While Regis went through the closet in the room he had chosen, Artoo rolled past. A minute later, after gathering up a few decent shirts he had picked out, he turned and noticed Artoo watching him before quickly rolling away once again.

“Artoo!” said Regis. “Come on in.”

Regis kept his gaze fixed on the shirts but listened as Artoo rolled into the room. Artoo rolled past his bed, but said nothing. Regis could feel the droid’s gaze moving around the room, more like an awkward child than a robot.

“How is Luke holding up?” said Regis.

Artoo beeped a tentative affirmation.

“He says he’s okay?” said Regis, sounding unconvinced. He chose a shirt that he could sleep in, then tossed the others on top of a dresser. “Has he eaten anything?”

Artoo gave a subdued chirp.

“He’s not doing so good, then. I’ve never seen him like this.”

Without looking at him, Regis felt the droid’s gaze fixing on him while he changed into some decent sleepwear.

“You like this ship, Artoo? The beds are soft, and there’s snacks all over the place. Not that you’re into that stuff. Looks like Chewie got you cleaned up, at least.”

Artoo said nothing, but sat in silence. Regis began to wonder if he had gone into standby mode, but the droid suddenly bleated out a question. Regis felt uncomfortable. Sitting on his bed, he finally looked at the little astromech droid.

“No, Artoo,” he said. “I’m not mad at you.”

Artoo trilled hesitantly.

Regis laughed despite his exhaustion. “No, little buddy. I’m serious. Yeah, you lied to me. You made it seem like you were working for an Imperial warlord, and I thought I was on a mission to save the Empire… not save the guy who had something to do with the death of Lord Vader and the Emperor.”

Artoo beeped in a flurry of tones but Regis waved dismissively.

“No, no, I get it. You think I’ve never stretched the truth to finish a mission? To get a little effort out of someone? Look, buddy. Maybe I’ve been giving you the cold shoulder, but the truth is, I’m glad this happened. Glad that I could finally do something. Maybe it’s not going down like I always imagined it might, or hoped it would. But there’s people in power losing sleep because of me. Because of us. And that’s… it’s really…”

Regis sighed and shook his head, unable to articulate the strange feeling he had lived with during this unexpected journey. In some ways, it was endlessly frustrating, a complete disruption of the miserable but predictable routine he had developed on Tatooine. But in other ways, he was happier than he had any right to be.

Artoo beeped inquisitively. Regis frowned, then quickly rose and shut the door to his room.

“No, Artoo. Birdy’s not dangerous. We haven’t exactly thrown him a welcoming party, but I’d trust him with my life.”

Eager to get some rest, Regis returned to his bed and sat down heavily. Artoo beeped yet again, and Regis winced, partly from the soreness in his ribs, but mostly because of the droid’s insistence.

“Boy, you won’t let anything go, will you?” he said. “We’re not afraid of Birdy, Artoo, it’s just… he says what the rest of us are thinking, and that sets us on edge. Most of us, we keep our cards close to the table. But Birdy? Not his style. But I…”

Artoo interrupted with a series of beeps, but Regis shook his head.

“No, Artoo. You don’t get it. He’s not going to rat us out to Viddu. Or to anyone else, for that matter. Birdy is… look, you’re not going to understand a guy like him. You’re a droid. You try to help out however you can. And so does Birdy, I suppose. But there’s something else, something that… it’s…”

Regis looked Artoo up and down, then sighed.

“Birdy needs to hurt bad people. He doesn’t want to just solve problems. He wants to make the bad guys suffer. And I… I get that. Because I’m the same way. And that’s why I don’t like Lando’s plan.”

Artoo rotated slowly, then stopped. He chirped one long, inquisitive note. Regis shook his head.

“I’m glad Lando helped us out. He seems like a decent guy, despite his background. And I’m glad he’s got some kind of plan. I should be grateful…” Again Regis shook his head, and stared off into the distance. He felt the heavy weight in his chest turning, glaring at him like an animal disturbed in its sleep. The nameless thing in him hated his dishonesty.

“I should be grateful,” he continued. “But I’m not. I’m not. He thinks we can hide from the New Republic, and use his credits to bargain with them. And maybe we can. Hell, maybe it is a good plan. But it’s… it’s not enough. After what they put us through… it’s not enough for me.”

Regis sat in heavy silence for a long time, then sucked in a breath and looked around the room, feeling suddenly self-conscious as he realized where he was.

“But what am I saying? I’m glad we’re here together. Don’t listen to me, Artoo. I’m just an old soldier who needs some rack time. Maybe you and me both need a good memory wipe.”

Artoo beeped and spun, as if relieved. Regis laughed, as he was not used to a droid ever caring about his opinion on anything. Then, as if Artoo had only just realized what Regis had said about getting a memory wipe, Artoo stopped, squawked, and sped toward the door.

* * *

Sindo and Chewie brought the Praxagora into a carefully controlled descent over a blindingly brilliant white plain marred by the peaks of gray mountains piercing the frigid shroud. They flew between two high crags glistening in the harsh sunlight. It was a wonder to Regis that this might have been a water world teeming with life if things had only been a little bit different. But as it was, Hoth was a desolate world, with nothing worth examining, and made all the more sad for possibly being the hiding place of his former comrades.

“To anyone listening, this is Lando Calrissian, aboard the Praxagora. I repeat, we are here to see-”

“Who gave you this channel frequency?” a flat voice interrupted.

Regis’s ears perked up. Despite Lando’s insistence that they were on the right planet, he had begun to wonder. It would not have been the first time that raiders and outlaws hiding on some remote world had lured rich, naive marks out to their doom. Regis exchanged a look with Vasili and Birdy, the former wide-eyed with alarm, the latter retaining his poker face.

“Grand Moff Nahdonnis Praji himself notified me of this channel,” said Lando, sounding assertive despite his anxiety. “I provided him with favors. I have a code that he gave me, too, in case I ever needed his help.”

Lando motioned to Sindo, who nudged Chewbacca at the comms console. The Wookiee prepared to send the code, but the voice at the comm interrupted, saying, “You send all the codes you want, what I want to know right now is - what in the name of the Emperor are you flying?”

“Um.” Lando smoothed his hair back in an uncharacteristically nervous gesture. “We’re actually in Empress Organa’s ship, the Praxagora.”

“Yeah. That’s what our spotters said. You...” Another voice cut in unexpectedly. Regis strained to hear something that sounded like a hushed argument, then the first voice returned. “Hold one moment. Stay on present course. Do not deviate.”

The sudden silence hung heavy in the cabin. Regis turned to Luke, hoping that the Jedi might be able to pull the same trick he had used when they were escaping Dagobah, when he had somehow confused the pilots chasing after them. Unfortunately, the Jedi Master sat in the corner with his arms crossed, looking forlorn and unresponsive. Even with his hood thrown up, Regis could see his face covered in red, peeling flesh, one eye dark from burst blood vessels. Regis considered reaching out to him, and alerting him to the situation, but it did not look as if Luke cared whether or not the ex-Imperials welcomed them or shot them out of the sky.

“Alright, Praxagora,” the voice returned. “Your code checks out, but there’s no way we’re letting you land anywhere nearby. I’m sending you new coordinates. You will dock with the ship that meets you at those coordinates. Understood?”

“Sir,” said Lando, “I was given this channel and access codes by Grand Moff-”

“That’s why we haven’t blown you out of the sky. Go to the coordinates I’m sending you. Deviate from those coordinates at your peril. Do not call this channel again.”

As soon as the comm fell silent, Lando turned and said, “That went better than I expected!”

“You’re kidding, right?” said Vasili.

Before he could respond, Sindo interrupted, saying, “These coordinates are very close.”

“They’ll want us to dock with a ship so they can get us away from here,” said Birdy. “They don’t want a New Republic ship fitted with a tracking beacon to land in their secret base.”

Vasili eyed his old teammate. “You sound pretty cool over there in your Hutt Cartel getup, Birdy. You aren’t nervous about this?”

“Not at all.”

Vasili tilted his head knowingly. “You know, technically we’re deserters.”

“If you want to get technical about it, technically these guys are in rebellion against the Emperor’s vision for the Empire. Hiding out on some icebox while aliens resettle on human worlds? It’s pathetic.”

“Yeah, okay, but technically, these guys have more guns than we do.”

Birdy grimaced. “Whoever these warlords are now, back when I needed help, they were all hiding under a rock. I’ll be impressed when they prove their worth.”

They fell into uncomfortable silence once again as the bright blue sky of Hoth faded into darkness. Against a backdrop of stars they saw the dark outline of what could only be an approaching Star Destroyer. Regis took in a deep breath as cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He considered what Vasili had said, about being deserters. He ignored the impulse to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“We’re being hailed,” said Sindo. “That’s the Aquiline.”

“The Aquiline?” said Lando. He suddenly smiled. “That’s Grand Moff Praji’s flagship. Looks like we’ll be getting the red carpet treatment!”

“Ain’t that somethin’!” said Vasili. “Hey Birdy! You ever been tossed out an airlock by a Grand Moff?”

* * *

Sindo landed the Praxagora inside the Aquiline’s shuttle bay, setting her down easily among several rough-looking TIE Fighters.

Lando had dressed in a purple nobleman’s tunic and half-cape that he had found onboard the Praxagora, and insisted on leading them down the boarding ramp. With his easy smile, he clashed with Omicron Squadron’s battered armor, and the Jedi Master in a singed cloak peering out from his drawn hood.

Though his heart was racing at the sight of soldiers standing around in stormtrooper armor under the Imperial banner, what really struck him was the general lack of discipline. He saw far too many soldiers standing around in a group, chatting rather than being about their business. A poker table was sitting in the corner, with cups and game boards out in the open for all to see, rather than being properly stored in a rec center where they could not fly around in the middle of a battle. A large group of men in armor, but without helmets, stood watching them disembark from their ship; they did not seem to be tasked with escorting their guests, or even tasked with anything, but were simply gawking like a bunch of civilians. Regis’s excitement at his homecoming was quickly being replaced with disappointment.

A mustachioed officer in a gray uniform supplemented with a white cloak of wampa fur approached with a group of stormtroopers in yellowed armor.

“You’re Planetary Governor Calrissian, I presume?” said the officer.

“That I am!” said Lando. “I realize this is out of the blue, but I’ve met with unexpected difficulties…”

As Lando introduced himself, Regis looked over the officer’s stormtrooper escort. His guts twisted in a knot. Six men stood slouching, their unkempt beards and greasy hair visible because none of them were wearing helmets. One of them carried a blaster that looked like it had been used as a doorstop in some muddy backworld shed. They were not standing in formation, and looked no different from some Hutt worm’s hired muscle. Regis failed to hide a sigh of displeasure. The worst part was that basic stormtrooper training for security detail stated that one should keep one’s attention focused on the hands and eyes of any potential threat; instead, the guards were glaring at them as if daring Omicron Squadron to make a move. When Regis caught one scruffy brute staring directly into his eyes, something snapped.

“... we’ll certainly notify the Grand Moff’s executive assistant of your arrival,” the officer was saying, “but your ship will have to be scrapped, as a matter of-”

“What are you looking at, boy?” Regis snapped. As he glared at the scruffy stormtrooper looking back at him, he could feel all eyes turning to him. Despite the intensely heavy silence, Regis felt no discomfort, but only a burning desire to set something right which had gone out of place.

“Excuse me?” said the officer.

“Excuse me!” said Regis. “But your man here - in fact, all of your men - they look like trash!”

The officer worked his jaw, his mouth opening and shutting in wordless agitation.

“Um,” said Lando, “wh-what he means… uh-”

“Skkt!” one of the stormtroopers hissed. “That’s awfully funny, coming from some scruffy New Republic trash riding in the Empress’s poodoo hauler!”

“Scruffy?” Regis turned to the short, wild-haired stormtrooper glaring up at him. “I’m special forces, boy, and Imperial regulations state that any and all special forces are allowed to grow beards as long as they are well-kept, and in fact, some special forces, including Omicron Squadron, are allowed to grow their beards as long as they like, so long as they don’t interfere with helmet functions.” The words rattled off Regis’s tongue in quick succession even though he had not looked at a regulations manual in nearly a decade.

Though some small part of his mind screamed that he should shut up, and perhaps even apologize, another part of him forced him on. He continued, saying, “You see my beard? See how I keep it nice and trimmed? I trim it on a regular basis, despite the fact that I’ve been behind enemy lines. You, and the rest of you pukes? You look like pirate scum. When you’re on a Star Destroyer, you have no excuse for looking the way you do!”

“Now, look here!” said the officer.

“No, you look here! I come here expecting a warm welcome, especially after bringing you a trophy belonging to the Empress herself, but what do I see? A bunch of no-account pukes slouching around, looking no better than a pack of Wookiee whelps waiting for their New Republic handout! Just what is going on around here, sir?”

Regis’s gaze burned into the officer’s eyes, and though he sensed that the man was moments away from ordering that they all be fired upon, Regis forced all the power of his will into his gaze. Regis reminded himself that the Emperor was on his side. He was the one fighting the New Republic - not these pretenders!

“Man,” said a stormtrooper with his hair pulled back into a greasy bun, “just who in the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m Sergeant Regis, commanding officer of Omicron Squadron, Imperial Army Special Forces. And apparently I’m the first soldier around here to expect any kind of discipline from the servants of the Emperor!”

Unable to stop himself, Regis heard his own voice resounding throughout the shuttle bay. And it must have had an effect, for the officer’s mouth fell open and his face turned white. Oddly enough, Regis noticed that all of the tough guys were looking at him as if the Emperor Himself had come down from the Praxagora to stand beside him. Looking around the shuttle bay, Regis saw that still more soldiers had gathered to watch the drama, and were staring in open-mouthed shock.

“M-major Regis?” said one of the stormtroopers.

“No, son, I’m just a Sergeant-”

Before Regis could finish, the stormtrooper turned and shouted to the others, “Major Regis is here! It’s Major Regis! Get the Grand Moff! Tell him-”

Shouting filled the shuttle bay and Regis’s heart leaped into his throat as dozens of stormtroopers raced toward him. He instinctively went for the rifle hanging at his side, then saw that the stormtroopers were smiling, their shouts those of joy rather than outrage. Lando grabbed his arm unnecessarily.

“It’s Major Regis! Regis is here!”

“The hero of Tatooine!”

“Is that Sindo too?!”

Before he could comprehend what was happening, Regis and his teammates found themselves surrounded by red-faced stormtroopers smiling and laughing, reaching out for him, shaking Regis’s hand one after the other. Regis saw the officer smiling at him, saying something congratulatory as he grasped his shoulder, but Regis could not hear him over the sound of cheering.

“Give her room! Give the lady some room, you jarheads!” a stormtrooper shouted at his teammates as he shoved them away from Sindo.

Regis looked at Sindo and saw her standing frozen with a nervous, awkward smile. He worked his mouth, but was not sure what to say. Her eyes fell on him.

“Well, Major,” she said, “I think you just got a promotion!”

“I don’t know if it counts,” he said, shrugging.

“It does indeed count!” said the officer, squeezing past a stormtrooper attempting to grab Regis’s hand. “After your assault on Tatooine, you’ve been the primary topic of conversation among all the Imperial factions! We’re honored that you chose us, and Grand Moff Praji, as your benefactors! In fact, if you don’t mind, Major, please allow me to escort you to the Grand Moff. Your crew may come as well!”

“Well…”

Taken aback, Regis turned to Lando. He was afraid that the former planetary governor would be put off that he had been shoved out of the limelight. He was surprised when Lando smiled and gave him an informal salute. Turning to the rest of his teammates, Regis saw that Luke appeared distant, as if somehow untouched by what was happening. Chewbacca shifted his weight nervously, and Regis did not blame him. Vasili had a smug grin plastered across his face, and while Regis was annoyed that Birdy would not meet his gaze, he was glad to see Sindo shaking hands with a red-faced tech crewman.

“Very well, sir,” said Regis, turning to the officer. “Let’s go and see Grand Moff Praji.”

“He’ll be glad to have you on board, Major.”

With a smile the officer turned, and while the stormtroopers made way for him, Regis was further surprised when they followed. As they approached the edge of the shuttle bay, still more stormtroopers piled out of the hallway, looking as if they had run all the way from the far end.

“Is it true?” said one. “Is he here?!”

“Yeah, the hero of the Battle of Tatooine is here - but back off!” said a stormtrooper next to Regis. Regis was amused when the men who had just been clamoring to be near him suddenly turned into his security detail, forming a ring around his crew and shoving their way through the newcomers now clamoring to get a look at him.

As they made their way through a shiny black hallway lined with scruffy stormtroopers and smiling officers, Regis felt as if he was floating through a dream. Was he asleep? He wondered if he was still on Tatooine, napping on a pile of garbage after spending an uncomfortable lunch break looking over his shoulder. As if reading his thoughts, Vasili said, “Is this for real, sir?”

“It is, Vas,” said Regis, surprised by how confident he sounded. “Omicron Squadron has come home.”