Star Wars: Rebels: Truth in Legends

Disclaimer: Star Wars Rebels and all Star Wars characters and Lore are not my property, as they are all owned by Lucasfilm and the Walt Disney Company.

A/N: Welcome back to all my faithful readers, and to those of you joining us for the first time, welcome! Though, for the latter I highly recommend you read the first five stories in this series, first.

It took some time with plenty of unexpected delays, but at long last this latest installment has begun. As before, familiar favorites will return and new faces will debut, Sabezra will be front and center, the Expanded Universe or Legends will be prominent, and this time, in a search for the truth set to the backdrop of the Galactic Civil War, dark secrets with resounding implications for the entire saga will be revealed.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1: A Matter of Honor

It was an uncertain time for the Alliance to Restore the Republic, aka the Rebellion. In the months following their rout from their base on Hoth and the crucial campaign on Ryloth, the galaxy's would-be liberators found themselves kept on the defensive by the armed forces of the Galactic Empire, the latter now emboldened by their recent victories and determined to stamp out the flames of rebellion. The Alliance's allies, the Mandalorian Clans and the Separatist Remnant had been fought to a stalemate, leaving their own futures uncertain as well. Compounding matters for the Rebels was the loss of two crucial officers of theirs, Captain Han Solo and Jedi Commander Kanan Jarrus, the former of whom was imprisoned in carbonite and at the mercy of the Hutt Cartel, and the latter MIA and presumed deceased.

Few in the Rebellion were hit as hard by this turn of events than those closest to Jarrus, namely his wife General Hera Syndulla and his former apprentice, Jedi Knight Ezra Bridger, the latter of whom refuses to give up hope and accept his mentor and father figure is in fact dead despite all evidence to the contrary. Without the approval of his superior officers, or knowledge of anyone other than himself and a certain ancient assassin droid he brought with him, the former street orphan from Lothal has set up a rendezvous with a contact who may have some information relevant in his desperate yet determined search.

Port Outland Station had stood within the reaches of deep space inside the Koradian Sector of the Outer Rim for decades. The seedy interstellar shadowport was long a haven for unsavory and mysterious characters near and far, coming from across the Galaxy to either get lost or find someone who had already gotten lost. It was into this mishmash of lawless debauchery that Ezra Bridger had come, taking his ship the Starbird and his faithful, sometimes overzealous mechanized ally HK-47 along with him.

"Observation: This facility clearly has an abundance of meatbags with dangerous and hostile intentions, master. Analysis: I think we will enjoy ourselves quite well here. I know I will," the aforementioned ancient assassin droid remarked enthusiastically as he walked along beside his master.

"Of course you will," said master and native of Lothal retorted with a roll of his eyes, maintaining his stride as they continued to their destination.

After securing clearance for a landing bay in the outer docking ring of the station, thankfully and predictably without too many questions asked, the duo had made their way over to the entertainment district closer to the central hub. Their destination, The Drunken Gundark, just one of the plethora of seedy dive bars and cantinas on the station, run down, dimly lit, and entrance illuminated only by a simple yet distinctive neon sign. Along the way they passed a myriad of Port Outland Station's typical clientele, Human and Alien underworld patrons of most every kind. Smugglers, pirates, mercenaries, gangsters, and so on. A few labor, protocol, and astromech droids also passed, all of them either being part of the station's own personnel, couriers for some black market venture, or just wayward wanderers with nowhere else to be.

"This is the place, HK," Ezra announced in a hushed tone once the sign came into view around the corner. "Our contact was very specific; I'm to meet them alone. You stand watch out here and make sure nobody interferes with this meeting. It took months to get this lead and I doubt we'll get another anytime soon, so be vigilant."

"Statement: Of course, master. I obey and await your return. Query: Who exactly are you expecting to interfere with your present task?"

"I don't know, luck favors the prepared," the Jedi Knight replied with a shrug as he turned to enter the drinking establishment.

"Agreement: I concur, master. I knew there was a reason I follow you around."

Upon entering the seedy dive bar, Ezra causally stepped to the side to avoid looking too conspicuous, and took a moment to look around. The interior of the establishment was dimly lit, the air filled with the scent of booze and t'bac smoke. It also wasn't quiet by any means. The two most prominent sounds were those of a jukebox currently set on a station playing the latest hits from Hutt Space, and the rabble of the numerous patrons scattered about at the bar, tables, and booths along the far walls at either side. It wasn't long before Ezra spotted his contact, seated at a booth in the back right corner to the left of the bar. Carefully navigating his way through the patrons, many of whom were too drunk to even notice him, the Jedi Knight made his way over to the Kaleesh warrior expecting him, who quickly picked up on his approach and regarded him with a nod.

"Sharp senses, this one," Ezra noted mentally as he closed the distance, standing over the alien mercenary, who silently gestured for him to take a seat.

"Ezra Bridger, I presume?" the Kaleesh inquired in a deep, gruff voice as the Jedi in question settled into the opposite side of the booth.

"The one and only," Ezra answered cheekily, but his self-amused expression faded when the warrior's own remained stoic and impassive. At least, as far as the Rebel could tell; like most of his kin, this Kaleesh wore a skull mask with intricate war paint over his face. The mask and his head were topped with the traditional head wraps of his people, and similar trappings adorned his hands and feet. The rest of him was encased in a gunmetal grey suit of durasteel body armor, decorated heavily with more war paint, and the pauldrons and kneeplates covered in an additional layer of what was clearly bone armor. A traditional Kaleesh vibrosword and an upgraded Baktoid Industries Type 1.5 blaster rifle were both sheathed and holstered on his back.

He was Qashi Kon Sheelal, one of the few Kaleesh to journey off his homeworld following the Clone Wars. Distrustful of outsiders ever since the Yamari invasion and the Republic occupation in the years leading up to the galaxy-wide conflict, these days the Kaleesh warrior clans chose to mostly keep to themselves. Ezra himself didn't have the full story, but from what he understood, the Jedi were heavily involved in the Republic's occupation of Kalee, and he was duly warned by Leia who heard the stories herself from her late adoptive father years prior: Kaleesh warriors typically don't forget and forgive easily.

"Still, he's a mercenary who's accepted jobs with the Rebellion for a while now. Surely he knows by now the Rebellion has welcomed Jedi into its ranks. That should count for something, right?" Ezra rationalized, really hoping to avoid being judged by the actions of the Jedi who came before him. The memories of his weeks on Dxun with the Mandalorians, and the fact they weren't exactly welcoming at first, were still fresh in his memory.

"Should we order some drinks, or just get down to business?" Ezra asked casually, trying to break the ice. Qashi simply shook his head.

"I don't intend to linger here long, and neither should you. If any of these scum knew who you are, they'd be piling on you to collect the price the Imperials put on your head in an instant," the warrior kept his voice down as to avoid drawing undue attention with his words. Ezra replied in a like manner.

"While I certainly appreciate your discretion, why aren't you interested in collecting the bounty yourself? You were in the Bounty Hunter's Guild for a time, according to what the Rebellion has on you at any rate."

"So you did your homework on me," Qashi remarked, pausing before continuing. It wasn't a question. "I'm the one who reached out to you as I recall. It would go against the code of my people to invite you here in good faith only to go back on my word once you arrived. And besides, I swore off Imperial contracts when I chose this life years ago."

Ezra arched a brow at that last sentence.

"You're saying you'd never work for the Empire, no matter how much they agreed to pay you?"

"Yep," Qashi answered instantly, "same with the Hutts, Black Sun, the Zann Consortium, and anyone else who lives without honor. I learned a long time ago that to serve those who lack honor is to sacrifice your own, and some things are more important than money. Your Rebel Alliance may not offer the most lucrative contracts, but it's enough to put fuel in my ship and food in my stomach, and that's enough for me."

"And the fact that I'm a Jedi doesn't change that?" Ezra inquired softly, wary to avoid anyone else hearing.

"I have no particular love for your kind or your order, or what's left of it anyway, but the Jedi who brought misery, suffering, and death to my family and my people are all dead now. Their sins were great, but theirs alone. I prefer to judge an individual by their own actions, and you've done nothing to warrant my ire, yet."

"If that's your justification for agreeing to meet with me, I'll take it," the Jedi Knight affirmed earnestly. "Now, to business, you said you had information regarding my master?" Ezra leaned forward with one elbow on the table, eager to get to the heart of the matter at hand.

"I never said it was your master," Qashi quickly corrected, leaning back in his seat, his four-fingered hands briefly coming into view as he crossed his arms in the process. "I said I was recently in contact with the same cult involved in the recent fiasco on Ryloth that seemingly killed Commmander Jarrus."

Ezra quirked another brow.

"Seemingly...?"

"I'll level with you, Jedi," Qashi huffed, silently hoping the Jedi reputation of containing their emotions wasn't lost on this one. "What I have for you is only secondhand information."

"WHAT?!" The former street orphan from Lothal very nearly jumped out of his seat, his eyes wide with indignation and his tone sharp with outrage. The Kaleesh warrior quickly raised one of his fingers to make a quieting gesture in front of the lower half of his mask which covered his lips. Ezra spared a brief glance around. His outburst had attracted more than a couple pairs of eyes and ears in their direction. Settling back down and calming his nerves, the Jedi Knight waited a couple minutes for everyone to return to their business, Qashi paying both them and him no heed for the duration. Finally, once he was certain they were safe enough, the veteran mercenary elaborated:

"Unlike the Empire or the Hutts, the Great Dragon Society doesn't exactly advertise what they're all about all over the galaxy. I know they've done some good work on downtrodden worlds in the Mid and Outer Rims, and they seemed honorable enough. So, I took a few jobs for them awhile back, mostly typical mercenary work like armed enforcement or escort duty. The last contract I signed on to was to transport some old Jedi artifacts smuggled off Coruscant in a carbonite slab on my ship, from one pickup point in deep space within the Core Worlds, to a drop-off point also in deep space out on the Far Rim," the Kaleesh warrior paused for a moment, gauging Ezra's reaction before continuing. Thankfully the gligkort was keeping his mouth shut this time. "One of the cultists at the drop off mentioned that the Society had recently dealt with a Jedi on Ryloth. Apparently there was a lightsaber duel involving the cult leader and everythifng."

"You're sure it was a lightsaber duel this person was describing?" Ezra inquired further, and Qashi merely rolled his eyes before affirming.

"Yes, I'm sure. I know those things are hard to mistake once you've seen the real deal. I've fought more than one Jedi before," he admitted, straightforward.

"Okay…" Ezra accepted the answer without prying on it further, "But, do you have any more specifics? Like, coordinates for those meeting locations in deep space?"

"Of course, and I've already transmitted them to your ship, but I doubt they will do you any good."

"Why not?"

"Because the Society never uses the same sets of rendezvous coordinates twice."

A moment of silence passed, the Kaleesh warrior not needing the Force to sense this Jedi sitting across from him was losing his patience. He didn't really care.

"So what you're telling me is, you may or may not have seen my master, and I have no means to find out for myself?" Ezra narrowed his eyes, desperation and exasperation seeping onto his face.

"I didn't say that, either," Qashi corrected again, "While I dont make a habit of asking my employers too many questions, I do know the Society primarily operates out of Nar Shaddaa. One of their followers mentioned to me a place there called the Strell House. Apparently it's a particular location of some significance to the Society."

"One single house on a city-moon isn't exactly narrowing things down, but it's a start. Do you have any more information on this building other than that?" A faint glimmer of hope seemed to return to the young Jedi's eyes, the Kaleesh noted.

"I could only guess. I've never spent longer on the surface of the so-called Smuggler's Moon than I need to."

"Well, I know some of my compatriots in the Rebellion lived on Nar Shaddaa before signing up. Perhaps they would have more information," Ezra deduced, chin lowered against his thumb and index finger as he pondered.

"There you go. Now, if there's nothing else you have to ask, I think this little meeting is concluded. I'll be on my way," Qashi moved to stand up, but Ezra did have a couple more questions.

"Wait, what would these cultists want with old Jedi artifacts, anyway?"

"You're the Jedi, here, you tell me," Qashi shrugged as he stood. "The Society's higher ups can use the Force, that much you and I both know by now. Besides, being into a bunch of ancient mystical stuff seems to be standard for most cults."

"'Ancient mystical stuff...', that's definitely one way to put it," Ezra couldnt help but muse in his mind. He was briefly reminded of the Force visions he'd been having over the last few months. It seemed they were increasing in frequency more and more as time went on. He was seeing up to two or three a week in his sleep these days. Most featured the same mysterious man from before, but some others were about Revan, the ancient Jedi Mand'alor suggested he shared some connection too. Ezra had taken it upon himself to do more research on the Prodigal Knight, and the prospect admittedly unnerved him, to say the least. The young Jedi quickly decided to move onto his final question.

"Also, what do I owe you for this information?"

"Nothing," was the Kaleesh warrior's immediate answer, "I told you, this is a matter of honor. I came here because I didn't feel right keeping this to myself, not to make a profit. Besides, I'm pretty sure I can find at least one local here who is isn't a complete scumsucker and needs a job done."

"I see. Well, thank you then," Ezra was briefly at a loss for words. He still felt relatively uneasy around the warrior, but found it more difficult to outright distrust him as well. Qashi inquired one last curiosity of his own, as the thought came to him.

"You know, I read up on what the Rebels have on you as well, Jedi. Your life-mate learned the ways of the blade from your master as well, as I recall. I was at least partially expecting to meet both of you here. Did she not travel with you?"

The mere mention of Sabine Wren, his tough, beautiful, kind, free-spirited wife whom he respected and loved deeply, caused Ezra's face to briefly heat up.

"Damnit, after all this time, just hearing her name does this do me," Ezra cursed himself for his involuntary reaction, his heart aflutter. Qashi picked up on this, but to the young Jedi's relief, chose to ignore it. Then he remembered he had a question to answer.

"Um… no, no she didn't. She doesn't even know I'm out here, to be honest."

Now it was Kaleesh's turn to quirk a brow, under his mask.

"Why not? She's a Mandalorian, isn't she? Surely you're not concerned she can't handle herself out here and wherever your journey takes you next."

"It's not that. It's just, this is something I have to do for myself. It wouldn't be fair to drag her into my troubles. It's because I love her that I had to leave her behind this time, you know what I mean?" If Ezra was hoping for reassurance for this mindset, he did so in vain.

"Oh, I know what you mean. I also know that because she loves you, she's going to find you and kick your ass. Just letting you know right now."

"Whatever," Ezra dismissed the notion as they both stood to leave, but Qashi left him with one important piece of advice.

"Women find out everything, Jedi. Regardless, I wish you well in your search."

"Safe journeys to you as well," the Jedi Knight bowed in a respectful farewell, and the Kaleesh warrior returned the gesture. At that moment, the Ishi Tib bartender called out over the music and noise of the patrons.

"Hey, if that droid out front belongs to anyone here, I suggest you get out front and deal with it right now!"

"Uh-oh," Ezra didn't need to be told twice.

The scene outside the entrance to The Drunken Gundark was that of a one-sided slaughter. At the rate he was firing, HK-47 appeared to be on the verge of overheating his blaster rifle. Of course, the ancient assassin droid had calculated how many ammo clips he could spend in rapid succession while maximizing the efficiency of every kill. By the time his Jedi compatriot and the Kaleesh warrior arrived outside, he had already cut down the last organic in his sights as they tried desperately to scramble away.

"HK, what the kark are you doing?!" Ezra demanded, his face a mixture of panic, horror, and indignation.

"So Jedi do know how to swear. Heh," was Qashi's bemused remark. Ezra merely glared at him in response, and he shrugged it off. A plethora of corpses, at least over a couple dozen, were strewn about the walkway all around them, mainly Klatooinian, Nikto, and Weequay. Many of the bodies still had blasters and vibroknives clutched tightly in their death grips.

"Answer me, droid! I expect an answer for this senseless barbarity!" the Rebel hero was adamant.

"Retort: That hurts, master. This is my life you are talking about!" HK responded with his own indignation. The compassion of certain organics never failed to irritate and confound him. Ezra looked about ready to fling the mechanized killer into a building via the Force. Qashi decided to interject, having silently analyzed the collection of dead around them.

"I wouldn't be too upset were I you, Jedi. I recognize these scum. Gangsters, all of them. This particularly nasty group has been waging a street war with their rivals for months, and by the look of things, their numbers have just been thinned enough to leave any survivors without any hope to keep up the fight. If anything, your droid here has made the station a very slightly better place."

"Agreement: See, master? Your bone-faced associate gets it."

"We'll discuss this later," Ezra warned before shifting his gaze back to Qashi. "You know as well as I that any reprieve people here get from this is temporary. The rival gang will take over and pick up right where they left off."

"Perhaps," the veteran mercenary conceded, "But one gang running the show is better than two or more killing each another and anyone else in the wrong place at the wrong time. Criminals with authority tend to keep those without in line, to some degree anyway."

"Suggestion: I would be happy to continue slaughtering every last malcontent meatbag aboard this station until none are left alive. Perhaps I could jettison their bodies out of the airlocks as a warning to new arrivals, before killing those new arrivals anyway."

"I'm gonna go with 'no,'" Ezra drolled out, clearly not amused. Qashi turned to leave, offering his Rebel allies one last piece of advice.

"Well as delightful as this has been, I'm heading out before station authority shows up. Take my word for it, they're only slightly better than the gangs, and they have greater numbers."

Once again, Ezra didn't need to be told twice. He quickly departed with his faithful and overzealous droid in tow.

Across the stars on "The Smuggler's Moon" of Evocar, Nar Shaddaa, deep within the hidden base behind Meridian Hall in the old industrial sector, Antiochus Veran, leader of the Great Dragon Society, couldn't help by try and stifle a shudder that ran through him as he glanced at the door leading to the meeting room on his right as he walked by. The memory of what had transpired inside not too long ago was fresh in his mind.

The lifelong devotee of the Great Dragon felt the air leave his lungs when his back slammed into the metal wall of the conference room, his body thrown and held aloft telekinetically via the Force. Darth Novos, the Speaker, liaison to his living god, held his hand out to keep the former pinned. Despite his obvious internal panic at this predicament, somewhere in the back of his mind, Antiochus knew it would be futile to try and break free. The Dark Lord standing just a few feet away across the table had powers and knowledge of the Force far beyond any he'd ever seen, both via hologram and in person. Even Lelani, his faithful second-in-command, seemed pinned to her seat, helpless to do anything but watch. He could sense her eyes wide with fear behind her own mask. She might not even intervene even if she could, and he couldn't blame her at all. With Novos, the longtime cult leader couldn't sense anything but a cold, building, barely-restrained rage coupled with a genuine apathy, the latter directed to what Antiochus could only presume was his own life. Mustering what nerve and oxygen he could, the Grand Master choked out his plea.

"S-Speaker… please! I-!"

"Not only did your blunder reveal our existence to the Jedi, the Rebellion, and the False Imperials, you destroyed a site of great cultural significance and archeological study during your little escapade on Ryloth," Novos spoke simply, darkly, with his nightmare-inducing, seemingly disembodied voice. "Our mutual superior, the one true lord and master of all things, does not take kindly to either. You know as well as I how much he values discretion and treasures history."

"I… beg you!" Antiochus gagged, feeling the pressure on his chest increasing. At this rate, his entire form would be crushed against the wall, soon. "I-I can make t-this right! One more… chance! Please!"

Novos said nothing for what seemed like the longest stretch of time in the memory of the Grand Master, only applying more and more pressure. Antiochus could swear he felt his ribcage begin to crack. Finally, at the last possible second before any serious injury could occur, the Dark Lord pulled his hand away and allowed the Grand Master to fall and crumble onto the cold floor below. As the Grand Master coughed violently and finally got much-needed oxygen into his lungs, the Dark Lord spoke with finality.

"Were it up to me, you would be dying a very slow, painful, excruciating death right now. However, my master has seen fit to grant you one last chance. One last chance, and that is all."

"That is all I need!" Antiochus clamored, relieved and jubilant even as he remained on his hands and knees, his strength slow to return. "Oh, praise the Great Dragon! His power and wisdom are rivaled only by his graciousness! I will make this right, and see to it nothing compromises his grand design!"

"I would certainly hope so. If I have to come back here again, I assure you, this discussion won't be repeated."

Without further ado and not waiting for the cult leader to pull himself up off the floor, Darth Novos turned and left, almost gliding out of the room as if he were a phantom. The cold chill that permeated the room with his presence departed with him, to the relief of both its remaining occupants.

The lifelong devotee of the Great Dragon had no desire to be paid another visit from the Speaker ever again, to put it simply. The Rebels and their Jedi champions had proven resilient, more than expected. Silently, Antiochus cursed Gobi, who had been one of the Society's most prominent members among the Twi'lek people until his death. True, being in a fledgling resistance movement meant one had to travel lightly, but surely the man could've found somewhere more secure to store his medallion, that which signified his allegiance and faith to all others of the Society. If only the False Imperials had crushed Cham Syndulla and his forlorn uprising sooner. None of this would be happening. Every last one of the devoted is supposed to take their secrets with them to the grave. The unbelievers never deserved to learn as much as they already have.

As he arrived at the double doors to the war room where his lieutenants awaited his arrival, the Grand Master steeled himself. Now was not the time for regrets and thoughts of what could have been. It was time to make things the way they were supposed to be, once again.

"This upstart Jedi orphan will not undo millennia of work. I will see to that personally."

While the leaders of the Great Dragon Society plotted their next move out of sight and safely away from prying eyes, elsewhere in the Galaxy, things weren't so calm.

Rivalries could be quite curious things. It's a given that two opponents will seek to outdo one another, to prove their superiority to the other, and come out on top while leaving the other in the dust. However, when two rivals prove themselves to each other, a sense of respect and admiration can also work its way to the surface. A worthy opponent, one you both dread and look forward to clashing with time and time again.

Above the Mid Rim world of Aviles Prime, the Imperial 7th Fleet and the bulk of the Separatist Armada, commanded by Grand Admiral Thrawn and Admiral Ralon Zalveniad respectively, were engaged in yet another battle, their numbers and firepower nearly even. Capital ships exchanged turbolaser fire as starfighters entangled in dogfights around and between them. From where he stood on the bridge of his flagship, the Intrepid, the Arkanian naval officer was conversing with his rival on the state of the battle. While his staff continued monitoring and directing his fleet's efforts, Zalveniad listened intently to Thrawn, knowing the longer he kept the Chiss' attention away from the action, the better chance his own ships had to come out of this intact.

"If you surrender now, I may be able to persuade the Emperor to show you mercy. It would almost be a shame to kill you now, my dear adversary," Thrawn appealed, knowing his offer was a pretty big 'if.'

"I think you and I both know capture by your empire really means a death sentence in slow motion," Zalveniad retorted. "Besides, based on how things are going so far, I believe it would be premature of you to count us out just yet."

"True, you've managed to destroy and cripple a handful of my frigates and star destroyers, but it's not like you've progressed unscathed either," Thrawn countered, "And I feel it only fair to warn you that the entirety of the 11th Fleet is inbound, due to arrive in a matter of minutes. You may have thought keeping my attention away from the battle would work in your favor, but few things can compensate for overwhelming numbers."

The Arkanian admiral's remaining organic eye widened as the realization sunk in. It quickly faded, however. He was only partially surprised, in hindsight.

"Saw through that, did you?" Zalveniad chuckled in spite of himself. The Chiss admiral couldn't resist a smirk as he replied.

"Just as you saw through my decoy maneuver at the start of this battle. I would've had a direct line of fire to your flagship had you not," Thrawn recalled earnestly.

With a silent nod to one of the B-1 droids looking up at him from a control station, Zalveniad gave the order to retreat. He bid his adversary a courteous farewell.

"As much as I enjoy our conversations, I'm afraid it is time I make my exit, I hope you understand."

"I do, but I also hope you know one of these days we won't have the option of falling back. Like any fine piece of art, our stalemate cannot continue without an end. It will be broken, and when it is, only one of us can walk away," Thrawn warned with absolute certainty in his voice.

"I am aware, and I have a feeling that day will come sooner than we may think."

Thrawn ordered his fleet to cease fire as Zalveniad had his ships turn away before jumping to hyperspace. It would be the last time the two would depart with their forces on equal terms.

With the exception of multiple outlying outposts in the Outer and Far Rims, Dubrillion being the most notable example, the Rebellion currently lacked a permanent planetary base. The Rebel fleet was almost constantly on the move, stretching every last drop of fuel it acquired to the absolute maximum. The flotilla of various classes of capital ships, frigates, corvettes, and transports frequently came to rest in orbit on unpopulated planetoids in deep space while waiting on new fuel shipments, and found itself running on fumes almost just as much. One thing was clear, the Rebels would need to embark on a new offensive, one that would make lasting impact, and soon. Otherwise, the Galactic Civil War would be over and the fight to be free a lost cause, a prospect all personnel among their ranks dreaded.

With the complete commitment of the Mon Calamari people to their cause, the Rebellion did finally regain the naval forces their fleet lost at Scarif and Evocar three years prior, with superior firepower to boot. Truthfully, the Rebel Navy was the strongest it had ever been, but it was still just one fleet, a far cry from the numbers the Imperial Navy had at their disposal. Still, the Mon Cal Star Cruisers were nothing to scoff at. Their offensive capabilities nearly matched those of Imperial II Star Destroyers.

The largest of the Mon Cal cruisers to join the Rebel Fleet after the evacuation of Hoth had been Home One, the new flagship of recently-promoted Admiral Gial Ackbar and the entirety of the Rebel Fleet as well. As such, it became a space-going headquarters for the Rebellion, the closest thing they had to a permanent base. It was from here that the Rebel leaders lodged and planned their next move in the increasingly dire war with the Galactic Empire. It was also, in one of the ship's docking bays, where Ezra chose to bring his vessel in for landing.

"Your clearance code checks out. Welcome home, Starbird," one of the bridge staff informed the young Jedi over the comm.

"Thank you Home One, it's good to be back, as always," Ezra replied, not intending to stay long. He rarely did these days.

The moment the Starbird touched down in the hangar, Ezra was off, leaping from the entryway even before the boarding ramp fully extended to the floor. HK-47 followed but seconds later. In a run-walk, with his purpose and destination clear, he made his way up to the war room with the droid in tow, knowing Minister Mon Mothma, Princess Leia Organa, and Admiral Gial Ackbar were typically there to talk strategy at this time of every standard rotation.

When the Jedi and the assassin droid arrived at the war room minutes later, they found the three Rebel leaders present as expected. The admiral, the minister, and the princess all stood in front of the large holotable in the center of the chamber, the latter two discussing their plans with the former as he worked on a datapad held in his hands, no doubt cataloguing and running the numbers, so to speak. Ezra cleared his throat and walked over.

"Pardon the intrusion…" he said as he neared where they stood.

The three said nothing, but Minister Mothma shared a silent nod with Princess Organa, who returned the gesture, unspoken words passing between them. Without wasting another moment, Leia left the group and strode past Ezra, motioning for him to follow her. With a curious brow arched in slight confusion, the young Jedi followed, as did HK. Once they were outside the door and back in the corridor through which Ezra and the droid had come, she spoke.

"Commander Bridger, the Minister has grown tired of you interrupting these meetings. This is official business that concerns the entirety of the Alliance. We can't just drop everything for you every time you think you have a lead on the whereabouts of a dead-"

"He's alive!" Ezra interrupted, sharply and defiantly. Leia nearly flinched at the outburst, but to her credit stood her ground. Shaking her head with a sigh, she continued.

"Believe me, Ezra, I know what it feels like to lose people close to you, people you've respected and looked to for guidance. My adoptive parents on Alderaan, Master Kenobi, and plenty of others…," she paused for a moment, casting her gaze downwards in memory, and he waited quietly and patiently, sympathetic, "But, you have to understand, fuel is a precious, increasingly rare resource for the fleet right now. The Minister has made it clear: we can't afford to keep giving you cells for your personal starship when you're not going on missions critical for the Rebellion."

"But, your highness," the young Jedi pleaded, "I have a pair of new coordinates and other new intel to act on! I can't let up now, we may be this close to finding Kanan!" using his right thumb and index finger, he displayed the typical 'close' gesture for emphasis.

"Yes, Qashi sent us the same dual sets of coordinates, but without more information we can't possibly act on-"

"I'll act on it!" Ezra interrupted again, adamant. "Please, princess, I have to do this. Not just for myself, but for Hera, Sabine, Luke, and the rest of the Rebellion as well. If there's even the slightest chance we can get a Jedi of Kanan's caliber back into our ranks, we have to take it!"

Several long moments passed in silence. As Ezra's pleading eyes kept boring into hers, eventually Leia felt her own resolve, that to follow orders for the good of the Rebellion, crumble. With another heavy sigh, she acquiesced. It wasn't like this young man was the only one here set to embark on a dangerous mission to rescue someone they cared about.

"Okay, fine. I really shouldn't be telling you this, but…" the Alderaanian noblewoman paused for a moment, briefly looking over her shoulder before continuing, "Hera mentioned that the cult leader referred to Nanthema during the battle at Zylema Pinnacle. I did some checking, and while it took me some time as records of the planet are remarkably scarce, I have confirmed it's in the Chorlian Sector, close to that second set of coordinates our mercenary friend provided. I cannot say if the two are related, but it may be your best chance at a new lead in your search."

After taking another moment to absorb the information, the Lothalian champion nodded, both in affirmation and appreciation.

"Thank you, your highness. I know you are taking considerable risk by telling me this."

"You didn't hear it from me, Ezra, and I must insist you go see Sabine before you head out again," Leia's voice took on a familiarly commanding tone as she finished. It wasn't a request, even though it was worded as such. She arched a brow in response to Ezra's widening eyes.

"She wasn't due back for another few days…" he almost stammered, surprise and nervousness briefly flashing in his eyes before he caught both.

"The strike team she was sent to reinforce completed their objective ahead of schedule," the princess' tone didn't let up as she elaborated further, "She was surprised to learn you weren't here when she returned a few hours ago. I told her you would explain things to her, so if I were you, I'd get right on that."

"Right," Ezra sighed, guilt creeping into his own voice, "I'll take care of it right now. Come on, HK," he motioned for the mechanized killer to follow him as he turned to leave.

"Observant Clarification: If your present endeavor will lead to more meatbag drama as I've calculated, master, I will simply wait for you on the ship."

A/N: And there you have it. And by the way, Happy Thanksgiving everyone. :)

As always, a most sincere thank you to everyone of you for taking the time to read my work, as well as my longtime beta reader Wikked Grin, who is by no exaggeration an exceptional writer in his own right. Until the next time, safe journeys to you all.

Update: After some unfortunate and very unexpected delays, I can confirm that this story will continue in March, 2019.