The cantina stank. But that was fair. After all, the planet itself stank of sweat, drink, and pollution. And of dead dreams. Welcome to Ord Mantell, I mused.

I picked my way through the shadowy depths of the cantina, peering through the smoky haze to see if I could find a familiar figure—or a semi-familiar figure at any rate. Six years must have changed my father some, no doubt, in every sense.

Or maybe it hadn't changed him much at all. My eyes caught on the figure of a handsome, white-haired man with a young lady perched upon his lap. Said young lady, who had to be only a few years my senior if that, wore an outfit which I must note had to have resulted in some intriguing tan lines throughout the day. Unbelievable, I thought. And once, he'd been so dedicated to Mother he had declared he would never look upon another's beauty!

Of course, most people were liars and cheats. But Dad…?

Forget it, I reminded myself. Forget it. You are here to do a job. I dug my fingernails into the flesh of my wrist in order to steady myself and stave off any possible mental drifting. It was one of many techniques I'd developed over the course of the years in which I'd needed to appear wholly fine again post-torture.

Wholly fine again…

What a joke.

I approached the table, around which a multitude of beings had gathered, just in time to hear the man crow, "Looks like you're out, Hesh!"

A Rodian woman will ill-concealed poor temper uttered a string of oaths, then surrendered her cards. Hmm. Sabacc. I watched from the shadows as my father gleefully raked the chips and all the credits they represented towards himself. Sabacc always had been his favorite. He'd taught me, when I was only six. "It'll teach yah about life," he had promised.

Had it?

Yes, I think so. Sabacc had taught me everything about life I'd ever needed to know—though I didn't realize it at the time. Life must be played with a confident countenance, a shrewd and cold head that never deviated in the heat of emotion, and, if possible, a stacked deck like I suspected him of using.

"Anyone else, then?" my father called to the crowd. The girl on his lap giggled gleefully.

I stepped forward. "I'll take a whack at it."

Honey eyes flew to meet mine, widening in shock. Yeah. No doubt. But we wouldn't do any of that—Hey, Cess. Haven't seen you since I abandoned you because I couldn't handle what happened. How are you? Oh, fine, Dad. Just fine… No worries about that. I'm over it…

"You," I said to the Rodian, nodding at her chair. She vacated it all but instantly. I offered my father what I knew to be a very confident smile, never so much as looked at the girl for a moment, and then eyed the dealer. "Go on, then."

OOO

While we played, we talked. We talked like we had talked over the years. We talked like nothing had ever gone bad and no ashes of Mustafar unfurled in the smoky air here. We talked like two old friends, rather than father and daughter.

It was traditional to talk while you played through the rounds of Sabacc, a classic psyche-out technique. He had helped me to master both sides of it, though I'd developed my own techniques in time. So no doubt those gathered around believed that to be what we were doing—the usual banter. But no. This went so much deeper.

"Didn't expect for you to be here," Han remarked. His gaze kept flitting to the girl on his lap, a distinct note of guilt in his eyes. But he obviously didn't know what to do, and so we pretended like she wasn't there, which clearly put her out. A bonus.

"Just looking up old acquaintances," I replied, combing through my cards, countenance never wavering. "For some friends."

Translation: I've come here because of the rebellion.

Han shifted, but his expression never wavered, either. The girl whined about wanting to look at his cards, but he hushed her. I chuckled quietly.

"Really? Hear they've been doin' pretty well." Looks like the rebellion is doing well.

"Oh, fairly," I granted, nodding. There's just that damned new Death Star on the horizon and the fact that the Empire is a titan.

"So—what do these friends need from me?"

"Nothing untoward," I smiled. "Merely cashing in some favors." You owe me, I thought savagely. Don't you realize how much you owe me, and Mother?

For the first time, he seemed to be singularly focused on his deck.

"In three, you will present your hands," announced the dealer once we reached the final round. "Three…" (Seeing Dad come into my room, tears tracking his cheeks, his once-brown hair turned snowy white.) "—two…" (Mother and Dad arguing, and then stopping. Because they no longer cared enough to argue…) "—one…" ("She's mad. I'm sorry. The effects of the X-TO have completely maddened her. There is nothing we can do." "TRY SOMETHIN' ELSE!" "Viceroy Solo, all proper treatments for madness have been—" "Don't… call her… mad. She's traumatized." "Han… let it go." By which she'd meant let her go—)

"Present!"

OOO

"What did they want to see me about again?"

"Oh, things," I remarked a little while later. Given I had won the hand, and thus the game—causing groans and surprised yelps, some a little victorious, to echo around the room—my father had agreed, albeit reluctantly, to accompany me. Otherwise I could take so much from him, like his ship. Maybe he didn't think I would do it.

I would.

At least he had ditched the girl, whose name he apparently couldn't even remember. "Ah… Starla?" "It's Jenny." His jacket was drink-stained from where she'd tossed it at him, but anyway.

"What sort of things?"

"Good question. Why don't you ask Luke about it?"

"Luke… He's here?" Undertone: This is serious, then.

I softened somewhat. "Don't worry, Dad. No one got nearly tortured to death in the near family."

He made to reply to that one when suddenly I was seized from in front by a woolly Wookie. The laugh left me. "It's good to see you, too, Uncle Chewie."

He chattered excitedly.

"That's right. I did beat him. To tell you the truth I don't think he has the same level of game any longer."

Chewie chuckled. Han glared. "Laugh it up, fuzzball." But I could also tell he wasn't really that mad. Mostly he seemed to be marveling at my improved state.

It simultaneously made me feel proud, humiliated, and angry. Hadn't he seen the HoloNet and me on it? He would've known. Could've come back

It didn't matter. It was done.

"So, where is Luke?"

I answered him in my formal tones I reserved for when I got emotional, "He should be coming around pretty soon. I said I would meet him at this time…" I checked my chrono. And that is when I saw them in the reflection of it. I cried a warning, but too late. The blaster bolt sliced through the air, hurtling straight into my father; he cried out, crumpling; Chewie grabbed hold of him to prevent him from hitting the ground; I unholstered my blaster, taking aim and firing—

A fan of green light slashed through the night air, deflecting the array of bolts with dizzying speed and accuracy. A gray-cloaked blur sped through the streets, cutting through the attackers like butter, to arrive at our side. He let down his cowl, extinguishing his lightsaber.

Stars. Even after seeing my uncle in action, I thought I'd never get used to it. It was like he wasn't even human in those moments, so powered by the Force was he.

I jarred myself from this.

"Han," said Luke, touching his arm. It seemed the bolt had, luckily, only gone into his side. It could be fatal.

But it might not be.

"Luke," Han uttered in turn.

Then, "It's him!" someone screeched. "Luke Whitesun! Call the troops!"

A flash of panic seized me. I looked to Luke. He didn't seem scared; he only seemed determined. "Chewie, take Han. Padmé, go with them."

"Not without you."

"Do as I say. I'll be there in a moment."

I didn't believe him. But what choice did I have but to believe him? I was no Jedi. And for the first time in six years, I was regretting having never taken up my uncle's offer of training after all. For so long, I had resisted, because It, too, could use the Force, and I didn't want any connection with them. And surely Luke could handle the one Sith remaining in the entire galaxy. But—what if—?

Luke pushed me. "Go."

I had no choice but to obey. He was my elder and superseded me in capability. Even I knew I couldn't handle a whole garrison of Imperial troops on my own. But—if I'd been a Jedi like my uncle—

All this was my father's fault. If he hadn't gotten himself in trouble with whoever those thugs were, none of this would be happening. Uncle Luke's life might very well end up on his conscience. And without Luke, my greatest advocate, my champion, the one family member to whom I was truly close, what would become of me?

I couldn't think about it now. I would drift if I did. These kinds of high stress situations were precisely when it might happen. I dug my fingernails into my flesh as I ran, pulmonode pounding, pounding, pounding to keep up with the stress inside of me. And Chewie was running, too, carrying my father. And Luke was fighting—

And then I was in a world with no Empire, a dazzling New Republic of happiness and wholeness and, oh, Uncle Luke and Uncle Biggs and I were headed out to a picnic before going back to the Jedi Temple…

OOO

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