Chapter Fourteen: rebellion ( Rebellion )

(Luke Skywalker)

"I know that you are out there, last Jedi. I know that it was you who killed my Inquisitors. An impressive feat, but hardly impressive enough. What would be truly impressive is if you managed to evade me, for now I am hunting you myself. But you won't evade me. No one ever does.

"I'm coming for you, last Jedi. We will see each other very soon. "

I snapped awake, heart hammering in my chest. Unfamiliar sheets twisted around my waist. Darkness bathed everything. I thrashed around blindly; I remembered where I was. But it was no nightmare which had visited me, and so no soothing words would come. All I could do was gaze upon the filtering darkness visible through the bedroom window, the sickening sense of eyes upon me.

Vader. He's coming.

OOO

Dr. Netzl hadn't been mincing words when he said that recovery would require of me several patient weeks, and utter compliance with his various directives therein. As my abdomen gradually healed, I spent almost the entirety of my days in bed, with small allowances gradually granted me for minimal physical exercise (like walking a single slow loop around Netzl's house). Used to my routines of Jedi training, as well as the generally fast-paced and active lifestyle that came with traversing the galaxy looking for Force-sensitives to help, I found myself left bereft and devoid. Left only with time to meditate, to journal, to partake of the bevvy of Holo novels so kindly given me by Netzl. And, of course, when none of those things worked to distract me, time to think. That was bad, because thinking led me to places I couldn't bear to visit.

Like the events of Teeba. Like Leia's brave declaration. Like Vader's… threats… Vader… coming for me.

Leia didn't return after our conversation, though I'd been expecting it, and she had said that she would. What does that mean? Has she given up on my joining in her cause? Is she alright? (A search of the Force revealed nothing more troubling than a steely, unyielding determination reaching its zenith within my sibling.)

—Is she planning to take action herself?

No. That one wasn't even a question. I'd seen the look in her eyes—set, hard. I'd heard her words: " We will wade through blood… we will know loss… we must be stronger… " I'd felt her in the Force: crystalline.

The decision appeared to be that easy for her. While admiring her valor and steadfastness, I also knew that I could never replicate it. Not before the events of Teeba, and certainly not after. I couldn't even understand how Vader had so easily invaded my mind to send his ominous message of intent. (I wasn't sure I wanted to understand, for I sensed such ease may have to do with our familial connection, and I didn't want to spend any time contemplating that. Certainly, I prayed that he wouldn't spend time contemplating the easy access.)

He was coming for me. He is coming for me . Throughout the days of my recovery, I could think only of this fact, and of Leia's request. The only times I found peace were in meditation, though even those only partly, for I constantly scanned for danger in the Force, danger to Alderaan, danger to Leia and her family and to myself. When I was out of meditation… then the thoughts came in all their volley. I didn't delude myself that Vader and I wouldn't eventually meet. He was right. He did always catch up with any Jedi he went after. Though life in the past decade had not required such of him, able to rely on the Inquisitors to hunt down the minnows that untrained and defenseless Force-sensitives were. The last Jedi he had personally hunted down had probably been Obi-Wan. Since defeating him, Vader had taken on a lesser role in activities as related Force-sensitives, though he remained as much of a dark magnate in the Empire as ever.

I guessed I should feel honored to have stirred him to action toward my insignificant little self.

—but that wasn't exactly what I felt.

Then, Leia. I felt terrible about refusing to help her. I felt worse about how I'd behaved about it all. But she'd come during the peak of my fright from Vader's declaration. I'd fallen back on walls of gallows humor and cool, precise logic. I regretted that now. I had acted poorly and unfairly when she was keeping me here, risking herself and her world.

But still… my answer remained unchanged. I couldn't countenance the cost. I'd seen too much to ever become comfortable with what she had so matter-of-factly stated: " We will have to wade through blood, and we will know loss ." I couldn't abide such, couldn't abide making that kind of decision for other beings. Which—make no mistake—would be exactly what we'd be doing. Wasn't that exactly what the Empire itself did?

Accepting the Death Star plans from Erso—if it wasn't actually a trap designed by Vader for me—would be no less than igniting the spark that would light the fire of rebellion. And I couldn't see a way forward to accepting the responsibility of that on my shoulders. Not with so many lives in the bargain. Not… not when I just couldn't bring myself to believe in our potential success.

Leave it to Leia, if she could. She had always been the stronger of the two of us. Clearly, Biggs had been right: I was too weak. ( "Kark! Stop being so kriffing weak!" ) After all, what strong and skilled Jedi got a village slaughtered when trying to help just one innocent girl? It seemed like my thoughts kept cycling back to the same place as they'd been in two years ago—a constant cycle of encouragement and discouragement, hope and tragedy, courage and fear…

Then of course arose the inevitable thoughts of Biggs, too, and of the abandoned commlink left back on Tatooine. I'd left it there when I left the place two years ago, intending to abandon everything of my past life. By now, the homestead had probably been raided and ripped to a shell. Leaving to go and help other Force-sensitives the way I had helped Leia had seemed like such the right thing to do two years ago. In fact, it had seemed like the right thing to keep doing right up until one week ago.

How quickly sentiments changed. How quickly feelings changed. How easily the Empire could take our courage.

OOO

Throughout my recovery, Padmé continued to visit, and we had some very pleasant conversations, conversations which I did my best to fully engage in. As it turned out, I liked my niece a great deal. Doubtless, she could tend towards elitism, was definitely spoiled, and sometimes still overexplained things to me that I actually knew well about myself, but she was also wise, discerning, and had a flinty, keen quality that cut through any gundark druk right to the heart of an issue. Leia might not have had a huge hand in raising her daughter, but Han and the others had done well in my opinion. (Surely as well as anyone could in this climate.) I'll be the first to admit she didn't fit the princess stereotype, for all she clearly cared about fulfilling peoples' vision for what an Alderaanian Heir was supposed to be. Yet I will also be the first to say that I truly thought she'd make a good Queen. A new kind of Queen, one both of Leia's breed and of Han's.

She also possessed the silliest sense of humor, one which relied heavily on puns and her own resultant laughter, sometimes even before I caught on. Often, after I did, it resulted in a groan, possibly a face-palm.

She told me of her hopes, of her dreams, and how she wanted very much to do her duty to her planet well. We discussed mechanics, which she turned out to possess a keen aptitude for. She secretively shared with me varying snippets of court gossip, the whos and hows and wheres of which I had no knowledge but found it fun to listen to via her lively narration, nonetheless. She shared how much she adored her parents' love, and how in love they remained after so long, which she delighted in.

I also saw in her the things she didn't admit: the doubts in her, the fears, the crushing concern over disappointing people, especially Leia. Some more hazardous things, too, like a cruel streak that ran deep but was well-hidden. Her utter worship of anything involving the Empire, and what I strongly suspected to be a massive crush on Prince Palpatine (who she'd never met once). But how could I condemn her for being flawed even as we all were? A number of these things, she had been taught, and could know no better about.

So, yes, if this whole thing had one great blessing, I'd say it was that my niece and I got to know each other for the first time in our lives—naturally with her unknowing it was her uncle whom she visited with. My niece . Her uncle . You know, I actually got a little choked up one evening thinking about everything that had made it so we couldn't get to know each other before now.

When I did, her eyes widened in alarm. "What's wrong, Mr. Whitesun?" (As she insisted on calling me despite my telling her to call me Luke.) We'd been discussing light topics.

I managed a smile. "Just thinking about some difficult things, Your Highness."

Difficult things, indeed.

OOO

A few days later, Dr. Netzl was kind enough to accompany me to a park near his home. Here, I was able to walk sparingly, then sit out on a bench, enjoying the feel of the crisp fall air juxtaposed against the warmth of the sun. My pain was finally ebbing, though I doubted the scars which latticed my abdomen would ever fully heal. Bacta could only do so much. Not that I minded. It wasn't like anyone was going to see my bare chest any time soon, or ever.

At the park, we chatted, and watched the younglings scamper around the distant playground. Somehow—I really couldn't say how—the topic got around to the White Suns, which I mentioned in passing.

He frowned. "White suns? Sorry. I don't…"

"Oh. Right. The freedom trail Leia and I were working on for Force-sensitives," I specified. "Some beings call it the White Suns, because—"

"—that's it's symbol." He breathed out sharply. "Kriff. I saw one, just the other day…"

"—what? Where?"

"Just… on a wall somewhere."

"Oh." I sighed. "Then it's not a signal." Which meant I didn't have to take action on it. (Why did that cause a pang of disappointment to run through me? Hadn't I decided to stop all of this?)

"Are they supposed to be?" Tryn cocked his head, curious.

I once again found myself reassessing this man. But if he hadn't reported me by now, why would he? What could it gain him after having cared for me and hosted me? Even paranoia had its limits. And hospitality demanded its due. "Sometimes," I replied. "A circular white sun with three points is a symbol you need help, and when it's been resolved—if the help has been received—then the symbol is turned to a six-point sun."

"That's clever."

"Not really," I replied. If I were clever, no one would've ended up dead. But the White Suns had slowly begun to outgrow my capacity over the past few years, becoming a trail not only for Force-sensitives but for slaves, too, and even for some of those wanted by the Empire (non-violent criminals). I'd done my best by everyone, a few brave beings beside me, but I wasn't a leader like Leia. In the end, things had begun to fall through the cracks. I'd felt it, but I hadn't known how to stop it.

And the villagers at Teeba had ended up dead because they fell through those very cracks.

I could see it all now. But often things only become so clear in hindsight, Jedi insight or no.

Dr. Netzl remarked, "You know, I've got to admit I'm kind of curious how you and Leia got to know each other. I didn't even know she had any hand in—ah—let's call it more imprudent activities."

Yet, she'd come to him first thing on my injured arrival. Leia wasn't one to trust blindly. Why choose this man, when he hadn't even known her involvement in anything but the Queenly, durasteel-fisted image she projected to the worlds? "Well," I began, "we—it sort of—how it happened was…"

Kark .

Two years of lying, and I still couldn't make up a good story on the spot.

Netzl waved his hand. "You don't have to answer. I don't expect it. In fact, it's pretty unfair to ask. I just… wondered. Though I guess you're probably wondering the same thing about me. Why she came to me, I mean."

"—a little." Which was both true and a way to get off the former topic.

"Bail Organa," said Netzl. His voice had lowered an octave, turned hushed despite our relative isolation. On Alderaan, saying the names of the executed Queen or Viceroy was treasonous—a law decreed by Leia herself. Sure, it looked good, but I also wondered if she'd done it so she wouldn't be constantly reminded of the pain of her parents' deaths. "He was my best friend."

Oh. Stang… I didn't know what to offer to that, because what "sorry" could ever stitch up a wound such as that? Some hurts never went away. ( Your father he is.) Yoda would've told me it was misplaced sentiment to say so, that I—we all—needed to better let go of those whose pain could no longer be felt. I'd experienced that with Aunt Beru, having long let my grief flow into the Force. But in my experience, some griefs proved harder than others to recycle into the great energy field.

Netzl continued somberly, "My best friend. And he was always so… reckless . Breha, too. (She was like a sister to me. We grew up together.) Or maybe they weren't reckless. Maybe they were just so much braver than the rest of us.

"What happened… I never got over it. Leia knows that, knows it just the same as that she never forgot it. So, I think that's why she knew to bring you to me. She knows that I'd rather die than betray someone like you to the Empire, Master Whitesun."

I knew a pang of guilt, of deep sorrow for this elderly man whose family, it seemed, had consisted of Bail and Breha. When they'd gone… "I wish I weren't imposing."

"Hardly. You've made an old man feel useful again. Maybe even hopeful." His mouth quirked, and his gaze grew distant. "Lately, with everything, I've realized… for all the Empire did… Bail and Breha didn't fail. I don't believe that. I can't. They might be gone, but what they stood for… what they fought for… that's not gone. Not yet."

I breathed out sharply, irritation and anger prickling my skin. (And more guilt.) "You agree with my sister, don't you?"

"Given I don't know what she said, I couldn't say. But I guess I have a pretty good idea of where Leia's sentiments lie. Where they've always lain."

"She wants to… incite a rebellion." I'd never said the words out loud. Something resonated in the Force with them—almost an approval.

"And you don't want to, because you think it's going to inevitably fail?"

"That's not why," I insisted. "Well—it's not all of why. I want to fight. After everything I've seen… after what the Empire has done… how could I not? But I can't see my way through to success, and even if—even if we somehow did win—how could the loss sure to come ever be worth it?"

"Because then, you and Leia could build a galaxy of peace, justice, and dignity for all peoples," replied Tryn simply. "Because the Empire is death, and tyranny, and if not now, never. Because what's the worse sin? To act and cause resounding hurt which already happens without action, or to let them silence all of us forever?

"I'm not saying I'm in a position to be making these decisions. Maybe none of us are. Yet— somebody has to. I believe in Leia, and after knowing you these past few weeks, I know that I believe in you, too. I know that I'd die for a galaxy you two would strive to build."

"You don't know it."

"I don't need to. It's that the children out there will."

The slanted sun illuminated the laughing faces of the children, casting them in red and gold. Yet just behind them stood the Imperial flag, a crimson and black shadow looming over their light-filled world.

OOO

During my meditations that night, I sought guidance. A vision. A perception. A Force-ghost appearance. (Though I hadn't had one of those in a number of years, for all my striving.) A mere nudge. Anything would do. But all I got for my efforts was a blinding headache pulsating behind my right eye. I went to bed.

It wasn't long before I sat bolt upright, my heart going boom. Could it have been real? Not just my mind's own conjuring? I wanted to believe so, but of course I did. So how could I divine its truth or its lack thereof?

It's true , whispered the Force. You know it is. You've seen other outcomes like it. Didn't they also come to pass ?

As it had in other times, the Force spoke with the voice of Qui-Gon Jinn.
So what I had seen was truly a reality. A possible outcome. A good galaxy. A galaxy free of the Empire's grip. A New Republic flourishing in its stead. Leia its leader (because of course she was). Me a well-known Jedi. Most importantly, all beings liberated from the yoke of Imperial oppression.

All because she and I had united in—not rebellion—but Rebellion .