Samizdat - Chapter 10
Shura4@aol.com
Rasclann IV
Rasclann was shrouded in twilight, its forests and meadows
shivering under the effects of the fourth season. The *Millennium Falcon*
had landed quiet like, near enough, but not too near several isolated
structures. The sensor array, functioning only intermittently, gave
indications of living presences within the structures, but information was
spotty. It could be birds, or a concentration of wild animals nearby, or
simply vibrations along a roof or a tree branch. Still, it as good a place
to start as any.
"Easy, Chewie," Han said, as he ran through the shutdown
procedure.
Chewbacca whined, tired and more than a little tense.
"Yeah, well looking for dark jedi is not my idea of a good time
either, pal," Han replied, preoccupied.
Leia made her way into the cockpit. "Everything alright?"
Han gave his wife a crooked smile but she knew it was from
tension rather than the pleasure of her presence. "As alright as it's gonna
be for a while." He gestured at the viewport, now full of a brown and black
landscape, trees almost bare, birds scudding through the dusk-colored
sky. "Looks like a real tourist spot," he said casually, breaking a silence.
"This makes up for Krasny," she put in, her smile wry.
"That reminds me, love of my life.... that's one place you might
actually like..."
She gave him an amused look out of tilted eyes. "When, Han?"
she asked, her voice a challenge. "In between the meetings, the
arguments, putting out fires that always flare up again, the senatorial
functions.....?"
He put a finger to her mouth, a tender, familiar gesture. "Has it
ever occurred to you that they'll impeach you after we return, if they haven't
already?"
Her face was worried. "Every minute," she replied, becoming
subdued. "I'm worried about the kids."
Han sighed. "Me too. Winter'll look after 'em, along with Ackbar.
He may not like what we did, but he's not gonna take it out on the kids."
She nodded, but her face was puckered with worry. "What if they
do?" she asked, thinking out loud.
He turned his back to her for a moment, deftly closed down a
system and answered, throwing his voice over his shoulder. "Do what?"
"Impeach me."
He shrugged and turned back to her, unable to resist. "You could
use a good impeachment...." he began, grinning.
She grimaced but her words were agitated. "Han! You know what
I mean...."
He took her by her shoulders, his long, graceful fingers curling
comfortingly. His face became serious. "Has it ever occurred to you,
Princess, that impeachment might be just what the doctor ordered?
Maybe now's the time, maybe your public life is an at end...... maybe you
need to slow down a little and decide what you want to do with the rest of
your life."
"But, the government needs me...."
"No," he said quickly. "Mon Mothma needs you. Ackbar needs
you. In a way, you're still their errand boy, their page, their junior senator.
It was only with this last initiative, this thing with the Imperials...." he
gestured slightly, taking in the ship and its deserted surroundings, "that
you really went against them."
She frowned and he could see the familiar lines of worry tighten
around her eyes. "There's probably a dozen 'I-told-you-so' messages in
my mail already."
He chuckled. "So, your secretary will get a good laugh. He keeps
count of those things, doesn't he?"
Leia smiled, albeit a little reluctantly. "Somebody's got to get a
laugh out of it." She sighed, the mantle of government suddenly filled with
lead as it shrouded her small shoulders. "You don't know how bad it's
been. Lately, they've been on my back about everything, from the
Kashyyyki senator and his strange parties all the way to an arrangement
that will have me hosting every welcoming reception for every system that
applies for membership."
Chewbacca whined again, urfing a little. "We don't want to know,
Chewie," Han replied, his crooked smile slight. Then it disappeared
altogether. "You don't have enough time to sleep, eat or anything else for
that matter, as it is!" He pulled up quiet. This was the beginnings of an old
argument. And a pointless one. He changed the subject. "That's how
you met that page of yours, isn't it?"
She sat in one of the seats. "Oh, you mean T'anonma? Yeah,
sort of. Although, the first time I ever spoke to her was during one of my
visits to the roof gardens." Leia smiled here. "She said it reminded her of
home."
His hazel eyes held an amused gleam. She seemed so animated
for an instant, even in the gloom of a dilapidated freighter on a cold,
deserted planet. His heart warmed. "She's a good kid, real feisty,
reminds me of somebody I used to know...." He paused, waiting for her
to take the bait.
"Who?" she asked, really curious.
He burst out laughing. "Some Jedi you are! She's a lot like you
were about the time we first met."
Leia smiled a little sheepishly, the tension momentarily gone.
"Maybe," she replied, suddenly feeling shy. "If I hadn't gotten caught on
the Tantive, or been ..... taken.... to the first Death Star, or watched as...."
He leaned over her, his arms protectively straight on the back of
the seat. "That wasn't your fault, Leia," he said, his expression serious
again.
She gazed up at him, loving him even more than she had at the
beginning. "I know," she said.
He gave her a quizzical look, momentarily intrigued. He could see
it -- her eyes were different, her face was different, perhaps even her soul
was different. He straightened, all trace of raillery washed away. A long
silence played out to a haunting, whistling wind. But, suddenly, the world
didn't seem so forbidding anymore. "I think you're right, Princess," he
said, his voice full of wonder.
She merely gazed at him. The cold wind hurled its wounded
voice against the transparasteel and a bird flew by, unalarmed by the
strangers in its midst as the pale sun went down. Night stretched cold
and dark along the sky. Moved by something he did not bother to
analyze, Han bent and embraced his wife, kissing her and felt her new
soul stir beneath weariness and all-consuming ache. A warmth settled
over him, hopeful, optimistic and completely out of place. He whispered
something and together they faded into the gloom of the corridor, taking
warmth with them. The ship, its fragile metal hulls and constructions odd
and ugly, seemed to sigh as it huddled into the intermittent shadowplay of
a night covered meadow. It was time for sleep.
******************************
Luke lay in the darkened bunk and listened to the sad voice of the
wind as it moaned and complained around the ship. For the first time in
what seemed like years, he had nothing to do, no students to teach, no
problems to solve, nothing to make or repair. They wouldn't even let him
help with the sensor array. His companions simply, specifically left him
alone. They did not shun him so much as they did not speak to him.
Meals came and went in silence, Kyp and Kam slept in shifts, leaving and
returning to their berths in a preoccupied quiet that would have driven all
but the most resilient crazy.
But, somehow, rather than being off-putting or offensive, the quiet
was therapeutic. Luke looked back on the last six months and realized how
wrong it had all been. He remembered how he had secretly watched
Tionne, a constant, twisting coil of tension at the pit of his stomach, eating
at his soul. He remembered how a young student had read his mind too
well, all in a flash, and the embarrassing aftermath. He remembered how
his bones ached after he returned to consciousness on Coruscant and
Leia's hard expression as he tried to explain himself. He had thought her
unrelenting search for the truth unfair at the time but now realized it had
been entirely proper, dictated by her integrity and her position. Even
Callie's message, so shocking at the time, was now only a faint memory, a
play acted scene, a ruse.
There was a hard gust and he shivered as he listened to it. It held
the dead voice of his past, of the ghosts that had haunted him for years.
He heard the voice of Ben, his father, the cackle of the Emperor. He
remembered pleading with Ben's spirit not to leave him, in the middle of
the night, on Coruscant. He was so young then, so ignorant. And then
Mara had appeared on the fading heels of his mentor, washed up on the
last tide of empire before it sank forever into a deep and merciless void.
He had even, in a fit of insanity, tried to change the Force from
inside out. That experiment had failed miserably, requiring once more,
that Han and Leia save him. And despite it all, deluded into thinking he
was a master and feeling the he had no real choice, he petitioned for
permission to use Yavin as a school. The Senate, riding high on his
successes had not even given the matter serious discussion. If that's
what the illustrious Luke Skywalker wanted, then that's what he would get.
But still, failure stalked him. For after that there was Gantoris,
Kyp, the discovery of Exar Kun and then Callie. It was the first time he
had ever, recognizably, fallen in love. This euphoria was experienced
in the bowels of a ship rotting from the inside out as he rushed to fight
an implacable computer set on destruction. But, the heady incident at
Belsavis was soon followed by the truncated Hutt intrigue and the death
of another of his students.
His was a history of despair, of painful and prolonged suffering. It
seemed as if he had lived his life many times over, had lived the life of a
mythological hero and had, in a strange way, never lived his life at all. For
now, everything seemed to play on a stage, in a storybook, illustrated by
elaborate holos. Everything seemed unreal, as if he could be snuffed out
by a sleepy voice and a shut light. He felt completely pulled out of
himself, completely detached. 'Perhaps,' he thought, in a calm way,
'perhaps I'm dead....' But no, he was in too much pain to be dead.
His thoughts were interrupted by Kam, who had returned from
the outside of the ship. A slivered finger of coldness followed his former
student as he removed his gloves. A sudden look, a brush with eye
contact, flew through the darkened room and Kam stilled. There was
a strained silence, as if Kam were listening for something and then words,
the first words addressed to Luke in days.
"Master?"
There was a moment of acceptance and deep regret. "I'm sorry,
Kam," Luke said, pulling himself to a sitting position.
Kam's movements resumed. The gloves fell, together, onto a
berth. "I know, Master," was his only reply.
*****************************************
Mara was pacing, distracting herself as she stared out of the
cockpit viewport. The planet, a little primitive scrap of a place, was
headed into its fourth season, the season of dormancy and death. She
shivered but it was not from the stealthy wind. The cold inside her heart
was arctic even as it burned through her soul and she ached to release it
somehow, to bury it, to find some place to hide it.
For weeks she had thought of nothing but Luke. Her former life
faded into a sketched background, a half told story. Even her years with
the Emperor, life forming and unforgettable, now seemed only a listening
story, a way to pass time while doing something else. Restlessness
seized her and suddenly she wanted out, she wanted to go anywhere, to
do anything but sit here and gape into the blackness of a fourth season
night. Winter sat upon her soul, a winter of desolation and suffering.
Surely, she thought, surely she did not deserve this. She had atoned for
her sins, for the sins committed under influence, for the times past, for the
rage that had driven her into the arms of the Emperor and back again. All
that was over, gone, done.
She sat and smiled distractedly to herself. Even the press had
noticed. Some serious issue monger, hoping to score political points
and perhaps carve an intellectual career for himself, had had the temerity
to suggest, in public, that the revolutionaries who had fought the Empire
so brilliantly, had laid down their lives, given their futures in order that
Palpatine's horror might be overcome, must now leave the stage. Public
opinion, heartily sick of the standard "Evil Empire" remembrances, had
enthusiastically agreed.
It was a sea change, a yearning to be free of the driven people
who had won their glory on the battlefield or in long dismantled but never
forgotten torture chambers. There had even been calls for a new
government, one not populated by so many relatives of the royalty of the
Old Republic, nor so many revolutionaries from the time of empire. And,
she knew as did everyone else, that fingers were pointed, more and more
openly, at the Skywalkers.
Skywalker; the very name held billions spellbound. Luke and Leia,
as the only remaining bearers of that magical collection of vowels and
consonants, were a presence that caused shivers down the backs of
people who, eerily, could no longer remember precisely what they had
done. Generally, it was only remembered that these two diminutive
people were somehow powerful and mysterious.
Mara smiled. That hard edged Princess, that consort to a
smuggler, that woman was where she was because she was raised as
royalty and for all anyone knew, she was royalty. She was there because
she had been brought up during a time when the Emperor was dreaded
and feared and she had the courage, or the foolishness, to rebel against
him, only to be caught on her very first mission. So, really, Mara reasoned,
tired and just a little exasperated, Leia was the Chief of State because
Crown Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan had been an incompetent
revolutionary. It was a huge irony. For very rarely is incompetence so
unjustly rewarded.
Still, Mara thought in a turnabout of decision, the Princess had
certainly paid for it. Mara shifted in the pilot's seat and gave the pit like
darkness another long look, the low lights of the cockpit completely hidden
from the chill world outside. Now, there was something in the air,
something undefined but so strong that it had swept them all to this rustic
world, had made them the questioning, if faithful, servants of an errant
Jedi, had given them a hopeless mission.
And that brought her right back to her original problem. Mara
knew very well that he would have to kill Callista. She had to die. But, did
he have to die? Was there a way out for him? And, no matter who killed
Callista, the guilt, shame and anger would be with him, should he live
through it, for a long time. She stared at an indicator light, small and
glowing, embedded within the velvet night like a cast off jewel. Did she,
she asked herself, her own voice clear in her mind, did she wish to be
associated with such a wounded person?
The orange light merely glowed amber and organic as the wind
picked up. It had to be right around midnight, she decided, not really
wanting to know. Lately, sleep was a mirage, a blessed state only
reached at the point of utter exhaustion. She felt her eyes closing, her
head nodding. Perhaps now, the berth would allow her to nod off, to
forget, if only for a few hours.
She stood and headed out of the cockpit, back into the living
areas. Kyp smiled at her, working on something at the small table.
Otherwise the place was deserted. She merely nodded in reply and
slipped into the proper bay. Immediately her eyes closed and she slept,
held in the arms of uneasy dreams as the night rounded in on itself in an
eternal, primordial circle, until day dawned again.
*********************
Kyp awoke with a start, a searing presence on the edge of his
consciousness. He jerked upright in the small bunk and turned to the see
the Master's shadowed eyes upon him. Luke held up a hand, the right
hand, still in need of repair. He wore a single glove over it, the contrast
odd with that of his bare left hand.
"Master?" Kyp asked, wondering at the sound of the word.
"They're here," Luke replied with certainty, his voice fractured in
the quiet. "I know where they are.
Kyp stood. "Are you sure? We were only able to pick up slight
indications, but Chewie thinks it's only an animal's den, or...."
"No, it's them, alright," Luke replied, his voice fading to a whisper.
He turned to give his student a hard look. "Irek will destroy the ship if he
learns of its presence. Have the repairs been completed?"
Kyp swallowed. "As much as we could do. We don't have the
right equipment...."
To Kyp's surprise, Luke smiled. "Good, that will throw him off the
scent for a while. Or at least, it will buy us a little time."
Kyp smiled back, but it was a tentative expression. "Are you sure
about this, Master?"
Luke's face became serious. "I'm sorry I've dragged you into this
Kyp," he said quietly. "But I have to do this. They have to be stopped."
Kam stuck his head in the door. "They're awake and searching,"
he said, his voice suddenly loud in the muffled gloom.
Kyp and Luke merely nodded and stepped through the hatchway.
In the common area, the entire crew was there, Mara, Leia, Kam, Han and
Chewbacca. Mara, Leia and Han were already dressed in cold weather
gear. Kam was drawing an old rebellion issue white coat out of a
complaining locker. He threw it to Kyp and reached for another. This one
was for Luke.
Luke grimaced. "These are from Hoth," he said, fingering the
worn material.
"When you don't waste, you don't want, as my mother used to
say," Han put in, grinning. "The military wanted to throw them away. I got
'em for next to nothing."
Leia rolled her eyes. "It was the bargain of the decade," she put
in, a trifle sarcastic. Luke knew her nerves were on edge. "We've heard
the story before, Han."
"Well, it just goes to show that the Procurement Department is
wasting tax revenues....."
A sharp voice cut him short, Mara's voice. "If we have a
committee meeting about it, Irek and Khaali will be sitting in the throne
room on Coruscant by the time we get back. It's time, people."
Luke nodded at her, finally meeting her level gaze for the first time
in days. It was he that gave the signal. "Let's go" he said quietly and they
all made for the main hatch, the ramp and a desolate winterscape,
buffeted by slicing breezes.
***************************
They hiked for a couple of hours, silent. Murmurings of
conversation flew, an undercurrent, whenever the land rose high enough
to be studied. It was unexpectedly rugged and the trackless forests were
tangled with fallen trees and rustling, dead undergrowth. The cold
shivered through their cold weather gear, although after a time, Mara
found she was sweating. Luke, although physically the weakest of them
all, had pulled ahead, pressing on through an ever more malevolent fog
of despair. She knew his brain was thinking, planning, remembering, trying
to forget the pain. He has been through weeks of hell, of torture, of
fighting. His mind needed peace and rest. And if he lived, that's what
he would get.
Han halted again at a low rise, a meadow of brownish plant life
spreading away, fallow and soft. Their breath drew deep, white veils over
their faces as they blinked away stray moisture. Mara's eyelashes were
misted with it as she gazed around. Luke stepped forward to stand by
Han, studying the situation.
"Over there," Luke said, gesturing slightly with a heavily gloved
hand. "They're in the large structure we noted earlier."
Han squinted into the cloudy day. A small bird flitted through the
trees, shooting over the disused meadow like a tiny, brown arrow.
"There's two structures," he said, his voice hoarse with cold. "The smaller
one's here," he pointed south. "There's a larger one north of it, about five
kilometers, I'd say."
"Head north," Luke said, his voice firm with knowledge and
foreboding. "The southern one is empty."
"You sure about that?" Han asked, eyeing his brother-in-law
diffidently.
Luke smiled, a humorless expression. "Positive," he replied.
It took them another several hours of bad country and difficult
hiking just to come within a good day's travel of the larger structure. They
had seen no evidence of wildlife except for small, sparrow like birds and
foreboding black crows. These were unsettling, their flinty eyes gleaming
and intelligent, but as neither Irek nor Khaali was known to have the ability
to change shapes, they were resolutely ignored. After all, that was an
ancient art, lost long ago. Still, the birds seemed alert, making Luke think
of the Dathomir witches. It occurred to him, in passing, that they would be
right at home on Rasclann.
At the end of the first day out, they rested on the borders of a
tangled forest, edging yet another deserted meadow. The forest rustled
as the breeze explored it, testing it. There was a small, almost lightless
fire, built by Mara who had very good survivalist skills.
Luke, back from a final reconnoiter, sat down next to her. "Good
job," he began, nodding toward the fire.
Her face remained hard, like flame washed stone. "I had good
teachers," she replied, her words simple and declarative.
He grinned. "Sorry. I'd forgotten...."
She looked away. "About a lot of things," she said, her voice tight.
His grin faded. There was a silence as they both contemplated
not saying anything at all. Luke spoke first. "It's been a long time, hasn't
it?"
"Not long enough, Skywalker," she replied, making to rise.
He stopped her, putting a gloved hand on her arm. "Don't,"
he said quickly, making an instant decision.
"Skywalker...." she began, her voice pitted in warning.
"No, I mean it, Mara. We can't keep ignoring each other. We
have unfinished business."
She sighed and gave in, temporarily. "This isn't the time, Luke,"
she said quietly. A bird rustled in the darkness just beyond the firelight
and a larger, more ominous rustle betrayed the presence of a larger
lifeform. Mara gave the shadowed perimeter a sudden, hard look.
"Looking for vronskers?" This was Luke, suddenly,
inappropriately, playful.
She snorted in contempt and Kyp looked up, startled. She gave
the young man a gleaming look and he retreated. "I wish. I'd know what
to do then," she said, leaning back a little.
"Uhmmmm," he said, thinking. "Speaking of which, I think I have
a duty to fulfill."
She faced him, her gaze direct and unwavering. "What are you
talking about now, Skywalker?"
"I believe I owe you an apology," he said, pulling his hand away,
safely clasping it in the other. "I have hurt you."
She let the words hang in the frozen air for a while. "It's a little
late, Skywalker," she said finally, her words carefully chosen. He could
feel her pulse rate rise.
He shrugged. "No matter. An apology is an apology. And also I
think I owe you a debt of gratitude."
Her brow puckered and she resisted another urge to rise. "How's
that?"
He sighed and spoke words that had been in his heart for a long
time. "I've been taking you for granted lately. You broke me out of
Detention on Coruscant...." he began.
She cast a look over her shoulder, Leia's way, her manner
suddenly furtive. "Shhh. I'm still in deep for that one."
He smiled. "So is Leia, now."
She cocked her head at him. "That's true. I never thought of that
before. What do you think they'll do?"
He smiled, a genuine expression, weary. "They've been
threatening to impeach her for over a year now. They've just never had
the consensus. This may be the straw that breaks the vronsker's back."
She studied him. "Vronskers never carry straw, Skywalker...."
His smile became wider. "Well, the bantha's back then. But,
come to think of it, they don't usually carry straw either....." He shrugged
his aching shoulders and closed his eyes as he stretched his neck. "All
the same, even after I left you on Kransy...."
"You owe me," she interrupted instantly.
"I'm trying to thank you, Mara, if you would just stop interrupting!"
he snapped, his voice was suddenly loud in the evening air. Leia
straightened questioningly. Mara smiled tightly, made an easy gesture
and his sister's dark glance turned away, amused.
"Sorry, Skywalker, I'm not used to people thanking me."
"What do they usually do?" he asked, exasperated.
"They pay me, Skywalker, usually very well."
He spread his hands slightly, indicating himself. "I have only
myself," he said quietly.
There was a moment as the night deepened and the stars
flickered to life, one by one, distant reminders of home. The air seemed
to drop into a frozen stillness as the rustlings in the underbrush faded into
silence. Birds, small brown balls of fluffy down, huddled on their
branches, seeking protection from the dangerous night. Luke's hands
dropped in weariness. "I'm just trying to thank you, Mara," he began again,
his voice lowering in surrender.
She affected a nonchalant air. "Then I accept your apology,
Skywalker. But it doesn't make up for everything."
He sighed. "It's a start."
She studied him for a long moment. His breath came in short,
white gasps, his face was pale, eyes lost in shadow. "Apology accepted
....... but only on my terms."
He raised his hands and latched the thumbs into his belt. "What's
that supposed to mean?"
"It means that this isn't over yet, Skywalker, in case you haven't
noticed. We have a lot between us, but we've still got Khaali and Irek and
to deal with. They're waiting for us."
He glanced in the direction of the darkened meadow. "They
know we're here," he said.
She followed his glance. "You could be wrong, Master," she said,
uttering the formality with a straight face. "Maybe they're just hiding from
Pellaeon and Otdjel."
He shook his head. "You forget, Mara, until she dies I have a link
with her. I know they're waiting for us."
This last statement almost made Mara slug him again. As it was
she stood up, her passion freezing as it hit the damp, clinging air. "You
still love her, don't you?"
The words took him by surprise. He shifted, tension draining out
of his weakened body. "I don't know, Mara," he replied, completely
honest. "I don't know how I feel. I'm beginning to think I don't know what
love is anyway, that in all my life I've never experienced it." He paused,
thinking, completely unselfconscious. "I didn't think it would be so
elusive...... maybe if Gaeriel had given me more time...."
A little dumbfounded that he was comfortable enough to mention
the Bakuran girl, she sat beside him again, held there by a sort of morbid
fascination. "You miss her, don't you?"
He smiled, but it was a wan, faded expression. "Leia hoped that
we would....... but so much seemed to happen all at once. There was no
time...."
"Yes there was," she said, her words surprisingly strong, her voice
challenging. "There's always time. You just have to find it. You should
have gone back for her, let her know how you felt, given her a chance."
His brow puckered as he considered. Then words flew through
small breaths of puffed, white aspiration. "She made it clear, Mara. She
would never have me. We lost touch...... She's a lot like Leia," he smiled
here. "Maybe that's why Leia liked her so much. I could never see her
making over a bunch of students on an out of the way planet...."
"Did you ever think that that Academy of yours was a mistake,
Skywalker?"
He lifted his head at the unexpected question. "All the time, Mara.
And lately, I've been thinking of disbanding it."
"Mmm," she replied, thinking. This was new. Perhaps he had
more sense than she gave him credit for. "That's not really fair, though,"
she continued, surprising them both.
He gave her a sharp glance. "How so?"
She shifted her position on the uneven log and stamped a foot
threatening to go numb. "You've got a whole school now, with how many
students?"
"At last count, 200," he replied quietly.
She nodded. "Sounds about right. And they've all left home and
come, some at great expense and hardship, to train with you and your
companions here. You extended the invitation. Seems to me you can't
send them home empty-handed."
He considered her profile, touched by dim fireshadow. "I never
really thought of it that way, Mara," he replied after a stretched silence.
"But I don't know if I should teach anymore....."
She smiled but did not face him. "That's not what I said. I said
the Academy should remain, since it is already established. But *you*
don't necessarily have to be there...."
He nodded. "True, Kam, Kyp or even Streen could run the course
work, along with Tia...... Tionne pulling the administration work."
"You owe her an apology too, Luke."
He closed his eyes. "I know," he said.
Kam's boots crunched over the frosty ground. "Dinner's ready,"
he said, gesturing into the general darkness. Silent, hearts full of
contemplation crystallizing within a cold night, they followed.
******************************
Leia sat down beside Han. He gave her heated rations a quick
look and made a face.
"Hungry?" she asked, although she already knew the answer.
"Not right now," he replied, shifting his weight. The ground was
merciless and hard, the dirt plastered into the crunchy patina of wintertime.
He gazed at the perimeter of the dully lit campsite but stopped as his gaze
took in Luke and Mara, sitting together on an uncomfortable log.
Leia followed his glance. "They've been there for an hour."
Han studied the two for a moment. Then he found himself
studying his wife's face, the familiar contours uncertain in the flickering
light. "Funny you should notice," he muttered.
"What's that supposed to mean?" There was irritation in her voice.
For a moment Han was motionless, his face down. The dull
firelight darkened over his strong jawline and the bridge of his nose. "It's
his life, Leia," he said after a thinking silence.
She drew breath, making to speak.
He felt it coming and interrupted. "No, he has to pull away from
you. You can't have both of us."
She scowled. "What?!"
He smiled grimly. "You've had both of us since day one. Before
he knew who he was, who you were, even while we were still rivals."
She shook her head. "Han! I can't believe it..... after all this time,
after all that's happened!"
He lifted his face and looked her straight in the eye, pinning her to
the wall. "Jealousy has nothing to do with it and you know it. And you can't
deny that he's lived his life under your wing, especially his personal life."
"That's not true," she sputtered, taken aback.
"Yes it is. Remember how you had high hopes for him and
Gaeriel Captison a while back? Remember how disappointed you were
when she refused to have much to do with him?"
"Han......," she began, flustered.
"No, let me finish," Han replied, firmly. "I'll admit I didn't really
understand her objections to the Force," here he stopped to grin, letting
irony melt through her frozen expression, "but she was an excellent match
for Luke. Intelligent, independent, well-intentioned, idealistic." This last
word was uttered in a sound bubble of breathtaking sarcasm.
"She's made her position clear," Leia said, giving him a puzzled
look.
"A pity, Princess," he said, leaning forward and up to nuzzle her
neck. "She'd have made a pretty good Jedi in my book."
Leia stared down at him, thinking. Suddenly the rations felt lumpy,
cold and very unappetizing. She set them on the ground. "Are you saying
I drive people away from him?"
She could hear Han's grin. "I'd say that's part of the problem. He
and... Mara should have gotten together years ago......"
"She tried to kill him!"
"That's all in the past. Sure, she's flawed, but so is he and lately
it's been showing." He paused. "You've got to admit, they'd be pretty
good together."
"If they didn't kill each other first," she muttered.
His boots shuffled on the slippery dirt. "What was that?"
She didn't move. "You heard me," she replied briskly, her words
tangible as visible aspiration issued from her mouth. "There's been
rumors ........"
"I know, I hear them before you do. And, I bet you haven't heard
some of the more juicy ones....."
"Han..." There was a warning in her voice.
He backed off. "Okay, we both know they're not true, but they
haven't hurt his reputation any, or hers for that matter....." His voice
changed as he let his gaze follow Leia's. "Haven't you noticed how alike
they are? They're both so alone, never socializing with anybody..... they've
got no friends, no normal life."
"I thought she was with Karrde, or Lando." A grimace followed this
statement.
He laughed. "Okay, maybe Karrde. But he's too sophisticated to
take a woman like Mara lightly. I figure he's got feelings for her, though.
As for Lando," he sighed and worked to stifle a snort, "she'd sooner kiss a
wookie."
Leia smiled at that. "I know, I know, you could arrange it, or
something like that." She turned to face him. "Why do we keep saying the
same things over and over to each other?"
He smiled at her, loving her more now than at the beginning.
"Because, they still work," he replied, and raising her hands, kissed them
lightly as he hoisted himself up off the frozen dirt. "We should turn in," he
said casually. "We're not gonna get much sleep and something tells me
it'll be a rough day tomorrow."
**************************
Dawn was pristine, beautiful and completely frozen. Mara awoke
as Rasclann's sun lined its way over the treed horizon. There was the feel
of something heavy around her waist, a comforting warmth. Her back was
unexpectedly warm and she pushed herself into it, still drowsy, her feet
shuffling comfortably. Her head was pillowed on something soft, but
exhaustion spoke with a compelling voice, asking for a few more minutes
of drowsy motionlessness. She closed her eyes and let the metallic color
of the iced sun play across her face. For a fleeting moment, as she
dipped in and out of drugged sleep, all seemed right with the world.
Crunching sounds interrupted her reverie. Reluctantly, she
opened one eye and then the other. She found herself staring at a familiar
pair of scuffed boots. Her gaze rose to take in the tallish, rather elongated
figure of Han Solo who seemed be repressing an impish grin. "Ahem," he
said, clearing his throat in a clearly artificial manner. "Rise and shine,
young ones," a parody of his morning ritual with the children.
To her astonishment, a male voice answered from the vicinity of
her ear. "Already?" Luke sounded exhausted. "Seems like I just closed
my eyes....."
Further elucidation was interrupted as Mara stumbled to her feet.
A bedraggled anger enveloped her as she whirled to turn a lethal gaze
onto Skywalker's upturned face. "What the.....?!" she exclaimed, startled
embarrassment spiking her anger.
Han merely smiled, grimly, and walked away. Luke gave her a
bewildered look. "What?" he asked, his voice scratchy.
She gazed at him a moment, anger lending her an unusual
speechlessness. She took in his face, now pinched with exhaustion, both
physical and emotional. A sudden thought came through, a premonition.
His eyes were bloodshot and there were lines around his mouth. His
square jaw, usually so clean, was now shadowed and bent, the skin pasty
and raw. His lips were dry, cracking even as he moved them, even as he
spoke. "Are you alright, Mara?"
She stared at him for another long moment, then she righted her
sense and her face was masked once more. "The last man who did that
lived to regret it," she said, her eyes gleaming in the red dawn.
He smiled, his lips moving painfully. "I'd take bets on him not
living at all," he replied, pushing himself to his feet. "Ahhh! I'm getting to
old for this," he said, putting a hand to the small of his back and moving
away stiffly, toward Kyp and Kam. Chewbacca whined in greeting and
extended a hot drink.
She merely looked after him, seeing a vision of his face, eyes
closed, a final peace reigning over the old scars, gloamed shadow
spreading shroud-like over the pale skin. Darkness moved around it, full
of ill intent, malevolent and evil. A black flicker caught her eye and she
noticed a large crow, sitting on a branch just above where they had lain
only minutes before. Its silky feathers shone greenish in the brightening
light and its beady, searching eyes were impenetrable and somehow,
terrible. She shivered and, on impulse, stooped, picked up a stray stick
and threw it at the bird.
It cawed once and flapped its large wings, lifting off heavily into
the morning light. She turned to watch as it flew into the northern sky, a
black spec of portent that vanished into a wild dawn above intractable
forests. She shivered again and turned to study the sun.
*******************************
The structure turned out to be large, very large. It was made of
old, fitted stone, pieces of which lay strewn, the result of a gigantic,
petrified avalanche, around what appeared to be a heavily incongruous
entrance, gleaming bronze and forbidding as they studied it from the safe
cover of a strategic thicket.
Chewbacca barked softly and gave the binocs to Han. Han
squinted in thought, e his gloved hands suddenly cold. "No wonder we
picked it up, Chewie. Looks like some sort of old Imperial outpost."
Chewbacca growled. "Or prison, yeah, I guess you're right...."
Chewie replied with some vehemence. "I guess we should get a
team out here, somebody to help dig up the grounds." He bit his lip.
"That would explain why there's no population in these parts...."
Chewie's voice was agitated, pained. "You're right, pal. If they
killed them all off it would be one of the worst camps of the whole era. No
wonder this place stinks...."
Chewbacca's emphatic agreement was caught by Luke, rounding
a small animal path that served as a trail and stopping beside his brother-
in-law. "See anything?"
Han moved a pace away. He was still angry with his sister's twin.
Angry and bewildered. Luke was headed into a trap and taking them all
with him. "Here, you look," he said curtly.
Luke fumbled with the binocs but made no effort to look Han
directly in the eye. Chewie whined again, a punctuating sound. Luke's
finger moved with precision around the visual controls. Han knew he was
checking everything, the different light spectrums, the distance, the time of
day...... Han moved away, coming to stand next to Chewie for a meditative
moment.
Luke dropped the machine from his eyes and merely gazed at the
strange structure for a long moment, as if he were using his mental
abilities, sensing, probing, feeling...... The breeze picked up and a host
of chill seemed to fall upon them.
"Irek...." Luke muttered, his lips barely moving. Then he glanced
up, startled out of whatever was holding him. "Irek's there. That means
Khaali.... Khaali's gotta be around somewhere."
"Maybe he killed her," Han said, his voice flat.
Luke made no reaction to the strong statement. His voice was
normal, as normal as it could be in a sea of exhausted cold. "No, I'd
know," he said quietly. He glanced up at Han and there was knowledge
embedded in his blue eyes. "Perhaps you should take Leia and the
others and go," he said, his expression suddenly brittle.
Han scowled. "What are you afraid of, Luke?"
Luke held his words. The face of the smuggler had vanished long
ago. Now there was only stilted concern, along with anger for the
unreasonable danger combined with fear for his wife. Luke sighed. Han's
heart was in the right place. Leia *was* in danger.
"I'm afraid for Leia and......" He paused and bit the words back.
"And of turning. It was a close thing...."
"Don't tell me, I don't want to know...." Han said, interrupting the
confession. His heart thumped as the words washed over him. "Maybe
we should just go back to Coruscant. That way we could come up with a
plan, a better plan...."
"No," Luke replied, his tone unwavering. "It's too late. They know
I'm here. It would look like we're running. And then, Otdjel would have
time to negotiate with them, take them back. We can't risk it, Han."
Han looked away. "Maybe Otdjel sent them here, in the first
place. Besides, Otdjel didn't look so hot before, when we got to Byss.
We got through their defense systems with no trouble."
"But, a pilot died, right?"
Han nodded, feeling a rush of sorrow. "True," he said quickly.
Luke took a step forward, his face pleading. "I can't let any more
die because of me. I'm responsible for this, I'm responsible for Khaali, at
least for now. This could become war."
Han nodded. "Point taken," he replied shortly. "What are you
going to do?"
Luke turned to study the structure again. It was tall and blackened
with wear where the winter winds had rushed over it. A plume of smoke
issued lazily from a vent on the roof, signaling habitation, issuing an
invitation. Luke paced forward to the edge of the thicket. "That's her...."
he whispered wonderingly, his heart leaping.
Han made a disgusted noise. "Not so fast, kid. Wait."
There was a sudden agitation, almost panic, as if Luke were
seeing something invisible to the others. "But you can't, Han, Irek will kill
you and....."
Han let his gaze travel from his brother-in-law to the fort and back
again. He had never seen Luke so divided, even during the old days when
Vader was still alive. Now it was as if there were two people there, one
yearning for Callie, the other..... He cut off the thought. There was no
sense in going into that now. "He didn't kill her before," Han put in,
squinting into the clouded morning light. "She has to face him too. After all
if he's your... brother, well then he's her brother too."
Luke scowled, hesitating. "I hadn't thought..... "
Han turned to Chewie. "Get the others, Chewie. We'll wait."
And together they both turned to study the forbidding structure in
front of them. Clouds moved through the sky and a flock of crows pushed
off from a high turret. Noisy and signaling, they called as they moved
across the woods and fields. An answering sound came from the forest
they had just passed through. The day pulled toward a cold noon.
************************************
Chewbacca moved silently through the brush. Following, laboring
up the last rise, Leia wondered how he managed to move so gracefully,
so silently. Wookies were generally accounted as being awkward. She
realized, once again, that Chewie was anything but awkward.
Clouds mottled the sky. Another cold breeze ravaged their faces
and each fought it, from Leia, Kyp and Kam in the front, all the way to Mara
bringing up the rear. Noses were red and running, hands uncomfortable
and stiff, feet unfeeling. For a moment it as if they were back on Hoth,
back in the frozen wastes again. But no, Hoth was over, gone. The
Rebellion was over, gone. It was time to think of new things, new places,
new mental landscapes. The past was dead.
Luke's face loomed up into their sight as he waited by a turn in the
trail. Like theirs, his nose was red, his skin washed of all color but his lips
were dark, almost scarlet. His eyes were a deep blue. He did not smile
and grimness was etched into his gestures as he took over the lead from
Chewie. Minutes later, breathing hard (except for Chewie) they were
standing at the entrance to the thickets, unseen in a convenient shadow.
There was only empty, brownish space between them and an inviting,
brass colored door.
Han went to stand by his wife. She glanced up at him, concern in
her eyes. He returned the expression with a pursing of lips and she knew
he was still angry. She really couldn't blame him. But there was no going
back now.
"What now?" This was Kyp, impatient, youthful and more than a
little dangerous.
"Han glanced back at the kid, the other kid. Come to think of it,
the only kid. "Don't be so eager to die, kid," he said.
Kyp smiled as Luke looked back to answer. He was surprised
when he found Han looking at Kyp rather than himself. He let his eyes
slide right past and fastened his gaze on Kam.
"We'll need to split up," he said, as the mournful breeze died for
a moment. "They'll be looking for me..."
Han moved forward, determined that his sister's brother should
not be a martyr. "You'll need someone to go with you."
Luke glanced at the assembled company. There was a deciding,
choosing moment. "Mara?" he asked. Instantly she stepped forward.
"You'll come with me. Leia, Kyp and Kam, you take the left. Han and
Chewie, the right."
Han gave the place a hard look. "And where are we meeting?"
Luke locked gazes with the smuggler. "If there's a throne room,
that's where they'll be," he said.
Han drew breath to laugh but the look on Luke's face silenced
him. Forward they went into the old, Imperial outpost. The golden door
opened for them, ghostlike and silent. One by one they filed through. And
then it closed and there was nothing left of their presence except a few
scattered footprints and birds settling back into winter's long sleep.
***************************
The first noise was Chewbacca; he barked, then growled and a
long, penetrating whine escaped him as he ducked through the old style
doorways. Han signaled quiet. The closeness of the place bothered him
too, the evil smells and small workings of feral animals made him want to
run. A small, creeping claustrophobia snaked through his consciousness.
There was a barrier there, a feeling.....But, taking possession of himself,
he glanced back at Chewie. The wookie seemed calmer under the
dispassionate handling, although a wild look haunted the hairy face,
making his companion seem more beast than intelligent being.
They halted at a stairway. It led upwards, into a cavernous and
unknown darkness. Painfully cautious, Han gave the place a good once
over. Water dripped somewhere off to the side, the sound plunking and
solidly ominous. A listening moment passed. Han signaled and they
began to climb, carefully, swiftly, not wanting to be caught in the winding,
blind staircase. The stones were slippery and wet, the going treacherous.
There was a landing, then another and after what seemed like an
eternal climb, Han and Chewie found themselves at the entrance of a
spacious room. One end was equipped with a large bed, the sort that only
people of wealth possessed. Han took it in, the bedclothes rumpled and
in disarray, the litter of clothes on the floor, the misplaced foot rugs.
There was an old fashioned wash basin, half filled with water, eloquently
bespeaking the plumbing conditions. Next to it, incongruous, was a
beautiful, state-of-the-art comm center. Its message light was blinking.
Knowing better than to speak, Chewie moved toward it, studying it
before he pressed the message button. Han opened his mouth to
protest, but he knew it was useless, reminding himself that Chewie was
perfectly capable of hacking into a simple comm system and out again,
unnoticed. A few moments later, Han positioned himself, blaster drawn,
by another door. This was half open, as if the residents did not expect the
place to be disturbed. A relief washed through him. They had come
alone, not even bothering to bring a bodyguard.
He let his shoulders relax. Curious, his gaze traveled around the
room. To his sudden distaste, Han realized that the workings of an old
interrogator droid was imbedded into the far wall, just underneath an
uncomfortably lit window. And, just the right distance from it, was a table.
The straps were still there, the tilting apparatus now broken and useless.
A dusty set of vials and needles glimmered, as if waiting for the lead
interrogator to return and resume his horrible manipulation of the victim.
Han shuddered. Only extremely disturbed people would take up
residence in an old interrogation chamber.
He let his gaze wander again. A feeling grew, racing through his
heart and lungs, a fast panic. He closed his eyes and swallowed.
Something within, some shrewdness told him he was being manipulated.
Whatever this was, no matter what it was, he would not give in to it. He
strove with himself, fighting the rushed feelings rising all about him.
"Chewie?!" There as agony in the question.
Chewbacca whined in reply. The comm board betrayed nothing,
either they knew they had been infiltrated or they really were on the run.
This was something Han found that hard to believe. Otdjel, Pellaeon, one
or both had to be involved somewhere, somehow. The plan couldn't have
fallen apart so fast. They could have held Luke hostage for a long as it
took. They had even attempted to turn the Jedi, or at least Callista had.
A thought brought him up short. *Maybe they didn't want to turn
Luke at all.* Realization reached all the way down to his bones.
Maybe....... maybe it was just Callista. Mentally, he kicked himself. That
meant they were dealing with renegades, not paid messengers, not soon-
to-be heirs. That meant the couple was hiding out, in which case, a
questioning Imperial force should put in an appearance soon. And blow
the *Falcon* out of the half hidden meadow.
"Chewie?!" Han's voice was lowered. "We gotta go ......."
Chewie approached fast, agitation in his stride, holding a familiar
object in his blanketing hands. It felt cold and more than a little familiar as
the wookie laid it carefully into Han's unwilling palm. "Where'd you find
this?" Han asked.
Chewbacca indicated the bed area. Han shook his head in
disbelief. "I wondered what happened to this. I noticed he hasn't been
wearing it, but then I figure it was because his confidence was shaken....."
Chewbacca interrupted. "What? Okay, listen.... through the door
here, we shouldn't be seen........"
The room emptied fast as Han and Chewie exited. Just bare
moments later, Irek, stepped through the far door, followed wearily by
Khaali.
"Wait!" Irek hissed, a sense of something amiss threatening his
already precarious serenity.
She gave him an annoyed look. She was cold, and tired. A hot
bath would be nice. As if there was any hot water on this ball of ice.
"What now?" she demanded quickly.
He paced through the room, studying the bed, then the comm
system. "Somebody's been here," he said. "I sensed somebody before,
maybe Skywalker....."
She sighed and sent a tendril of calmness to him. "It's probably
just those rodents again, Irek. I told you, leave them alone. We're not
going to be on this rock too much longer."
Irek fastened his greedy eyes upon her. Cray's face looked twice
its age. Suddenly that beautiful jedi he had taken in, that mysterious,
falcon-like warrior, was only ragged and old. "What's the matter with you?
Are you hiding something from me?"
Khaali was exasperated, tired and somehow sorrowful. To her
dismay, even as she spoke to Irek, Luke's face was there, in the
background, his lips scarlet with cold, his eyes a searching blue.
Something in her heart longed to find him. But when she spoke, her
words were as cold as the stone around her. "We have other, more
pressing problems, Irek. You destroyed the hyperdrive on the woman's
ship. Now we can't leave. How long do you think it will be before Otdjel
figures out we're here?"
He laughed, growing more confident within the echoing sound. "I
can maim their ships, explode them on contact. You forget, I can destroy
machinery through the Force."
She closed her eyes and moved toward the bed, in a fit of
exhaustion. "I know," she replied, through shut eyes, her expression tight.
Luke's face was there again. And if she just stopped talking, stopped
moving, maybe she could hear his voice. "I just need to sleep...."
Sensing her distance, he moved toward her and grabbed her
before she could step away. "Tired of me, already?" he demanded, his
voice hiking, dangerous in pitch and tone.
She gave him a gimlet look and decided to place the blame on
someone who wasn't there. "If I'm tired it's because the *Admiral*" her
sarcasm was exquisite, "saw fit to put me in Detention. With
Skywalker......"
"The Admiral wanted you dead," Irek interrupted smiling,
delighting in his own maliciousness.
She pulled away from him, hating him again. Sometimes he was
just too damn smug. "Why?"
"You know why," Irek said, his voice hateful. "You knew the plan.
And you've got to admit, you came close..."
She turned her back and, in a fit of defensive preoccupation,
studied the living area. Something in her mind changed, something was
alerted. "Not close enough," she replied, a subdued, preoccupied
confession. His grip tightened painfully but she pulled away, suddenly
afraid. He felt her heart begin to pound and cold air roared in her ears.
She swallowed and raised her voice. "Irek, are you sure there's no one
else here?"
His manner became uncharacteristically cautious and his voice
changed. "No one," he replied with certainty.
"It's gone," she said, her long legs eating up the distance to the
bed. "I'm sure of it, I put it here....."
He said nothing, only came close, standing behind her.
She shrugged his hand away from her shoulder. "You didn't take
it, did you?"
He laughed again. "Why? I have one of my own, much better
suited to me. Why would I take one of your momentos?"
She shook him off, her rising impatience a real, grasping thing.
"It's gone....." she whispered, a sudden realization.
He came around her to stare directly into a suddenly blanched
face. "What are you afraid of?" he asked, his heart beginning to race.
"They're here," she said, recoiling at his faint touch. "They're
searching for us....."
He took her face in his hands. "Of course they are, beloved. You
said yourself...."
Her eyes snapped "No, you don't understand. They followed us,
they know we're here."
"Who?"
"Skywalker," she replied simply.
"That cursed do-gooder!" he fumed pulling his hands roughly
away. His long fingernails opened a small scratch on her cheek. "Is he
alone?"
She shook her head, trying to clear it. "Hard to say," she replied
after a time. "Feels like he's masking something."
"Probably just Skywalker," Irek said smoothly. "I can't see his
sister coming to meet me."
She gazed up at him, uncertainty returning. Once again, Luke's
voice resonated within, distracting her train of thought. "They are powerful,
Irek. Aren't you afraid?" she whispered, her lips suddenly passionate as
her blood rose. The warning spell, the fail-safe through the Force had
turned about, and now all was fair play.
He smiled and a surprising gentleness issued from him,
disarming her. "If he has come then the part of you that still belongs to
him will die this day," he said. "And, evidently," there was scornful laughter
here, "he will die with his lightsaber."
Her hand clutched involunartily. She wanted to believe with her
new lover's certainty, wanted his confidence. "How can you be so sure?"
she asked.
"It is his destiny to die and it is your destiny to kill him."
Her face became even paler, her lips a fresh bloodstain. "What if
I can't?"
He took her by the shoulders and shook her roughly. "You must.
It is your penance for betraying me! Then we shall rule in peace."
"There are other Jedi......" she began, groping through the
thought.
"Not like my brother....." Irek said, becoming contemplative. "He
is the strongest, but still no match for me."
She gazed into his face, willing herself to believe him. And,
despite all reservations, despite all deeply held intuitions, despite Luke's
whispering words, she let herself be swept into an affirmation. "I know,"
she said.
****************************
Luke and Mara entered a darkened corridor. With shuddering
distaste, Mara glaned into the disused rooms. A prison it was. A very
large prison. There was an afterfeeling there, one of haunted shadows
too agitated to lie down in the graveyard. There was an overarching
feeling of things not alive peering through corners and from above. A
reflexive glance revealed nothing. But her sense told her otherwise.
"What a horrible place," she said to Luke, as they paused at an
intersection. Death, coldness and suffering....... "How could they inhabit
such a place?"
He smiled, but his expression was almost skull-like. If she hadn't
been so uncomfortable with the loose spirits, she would have paced away
from him. As it was, she stopped, motionless. "They are of the
Darkside." he said quietly. "This place calls to them."
She nodded not really willing to pursue the strange conversation
further. "Which way?" This was a practical question, one asked out of
need to retain bearings, to push away the abstract and unseen.
"This way," he replied.
They emerged from the close corridor into what at one time had
been the main audience chamber. A motley collection of ancient tables
was pushed off to one side of the huge room, covered with filth. Scurrying
rodents skittered away on small, spine-tingling feet, startled out of a mid-
winter hush. Crows congregated in the rafters, cawing, drifting in and out
through shattered skylights. Water dripped liberally down the cold, bare
walls as if the stones were weeping. The floor was pitted with small holes
and dirt was piled everywhere. The wind moaned, desolate and ghostly.
Luke pushed forward, wishing once more for his lightsaber. He
felt naked, mortal and very vulnerable. His sense told him that she was
here, she and her ill-begotten lover, an unholy consummation. And that
she was irredeemably evil, as evil and as haunted as the old prison itself.
He gazed around the room, his eyes alive and glistening.
Mara, trailing him, lightsaber in her hand, resisted an
overwhelming urge to strike him down. For a moment it seemed as if the
shadow of the place almost absorbed him, consuming him bit by bit, until
he faded into the surrounding darkness and death. A rush of foreboding
almost lifted her off her feet and a feeling of wrongness splayed its ugly
hand over her heart. He was resisting only by fingernail widths. He had
almost succumbed before; she knew he was not far from it now.
There was a sudden sound in a far corridor, a clamor of booted
feet on worn stone. Both of them whirled to see Irek run out first, followed
by a powerful Khaali. Instantly, an aura of blackness stretched from her, a
willed fog.
Irek made off to one side, toward what had once served as a dais,
a raised platform. The old stone had deteriorated badly there, the cut up
rock glinting like shattered glass as his boots crunched over it. Khaali
slowed in the midst of the immense room, coming to a graceful halt. Her
figure seemed suddenly tall, even commanding and she made an elegant,
greeting gesture, her regal hand outstretched, her neck rising out of her
beautiful shoulders like the stem of a graceful flower. Her face was
beautiful despite the terrible scar on her forehead. "You have come," she
said simply.
Mara shuddered. It was not the noble gesture or the affected airs,
rather it was the disturbing grace with which the witch carried it off. Khaali
seemed to draw strength from the very air around her, from the stones,
the spirits, the light-footed rodents. Momentarily seeing into another
world, Mara could make out the strengthening spirits lined up behind her,
an incorporeal army. Panic rose as the ghosts stared blankly into her
earthbound soul, but she swallowed it, in a mammoth, controlling effort
and paced forward to stand solidly at Luke's flank.
Luke approached the apparition that was Khaali. But now, he was
no longer lost or vanishing. A faint light seemed to emanate from his
person and Mara noted that though his figure was diminutive, there was
something else there, something hidden, curtained. Wonder fell through
her hardened heart as she watched him go forward into his fate, and then
the discipline of a lifetime took hold. This was no time for visions.
His voice broke the silence, unrecognizable and foreign. "This is
your last chance, Khaali," he said completely, sublimely formal.
Khaali lifted her head and laughed in the manner of a monarch
called upon to execute an unrepentant malcontent. "We've been through
this, Skywalker," she said disimissively, the words rolling ponderous and
ceremonial through the room. "This is *your* last chance to come with
me." She gestured to the room and the spirits behind her began to groan
in an unearthly dirge. The wind picked up. "All of this I offer to you, the
wind, the air, the spirits of Aznaith!"
Luke remained still but his bearing changed, becoming military,
commanding and judgmental. Mara saw him handing for his captured
saber. The unearthly, immortal sound of the gathered spirits grew,
poisoning the very molecules of the place.
"I cannot .......... I will not, Khaali!" he shouted, his suddenly
powerful voice illuminating dark corners. This was followed by a small,
feathered violation and Mara's lightsaber flew into his hand. Involuntarily,
Mara drew breath, rising fury sparked as her hand moved too late to her
belt, grasping at empty air.
Irek, in his turn, activated his saber and turned toward Mara as she
backed away, suddenly defenseless. "At last we meet!" he said, eager
and dangerous. She glanced around, wily and cautious, searching for a
weapon.
"Mara, here!" Luke shouted, his father's lightsaber bright blue in
the gloaming as he positioned himself between Khaali and Irek, protecting
her.
Irek lifted his red blade, the light twisting in the gray haze of
ghosts and sordid fog of the afterlife. "You shall die, Skywalker!"
He pushed forward and the two blades smashed together, the
noise booming, deafening. Mara grimaced at the thunderous noise but
kept circling, eventually finding herself by the door. Standing ready, she
nearly knocked out an agitated Han as he ran through it, searching and
quick. His shrewd glance gave him all the information he needed and,
unexpectedly, he shouted something unintelligible and threw a lightsaber
to Mara. Suddenly, darkly gleeful, she grinned at her benefactor and
activated it. Luke's green blade, the symbol of the new world, of a
transitory present fading into an unknown future, was vibrant in the dim,
shadowed light.
Khaali, seeing her opportunity, advanced. "I know what you want,
Mara Jade!" she said as her form seemed to grow. Suddenly, there was a
searing whirlwind and a torrent of smoldering, stinging wood chips pelted
into Mara's face and hands, driving her back. Luke, distracted from an
unexpectedly steady Irek by Mara's sudden pain, glanced away from his
own battle and at that small lapse, a powerful swing from Irek nearly
decapitated him. He turned back to his opponent and concentrated,
linking with the Force, driving his brother back up onto the dais.
Mara, fighting but somehow calm, caught sight of a strange light,
one that seemed illuminate the room as it shone upon Luke. But Irek
remained always in darkness, filtered and unseeable. As if drawing a
cloak over himself, the young man faded into the shield of malevolence
around him until Luke seemed only to be fighting a ghost, empty air. The
Master's swordplay became diffident and cautious as he struggled to see
his opponent.
Mara slashed and pulled at the green saber, Khaali's topaz blade
greeting it feint for feint, blow for blow. The two women, each strong in a
different way, fought though the cold air, through forbidding stone, through
the ghosts that jeered and catcalled from towering, shadowed gates.
Their voices sent shivers down Mara's spine and she resisted the urge to
strike out at them with the unfamiliar saber.
For a time, evenly matched, each powerful and quick, there was
no movement, only exchanged blows and silence. But little by little,
Mara's defenses began to tell a tale of unfinished training and the
improvisation implicit in the use of another's weapon. Despite her
strength, her ability to link with and use the Force, the swordplay began to
lay upon her weary shoulders, making her long for stillness and silence.
Khaali, eyes blazing in the realization of triumph over a worthy opponent,
pressed her case with ever strengthening vigor.
Smoldering bits of wood, some microscopic in size, once again
rose up in a burning, choking whirlwind, thrown at the erstwhile servant of
the Emperor, as she sought doggedly to conquer her past, her wounds,
her compulsions. Her carefully constructed streak of goodness, her dim
thread of repugnance for what had come before, began to fade, to lose
itself within a maze of pain and weariness. Mara's blows now trembled
with human weakness and the Force seemed to sing a distant song, lost
for whole moments in the storm that surrounded her.
Khaali advanced inexorable and powerful upon an opponent
whose weakening defenses made deflecting the rippling, smoldering
wood with her borrowed saber a chancy affair. Mara's haphazard training,
now only a trail of sudden regret, was a heavy burden but still she made
the saber sing, green and powerful. She struggled mightily, refusing
weakness and defeat and let the Force funnel through her in a mighty
effort, let it roam in her soul. And as it did, as she once again opened the
door, she heard Khaali's voice. And the empty place the Emperor had
carved into her mind, into her soul, responded just as it had to *him* years
ago.
Khaali was compelling, almost irresistible. Shades of the past
danced before Mara's eyes, invaded her mind, held her hostage. "Come
with me, Mara Jade, Emperor's Hand! Come with me and your destiny will
be fulfilled!"
The sudden pleasure of the vision expanded within her, shaping
itself to her inner contours, to her fragmented mind. A thrill rose all way
from the pit of her stomach to the top of her head, almost making her hair
stand on end. A completeness, a fulfillment, a deep, enticing passion
.........
"No!" she screamed, pushing back Khaali with the sound of her
voice alone. The topaz saber danced before her eyes. Khaali's gray
eyes were hellish and her gaze was red-rimmed with hatred and new
strength. The army of spirits sang in outworldly voices, a humming,
damning, bone chilling sound.
Han, forced against the saturated walls, staggered in pain and
made for his blaster. But before he could set it the thing it flew from his
hand and burst into shattered pieces. Chewie's bowcaster, partially
unholstered, suddenly became nothing more than bent metal alloy. A
roaring, thundering noise threw them against the stinking stones,
obliterating all coherence as it rose to an unbearable crescendo.
There was a pause, a breath of time, and a small, following light
fell about the darkening place as Leia, followed by Kyp and Kam, ran
frantically into the room from the black mouth of yet another tributary
corridor, stoppping dead in their tracks. Leia gazed in blank horror at the
scene in front of her. For the sight that filled her vision was Luke fighting
for his life. Irek had him pinned against the wall, the saber scoring it
deeply as Luke ducked from side to side.
A long yell issued from her mouth, masterful and Force-
enhanced, as her saber came up, activated and strong. Momentarily
startled, Irek glanced over and Luke, taking advantage of the inattentive
moment, ducked away, breathing hard, sweat pouring off his pinched face.
Immediately, Irek grinned and, taking advantage of his opportunities,
made straight for his half sister.
She rose to the occasion, her valiant heart uncorrupted and pure.
Her saber met his, biting into it, the Force giving her a strength she had
never known. But instead of Irek, she found herself fighting her father, his
black cloak swinging and terrible in the weak, winter light. A booming
voice issued from the apparition, the words cruel, horribly familiar and
paralyzing.
"Ahhh, daughter, you were one with me once, in the torture
chamber......" The figure paced her, despite its size stalking and quick.
"You will come with me again and we will finish your conversion to the
Darkside!"
"Never!" Leia yelled over the din. "I will die first.....!"
The figure never lost a beat, never stopped moving, the saber
never let up. "So be it!" it replied, its rasping voice cutting, clear and
condemning.
With powerful, hammer blows, Irek beat against Leia's half trained
defenses. Her goodness, its light suddenly shadowed under her brother's
overwhelming evil, seemed now only partial and motley. Step by
agonizing step, she was pushed against the wall. She pressed her palms
against it, forced into its coldness, her blade falling and felt something
damp and sticky against her searching fingers. She pulled up her palm
and saw that it was covered in a gelatinous red, an evil disease drowning
even the small finger joints and lines. Something in her recognized it and,
unthinking, she screamed.
But just as the figure of Vader prepared for the killing blow, just as
Han made an impossible leap to within an arm's reach of his wife, just as
Chewie followed after only to be struck down by the Force, Luke's saber
came forward, Darth Vader's very sword, cleaving the air between his half
brother and his twin sister. Leia was knocked sideways and dragged
along the pitted floor, her hands running with a combination of her own
blood and that which now coursed down the old stone walls. The ancient
blade, the symbol of a failed generation, trembled but held its own,
protecting her.
Irek turned back to Luke, the vision of Vader flicking away and as
the red blade cut into Vader's blue one. Luke parried and Irek raised his
saber for another blow. But, here a shattering shout, reverberating,
commanding and irresistible, stopped everything.
The room hummed with sounds both real and unreal, with the
voices of the dead and the undead, the buzzing lightsabers, the words
exchanged in desperation and domination -- curses for an eternity. Leia
looked up from her place on the floor her face bleeding from small
lacerations. Kam was knocked out cold at the side of the room. Kyp was
crawling pitifully on all fours, fighting with trembling hands to get to Leia's
side. Han was balanced against the wall, his eyes glazed as he fought
unconsciousness. Chewbacca was a crumpled heap nearby and Irek
twisted and then remained shock still, like an ancient monument, exhuding
a palpatable, formed evil.
Their gazes were riveted upon the dais As the weak light was
lost behind a deathly cloud, a triumphant, topaz blade shining with bright,
lethal malevolence was held squarely at the throat of Mara Jade. Her
singed face was calm, a beautiful death mask. The sunlight faded into
twilight and even as the comforting daylight was sloughed away by
darkness, Luke's heart burned. In the space of an instant, all the feelings,
all the words, all the advice, the remarks, the kisses, the scent of her
pulsed through his being. Everything gloamed together to make one,
overwhelming, unified feeling. Unthinking, uncontrolled, his actions finally
at one with his emotions, he pushed forward.
"Maaaaraaaa!" he yelled, all his desperation and despair poured
into that one word, his soul filled suddenly with the light born of realized
love, with the crystal clarity that only death brings. Vader's sword buzzed
as he raised it, a powerful, primitive threat. "Let her go, Khaali!" he
shouted, his Force-strong voice echoing off the cadaverous walls. "She is
innocent!"
"She is a traitor!" Khaali shouted back, her voice harsh, her eyes
shining with an evil, moonlit glow. "She will pay the price!" The blade
moved again, almost slicing its target as Mara struggled. Khaali, her
inhuman strength pulled from the encircling, glowering Darkside, was
unmoved.
Luke drew breath from the burning air and collected himself. The
room sank into soundlessness of an open grave. "What do you want?" he
demanded, dangerous and searching.
Khaali smiled, her perfect teeth like small, evil pinpricks of light.
"You," she replied simply.
The reply startled Irek and unthinkingly he paced away from Leia.
"Whatthe.....?!" he muttered, his voice a whispered realization of betrayal.
Luke lowered his saber as desire took him, a half hidden passion,
a barely recognizable tide that now coursed freely through his being. He
wanted her, he needed her, even knowing what he knew. The passion
was separate from the rest of his soul, dictating, deciding. He gazed
desperately at Mara's impassive face, seeking guidance. It was pure and
lit as if from within, suffused with the awful power of angels.
He jerked back to Khaali. "If I do this, you will spare her life?" he
asked. No shouting, no screaming, no demands, no bargaining. Just
words. Simple, killing, irreversible words.
Mara struggled in the witch's grip. Her voice was choked. "No,
Skywalker ........ don't!"
A long moment seemed to pass although in reality it was only
an instant. And, in that moment revelation broke through along with an
overriding hopelessness and guilt. How could he have missed it? His
wondering soul, wounded but still striving toward an innate purity, lurched
within him. Her or his own life? Suddenly, he knew that something good
had to come out of this whole sorry thing. And that something was Mara's
life. His expression hardened.
"Too many people have died, Mara," Luke said, his saber now
pointed to the ground. Then he spoke damning words. "I have failed."
Khaali glowed with triumph. "You agree to this, of your own free
will?" she inquired, eagerness edged liberally with suspicion, the formal
words holding the shadowed outlines of an unredeemed death.
The world halted. The stars stopped in their paths. The very air
hung breathless, motionless and expectant. There was devastating quiet,
the soundlessness of a snowbound cemetery, the paced silence of a
mausoleum, old stones hopeless with silent doom. He was cornered, no
longer a free agent. Khaali knew well that she was tearing out his soul, bit
by bit. And yet, cruel and selfish, she was still willing to do it.
The silence enveloped them like a heavy curtain, iced and brutal.
But just as he opened his mouth to speak, just as he drew breath to say
the irredeemable words, an agonized yell broke the quiet. "No! You will
not! She is mine!"
And, once again, Irek Ismaren was Khaali's undoing.
Irek's blade came down between the lovers, severing the
surrendering bond. Involuntarily, Khaali stepped backward, startled, and
Mara raised Luke's saber into Khaali's suddenly inattentive one. Green
clashed with topaz sending topaz and a clutched hand clattering horribly
to the stone floor, bloody, steaming and useless. Khaali's scream was an
evil thing, alive and flying. It scored the stones, releasing a storm of flying
rock, that slivered and sheared through the room, a knife's edge.
Disbelievingly, Khaali raised her handless arm to her face as Mara
ducked and rolled, throwing herself off the dais and ending up behind
Luke, who advanced.
Luke turned on his brother, his emotions now too high to be
controlled. Such was the strength of Luke's passion that with one raw
stroke Irek's saber was extinguished. Irek retreated in speechless shock,
scuttling away like a rat to its fetid nest. And without thought, without
consideration, without reservation, Luke turned his back on his brother and
advanced until he stood victorious, bloodstained, gazing down at the witch.
The unmistakable, gagging odor of burning flesh penetrated the room as
Khaali fell to her knees, her fair neck and shoulders cut and bleeding
where the slivered stone had scored them. Her face was an open wound,
her mouth scarlet with blood, her eyes frantic and searching.
Luke's expression was blank, like an ancient representation of
an avenging angel and his voice was that of the graveyard. "You are
defeated, Khaali."
Holding her right stump underneath her left armpit in a painfully
familiar, defending gesture, she scooted along the floor away from him,
moving straight backwards, as if on a narrow beam over an unspeakable
abyss. His presence, mighty and unmistakable within the Force, extended
a hand, his artificial hand. "Come and you will be healed," he said.
She did not look at him, only continued to move, continued to
search, the demon within wily and strong. A wind came up, shavings of
rock pelting and painful. He ignored them, the Force deflecting the lethal
shrapnel like a ship's shield protects against meteorites. She stopped,
trembling, back to the wall, caught like squirming prey between the air and
the ground.
Then there was a massive, swooping feeling and a spirit said
something in a whispering, shivering voice, the language outworldly and
unfamiliar. Another answered and a great power seemed to pace through
the room. Darkness visited, hovered and pulled something unspeakable
and screaming from the wounded woman. Then it rushed away in a
chorus of breathing voices, toward the ruined roof and eternity. Luke
closed his eyes, knowing at the last moment that he was forbidden to look.
When he opened them again, there was nothing there but
following silence. Blinking in realization, he knew that Death had roared
through the soiled and torrid air and after it, following on its forbidding
heels like an insolent, padding dog, came life. Cold shivered through,
then clouds, then an unnatural warmth and suddenly glaring sunlight.
Han stirred, pushed away from the moist wall and came to bend
over his wife, who only nodded at him. His white coat was soaked in blood
and his face was filthy as he reached down to her, pulling her to stumbling
feet. She, in her turn, bent to help Kyp and, huddled together, they all
turned to the unfolding tableau in the middle of the room. Irek was
dumbstruck, his breath rasping and frantic, as with trembling hands he
wiped at the blood that ran into his eyes from small wounds caused by the
rocks and debris.
Khaali was immobile. No sound issued from her opened mouth
and then, as if something within were being born, her face changed. Her
eyes lightened to a cheery smoky color, her skin was suddenly pure and
whole, her hair fell shiny and full down her back. A shocked, realizing
moment passed as the crows scattered and the chittering rodents
scurried away.
A warmth touched Leia's cheek as she leaned into her husband's
suddenly solid embrace. Her tears glistened in the unmistakable,
unseasonable warmth, and Han knew, although he did not know how, that
they were the wellspring, the source, the very essence of bittersweet joy.
"You..... you are Luke." Khaali's voice was completely different,
the timbre low and foreign, the clipped inflection of Chad pronounced.
Khaali's mouth moved but the words seemed divorced from it, so that the
human shell around the blossoming spirit seemed only an unformed child,
mouthing a silent, internal song.
Luke stood perfectly still. His expression was pinched but uplifted
and flooded with the same joy as his sister. Tears streaked through
encrusted dirt, blood and sweat, marring the filthy mask his face had
become. "I am Luke Skywalker," he said slowly, feeling his way into
a bright epiphany. Kyp scowled and stumbled, weak and wondering.
"You have saved me, Luke Skywalker," the woman said, the gray
eyes now holding dusky joy. "So long have I waited...... so long has this
evil used me."
Luke, striving for control, clenched his fingers and withdrew his
hand, deactivating Vader's saber. "Khaali is dead," he said, an affirming
statement.
"Khaali is dead...." the woman replied, as if it were difficult to
speak, the small words suddenly a barrier.
She gazed up at him and the moment became simple, like the
words that had prompted it, words of truth and light. She too began to
cry, a renewed spirit. But they were tears of joy, of release, of a final
happiness. They washed over her now pure face, glistening with the
clarity of an immortal tide. And through them, as the light became
diamond like and the smoke of battle was banished, he could see what
she saw.
Fields of radiance opened up before him, beckoning him and he
saw what she had finally been allowed to enter. A compelling voice urged
him to turn his saber on himself and die with her, to be together with her in
the radiant halls of eternity, to never know hunger, sorrow or loniliness ever
again.
But, with shuddering breath, he turned away from the vision. No
one had to tell him what he already knew. It was not his time and she was
not his destiny.
Instead, he moved to convince her to stay. "You can come with
us, Callista," Luke whispered, his mouth trembling. Suddenly he was
afraid, afraid of this complete stranger, afraid of the vision, afraid of her
answer.
The ghost woman straightened, so that despite her maiming, she
seemed curiously whole, bloody but cleansed, dead but alive. She merely
shook her head in a deliberate, knowing motion. "You must kill me. It is
my time." There was no trace of self pity in the foreign inflection. "I died
with the ship and my spirit has wandered these many years. I have done
great evil."
But still, Luke resisted. So long he had wandered, so long he had
hoped. And the perseverance, the habit of seeking her, prompted a last,
clutching attempt to realize the old dream.
He fell to his knees before her, gazing straight into her eyes. "But
you are redeemed. You have been forgiven. We can tend your wounds...."
"No," the spirit said, returning his gaze, moment for moment. "I
am a Jedi. I must die an honorable death. You must kill me." And here,
as if preparing herself, she reached up with her good hand and, with a
noticeable tremor, pulled the perfect hair away from her neck.
Luke looked down at his hands, at the gloved, artificial one, so still
and calm. At the organic one, trembling uncontrollably. His tears were
now hot and protesting as they washed down his face and onto his fated
hands. The handle of the lightsaber was cold and, somehow, his hands
felt disembodied, as if moving of their own accord. "Callista," he began,
"I cannot kill you, just as I could not kill....."
A berserker scream interrupted him, interrupted his confession of
weakness, his subjugation to simple, human love. He twisted to see Irek
standing directly behind him, red saber renewed and rising like a blood
tide over his head. In a flurry of instinct combined with years of hard
training, he activated Vader's weapon and coming to his feet in a flowing,
swinging motion, brought it around.
But Luke was too late. Irek had the advantage. The red blade
came down, nearly slicing his left arm from his shoulder. A sudden,
unbearable pain stabbed through his chest and he fell back, into the
quickly collapsing spirit of Callista. His left hand trembled into immobility
and then stilled, dead. Drawing painful breath, heart pounding in a frenzy
of self-preservation, he pushed himself to his feet, a superhuman effort.
There was blood everywhere, on his clothes, spattered over his face, on
his hands. Their blood, his and Callista's, intermingled in death. Finding
the wall, he steadied himself, preparing to kill Irek before dying along with
his doomed lover.
Irek swung the saber hard, his eyes full of the cursedness of the
executioner, the personification of Death. But, to Luke's complete,
shuddering astonishment, his brother stopped mid motion, the red saber
let loose and sailing through the moldy air like a noxious, polluted sword of
fate. The boy's face was staring, uncomprehending and what Luke
thought at first was laughter became a death throttle, deep in the back of
the aristocratic throat. Blood spurted from his nose and mouth and he
lunged for his enemy in one more horrible but futile threat. Then his hands
trembled forward and he fell to the scored floor in slow motion, as if he
were only a heavy blanket, discarded and soiled. He crumpled into the
sharp stones, face down and arms useless over his head. His thrown
saber rolled along the uneven stones, masterless, clattering and fruitless.
Relief and loss of blood pulled intermittent blackness over vision
as Luke fought unconsciousness. But he knew could not surrender to the
warmth now. Callie needed him....
Unable to move, he gazed up to see Mara, who was breathing
hard, his activated lightsaber a beacon of goodness in her right hand. A
mouthful of awful curses were whispered, half remembered words of
protection against the dead incarnation of evil before her. Then, the
whispered words vanished into the sultry air, the green light was gone
and she stepped over the body of the late Irek Ismaren, coming to stand
by a collapsing Luke.
"You're hurt," she said simply, her eyes suddenly, alarmingly near.
There was an ocean there, a great green ocean, an ocean of passion.....
He closed his eyes. Sudden, bursting knowledge dogged him, biting at
his heels.
"I can't stop..... now...." he replied, between thirsty breaths.
"Callie.... "
"Callista is dying, Luke," she said quietly. She gazed at him, her
hand unfelt on his injured arm. There was a moment, a fleeting, realizing
light followed by the first, hesitant steps of acceptance. He thought he
could hear the sound of a wall crumbling. But no, he told himself, it was
only the wind through the broken roof.
Imploring Luke pulled at her arm. "Help me...." he whispered.
To her own surprise, she did as he asked. She pushed his weight
into her own, and unsteadily they made their way quietly, almost
ceremoniously to the shrinking apparition that was the only mortal remnant
of the Jedi Knight Callista, handless, kneeling in the fresh blood of the
body it had appropriated.
Callista gave her lover one last imploring look and again lowered
her gaze. The room stilled into a breathing silence, masked, odorless,
soundless. Her stem-like neck whispered of peace and resolution and the
pale skin shimmered like moonlit pools in a nighttime garden. He had no
memory of Mara leaving his side or of gaining the sure, easy strength to
raise his saber. Everything seemed to move as if it were carefully
choreographed, as if he were but a symbol, an avenger of good, the
fleshly instrument of a final judgment.
The blade came down, floating and graceful. There was the
sound of flesh meeting stone and then an incredible warmth gripped him,
cradling his soul in sudden comfort. A gentle sigh escaped the
decapitated body, one of relief and fulfillment. Now, he knew he could
sleep in the arms of the Force forever. Her journey was ended. She was
whole again.
"Luke!" This was Leia, her voice low and filled with concern and
love. He opened his eyes, blinked and, trembling in cognizance and
repugnance, threw the blue saber across the convulsed floor. The harsh
clanging sound of it rolling amongst the debris and smashed rock held
repudiation, repudiation of all that he had become, a final and complete
revulsion for his strayed path.
Gazing helplessly at the result of his duplicity, an immense,
unexpected freedom fell upon him, along with a blank darkness he had
never before known or imagined. The fog in his heart lifted and everything
burned with clarity for the first time in weeks.
Cray Mingla's head was separated from her body, fallen neatly to
one side, her neck cut clean through. The expression on the bodiless
head was of a soul transported, of one seeing paradise after a long, dark
journey. The body was quiet and neat, laying sideways along the graveled
stones, handless arm falling in limp, graceful surrender.
A pulsing, throbbing sorrow erupted through the Master's soul.
"No!" Luke shouted into the breezeless air. One last moment of rebellion
pulsed through him, flared and vanished into the eternity of past, into the
vagaries of history, into the void. And then the sacred silence was broken
as the walls seemed to liquefy, revealing a host of delicate, brown birds
flowing directly out of the smooth stones. Their winter feathers fluttered
between the clean, dry walls as they coalesced into a great silent cloud,
flowing ever upward, as if transporting the found soul through a last mortal
domain into soaring freedom, and finally, the afterlife.
Then there was muffled silence, supernatural and still, as Luke fell
to his knees, his shoulders shuddering in a fit of pent up emotion. His
tears washed the ground, diluting the blanket of blood as all mortal trace
of Callista vanished. A breeze drifted through the ruined skylights, a bird
sang somewhere and memory was immutably directed to fill in the blanks
with a beguiling, summer day.
They stood vigil, pain and weariness forgotten, as Cray's body
vanished, preyed upon by the carrion eaters of the undead, disappearing
only in small pieces. Kyp, weakened, finally collapsed on the floor again,
his wounds pulling him into unconsciousness. Han bent to tend him but
Leia remained upright, watching with Luke and Mara, all three unmoving,
as if Jedi from the distant past had come to life only long enough to send
one of their own off into a forgiving forever. And so, the mangled body of
Cray Mingla was finally released, devoured by the light.
Luke waited until nothing remained but dead rock. Even her blood
had vanished. The gentle, spring breeze was nothing but a memory and
winter was again triumphant. Leia found she could only watch as Luke
turned to leave but, attempting to rise, he only collapsed onto the floor.
Immediately, Mara was at his side. Carefully, almost tenderly, she put her
arms around him, supporting his weight. No word passed between them
as they made their way slowly out of the room, his great quest was finally
done.
Momentarily, Leia was motionless, held in a crystalline borderland
between the present and the future. She gazed at the crumbling prison,
now only dilapidated and worn, the pervasive evil vanquished. Her gaze
touched Irek's rigid body on the floor and she shivered, knowing that this
coldness would rest in her bones a long while before it vanished into the
careless warmth of everyday life. The wind came up again, cold and
awakening. Then, stepping with gladness over an irreversible boundary,
followed her brother and his chosen through the fetid corridors, out
through the ruined door and back into the ordinary world.
Han was already there, Kyp and Kam with him, both bleary and
blank faced. Even Chewbacca had been roused and was seated on large
tree stump, his great furry head in his hands. Feeling the wookie's need
for comfort, Leia let herself stop there and gently, tenderly, rested her
small hand on his shoulder. One of his large palms engulfed it and they
waited there for a time, immobilized in grief, shock and growing relief,
preparing, at last, for the journey home.
The birds, now only woodland creatures seeking warmth in the
wintertime, sang thinly in the pallid air. It was dusk and a golden sunset
streaked underneath the mottled clouds. Its brilliance momentarily
illuminated the old prison, turning the ruined masonry and fallen towers into
the perfection of an enchanted castle. It was as if the place floated, pure
and unobtainable, over the dormant landscape. But there was no one
there to see it. The sojourners had abandoned the timeless place. Only
the birds remained, twittering to themselves, fluffed into irritable,
complaining balls of brown feathers. Night fell, the wind laced long,
searching fingers through loose stones and dry, rustling leaves as stars
gradually sprinkled the darkening sky, an afterthought.
Forgetfulness became a deep, rich blanket and sleep was no
longer an abstraction. It rolled over the land, compelling all to stillness.
Only the wind remained awake, its haunted voice filled with remembering,
regret and an aching melancholy. The great wheel of the sky bowled
above the depopulated meadows, the distant past glimmering on the
edge of sight, searing suns reduced to cold flecks of bitter light.
After midnight the wind died and the countryside was quiet. The
Darkside was banished but spring was still months away.
**********************************
Coruscant
*The Millennium Falcon* was allowed to dock, without incident, at
the Solos' private hangar. Han and Leia made their way down the ramp as
steam rose from the engines and a vent or two finally gave way under the
strain of yet another battle with Coruscant's gravity well. Chewbacca
whined to himself, a pensive sound, as he put the venerable lady through
familiar shutdown procedures. An hour later, Leia returned. Luke lay in
the small medical berth, stabilized but unconscious. Kyp was sitting with
Kam at the table. Mara was pacing.
"Well?" This was Mara. Leia didn't look so good.
Leia sighed and resisted the habit of diplomacy. "They're going
to arrest you all." She spread her hands. "There's nothing I can do....."
Mara merely nodded in acceptance at the little woman. Judicial
proceedings were the least of her problems now.
Leia spoke again. "First, you're all going to the med center,
especially," her glance took in the medical berth, "Luke." Leia gave Mara
a speculative glance. "Do you want to stay with him?"
Mara made no reply, only turned and sat down on a stool next to
the berth. Leia nodded and turned away. Kyp and Kam moved past, their
dark eyes filled with acceptance. As they passed Mara, they each
clasped her hand in a gesture of support. Chewbacca departed soon after
and, for a short time, as the *Falcon's* engines settled into a well-
deserved rest, Mara was alone with Luke.
The ship settled into a peculiar quiet, a technological waiting. But
instead of dead time, Mara found herself busy following her thoughts as
they moved, floating on ribbons of quicksilver, in her mind. She gazed
down at the unconscious Luke, studying his hands. Of his left, only the
fingertips were discernible. Everything else was covered by a metal
casting that protected his entire arm. The right was flaccid, the glove lost
somewhere in the fight. There was a blackened area at the wrist and the
synthetic skin had peeled back. Momentarily transfixed, she studied the
sophisticated circuitry.
And then, all revulsion gone, she gently put her hand over it,
protecting the exposed microcircuits and bio-connections. He shifted
slightly, as if in response. But after an unintelligible word, he settled back
into oblivion, his breathing sighing into peaceful sleep.
*******************************
The scandal was tremendous but Leia, with the aid of Ackbar and
Mon Mothma, had managed to quell the shouting to a bearable level. The
movement to impeach was thrown off track for a time by clever
manipulation of parliamentary procedure, but no one could guarantee just
how long Leia would remain Chief of State. She knew she would have to
resign eventually, but there were a few things she was determined to
accomplish before she stepped down.
Artoo whistled as he registered his erstwhile companion, C-
Threepio. "Artoo!" Threepio said with his customary condescension.
"You look well for having infiltrated the Core Systems!" This was followed
by a definite conspiratorial note. "You really must be more careful, Artoo.
All this wandering will surely cause your circuits to overload!"
A plunking whistle signaled an irritated reply to the old, and
useless, admonition. Threepio, of course, was unamused. "Callista! But
she is rumored to have disappeared over two years ago, Artoo! How....?"
He was interrupted by a furious explanation. "I'm not too sure I
understand, Artoo...." Threepio said, interrupting again. "Well, yes, but
Master Luke...... But, Artoo, how could she be a dark jedi?....... Master
Luke did what?"
Artoo's binary faded to a droid whisper. Threepio did his best to
look astonished. "I see," he replied, although he did not see at all. A
sudden feeling of pity, if droids can be said to have pity, seemed to enter
his joints. Bless the Maker he was a droid and not organic! These
biological organisms seemed to go through so much pain in their short
lifetimes.
Perhaps, he decided in his relentlessly cheery way, it would be
best to change the subject. "Well, it's more exciting than what's been
going on around here, Artoo. Although," he began, warming to his subject
and his familiar audience, "Anakin got away again the other day and we
found him in......"
Moving down the corridor he continued to elucidate, giving his
feisty counterpart a blow by blow account. The two venerable droids
passed the Medical Center, its security field firmly in place, only to be
easily pierced by Threepio's annoying sincerity. Luke, sitting on a bed
within, winced as he heard the familiar voice. He gave Cilghal a tight
smile.
"Hold your arm like this, Master," Cilghal ordered.
Luke, biting his tongue, did as he was told.
Without warning she pushed a blunt instrument into his left
forearm. "Can you feel that?"
Luke winced again. "Ouch! That hurts.....!"
Cilghal was expressionless, but then most Mon Calamari usually
were. "Good. I don't think we'll have to replace your arm."
Luke's smile became genuine. "That's good news," he said as he
pushed himself forward and let his feet hit the floor. Gingerly, he began to
move about.
Cilghal retreated to her diagnostic board. "You should be careful
for a while, sir," she said, her voice exquisitely formal. "You've been
through a bad time and you're not entirely healed."
Luke approached her and took one of her hands. "Thanks,
Cilghal," he said, letting the Force flow through.
He felt her smile in return. "Take care Master Skywalker,"
she replied in her stilted way and disappeared through a door.
Mara entered. "Clean bill of health?" she asked briskly.
He nodded, his smile fading. "It's time to face the music,"
he said, himself making for the same door Cilghal had used.
"Not so fast, Skywalker," Mara said, her words bringing him
up short. "What do you think they'll do with you?"
He quelled exasperation. "What I'd do if I were them. Lock
me up and throw away the key."
She smiled, a bleak expression. "That's what they say they're
going to do, but I doubt if they will." Her green eyes were easy and her
voice downright light. "They have good memories of you, Skywalker.
They can't just ignore your past."
He shrugged. "Why not?," he replied. "I can."
"Not everyone is as strong as you are, Luke."
The prompted a wry laugh and he searched for her customary
sarcasm. "What are you getting at Mara?" he said, approaching her.
She resisted the urge to move away. "For one thing," she began,
handing at something on her belt. "What about this?" His green saber
sprang whole and strong, alive, shimmering, almost conscious in the small
room.
He gazed at the object in her hand, familiar and at the same time
terrible. "I thought I'd lost that," he said, quickly, although he made no
move to take it. "They'll confiscate it, I suppose."
"Not if you give it to someone else first," she replied meaningfully.
She deactivated it and let it sit in her open palm.
"Well, maybe Leia..." he began, a little flustered. Something
about the way she held it brought back an old memory; of a quiet roof,
a vanquished enemy and a promise fulfilled. Ben's voice washed through
but the only thing he could see was Mara's face as it had been then,
stilted, taken aback but accepting.
"Leia can't take it and you know it. If it became known it would put
her in a worse position than she's in now. They've already accused her of
being partial to you. I can't say her critics are wrong, of course......"
He closed his eyes, suddenly weary of it all; the sparring, the
veiled sarcasm, the words that held double or even triple meanings.
The memory vanished and he sighed. "You take it," he said shortly.
She lifted her eyebrows. "Are you sure, Skywalker?" she asked,
the precious thing still held loosely in her palm. Then she added
experimentally, "What if they arrest me?"
He turned away, his voice distant, suddenly impatient. "Then it
goes to the War Museum, -- 'The Lightsaber that Struck Down Darth
Vader' -- or something silly like that...."
Her voice was hard and searching. "You can't mean that."
Quickly, he paced back to her and resisted a sudden urge to
reach out, to put his hands on her shoulders, fingers curling around the
delicate collarbones. As it was, he merely clenched them together behind
his back. "They're coming for me soon, Mara. You too...."
"No," she said, her voice now very clear and distinct, "they've
decided we were all unduly influenced by your *superior* skills." She
grinned and momentarily, the old Mara returned. "They're letting the rest
of us off with heavy fines."
He laughed outright, not at all put off by her small deception.
"Great! Now you'll be able to...." His words stopped short as if they had
run into a durasteel wall.
"...... leave," she finished for him, reading his thought.
He seemed to sway a little, still unsteady on his feet. She made
no move but her very posture was a challenge. His eyes were suddenly
desolate and she saw, without any effort, his heartbreaking loneliness.
The silence was edged by something from the corridor, the unmistakable
sound of a group of people marching in unison.
In a moment of bare truth, he drew nearer and looked down at her.
Her eyes were limitless. "Keep it for me," he said softly, meaning plying
his words as a farmer plys fertile fields. "It will be safest with you."
She nodded, eyes glittering. And between them, for a small,
nourishing moment there was the sound of rushing water, a great ocean of
warmth and familiarity. The waves were gentle, the sunlight comforting,
compelling, calling them both to its pleasured shores. Luke drew ragged
breath, but Mara remained immobile, like a statue.
And just before the guards entered, Luke came forward in a
strangely familiar motion, bent his face to hers and kissed her lightly. For
a blessed moment, their lips molded together and the ocean between
them pooled into a settled, waiting stillness, small waves muttering barely
felt promises.
He pulled away. She let him go, watching as took him, restraining
his hands, ysalamiri pushing away the Force. And then he was gone and
she was alone, his lightsaber clutched tightly in her hand.
***********************************************
Samizdat -- Epilogue
Shura4@aol.com
It had been six months since the death of Callista. At first Luke
was imprisoned on Coruscant, but this time he went willingly. An
preliminary investigation was initiated, but stalled due to the impossibility
of any impartiality on the part of resident Force users, all of whom had, at
one time or another, trained at the Jedi Academy. However, since the
vaunted Jedi Master was now an alleged criminal with some pretty serious
charges pending, it was decided that the Academy, flawed though it was,
would be run by Jedi Streen for the time being. Its 200 or so students
returned to Yavin IV and many worthy Jedi began their training at this time.
The New Republic, irritated by the constant problem of dark jedi,
especially half-trained jedi students becoming dark, put its collective head
together and came up with stringent rules regarding eligibility for
entrance into the Academy along with even more stringent requirements
for graduation. This elongated the educational process, giving the
instructors more time to weed out unsuitable or unstable students.
These last were treated with compassion, their latent talents held in
check while they were rehabilitated on another moon of Endor. This
served to separate the prone from the not-so-prone and things at the
school began to run much more smoothly.
Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight, Hero of the Rebellion, twice
awarded the Medal of Valor, was sentenced to a prison term of two
years, mostly for breaking out of confinement. All charges brought
against him by Tionne and Mara Jade were dropped, over his own
protests. It was then decided, upon careful study, that the New Republic
would be better served by his community service than confinement to a
penal planet. Therefore, he was assigned to return to his home planet
of Tatooine, where he was to serve his time dealing with the displaced
unfortunates of Mos Eisley's gentrification program. And so it was that,
under strict supervision, Luke Skywalker came home at last.
The twin suns rode high in the sky, smoldering over scrub country.
Luke, who was usually accompanied by someone from the hospital, found
himself alone. He was after a runaway, a boy of about 15 or so. This
child's parents had abandoned him at the age of 10 and he had become
a hardened street urchin. When Mos Eisley began to clean itself up,
people like Lan were shipped into institutions such as this, where they sat
out their teen years only to be released at the age of 18, thence to begin a
life of crime. Luke had been working with Lan for several weeks now. The
only thing he had been able to get out of the sullen youngster was a high
sense of hostility.
He gave his old binocs another try. A 360 degree search turned
up nothing. Luke lifted his face and studied the positions of the suns. It
was late. Another hour and they would drop behind the horizon like falling
meteorites. A sense of worry overrode his reason and he headed for the
landspeeder. He was forbidden, as a condition of his community service,
to venture out alone into the wilderness. But Lan was out there, he could
feel it.
The landspeeder's ancient comm coughed and filled the small
cockpit with static. "Larsevitch, are you there?"
Immediately, Luke hit the comm button. "Read you loud and
clear, Nightsinger. I've lost Lan."
A staticed silence indicated indecision and, perhaps, curses.
"I figured," Nightsinger replied. "I know he wanted out. Any ideas
where he's off to?"
Luke gave the desiccated landscape around him an annoyed
look, all preoccupation. "The nearest landmark is Jabba's Palace. But,
it's been deserted for a long time." Luke's stomach roiled at the thought
of the place.
More silence. Nightsinger, as head dispatcher, was not privy
to Luke's identity. One of the conditions of this whole set up was strict
anonymity. Luke's surname was never to be revealed. For the time
being he was Matt Larsevitch, a malcontent from Coruscant. After a short
period of discomfort, he found the new identity curiously comforting. It
pointed up the burden of living up to a famous, and infamous, name.
"Larsevitch, come back in. You're under restriction. We'll mount
a search and rescue."
"It'll be dark by that time," Luke replied quickly, his bedrock
impatience suddenly thrust to the fore. "He'll be dead."
The reply was instantaneous. "You're under orders, Larsey! If
you haven't returned by the half hour, you'll be placed in confinement."
Luke swallowed. The dry air was prickling along his spine. He
wiped his face on the dirty sleeve of his coveralls. "I'm not going
anywhere, Nightsinger. I just want to see Lan safe...."
There was a short snort of laughter. "If I know my delinquents, that
one'll be alright, at least 'til we catch him. This isn't the first time he's been
out in the bush past curfew."
"What about the Raiders we saw this morning?" For a moment
the old Luke was back, his voice that of an impatient 18-year-old, arrogant,
fiery and restless. Always looking away, up into the limitless sky, studying
the mysterious horizon, never paying any attention to what he was doing,
never paying attention to *now.* Yoda's figure swam up before his eyes
and he took a long breath. It was time to learn from his mistakes.
"They're probably kilometers away by now, Larsey," Nightsinger
said, amusement cutting through the static. "Don't worry about the kid.
We'll find 'em."
Not exactly reassured, but holding to a plan higher, more far
seeing than his own, he gunned the speeder. It's sand damaged engine
turned over under protest and a cloud of dust rose and fell as he turned it
back toward the fortified, hospital grounds.
Ten minutes later he watched with no small envy, combined with
a strange relief, as the rescue crew dressed for their mission. He stood in
the abrupt shade of a doorway, suddenly feeling old, as they made their
way out to the speeders and tore out of the protected compound. A small
R5 unit rolled to the threshold. Luke smiled down at it, thinking of
something else. "You think they'll find him, Arfive?"
It whistled in reply, in startling imitation of someone Luke knew
quite well, then turned and was gone. Arfive units were not known for
their social skills.
Feeling more than just a little put off, Luke sighed and headed
back into the building. He had a class to teach, a literacy class. His
reading and writing skills were not the best, but he had a solid, if
unspectacular education. He could teach elementary reading and writing
well enough. He glanced at his worn chron. He was late, as usual.
Seeking a moment of refreshment, no matter how brief, he
went to throw some cool water on his face. In the refresher a moisture
evaporation tank clanked noisily, giving warning of imminent breakdown.
Luke gave it a hard look and then began tinkering with the controls. A bell
rang.
Someone knocked on the door, a short, clipped set of sounds
and then a head peered around. "It's time, Larsey. I thought I told you
to stop messing with the machinery!"
Luke scowled. "I used to....." he began, but, thinking the better
of it, he closed his mouth and he swallowed ready words.
"We'll get one of the locals to fix that," the woman said. Luke
turned to face her. She was slight, almost elfin in the way of Tatooine,
except that she was the fairest blue-eyed blonde he had ever seen. Her
pale eyes, like delicate sandflowers in the first flush of flash flood, smirked
at him. "You city people are all the same. Always trying to fix things you
don't understand." She smiled at him again, even though this odd man
from the depths of Coruscant was mostly an annoyance. "Your class is
waiting. Better get in there before they destroy something."
"Is K'aaatania back?" he asked, moving toward her. She held the
door for him.
"Yep. Fit as a bantha, as they say around here, and ready to play.
You should be able to handle him, I think."
Luke smirked, suddenly liking the little, no nonsense woman. "Not
well, but he's never gotten away from me."
She stopped to inspect a crack in the wall as they moved down
the corridor. "Yeah, although there's been a couple of times....."
"That was when I first got here," Luke countered.
She refused to look at him, although she did tap the wall next to
the crack, as if telling herself to remember it. "We still don't know how you
calmed him down. You've done good, Larsey."
He smiled broadly at such high praise. And there was a pause,
a hint at something strong and deep. "Thanks, Lightsider."
It was her turn to smile. "Call me Naurenna," she said, looking at
him a little quizzically. Larsey could do that to you. One moment he'd be
plain as day, the next a complete mystery. She had given up trying to
make sense of it.
He hesitated. He had been rather standoffish and this was for
good reason. Lately he hadn't done well on the human relationship end
of things. "Uh..... sure Naurenna," he replied, trying not to sound too familiar.
She smiled again but it was an impersonal expression. "But, only
in private, Larsey," she said, giving him a pat on the back as she walked
away.
**********************************
Luke ate a smattering of dinner and studied the evening report
from HNN. It had been a long day but he had only been threatened once
with assault and K'aaatania had actually seemed happy to see him.
Evidently, confinement had done the boy some good. Lan was back, in
solitary. Luke was due to visit after dinner. But, for now, he could sit in the
half-finished adults lounge and absorb the news.
His sister's face flashed onto the holoreceiver, an official portrait.
And then there was footage of her walking quickly down one of the large,
public corridors of the Imperial Palace. Luke was startled to see Han
following. Something must be up.
Luke stood. "Can I turn this up?"
Two men sitting sullenly at the end of the table gave him gaped
mouthed looks and then nodded. "Sure. No problem."
The sound was scratchy, as if from far away. Luke made a mental
note to look at the vid speakers in the near future. Preferably when
Lightsider wasn't looking.
"..... shock in the Senate today as Leia Organa Solo resigned her
position as Chief of State."
Finally, the other shoe had fallen. Luke felt his face pale.
"Resigned?" he repeated to no one in particular.
This prompted a small reaction from the two men at the end of the
table, but when they saw his attention was focused completely on the vid
they turned away again.
".....after it was disclosed that Han Solo, her husband, had
assisted in the escape of several Jedi caught up in the Tionnegate
scandal at the Jedi Academy. General Solo, also a Hero of the
Rebellion but known to associate with his former Smugglers Alliance
colleagues from time to time, had no comment." Here there was jerky
footage of Han being jostled by a horde of press and shouting in an
agitated manner, "No comment!"
The camera switched back to the narrator. A vid of Luke flashed
up. Luke's cheeks flushed and the two men at the table held silent for a
moment, their attention temporarily snagged. "This scandal began
almost seven months ago when Jedi Master Skywalker was accused
of attempting to rape and then murder his Administrative Assistant,
Tionne." Luke groaned inwardly as a vid of Tionne flashed before his
eyes. "He was never tried due to the fact that the charges were withdrawn.
The Senate, however, established an investigatory committee. Its
preliminary report was released today. In it, Chief of State, Leia Organa
Solo, along with her husband, is formally accused of aiding and abetting
Master Skywalker, who is also her twin brother. Combined with growing
accusations and suspicions that the Skywalkers are laying the groundwork
to become a dynasty, much in the same way that the Organa family
dominated old Alderaan, impeachment seemed imminent. But, today
all procedures are officially canceled due to the fact that Organa Solo
has announced her resignation."
There was truncated footage of Leia's face, talking earnestly, but
tiredly at a news conference. "Her speech will be played in its entirety at
the end of this broadcast. Please stay with us...." the vid announcer said.
And then a commercial for a new brand of Corellian brandy appeared,
slick, sophisticated and extremely annoying.
One of the men at the end of the table snorted in something like
bored contempt. "It's about time! Those Skywalkers are up to their necks
in it! And with all that royal upbringing, it's no wonder....."
Luke merely sat, stupefied.
"Hey buddy," one of the men asked, "not that it matters much out
here in the boonies, but who do you think's gonna take over?"
"Uh..... probably Mon Mothma...." he stuttered, forgetting himself
as his brain moved from one busy point to another.
"That old bag!" The contempt was now unmistakable.
"SonofSith, we gotta get some new blood in the government! No wonder
the Republic's such a wreck! Who'd you vote for in the last election?"
This question was thrown at Luke, as if he were one of them. Evidently,
he didn't look much like his old holographs anymore.
"Uh.... I can't remember....." Luke began, miming forgetfulness.
His brow creased as he stalled for time. "Organa Solo, I guess."
"Not me! I can't stand the woman. All she does is protect that no
account brother of hers..... I'm surprised more of his students aren't here,
so many of them seem to go bad... "
Luke smiled but his humor was banked. "I hear they put the
Force-strong ones on a colony near Endor...." he began, in a rationalizing
tone.
This earned another snort. "Yeah, I betcha that would be fun.
Working with a bunch of Darth Vaders -- yessir, Mr. Territorial Prosecutor,
that's how I wanna serve my time! It's enough to make you give up
Corellian!" This ridiculous statement earned him the appreciative laughter
of the other.
"How long ya got, buddy?" This was directed at Luke again.
Luke's voice was calm, even as he eyed the holovid. "A year
and a half," he replied.
***********************************
Lan was extremely unhappy. He had pushed himself into a corner
and then tried to roll himself up in a ball, or so it appeared. Only his eyes
moved as Luke entered the solitary block. A piece of metal fell upon
stone somewhere down the way, clanking and loud and an irritated voice
swore in very specific language. Luke smiled involuntarily, thinking
suddenly of someone else. Only that someone else seemed to be from
a different lifetime.
His eyes took in the bleak little cell, the hard bed, the boring walls.
Footsteps echoed coldly. It certainly wasn't Coruscant Detention. He let
himself lean against the old fashioned bars. No high technology for
Tatooine.
"You alright, Lan?" The question was a familiar one, asked
many times over the past several weeks.
The scrunched ball of youthful humanity chose not to answer.
"I was kinda disappointed in you, running off like that."
This produced a reaction. The hazel eyes shifted.
"Where were you headed?" Silence. "Jabba's Palace?"
A cramped voice issued from the ball of legs and feet. "How
did you know?"
Luke allowed a small smile to play across his face. "I used to
live here, ya know."
Lan grimaced as he pulled his legs away from his chest and lifted
his head. He was a lanky kid, with dark hair and hazel eyes. Luke was
struck by his resemblance to someone he knew, he just couldn't put his
finger on it.
"You never told me that," Lan said, his voice tired. "Are they
making you sleep here now 'cause I ran off?"
Luke let a hint of amusement cross his voice. "No, that would
have happened only if I had tried to go after you. I almost did."
"You mean you risked solitary for me?"
Luke could not help grinning. "I said almost. I came back to the
compound. The S & R team got you, remember?"
Lan gave Luke a sharp look. "Yeah, after you told them where to
look. How did you know?"
Luke sighed and wondered how much he should say. How much
would he ever really affect this youngster, who had never been given a
chance? Lan was sharp all right, all angles, the product of a lifetime of
poverty and self-reliance. Nothing got past the kid. "I lived out here as a
child, on a moisture farm," Luke said, hoping that would be boring enough
to send the conversation somewhere else.
"They don't do that much anymore," Lan replied instantly, his hazel
gaze becoming speculative.
"So I hear," Luke replied, suddenly tired.
Lan was now quite authoritative. "Turned out, nobody could make
a living doing that. Now they do it in cooperatives. Mos Eisley runs one
of the more profitable guilds."
Luke's brow puckered. "How do you know that?"
Lan looked proud. "We used to sleep in their offices all the time.
They were easy to get into. Plus, their food replicators were pretty good."
He ducked his head. "That's how I got caught, ya know."
Luke actually laughed. The sound was completely foreign to
his ears. "In other words, you got soft," he said quickly, seeing it all too
clearly.
The kid scowled. "You could say that. We just outstayed our
welcome, that's all."
Luke shifted his weight, tiredness more of a burden than in the old
days. There was a shift, a change of atmosphere. "What are you going to
do with your life, Lan?"
Lan was suddenly angry. "Is that why you're here? Is this why
you're standing out there when you could be in bed? Why don't you just
go tell old lady Lightsider...."
Luke put up a hand and Lan stopped instantly, as if it were the
most natural thing in the world. "This is your last chance, Lan," Luke said,
his voice suddenly compelling in an undefined way. "They'll throw you in
a penal colony if you're caught again. And that's the last place the
government's gonna throw resources, so you'd have no chance there.
You'd probably die before your thirtieth birthday. Is that what you really
want?"
Lan gave the older man a shocked, but assessing look. "Why
would you care?" This was the defiance of a deprived youth. And, Luke
knew, the point. No one had ever cared.
Luke, unexpectedly, smiled and his expression was as pure and
attractive as a sunny day beside a clear stream. Lan blinked. "Because
I do. I don't want anything from you, Lan. I'm not after your money...... or
your.... services." The hesitation was only slight. "I only want you to have
a chance at life. I hate to see you throw it away just because your parents
were spice addicts and the city of Mos Eisley failed you." He clutched the
bars for a moment, suddenly passionate. "It failed me once, too. Don't
rely on the outside for your direction, kid! It's the inside, that's what's
going to make it work."
Lan was puzzled. It was unlike Larsey to be so openly emotional
about things. Although, there were times when he could swear he heard
Larsey's voice in his head, or felt moved in a simple way to do what
Larsey had suggested. But he had to face up to it. Larsey was right. He
had never tried to get Lan to do any work for him, nor had he laid a finger
on him. The kid's face was tight. "You really believe that, don't you?"
Luke gave the young man before him, all hurt feelings and the
fiery arrogance that accompanies it, a long, contemplative look. "With
all my heart," he said, finally and then, as if on noiseless ghost feet, pulled
away from the cell, and disappeared down the corridor.
After his mentor left, Lan was stuck with the blank wall outside
his cell for scenery. He lay down and closed his eyes. He needed time
to think.
*******************************
Weeks passed. Luke's work became a grind, although every
once in a while a small success would give him hope. He did hear from
his probation officer once in a while, but all communications were routine.
It was late afternoon. Naurenna came into the classroom. The
class was working its unruly way through the composition of a short story.
Luke had already had to shoot down some of the more riske suggestions.
The boys thought the story was too tame and waaay boring. Luke was
beginning to wonder if he could show it to Naurenna at all. Even in its
present, toned down state, even just submitting it to her for the record
could very nearly be considered an indecent proposition.
He rose from his bent position, the reluctant boy he was assisting
scowling in unaccustomed concentration, and groaned a little as the small
of his back protested. Even with his slight statue, he towered over her.
She lifted her pale eyes to his bluer ones and smiled. "You have a call,
Larsey. Someone from Probation Control." Someone in the room hissed
"Shutup, Sarrlacbreath!" in a loud stage whisper and there was a sudden
cessation of the usual raucous conversation. He ignored them. Naurenna
allowed a pause to collect here. "Anything you haven't told me?"
His brow furrowed but his Force sense told him nothing. "Not that
I'm aware of," he replied.
The nonsense words made her smile. "Well, that makes me feel
better. Anyway, you'd better go to the Probation Con Area. They told me
it's confidential."
His whole face furrowed. "How can that be? You're supposed
to be privy to all my communications. That was the agreement when I got
community service."
She winced and her eyes flashed uncertainty. "Sometimes, they
change the rules on us," she said, with a clear-eyed, assessing look,
surprised for his touching, almost boyish, obedience.
He did not like the expression on her face. "I'll go," he said
quietly, curious and more than a little disturbed. It had occurred to him, in
the wee hours of the night, as insomnia drifted through a barred window
and Callie's face was displaced by Mara's, that in some ways, this was
one of the best times of his life. No spaceship battles, no dark jedi to
chase, no fawning students to teach, no politics to address. Just simple,
straightforward living; eat, drink, sleep and take care of his charges. That
was it. It was a sand blasted paradise.
He was distant and preoccupied as he made his way into the
Probation Area. A startled staff worker, seeing something on Larsey's
face he had never before noticed, gathered his data pads and fled. Luke
waited until he heard the door slide shut. Alone, he hit the comm button.
Instantly, almost life size and quite life-like, Mara was there. She
looked none the worse for wear, although her smile did not seem quite
as sardonic as it had formerly.
He glanced around the room, suddenly feeling furtive. "Mara!
You look well! How did you.....?"
"I have my sources, Skywalker, or should I say Larsevitch?"
"That's supposed to be a dead secret, Mara..." he began.
The woman grimaced, a very familiar expression. "No kidding,
Sky....uh Larsevitch. What's your first name?"
"Uh, Lu..... Matt," he replied, stuttering a little.
She smiled, all sarcasm. "You sure about that?"
He resisted the urge to walk away from her image. "What's the
point, Mara?"
"Well, Matt," she began, exaggerating his new name a little. He
cringed. "I was talking to the former Chief of State a couple of weeks
ago and she let me know she got a little paperwork done before she resigned."
Luke began to feel bored. He already knew that Leia was in
seclusion, on New Alderaan, reportedly. He wasn't surprised that he
hadn't heard from her. He wasn't supposed to have unsupervised visits
and no one knew she was a relative. Besides, currently, life on Tatooine
was better than being jerked around by Coruscant intrigue. "Well, hurry
up, Mara!" he said, his voice rising.
"Not so fast, Jedi," she replied instantly.
He stopped but his face became impassive, intimidating and a
flash of coldness faded through it. The Master had returned.
The image cocked her head. "They didn't beat it all out of you, I
see, Larsevitch." She cleared her throat. "As I was saying before I was
so rudely interrupted...." He ground his teeth but said nothing. "The
former Princess of Alderaan and now citizen of New Alderaan, being
perfectly sound in body and mind, has magnanimously decided to
commute your sentence."
She lifted her chin and let a silence fall through the eternity
between Tatooine and Coruscant. "You're free, Skywalker."
He gaped at the image. "If this is some idea of a joke ......." he
began with a great deal more vehemence than he had first intended.
"No joke," she said, quite serious. "You're free. I have the
documents here, in my hand. I thought I'd tell you first. You know, it's one
of those common courtesy things."
Luke, shocked, sat swiftly in one of the old, metal chairs. The
image gave him a hard look. "It's rude to move out of range, Skywalker.
Don't tell me you're having second thoughts about leaving?"
Luke shook his head. "No, not at all, it's just that...."
The figure of Mara crossed its arms. "And please don't tell me
there's another woman in your life."
He stood and approached the two way comm. "The Maker
Forbid!" he said, with just the right emphasis.
Mara smiled. "Good. We don't need more woman trouble," she
said, seemingly oblivious to the irony. "I'll be arriving in three days. That
should give you enough time to pack."
He straightened, too surprised to protest. "And just where are we
going?" he asked, more curious than taken aback.
"First, we're going to say good-bye to a few places, after that,
we'll see." And then the image was gone, winked out in a second. He
knew, taking into account the time lag, that she had actually left her comm
booth more than ten seconds ago. Just long enough to say the words and
terminate the transmission. He shook his head.
It was time for leave-taking.
**********************************
Confirmation came through that afternoon. Naurenna was
shocked. That oddball Larsevitch had turned out to be Jedi Master Luke
Skywalker was almost too much of a stretch. But, she had had very little
experience with Force-sensitives herself and so she chalked it up to
experience.
Then her fundamental common sense then took over. She called
him into her office, all the better to formalize his new status. But to her
surprise, he wanted few changes. No he did not want another room, no he
did not want to go into town and no he didn't want to call anybody. But he
did have one special, last request.
"It's not as if you're going to your death, Larsey.... uh, I mean...."
"Call me Luke," he said quickly.
"Uh.... Luke," she replied, as if trying the word on for size.
I promise to return in a couple of days. I have to. That's when
Master Trader Jade is due to arrive."
This prompted a thinking nod. "Of course, anything you say,
uh...."
"Luke," he said for her.
This time she got it right. "Luke," she echoed.
He grinned and made for the garage.
The speeder was ready, packed with enough rations for a week, a
small blaster and some extra clothing. He hopped into it and soon the
hospital was far behind, a speck in the wilderness, vanishing over a
blazing horizon.
He rode in circles at first, deciding. And then, as if of its own
volition, the speeder made for the old Lars moisture farm. The painful
things would come first.
It was further than he remembered. It seems that, in memory, you
can easily fly through the journeys of your childhood when in actuality
these journeys were quite arderous. Of course, he and Biggs did not
usually come out this far. Too young, not allowed, too many chores; then
it had been prison and now it all seemed like paradise. He skirted
Anchorhead and gunning the little engine, found himself back on the main
drag. A small knot in his stomach made him avoid Beggar's Canyon and
then he was there.
Only it was completely different. There were pickets set up.
Small, brightly colored strips of duraplastic marked the ground here and
there. But these were slightly off to one side. The thing he had come to
see wasn't there and part of him really wasn't surprised.
The speeder calmed obediently. Out of habit he gave the wild
place a quick, searching glance and then hopped out. His clothing,
already grimy, whipped against his body as he made his way against the
wind to the entrance of his old home. Disoriented, he had to look for it.
Shuffling through the debris strewn area, mixed with old stone, scrub and
the depressing trash of civilization, he found it.
The desert had reclaimed his old home, all of it; the compound,
the garages, the work rooms, the living areas. A broken threshold, pitted
from ever-present winds and large temperature changes, was all that
remained. He had half expected to see smoldering flames rising from it,
but no, that was how it had been before. He squatted for a moment,
fingering the suddenly fine sand and squinted speculatively into the
distance. It looked as if the dunes were beginning to encroach into this
area.
He rose again, not sure what he was feeling, and made his way to
the area where he had managed to memorialize the only parents he had
ever known. His original markers were long gone, of course. There were
several cheap replacement markers on the ground, and in the sand he
could see bits and pieces of still other markers. Two stands remained,
but they were again empty. A shock went through him as he gazed at the
suddenly familiar venue. He began to realize that these were the markers
he had seen shadowing Leia's face during Khaali's attempted seduction.
Moving quickly, he stooped to pick up a broken fragment. Yes, the metal
was the right shape and color. Leia had been here.
He grasped the tinny thing and gave the area all around a
searching look. He wondered what she had seen. Something had
communicated with her here. A leap in his heart hoped it was Ben, but
Ben was gone. Come to think of it, Ben had been gone for most of this
adventure in the first place. A sudden petulance took his heart and he
threw the metal fragment in hard reaction. It slapped, vain and futile,
against worn stone. The day was falling into night and he knew there were
no answers for him here. He would stay in Anchorhead and then he would
go.
But instead of turning toward the still familiar streets of
Anchorhead, the speeder headed out into the wilderness, into the Dune
Sea. A resolve took him, along with something else, something that felt
right and compelling. It had been so long since he had had that feeling,
so long since he had felt whole, so long since he could not think of himself
with loathing. He shrugged his shoulders. If the animals got him, then
that would be an appropriate end. He grinned as a Kryat Dragon howled,
nearly startling him out of his seat. Maybe, after all these years, Uncle
Owen would be proved right.
He arrived at Ben's house at twilight. Taking a glance at what was
left of the light, he stayed the engine and prepared everything. And then,
for the first time in months, he allowed himself to link with the Force. As
he settled himself into the speeder for a short sleep, he and it
disappeared into the craggy rock. A large, misshapen shadow paced
through, hungry and panting. It paused, but after a suspicious sniff, it went
about its rascally business. Luke was already sound asleep, held within
the comforting arms of the Force.
****************************************
It was daylight, the sunshine full and bursting. Ben's house was
surprisingly well preserved. Even the windows were in their places,
sturdy, if worn. He remembered the last time he was here, kneeling
amongst the ruins, searching for answers, searching for the Force for
his beloved Callista. Now his questions were answered and she was
gone. Nevertheless, he had returned, alone once again.
He studied the place for a thinking moment, studied the burrowed
and pitted outer walls, studied the light that prismed off the panes and
knew, in a flash, that he was not awake. He was still asleep in the middle
of a dangerous, night shrouded desert, his landspeeder safely out of
sight, as long as nothing became too curious. He stilled, waiting.
A small noise issued from the vicinity of the doorway. Taking that
as an invitation, he strode quietly across the open space and pushed his
way through. He found the clean, wooden table set for dinner. There was
a small cooking fire in the kitchen area and the cozy scent of stim wafted
through the room, its spiced fingers inviting and warm. Not really knowing
what was coming, he sat down on one of the chairs. A part of him wanted
to nose around idly, to see if Ben had left the old trunk. But something
else, something stronger, held him motionless.
She came from the kitchen. She was dressed as anyone living in
the midst of a ferocious desert would dress. Her worn tunic and leggings
were the beginnings of an easy nut color. The boots were large soled and
scuffed. But her eyes shone with a luminous gray light and her hair was
neat, loosely braided. Still, something about her was a mystery as this
unfamiliar ghost of a woman set a cup of comforting stim in front of him,
and then retreated in noiseless boots to the chair across the table. His
heart leapt in longing and confused loneliness. He reached out to her.
"Do not attempt to touch me," she said, smiling even as she
spoke prohibitive words. "I have gone onto another life."
He smiled at her and pulled his hand away. "Callista."
She nodded. "Finally, we meet," she said quietly. "I knew you for
a short time, on the *Eye* and then at my death." She sighed and the day
washed around her, heightening her sundrenched unreality. "I was but a
leftover ghost in the ship and by the time of my death I was nothing more
than a demon. As you can see," here she indicated her comfortable
surroundings, her intact person, "I have been redeemed."
He studied her face. It was beautiful, intelligent and radiant but
somehow foreign, nothing like Cray's at all. A sudden shyness took hold
as he realized once again, down to his toes, just how wrong the whole
thing had been. Humbled, he lowered his gaze.
This was not the time, however, for pleasant subterfuge. "I was in
love with you once," he said, his voice barely audible over the crackling
cooking fire.
She smiled, a caring expression. "Do not be ashamed of your
nobility, Luke," she said, her voice that of the woman he had first seen in
his vision with Master Djinn. "Your purity is precious. You must seek
always to retain it."
That reminded him. "And Master Djinn?" he asked grinning
sheepishly, unable to resist.
"He is with us, Luke," she said, grinning back. "I am very grateful
to him. He helped you to help me. I was of the Darkside. He knew that
only you could redeem me."
There was a silence. The fire danced in its place, speaking of a
domestic peace he had never known. His heart blackened with
impatience and discontent.
"But it has changed me," he said, his burdens suddenly becoming
unbearable. His eyes closed and he let the scents of the unreal place
settle into his lungs, into his bloodstream. "They're letting me go soon.......
but I don't know where to go. I don't know what to do. " There was
uncertainty there, almost desperation. "I had thought, after a time, I
would 7know what to do but now all I know is that I can't go back to the
Academy...."
She leaned forward and, opening his eyes, he caught a small,
trailing whiff of her slightly wooded scent as it mixed with the stim. "Don't
Luke! Do not torture yourself!" Her voice was maternal, comforting. A
picture of Beru sprang into his mind and he pushed it away, wearying of
the poignancy that was always assailed him when he thought of his
childhood life. To quell the sudden emotions, he concentrated on her
compelling but unfamiliar voice. "There are those willing to help," she
said. "You have paid the price, you have kept your soul and you have not
turned. You are a powerful, worthy Jedi."
His face was agonized and he felt his flattened emotions spike,
the beginnings of the impulsiveness and impatience that had so marked
his life. A shaft of light fell directly upon him, illuminating his place. The
stim's spiced aroma seemed to overwhelm him; it was everywhere,
soothing, comforting, twisting his desire into contentment, his pain into
love. Her voice was now within him, speaking low, defining words. "You
love one already," she said. "You have loved her a long time. This may
be your last chance."
He replied nothing, a man so accustomed to waking visions that
he no longer held any fear of ghosts. But now he was afraid, more afraid
than he had ever been. Trembling, he felt a sudden recoiling repulsion, a
superstitious shiver. "For what?" he whispered finally, the words forced
out of him.
Her smile was now only slight. He looked into her ancient but
beautiful face and felt nothing more than an odd curiosity. "For life," she
replied. "Jedi must live as well as die, Jedi Skywalker. It is time to live.
Death defeats all, even the most powerful of us. Do not waste the time
given to you!"
She smiled again, a parting message of gratitude expressed in
her limitless gray eyes and a small breeze lifted the ends of her hair. And
then, as if swept away by an approaching sandstorm, the vision separated
into colors and abstract forms, faded into the approaching dawn and was
gone, lost in a small pinprick of thin sunlight. He awoke.
Dawn had began to pierce the awful darkness. The speeder was
cold to the touch. Luke sat perfectly still in his uncomfortable seat and
watched the suns play tag with each other as the planet circled into
another day cycle. And once the suns had risen completely, the spell
was broken. Moving slowly, he stretched, shook his head and reached
for the ignition.
The speeder belched and started up, quick and clean. A startled
animal made slightly reptilian sounds of alarm as it tore away, frightened
by the mechanical apparition that seemed to appear out of nowhere. And,
without even glancing toward the pile of disused rock that was Ben's old
place, he nosed the speeder away, back over the Dune Sea, skirting his
old home, Beggar's Canyon, the sleepy outpost of Anchorhead and back
to the isolated hospital. He would never go there again.
*************************************
Luke Skywalker left Tatooine for good exactly one day later. Mara
Jade, true to her word, picked him up right on time, her freighter, *Hunter's
Luck* in fine shape. It was said that as he boarded he could be seen
kissing her. But, perhaps that is only wishful thinking from those who
prefer happy endings.
The ghosts of Obi-wan, Yoda, Anakin Skywalker, Djinn and
Callista were never seen again by any of that generation. Although, it was
sometimes said that, at certain times of the year, if you ventured out into
the tattered wastes beyond the Dune Sea, a trick of light and shadow
would show you a tableau of old Jedi, drinking stim in the pleasant
afternoon sun and talking quietly with one another. But then, legends
grow easily in the wastes and are just as hard to dispel.
Upon visiting Yavin IV, Luke was reportedly gratified to find that
his seemingly ill-fated school was running very well. The parade of
novices turning into dark jedi had faded. People were no longer so jumpy
regarding the Force and, as there were actually few Force-sensitives in
the galaxy to begin with, there was a growing feeling of security.
Kyp Durron's mission in the Dalinga system was successful. He
had managed to rescue Jedi Waterling from a horrible six months in an
antiquated, rat-infested dungeon. As it turned out, Jedi Waterling had a
phobia regarding rats. After a time, this became a source of endless
amusement at the school. The New Republic, unable to afford losing
such a useful servant, kept Kyp busy thereafter. And the more successes
he had, the more his legend grew.
Soon after Luke's sentence was commuted, Kyp asked for
Tionne's hand, but uncertain as to her feelings, she did not consent.
Upon their meeting, for the first time since the ill-fated evening almost a
year before, she and Luke forgave each other, willingly, truly, completely.
It was said that both had tears on their faces as they hugged. A few
words were exchanged along with the gift of understanding and friendship.
Tionne left the Academy soon after. First she went to Obroa-skai,
eventually becoming Assistant Administrator of the venerable library there.
It was said that she met someone, married and quietly disappeared into
the limitless galaxy, just as she had appeared years before. Kyp never
saw her again.
Kam remained at the Academy, a faithful assistant to old Streen,
who took to the Administrator's job as if he had been born to it. The
students accorded them both great respect and they had the opportunity
to train and influence the entire new Jedi movement. Master Streen died
almost twenty years later, fading away with an air of incomparable
contentment. His shrine became one of the most popular pilgrimage
sites on Yavin.
There was word, as the year turned toward the First Cycle, that
Admiral Pellaeon committed ritual suicide. This intelligence, however,
was uncertain. But, as the years wore on and no Pellaeon ever appeared
or was again mentioned, the story came to be regarded as truth.
The former Admiral Daala vanished into obscurity. She was
never again mentioned in any official record. However, on the planet
of Rasclann IV, there was said to be an offworld woman of great dignity
assisting the remaining native population, decimated by the Empire, into
health. This woman, known only by the name of Jelila, died there after
a long and humble life, revered and honored. Her shrine is meticulously
maintained.
Ksing left Marron Barron's administration and found work on
Coruscant. It was there that he renewed his friendship with the page
T'anonma. So it was that 15 years later, when T'anonma was counted
as a fast-track, young Senator in a sea of youthful replacements, he
found himself assistant and consort to an influential office. At the time,
it was rumored that the little, dark haired woman was being groomed by
the current government for the Chief of State's position.
Mon Mothma died at about the same time as Master Streen. She
was eulogized both by enemies and friends and came to be regarded with
more respect than she had ever commanded in life. Her monument, at
first a major attraction, fell into disrepair however, and become a meeting
place for young lovers of all species. Admiral Ackbar, outraged at such
sacrilege, set about raising funds for decorative, if forbidding, fencing.
But still, the trysts continue.
Admiral Ackbar became too elderly for further service to the New
Republic. He moved back to his home planet, where he whiled away his
days, writing his memoirs and participating in many scientific studies
and experiments. He died many years later with honor and dignity.
Major Knezar, despite his involvement in the scandal, was
eventually promoted. He became a Brigadier General at NRI and
had a long and varied career.
Lan, the juvenile delinquent of Tatooine, found truth in Larsevitch's
words. After several setbacks, he entered the Fleet Academy as a
probationary student and graduated, six years later, at the top of his class.
His uncanny resemblance to the young Han Solo made him an attractive
date and he had many girlfriends. Not the least of which was Jaina Solo,
who was slightly younger. Han Solo, head of the Smugglers Alliance, was
said to be unhappy about this. Leia Organa Solo, however, was said to be
amused.
Naurenna Lightsider married Link Nightsinger. They had several
children. Together they ran the most successful youth rehabilitation home
on the Rim. Many of their studies and reports are still used as guides and
models by systems with serious social problems.
Leia Organa Solo spent several years in obscurity on New
Alderaan, where she refused to run for office. She spent time working on
her Jedi skills and tending to her children. She became very adept at
sword play and related physical stunts. She was no match for her brother,
however, when it came to strength and communication. And she never
developed the gift of prophecy. Her pronounced diplomatic and
administrative gifts were enhanced by her Force training and eventually,
as memories faded, she was appointed Ambassador at Large for the
New Republic.
Han Solo's position as Head of the Smugglers Alliance took him
all over the galaxy. He seemed to relish the work, often bringing his wife
along for companionship. Together, they forged the Alliance into a
powerful trading coalition, so that it belied its own venerated, and
outdated, name.
Chewbacca was released from his life-debt soon after the events
related in this story. He returned to Kashyyyk, where he became head of
the Ruling Council. But, on occasion, he could be seen in the company of
Han Solo, in the cockpit of the ancient *Millennium Falcon.* His children
grew up strong and honorable and presented him with many
grandchildren.
The Jedi children, Jaina, Jacen and Anakin were eventually sent
to the Academy on Yavin IV. Anakin was the most talented and in later
years, as he grew into an uncanny resemblance of his uncle, was often
mistaken for the legendary Luke Skywalker himself. This was usually by
elderly people who had forgotten that Skywalker was of their own
generation. To them it was as if, for a brief instant, the past had come
back to life. Anakin learned to appreciate the attention and was gracious
enough to accept his uncle's glory with dignity.
Luke's name faded from everyday life, becoming the stuff of
legend. He seemed to relish the anonymity this afforded him and could
be seen only rarely at official functions. The next generation, tiring of the
overtold stories of the now legendary Rebel Alliance, generally ignored all
references to him. He became a symbol of his time and, therefore, dated.
With no small relief, he found he had finally gone out of style.
Mara Jade held her title as Master Trader within the Alliance for
many years and in the process became a very wealthy woman. Luke
Skywalker was seen with her from time to time, that is, when he was
recognized. It is said that they traveled often together and it was thought
by some that they actually married. This rumor, however, was never
substantiated and family members always denied it.
As for their adventures together that, my friends, is another story.
Konjetz Samizdata
December, 1996
**********************************
Remarks
This story began as a dare. In the seething internet underground
of rumor, anticipation, controversy, paranoia and, perhaps, disgust, the
damning phrase, "I can write better than that!" has become a ragged (and
growing) call to arms in our beloved long ago and far away galaxy.
Foolish and foolhardy I answered it, without question, without
consideration, without much thought or, even, hesitation. I left home
without my hat, so to speak, and Samizdat was the result. And, over the
past seven months, this story has become my constant companion.
As I have stated so often in correspondence with readers kind
enough to write, Samizdat is not original. By that, I mean that the main
characters in the story belong to other authors, those who are officially
permitted to pass through the gates of worthiness into the magical,
creative laboratories of Bantam and Lucasfilm. As a raw, unproven
amateur, an outsider, I could only take the information I was given in the
published works and extrapolate. In case the reader hasn't noticed, this
extrapolation carries some very strong opinions regarding the current state
of affairs in the galaxy of long ago and far away. If you have got this far, I
will assume you do not require a complete reiteration here.
Suffice it to say that like many others I weary of plots heavily
dependent upon superweapons, strange aliens hardly explained, original
characters slowly solidifying into cardboard and hackneyed, dime-store
storylines. However, I have done almost nothing to repair any of the
aforementioned damage, instead choosing to inflict more by killing off
several of another author's characters and psychically scarring a cultural
icon in the process.
For that, I can only blame my muse, such as it is. I did, however,
have immense freedom to write whatever I wished to write, with no
editorial interventions and/or obstructions and no guidelines to hinder the
evolutionary path this story has taken. I have made no attempt to remain
within said deduced guidelines, having already studied, and discarded,
most of the works of the professionals who have. As for that self-
imposed barrier known all across the SW galaxy as "canon," I have
remained within it only to a point. Since Samizdat, in the end, disagrees
with canon, or whatever canon seems to be, I cannot truly claim to support
it.
I have, of course, made not one red (or otherwise colored) cent
on this long-winded project. This was not a business proposition, rather, it
was an exercise in the mysteries of the creative process. Perhaps there
is something to be said for purity, after all.
I have a shipload of people to thank, not the least of which is the
Mara Jade List, whose discussions, covering subjects from the sublime to
the silly, are a source of continuous amazement. This collection of
remarkable people has proved that civility, intelligence and creativity are
alive and well on the Internet. I also wish to thank the Star Ladies of AOL
who, on their slightly raucous Tuesday nights, have also had a hand in the
exploration of these hitherto unknown, albeit civilized, shores. For in their
company, I have found warmth, shared experiences, richness,
intelligence and wit.
As for individuals, I wish to thank GuriX@aol.com, the proprietor
of The Star Wars Fan Fiction Page, where this story is now posted. I also
would like to thank Dunc397@aol.com who first posted this story at her
"Certain Point of View" site and has given me nothing but encouragement
and praise. I would like to thank JeffP, the Administrator of the Jade List
who provided encouragement and invaluable technical assistance. I owe
Erin, Chris, Trish, Jair, Licia and Sue a debt I cannot possibly repay. Their
ideas and observations were enlightening and their high flying
expectations pushed me far beyond my own paltry aspirations.
And finally, I would like to thank Ghitsa, as the one who answered
the cry in the wilderness. For without her guidance, humor, forbearance
and ever faithful encouragement, this story would never have been written.
Shura
December, 1996
