All Our Scattered Leaves
*** *** ********* ******
Part 6:
"Get back into a doorway. I'll cover you!" Reeshto had his lightsaber in
his hands, activating it as he spoke. The action drew fire from the
smugglers and the rodian parried quickly but inexpertly. He jumped back
as one blaster round caught him in the shoulder. A second took him in
the leg as he tried to duck into the doorway.
"I think we're in trouble!" 'Amazing perception, Reeshto, full marks for
stating the obvious,' he added to himself.
Old Man Lars appeared unperturbed. "You know, if you hadn't drawn a
weapon they probably wouldn't have started shooting."
Reeshto stared incredulously up at the old man. Here he was, risking his
own ass to save some stupid half-senile old idiot who had blundered into
this whole situation despite having been told to stay out of it in the
first place, and he got a lecture in return!
"You're hurt," old Lars continued gently. "It's maybe not the best time
for a lesson. Here, let me help."
The rodian continued to stare as the old man extended a hand. The rodian
felt fingers lightly touch his face, and then a soft tingling like
sunlight sensed through closed eyelids. The pain of the wounds seemed to
become less important.
The old man removed his hand, and turned slightly. The smugglers had
surrounded the doorway, leaving no obvious way to escape. Despite this
old Lars appeared perfectly at ease, looking at the collection of
blasters pointed in his direction as if he were examining the exhibits
in a museum.
"May I borrow your lightsaber for a moment?"
"What? Come on, granddad, I don't think even _I_ can take these guys."
Old Man Lars lifted his eyebrows slightly. "No? Never mind, there's
always another way." He bowed politely to the smuggler captain. "I
suggest you put down your weapons and surrender, and then nobody will
get hurt."
Reeshto was expecting the burst of laughter this attracted from the
smugglers. Old Man Lars greeted it with peaceful acceptance. "I'm sorry,
I haven't done this for a while. I should have said, 'I suggest you put
down your weapons and surrender, and none of _you_ will get hurt.'
Still, if you insist on doing things the hard way..."
The smugglers stopped laughing. Old Man Lars closed his eyes as the
captain's finger tightened on the trigger. Reeshto gripped the handle of
his lightsaber and tensed ready for action.
Then the captain gave a cry of surprise as his blaster lifted out of his
hands and hovered in the air. Exclamations came from the other smugglers
as their weapons also rose into the air. The captain gave one futile
lunge for his blaster, then gave up and glared at the rodian.
"You! This is your damn Jedi tricks!"
Reeshto tried not to show surprise. He was pretty certain that it wasn't
him. He stared back at the captain, unsure whether to reply. Spotting
his hesitation, the captain drew a vibroblade from his belt and jumped
forwards. Before the rodian could block with his own blade, Old Man Lars
made a slight gesture and the captain was thrown backwards, knocking
down two of his own crew as he fell. The floating blasters spiralled down
gently to settle in a heap at the old man's feet.
"Could I borrow that lightsaber now?" Old Lars was smiling slightly as
he held out his hand.
Somewhat stunned at this turn of events, Reeshto slowly extended the
handle of the lightsaber towards the old man. Old Lars examined the
weapon with mild curiosity, apparently ignoring the smugglers.
"Hmm. Did you make it yourself?" the old man asked.
"It was my grandmother's" Reeshto answered, faintly. The smugglers had
picked themselves up and seemed to be trying to decide whether to make a
bid to reclaim their weapons.
"She was the one who taught you to use it?" The old man activated the
lightsaber as he spoke, making a few passes and feints to get a feel for
its balance. His expression remained serene when Reeshto ducked
apprehensively, but there was a little light of laughter dancing in his
eyes. The smugglers eyed this new development with caution.
"No-oh. Not exactly," Reeshto said. "She left a datapad and a couple of
remotes. I've been training myself from those."
"That would be why, then," the old man said to himself, nodding slightly
and failing to explain himself any further. He turned to the smugglers,
who obviously didn't know what to make of the situation. "I have no
authority outside the Republic, so I can't stop you shipping dew through
here in the future. I don't have anything in particular against
smugglers, only against certain types of cargo and methods of operation.
You have a living to make after all, and I understand that the taxes in
this section of space are rather out of line. You did try to ask
questions first and shoot afterwards, which says something for your
character."
Something caught Reeshto's attention. Something about what old Lars
wasn't saying. Some other reason behind the old man's words. He wished
he knew more of the Force, so he could pick up something of the old
man's thoughts. His grandmother's notes had been very sketchy on that
subject, though.
"On the other hand, dew is unpleasant stuff," old Lars continued. "I
really think you ought to choose your cargo better. Those vaccines sound
much more suitable. Dew is also illegal on Bayashi, so I doubt you'll be
reporting the loss of your current shipment."
"What loss?" The smuggler captain's fingers flexed above his empty
thigh-holster.
"The one that will occur shortly." The old man's quiet words were heavy
with inevitability. "By the way, I would suggest that you avoid New
Republic space- for your own good."
"You think you can stop us?" The captain's grasp of the situation was
rapidly sliding away from him.
Old Lars gently shook his head. "That line's been done before, and it
doesn't fit very well anyway. I'm helping you here, you know. No, don't
try to reach your weapon. Cybernetic limbs are very good, but I think
you'd prefer to keep the original." By way of demonstration, the old man
flicked the lightsaber tip past the barrel of a blaster pistol. The
front of the barrel rolled across the floor, and the smugglers took a
step back.
"Erm, Lars?" Reeshto dragged his attention from the severed blaster back
to the old man. "How do we actually get out of here? Without killing
everybody, I mean. What's the plan?"
"The plan?" Old Man Lars looked thoughtful for a moment. "Does there
always have to be a plan? Trust the Force, and keep your mind on the
here and now. What we need right now is some transport, I think.
Captain, is your ship ready to go?"
"What?" The smuggler captain was now entirely unsure who exactly here
was insane. Clearly someone was.
"This young Jedi and I will need a lift." The old man smiled sweetly.
"As I was intending to make a delivery of your cargo into the nearest
star anyway, we might as well combine the two."
******
Reeshto was never entirely clear about the events that followed. He
remembered that Old Man Lars had been remarkably persuasive. The
smugglers had confusedly given their agreement to the old man's request,
bemused as the rodian about why they would want to do so. Old Lars had
re-introduced himself as Master Luke Skywalker, a name so famous it had
even reached Bayashi and one which Reeshto had difficulty connecting
with the sad, half-crazy old man he remembered from the starport. At
some point not long after that Reeshto had been saying goodbye to his
parents, flushing an inane shade of blue at the thought of attending a
Jedi Academy that he'd thought of as a fable only a few hours
previously. Then he had been boarding a disreputable-looking freighter,
taking one last look back over his shoulder at the planet that his
grandmother had fled to a century before.
******
Reeshto's first space flight had its excitements, but it was not quite
what he had imagined. The high point was the dumping of the cargo of
dew, the Captain's face an absolute picture as he tried to work out just
why it was that he was allowing it to happen.
Most of the voyage was sheer hard work. He had thought himself fit, but
Master Skywalker disagreed and set about proving the point. Reeshto was
privately of the opinion that the Jedi Master was extracting revenge for
some of those less-than-complimentary comments back in the warehouse.
"Think yourself lucky, young Reeshto," Master Skywalker commented when
Reeshto flopped onto a spare couch in the cockpit after yet another
exhausting training session.
"Lucky? I've got years more of this torture, and I'm lucky?"
"My Master used to make me carry him on my back and run through a swamp
every day."
Reeshto stared up at the Master, who was twice his height and several
times his weight. "You're joking... You're not joking, are you?"
Master Skywalker just smiled.
******
Master Skywalker paused with his hand resting against the old Corellian
freighter, eyes drawn to the dark smudge of blaster-burn just beneath
his fingers. He leaned against the rusting hull, head drooping, the
lines on his face deepening. The mark drew his thoughts away from the
present, taking him to a point that lay years in his past, parsecs from
the world he now stood on. Another time of day, sunlight slanting
sideways through the lush green of a jungle. He had been laughing,
joking, happy to be with friends, not expecting the fight that broke out
nearby between a local gang and the offworlders whose 'negotiations'
turned hostile. People had scattered, locals and crew from other ships
running to avoid being caught in the crossfire.
A blaster bolt seared across his mind's eye. He saw his own hand,
reaching out, too slow to prevent what would happen. He saw the target
leap away, exposing the man that stood behind- a man still lean and fit
despite his grey hair and weathered features, but a man no longer in his
prime, whose legendary reactions were no longer quite so reliable. He
saw the twi'lek gunman duck from view, escaping in the confusion. If he
could have stayed calm, perhaps he would have been better able to track
the gunman down with the Force. If he had moved more quickly, perhaps he
could have saved the life of the man who caught the blast.
He had been too slow, too surprised, too shocked and angry to react at
all. That shot had taken from him one of his closest friends. Friend,
ally, confident and brother-in-law. Killed because he happened to be
standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. Han Solo's luck had
finally run out that day.
Master Skywalker sighed, then straightened. He drew the Light around
him, into his soul, smiling just a little. There was justice in the
galaxy. Drangor had killed an old smuggler, only to be killed by
a younger one. There had been no need to seek revenge- the Force had brought
its own balance.
An image flickered in his mind: of a young smuggler captain holding
defiant self-interest up as a shield against the world, taking an interest
in an old man and a boy despite his smuggler's instincts; a vision of
adventure, danger, and love. Was it the past, or the future? Did it even
matter? Things came full circle.
"We're travelling on /that/?" Reeshto had thought the smuggler's craft
was rough, but the ancient hulk he was now looking at beat it hands
down. The voice tugged Master Skywalker's thoughts back to the present.
"What's wrong with her?" the Jedi Master sounded almost offended.
"It looks ready to fall apart!"
"Appearance isn't everything," Master Skywalker said, giving the hull an
affectionate pat as he headed up the ramp and on into the cockpit. "This
lady is a hero. She's saved my life more than once. Give her a little
respect now she's retired. Besides," he added as he settled himself into
the pilot's couch and fingered the controls, "she's /still/ the fastest
heap of bolts ever to make the Kessel Run. Strap yourself in, kid. We're
going home."
Reeshto looked at the grin now spreading across the Jedi Master's face,
and strapped himself in- tightly.
******
Epilogue
********
Master Anakin Solo faced his uncle in the privacy of his office, and
took a calming breath. He wasn't looking forward to what he had to say,
but it had to be said, and it was absurd to feel like an undignified kid
rather than a member of the Jedi Council simply because of who it was he
had to speak to.
"Master, I don't want to sound impertinent, but I think you owe everyone
an explanation. You went off alone, without warning, without telling
anyone where you were going or how to get in touch, and without even
calling to say that you were alright. We worried about you. Think what
it did for morale, to have the Master simply vanish. Think how it made
the Jedi look, when we couldn't find you. If you were anyone but who you
are, I ought to tear strips off you!"
Master Skywalker remained serene. "I needed some time to meditate."
"Five _years_?"
"It might have been five days, or five centuries. It was long enough.
When the time was right, I came home. When it is your time, you will
understand."
"Understand a need to be alone? You could have-"
"No. Understand that all of this-" Master Skywalker waved a hand to
take in the Temple, the city beyond, the skies and the universe- "is
only a faint reflection of reality." He looked at his nephew with an
expression which was both solemn and mischievous. "'Luminous beings are
we.' The physical body is only a fragile barrier between the Force and
what we call the universe. When you understand, you will know how to
brush that barrier aside and become one with the Light."
Anakin digested this for a few moments. His next words were slow and
thoughtful. "You learned the way to... well, to disappear when you die,
and come back as a spirit?"
Master Skywalker laughed, something he had not done in years, and Anakin
found himself smiling in response. "I suppose you could describe it that
way. You'll understand, when it's your time. Walk with me a while,
Anakin. I need to remind myself how others see and feel."
They walked in silence for a time, pacing the cool corridors of the
Temple, their arms about each other's shoulders. Their route took them
out into the gardens, where they stopped and stood looking up at the
stars."Reeshto can't be the only one, you know," Master Skywalker said,
breaking the stillness. "Other Jedi would have escaped beyond the
borders. I will search for them. It'll be something to keep me
occupied."
"Master!" Anakin began, and then changed it to "Uncle Luke. You're not
thinking of going traipsing off across the galaxy into the back of
beyond again?"
"Why not? After all, I've never been one to sit back and do nothing. I
ought to find them, Anakin, the families of all those Jedi who were
scattered by the Empire. I'll find them... and then I'll bring them
home."
******
'When one Man dies, one Chapter is not torne out of the booke, but
translated into a better language; and every Chapter must so be
translated; God emploies several translaters; some peeces are translated
by age, some by sicknesse, some by warre, some by justice; but Gods hand
is in every translation; and his hand shall binde up all our scattered
leaves againe, for that Librarie where every booke shall lie open to one
another.'
MEDITATION XVII
Devotions upon Emergent Occasions
by John Donne
-END-
*** *** ********* ******
Part 6:
"Get back into a doorway. I'll cover you!" Reeshto had his lightsaber in
his hands, activating it as he spoke. The action drew fire from the
smugglers and the rodian parried quickly but inexpertly. He jumped back
as one blaster round caught him in the shoulder. A second took him in
the leg as he tried to duck into the doorway.
"I think we're in trouble!" 'Amazing perception, Reeshto, full marks for
stating the obvious,' he added to himself.
Old Man Lars appeared unperturbed. "You know, if you hadn't drawn a
weapon they probably wouldn't have started shooting."
Reeshto stared incredulously up at the old man. Here he was, risking his
own ass to save some stupid half-senile old idiot who had blundered into
this whole situation despite having been told to stay out of it in the
first place, and he got a lecture in return!
"You're hurt," old Lars continued gently. "It's maybe not the best time
for a lesson. Here, let me help."
The rodian continued to stare as the old man extended a hand. The rodian
felt fingers lightly touch his face, and then a soft tingling like
sunlight sensed through closed eyelids. The pain of the wounds seemed to
become less important.
The old man removed his hand, and turned slightly. The smugglers had
surrounded the doorway, leaving no obvious way to escape. Despite this
old Lars appeared perfectly at ease, looking at the collection of
blasters pointed in his direction as if he were examining the exhibits
in a museum.
"May I borrow your lightsaber for a moment?"
"What? Come on, granddad, I don't think even _I_ can take these guys."
Old Man Lars lifted his eyebrows slightly. "No? Never mind, there's
always another way." He bowed politely to the smuggler captain. "I
suggest you put down your weapons and surrender, and then nobody will
get hurt."
Reeshto was expecting the burst of laughter this attracted from the
smugglers. Old Man Lars greeted it with peaceful acceptance. "I'm sorry,
I haven't done this for a while. I should have said, 'I suggest you put
down your weapons and surrender, and none of _you_ will get hurt.'
Still, if you insist on doing things the hard way..."
The smugglers stopped laughing. Old Man Lars closed his eyes as the
captain's finger tightened on the trigger. Reeshto gripped the handle of
his lightsaber and tensed ready for action.
Then the captain gave a cry of surprise as his blaster lifted out of his
hands and hovered in the air. Exclamations came from the other smugglers
as their weapons also rose into the air. The captain gave one futile
lunge for his blaster, then gave up and glared at the rodian.
"You! This is your damn Jedi tricks!"
Reeshto tried not to show surprise. He was pretty certain that it wasn't
him. He stared back at the captain, unsure whether to reply. Spotting
his hesitation, the captain drew a vibroblade from his belt and jumped
forwards. Before the rodian could block with his own blade, Old Man Lars
made a slight gesture and the captain was thrown backwards, knocking
down two of his own crew as he fell. The floating blasters spiralled down
gently to settle in a heap at the old man's feet.
"Could I borrow that lightsaber now?" Old Lars was smiling slightly as
he held out his hand.
Somewhat stunned at this turn of events, Reeshto slowly extended the
handle of the lightsaber towards the old man. Old Lars examined the
weapon with mild curiosity, apparently ignoring the smugglers.
"Hmm. Did you make it yourself?" the old man asked.
"It was my grandmother's" Reeshto answered, faintly. The smugglers had
picked themselves up and seemed to be trying to decide whether to make a
bid to reclaim their weapons.
"She was the one who taught you to use it?" The old man activated the
lightsaber as he spoke, making a few passes and feints to get a feel for
its balance. His expression remained serene when Reeshto ducked
apprehensively, but there was a little light of laughter dancing in his
eyes. The smugglers eyed this new development with caution.
"No-oh. Not exactly," Reeshto said. "She left a datapad and a couple of
remotes. I've been training myself from those."
"That would be why, then," the old man said to himself, nodding slightly
and failing to explain himself any further. He turned to the smugglers,
who obviously didn't know what to make of the situation. "I have no
authority outside the Republic, so I can't stop you shipping dew through
here in the future. I don't have anything in particular against
smugglers, only against certain types of cargo and methods of operation.
You have a living to make after all, and I understand that the taxes in
this section of space are rather out of line. You did try to ask
questions first and shoot afterwards, which says something for your
character."
Something caught Reeshto's attention. Something about what old Lars
wasn't saying. Some other reason behind the old man's words. He wished
he knew more of the Force, so he could pick up something of the old
man's thoughts. His grandmother's notes had been very sketchy on that
subject, though.
"On the other hand, dew is unpleasant stuff," old Lars continued. "I
really think you ought to choose your cargo better. Those vaccines sound
much more suitable. Dew is also illegal on Bayashi, so I doubt you'll be
reporting the loss of your current shipment."
"What loss?" The smuggler captain's fingers flexed above his empty
thigh-holster.
"The one that will occur shortly." The old man's quiet words were heavy
with inevitability. "By the way, I would suggest that you avoid New
Republic space- for your own good."
"You think you can stop us?" The captain's grasp of the situation was
rapidly sliding away from him.
Old Lars gently shook his head. "That line's been done before, and it
doesn't fit very well anyway. I'm helping you here, you know. No, don't
try to reach your weapon. Cybernetic limbs are very good, but I think
you'd prefer to keep the original." By way of demonstration, the old man
flicked the lightsaber tip past the barrel of a blaster pistol. The
front of the barrel rolled across the floor, and the smugglers took a
step back.
"Erm, Lars?" Reeshto dragged his attention from the severed blaster back
to the old man. "How do we actually get out of here? Without killing
everybody, I mean. What's the plan?"
"The plan?" Old Man Lars looked thoughtful for a moment. "Does there
always have to be a plan? Trust the Force, and keep your mind on the
here and now. What we need right now is some transport, I think.
Captain, is your ship ready to go?"
"What?" The smuggler captain was now entirely unsure who exactly here
was insane. Clearly someone was.
"This young Jedi and I will need a lift." The old man smiled sweetly.
"As I was intending to make a delivery of your cargo into the nearest
star anyway, we might as well combine the two."
******
Reeshto was never entirely clear about the events that followed. He
remembered that Old Man Lars had been remarkably persuasive. The
smugglers had confusedly given their agreement to the old man's request,
bemused as the rodian about why they would want to do so. Old Lars had
re-introduced himself as Master Luke Skywalker, a name so famous it had
even reached Bayashi and one which Reeshto had difficulty connecting
with the sad, half-crazy old man he remembered from the starport. At
some point not long after that Reeshto had been saying goodbye to his
parents, flushing an inane shade of blue at the thought of attending a
Jedi Academy that he'd thought of as a fable only a few hours
previously. Then he had been boarding a disreputable-looking freighter,
taking one last look back over his shoulder at the planet that his
grandmother had fled to a century before.
******
Reeshto's first space flight had its excitements, but it was not quite
what he had imagined. The high point was the dumping of the cargo of
dew, the Captain's face an absolute picture as he tried to work out just
why it was that he was allowing it to happen.
Most of the voyage was sheer hard work. He had thought himself fit, but
Master Skywalker disagreed and set about proving the point. Reeshto was
privately of the opinion that the Jedi Master was extracting revenge for
some of those less-than-complimentary comments back in the warehouse.
"Think yourself lucky, young Reeshto," Master Skywalker commented when
Reeshto flopped onto a spare couch in the cockpit after yet another
exhausting training session.
"Lucky? I've got years more of this torture, and I'm lucky?"
"My Master used to make me carry him on my back and run through a swamp
every day."
Reeshto stared up at the Master, who was twice his height and several
times his weight. "You're joking... You're not joking, are you?"
Master Skywalker just smiled.
******
Master Skywalker paused with his hand resting against the old Corellian
freighter, eyes drawn to the dark smudge of blaster-burn just beneath
his fingers. He leaned against the rusting hull, head drooping, the
lines on his face deepening. The mark drew his thoughts away from the
present, taking him to a point that lay years in his past, parsecs from
the world he now stood on. Another time of day, sunlight slanting
sideways through the lush green of a jungle. He had been laughing,
joking, happy to be with friends, not expecting the fight that broke out
nearby between a local gang and the offworlders whose 'negotiations'
turned hostile. People had scattered, locals and crew from other ships
running to avoid being caught in the crossfire.
A blaster bolt seared across his mind's eye. He saw his own hand,
reaching out, too slow to prevent what would happen. He saw the target
leap away, exposing the man that stood behind- a man still lean and fit
despite his grey hair and weathered features, but a man no longer in his
prime, whose legendary reactions were no longer quite so reliable. He
saw the twi'lek gunman duck from view, escaping in the confusion. If he
could have stayed calm, perhaps he would have been better able to track
the gunman down with the Force. If he had moved more quickly, perhaps he
could have saved the life of the man who caught the blast.
He had been too slow, too surprised, too shocked and angry to react at
all. That shot had taken from him one of his closest friends. Friend,
ally, confident and brother-in-law. Killed because he happened to be
standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. Han Solo's luck had
finally run out that day.
Master Skywalker sighed, then straightened. He drew the Light around
him, into his soul, smiling just a little. There was justice in the
galaxy. Drangor had killed an old smuggler, only to be killed by
a younger one. There had been no need to seek revenge- the Force had brought
its own balance.
An image flickered in his mind: of a young smuggler captain holding
defiant self-interest up as a shield against the world, taking an interest
in an old man and a boy despite his smuggler's instincts; a vision of
adventure, danger, and love. Was it the past, or the future? Did it even
matter? Things came full circle.
"We're travelling on /that/?" Reeshto had thought the smuggler's craft
was rough, but the ancient hulk he was now looking at beat it hands
down. The voice tugged Master Skywalker's thoughts back to the present.
"What's wrong with her?" the Jedi Master sounded almost offended.
"It looks ready to fall apart!"
"Appearance isn't everything," Master Skywalker said, giving the hull an
affectionate pat as he headed up the ramp and on into the cockpit. "This
lady is a hero. She's saved my life more than once. Give her a little
respect now she's retired. Besides," he added as he settled himself into
the pilot's couch and fingered the controls, "she's /still/ the fastest
heap of bolts ever to make the Kessel Run. Strap yourself in, kid. We're
going home."
Reeshto looked at the grin now spreading across the Jedi Master's face,
and strapped himself in- tightly.
******
Epilogue
********
Master Anakin Solo faced his uncle in the privacy of his office, and
took a calming breath. He wasn't looking forward to what he had to say,
but it had to be said, and it was absurd to feel like an undignified kid
rather than a member of the Jedi Council simply because of who it was he
had to speak to.
"Master, I don't want to sound impertinent, but I think you owe everyone
an explanation. You went off alone, without warning, without telling
anyone where you were going or how to get in touch, and without even
calling to say that you were alright. We worried about you. Think what
it did for morale, to have the Master simply vanish. Think how it made
the Jedi look, when we couldn't find you. If you were anyone but who you
are, I ought to tear strips off you!"
Master Skywalker remained serene. "I needed some time to meditate."
"Five _years_?"
"It might have been five days, or five centuries. It was long enough.
When the time was right, I came home. When it is your time, you will
understand."
"Understand a need to be alone? You could have-"
"No. Understand that all of this-" Master Skywalker waved a hand to
take in the Temple, the city beyond, the skies and the universe- "is
only a faint reflection of reality." He looked at his nephew with an
expression which was both solemn and mischievous. "'Luminous beings are
we.' The physical body is only a fragile barrier between the Force and
what we call the universe. When you understand, you will know how to
brush that barrier aside and become one with the Light."
Anakin digested this for a few moments. His next words were slow and
thoughtful. "You learned the way to... well, to disappear when you die,
and come back as a spirit?"
Master Skywalker laughed, something he had not done in years, and Anakin
found himself smiling in response. "I suppose you could describe it that
way. You'll understand, when it's your time. Walk with me a while,
Anakin. I need to remind myself how others see and feel."
They walked in silence for a time, pacing the cool corridors of the
Temple, their arms about each other's shoulders. Their route took them
out into the gardens, where they stopped and stood looking up at the
stars."Reeshto can't be the only one, you know," Master Skywalker said,
breaking the stillness. "Other Jedi would have escaped beyond the
borders. I will search for them. It'll be something to keep me
occupied."
"Master!" Anakin began, and then changed it to "Uncle Luke. You're not
thinking of going traipsing off across the galaxy into the back of
beyond again?"
"Why not? After all, I've never been one to sit back and do nothing. I
ought to find them, Anakin, the families of all those Jedi who were
scattered by the Empire. I'll find them... and then I'll bring them
home."
******
'When one Man dies, one Chapter is not torne out of the booke, but
translated into a better language; and every Chapter must so be
translated; God emploies several translaters; some peeces are translated
by age, some by sicknesse, some by warre, some by justice; but Gods hand
is in every translation; and his hand shall binde up all our scattered
leaves againe, for that Librarie where every booke shall lie open to one
another.'
MEDITATION XVII
Devotions upon Emergent Occasions
by John Donne
-END-
