The three former slaves, a woman called Andressa (though I doubted this was her real name) and her two little boys (whose names I didn't know) soon got settled in for the night. Their room was as comfortable as I could make it. Yet she remained tight-lipped with evident anxiety, even disapproval. "Are you sure, Mr. Whitesun, that you're alright with us staying in your house in the open?"
I had more concealed spots, but I didn't need them. During transfer stays like these, I relied on my senses. In the past fourteen years, they'd never failed me.
I smiled. "I'm sure. I have very good security around here. If anyone approaches, I'll know. Enjoy using the spare bedroom." This was the room Beru and Owen used to occupy. After their deaths, I'd turned it into a well-stocked spot for transfers just like these.
Andressa's eyes narrowed, but she eventually gave her reluctant consent. I cooked dinner while she settled in her two boys for the night—or rather tried to. Both were intensely energetic, barely past toddlerhood, and so couldn't comprehend the potential danger their loud antics posed. Yes, the farm was fairly remote comparatively, but no sense taking idle risks. In order to quiet them down, I sent R2-D2 out to entertain them, which the loyal droid did with a varying array of tricks, including emitting little sparks of lightning that Andressa promptly ordered him to stop.
R2 had been a gift to me from my sister, Leia, long ago now. He'd accompanied me to my training on Dagobah, once Yoda finally reluctantly consented to teach me along with Obi-Wan. I couldn't imagine life without R2's company, though of course I must: Jedi shirked all attachments, including attachments to loyal and lovely droids.
Happy from R2's subsequently less pyrotechnically-geared entertainment, the boys gobbled up their dinner in short order. Andressa gratefully finished hers. We ate in relative silence, conversation relegated to a few exchanges about the pleasant cool of the evening and the niceness of the food I'd prepared. Anything more substantive only put us all in danger. The work of the White Suns was highly illegal, as everyone well knew. If the Empire were to catch either of us, they'd do their utmost to pry as much information as possible about the operation and those we helped. That was impossible to do when we knew next to nothing about the other.
Before heading to bed, the boys both thanked me politely at their mother's behest, then toddled to the room, giggling and gleeful. Their pure and natural joy proved a warm balm to my heart. Seeing such simple childish satisfaction reminded me of what I could be grateful for in this life. But it also saddened me. Someday, these boys would come to realize that the galaxy wasn't such a joyful place after all. Someday soon.
Unless something changed.
"Can I help you clean up?" Andressa offered.
"Thanks, but I'm fine."
"No. I mean—you shouldn't be saying thanks. I should be. I am. Thank you, for taking us in. I know… with the boys… it's very dangerous."
"No more dangerous than some other things," I replied, and oh, if only she understood how much I meant that.
"You know, they're happier here than they've been for so long," she remarked suddenly. "I think it must be you. Your presence is very… soothing. One feels safe here, with you."
I paused in picking up a plate. "Well, I do know how to use a blaster," I joked. But really, I'd never protected anyone. I had Jedi skills and didn't use them for anyone's good.
She shook her head. "It's not that. It's… well, I can't quite name it. You can tell that you're just… good. Anyway, thank you. Ever since they got their trackers cut out… they'd been so quiet. It's good to see them happy again." An angry, febrile light shone in her eyes as she mentioned the process of detecting and removing the trackers, which I knew could be extremely painful. It wasn't like we had much pain medicine or even anesthesia to go around, here.
Results varied with tracker removal. That is, people sometimes lived and got free. But other times, they died from residual infections of cutting it out, died while it was being cut out, or sometimes we failed to deactivate the trackers at all and they had to await death by implosion. Sometimes one of ours also died in the implosion.
I said, "I'm sorry," which was so profoundly inadequate to the situation as to be laughable. But what else could be said?
"Don't be, Whitesun," she returned. "You aren't the one who captured me off a freighter, sold me into slavery, and then sold me to a raping master who kicked me out after I got pregnant. You're a good, brave man. I'm glad to know you."
I could find no reply for that one. Naturally, I'd heard such horror stories as hers before—male, female, and otherwise. In truth, though didn't tell her, I'd heard much worse tales. Yet the fact that she shared some part of her own harrowing truth with me showed trust.
A sudden, strong feeling seized me. The Force whispered, Ask.
No, I thought. Out of line. Beyond out of line. But the Force continued to insist.
Finally, I went ahead and showed myself as a jerk, contrary to her opinion: "Could I ask you something?"
"Yes. But I can't promise I'll answer."
"Of course," I agreed. Gently, I asked her, "If the Death—sorry, "Peace" Star—didn't exist… and there was a… coalition against the Empire… would you fight with them?"
"Fight the Empire?"
"Yeah."
"Like with a Rebellion?"
"Right."
"Sure I would."
My heart thudded. And the Force whispered, whispered like the winds outside. But Andressa added, "That's not the galaxy we live in, though. It never will be. Nothing that huge could ever change. The Death Star… it'll always stay. And nobody would fight the Empire."
But you just said you would, if it were gone. "Right," I agreed. "Right. Sorry. Stupid question. Goodnight, Andressa. Thank you for trusting my hospitality."
"...you're welcome, Mr. Whitesun."
OOO
Deep in meditation the following day, I once again looked for answers from the Force. But I didn't need to. I already had them. I just needed to accept them.
Yes. The time is now. This is the chance. This is the last chance. Leia is right after all. People want to fight. They're ready to fight.
We just need to give them the spark of hope.
Ignite the spark…
And we can light the fire.
Kriff me, but I was going to do this. I'd honor Yoda and Obi-Wan's wishes. I'd go and get the plans from Erso, and help Leia cobble together what resistance we could before destroying the Death Star. I wouldn't try. I'd do. In this last, final chance, there was absolutely no try.
To the Force, I vowed, Your will be done.
OOO
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