A/N #1: I do not own Star Wars, but I do so enjoy playing in George's Galaxy.

A/N #2: This story would not be what it is without the help of my supremely competent original beta reader, Deja Vu. I truly appreciate her invaluable critical eye, astute suggestions, and ineffable patience.

A/N #3: I feel that I need to give a massive nod of thanks and acknowledge all of the excellent information that is contained on the Wookieepedia website. I relied on it heavily while writing his chapter. That said, you might note a few discrepancies with established EU dogma. I know that they are there, but they are necessary and critical to the progression of this particular story. Please, no flames.

 A/N #4: This chapter was revised and re-posted in July 2014.

Chapter 7 – Late Night Conundrum

Deep within the bowels of the ancient temple, Grand Master Luke Skywalker sat alone in what remained of the Jedi Archives. So mired in his own thoughts, he had not even noticed when the last few members of the evening work crews had trickled out for the night. He had retreated to this secluded corner immediately following one of the most grueling Council sessions of his life. The empty shelves, disheveled piles of damaged holocubes, and stacks of abandoned datapad crates scattered about the cavernous chamber rendered an odd sense of solace for him. The shambled condition of the once-great Jedi Archives eerily reminded him of the overwhelming disarray that currently plagued his personal life.

Luke had first learned of the Archives' previous grandeur from Master Yoda while on Dagobah. He could still remember the many evenings spent by a campfire, entranced by the aged Jedi's tales of a more civilized time. Yoda had stated more than once that the old Jedi Order had considered these Archives one of their defining achievements. For generations, they had housed the largest collection of star maps ever assembled. Immense databases had held detailed statistics on nearly all species of flora and fauna inhabiting the known regions of the galaxy. They had also stored the complete recorded history of countless worlds going back millennia.

Despite Yoda's adamant stance against attachment, the wistful Jedi had seemed to carry the loss of archival knowledge as a physical wound. At the ancient creature's passing, Luke had silently vowed to restore the archives in the late Jedi Master's honor. That promise had been one of the many factors influencing Luke's decision to move from Yavin IV and bring the Jedi back home to Coruscant.

Soon after their relocation, the Order's current historian had begun the daunting task of organizing and restoring the fragmented information that had survived the ravages of time and Palpatine's Empire. Master Gnosi had done a commendable job. His assembly of dedicated Padawans and fastidious droids had proven so efficient in their task that they needed little oversight. However, Luke still regretted his inability to participate in more of the restoration efforts.

Drawing a long, measured breath, the exhausted Jedi Master sank back despondently into the thickly cushioned leather chair. Resting his elbows on padded arms, he dropped his face into his hands and rubbed his bleary, red eyes.

Twenty-eight standard hours...

To the best of Luke's recollection, it had been twenty-eight hours since he had achieved anything vaguely classifiable as actual sleep. Preoccupied with a myriad of questions and unsettling scenarios derived from his conversation with B'Tak Katan, he had been far too apprehensive to obtain the rest he so desperately needed. Moreover, the troubling nightmares and visions that had plagued him while cramped in the cockpit of his X-wing fighter during his return from Agnostos was anything but rejuvenating.

Luke had meant to go straight to his apartment, once he returned to the Temple. Intending to grab a quick shower and a few hours of sleep, he had planned to convene the Council himself and present a full report of his encounter with the Temporal Ward. That was over seventeen hours ago. He had yet even to make it back to his own quarters.

'So much for best-laid plans of men and womp rats…' Closing his eyes, Luke wistfully and pinched the bridge of his nose as he remembered one of his Aunt Beru's favorite sayings. Force, he missed her.

Everything had changed when Master Duron had met his landing X-Wing. Kyp had delivered the dire news about the Brilar massacre while escorting him to the emergency Council meeting. As he listened to the reported atrocities unleashed against the Brilarians, Luke had quickly realized that the outlawed activities of the Temporal Ward were trivial and inconsequential compared to the current crisis. He opted to postpone his report and focus on the matters at hand.

Bombarded by a flurry of incoming transmissions—each bringing darker news than the last, he and his peers had sat through most of the day's proceedings in numb disbelief. Reported casualty lists had grown longer by the hour. Appeals from neighboring worlds desperately asking for support as their refugee facilities filled with frightened and injured victims increased exponentially.

Luke could still acutely feel the remnants of the foreboding that had coiled within his chest while watching the intercepted holo-transmission depicting the gruesome execution of the Brilarian royal family. Listening to a litany of vile rants coming from the delusional Sith Lord had been devastating, but when the focus of the transmission had changed the perspective to reveal the image of his nephew...

To see Jacen's scarred face twisted in wrathful anger—his eyes glowing Sithly yellow—it had been a great blow to his already wounded heart. For a moment, Luke thought that he had lost the capacity to breathe as he watched the newly ascended Darth Caedus spew his hateful rhetoric and ominous threats against both the Jedi and the New Republic.

How could the innocent babe whom he had once held just moments after his birth have turned into that creature of malice and evil? How could the chubby, wide-eyed toddler who had scarcely been able to control his desire to learn about the galaxy around him have now twisted his thoughts only inward? How could the young Jedi who had spent years under Luke's patient tutelage have evolved into a monster set to destroy everything he had once sworn to uphold?

Still unable to devise any acceptable answers, Luke could only conclude that he had failed Jacen utterly. He should have recognized what was happening long before the situation had gotten so out of hand. Why had he not tried harder to counsel the boy? Offered his young nephew help to defuse the rising emotional anguish that tormented him. If nothing else, he should have stopped Jacen from leaving the Temple—by force if necessary...

Instead, Luke had remained mired in his own grief. So blinded by personal loss, he had neglected the signs of his nephew's vulnerability along with apparently also overlooking the equivocal source of the rising danger in the galaxy. His monumental ineptitude was most assuredly instrumental in losing Jacen to the Dark Side, and he had probably compromised the very future of the New Republic, as well.

What had he done?

Luke absently wondered if he was now experiencing similar feelings of self-doubt and repudiation that had borne heavily on the first Jedi he had ever met. Years of exile may have provided old Ben Kenobi the time to construct a certain point of view that partially absolved him from the guilt of his Padawan's fall to the Dark Side. However, Luke knew that the responsibility for Jasen's loss sat squarely on his shoulders.

With a heavy sigh, Luke wrenched his mind away from his dangerous reverie. Twenty-eight hours was obviously far too long to go without sleep. Taking another deep breath, he focused his sight on the overflowing stacks of flimsies and datapads that covered the table in front of him. Acknowledging that he would not allow himself to rest until he had made progress with his task, Luke determinately got back to work.

He needed to gain insight into how best to confront the imminent Sith threat. Though the Archives were but a shade of their former glory, they still contained the greatest single collection of historical and tactical information about the secretive Sith Order and their methods of warfare. He had lost his focus while scrutinizing the sketchy and incomplete reports submitted by Jedi serving in the field during the Clone Wars.

Before he could return to his task, Luke felt a soft vibration against his hip as his comlink began to chime. He numbly fumbled for the small device and then activated it as soon as he had it secured in his hand. His heart sank as the small blue image of his sister materialized. She was still wearing the elaborate robes of her station. Her schooled features belying any hint of underlying tension or stress. From the transmission code, it was apparent that she was contacting him from her office. Knowing her as well as he did, Luke was sure that she was stubbornly resisting her aides' advice to retire for the evening and take some time to care for her own personal needs.

"Hello, Leia," Luke feigned a polite smile toward the small holo image.

"Luke, I'm glad to see that you have safely returned to Coruscant." Leia's concern was evident in the rush of her words. "How was your trip?"

"Long," he answered evasively.

"When the reports first came in from Brilar and I wasn't able to reach you—I was so worried..."

"I'm sorry, Leia," he apologized before pausing a moment to search for the words that could reassure her. "I probably should have contacted you when I first arrived, but I was immediately engaged with the Council," he continued lamely. "We spent the day monitoring the situation on Brilar and have already deployed a team of forensic experts to the system. They are in the midst of conducting a thorough investigation."

"Thank you, Luke." She smiled tightly. "I know that you will continue to do your utmost to defuse this terrible crisis. I personally plan to make sure that the New Republic will stand by you and the Jedi so that we can remain united in our efforts to keep the peace and protect our democracy."

Luke cringed as he listened to his sister's skillful rhetoric. Leia's tendency to rely on ingrained political fortitude and uncompromising beliefs had flavored her responses with robotic platitudes—even towards him. In fact, he doubted that she even realized that she had slipped behind her cold, durasteel façade.

"Nevertheless, I'm not contacting you about the situation on Brilar," she continued.

"Oh?" He quizzically peered at her flickering image.

"I actually called to invite you to dinner." Leia's features softened as a small smile broke over her face.

He shook his head dismissively. "Leia, I can't get away—"

"Please, Luke," she beckoned. "We haven't spent an evening together for—well, for months."

"I know, but I can't leave the Temple—not right now."

"I really need to see you, Luke," she softly implored. "So does Han."

Even through a small, distorted image of the holo transmission, Luke could feel the heartfelt depth of her plea. He dropped his head, knowing that he could not refuse her. "When?"

"Tomorrow night, 1800 hours?" A look of smug satisfaction clearly registered on the miniaturized representation of her face. "I'll have Threepio prepare that peculiar recipe for bantha stew that you found embedded in one of his encrypted memory nodes. I'm not sure why, but I know you like it."

"You know I can't refuse an offer like that," he chuckled through his reply. The smile that adorned his face was an honest one this time. "I'll be there."

Luke watched as Leia's blue image flickered off before returning the comlink to his belt. He exhaled deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose in mounting dread as he crashed back to reality. What was he going to say to Han and Leia about Jacen?

Despite the passing months, Luke had managed to avoid relaying their son's wayward tantrums that culminated in a stormy departure from the Temple. At first, he was concerned that the information would be too detrimental to Leia's stress level and Han's fragile health and delicate recovery. As the months past, Luke had rationalized that if his effort to find the boy were successful; there would be no need to make the disclosure at all. But now…

Luke shuddered as he mentally pictured his nephew brazenly standing before the galaxy and defiantly proclaiming is evil intentions. How could he explain to Han and Leia what had happened to their son without his mere words destroying them both in the process? He had less than twenty hours to figure out a way to accomplish his impossible task. Twenty hours, less whatever few minutes he managed to wheedle out of his daunting schedule for overdue sleep.

Before the Jedi Master could stew any further, he heard the muffled sound of slippered feet softly shuffling across the tile floor. Luke looked up to see Master Cilghal emerge from around an empty bookcase, carrying a small tray between her webbed hands. The weak light from the lamp sitting on the edge the table next to him reflected in her large watery eyes and made apparent the expression of deep concern that she bore on her aquatic features.

"I was hoping that I would not find you down here," the Mon Calamari admonished with a gentle voice. "Although I must say, I knew better than to assume that you were actually taking care of yourself." She stopped when she reached the table and stretched her arms forward. "I thought you might be hungry."

"Don't tell me that Kyp sent you down here to check up on me?" Luke asked warily.

"He may have suggested that it would be a good idea." Cilghal's broad face took on a look of amusement, "but he certainly was not alone in his concern for you."

Luke leaned back in the leather chair and inhaled deeply. He mentally reached out and grasped a fragile tendril of the Force to help dispel his fatigue.

"I'm fine, you know," he complained. "I don't know why everyone in this Temple insists on constantly hovering over me."

"With all due respect, Grand Master," the Mon Calamari cautioned. "Considering the turmoil of the last few days, I doubt that there is anyone currently residing in this Temple who is truly fine—especially you."

"Is that your professional opinion, Healer Cilghal?" He asked, guardedly.

"Possibly," she replied with a coy smile. "However, it might simply be the personal beliefs of a very concerned friend."

Retaining enough cognizance to hold back the sharp retort that his frayed emotions urged him to deliver, he instead dropped his gaze to peruse the tray that the Mon Calamari Master held in her hands. A varied assortment of fresh fruits covered a small plate that sat next to a basket of hard crusty rolls. With a mouth-watering interest, Luke suddenly wondered just how long it had been since he had last eaten. Sadly, he could not even remember. He also noted a pot of steaming tea and two cups residing on the tray. From the savory aroma, he was sure it was H'Kak bean tea—his favorite. He wondered if someone from the Temple had requisitioned the unique blend directly from Tatooine. He would not be surprised if they had.

"Will you join me, my friend?" He asked mildly as he combined several stacks of datapads to make room for the tray on the table.

"I'd be delighted," she answered primly.

'~~ * ~~ *~~ * ~~ *~~ * ~~ *~~ * ~~ *~~ * ~~ *~~ * ~~ *~~'

After setting down the tray, Cilghal moved to the rear wall and retrieved a hard-backed chair that she placed next to the table. Using her formidable skill, the Mon Calamari healer scrutinized the Grand Master's appearance as she sat. Luke pointedly ignored her visual inspection, opting to pick up the teapot instead and pour the steaming orange-colored liquid into each cup.

"May I ask why you chose to neglect your apparent fatigue and retreat to the Archives?" Cilghal inquired as she glanced at the datapads and flimsies covering the table. "What are you looking for?"

"I'm not exactly sure," Luke confessed. "I only hope that I'll recognize it when I find it."

Her large forehead wrinkled slightly in consternation as she cocked her head and peered more intently at one of the activated datapads. The Healer frowned as she realized it displayed the Jedi's official deployment roster from the Battle of Praesitlyn. Cilghal idly wondered how thoroughly the Grand Master had reviewed the list. If he had examined it carefully, he would have found her name among the other medics and healers assigned to one of the designated field hospitals. She dropped her head as her large glassy eyes dimmed and she thought back to that wretched campaign.

It had been horrible. Over a million mindless battledroids programmed only to destroy. They had caused the senseless deaths of tens of thousands of sentient beings. She shuddered. Her vivid memories of the carnage and suffering that had resulted from the prolonged fighting would remain with her for the rest of her life.

Cilghal was one of the few members of the old Order, who had managed to survive the Purges. Although technically only a Padawan learner, she had still served in the healing corps throughout the Clone Wars. She had treated many of the wounded, not just clone soldiers and Jedi brethren, but also a countless number of civilians caught in the crossfire.

She had avoided the initial wave of executions brought on by Order 66 by being alone, with no military escort while providing relief supplies to a refugee camp. When the locals had realized what was happening, they had compromised their own safety and hidden her in their village. Once the shock troops had departed, she had destroyed her lightsaber, concealed her Force presence, and slipped silently into anonymity. For many years, she only concentrated on surviving the madness unleashed throughout the galaxy while hoping that the Force would guide her to a new destiny. Finally, it had.

Relying on her healing skills, she joined the first resistance cell she found. Keeping her identity hidden, she had worked as a medic on a myriad of Alliance ships and bases. Once the Empire had fallen, she finally revealed her past to the young pilot who had saved them all. Luke had been completely dumbfounded to discover that the healer who had treated him countless times for everything from broken bones to plasma burns had actually once been a Jedi from the old era. When she confessed the truth, he said that he felt like kissing her. Then—in fact—he had.

They had grown close throughout the ensuing years. She had been instrumental in providing him with information regarding the old Order. Recounting the rigid teachings and lifestyle under the strict adherence to the ancient Jedi Codes and tenants that ruled her youth. She had also been both tolerant and supportive of Luke's ideas as he absorbed the information she provided and molded it into his own vision of a New Order.

'It was for the best,' she had told him at the time, and she still unwaveringly felt the same. The old ways had stagnated the Jedi and blinded them to the imminent threat of the Sith. Although she had little contact with the Jedi Council during her youth, her memories had been enough to form her firm beliefs. In retrospect, she believed that the Council's lack of foresight was just as culpable in the Republic's downfall as the graft and corruption that had festered and seeped into all corners of the government.

"Be wary in your search for direction, Luke." She broke out of her woeful reverie and cautioned him. "The past does not always hold the best answers when looking toward the future."

The Grand Master stiffened at her words. "I have to start somewhere," he stated bluntly.

"True, but why spend your precious time surrounded by shortsighted objectives and failed endeavors?" She asked. "History is what it is. It can never be changed...No matter how much we may wish to do so."

"I need to understand the enemy that we are about to face, Cilghal," Luke countered. "Since the Clone Wars detail the most recent accounts of open warfare with the Sith, I was hoping to gain some insight."

Cilghal frowned, perplexed by Luke's oddly frigid reception to her offered comments. "Luke, you already have more personal knowledge of how to combat their evil. That insight substantially outweighs anything you could possibly glean from these dusty old records," she argued. "You confronted not one Sith Lord but two. Yet you were still able to walk away from the encounter. No other living Jedi can make that claim."

"What happened on the Death Star has no relevance to open warfare with a Sith army." He shook his head in disagreement. "When I faced the Emperor, it was not during a physical confrontation. His intent was to turn me to the Dark Side. He nearly did."

"He may have tried, Luke, but he did not succeed." Cilghal shook her head resolutely.

"No, he did not." Luke acknowledged. "However, even though I won the moral victory, the experience still nearly killed me. If my father had not turned back to the light and destroyed them both, the outcome would have been quite different."

Neither of them conceding to the opinion of the other, the two Masters fell into a stilted, uncomfortable silence as they each reflected on personal memories from a darker time. Sipping her tea and nibbling from the diminishing plate of food the Mon Calamari was unable to conceal her growing distraction from becoming clearly apparent in her expression.

Luke observantly followed her focus as she distractedly glanced toward the activated datapad detailing the command roster from the Praesitlyn campaign. It was clear that he had already seen her on the list. She imagined that another name had also caught Luke's attention, as the roster would have ended with the deployed Padawans. As probably one of the few remaining references left in the Archives, the name of that notorious young man would have been instantly recognizable.

"You knew him, didn't you?" There was no need to identify to whom the Grand Master was referring. The presence of Luke's father loomed heavily over them both.

In all the many years of their friendship, they had rarely broached the subject of Anakin Skywalker. When it had, it was only in reference to the prophesy of the 'Chosen One', and how the Jedi Council had believed that the temperamental youth was destined to fulfill it.

The healer dropped her large bulbous head in soulful contemplation. "I only met him twice."

"Will you tell me about him, please?"

Cilghal looked upon the solemn Jedi Grand Master sitting beside her. She could still remember the first time she had seen those humble blue eyes gazing back at her from the face of an idealistic young pilot. She had been uncharacteristically startled, taken aback by how similar the boy had appeared to another young man she had met so many years before. Despite Luke's tempered expression, she could sense her superior's wistful longing for answers clearly emanating through the Force. 'How could I not tell him what I know?' She silently wondered.

"I believe he was around ten years old the first time I met him," she hesitantly began. "He had not been at the Temple for more than a year, and apparently, was not adjusting remarkably well to his new environment,"

"I thought that Force-sensitive younglings were brought to the Temple when they were infants?" Luke questioned.

"Yes, that was the traditional method of admission," Cilghal explained. "But your father was not discovered until he was already nine. The entire Order soon became aware that the Council had initially rejected his training. Most assumed that his eventual admittance was due to the prophesy and the dying wish of a fallen Master. The special treatment that Anakin received from the Council did not aid in his acceptance nor garner him any popularity among his peers."

"I take it that an event stemming from his tenuous situation was the cause for your initial encounter?" Luke deduced.

"It was," she confirmed. "He had engaged in an altercation with a group of older initiates—over what, he would not say. Unable to control his emotions, he had fallen back to a—rather uncivilized method of retaliation. It did not go well, and to make matters worse—he was subjected to the rather awkward ministration of a decidedly young and nervous Padawan healer."

"I'm sure he was in excellent hands," Luke smiled warmly.

"He survived," she nodded, amusedly. The Mon Calamari Master then looked away, and her large eyes became fogged and distant. Her second memory concerning the young Jedi was far more dreadful to recall.

"The next time I saw him was during the aftermath of the Republic's defeat at Jabiim." Cilghal's voice had dropped to barely more than a whisper. "It had been a savage battle that occurred midway through the war. A bloody campaign that lasted over forty days before thoroughly deteriorating into disaster, and only ending when the Supreme Chancellor personally ordered the evacuation of all remaining clone forces. Initially, Padawan Skywalker was reportedly the lone surviving Jedi, and the highest-ranking officer left alive. He was only twenty, I believe, and faced with his first command." So caught up in the painful memories of the war, she did not notice the growing pallor of the man sitting next to her.

"Were you part of the evacuation?" Luke asked.

The Mon Calamari shook her bulbous head. "No, I was stationed on the medical ship that received the retreating troops."

"He was injured?"

"Physically—only slightly—but emotionally…" she paused, haunted by the memory. "He was not only distraught over his Master's presumed death, but he was also struggling with the tremendous burden of guilt caused by the operation itself."

"What do you mean?"

"Unfortunately, the transports sent to evacuate the planet were too few. That miscalculation created a dire situation that forced an overwrought, battle-fatigued Padawan to make a horrendously difficult decision. He fled with only the clones and left the native freedom fighters behind. It cost most of those poor souls their lives."

Cilghal was sure that Luke had found no records of such a battle while searching the Archives. The few times that she had volunteered to help with the restoration efforts, she had felt perplexed at discovering that most of the files regarding Anakin Skywalker or the 501 Legion no longer existed. Glancing over at the Grand Master, she noted with concern that he had grown exceedingly pale.

"Luke, as you know from experience, the horrors of war can do terrible things to a person, especially if they hold their pain inside," she said. "When I first examined your father, he was near catatonic. Within a week, he was raging his need to return to the front lines. Against my strongest recommendations, the Council chose to assign him a new Master and re-deploy them both to the front. I was not surprised at all when I read a report a few months later that detailed that he blatantly disobeyed orders and had gone AWOL."

"Do you know what happened?" Luke asked.

"Actually, I do," she said. "Despite the Council's belief that General Kenobi had died on Jabiim, your father refused to accept their conclusion. For some unknown reason, he blatantly abandoned his assigned post and traveled to the Ratikak system. Once there, he found and rescued Master Kenobi from a dark apprentice of Count Dooku's, the prominent Sith Lord during the Clone Wars. Instead of receiving the reprimand that his actions deserved, the Jedi Council chose to bestow Knighthood on your father. He was the 'Chosen One,' after all." Despite a valiant effort, Cilghal could not withhold the bitter rebuke that clearly tinged her voice.

'~~ * ~~ *~~ * ~~ *~~ * ~~ *~~ * ~~ *~~ * ~~ *~~ * ~~ *~~'

Luke leaned back in his chair once the Mon Calamari finished with her recollection. His fatigue temporarily forgotten, he felt thoroughly flustered after receiving the first glimpse of the man who had fathered him provided by someone other than old Ben or Master Yoda. His short conversation with Cilghal had unveiled an unexpectedly conflicted young Jedi caught in the middle of a maelstrom of horrors and doubt. Moreover, it had also finally explained a mystery from his own past.

It made sense, now, Luke thought. He remembered the dismal planet of Jabiim. He had traveled there on a mission with the Alliance soon after the battle of Yavin IV. For no apparent reason, the Jabiimi people had been incensed by his presence on the planet. Apparently, they believed that another Skywalker had already betrayed and abandoned their people years ago.

He could also now understand why there had been such a harsh reaction from the Empire to their staged revolt. Darth Vader had ordered a complete devastation of the planet and the total annihilation of its people. Was he trying to erase the memory of a past failure in an abandoned life? It would not have been the first time. Luke was convinced Vader was responsible for the destruction of a great many battle records that had once resided in the old Archives. The Praesitlyn deployment roster was the only record containing his father's name that he had so far managed to find.

The sound of Cilghal's deep exhalation returned him from his reverie.

"Luke, just because you share blood does not mean that your entire family line is doomed to the same fate as your father," she intoned earnestly. "Take you, for example. You faced a similar trial, and you were able to withstand the insidious pull of evil."

"I'm not sure what you mean," He murmured stiffly.

"No one understands why a Jedi falls to the Dark Side," she said. "It would be so much easier if a cause could be identified. A simple mental defect or treatable disease that could be diagnosed and cured. Just because your father—and now Jacen—have both succumbed to this failing, it does not signify that other members of the Skywalker family will do the same."

"I don't think there is much need to worry about the rest of my family, my friend," Luke said solemnly. "In a few years, it is doubtful that there will be any Skywalkers left."