Jedi Master Kell had nearly fallen asleep in her chair in the small conference room of Maw Installation, waiting for a signal from another world. A Republic officer, a young human wearing red and a convex helmet, appeared at the door looking ruffled. Of course it had taken some time to find them.
"Master Jedi."
Kell looked up.
"We've finished with the basic clean-up here...will you be staying?"
Kell licked her lips and looked around. Paqs Patra boredly returned her gaze and stretched his wings. De'shar unfolded her arms--she and the smuggler had begun a heated discussion on the moral aspects of spice-running--and said firmly, "My mission is over. The report that will go to Coruscant will be that the Jedi apprehended the smugglers of vague dangerous technology. Force knows it's been done before." She began to walk out, determination and hesitation warring in her sense. Kell surmised that the agent did see her job as done, but that she would be thinking it over for a long time indeed. Kell could almost regret her sudden departure.
The soldier observantly asked, "What about Luke Skywalker?"
De'shar paused beside the man in the doorway. Kell braced a hand on the tabletop beside her and said, "We need to wait a little longer." She didn't keep the worry out of her voice, or the anger at waiting with so many variables pulled down around her head .
The human nodded. De'shar said, "I'll expect a full report when Skywalker comes back." She looked into her companions' eyes each in turn, and with an unexpected reserved smile in her sense, left the doorway and disappeared from view. The soldier nodded again as she passed, and Kell turned to Patra.
"You're just as free to go."
"No I'm not." He looked at her with bright eyes. "I owe you my freedom. And some vaping good flying."
"Ah the Honor of the criminal." De'shar said sarcastically, humorously, sliding back in.
Snow plumed over and across the white plains of Hoth in the parallel universe. Luke Skywalker relished speed and a laughing, clear power as he guided the spaceyacht to an unplanned-looking landing outside Echo Base, holding on to slim lines of control with hands and mind. The repairs being performed on the Imperial craft had been to the connected landing mechanisms, thus the hull-scraping decent that shook Luke as the ship jarred to a halt within long view of the mountains where Echo Base had been. Then it settled on the snow piled ground, and Luke unstrapped himself and took the shortest route to the boarding ramp of the yacht. He could sense Kit and Bade waiting for him out in the snow that had begun to slant across the plain, so he unhesitantly moved toward them.
The wind started to pick up; the snow feathered Luke's black clothes and his hair and settled on the thick tentacles at the top of Kit's skull. The two Jedi clasped hands warmly and turned toward the warmth of the yellow light in the distance. Bade clapped Luke on the shoulder but pulled his hand away quickly as if the human might be hurt. "Welcome home, Commander."
Luke was grateful for Bade's consideration. He had felt a shiver at the so-casual souch, an uncomfortable prickle of remnant lightning-pain.
Kit quickly said, "So you fixed the Force."
Luke couldn't resist smiling. "It was fixed with my help. But the Emperor is defeated...Darth Vader dead."
Bade gaped in the Force while his masked face remained impassive. Kit grinned.
They passed between the half-opened bay doors into the artificial light. Bade rapped on the doors to get them to close and preserve the heat that Luke could now feel wafting around the secondary, first-floor hanger. People were sitting around, on boxes, mats, the sloped edges of snowspeeder bodies or high snubfighter's wings, drinking caf or hot chocolate or various mild inebriants (mild because some of them were still spooked, ready for an Imperial retaliation) from one hundred ship's holds. Voices floated in a covering cloud that almost smoothed war's harsh angles and reminded Luke of a never realized...home.
Han emerged from a group gathered in the center of the hanger around a brazier, with an insulated, orange-steaming cup in his hand. Paqs Patra was there with Han's group, and was that in the corner Corran Horn? Luke sensed the "reformed" Imperial-slash- transposed Jedi trying to tell him something, heading toward them, but he said Later because that fit into the plans. Inside, Luke was ecstatic that Corran had found this universe and had no idea how that was possible, so he objected none at all when Corran continued in his direction with the mein of a rebel slightly separated from the jollification around him.
"Kid," Han said to Luke, falsely serious, 'I can't believe you're not dead!" Then, conspiratorily, "Way to skip the war. We could've used a good pilot."
Luke grinned sheepishly. "I had Jedi business, Han. You know I would've loved to be up there with you." It was true, Luke found, only tainted the tiniest bit by a aged knowledge of ruthless combat. He looked approvingly at the weathered people and sleek lines of resting starfighters. Pockets of sorrow rose throughout the general partylike Force-miasma.
"So humble for a Jedi Master." Kit laughed, looking sideways.
"Jedi Master!" Han sputtered, then shrugged as if it were a joke. "Come on, if you move quickly noone'll want you to make a speech."
Luke handed the metal sphere he held to Kit with a thought that said keep this safe, I'll come for it later. The Nautolan nodded, nowhere near as grim as he could be, and Luke went with Han to a circle of pilots and everyman-heros, the sort of people Luke could be relaxed with, who boasted of their exploits and gave him the extreme favor of not asking him to recount any of his.