The Korust Building, at 42 stories high, was the tallest building in Endirion, the capital city of Pamylasia. Like all tall buildings, it was associated with power, with the elite. It was actually an office building housing a bank and several important businesses, which is why it remained in the hands of its owners rather than being taken over by the new government under President Akeeno. The House of Barons, seven stories shorter but ten times more beautiful, had been confiscated by the people when the House had been formally disbanded, and it now housed the offices of the new government. The Barons deeply mourned the loss of their beautiful headquarters, but the loss was more symbolic than practical, since they still owned 65% of the property on Pamylasia, and under Akeeno's government had been able to keep most of it. But the Barons did not tend to see things so favorably, and they chafed under the limits set upon them.
So felt the elite group meeting now in the penthouse office of the Korust Building. They had gathered on this day to watch from high above the events unfolding on the streets on the common level. The central plaza was filled with people. Initial estimates guessed that some one million spectators had assembled on the occasion of the arrival to their world of Luke Skywalker. Skywalker himself, of course, would not land in the plaza. To do so would be to invite a riot. The government had wisely decided to have Skywalker's ship land at a remote, top secret location, from which he would be transported to prison until he could be charged. But the people had gathered in the plaza to make their views known, and their views were being broadcast for all the galaxy to see.
In the penthouse, half a dozen vidscreens had been set up, tuned to a few of the many news reports being broadcast on the demonstration below. The screens showed close-ups of what the Barons in the penthouse could only see from a distance. Angry faces, some wet with tears, others shouting, placards reading "Jedi murderer" and "Skywalker = Death," and effigies of a tow-headed figure in black, a crude but unmistakable lightsaber hilt sticking out of its heart. Effigies of Skywalker being burned, being torn apart, being pelted with rotten fruit and offal. Little children holding up pictures of the Jedi and spitting on them.
Particularly impressed with this display of hatred, one of the Barons remarked, "Amazing! Who would have thought such a well-loved person could become so despised?"
"Popularity is fickle, Khazir," another of the Barons noted, idly fingering the heavy gold chain around her neck as she watched the crowd below. "More to be wondered at is why Skywalker should turn himself in? Why did he not defend himself?"
"That is immaterial," dismissed Khazir with a wave of his hand. "He has turned himself in, and all Pamylasia is in an uproar. He will be convicted, of course, and receive the death sentence. I'll wager that the government will even make an exception to their ban on public executions for his sake." He opened a decanter of brandy and poured himself a glass. "Nobles, I'd like to make a toast on this auspicious occasion," he announced, holding up the crystal goblet. "To the end of Jedi Skywalker, and to our return to power."
Several of the others clapped and saluted his toast, but one of the older women, who still wore the sapphire signet ring which proclaimed a position she no longer legally held said, "Your toast is premature, Khazir. Tildin's suspicions are well justified."
"With all due respect, Chancellor Marwan," the younger man said, referring to her former title, "what can it really matter whether he turned himself in or was arrested against his will? The point is he is in custody, and people hate him."
"They do indeed hate him," Marwan agreed. "But their hatred unites them." She moved to one of the screens, showing a crowd tearing apart one of the effigies of the Jedi. "You look at their faces and see hatred, boiling rage, even blood lust. They hate this man enough to desecrate his image." She moved away from the screen to stand at the window where she could see the crowd below. "But look at the larger picture. You see order, unity of purpose. The crowd even moves as one being, flowing back and forth like the gentle lapping of the ocean. Where is the turbulence, the chaos? There is no looting, no one is throwing bottle rockets. They do not vent their anger at each other. Their anger has a direction, a purpose, a focus: Luke Skywalker."
"With such a focused crowd," Tildin broke in, "what need is there for us to restore order?"
"Indeed," agreed Marwan, "what need is there to declare martial law, when all people want is for the existing system of judgment to work?"
Khazir shook his head, impatient. "I fail to see how that matters. Their passions are inflamed, they are enraged. It will only take a spark to set them off."
"But what spark will that be?" Marwan demurred. "They already have Skywalker. No court on Pamylasia will acquit him. As you said, he will be found guilty and executed. Justice will have been done, and the people will be able to say, 'We have punished Akeeno's murderer. Now let us live up to her dreams and honor her memory by pursuing her vision.' They will have been vindicated by bringing her murderer to justice, and that vindication will make them strong."
"This is all going too smoothly," Tildin added. "Maybe that's why Skywalker turned himself in."
Alarmed, Khazir speculated, "You don't think he knows about us, do you?"
"No," Marwan interjected with force, "I made certain of that."
"All the same, we should not underestimate Skywalker," Tildin cautioned.
"I have never underestimated him!" Marwan objected. "I have used every caution, every step of the way!"
"And yet we did not anticipate that he would turn himself in!"
"Underestimating and failing to anticipate are not the same thing. In that sense, Khazir is right: it makes little difference whether he turned himself in or was arrested. Either way he makes a convenient and satisfying scapegoat whom the people can blame for their troubles, and it leaves us no opening to seize control."
For several long minutes the Barons were silent, contemplating the situation before them. At last, Khazir said, "Then what are we to do now? He's been arrested and will be charged."
Marwan's eyes hardened with determination. "Many of the judges are still bound to us. Skywalker must not receive a fair trial."
"Or perhaps," Tildin interjected thoughtfully, "he should not come to trial at all."
"Do you mean let him go free?" Khazir protested. "He will find out about us and come after us!"
"I am saying, what if he does not live to see his trial? What if he dies in prison, the victim of an accident, or a scuffle with another inmate? Then he will be out of our way, and the people will have failed in their duty to Akeeno's 'blessed memory' by failing to bring her killer to justice. With the right pressure, we might then be able to sway events in our favor."
"What's more," Marwan added, "the Galactic Republic will be outraged. They will withdraw their support of the government, and weaken them further." She smiled, her thin mouth splitting her wrinkled face like a crack. "You may be on to something there, Tildin," she complemented. "I shall have to think on it, consider the various angles. But I think you may have provided the spark we need."
Khazir frowned. "There's just one problem. Killing a Jedi isn't easy. How do you propose to do it?"
"It may not be easy, but even Jedi Knights are mortal. He will be unarmed and living among the most hardened criminals on the planet. And don't forget, most of the prison personnel were appointed under our rule. Surely all those factors might weigh in our favor?"
At last Khazir smiled, his earlier confidence returning. "Thou art wise and powerful, O Chancellor," he said, addressing her in the old way of the court, "more cunning and strong than even the greatest of Jedi Knights. Thou shalt triumph over all our enemies." He bowed deeply to her.
Her lips still pursed in a tight smile, the former ruler of the House of Barons inclined her head slightly. "May it be even so, according as thou hast said," she replied. "I believe, Baron, that I will now drink that toast of yours."
Chapter Five: Imprisoned
Three hundred pairs of eyes could weigh a lot, Luke reflected, when they were all looking at you. Luke stood holding his tray in the mess hall of the Maximum Security Prison of Pamylasia. Due to his arraignment earlier in the day, he had come late to dinner, in fact had almost missed it. His fellow prisoners had been noisily gulping down the last spoonfuls of their stew when he walked in. Within seconds the entire hall had fallen silent, watching him with burning hatred. It seemed even the most hardened criminals on Pamylasia had loved their President.
Luke cast about the hall, looking for a place to sit. A table not too far away was empty at one end, but by the time Luke reached it, the men had shifted along the bench, leaving no room. They glared at him with a fierce challenge in their eyes.
Luke had been in enough dismal spots in the galaxy to know that generally the best approach to bullies was to out-tough them. But something told him that any bravado on his part would only provoke these men into acting on what they were now barely content to express only in their silence. His best bet was to try not to draw attention to himself, something which he, unfortunately, could not help doing by virtue of who he was.
He approached another table only to have it fill as well. By the third table, the prisoners' hostility was so great he could feel it boring into his skin. He eased himself into a battle stance, shifting his grip on the tray so he could use it either as a weapon or a shield as needed, when one of the guards approached. Prodding one of the prisoners with his club, he growled, "Make room here."
The prisoners grumbled but gave way, and by the time Luke had seated himself on the bench, the table was empty. Sighing, he fell to his meal. The stew was hardly tasty, but neither was it as bad as some of the rations he had endured during the leaner days of the rebellion. He could still feel the hostile stares at his back. Suddenly someone threw a salt shaker at him. Without looking up, Luke casually reached up and caught it. He sprinkled some on his food and then placed it on the table.
The prisoners murmured in shock and surprise at his quick reflexes. After that their mood, while no less hostile, was nevertheless a little more cautious. Perhaps the old fear of the Jedi's mysterious powers would keep him safe, Luke mused. Force knew he could use all the help he could get.
The arraignment had been uneventful, and the results expected. His promised lawyers from Coruscant had not been present. Either they couldn't get there in time, or, Luke speculated, Leia was having difficulty finding anyone willing to defend the great Jedi turned bad. He could hardly blame them. So he had been left with an indifferent defense which had hastily acceded to all the prosecutors' demands, especially the request that no bail be set. The judge had agreed, and Luke was sent not back to his solitary cell, but to this penitentiary. It was actually less secure for holding a Jedi than solitary confinement had been. Not that he was planning to escape, but Luke suspected that even if the judge had known how ineffective the prison would be at containing a Jedi, it wouldn't have mattered. Sending him among these hostile prisoners was no doubt intended to be part of his punishment.
A bell rang, signaling the end of dinner just as Luke swallowed the last mouthful of his stew. He stood and joined the others in line to return their trays. Someone from behind him tried to shove him, but Luke stepped gracefully and unobtrusively out of the way, causing the man to stumble. The man turned and spat at Luke's feet. "You'd just better watch yourself," he growled.
I've heard that before, Luke said to himself, but he did not reply.
After dinner, the prisoners had an hour of exercise in the prison yard. Luke found a bare space against the wall for himself, and thankfully everyone avoided him. Although he continued to receive stares and the occasional choice epithet, the prisoners had apparently reached some kind of agreement among themselves, because no one attacked him. He was left to himself all the rest of the evening until the bell rang again, signaling preparation for lock-down.
Luke returned to his cell to find the entrance blocked by a huge man, twice his size. The dark face glared down at him, framed by wild, frizzy black hair. "My name's Morfi," the man snarled. Luke doubted he needed to introduce himself in return. Morfi continued, "President Dimi came from my hometown."
Luke had no idea how to respond to this piece of information, so he tried for as mild an expression as he could.
Abruptly, Morfi's face split in a wide grin, but not of the welcoming kind. "I'm looking forward to sharing my cell with you." He left the doorway and climbed into his top bunk.
I bet you are, Luke thought as he settled into his own bunk.
The day's strain of being on his guard in his new surroundings had taken its toll on Luke. He was exhausted, but he couldn't sleep. Not only did his cellmate's antagonism buzz around the edge of his consciousness like an angry hornet, but his thoughts kept returning to his arraignment earlier.
Luke had encountered angry mobs before, but never a crowd so full of hatred as the one through which he had been led to the courthouse. The sight of his own image being burned in effigy had deeply unsettled him. He had willingly given himself into the hands of a planet whose entire population wanted him dead, preferably by slow and painful means which they would be only too happy to supply themselves. Never had Luke felt so completely alone.
He had known it would be bad, of course. He had expected the desertion of all his former friends and allies, yet he was far from blaming them, even felt he deserved no less. But anticipation and reality are two very different things. To walk into that courthouse knowing that not a single soul was on his side had been the most devastating experience Luke had ever endured, even worse than that fateful day on Bespin. Somehow before he'd entered the courthouse Luke had hoped beyond all hope to see Han, Leia, or Mara there. Yet hadn't he himself told Han to stay with Mara? And Mara – well, she had made her views perfectly clear on Myrmidon. Again, Luke had expected her reaction. She was a Jedi, with her own excruciating standards of honor. How could she not be outraged by what he had done? When Luke had made his decision to save her, he had known that it might very well cost him her love and respect. He hadn't done it because he had thought it would make her happy, but again, anticipation and reality were two different things. How could he go on, knowing that Mara condemned him? Especially when he thought she was right.
Luke's pondering was interrupted by the sound of the bunk above him creaking. Morfi, too, was awake, and now the hulking man crept down off his bunk with surprising grace. Luke lay silently, eyes closed as if in sleep, as his cellmate drew closer.
Through the Force, Luke saw Morfi's movement instants before it happened. He reached up and grabbed Morfi's wrist, just as the prisoner brought his arm down toward Luke. Shining in the man's fist was a knife. Not a crudely made shiv, fashioned out of a piece of salvaged metal, but a real knife, a large one. How had he gotten it? Luke wondered.
Still gripping the man's wrist, Luke forced Morfi back as he rose from the bed. Morfi swung at him with his free hand, but Luke easily blocked the blow, twisting the man's arms behind him until he had him pinned to the floor. Morfi grunted as he felt Luke's knee press into his back. Luke plucked the knife out of Morfi's grip and slid it out of the cell into the walkway, safely out of reach. "You can't kill me," he told Morfi. "And I don't want to hurt you. So why don't you just let up?"
In response, Morfi bucked and heaved wildly until Luke finally released him. He whirled to face Luke, his eyes gleaming evilly in the dim light. "I'll not rest until you're dead!" he told the Jedi. "Vengeance!" he screamed, as he picked up the cell's only chair and flung it at Luke.
Luke ducked, but maneuvering was not easy in the tiny cell. Morfi charged him, fists swinging, and Luke stepped away, only to trip over the chair. This is really getting out of hand, he thought, as he and Morfi grappled on the floor. He could take Morfi out, but he didn't think the guards – or his fellow prisoners – would appreciate him taking matters into his own hands. Unsure what else to do, Luke yelled, "Guard!"
Instantly his call was echoed by scores of mocking cries. "Guard!" the other prisoners called out in imitation. The prison filled with the clamor of cups being beaten against the bars, with hoots and stomping feet. "Kill him, Morfi!" someone urged. "Kill the Jedi bastard!"
Encouraged by their support, Morfi swung again at Luke, losing no self-confidence when he again missed. He roared and attacked Luke with renewed vigor.
No guards would come, Luke realized as the din rang in his ears. He was on his own.
It was going to be a long night.
*****
In the end Luke managed to subdue his cellmate, but not without violence. Morfi, single-minded in his hatred for Luke, was impervious to Luke's Force suggestions of sleep, and Luke finally had to physically knock the man unconscious. In the morning, the prison guards blamed Luke for the fight. They also charged him with possession of the knife he had taken from Morfi. But other than noting his misconduct in his records and issuing threats, they did nothing to him, nor did they place him in solitary. They clearly wanted him to remain with his fellow prisoners.
Luke soon learned why when in the showers he was rushed by a dozen men. He eluded them by leaping up onto the tiled partitions that divided the showers, his bare feet slipping on the wet tiles. The guards "rescued" him, but again blamed him for the incident, although they did nothing.
That night Luke had another cellmate who was determined to render his own justice against Luke, and Luke dispensed with him as he had Morfi, to the outrage of all the other prisoners looking on. In the morning, a riot ensued as soon as the cell doors were opened, and Luke only managed to escape it by climbing up the wire mesh that covered the walkways outside the cells.
By this time, however, the guards had finally wised up. When the riot had been quelled and Luke came down from his safe perch, the guards surrounded him and hauled him off. Luke prayed they would finally put him in solitary, but he was not too surprised when they led him into the showers.
"You're quite a troublemaker, aren't you, Jedi?" the sergeant of the guards sneered.
"And a nimble one at that," another guard added. "That's not fair. If you're going to play with the boys, it should be on an equal footing."
"But that's not the way you like to play, is it?" the sergeant continued. "No, murdering people while they sleep in their beds: that's the way you like the odds."
All senses alert, Luke watched the guards surround him, drawing their clubs. For the first time he realized how truly hopeless his situation was. If the guards decided to kill him and he defended himself, it would only look worse for his case. In desperation, he tried the truth. "The prisoners are trying to kill me. I appeal to you as keepers of the peace to protect me. Akeeno herself believed in fair trials for all—"
"Don't you dare speak her name!" the sergeant reprimanded, pointing his club at Luke. "You are not worthy to speak her name! We'll keep the peace, all right. We just want to even up the playing field." He signaled to the others with a flick of his club.
Carefully attuned to the sergeant's mind, Luke realized that the guards would not kill him. They wanted the prisoners to do the job, no doubt for appearance's sake. But they did intend to injure him so that he could not continue to elude the prisoner's attacks.
The guards moved in on him, and Luke had only an instant to decide: fight and escape, or submit to their blows. He chose the latter. As the first blow fell, Luke used the Force to lessen the impact. He could ease the blows while appearing to be more badly injured than he actually was. Nevertheless, when flesh meets solid wood, it is the flesh which is bruised. The first blow exploded upon him with blinding pain. The third blow knocked him to the ground. The Force provided some protection, but his cries of pain were real, and even a Jedi could not endure forever.
Chapter Six: Reunion"No, you may not see him," the warden said wearily. "I've already told you; he's in solitary and may receive no visitors."
Mara glared fiercely at the warden, her patience long ago worn out. Despite the fact that she was still confined to a wheelchair, she projected such an intimidating figure that the warden took a step back. That Mara was flanked by a surly Wookiee and an infuriated Corellian only made a stronger impression. Mara leaned forward, jabbing her bandaged hand at the official. "Now you listen to me. Don't think for one instant I'm fooled by this crap you're trying to load on me. I know what game you're playing, and I also know my rights. Your government signed the Intergalactic Treaty on Sapient Rights shortly after your esteemed late president -- whom you claim to honor -- came to power. She felt so strongly about it that one of her first official acts was to ratify that treaty, which among other things states that prisoners have the right to visitation by their closest kin."
The warden pursed her lips. "I know what the treaty says."
"Then let me in, or I'll be forced to appeal to the highest court on Pamylasia, maybe even to the Galactic Court itself. Do you really want to provoke another intergalactic outcry in this case?"
Swallowing hard the warden wondered anxiously how far Mara really would go. Her orders had been clear: no one was to be admitted to see Skywalker except his lawyers -- if they ever arrived. "I'm sorry," she snapped. "He is in solitary. When he's released from solitary, then you may see him, but not until then. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. The assistant warden will show you out." She pushed a comm button, summoning her assistant.
After the third try in as many days, however, her visitors were now familiar with the routine. "We know the way," Han growled, gripping the handles of Mara's chair and propelling her out the door.
When they were back out on the street, Han observed, "I really don't know why you won't let me try the talking for once. You're not any better at the diplomatic approach than me."
"Well at least I can do it with less swearing," Mara snapped in reply, still seething with impotent fury. "Anyway, they wouldn't let you in to see him; you're not a close enough relative according to them. I have to play the grieving wife."
"Pissed-off wife is more like it," Han muttered. "You don't exactly cut a pathetic figure, even with splints on your hand and both feet in casts. You could at least act like you're in pain. Maybe cry a bit…."
Squeezing the armrest with her one good hand, Mara whispered urgently, "I simply have to see him."
Chewbacca moaned in concern. Shooting him a glance, Han asked Mara, worried, "You still getting bad vibes from him?"
Mara nodded. "I know he's in trouble, but I don't know what's wrong. The impression is too fuzzy. I'm almost positive he's not in solitary, though."
"Well," Han sighed, tapping the chair handles, "we've been to the warden, been to his kooky lawyer, tried to see the judge. We can always just bust him out. I know it's not the diplomatic thing to do, but if they're up to something fishy anyway, we may be justified."
Only half listening to Han, Mara tried to think of another approach. An old newspaper blown by the wind wrapped itself around her leg. She recognized a photo of one of the many demonstrations against Luke that were held every day. That's all the news reports seemed to cover.…
"Wait a minute," Mara mused aloud. "Maybe it's time I made a statement to the press."
Skeptical, Han asked, "You really think they'll listen to you?"
"Maybe not, but it would be a different angle on the story."
"Why don't we just go to the Republic Press Service?" Han added. "They surely have an office here, and they'll pick up the story for sure, create some off-world pressure."
Mara considered for a moment. "I'd like to try the Pamylasian press first, give them a chance to be their own watchdog. Let's find the nearest office."
An information cubicle provided them with an address not far away, and a short cab ride later, they entered the doors of the Endirion News Service.
"Now let me do the talking again," Mara urged as Han pushed her toward the reception desk, Chewie in their wake.
Han frowned. "All right," he grudgingly ceded. "But you'd better really work the grieving wife routine."
As they approached the desk, the receptionist looked up, clearly not recognizing them. "May I help you?" he asked.
Mara fixed him in a green-eyed gaze that was riveting even without the Force backing it up. "I am Mara Jade, wife of Luke Skywalker," she announced, her voice loud enough to be heard by everyone in the lobby. "I thought you might be interested to know that for three days I have been trying to visit my husband in prison, and for three days my requests have been denied in violation of the Intergalactic Treaty on Sapient Rights. I know that many personnel in your prison systems are from the old regime where they learned many lessons in how to abuse sapient rights. Old habits die hard. It seems that some of them are still in practice."
The receptionist colored. "I don't see what you want us to do about it," he protested. "You should talk to a judge."
"Believe me, I've talked to everyone," Mara answered. "That's why I'm here. One of the responsibilities of a free press is to expose corruption and abuse." Her eyes narrowed. "Or perhaps your press follows old habits as well?"
So much for the grieving wife routine, Han groaned into inwardly. Time for them to push the little red button.
The receptionist didn't summon security, but he looked like he was about to. "Ma'am, I don't --"
"Jedi Jade," a voice interrupted. They turned to see a well-dressed woman standing in an open doorway nearby. "I am Erison Tamalan, chief reporter here at ENS. I once spent two years in prison for practicing a free press. I would be very interested to hear what you have to say." She extended an inviting arm toward the room from which she had come. "Won't you come into my office and tell me all about it?"
*****
Within an hour a report was broadcast on the radio, detailing Mara's story. By nightfall, both print and vid had picked it up, not only Pamylasian press but also the Republic Press Service as well. Not all the Pamylasian press was sympathetic to Mara, but the story generated enough controversy and hard questions that when Mara, Han, and Chewie arrived bright and early at the prison the next morning, the warden informed them that Luke had been released from "solitary" and could now receive a visit from Mara.
Leaving an anxious and irritated Han and Chewie behind, Mara was wheeled down the hall and into a small room. The room contained nothing but a desk with a speaker on it, placed up against a window looking into another room. Her escort pushed her chair up to the desk, then left her alone, closing the door behind him.
Now that Mara was finally here, anxiety suddenly threatened to overwhelm her. The memory of her bitter parting with Luke on Myrmidon still caused her stomach to knot up. The evening after he left, she had watched the news coverage of Luke being hustled through the crowd. Seeing him so lost among the jostling crowd, she realized how deeply he had gotten himself into trouble.
His dilemma tore at Mara's heart. She couldn't bear to think of what he had done. Her whole being recoiled at the knowledge that he had murdered Akeeno in her sleep. The image of that cold-blooded assassin was so contrary to everything Luke believed in, everything he was.
But she couldn't afford to think about that right now. More urgent was the fact that, whatever Luke had done, he needed her right now. Her every waking thought for the past few days had been how to get to him. Now that she was here, however, she didn't know what to say to this man, this murderer who had replaced her husband.
A movement in the other room caught Mara's eye. The door had opened, and Luke entered, dressed in a blue prison uniform. His head hung low over his stooped shoulders, and he moved awkwardly, almost clumsily, with none of his usual grace. Mara almost didn't recognize him.
Luke looked up. Seeing Mara he froze, his whole body in an attitude of shock. He would have remained standing there for some time if the guard hadn't nudged him to sit down. He collapsed into the chair. Up close, Mara realized he had a black eye and a split lip. His bloodshot eyes seemed hollow and deep, with a glimmer of tragedy in them, like a child whose nightmares have come true. His eyes shone with unshed tears as he whispered her name, like a prayer.
His obvious surprise and relief to see her cut Mara to the quick. She had not thought about how deeply her words must have wounded him. "Don't look so surprised to see me."
One tear escaped his eye and slid down his cheek as he released a long sigh, breathing out some of the weight he had been carrying for the past few days. "I thought after what you said... that you hated me."
To her embarrassment, Mara felt hot tears burning in her throat. "I was angry, yes," she said, her voice husky. "Still am, in fact, you little fool. But I could never hate you."
"But your injuries -- you should be in the hospital."
"I'm well enough," she dismissed. "Where I need to be is here with you."
Her words seemed to soothe him like a balm, and some of the tension in his body melted away. Mara realized that he could probably content himself with doing nothing but look at her, but they didn't have much time. The warden had allotted her ten minutes. "What happened to you?" she asked, gesturing at his face.
His eyes flicked to the side, toward the guard that stood behind him at the door. "I'm not very popular with the other prisoners," he observed. He leaned forward with a sense of urgency. "Mara, I need --," he caught himself. "I need to see a lawyer. Has Leia found anyone for me yet?"
I need to get out of here, he sent. They're going to kill me.
Who? Mara returned.
The prisoners and the guards both. I think it's a plot.
"Yes, she's found a team, some of the best on Coruscant," Mara said out loud. Her mind reeled.
"When are they coming?"
"They're due tomorrow, in the afternoon, I think."
This news evidently did not please Luke, and Mara grew even more alarmed. Are you going to be all right until then?
They're wearing me down. The guards beat me up so I won't be able to elude the prisoners. It's starting to work. "Please, I need to see them as soon as they get here." He looked genuinely fearful.
Han's offer to break Luke out of the prison suddenly seemed appealing. "Is there anything I can do?" It took me three days to get in to see you. The warden wouldn't admit me. I finally had to go to the press.
I know. I saw it on the vid news last night. The memory brought a smile to his face. Mara didn't think she had ever seen a more beautiful sight. "I think I'll be all right until then, just as long as I can see them right away."
Are you sure?
I have to be.
Maybe I should go to the press again. Some of them were sympathetic. If there's a public outcry --
No. Luke's eyes narrowed in an urgent plea, and through their link, Mara could feel his danger sense tingling. It might provoke them into speeding up a plan that so far they've been willing to take slowly.
"All right then," Mara voiced. She was not at all pleased with the situation, but there was nothing she could do. With a flash of insight, she realized Luke must have felt the same way when she was being tortured. An exquisite tenderness filled her heart, and she longed just to be able to touch him. She pressed the palm of her good hand against the cold glass that separated them. Luke matched his own hand against hers. Millimeters separated them, and yet the distance seemed impossible to span.
Luke felt it, too, and the tears welled up in his eyes again.
"Don't do that," Mara crooned, giving him a gentle smile. "You know how I hate to see rainclouds in those sky blues of yours."
Her words brought an answering smile from him, and with an effort, he checked his emotions. "I love you, Spice."
"And I love you, Sweets. Don't you dare think for one minute that you have ever not been worth it for me. You may drive me insane sometimes, but I wouldn't trade you for anything in the world."
Her words fell on Luke like water in a parched desert, so desperately did he drink them in. His visible thirst for her assurance made Mara realize how deep his anguish must be. She wanted to break through the glass that separated them, spirit him off to some safe place where no harm could ever come to him, and box his ears at the same time for getting himself into the situation in the first place. How could you do it, Luke? she asked in the deepest part of herself, where even his Force link could not hear her.
But the question would have to remain unanswered for now, perhaps forever, if he didn't survive. He was still gazing at her with that expression of helpless love which wreaked such havoc in Mara's heart. "Buck up; you'll be fine," she said, knowing how lame she sounded, but needing desperately to diffuse the intense emotion.
"I know," he smiled back, as if he really believed it.
The guard rapped on the door, signaling the end of their allotted time, and Mara sighed in relief. "We'll get the lawyers in here as soon as they arrive," she said as the guard entered.
Luke nodded. "Take care of yourself."
"I will. And I'll see you again soon." Luke's eyes were still on her when the guard finally wheeled her around and out of the room.
Rage built inside Mara as the guard wheeled her slowly down the hall. Rage at her inability to help Luke, at the forces massed against him, and at her physical inability to walk down the hall herself. She struck out the only way she could, with words. "How'd he get those bruises in solitary?" she sneered at the guard. "Are they supposed to be self-inflicted?"
"He started a fight with the prisoners. That's what landed him in solitary," was the curt reply.
"Is that so? Well, those bruises look awfully fresh considering he's been in solitary for three days."
"Isn't that something?" the guard remarked dryly as he wheeled her into the room where Han and Chewie were waiting. Han's face grew grim when he recognized Mara's restless irritation. Without a word, he seized the handles of her chair and pushed her out of the building.
Once in the street, Han said, "So give us the bad news."
In her frustration, Mara didn't even try to soften the blow. "He's going to die in there."
"Emperor's black bones!" Han swore. Chewie gave such an anguished howl that passersby stopped and stared at him in nervous concern.
"He thinks it's a conspiracy between the prisoners and the guards," Mara explained over Chewie's moans. "We have to get him out of there."
Chewbacca tore at his fur in desperation. "Take it easy, Chewie!" Han called. "We'll get him out. It's not like we haven't done this kind of thing before."
"Oh, that's great, Solo!" Mara rebuked. "You're going to break him out? And then what? Hide him on some jerkwater planet for the rest of his life? Good thinking!"
"Dammit, I don't care!" Han railed. "My friend's gonna die in there, and I will do anything to get him out!"
"Han, this isn't the Empire here. Pamylasia is a member of the Republic. Luke assassinated the President, remember? He's supposed to be in jail!"
"In a jail were there gonna kill him? Where's the justice in that? I'm getting him out!"
"You break him out, and you'll destroy any hope he has of vindication. We have to get him out legally."
"Legally? We already tried that and it didn't work."
While Han raved, Mara combed her mind for ideas. She shared his frustration, and certainly her own history had prepared her more for covert, illegal activity. But she knew Luke would not approve of such a solution. "Han," she interrupted. "Let's give it one more day. Then if we can't get him released, you can go after him."
"Now listen --." He stooped to a jab an angry finger in her face, but he didn't get any farther. His partner suddenly seized him by the scruff of the neck and lifted him off his feet. As Han dangled in the air, Chewie proceeded to berate him for his recklessness. Surprised to find the Wookiee on Mara's side, Han at last relented.
"All right," he grumbled, rubbing his sore neck as Chewie placed him on his feet again. "So now what?"
Mara tapped the armrest of her chair with her splinted hand, allowing the mild pain to cut through her confusion. "You should contact Leia," she said at last. "Let her know the situation, and try to find out what in all the stars happened to those lawyers. Chewie and me will do what we can with that pathetic counsel they stuck Luke with."
"Yeah. Maybe a pissed-off Wookiee will get results where the grieving wife didn't."
Chewie interjected with his own suggestion. In reply, Han cocked a skeptical eyebrow. "What'll that do?" he queried.
"What?" Mara demanded. Her knowledge of Wookiee was limited.
Chewie elaborated, gesturing emphatically. When he finished, Han shrugged. "It's worth a try, I suppose."
"Care to let me in on the secret?" Mara rebuked.
Han scratched the scar on his chin. "Most prisons have video surveillance to monitor the inmates. Chewie pointed out they may have recorded the attacks on Luke."
"And in a free society," Mara added, comprehending, "those records should be available to the public."
"Or at any rate the judge should be able to order the prison to produce them. And if she sees what's really going on, she might agree to set bail."
"Good thinking, Chewbacca," Mara complemented. "Let's go, then. And contact us as soon as you find out anything," she told Han.
"Same to you," he answered as he dashed off down the street, hailing a cabin.
"Well, Chewie," Mara sighed. "Let's see if you can't reason with that lawyer of Luke's."
As he pushed Mara's chair to the curb, Chewie growled his certain reply.
Chapter Seven: The Gathering StormThe Jedi Master Anath Pipir placed the flowering plant gently into the hole he had just prepared for it. When he had adjusted it to his liking, he scraped the moist humus around the plant, tucking it in as lovingly as he tucked his children into bed at night. The black earth clung to his hands and packed under his fingernails, giving him a certain feeling of satisfaction. He almost never wore gloves when gardening, preferring to bathe his hands in the soil occasionally. There was something inherently clean about dirt.
He sat back on his haunches to survey his work. The flowers he had planted lined one of the walkways in the garden of the Jedi Temple. He had planted an entire bed of flowers today. If things kept up the way they were going, he'd probably end up re-landscaping the entire garden.
Somewhere in the trees, a bird began to sing, and Anath smiled wryly, wondering how any birds continued to survive on Coruscant, let alone how they had gotten into the sealed garden of the Temple. For that matter, Anath wondered how he survived. Having grown up on a rural farm, he found the planet-wide city of Coruscant to be unnerving. He and Luke had been talking for a long time about moving the Academy off-world. Perhaps now there was finally a compelling enough reason to convince the rest of the members of the new order.
As he began to gather up his gardening tools, a voice hailed him. "I'm over here, Lanari!" he called out.
The black clad figure of Master Lanari Barusch appeared on the walkway. She folded her arms across her chest and glanced down at him. "I might have guessed where you'd be," she offered. Cocking an eyebrow at the flowers she said, "Nice handy work. Not necessary, but nice."
He brushed his hands on his dirty pants leg. "I figured we could use some more color."
"You figured you could just escape," Lanari corrected. She crouched down in the pathway so she could confront him face-to-face. "We can't delay any longer, Anath, and you know it. We have to make a statement." She searched his eyes, showing more sympathy then she usually was known for.
Anath wanted to look away, to avoid the truth. Why did everyone have to look to him to lead them through this crisis? But he knew why, and he knew Lanari was just as much a part of it as he was, even if he was the one who got stuck with the talking. Lanari and Anath were Luke's first two apprentices, the first members of the New Order, so they had a certain seniority even over those members of the Old Order who had surfaced over the years to join Luke Skywalker's enclave. But Anath was used to playing second hand to Luke. It was hard taking command, especially under the present circumstances.
"You're right, of course," he acceeded. "But what can we say? If we defend Luke, people will say we are betraying justice. But if we condemn him, we're all but saying he's guilty."
"He is guilty," Lanari pointed out.
Anger flashed through Anath. "How can you say that?" he counteracted. "There hasn't been a trial yet."
"Oh, come on, Pipir. Do you think Luke would have turned himself in if he hadn't done it?"
"But this is Luke we're talking about," protested Anath. "Do you really believe he's capable of cold-blooded murder? And of Dimi Akeeno, no less."
The question made Lanari pause. "I'm not sure what to believe anymore," she quietly confessed.
Now Anath felt only sadness. "Not you, too, Lanari."
Her eyes met his again. "I believe in Master Luke," Lanari iterated. "I always have, and I always will. I know he's a good man." She shook her head sadly. "But I just can't reconcile what he did with who he is."
"I know," Anath agreed. "But we haven't heard the whole story yet."
"I have a hard time believing that any story can justify Akeeno's death."
"And that's the problem, isn't it?" Anath said. His gaze rested on the flowers he'd just planted. So beautiful and yet so fragile.
He picked up the tools again and stood, his knees cracking loudly. "Call the Council together," he said. "It's time for us to talk."
*****
Within an hour, all eleven members of the Council had assembled. Everyone studiously avoided looking at the chair Luke usually occupied.
Anath cleared his throat uncomfortably. "You all know why we're here," he began. "We can't put this off any longer, and none of us has heard from Luke."
"For that matter, none of us has heard from Mara," Kam Solusar interjected. "Why hasn't she sent a message?"
"And where is she?" Garamond added.
"I believe she's on Pamylasia," Anath informed them.
"You believe? You mean, you don't know?"
"Princess Leia told me that her husband took Mara there."
"But I understood she had been severely injured," Garamond protested. As one of the Old Order Jedi, he had never fully accepted Mara because of her previous connection with the Emperor. "If she is well enough to travel to Pamylasia, she should be well enough to contact us. Have you tried to contact her?"
Anath shook his head. "I don't know where to reach her."
"This is ridiculous!" Garamond fumed. "How can we know how to proceed when Mara refuses to contact us?"
"For right now, that is immaterial," Lanari interjected, impatiently leaning forward in her chair. "We have more immediate concerns to worry about."
"More important than knowing Luke's status?"
All pretense of order collapsed, as the Council members shouted, questioned, and argued with one another. Anath felt his stomach twitch nervously as he watched the chaos. He had never seen them at such loose ends. Luke was by no means a domineering leader, but watching his comrades fall apart, Anath had a new appreciation for how much they had always relied on Luke's quiet presence. Now Anath had to be the leader, not only for their own sake, but for Luke's sake as well.
"Order, please!" Anath had to shout several times before the room again grew quiet. Once he had their attention, he held it for several silent moments before at last speaking.
"Masters, I don't need to tell you that we are now facing the greatest crisis we have ever encountered. Master Luke, our Master, has confessed to the murder of a beloved galactic leader. We do not know why he did it." Out of the corner of his eye he caught Lanari's movement, and added, "We don't even know if he in fact did it at all. As I see it, we have at least three important tasks that we must address.
"One, we must help Luke. Regardless of what happened, he is our Master, and our friend. We need to learn his status and how we can assist both him and Mara.
"Two, we must help the people of Pamylasia. They have been deprived of their president at a crucial time in their history. We are committed to upholding justice and protecting those whose peace is threatened. Neither they, nor the Senate, has yet asked for our help, but especially since one of our own may be responsible for this crime, we must be prepared to assist.
"Three." Anath paused, looking into the eyes of each of his comrades. "We must respond to the betrayal of trust which this crisis has created, and we must do so without ourselves knowing the full truth of what has happened. As you know, there are many people in this galaxy who've never trusted the Jedi, and they now see Luke's action as a justification of their suspicions.
"But for countless millions of others, Luke is a hero, well-known and loved. There are those who have trusted Luke above any political or military leader. To them Luke embodies everything that is good and true and just. They feel truly betrayed." Anath again paused, loathe to say his next words, but knowing that he had to name aloud the truth which they kept secret in their hearts. "They feel betrayed, as does each of us."
The Council members shifted uncomfortably at Anath's assertion. No one wanted to admit it, but no one could deny it either.
"These are the tasks we face," Anath continued. "It may seem impossible to do all three, but at the risk of sounding cliche, I can honestly say that our future depends on it. And right now, I feel that the most important thing we need to do is respond to the galaxy's sense of betrayal. We need to demonstrate that the Jedi are trustworthy. And we must somehow do it without abandoning Luke." Anath fell silent, allowing his words to seep in.
One of the newer members, Idi Athar, was the one who broke the silence. Shaking back her mane of russet hair, she said, "That's the real trick, isn't it? Here on Coruscant, sentiment is running very high against Luke."
Hamsa Jerat, the oldest of the Old Order knights, and the one who had been longest with Luke, offered, "We are in danger of letting our feelings for Luke cloud our vision." Her voice was calm, soothing, with no hint of the tension everyone else exhibited. "We must think of how we would handle the situation if it were not Luke, but someone else. An apprentice, perhaps, or someone who had only recently attained knighthood. What would we do then?"
Garamond answered, "If an apprentice committed this crime, we would be forced to renounce him and expel him from the order as a potential darksider."
The admission was echoed by troubled murmurs. Everyone knew it was true.
Everyone except Hamsa. "Would we?" she asked, her voice still calm and gentle. "Or would we first ascertain whether or not he was guilty?"
"But Luke has confessed --"
Hamsa shook her head. "Confessions, I'm afraid, mean very little. Any number of reasons can lie behind a confession, actual guilt being only one.
"A terrible crime has been committed. Our Master stands accused of that crime. These issues are related, but they are not identical." She paused, her eyes resting on Anath.
Awareness dawned on him, and he smiled gratefully at her. "We can condemn the crime while reserving judgment on the guilt."
Lanari shook her head. "It won't be enough," she disagreed. "There are those who want Luke's head on a pike."
"Yes, they do," Hamsa agreed. "But that is not justice. We are not agents of punishment or vengeance, but justice. We must demonstrate clearly that we will seek fair justice against any criminal, even a Jedi, but we must also demonstrate that all accused criminals deserve justice. Even a Jedi."
"Hamsa is right," Anath declared. "I'll work on a draft statement. Let's meet again in an hour to review the statement and call a press conference. Once that is done, we'll see what we can find out about Luke and Mara's status on Pamylasia. Any other discussion?" No one spoke. "All right, then. We stand adjourned."
As the others stood to leave, Lanari leaned closer to Anath. "I still don't think it will be enough," she doubted.
"Maybe not, but it will be a start. But it's all we can do right now. Come on, Lanari, don't give up on me now. I need you."
"You don't need to worry about that," she assured him. "We will get through this." She smiled at him.
He returned her smile, but it did not reach his eyes. How I wish Luke were here, he thought. Oh, Luke, what have you done?