Author's notes: For the last frickin' time, I don't own anything in this story! I write purely for the sake of writing – and because Imara and the others wanted their stories told. I'm actually kinda sad about this being the last chapter. But you want to see how it ends. Go on then, get to reading. Enjoy, and don't forget to review.

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Epilogue

Republic Fleet, two years later...

Risha

"You don't have to do that, you know." Imara stood in the entryway to the engine room, watching with some amusement as her engineer tinkered with something deep inside the hyperdrive. As soon as they had pulled back into the hangar bay on the Republic Fleet, the engineer had set to work fixing something in the engine, claiming it was emitting an odd smell. Despite jokes at Bowdaar's expense, she insisted on doing the repairs anyway. As usual, the older woman was right.

Risha replaced the part, then carefully extracted herself from the machinery. "Humor me, Captain. This is probably one of the last chances I'll get to do things for myself."

"How terrible for you," Imara teased. "Being waited on hand and foot, eating fine meals off golden plates – sounds like torture." A couple years ago, the Dubrillion princess probably would have gotten angry at the jest. After three years and several planets' worth of tough situations, the two women had finally developed something resembling a friendship. Risha had even said as much once, just before they left Corellia.

She wiped her greasy hands on an already greasy cloth in a futile attempt to clean them. "Only if you like having your entire day planned out for you and having to pander to this duke or that earl so you don't start a war."

Imara made a face. "You win. I'm not sure I could ever do that. I'm too young to be queen anyway."

"That's my line!" Risha laughed, reaching for a clean cloth.

"So it is. Well, Your Majesty." Imara sketched a bow, much to Risha's annoyance. "It seems this is where we part ways. For now at least."

"Right," agreed the heiress. "Too bad. I was having fun flying with you. It'll be hard finding someone to get into trouble with – someone I know can help get us back out of trouble."

"I'm sure you'll manage. I'm not the first, and I bet I won't be the last. No worries, I'll pop by every now and again to spice things up."

"I'll be sure to put the guards on alert, just in case anything goes missing," Risha teased.

"Hey, that's not fair! You stole from me first. Besides, if I wanted to take anything of yours, it's not like I'd tell you."

"No, probably not. It doesn't matter anyway, now that you'll be getting a steady paycheck. Maybe you can afford some hairpins or something," she added, studying Imara's hip-length red hair. The smuggler had left it down today, since combat was unlikely. She ran a hand through the lower half of it, wondering why she had decided to grow it out in the first place.

"I just figured it was time for a change. Wanted to try something new, y'know?" Imara spoke to herself as much as to Risha.

"It looks good," the other woman commented. "Maybe when you come visit, you won't look so much like a war refugee."

"I haven't had any complaints yet."

"That's because you've never tried to fit in."

"Why would I want to do something like that?" Imara asked with mock horror. "I mean really. Can you see me in one of those uncomfortable dresses at some fancy party, chatting with some duke who doesn't know which end of a blaster to fire?" They both laughed heartily. Risha clutched her sides, but finally managed to catch her breath enough to respond.

"If I ever get bored at one of those parties, I'll just remember you said that. You might even get an invitation."

"Please, no!" Imara feigned terror, backing away with her hands shielding her face. "Anything but that! I'd rather face a rancor than be stuck in a room with some stuffy nobles."

"In case you've forgotten," Risha chided, "you're talking to one of those 'stuffy nobles'."

"No, I'm talking to my engineer, who is deadly with a rifle and flies halfway across the galaxy to personally rescue a friend. She just happens to be Queen of Dubrillion is all."

Risha scoffed. "Don't remind me. It wasn't exactly my plan to become queen, and definitely not this soon, but I couldn't leave my world to that other creep. Just remember your promise."

"Refresh my memory. I want to make sure I get this right."

Risha rolled her eyes with long-suffering patience. "You're not going to just disappear. I'm going to need a break once in a while, and you're just the person for the job."

"What about Merritt?" Imara's innocent expression only lasted until she met Risha's glare. "What? I thought you liked him!"

"Of course I do. He's sweet. But he's a nobleman to the core. A girl needs to get out and have fun once in a while. Can I count on you for that, Captain?"

"Sure thing, Risha. I'll swing by next time I'm in your neck of the galaxy."

"Good. Now go do something useful before I get sentimental or something."

Laughing, Captain Goodspeed exited the engine room and turned left.

Bowdaar

She passed by the cargo hold and glanced inside. The Mon Calamari had long since gone back to his former employer at Port Nowhere, with her enthusiastic blessings. I never liked that guy anyway. No backbone, and he smelled like brine. She continued down the passageway until she reached the galley, where Bowdaar was considering which seasonings would work best with whatever creature he had killed, skinned, and placed on the counter.

"Whatcha makin'?" Imara began conversationally. Wookies were famous for their appetites, and this one was no exception. Fortunately, all that time spent in the ship's kitchen had turned the former slave and gladiator into an accomplished chef. The captain had no doubt whatever he was preparing would turn out exceptional.

"Guid," Bowdaar answered laconically. Apparently he had not been idle while Imara and Risha were busy combating the Empire's presence on Ilum – again. It seemed even after earning her First Class Bloodstripes and dealing with one of the Empire's most fearsome Sith Lords, the Republic had no intention of letting Imara get back to her own life. She wasn't sure if it was because they objected to her lifestyle or because they really needed the help. Either way, she received holocalls on an almost daily basis asking for her assistance with something or other. Eating rations while she was away on missions was getting really old, so she looked forward to the Wookie's cooking.

"Sounds great," she said honestly. "Should I let you get back to that?"

Bowdaar pulled a couple containers down from a shelf, sniffed the contents, then set them to one side to use later. "You came at a good time. I wanted your opinion on something."

Imara shrugged. "I'm a terrible cook. You know that. Before you came along, the droid usually took care of that. Otherwise Amnon would complain about the smell for days."

They both laughed, although Bowdaar's could have been mistaken for a war cry by anyone not familiar with his species. "I would have liked to meet your teacher. He and your family did well."

"Stop, you're making me blush," she teased. "What about your family? What do you think'll happen when you get back to Kashyyk?"

"That's what I wanted to ask you about. There is nothing left for me on my homeworld. I have been gone for over a century, and even before that my wife and son were dead. Instead, I had hoped to join the Republic military."

"I can see how going home would be painful, but I never took you for the patriotic type, big guy," Imara observed. "Why the military?"

"Combat has become my life, even with you and the others as my family. From what I have seen of the military, they work as a family as well. If yours must separate, I can lend my skills to a military unit. We will fight as brothers against oppression and the Empire."

"Well, since we're basically soldiers-for-hire, as far as the Republic is concerned anyway, that plan makes as much sense as anything else." She put a hand on his arm, having difficulty reaching his shoulder. "I'm sure they'd love to have you. There's nothing like an angry Wookie to scare the stuffing out of the enemy." Bowdaar smiled at the observation, showing all his teeth. Stars, why is it everything about Wookies is scary unless you know them? Imara shook her head and chuckled, as much at the thought as at her previous comment.

Turning back to start carving the meat into chunks, Bowdaar asked, "Are you staying long enough to have dinner with us?"

Imara shook her head again, this time regretfully. "I'd love to, pal, but my shuttle leaves soon, and there're a few things I still gotta take care of.

"I thought you'd say that, but I couldn't remember what time you had to leave. Here." He held out a small container filled with smoked jerky. Imara had lost count of the number of times she had packed away a similar container in her supplies, and how many times the contents of those containers had provided the energy she needed to finish her job. She gratefully accepted the package.

"One for the road, hm? Thanks, big guy. You take care of yourself, okay?"

Bowdaar rumbled something between acknowledgement and a chuckle as Imara left to say goodbye to the rest of her crew.

Akaavi

She bypassed the bridge entirely. She wasn't ready to talk to him yet. Instead, she made her way to the med bay, where the Mandalorian Zabrak, Akaavi Spar, was studying anatomy charts, no doubt trying to figure out more efficient ways to take down an opponent.

Imara knocked on the side of the open hatch, not wanting to take the horned woman by surprise. She had no doubt Akaavi heard her coming already, but there was no point taking the risk with someone who had been training in combat techniques since she was three years old.

"I told you before, Captain, I will not leave your side. Aliit ori'shya tal'din," Akaavi began without looking up.

"Akaavi, Risha is gonna have snipers and assassins after her for years! She's gonna need someone like you to watch her back. Don't Mandalorians look after the whole clan?" The previous night, two women had already discussed the option of sending Akaavi with Risha as a bodyguard, and the former bounty hunter was not at all pleased with the prospect. Akaavi knew she didn't really have a choice in the matter – it was that or strike out on her own again - but she wasn't about to let it go without a fight.

The Zabrak turned to face the human, eyes flashing. Imara resisted the impulse to pull her blaster in defense, knowing the honor-loving woman would not attack an unarmed opponent, and certainly not one to whom she had claimed loyalty. The thought was little comfort for anyone facing an angry Mandalorian.

"Do NOT presume to tell me how clan life works! Yes, family and clan are important, but I gave my word of honor. To you, not to that spoiled princess or her pompous husband. Would you have me break my word?"

"Merritt isn't all that bad. Anyway, would it be breaking your word if I told you 'you can't come with me'? Circumstances change, Akaavi, and we have to change with them." She spread her hands and grinned. "Unless you think you're cut out for the intelligence business?"

The Zabrak snorted a quick laugh, then resumed her usual grim expression. "I would not enjoy working with the SIS. There is no honor in sitting at a desk, or in sneaking around, stabbing people from behind – no offense intended," she added with unusual diplomacy after noting Imara's frown. Traveling with the smuggler had done much to temper the warrior's brash demeanor. Despite their rough start and relatively short time together, Imara was as sorry to part with this friend as she was with the others.

"None taken. If I always fought with honor, I probably wouldn't win near as often. And I kinda have a thing about being killed."

"If I didn't know you better, I would call you a coward for saying that."

Imara's smile grew wider. "Good thing you know me better, then."

Akaavi frowned at the smiling redhead. "Do you ever take anything seriously?"

"Not if I can help it."

"So that's why you're leaving?" The question caught her off guard, erasing her smile. The smuggler raised her eyebrows curiously.

"Now who's fighting dirty?"

"I learned from the best, Goodspeed."

Imara's grin returned. "Glad to be of assistance. For the record, no. I'm leaving because this is where my life is taking me. You of all people should understand that." Akaavi nodded, conceding the point. She was traveling with the very woman she had once been ordered to kill, after all. Imara continued, "Anything else you need before I head out?"

The Mandalorian shook her head, then changed her mind and asked, "When do you leave?"

"In about an hour. There's one thing I gotta deal with first."

"Good hunting, then, Captain." Akaavi went back to her studies. Death and departures were a daily occurrence for Mandalorians, so the Zabrak schooled her emotions back to a warrior's calm as her captain and friend started back out of the room.

"Ret'urcye mhi, burc'ya," Imara said solemnly. Akaavi looked up at her, taken by surprise both by the words and the language in which they had been spoken.

She was silent for a moment, then replied, "You will never cease to amaze me, Captain."

"What? I can learn new things, too, can't I? Did I say it right?" The smuggler's smirk dispersed the more serious atmosphere from a moment before.

"Ret'urcye mhi, burc'ya," Akaavi repeated. "Farewell, my friend." Imara smiled again, then disappeared around the corner.

Corso

She walked more slowly, taking in every plane and angle of the ship which had been her home for over six years. It was going to be hard letting go of Amnon's legacy to her – his last words had been to leave it in her care - but there was no one in the galaxy she trusted better to take care of it. Taking a deep breath, she finally moved up the short corridor to the new captain of the ship.

"Hey farmboy. You about ready?"

"Right behind you, Captain." Apparently he had been waiting for her, because he had already buckled on a toolbelt in place of his usual blaster holsters. A bunch of rags were tucked into the belt, ready for use.

"You don't have to call me that anymore, yknow."

"Old habits die hard." His deliberately casual tone didn't fool her for a second, contrasted as it was by the pain in his dark eyes. She nodded and looked away, intent on beginning the inspection of the ship with as little hassle as possible.

The two of them walked around, on, and under the ship, checking for loose panels, frayed wiring, and anything else which might need repairs. This time, Imara was also coaching Corso on how to take good care of the vessel during her absence of what would likely be several years, at least. He did his best to stay out the woman's path despite his desire to make her stop. This was one decision he just couldn't understand. They worked without speaking for the first ten minutes. When Corso finally broke the silence, he came straight to the heart of the matter. "Tell me again why you have to do this, Cap- Imara."

"If I don't check over my ship, how will I know if anything's wrong? Besides, it's tradition for the captain to do a joint inspection with the person taking charge of the ship. That's what they tell me, anyway." Her glib reply was more than a little frustrating, so his response came out a bit more sharply than he had intended.

"You know what I mean. Why are you leaving?" He barely resisted the urge to slam the side of his fist against the hull. Upsetting her now by damaging her ship (it would be a long time before he could ever consider it to be his) would accomplish nothing.

She glanced at him briefly to acknowledge the question, then continued checking ship components as she considered her answer. After a few minutes, she spoke again.

"I can do more good from inside than I can from out here. Risha and the others have their business taken care of, and Ivory can probably handle mine better than I can. So," Imara stopped to face him directly, "what is there to keep me here?"

The undertone of challenge dropped Corso's heart into his boots. I knew I should have said something back then, he berated himself. Three years had passed since this fiery smuggler landed on Ord Mantell and changed his life forever. By the end of the first year, he had come to the conclusion she wasn't ready for a relationship and decided to give her some space. She had certainly made it clear she wasn't interested in settling down! Is it possible she actually...? No, stop that. A woman like that would have said something... wouldn't she? In the two years since then, he had waited patiently for her to come to him, to flirt with him just one more time so he could tell her... Tell her what? That I want to be the father of her future children instead of their 'uncle'? That's what scared her off the first time.

Imara watched as Corso's mouth opened and closed a few times, half-hoping he would finally tell her what she had been wanting to hear for so long. Just say it, farmboy. This is probably your last chance. Like every time before, he let propriety dictate his actions and closed his mouth over the words which would have changed her mind in a heartbeat. He loved her, that much was painfully obvious, but this idiotic notion he had about how relationships should happen kept him from doing anything about it. Idiotic? Who's the idiot? she chided. Who's the one who turned him down every time until he gave up? Who strung him along like a kite? She sighed inwardly. Best to cut him loose then; let him live his own life. He deserves someone better. She finally broke eye contact, forcing those thoughts to the side to resume her work.

"Now this lever has a tendency to get stuck. When that happens..." Corso listened with half an ear, already fully familiar with the freighter's quirks and nuances, and wished the inspection would take just a little bit longer.

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After a couple long shuttle rides and a speeder from the spaceport, Imara took a deep breath of non-recycled air, then walked quickly from the taxi pad to the east wing of the large building dominating the thickly clouded horizon, doing her best to ignore the panic she felt seeing other people in garb similar to hers. Her new uniform was far from comfortable, and only half of that had anything to do with the fabric or the cut. Still, years as a smuggler had taught her how to mask her emotions when necessary, so she kept her hands swinging steadily at her sides and her face neutral.

She reviewed her datapad again to be sure of the instructions; she was to report to the overseer of the Operations division of Intelligence for a briefing prior to beginning her training. Following the directions provided, she worked her way through the corridors until she reached a particular office – unmarked, of course. There was a man standing behind a desk, his back to her as he studied a display on the wall behind him. There was something familiar about his dark hair and the way he folded his hands behind his back. Imara allowed herself a small smile at her imagination. Those would be some incredible odds. They probably all do that. But she could almost swear she smelled cinnamon... She mentally shook herself and resumed her detached expression as she stopped a half meter from the desk.

"Keeper? Agent Chunhei reporting as instructed." After all the work she had done for the Republic, there was no doubt the agency had a thick file on her, so using her real name was out of the question. She couldn't do anything about her cybernetics, so she didn't bother altering her appearance, hoping instead no one would bother making the connection.

In spite of these precautions, part of her mind was screaming at her to flee, that she was deep in enemy territory and only had a few seconds to make her escape. After six years evading law enforcement from both the Republic and the Empire, the feeling was only natural. The chance to run and the voice urging her to do so both vanished as soon as the man turned to acknowledge her. She only barely managed to maintain her calm visage when she recognized his face – one which had hardly changed at all in the two years since she had last seen him.

A smile warmed Keeper's features, and he extended his arms in greeting. "Welcome to Imperial Intelligence Headquarters, my dear. I'm so glad you were finally able to make it."

Despite the tumbling exercises her stomach was doing, Imara returned the smile and assumed her customary scoundrel's posture – arms crossed and weight over her left leg. "What was I supposed to do, Joseph? This place is a mess, and you need my help to fix it. So where do we start?"

Summers' smile widened further as he began the briefing, instructing the newest Imperial Agent in their shared purpose and the expectations for her new life.

~FIN~

Translations (courtesy of starwars dot wikia dot com / wiki/Mandoa):

Aliit ori'shya tal'din – Family is more than bloodline.

Ret'urcye mhi – Goodbye. Literally, "Maybe we'll meet again"

burc'ya - friend

AN: Thanks for reading this all the way through to the end. I'm really glad these two let me ride along with them, seeing what they saw and hearing what they heard, because it's been one helluva ride.

My apologies to the Corso-fans. I hope this alternate ending is an acceptable substitute.

If you want to know more about Cipher Agent Joseph Summers, send a PM to FrictionX42 (and cc it to me, so I can beat him over the head for a year or two until it's finally written). I'm sorry to say I won't be writing about Imara's future as an agent – OpSec and all that – but if there's anything you want to know about her past, feel free to ask. I'm not opposed to the idea of writing "deleted scenes", either. No promises, but I will at least take your suggestions into consideration. After all, why bother posting stories here if not for people like you reading them? Thanks again, and good fortunes!

- Laryn Chillbreeze