"Can this thing go any faster?"
The streamlined, stolen airspeeder Sweet Seena careened through the cloud-puffed skies of Bespin, engines howling, jinking through minute course changes. It needed all of that speed, because its opponents were in hot pursuit.
Despite the dangers its pilot, the Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker, was unable to restrain a face-splitting grin.
For the once-farmboy from Tatooine, there were few parts of his life more enjoyable than sitting in a flimsy shell wrapped around an overbuilt engine, especially one that had been tweaked to just under unsafe running tolerances.
When he'd been a teenager, bored and lonely and craving excitement that would never be found maintaining vaporators, he'd saved all the credits he could and purchased a T-16 Skyhopper. He'd then turned the flying tin into the closest he could get to a racing airspeeder and pushed its limits doing all kinds of dangerous things that probably should have gotten him killed five times over.
Force, it had been fun.
"You know, I think you're the only person aside from Han or Wedge to ever ask me that," Luke remarked when he had enough attention to spare. "The last time I took Fixer for a ride in my skyhopper he told me: 'You're going to kill us both!'" To be fair, Luke thought, he had been doing something incredibly reckless at the time. But on the other hand, he'd lost his primary flight stabilizer and still managed to shave five seconds off his best time and land the Skyhopper mostly in one piece…
"You're going to kill us both," Mara said laconically, her attention barely on his flying. She had an electroscope in one hand and was holding an advanced datapad in the other, peering back at their pursuit and the enormous, sloping shape of Cloud City. With a frown she turned to face forward, putting the scope down and turning her attention to the datapad.
Luke kept grinning. After all, the only part of his life better than flying was sitting in the flight engineer's seat as serenely as though she was on her morning commute in a droid-driven autotaxi.
Mara looked back over her shoulder again, then checked the flight controls on her side of the airspeeder. "If we're not careful we're going to win," she pointed out. "Might want to lose some time around the next turn."
Unlike Luke she had a mission for this flight that went beyond following the assigned route with (almost) as much speed as possible. The Baron Administrator's Cup Open was certainly a lot of fun, but hardly the reason they'd come to Bespin. Despite her focus, despite the way her much-more-advanced-than-it-appeared-to-be electroscope surreptitiously tracked over the floating garrison that served as the Empire's headquarters on Bespin, their bond in the Force—not to mention the gleam in her eyes—made it plain that Mara was thoroughly enjoying herself. His heart thudded in his chest as she turned towards him. Her hair was not its usual red-gold, nor were her eyes their usual green, but that grin was all Mara.
"Why is winning a bad idea again?" he asked, even as he used a tight turn on the race route as an excuse to reduce his speed.
With the airspeeder's pace slowed to something that was no strain at all for a pilot of Luke's skill and Force instincts, Mara clearly felt it was now safe to take small liberties. She leaned towards him, her voice shifting from purely professional to a playfully-husky that Luke was never going to get used to. "Because if we win, not even that red hair of yours is going to be enough to keep you from being recognized." She tilted her head and just watched him as he guided the airspeeder down one of the long, straight stretches, and Luke's cheeks flushed hot under her regard. Through the Force, Luke could feel her silent, amused gloating at having provoked him so easily, but sadly they both still had to pay some attention to the mission. She checked the datapad again. "Third marker, coming up port, at thirty degrees off-center."
"You know—" Luke said absently as he threaded the speeder through the turn while icing out an adversary "—your current blonde makes you look like you and Tycho could be siblings."
The last time they'd been together before the trip to Bespin had been Tycho and Winter's wedding. Luke had coaxed Mara into sitting next to him and they'd even managed to make it through the celebrations afterwards without any fatalities among the Rogues (and ex-Rogues). Then they'd been apart for the better part of a month, with Karrde and Iella pulling Mara off on a jaunt around the Outer Rim while Luke and Kam worked to establish the new Jedi Order.
When Mara had come back, in need of a partner with piloting skills for a trip to the City in the Clouds, he had jumped at the opportunity. He'd been most eager to replace all the old memories of Cloud City with new ones, and with Mara dutifully recording every bit of data that her reconnaissance equipment could pull off of the Imperial Sky Fortress, Luke could not think of a single place in the entire galaxy he'd rather be.
Mara briefly looked up from the datapad, which also connected to a myriad of concealed electronic warfare gear and scanners; her temporarily blonde hair was drawn back into a loose ponytail instead of her usual braid. "That would make Winter my sister-in-law. She's better at intelligence gathering than me and would be deadly armed with any of the decorative items at her wedding. I approve." She gestured ahead. "Fourth marker. Slow down a bit, I want to get a good impression of the Sky Fortress while we have the best view."
Luke throttled back gently, the vibrations of Sweet Seena beneath them growing louder for a moment as the airspeeder's heavily modified engine adjusted to the shift. Although it bore an obnoxious orange and green checkmark pattern over a gloss white hull, and was marred by the holotabs of numerous Corporate sponsors, Sweet Seena's aerodynamics were impeccable and the engine ran as fast as if it had been stolen hot off a rich dilettante's landing pad.
Which wasn't that far from the truth.
The racing duo of Bytor Ibellik and Seena Nefyr did business in the Corporate Sector and throughout Imperial-held (and neutral) territory. More importantly, Ibellik and Nefyr were both natives of Eriadu, and like most upper-crust members of Eriadan society, they 'employed' labor they had purchased at market. Ibellik and Nefyr were also at present frozen in carbonite in the hold of their own ship while NRI slicers (and some of Karrde's people) went meticulously through their books, page by excruciating page, drawing out whatever information they could about the galactic slave trade.
When the mission was over, Ibellik and Nefyr would be drugged, doused in very expensive alcohol, and then dropped in their suite on Etti IV. They would find what had been a profitable racing and customization company in tatters, stripped of free labor and open to some very nasty audits.
For a Jedi of old, this was treading on dangerous ground. For the son of a slave and the nephew of freeborn farmers occasionally hassled by Hutt slave-catchers, whose Uncle had trained him to lispingly direct Jabba's goons off into Tusken territory or too close to Krayt burrows? This was mercy.
But all of that aside, the arrest of Ibellik and Nefyr had presented an entirely unrelated opportunity, because they had been scheduled to compete in the Baron Administrator's Cup Open. It was serendipity that they looked enough like us.
Mara had her electroscope out, directing it at the massive Sky Fortress. It was distinctly Imperial, hovering in a slightly higher orbit than Cloud City did. Luke spared it a glance; TIE interceptors were doing a patrol, keeping the racers too far away for most electronic espionage equipment to get good scans.
It was a reasonable precaution. But, Luke thought with a swell of pride and affection, a mere reasonable precaution was never enough to stop Mara. He let the speeder drift slightly, not enough to draw the ire of the TIEs but enough to let Mara's scope work until he heard her confirmation that they had what they needed. "Got it," Mara said, retracting the scope.
It was only the Force that saved them from disaster. Luke hammered the throttle and jerked the flight controls hard to port. A knifelike airspeeder, painted with a jagged mixture of red and yellow lines, whizzed past, cutting much too close. The airspeeder's engines roared, deafening for the brief moments it had cut within bare meters of Sweet Seena, the sudden turbulence rocking Luke and Mara with uncomfortable violence.
Luke cursed under his breath and pushed the throttle back to maximum. Jedi business was Jedi business, and this was also a favor for friends, but this was also a race. Racing was serious business. For him, throwing a race was like Lando cheating at sabacc—if the other con wasn't using a skifter themselves, that was.
If Mara noted his sudden burst of competitive ire, she didn't mention it. She also didn't seem even slightly phased by their near-death experience. "Fifth marker, vertical at point five. Flare the attitude jets as we pass, we want to see what kind of threat detection the tower has."
Of all the things they needed to scout, 'the tower' was both the most important and the least exposed. As they continued the circuit around the settled areas of Bespin, with the clouds a billowing white all around with the horizon gleaming in the distance beyond, they also came almost dangerously close to the massive dome-like shape of Cloud City. The last leg of the race did this deliberately, ensuring that the gamblers who were betting on the contest got a good look at the racers during the final stretch. This also meant Luke and Mara got a good look at the buildings that topped Cloud City, most importantly the structure that had become Cloud City's Imperial HQ.
Luke wrenched the yoke back and cranked the throttle. He glanced over at Mara. This was, without a doubt, the most dangerous thing they had planned, and it was important to get the timing exactly right. "Ready," he said.
Mara traced her finger over her controls and activated Sweet Seena's targeting scanners. They weren't carrying any weapons, but the flicker would certainly be noticed by the local Imperial garrison—assuming they were even marginally competent—and gave their small craft the sensor signature of possible guided ordnance. Quad laser turrets and turbolaser batteries on the defense platform instantly swung around to cover the sky around Sweet Seena, and with them came the steady thrum of Luke's danger sense. Mara, who clearly felt it too, deactivated the targeting scanners just as they were hit by an automatic IFF confirmation query, demanding that Sweet Seena confirm its identification. Sweet Seena's IFF beacon responded instantly, confirming for the Imperials that they were, in fact, a racing airspeeder currently engaged in one of the more famous airspeeder contests in this part of space, and the turrets went dormant again.
With a sigh of relief, Luke swept the throttle back to full and dipped lower, engine thrumming, just in time to scream past the primary observation lounge and the enormous crowd of invested gamblers.
Mara tapped at her datapad, "So their threat detection is good." He could hear the frown in her voice. "It would be bad press to blow away some famous racers. Besides, the flicker on our systems was so fast, they probably assumed it was a glitch."
"Did you get the full specs?"
"I'm not sure. We'll go through all the data after we're on the ground. Sixth marker up in twenty seconds, Down fifteen degrees, left thirty."
They were coming up on the final stretch, and Luke was incredibly tempted to push the airspeeder to its limits. It could take it—Luke could feel the speed still waiting to be unleashed—and Luke pushed a bit harder. But not as hard as he could. Mara was right, of course, winning the race would draw them unwanted attention. They'd have to stand on the podium and accept the Cup from the current stooge the Empire had installed as Baron Administrator, the focus of all the newsies, and as good as their disguises were, someone would notice that he wasn't Bytor Ibellik.
But he'd be damned if they didn't at least come in second.
The final landing of Sweet Seena was at her assigned landing pad at Racer's Row. Like the other not-winners, each of the racing airspeeders settled to the elevated, circular landing pads with a certain reluctance, as if unsatisfied with their placement. "We could have won," Luke said, allowing himself just a hint of adolescent petulance.
Mara, still in character, smacked his arm lightly. "No self pity in my presence," she scolded him. "If we'd been trying to win, of course we would have won."
Luke sighed indulgently. "The favors we do for friends," he lamented. "But I know Lando appreciates it, and I'm sure he made a hefty sum betting against us, not that he'd ever admit it. Shame there isn't a Second Place pot for this race. Maybe after we—"
His voice caught as Mara leaned over the narrow gap between the two bucket seats and covered his mouth with her own. His arms snaked around her as he shifted his body to make the awkward embrace just a little less awkward.
I missed you. Luke had no idea with which of them that thought had originated, but he could tell they both felt it fervently.
There was still a dazed disbelief whenever they came together like this, like neither of them could really believe it was real. How could what had started on Myrkr have become this kind of gentle, shared intimacy? They hadn't even had a major fight yet.
While the other pilots gave the traditional loser's interview, lamenting lost chances and offering meaningless platitudes about lessons learned, Luke and Mara took the opportunity to just be together.
It was convenient, Luke mused in the corner of his mind that was still worried about such things, that Bytor and Seena were notorious for ending races this way.
"Good job," said Iella Wessiri as Mara walked in. The cargo hold of Tempered Mettle was large, doubling as an in-flight launch bay for a snubfighter. Luke's X-wing sat in the middle of the painted landing lines, right where Mara had kept her Z-95 while she had been Emperor's Hand. Briefly, she glanced over—with inscounciant satisfaction—at the Rogue Squadron red adorning the battered snubfighter and pictured Palpatine's furious expression.
Tempered Mettle had been commissioned from the Gallofree Yards as L6000-H-82688, an ISB infiltration and recon vessel. The Emperor's Hand had co-opted the vessel as one of her numerous transportation options. Since NRI had given it back to her, Mara had spent a fair number of hours debating whether or not to keep it. On the one hand, it brought back memories of the years she served Palpatine, memories Mara did not enjoy reliving. On the other hand, it was a fast, deceptively dangerous ship with ample cargo capacity and could be operated with a minimal crew.
And it had space for Luke's X-wing.
"But I have to point out," Iella continued, pursing her lips. "Bytor and Seena usually only kiss once at the end of a race. As I estimate it, you and Luke kissed at least—"
Mara threw her obnoxiously sloganed jacket at Iella. It landed on Iella's head, and Mara smirked as the Corellian intelligence operative disentangled it with a deft sweep of her left hand. "Any other questions?" Mara asked sardonically.
Iella chuckled, folding the jacket over her arm. "I'll just put this in the coat closet," she said primly. "And yes, actually. Did we get it all?"
"I think so, but we'll need to go through all the information on the way back to Coruscant," Mara replied. "I'm sure we got a good peek at the Sky Fortress and the tower, which were the two main targets, but I'm a bit less sure about the readings on the two Carrack-class cruisers they have on patrol. And they had TIEs on CAP for the race, so I can confirm that the Sky Fortress has at least one squadron of TIE interceptors." She shook her head. "I'm sure General Antilles—" Iella lifted an eyebrow at her, silently correcting, and Mara allowed her friend the victory "—sure Wedge can take Bespin with the fleet he's been given. But we'll also need to make sure the Empire can't burn off the Tibanna gas reserves or destroy Cloud City, like they did to those shipyards at Rendili."
The thought of stealing Bespin out from under the Empire had many members of the Smugglers' Alliance salivating. Not only would it be a serious blow to the Imperial war machine, which relied on Bespin's Tibanna gas more and more as its territory shrank, but it also would be a lucrative new trade good.
"Right," Iella agreed with a nod. "It's not an easy job." They walked together towards the front of Tempered Mettle's cargo hold, where the primary entry ramp was located. Iella stopped and pulled open one of the docking bay's stowage areas that had become an ad-hoc cloakroom, depositing Mara's jacket unceremoniously on a hanger, then they took one of the two symmetrical spiral staircases that went up to the ship's passenger deck along the interior of the ship's blunt, rounded nose. "So we don't want to do any additional recon while we're here?"
The staircase led them directly to the Tempered Mettle's bridge. Artoo-Detoo whistled a cheerful greeting from his preferred spot (which was next to the chair that Luke usually occupied). At the helm, Mara's pilot droid, Slips, twittered his own deeper greeting. The two droids had initially been wary of one another, but eventually they'd come to an agreeable detente with Slips asserting authority over the helm but still allowing Artoo to interface directly with the Tempered Mettle's main computer.
"All clear," Mara told the droids. "Your master will be along in a few minutes," she told Artoo. "He's having a chat with Lando." She led Iella through the bridge and into the lounge behind, which Mara had turned into a workspace for herself and Iella, as well as a galley, recreation, and dining space. "I don't think so," she finally answered Iella's question. "Bytor and Seena aren't known for sticking around after a race, and the longer we're here the higher chance someone who actually knows them tries to say hello. Better to put some distance between us and Bespin before anyone starts asking questions." She stopped near the computer system which lined the port bulkhead, placing the datapad carrying all the precious intelligence down next to it. With a few quick taps on the computer she instructed it to download all the information and begin sorting it for human analysis.
"No time for a romantic dinner with Luke at one of the luxury bistros?"
Mara's lips twitched into a brief smile. Luke had asked the same question. They hadn't told anyone they were together—Luke swore he hadn't—but despite the attempt at subterfuge their friends and family had figured it out in a matter of days and stopped bothering to pretend they didn't know after about six weeks of polite pretense.
She couldn't even blame it on Luke's incredible lack of subtlety. Karrde had figured it out in a matter of hours, and either he'd told the rest of Wild Karrde's crew or they'd figured it out themselves. Such information was gold among smugglers—worth a sabacc pot, or a favor—which was why Aves had dared to tease her about it the last time she'd seen him.
"No," she said, surprising herself with a swell of longing. She silently admitted to herself that she would enjoy a romantic dinner with Luke. She looked around the interior of Tempered Mettle, remembering briefings with Kaythree and communications with Palpatine, plotting and planning, coming up with the ideal plan to eliminate a threat to the Empire or force a hidden threat to expose itself. And instead of ruminating on those memories, she thought instead about dinner with Luke. A wide open transparisteel window, billowing clouds beyond, and the endless blue-orange sky gleaming with twilight. A decadently expensive meal. Taking a scenic walk and holding hands.
And with that, she had put another unpleasant memory to rest. For the time being at least.
"Maybe next time?" Iella asked. "After Wedge comes in here and kicks the Empire out? We can have a proper double date."
Mara could not think of anything as unlikely as the Emperor's Hand going on a date, let alone a double date. Instinctively, internally, she recoiled from the idea. Her romantic fantasy had been of her and Luke, together, alone.
Somewhere, not too far from the ship, Luke felt her moment of consternation. His mind reached out to hers, as if interlacing their fingers together. A reassurance and encouragement.
"Maybe," Mara found herself saying. "Sure."
Lando's disguise wasn't as elaborate as Luke and Mara's had been, but he'd spent the entirety of the trip to Bespin hidden away aboard the Tempered Mettle, acting as the mission coordinator. His knowledge of Cloud City was unmatched, and his wide range of skills made him a surprisingly good handler. He was standing on the landing pad, staring out at Cloud City.
"I won it in a sabacc pot," Lando said as Luke came to stand beside him. The city gleamed brilliantly, white and clean—but now Luke could see scuffs, slime and grime, visual clues to how the Imperial depredations had degraded it in the years since his first, tragic visit to Bespin. "But I was a pawn, you know."
Luke hadn't heard this story. "A pawn?"
"Yeah," Lando laughed softly. "The local laborers fronted me most of the entry fee. They wanted to get out from under the previous Baron Administrator." He shook his head. "I wasn't completely corrupt, they said."
"That sounds like high praise, coming from them."
"Mmhmm," Lando hummed noncommittally. He said nothing more; a few of Cloud City's cloud cars flitted distantly around the structure, the evening lights illuminating as the sun set. "And maybe it was. I took it to heart." He held up his hand, flashing Luke one of his famous grins. "Don't get me wrong! I made a fortune as Baron Administrator! But I didn't make nearly as much as my predecessors." His smile faded. "When Vader arrived… well." He sighed, still looking pained despite all the years since.
"You want it back? The Baron Administrator job?"
"Yeah," Lando agreed softly. "I really do. I was happy here. And I felt like I could do the right thing and have it benefit everyone, myself included. The galaxy doesn't always work like that." He shook his head. "Let's be plain. The galaxy almost never works like that."
"Maybe if more people believed it could work like that, it would," Luke suggested.
Lando laughed and slapped Luke's back. "Luke, has anyone ever told you that you're a relentless optimist?"
Mara, rolling her eyes. "Yes," Luke said with a laugh.
"Well it's true," Lando confirmed. He took one last look at the city. "Come on. I love this place, but not so much that I want to be locked up here. Besides, if we leave preparing dinner to the lovely ladies, the only thing we'll have to eat tonight is ryshcate and ration bars."
Lando turned the generously-oiled onion arcs in the galley's largest skillet. He was deeply appreciative of the numerous amenities offered by Tempered Mettle; he'd used the trip from Coruscant to Bespin to get accustomed to the ship, complaining—mildly—that the galley wasn't as large or luxurious as the one on Lady Luck. Next, he had playfully teased Luke and Mara for taking "The only good room" and had made much of the spartan nature of the crew's quarters and what the pallet had done to his back.
Meanwhile, Iella drooled over the sheer possibility of the extra cargo space, the concealed weapons, and finely-tuned bigger engines paired with thicker armor and heavier shields. All three of them, and Artoo, had caught her casting evaluative glances at the X-wing stored inside the capacious hangar.
The galley took up the starboard side of the large open area that was both lounge and workspace, with a large circular table with chairs arranged around it, the holoprojector in the center. That holoprojector fuzzed, flickering from silent ads back to a pan shot across an enthusiastic studio audience.
The rich scent of the frying bulb segments paired with appealing herbs wafted through the ship. Iella noticed first, turning her head in their direction. Mara was too invested in reviewing their intelligence to notice; Artoo-Detoo worked next to her, helping her sort through it all and whistling when he found something interesting.
Luke stopped mincing herbs and retrieved the commtroler, canceling the mute function just as the camera centered on the bubbly Rutian Twi'lek host Nal'Dezal as she beamed her dazzling smile.
"Welcome back to the budding experts in clothing and first-time fashionistas, it's time to DRAPE! THIS! CAPE! Our first contestants are..."
Mara groaned without looking up. "And this is who the Rebellion chose to promote to General," she muttered under her breath, glaring at Lando. "Wes Janson has a lot to answer for."
She had a point, Luke thought. Wes had been one of chief cheerleaders for Drape This Cape and other similar HoloNet programs. He hadn't been the only one, though, and for a brief moment Luke paused in his chopping as he thought about Wes, Dak and Cinda Tarheel clustered around a tiny holoprojector in a frigid lounge on Hoth, laughing and placing bets just days before the Imperial attack on the base. New episodes had been smuggled in with as much anticipation as rations and munitions.
"I think Tul-fan's got this one in the bag," Iella said brightly, gesturing at the Talz contestant with her bottle of lomin-ale. "The contrast of the sleek Irudian velvet with her tufted fur really helps bring out all four of her eyes."
Mara's head whipped around, her normally-composed features marred by a haze of confusion spiced with hints of bitter betrayal. "How do you know about this holoprogram?"
"What do you think we listened to on stakeouts, smashball?" Iella rolled her eyes. "No. If Corran had so much as touched the channel control, Gil would have taken a finger with his backup stiletto. Not to mention that occasionally the flash-drama between the contestants and host offered perspective on our cases." She offered a wry grin. "It is a Corellian program, after all."
"Besides," Lando said, with a very saturnine smile, "Nal'Dezal has quite the eye. The cape makes the man after all. Choose a bad cape, and your con may stall before you even cross the threshold." He tipped Mara an acknowledging nod. "You were at Jabba's, what did you think about that Jedi hood Luke wore in? I helped him pick it out, going for this air of stylish, mysterious, with a delectable hint of danger."
Mara arched a single eyebrow while considering her response, "It certainly made him look competent and dangerous. Far more serene than I expected… right up until he got dropped in the rancor pit."
Luke winced and sent Mara an amused look. "I should have been paying more attention to where I had my footing," he conceded.
The onion had stopped sizzling and began to brown. Lando stepped out of the way, gesturing to Luke. Luke quickly swept all the chopped vegetables into the skillet, added some frozen poultry sections, and then retreated as Lando added spices and started stirring it all together. A new mixture of fragrant scents immediately flooded the room as the Oryza grains hissed away merrily in a small pot on a side burner.
That task done, Luke offered Mara a grin. "So did we get everything we needed?"
Iella stepped next to the holoprojector and re-muted the game show, just as the Talz was about to face the panel of judges. "I think so," she replied. "The Sky Fortress is very well armed and armored, but is inherently vulnerable to an assault from orbit. The bigger problem will be the Tower and the Imperial force on Cloud City itself. Boarding the station and recapturing it before they can sabotage it will be hard."
Lando let the meal sizzle for a moment. "That's why we made contact with the locals," he pointed out. "The resistance force on Bespin is small but can be mobilized to action. They might be able to act, if they have support." He sighed. "But no matter what we do, it's not going to be easy."
"Wedge will come up with something," Luke said confidently. "He always does."
Mara's quarters aboard Tempered Mettle served a number of purposes. It was, of course, where she slept. It also had an ample armory, mostly complete from when she had been Emperor's Hand, with a large selection of blaster pistols and rifles, armor, and other items. Luke knew that she was thankful to have gotten all of it back, after General Cracken and New Republic Intelligence had been satisfied with their analysis. It still bothered her sometimes—Luke could see the times her eyes were haunted by the memories that came with the armor, the blasters, the empty spot on the wall where her lightsaber had been kept—but those moments had grown more infrequent as the months had passed.
After she had saved his life and, more importantly saved him from deskbound boredom, General Madine had also sent her a gift basket full of some top of the line hidden trackers, spoofers and other hidden gadgets probably "stolen" from Cracken. Mara had thought that was sweet.
Some girls like flowers, some like chocolate, and some like lockpicks and illegal disruptors disguised as hairdryers and hydrospanners, Luke thought wryly.
While she had been the Emperor's Hand, this room had also been her operations area. There were shelves with books and datapads and a number of miscellaneous items, most of which were relics of one successful mission or another, and a computer terminal and holoprojector well suited for researching and planning out covert operations. After the Smugglers' Alliance began working with NRI, Mara and Iella had turned the central lounge space into their planning area instead, which had left quite a bit of extra empty space.
That space became his.
Not officially, of course. Mara had never sat down and told him that it was his. But it was his all the same. The closet where he kept his new Jedi robes, the cream and brown he'd seen in old holos of Obi-Wan Kenobi that he and Kam had decided were proper for Jedi, and his more casual clothes.
Mara was most comfortable here and had even given up her apartment on Coruscant in favor of just sleeping aboard her ship… although, when she had the chance she stayed with him, in his apartment in the Imperial Palace.
Luke sat on the edge of their bed. She was asleep. The temporary blonde hair dye had largely been washed out, creating a mix of pale yellow and red-gold that evoked a Tatooine sunset splayed over her pillow. Mara was a remarkably still sleeper, except during nightmares, and she wasn't having one at the moment. Content.
He gently stroked his finger over her cheek, then slid into the bed next to her. She stirred, not waking, but he could tell that even asleep she recognized his presence. Otherwise her normal vigilance would have instantly brought her back upright, likely with a blaster in hand. Instead, a hint of a smile curled her lips, and Luke's heart melted all over again.
She moved, an uncharacteristic shift, and her hand rested on his chest, fingers grasping gently.
"Good night, Mara," he murmured, resting his hand over hers. He silently suspected that when they got back to Coruscant these calm moments wouldn't last beyond hitting atmosphere, and he resolved to make the most of the ones they had for as long as they could.
The twin suns of Tatooine hadn't come over the horizon yet, and the sky was full of stars. Luke could hear the sound of Owen puttering in the kitchen, preparing the morning legmi. The cool drink gave energy and spirit, both necessary for moisture farmers facing the morning suns.
Luke collected the tools for vaporator repair, before instructing his droid Treadwell to go communicate with the machines and see which ones weren't operating at peak efficiency, so they could set their morning priorities.
When the droid had moved away, Luke leaned back and peered up at the sky. It was so clear it was like they were flying through space; Luke could almost feel the planet moving underneath him, traveling at astonishing speeds. But the stars were distant and still, out of reach.
He futzed with his macrobinoculars, trying to draw them nearer, imagining what the worlds that went around them were like. He'd read about a world of water, but found he couldn't even imagine it. How would it not just … fall apart?
The sounds from the kitchen faded, and the light went out. Owen emerged with two tall, clear glasses of legmi and handed Luke one. "Drink it slowly," Owen cautioned, looking somehow younger than Luke remembered him. Owen noticed the macrobinoculars, and his expression twitched with resignation and fondness. "Looking at the stars again?"
Luke nodded. He sipped the drink, feeling the way it relieved tension, provided focus.
Sometimes, on the best mornings, Treadwell would come back and tell them that the vaporators were working at peak efficiency already, and they would just sit and watch the stars, or go for a ride in Owen's speeder. As if on cue, Treadwell returned, offering a few of his low, deep beeps—the ones that Luke hoped for, every morning.
"It seems we have some free time today," Owen commented. "Want to go for a ride?"
The Lars family speeder was a staid, reliable vehicle probably older than Owen. It almost never broke down, and when it did, it usually needed only simple fixes. The cool, pre-dawn Tatooine air cosseted them both as they swept by some of the more distant vaporators that belonged to the farm.
They traveled farther out than they ever had before, and despite the sense of adventure, there was a growing knot in Luke's heart that he wouldn't be able to find his way home. The morning darkness seemed to grow deeper, as if stalking them on a hunt.
His uncle must have noticed Luke's growing unease. Owen brought the landspeeder to a stop and swept his arm up to point at the stars. "See that one, Luke?" Owen pointed out a trail of stars, two rows deep, that somehow Luke had never noticed before. "That's the Dragon. Follow its back, down two dorsal ridges and see the tail? Keep it forward, as you walk with the Bantha Herd to your right, and you'll always find your way home. Let me show you."
They pointed the speeder's nose at the Dragon's tail. The ridges of Tatooine passed on either side of them, seeming to part to grant them passage. Darkness lightened into dawn, and the twin suns of Tatooine rose behind them, casting the world in brilliant red-gold light.
When Luke woke, he was home.