found her own spirits carried along much as she could see Parck, Niriz, and Pellaeon were. The notion of a galaxy safe and secure and united against not only the dark enemy, but anything else the Unknown Regions and beyond cared to throw at it, would have seemed like a dream indeed, had anyone else promised it. The Emperor had made a great deal of noise about crushing the Rebellion, after all. When she looked at Aleishia, though, she saw the hesitation. Not doubt, per se, but a strange reluctance, and then she heard the question:

And then what?

Thelea blinked, and felt some of the euphoria fade. Of course merely retaking Imperial Center would be cause for men like Parck or Pellaeon to celebrate. That was, in most respects, home. Even if in many ways they knew her father was understating just how much work there would be left to do once the rebel government was gone–their military would need to be reorganized under Imperial authority, the frontier secured, and someone would need to begin searching in earnest for the homeworld of the dark ones. Her father had maximized the tactical display, and she looked at just how much was still considered Wild Space, and the Unknown Regions, though her father's maps rarely called it such any more. And almost against her will she looked at a blocked-off sector of that region. There was no lettering in Basic to say what it was, but she knew. The borders looked more expansive than she remembered, but it had been a long time since she'd been there. Perhaps after so long in the Empire, home had just shrunk in her memory.

She felt another set of eyes on her, and realized her father was looking at her. The human officers were speaking amongst themselves, clearly focused on the immediate prospect of going home. And Aleishia, too, she had been born on the planet she still called Coruscant, bad memories or no.

What about us, Father? Nirauan counted, in some ways, but it was a fortress. And she, and her father, were among but not of their own kind there. Could he ever really be among equals again? On Imperial Center, though, they would be truly alone, even with the coterie of his most loyal officers. She knew what the Rebels feared–another Emperor, a tyrant ruling for the sake of power. But somehow she couldn't imagine her father settling for an alien throne in the Core, surrounded by a court of politicians with no real puzzles to solve beyond who was backstabbing whom (not that he'd tolerate that for long!) What challenge was there in that? On the other hand, once the borders were secure, the dark ones beaten back or destroyed utterly . . . then what? Wait for more of the nightmares that lurked in the far reaches of the Unknown Regions? Go hunting them?

Her father looked to the map, and she followed his gaze, tracing the unfamiliar expanded boundaries of the Ascendancy. Or will it be our turn, and all the other outcasts and deserters who've come to you, to go home? And would it make any difference for her? Her mother's family was not going to welcome her with open arms. The only place other than the fortress when her father was there that had halfway felt like home was when she'd had Giriad and Rurik, on the Executor . . . .

Thelea closed her eyes. Here, there, Nirauan . . . as long as she was too busy to ponder where she fit in all of this, no longer truly Chiss but never human, either, she would leave those questions to her father. The Grand Admiral had a plan. He always did. There had been no recurrence of the dreams, no more warnings from the Force. They had beaten back the Rebels' ambush, C'baoth was dead and any plans of his for conquest with him, the Emperor's storehouse had been destroyed but it had still yielded up a last treasure for them. The would-be assassin was dead, Thrawn was alive, and he would not make the same mistake again. If the Rebels weren't terrified of him before, they had to think he was supernaturally invincible now.

Thelea smiled to herself. The Force was with them. They were going to win.

It was dark and it was cold, and finally, after another of those eternities between dream and waking, she came to consciousness and realized she was alone. Not alone in a room or a building, or even within whatever kind of settlement this place was.

Alone on a planet.

The Others were gone.

Not just the kind one, the strong one, who had come and gone and finally gone and never come back. Since he-she-it-he had given her as much of his strength as could be spared to reach across incalculable distance, he had gone and never returned. She had been asleep again, or whatever state they kept her in, but some part of her mind had known he was gone and not returning.

Now they had all gone, and she had the terrifying sense they had forgotten she was there. Or had never especially cared that she was there.

The facility had the odd sense of a beast sleeping, and as she stumbled through it she had the dizzy feeling something was examining her, nudging her along, as it was not hostile but it did not think she was the one meant to be here. There were signs as she wandered there had been others here, besides her hosts, beings similar to her with similar needs, but they were gone or in one case, she could see the figure in the crystalline chamber would not wake, even if she could have figured out the controls or the language they were in.

The gentle impetus that had kept her moving finally brought her to what she thought might have been a hangar. Like every other room in the complex there were no doors or magnetic fields she could see, and at first she didn't think there were any ships, either, only empty bays and strange, organically-curved structures a little larger than a clawcraft, but which looked to her eye like one-person pods.

One of them came alive.

That was the only word for it. The Force was strange here, muddled, not at all easy to access, but while the podcraft was not like the one she dimly-remembered bringing her here weeks . . . years . . . she could no longer guess how long she'd been here. That had been, like her exact location and the names of her rescuers, one of the things she had never fully understood. Nor how their ships, like the dark ones', had an energy like a living thing and 'spoke' to her hosts. This one did not speak, but she had a sense it knew her somehow, had been waiting, and as the side irised open she caught a familiar sense in the Force, the remnant of a familiar life energy–the kind one. He had thought of her, even if the others had not.

The inside was, like everything else, not meant for a simple biped, but the controls seemed largely on automatic. She still could not read the unfamiliar script, but like the chamber where they'd kept her, something in the half-alive technology soothed her, made her relax. If the starfield the strange display showed was unfamiliar, well . . . what would he have told her to do? Prioritize. She was not hungry or thirsty, the ship seemed to have some preprogrammed notion of what to do as far as coordinates went. So now, she could rest, think, and try to reach out . . .

No. That was worse. When the kind one of the Others had been there, she could stretch her mind that far despite the odd variance in the Force, there but different. Now, though, no matter how far she tried to reach, while she could feel life and minds, none were familiar. None felt right. None felt like home.

So. She did not need food. She did not need water. She was not in immediate danger that she could sense, and the quiet hum of the ship was soothing. She had no way to tell where it was going, or scan for life signs, so all she could do was rest. The ship's systems sang quietly in the back of her mind as they drifted, keeping her from noticing the passage of time, letting her think, for the first time she could remember since she'd fallen into this strange twilight existence, of finding a way home.