Blank Canvas Luke

The war was over.

And now the real work began.

Luke Skywalker sat in the middle of that naked, grassy field and tried to meditate.

The grass was Hobbiton green here. The flat expanse sparkled with wildflowers of violet, yellow, white, and neon orange. Facing due north, he took in the cleansing view of a purple mountain majesty, a snow-capped peak stretching into an azure sky. The field itself was nearly 10 kilometers of a north/south reaching oval, but the reservation borders reached beyond the sharp tree lines and out into the ocean by several more klicks in all directions. He had parked the little ship on the spit of beach below the cliff and climbed up to the field just so he wouldn't see it while he tried to meditate. But after strolling and thinking for several kilometers in the grass, he finally sat down in the center of it all and turned his back to the beach anyway, as if he was trying to remind himself that lifeless sand was behind him, and growing things were ahead.

It was Kess's idea to come out here. She said that with all the stuff cluttering their minds and their lives, it might help to come to the Jedi Reservation on Iktri and try to imagine what the Academy could look like. The idea had merit. With nothing yet here, Luke could stare at this 20 kilometre patch of untouched nature and meditate on it as a blank canvas, but all his mind's eye could see was all the work they still had to do.

Dorms. Galley. Meditation chambers. Library. Students. Jedi records. Landing pad. Power. Water. Sewage. Communications. Watches to monitor that At'Bintar and Tyrona stayed in their own hemispheres. Archeological research of the severed Jedi Temple still crushed below the Imperial Palace. Students. Nik. Ben. Tayla. Leia. Leia's baby. Study philosophy and theology and psychology and history and mental disorders so he would know how to handle all these students. Finish furnishing the Jedi Offices in the Senate Dome. Pay Raól. Get that assistant an assistant. Make appearances at formal Senate functions. Corner Leia and make sure she was okay; make sure she was taking care of the baby. Download Artoo's memories of Anakin, Obi Wan, and Padmé. Change the oil on the hopper. Eat the left-over asada out of the fridge before it went bad. Mediate thousands of arguments between bickering factions… so donations would keep coming in… so they could afford it all...

Wedding plans.

Luke hitched an exhausted grin and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Dammit, you're supposed to be meditating.

He gave up for a second and rested his elbows on his folded knees. He looked at a tiny violet flower in the grass in front of his knee, a baby trying to grow big and strong. He took a deep breath and looked around to the pines and mountains and beautiful sky.

A blank canvas.

There was no such thing.

Kess

Tayla was no idiot. She figured it out why Kess Lendra was hanging out with her so much. She never quite understood the word 'Jedi' before all this, but she liked having the term to compartmentalize all this weirdness in her brain.

Three times this woman came and picked her up from the whore house after school just to go in town to hang out. She didn't understand why the boyfriend wasn't there too. After all, it was Luke Skywalker that Madam Saffron told her to go see about the voices in her head, but Kess alone came by, and always started the afternoon with a free snack, so Tayla wasn't going to argue with that.

There wasn't really any kind of interview, or plans, or 'training' of any kind. Not so far anyway. Kess asked her about generic things and Tayla gave her generic answers. But Tayla could sense there were bigger questions coming, and Tayla already knew she didn't want to have to detail those answers. Still, three afternoons of small talk that danced around the real topic without actually landing on it was growing super boring.

They strolled up to the window of a comic shop to admire a display of figurines. An army of superheroes stood ready for action, fists high, capes billowing in the wind, colorful tights to show off the unrealistic musculature.

Kess tried to sound sneaky. "So what do you do for fun around here?"

Green eyes shifted over and narrowed. An odd grin spread across the girl's dark lips. "I don't know if you'd like it, though." It was a dare.

Kess met Tayla's gaze with strength. "Try me."

"Really?"

"Show me what you got."

"Okay." It sounded like a warning. "Wait here."

As Tayla walked with confidence into the comic shop, Kess watched her through the window. The girl strolled along the aisles as if looking for something specific. Kess grinned inwardly at all the unexpected research she had to do with this kid, like learning all the names and songs of that punk music group and learning all the slang words the whore-house kids had to use to describe the workday of their parents without swearing. Now Kess wondered which of these caped cartoons would be her next research project. Yet, Kess had to admit it - this must be loads easier than training a full grown adult.

She watched Tayla return the shopkeeper's greeting continued her stroll down the aisle. The girl walked right up to the same shelving that separated them. Kess grinned curiously at the girl through the window. What are you up to?

In a smooth flash, Tayla swiped a figurine off the shelf and shoved it inside her jacket.

Kess's eyes popped open.

Tayla turned for the door, easy and calm. So did Kess, yet the elder was prepared to stop the younger at the exit and demand Tayla either return the item or pay for it.

Kess never got the chance. Tayla maintained her cool walk until she reached the door, but then she lunged through it, already in a full run by the time she crossed the threshold. The alarm blared instantly. Kess paused in a moment of dumbfounded shock. Big eyes watched the kid tear down the street, then glance over at the shopkeeper now glaring accusations at her. Insulted and angry, Kess pinched a face of a dark-sided fury and took off after the little shoplifter like she was going to rip the girl's throat out.

"Tayla!" Kess shouted. "Tayla, stop!"

But Tayla kept on going, laughing as she ran. Her sneakers pattered on the duracrete, jumping and dodging pedestrians going about their day, and oftentimes missing her mark. One woman yipped with such alarm that her food packets dribbled out all over the sidewalk. Kess's first instinct was to stop, help, and apologize, but she forced herself to keep going so she could catch up. Where Tayla dodged a land speeder, Kess nearly hit the hood. Where Tayla walked along a planter wall to get around the edge of street dining, Kess began to do the same but was blocked suddenly by the alarmed reaction of the patrons. With no safe direction to go without crashing into someone or something, she Force Jumped to an overhead railing and swung over the top of the last few heads.

In the middle of her run, Tayla tried to look back at what all the new shrieking was about, but she only saw Kess's angry face just as the Jedi landed hard on the duracrete with both combat boots and continue her full speed chase.

Now, Tayla was really running.

Only three blocks away from the scene of the crime, Tayla shifted her sneakers to burn across the street and ducked into an alley beyond. By now, Kess was nearly stomping the girl's shoes off her heels to catch up. Just as Kess came close enough to grab the hanging cowl of Tayla's purple hoodie, the young girl came around the corner and landed her back against a dingy wall with a huff.

Kess stopped her feet in front of the child and shook her head. She didn't grab Tayla, but she kept her boots close enough to nab that purple hoodie in case Tayla launched away again. Kess heaved softly for breath while Tayla was gasping desperately for it.

As soon as Tayla realized Kess wasn't as angry as she originally thought, she opened her mouth and laughed some more. "Told ya it'd be fun."

Kess shook her head some more and drilled her eyes into the girl. "No, Tayla, that wasn't fun. That was illegal. You're going to have to take that thing back."

Tayla scoffed and stood back to both feet. "You're loony! They'd arrest me again." She pulled the figurine out of that sparkle-adorned denim jacket and admired it.

Kess reached for her to hand it over, but Tayla jerked it back. "I earned it," was the girl's excuse. Keeping the gaze, she fumbled to put the figurine back into her jacket, but with the sparkly denim over the purple hoodie, and a black shirt with pockets underneath all that, she fumbled to pick a pocket.

Kess flicked her wrist, opened a palm, and sucked the figurine through the air from Tayla's hand into hers.

Tayla's green eyes flashed surprise, but only for a split second, and glared back at Kess to watch the Jedi woman tuck the thing into her own pocket instead.

"Ain't gonna take it back." Tayla put her foot down. "I get any more tickets they gonna put me in juvie."

Kess closed her eyes and exhaled disbelief.

"'Sides, you do illegal stuff all the time," Tayla complained.

To this Kess, almost laughed, "Like what?"

"Trespassing. Insurgence. Murder. . . . They say you been spending your whole life committing crimes against the Empire. You prolly got a bigger rap sheet than me."

Kess almost argued. Almost. Her mouth opened, and then it snapped shut again. She angled a haughty head at haughty Tayla.

"I knows you been hanging out wit me cuz you wanna teach me Jedi stuff. I ain't got no problem wit that." Tayla said it like she was the disciplinarian speaking to the one who acted out. "But I gots one rule. Just one. And you gots to follow it or I'm ghost."

Kess crossed her arms at her chest and tried not to grin at all this. "And what's that?"

"None'this, 'Do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do,' fodder." Tayla warned, complete with tilting her head back so she could look at Kess down the length of her nose. "I see you got skin-knees too. More skinned than Luke's even. You wants to train me, I'm there, but don't ever bang on me for stuff you done too."

Suddenly, the eleven-year-old street urchin had the strength of character as any rebel Kess had ever met. Kess recognized this child had earned some of her own dots already, and Kess was glad to respect that. With a quick nod of approval, Kess angled her head and put out her hand to seal the deal.

Green eyes squinted, uncertain.

"I vow I will not punish you for anything I've done myself," Kess promised with a solid gaze. "You vow to let me train you as a Jedi and all that may entail."

To Tayla, 'all that may entail' meant travel! Adventure! Cool toys! Magic tricks! And maybe even real clothes and regular meals! The girl stood on both feet and shook Kess's hand hard, eyeing the woman's brown eyes with snarling-lip determination. Kess returned the shake with equal fervor and grinning snarl, yet with her free hand, she pulled the superhero figurine back out her pocket and handed it over to Tayla.

Uncertain, Tayla took it.

Eyes widened at the girl as Kess spoke in her language and accent. "Now you gonna take it back."

"But you just promised-!"

"I've done a lot of things, young one, but I have never shoplifted. Let's go."

Tayla flattened her mouth, snatched the figurine out of Kess's hand, and turned to shuffle her feet back to the comic store with an exaggerated whine, "Yes, master."

As Kess followed the girl, a dark humor settled on Kess's forehead. When she met Tayla, she recognized the child carried an attribute reminding her of every Girly Girl that was once Kess's rebel family. Tayla had Joanne's brown skin, Ashten's emerald hair, Yana's hazel green eyes, and a name close to 'Kayla' that it was eerie. Only now did Kess realize Tayla's attitude strongly resembled the one Girly Girl that Kess forgot to include.

Shuffling down the street to follow the order, Tayla's mouth curled in displeasure, her shoulders sluggish, and suddenly turned to whine at her Jedi Master. "How long this training gonna take anyways?"

Kess pinched her mouth shut, trying not to laugh, trying not to growl, and hoped Luke wasn't taking a secret peek at them right now.

"As long as it takes."

Wedge

Wedge leaned his elbows on the rail of the catwalk and looked down on Division One's new hangar. Only a month ago, these A-wings were fresh off the factory floor, but now they were damaged and blaster scarred from the Battle of Coruscant. Their trusty old X-wings were in the next hangar over - in pieces - and slowly becoming even more pieces as droids broke them down to recycle the metals.

Commander Antilles reviewed his new team trying to work together. What was once the twelve best fighters of the rebellion. "Rogue Group" was now doubled in size to 24 fighters, but only six of the original pilots remained with the crew. Seven more pilots were re-assignments from other parts of the Alliance. The remaining eleven were former Imperial TIE fighter pilots. Reformation was the goal, so the idea behind this reorganization was to force Alliance and Imperial to work side-by-side as they all put the broken government back together.

The non-pilot half of his crew was also nearly split down the middle with Imperials and Alliance, yet in Rogue Group's case, 100% of the Repair Division had to be replaced.

Division One was hardly a shadow of what Rogue Group once was.

Wedge understood the theory. Integration was key to healing the wounds of this war, but practical application of that theory was like throwing dyre wolves and mini dragons in the same pit and expecting them not to eat each other.

"You're not actually going to desecrate the Imperial Crest without first waiting for your provisional government to design a new icon are you?" Commander Garyn's natural voice was cool and sweet, but it always seemed to come with it a cutting note.

Wedge glanced over his shoulder at his new second in command. She'd be hot if she weren't such a bitch. The thin woman stood several inches taller than himself, with pale blond hair trimmed tidily at the ears. Her crystal blue eyes watched the crew removing the black and white Imperial signage from the far wall of the hangar. Her red lips twitched with disapproval at the symbolism of this moment. And her flawless complexion seemed to glow like white ceramic out of the sharp cut, dull gray Imperial officer's uniform. She was so pale that her skin looked raw.

"Have you ever tried it raw?" As Wedge turned his eyes back to the view below and beyond, the corner of his mouth curled to remember when the 'girly girls' teased him, back on Yavin 4, back when he still had a repair crew, back when they were all still alive.

Wedge sighed long and slow.

Garyn clenched her jaw to watch the Rebel half of their crew carefully remove the three metre Imperial sign from the hangar wall, and her thin hand came to the rail as the Imperial half of their team began unpacking a red and white sign of an Alliance Fleur Dis Lis.

Her mouth parted with growing insult. Wedge knew what she was thinking but he didn't bother to correct her. She'd figure it out soon enough. So would the rest of them.

Looking over the crew below, it was all too easy to tell which were Imperials and which were Alliance because they were all still wearing the same old uniforms. Khaki and army green always clustered together, and always seemed separated by an invisible wall to avoid mingling with the black and gray, who also always clustered together. Now, with both government symbols lying on the deck between rows of broken A-wings, Black and Gray looked up at him just as puzzled as the Khaki and Green did.

Wedge reached an arm out and pointed at the Rebels to get to work on the Imperial crest they'd just removed. "Get a sheet metal saw and cut it in half."

Garyn's throat made a noise, but she trapped it in a pair of quivering lips. Down there, the black and gray uniforms stirred like a pack of disturbed dogs, cringing with disgust to watch this. Once the Rebel crew cut the Imperial crest from top to bottom, Wedge motioned and called out again. "Now, hand the saw to them. And you guys cut that one in half."

Wedge recognized the real problem here. Coruscant's new government needed planetary security right away because it was still learning to stand on the strength of its new feet. Integrating Alliance and Imperials onto the same crews made logical sense, but until the new Senate designed a new icon to symbolize the reformation-until they were all wearing the same uniforms-they would continue to sneer across the hangar at each other as enemy crews.

But designing new signage and uniforms were the least of the Senate's worries right now, and Wedge decided that Division One couldn't wait for a visual icon.

Garyn stood in silence and Wedge in patience as the two three metre symbols of Alliance and Empire were sliced in half by their enemy forces. Once done, Wedge called out to order to the crowd one more time. "Now. Take one side of that one, one side of that one, weld them together, and hang it up where it was before."

He watched the reaction of different members of both gangs realize what he had in mind. Many seemed to accept this solution; many hissed at the desecration of their former banners. It took some time, but Wedge and Garyn watched the whole thing from the balcony in silence. The right half of the black Imperial gear and the left half of the Alliance red fleur dis lis were spot-welded together and hoisted back up to the far wall of the hangar. The seam gluing them was far from perfect, but that made the symbolism of this broken union that much more fitting.

Wedge stood on his feet and began to turn away to other business when a pilot called up from below. "What do we do with the other halves?"

This much should have been obvious. "Take them over to Division Two."

Turning, he noticed Commander Garyn's rippling jaw of anger underneath a porcelain -raw- complexion.

"New project!" The girly girls had crooned. Back in the day.

Wedge pinched his grin away and marched to other business.

Yana

"Say the word that comes to mind when you see the image on the screen," they told her.

Yana sat upright in the exam chair with green eyes so wide open it looked like she was trying to use the Force. A half dozen med droids worked around and behind her, plugging little pins to parts of her head, neck, and upper chest. A sterile bandage contained her long red-brown hair over her left shoulder, but the right side of her head was shaved below the temple line. They pinned sensors to the side of her skull, adjusted the equipment . . . and waited.

Two sentient doctors stood in front of her in lab coats with big data folios in their hands. Each stood beside the screen on which Yana focused so intently. "Try to relax," one said. "This isn't a test; it's an assessment. We're just trying to get an exact definition of where the damage is."

Yana nodded vaguely, but it still felt like a test. She stared at the image on the screen and pressed her mouth together, but the word wouldn't come out. "B-b-b-b. . . . B-b-b-b. . . ."

Bed! It's a bed! Why can't I say bed!? Yana huffed and slammed her eyes shut.

"Easy. Relax. You're not going to get them all. Try again."

A new image.

Yana cleared her throat, determined. "C-c-c-c. . . ."

It's a damn cat! She yelled in her mind.

"Very good."

No, that wasn't good. That wasn't good at all.

Another image.

She rubbed her lips and tried to force them to work. "S-s-s-st . . . s-s-s-st . . . . s-s-s-star."

"Well done. Next."

It was a fighter. The word sounded clearly inside Yana's mind the instant the image popped up. She knew what all this stuff was. Her intelligence was still in there, the words just couldn't make it to her mouth.

"F-f-f-f. . . f-f-f-f . . . ."

She was trying too hard. She knew it. She took a deep sigh and dropped her head back, granting herself a moment of mental exhaustion, and whispered, "fuck."

Yana flashed a sad smile and began a tired laugh.

"Try again."

Another image. . . .

And so it went on. There was no word she could speak without stuttering, and most words never found her mouth at all. By the time the assessment was over, Yana was as exhausted as she was despondent by the results.

But the doctors showed her the readouts as if it was good news. They pointed to the digital imagery of her skull and raved at how small the damage was, but all Yana could see was the bits that were missing. They showed her the solid green metrics of writing and reading abilities, cognitive, small motor skills, large motor skills, and raved at how well she was doing. All Yana could focus on was that the entire language skills section was red.

Even as they talked about what she could do, and how she could work around what she couldn't do, the accomplished data admin looked at the macro-vision of it all and made her own assessment. A chunk of Yana's gray matter was just, plain, missing.

And gray matter doesn't grow back.

Yana choked on tears of helpless frustration.

"There are implants," the doctors explained. They gave her a few options on what kind of implants she could have that would work around the damage. Having an implant to help her speak would free her to return to the social world, to use commlinks, have conversations with friends, and even chat with strangers. But neuro-prosthetics always involved software, and software could always be hacked, and data administrators with top secret clearance could not be 'hack-able'.

Yana stared at the digital image of her damaged head and saw the greater truth. She had two choices; a career . . . or a life.

Nik

Regit left the place hours ago, and today's pod races were over, but Nik remained at the bar alone. At first, he opted to stay to finish his beer, then he opted to have one more before he went home. On a weeknight like this, few people filled the place. It was fairly quiet. Even the vid in the corner was muted again now that the sports were done. The waddling creature came down to him every ten minutes to offer a refill. "Just one more," Nik would say, and the tender didn't comment that Nik said 'just one more' that last two times too.

He closed his eyes and his head swam - a familiar feeling, taking his control away from his thoughts. He knew he should probably go home, but he enjoyed this swimming lucidity. This is where he mind could float free of thoughts, where his subconscious seemed to shut up, where he could relax enough to rest. Being drunk was like a conscious sleep. His emotions could wane. His fears slipped away forgotten. After a few beers, Nik wasn't a chemical grunt, a father, a husband, a son, or a brother . . . and he certainly wasn't an untrained Jedi hopeful, nor the momentary Emperor who, for a whole month, was drugged, tortured, paraded around like a prize slave, who-as soon as he was free to make it all stop-pissed off half the blasted galaxy with his command to cease-fire.

He faced a little fame and the problems therein when he first got home, but not much. As soon as the neighborhood learned that he inherited no money and retained no political power, they all quickly left him alone. A few others lingered on to press him for his contacts, but Nik looked at them all like they were nuts. "Well sure I met the Chamberlain and a few others, but it's not like they gave me their comm link numbers."

"And your sister?"

To this, Nik always ended up grinning wryly at the 'generous offer' for the power play that it really was. "Leveraging me so that I leverage my Jedi sister is only going to get you 'leveraged' right down on top of your head."

Nik was sure the offers and power plays would never entirely come to an end, but they'd slowed enough to a manageable degree. His fifteen minutes of fame were over. And thank goodness for that. Gina was trying to regain control of her classroom and Ben was trying to get the swing of things at school. It had all been too much of an adventure for the little struggling family.

And yet, even when things seemed to calm down, Nik found solace in coming to the bar to knock down a couple and 'meditate' in a soft swimming intoxication. It was as if he were still recovering from something, or hiding from something. He knew he had to whip his ass into shape and get back to the business of living, but he wanted one more evening to relax his mind at the bottom of a glass. He'd do it tomorrow. Not today. I'll get my ass in gear tomorrow.

The tender waddled down to his near empty-glass, to which Nik sucked down the last of it and shook his head. He had to go home and face his mundane existence. He turned from the stool to go, but something caught his eye.

The vid in the corner, still muted, had switched to an advertisement of the white sand beaches of touristy Nekisa. The clip was the video of couples swimming in the deep ocean, wearing re-breathers, and playing with a colorful school of fish. The images switched to others swimming in the sea, to underwater lounges with little kids pressed to the glass walls to ogle sharks swimming by, to a woman blowing air out her nose as she swam up out of the water and into the sunlight.

Nik began to choke. He coughed. He tried to clear his throat. He grabbed the edge of the bar to keep his balance, sitting down again before he fell over entirely. He rubbed his eyelid with his fingers for a long moment . . . then tucked the glass over to the tender. "Just one more."

Gina

Gina sat at the kitchen table and tried to concentrate on her work, but her eyes kept going to the wall chrono. This was the third time this week he was late. At first, Gina was warm to let him go out and party in his usual form to recover his horrors, but now it was turning into too much of a habit. She knew where he was, it wasn't like he was hiding or having an affair, but the more time he spent at the pub, the drunker he would be when he finally got home. If this continued, it wouldn't be long before Nik Lendra woke up with hangovers that would affect his job, and soon after, there would be drinking at home, then drinking alone. . . .

Gina kept it together as best she could. Ben seemed unaffected by the adventure, thank goodness, and returned to his seven-year-old swing of things. Gina returned to her own classroom without too much trouble. The substitute maintained the curriculum fairly well in Gina's absence. If only Nik could get over his secret terrors and get back to a normal life too.

Finally, she finished grading the last of the homework and collected the datacards in her work tote. Checking the chrono one more time, she tucked her black hair behind her ear and moved through the living room to the patio door. Outside, where night shrouded all view of the ridge beyond, Ben stood in the sand just inside the dim glow of the porch light. He had a remote control in his hands and watched the night air.

The house light glowed dimly on his back, making him look like a glowing silhouette in the dark of night. Gina couldn't see the fighter, but she didn't look for it either. Ben's eyes were sure to be fixed on the tiny red and white lights to keep track of where in the blackness it was. The tiny thing whined and zipped overhead like a giant bug.

"Time to come in now."

"Is dad home?"

"Not yet."

"You said I could stay out here until he came home."

"Well he's not home yet, and it's time to come in now."

"Just give me a few more minutes."

"No, Ben."

"Come on, Mom, you said I didn't have to come in until dad came home."

Gina was tired, worried, and considered going out to the pub to fetch Nik after she got Ben to bed. It felt like the fabric of her family was unraveling in her palms. "I changed my mind."

"Fine. One sec."

"No. Now." In a rush of frustration, Gina stomped up behind him and snatched the remote out of his hands.

"No!" Ben yelped. His eyes grew big to watch it, and Gina realized her mistake when she heard it. The toy fighter sailed straight for only a split second before smacked hard against the wall of the house.

Ben's face flushed red. His eyes watered with wrath. His fists balled beside his hips. He growled out in a childish temper tantrum.

At first, Gina simply sighed and wished Nik were home to discipline this, but her eyes flashed open when her body was shoved backwards. She landed against the back door the same time she watched a half-dozen patio things spray away from Ben in all directions.

Ben looked just as shocked as she was. His big eyes looked around at why the barbecue tongs went flying, why the table glass crashed against the wall, why the sand blew away from him as if by wind, but in a perfect circle as if he himself were the tiny meteor to hit the ground.

With one palm splayed against the wall behind her, Gina found her feet, but couldn't close her mouth. She watched her young son, innocent, ignorant, and now a DNA-proven-relation to Obi Wan Kenobi, flit his brows with confusion and look over to her for answers. "What was that?"

Leia

Leia stood in her new apartment on the top-most floor of a tower. From the curved window in the living room, she could look out at a 45 degree angle to the right and gaze on the Senate Dome. From the 45 degree angle to the left stood the dark pyramid of the Imperial Palace. When they offered to prepare the place for her, she made the mistake of dismissing her input onto its décor. What she got was not what she would have picked. As if an attempt to reflect a digital existence, the suite was adorned with harsh black lines and soft white curves. Like an Escher painting, it was hard to tell if the malleable, welcoming Alliance was infesting the strict Imperial geometry, or if it was it the other way around. The apartment certainly displayed the symbolism of her new position however, so Leia forced herself to accept it.

She stood at the window, this time, looking out at the distant Imperial Palace, and thought about her biological father. Her palm smoothed over the small but swelling belly beneath the rich blue robe, absently comforting and reassuring the child that everything would be okay, as much as she was subconsciously trying to reassure the same for herself.

Behind her, the main door slid open. Threepio's gears whispered into the room. "Good evening, Chamberlain. I have Chewbacca's effects, as instructed."

Leia turned to see the gold droid remotely controlling a repulsor pallet into the suite. The dinged crates and stuffed duffels of what looked look like a homeless person, complete with a fine layer of brown shedding, further disrupted the White Alliance/Black Imperial decor of the apartment.

It made her smile. "Leave it in the first bedroom, but don't unpack any of his things. I want him to pick which room he wants to be his."

"As you wish, Chamberlain. And, if I may, shall I unpack Captain Solo's effects as well?'

Leia lifted her chin and inhaled a deep breath, but it didn't help keep the sorrow at bay. The sour loss swelled in her soul as though she just swallowed a lime, like a big sour lump now settling behind her ribs. "N-no." She told him, then collected herself quickly and rubbed her belly again. "No, I'll do that." She pressed her lips, and they trembled. "Thank you, Threepio. You may shut down for the night."

"Good night, Chamberlain."

"Good night, Threepio."

As Threepio turned one way to command the repulsor pallet down one hall, Leia turned and disappeared down the other. The bedroom was too big; the bed too empty. She closed the door, turned down the lights, kicked off her shoes, and crawled sideways onto the black and white bedspread.

Alone. Finally, thankfully, alone . . . so she could do this.

Leia wrapped one arm around her pregnant belly, splayed the other hand over her hiding eyes, and burst into tears.

Luke

Luke sat in the middle of that naked, grassy field and gave up on trying to meditate. The pain and struggle of this war's aftermath was palpable, even from out here.

Instead of imagining what the Academy would look like, his mind digressed to what advice Master Yoda would have for him right now. He envisioned the short green creature standing in that 'blank canvas' field in front of him, but Luke knew Yoda wasn't going to show up with words of wisdom this time. If Yoda did have input, he wasn't going to share it with Luke. The old Jedi order was broken. Very, extremely, irreparably broken. So the only trustworthy way to fix it was to tear the whole thing down to the nub and build it back up from scratch.

Blank canvas.

There was no such thing.

In his imagination, Yoda stood in that grass, larger than life; so tall that his wrinkled head and pointed ears nearly reached the height of the mountain peak. Tattered robes in a flow of frozen action. Lightsaber blade in his three-fingered hand behind him. The other open hand high in the air as if commanding the Galaxy to calm the fuck down.

After all they had done, after all they had lost, after all they went through . . . the war was finally over.

Luke rubbed his face with both palms.

Wars were easy. The aftermath was hard.