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The odds against this outcome were literally incalculable.

The universe, R2 decided, was an astonishing place.

DEBRIEFING

GEPTUN RAN A FINGER UNDER HIS UNIFORM’S COLLAR and grimaced at finding it damp. Really, Skywalker kept his quarters unpleasantly hot. He continued to pace the length of the sitting room, however, despite the undeniable fact that this was only causing him to sweat even more. He continued to pace because simply sitting, he’d discovered, was intolerable.

How was it possible he could be so nervous? Imagine, at such an age, after such a long and varied life, to find oneself very nearly overcome with what could only be described as authorial vanity.

He was entirely flabbergasted at how desperately he wanted—how badly he needed—Skywalker to like the story.

The expression on Skywalker’s face when the young Jedi returned to the sitting room hinted rather broadly that in this, as in so many other things, Geptun was destined to be disappointed.

Skywalker practically threw the holoreader at him. “What is this—this garbage?”

“Ah.” Geptun lowered himself onto a settee with a long, slow sigh. “It’s not to your taste, then.”

“My taste? My taste?” Skywalker flushed bright red; veins stood out on his forehead from the effort he expended in controlling what was clearly considerable anger. “It’s terrible. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever read!”

“Ah.” Geptun leaned forward and slowly, a little sadly, retrieved the holoreader. “Well, then. I’m sorry you don’t care for it. I’ll just be, well, on my way, then.”

“You will not.” Though not a large man, Skywalker seemed to tower over him. “I hired you to investigate. I hired you to write a report. An indictment. Instead you bring me this? It reads like one of those blasted holothrillers!”

“Well … yes,” Geptun said. “There’s a reason for that.”

This brought Skywalker to a full stop. “What?”

“I have, well …” Geptun coughed. “I’ve already sold the holo rights.”

Skywalker sank into a chair. The flush drained from his cheeks. “I don’t believe it.”

Geptun’s initial disappointment had faded already, and he was constitutionally incapable of shame. “Did we not understand each other? Why do you think I agreed to do this in the first place?”

“For money,” Skywalker practically spat. “But I’m not paying you for this.”

“Suit yourself. The holothriller production company paid me ten times what you agreed to pay—and that was just for the production rights; I’m also getting points on the back end. They like it so much they’ve already optioned my next two Luke Skywalker Adventures.”

“Next two—? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I have been known to joke,” Geptun said. “But rarely about business, and never about money.”

“You were planning this,” Skywalker accused. “This was what you planned to do from the beginning.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, indeed.”

All Skywalker’s anger had fled. Now he only looked tired. Very tired, and much older than his years. “Did you even bother to investigate?”

“Of course,” Geptun said. “Verisimilitude is vital. I stand behind every word.”

“Verisimilitude? I did not defeat Kar Vastor in single combat—I didn’t even fight him. He was terrified, and confused, and aside from one, well, bite, he just ran away. I didn’t cut off his arms with my lightsaber, and I don’t even know what a ‘vibroshield’ is.”

“I did take some liberties,” Geptun said. “Call it artistic license.”

“It’s—it’s just so …” Skywalker shook his head helplessly; for a moment Geptun feared he might start to cry. “You make me look like some kind of hero.” The word dripped loathing.

“You are a hero, General. Trust me on this, if nothing else. In my lifetime, I’ve known exactly four actual heroes, and one of them is you.”

“Don’t call me General.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve resigned my commission. I’m no soldier. Not ever again.”

“Ah. And what are you, then?”

Skywalker’s eyes went hooded. “All those men … I killed them. All of them.”

“You had no choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

“If that is so,” Geptun said, “then you made the right one.