Days blended together. And there was no light at the end of this tunnel. Work on the big projects was continuously procrastinated in the attempt to wipe out the smaller ones, as if the small projects were solvable.

Gina convinced the school master to let her return to work before the suspension had ended, but that meant Ben also returned to school, troubled, struggling, and acting out with skills he didn't know how to control. Tayla's new school was great until the teachers required her to perform home study on a daily basis and prove it with paperwork of solved math problems and little written blurbs about history. Wedge managed to get the Imperials trained in A-Wings and the Rebels trained in TIE fighters, but both were shot at by hand-held blaster fire every time a pair of either swooped over Coruscant in a standard rover watch. Leia stood calm and cool on the spire to control the mikes of the Senate, timing their speeches as needed to ensure all voices had the same amount of voice, but it resulted in well-funded groups retaliating with a new campaign of attack ads against *her*. Nik tried comm Gina on several occasions, as much to proclaim how long he'd gone without a drink as to see an image of his little scrapper, but the woman would never pick up the call. Yana met with the doctors to check the healing of her last surgery at which they gladly announced she could start thinking about an implant, and they showed her a half-dozen options in sales-flyer form, bragging about all the inhuman capabilities that could come with each, including the wireless interlinking to add more advanced programming and 'learn' even more languages than she already knew. Ren reported into Grand Moff Jakobi and the Imperial Party's Leadership by Purple Command orders, during which he was questioned at length about his observations in the Lord Chamberlain's private and top secret affairs. He was then threatened at length that he would be reassigned to stand guard at a recycling facility for the rest of his life when he refused to reveal anything beyond the actual security measures that kept the rebel Chamberlain safe. Luke went to the At'Bintarians and Tyronans, individually and directly, to wriggle his way out of the Rock and the Hard Spot that their different Jedi Academy construction requirements put him in, but each faction was devout in their religious theme that all buildings *must* be wood or *must* be stone, and all power *must* be wind or *must* be solar; and no, you can't break ground until you get agreement of *our* requirements from the *other* side. Kess proved quickly to have *zero* talent in mediation, and so spent more and more time out of the conference room and in her unadorned office researching and summarizing the data Luke would need to do all the mediation himself. Each time his eyes asked her to leave the room felt like demotion. As much as he seemed appreciative of her notes and raved at how helpful she was to summarize complexities into bullet points he could quickly read, she could see the weariness in his eyes growing day by day as he tried to handle all those bickering arguments by himself.

The Senate Ball? Thank the Force they'd already picked out their clothes and blocked off the calendar, because they didn't have time to think about how soon it was coming up. The Jedi Academy? They were at a dead stop until they had time to do the research and bullet point summaries for themselves to figure out how to get these two opposite ideas to meet in the middle on construction requirements. New students to rally some help with all this? The Jedi Records still piled up in the corner of the office, still largely unpacked, and not collecting dust only because of the housekeeping efforts of Eye-D and Artoo.

A wedding?

What wedding?

Oh. Yeah. Ours.

Thoughts were felt and received strongly through the Force, even if the words were never openly spoken.

I don't want kids. Not yet. Please don't make me.

Why would we get married at all if you don't want children?

Evenings were absorbed by being premature parents to a whining pre-teen and an adult struggling to stay sober. Evenings were absorbed by annoying roommates who didn't bother to read a datalink to know what you had to say and by old pilot friends 'stopping by' to complain into the midnight hours about their new wingmen. Evenings were reading political arguments and watching edited videos of yourself spliced together until your own words said the exact opposite of everything you were trying to do. Evenings were consumed with pouring over confidential security reports to see the text highlighted where direct physical attacks on a pregnant princess were clearly in the works. Evenings were sitting on the floor against the wall, fidgeting your own hands until they rubbed themselves raw, trying to meditate, trying not to cry, trying not to wonder why she didn't answer, trying not to worry how your son was doing, trying not to barge into the kitchen and partake in that half-empty bottle of retago they had hiding in the back of the cupboard. Evenings were endless embarrassments fretting over homework on things you should already know at your age, and knowing that not having a clue about any of this stuff proved you were just plain stupid.

Sex? What sex? You need to meditate a lot more than you need sex right now. Sleep? Sure, but only those nights the memory of char-fried Rogue Repair didn't wake you up in a cold sweat. Decisions? You can have a life or you can have a career, but your life is your career. (It's not like good looking pilot is trying to comm you.) Security? She was pregnant and her husband was dead, so p rotecting her stress level was as important as protecting her person; as a result, plugging all these holes of risk without her awareness was like playing deadly game of whack-a-mole. Resolution? It didn't matter which side talked more or which side you shut up faster, no one is willing to budge on their conspiracy theories and retribution demands, and everything you say is going to get spliced into a new attack add of bantha fodder. Sobriety? You lost your wife and your son, what the fuck do you have to stay sober for? Jedi Apprentice? Such a thing requires daily baths, table manners, endless homework, and abandonment of your friends and fun, maybe you don't want it anymore. Stability? You just kicked out your number one source of support, the mortgage is due in a week, and going back to work means your son goes back to school, still acting out and using Force tricks you never knew he had.

Like lanterns sparking towards failure and hanging miles apart on an electric wire, nine people tried to 'handle it' on their own.

But none of them were making any progress doing it that way.

Tayla? Can you still hear me?

Tayla's chin and arms slumped on the black dining room table only to stare at a problem she had no idea how to understand, much less answer, but asking for help would only prove her stupidity. Somehow she felt she'd figure it out if she stared at it long enough, so she was glad to hear the man's voice again, the first time in a long time.

Yes, she thought clearly. Where you been?

I have an idea, he said with a smile in his old voice. And I need your help to implement it.

Can you help me with this homework?

I can help you *get help* with the homework, he said, but only if you help me first.

Tayla sat up and concentrated. What do you want me to do?

I want you to run away.

Tayla's thoughts shifted with confusion. He was the one who told her to come here in the first place.

Instead of coming back here after school tomorrow, I want you to go down and see if you can find that dead garden again.

The one I found when I was little? That was a long time ago. I don't know if I can get back there.

Little. His old, easy voice chuckled. You were nine. It was hardly two years ago.

I still don't know if I can find it again. I was lost that day.

I know. I'll be with you. Take your commlink in case you get too lost. Take some snacks and some hydrate. You know how to take care of yourself on such journeys. But go try to find it-that dead garden. The one with all statues. Do you remember?

I think so.

Good.

Why do you want me to run away from them? You told me to come to them.

His voice was smooth, gentle, and humored at his own idea. Because I want them to have to find you...