Before going to meet with Han and Leia, I checked my holomail. I knew my sellers might have contacted me. And, truthfully, given my former interaction with Biggs, I felt a responsibility to answer him, too.
If he dared 'mail me again, that was.
Well, the sellers had 'mailed me, crying out for my low water prices and demanding to know when I would come into Mos Eisley again to sell. It seemed Jabba had once again raised water taxes on the world, and so many farmers were necessarily raising their water prices in turn. The heavy lash of the whip, felt by all worlds still controlled by the Hutts, seemed an attempt to regain some of the power they once wielded in their heyday. But over the past decade or so, a mix of minor crime syndicates had been threatening the scope of their empire, slowly winnowing down their strength, and no amount of tightening the binders on the worlds they yet held seemed to be doing them any good.
I sent my sellers a quick message saying I'd be there within the week.
And also—Biggs apparently did dare 'mail me. With much tentativeness I opened the message, braced either for another drunken monologue or maybe a stiff-necked demand I delete such a message and share it with no one (reputation to uphold and all). Instead, I found a seemingly heartfelt apology.
It went like so:
Luke -
I was half hoping you hadn't read that 'mail, but then I saw the read receipt. Only after waking up this morning did I remember what I'd done. And I was shocked to get any reply from you at all.
Well, all I can do is apologize. I'm sure I've completely kriffed everything up with that move. Or at least I've made things very, very weird.
Like I said: I can only apologize. You don't deserve to be disrespected like that. I'm no more nor less than a complete cad for doing so. And I'll understand when you don't reply—or ever want to see me again after becoming recipient to the drunken, coarse ardors of a sad middle-aged man with numerous regrets as relates you. It's only fair.
All I'll say is this: if you do ever want to see me again, and talk, just let me know. I'll make the time.
Yours most sincerely,
Biggs
.
Biggs, I thought, heart pumping wildly with a long-forgotten, or maybe long-buried feeling. Oh, Biggs. I wanted so many things in that frenzied moment—to write him back, to tell him that I did want to see him, to tell him he wasn't a sad middle-aged man like he thought, to see if like it seemed there was some speck of my friend still there within the corrupted Admiral. To comfort him. To kiss him—
With a quick, decisive motion, I closed the computer and threw myself to my feet. I drew several deep, shuddering breaths. I turned my back on the room.
On the way to Leia's garden, I took a moment to straighten my robes and tidy my appearance. I gazed at my reflection in the silvery-blue shine of the palace walls. Brown robes. Tanned skin. Bright blue eyes. Blond hair bleached by the sun.
Once more, I saw only the placid mask of the last Jedi, one who looked so much like his father might have at this age. Only for all our physical similarities… I would not walk the same path as he. I couldn't walk the same path as he. Biggs… must simply be let go to the Force.
OOO
"Thanks for coming tonight, both of you."
"Well—you did say it was 'urgent,' kid."
"And urgent these days generally means come running with a fire lit under you."
"True enough, Leia," I mused. On seeing their stricken faces, I added, "Sorry if I alarmed you. I learned who the Inquisitor was after. And also, I made sure that more of them can't track us here."
"You're sure?" Han demanded.
"About which?"
"The trackin' by whoever these… Inquisitors are."
"Yeah. I'm sure."
"And the Force-sensitive being you found?" Leia asked. "That's great news, Luke! Who are they? What will you do with them?"
Lightly, I answered the latter query, "Hopefully, get her to talk to me again." After our argument the other day, I knew Padmé was hardly my biggest fan. I doubted she'd budged much in her resolution never to grace me with her presence again. She had her parents' combined stubbornness.
"...eh?" Han asked. Quizzical frowns lay on both spouses' lips.
"It's a she?" Leia ventured.
Oh, Leia, I thought sadly. Because she knew. I knew that she knew. And she knew she knew. Maybe she always had known somewhere deep in the shadows of her tortured, traumatized heart…
But she refused to accept that she knew. She denied she knew. She wanted with all her heart to keep denying that she knew.
I took both of her hands in mine, since this blow would wound her even more than Han. Keeping eye contact on her, I said gently, "Leia…"
With a laugh, she jerked her hands from my grasp. "Don't joke, Luke. It isn't funny."
"Joke about what?"
"I agree that it wouldn't be funny, to joke about it. But I'm not."
"Don't—" Fire lit in Leia's brown eyes. "That's a… sick… ridiculous accusation…"
"What accusation? Who is it? What're we talkin' about—?"
"It is no accusation, Leia, and those are incredibly hurtful words."
"Hurtful?" she threw back, whirling on me. She'd been pacing rapidly back and forth. "You come here with such nerve… slandering her… and you say it's hurtful?"
"Given you did just insinuate Force-sensitivity is some kind of curse, yes. Hurtful," I uttered softly.
"Hey!" Han's booming shout carried, jarring us both. Leia and I looked to him, eyes wide. But he didn't care; he was in the throes of rage, honey eyes stormy. Padmé's eyes. "For all you both care…" he said, "I'm still here, an' I never understood any of this gibberish talk that's like hearin' half a conversation with the 'sensing' and 'I know's. What the kriff's goin' on? Who're you talkin' about, Luke?"
"It doesn't matter," Leia retorted, glaring at me. "It's a lie."
I kept a hold on my cool, especially since what I felt wasn't anger. It was compassion. "It's not a lie," I said slowly, eyes going between them both. "Padmé is Force-sensitive. She's Force-sensitive—" And here I needed to raise my voice, because Leia wanted to cut in again—"and she's been shielding us from realizing, anyone from realizing, until the Inquisitor somehow did—maybe a burst of emotion that let it slip or something. I think that Padmé has very powerful natural mental gifts. Generally, those untrained have their sensitivity express in one particular way. This must be hers. It portends… quite incredible potential."
And it was a great gift to have in such dangerous times when Force-sensitives were hunted down and exterminated. Or turned.
Leia's lips trembled. "You're tired," she said coolly, regaining some of her composure. "You're tired. It's been a lot. You aren't thinking straight—"
"I felt it, Leia, the other day when she got upset. The table shook. She unknowingly made it shake. And suddenly it all made sense. I feel it now. I feel her now. And you both needed to know… because we need to decide how best to protect her until she can be trained."
"Trained?" Han's voice was quiet, unlike him. "As—as a Jedi?"
"I do think it would be best."
"Best for who, Luke? For her? Or for you?" Obvious subtext: Because you don't want to do this alone?
I flinched. Sudden hot tears filled my eyes. The stress and pressure of these past weeks—of the past day and the heist and robbing Erso's body—all caught up to me… and it was all I could do to swallow hard and use all my Jedi mental skills to stay together. Or partly together, at any rate.
I repeated, "We need to decide how best to protect her. Her abilities protect herself pretty well, better than the majority of Force-sensitive younglings, at any rate. It's what's kept her from discovery for so long, by any of us. But if one Inquisitor was able to sense her… then it means we must take steps. I have a few ideas. But, of course, as her parents, prior to her reaching majority, the choice is yours.
"I'm very sorry to have laid this extra burden on both your shoulders. But I won't apologize for your daughter's inherent greatness. That would be deeply wrong."
"Luke…" Leia ventured, the fire in her eyes dimmed now. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean—"
"Yes, you did. And that's okay. You chose your path, Leia. I chose mine." To Han, who remained quiet, crushed under the weight of this revelation about his little girl who he'd always considered a mini-me but who was now changing so quickly, it seemed, I added again softly, "I'm sorry."
OOO
Tonight, I wandered around the palace aimlessly. I'd never known the place too well, able to count the amount of times I'd visited on two hands with fingers left over. So it was easy to get marginally lost in a wing that seemed much older than the rest. In fact, the deeper I went into it, the less and less staffers, droids, or life in general I encountered.
Finally, I found myself in what appeared a wholly abandoned section of the Aldera palace. Parts of the walls were pure stone. A sharp chill lay in the air, here where no heat pumped. My boots made clicking and clacking sounds on the floor as I went, ducking through old archways and crossing tiled flooring that depicted ancient queens of old. I craved the silence, and the aloneness, for it was easiest to connect with the Force in such places.
Was I wrong? Or did the Force seem… brighter all of a sudden? Like that small candle-in-the-wind I and others like me had tended the flame of for so many years had suddenly turned into a dozen candles, each with heartily burning flames amidst the torrent of the dark storm? I poked at the sense, encouragement breaking through the mist of stress and conflict inside me.
Yes. It seemed like the Force was brighter suddenly. Again, it made me feel like the great energy field was on our side in this. It encouraged me.
But I also realized that it meant the Sith would feel it, too. And what would they think then? What would they do, then?
OOO
As I continued my wanderings, I suddenly found myself in a strangely well-put-together space. It must have been old royal quarters centuries ago, but it seemed like someone had restored them. And I mean really restored. I walked into an apartment as advanced of tech as anything I'd ever seen, and actually better than a number of things in the palace. For instance, the lamp disks turned on as I walked in, a motion sensor apparently wired into them. Droids stood at the ready, tinkered with until it seemed they possessed many more modes than the usual palace models. Soft sofas and comfortable-looking chairs sat around. A shelf of paper books was on one wall.
It was all very impressive; whoever messed around here was an engineer at heart, and also seemed to enjoy high living. It was a posh and comfortable space if I'd ever seen one.
I was just inspecting the array of paper books—I'd only seen one in my entire life—when suddenly a voice demanded behind me,
"What are you doing here?"
Padmé. And apparently I'd just barged into her personal refuge within the palace. Wonderful. Just… wonderful.
Lucky Luke, indeed, I thought sourly.
OOO
Author's note: Please review if you liked reading! Thanks.
