Chapter 4: Visions of the Force

Dray lay in a bed in the VIP Wing in the Grand Republic Hospital, sixteen blocks from the Senate Building. Monitors were hooked up to him, the screens showing a vast array of medical terminology and holographic projections of the patient's body that meant nothing to those not trained in the healers art. Even to the untrained eye, it was quiet obvious that his vitals were thread at best. Dray's stout form was slowly swelling to twice it's normal size, and red blisters had begun forming on his skin.

Luke stood outside of the window that looked into the room, watching as medical droids scurried back and forth. No organic doctor had been able to bring themselves to save this man's life, no matter the oaths of healing they had given. Dray had been military governor of sixteen systems before becoming Moff, and while he had been criticized by Palpatine himself for being too generous to the people under his watch, the people had seen nothing but the Imperial insignia and the white armor of stormtroopers. And every doctor in this hospital that could have helped him had lived in those systems during his tenure.

The Jedi could feel it was not good. The Force was whispering it to him. His time was running out. And with it; peace's great hope. And standing next to him, voicing a similar concern was Supreme Admiral Pealleon. The man was not alone, three stormtroopers standing against the back wall.

"He was ill before we even came," he said, his words causing his mustache to blow outwards slightly like wind through trees, "The old fool refused to stay back at Bastion. He felt he had to be here."

Luke looked at Pealleon, expecting almost to catch some of the arrogant swagger as plain as the twin suns of Tatooine. But instead what he saw was a man, despite his long military career, still had a shred of genuine human concern. He marveled at this contradiction in and of itself.

"What exactly does he have?" Luke asked, waving his hand at the old Moff, "He wasn't poisoned was he?"

The Supreme Commander shook his head. "The man has Rendaran Syndrome," he replied, "It's a disease contracted by non-natives of the Rendar System. It takes years to gain strength, first just a little coughing every day. Then light-headedness, increase in body mass. By the time it reaches full strength and becomes lethal, which is always the case, vomiting, hallucinations, increased swelling and red blisters. His time is up."

Luke took all that information in. Dray could have been saved. Or could he have? If Pealleon was correct, it was an incurable. Surely that was not the end of the game. Surely there was more that could be done.

"It's a great accomplishment," Luke pointed out, looking at his older companion and veering the subject away from the man's imminent demise, "After a lifetime of political strivings, to be able to claim a viable peace to your list of accomplishments. Makes you wish for the grander."

"Maybe," Pealleon rolled his eyes, "But unfortunately, without his wisdom these peace talks will die."

"I think you underestimate the determination being shown here by both parties," Luke remarked not liking the defeatist attitude of the Supreme Commander, "They are doing what needs to be done."

"Come off it, Master Jedi," Pealleon said in an exasperated tone, "You've seen that Dray alone has able to keep your sister and the Grand Moff from killing each other. It's Dray who keeps coming up with these compromises that is acceptable by both sides. If he dies, none of us can keep these talks alive. And believe me, while you might have had time to prepare your fleets in case the talks broke down, so have we."

Luke looked away and at the dying man in the room. It was hard for the Jedi/General to accept that it was one man who could be the harbinger of peace or war, simply by his life and death. Palpatine's death had not ended the war. The death of Count Duckoo during the Clone Wars had not ended the war, even if that conflict ended shortly afterwards. But, the more he thought about it, the more clarity he saw to the truth of what Pealleon was saying.

He is our one hope for peace.

Luke could not meditate. There was so much on his mind. Even his Jedi calming techniques could not purge his mind of thoughts that entered without desire or want. He was invaded by the image of Moff Dray. He would die if there was no help. But, he could not see a way to help him.

Save him.

So, his alternative was to pace around his apartment. Not only did he walk from room to room, he also made sure to walk around each room a couple times. It just didn't make sense to him. The Force was willing him to save the man, but how could he save a man when he never explored the healing arts of the old Jedi Master Healers?

"I cannot help him," he said aloud to himself. "It is beyond my power."

"Lie to yourself, you do."

Luke's eyes widened and he turned to see a glowing spirit of a diminutive Jedi, sitting on his meditation chair. A face he had not seen in years. A face of infinite wisdom and sadness. How was this possible? Wasn't he completely gone?

"Yoda!" he gasped, hurrying to sit down on the floor in front of the Jedi master. "I thought you passed into the Netherworld of the Force."

Yoda nodded his head, "I did. Summoned me, you did."

"No," Luke shook his head, "I did not summon you. And even if I had called, the Netherworld cannot be returned from. Obi-wan told me this before the Bakura mission right after Endor."

"Your spirit called," Yoda's ears wiggled slightly, "Remember, more than crude bodies, are we. Wisdom it brings, that is. Greater are two minds, solving a problem, it is."

The wisdom of the words sank into Luke. He didn't realize until now just how much he needed the wisdom of the ancient Jedi Master. The master who had taught him so much. While Obi-Wan had taught him quite a bit during the short time they had spent together, it was Yoda who had helped him unlock dark secrets inside of himself, and bring great truths to light. Slowly he sat down, crossing his legs.

"Master," Luke sighed, accepting the inevitable, "I need your guidance."

"No longer require guidance, you do," Yoda replied, pointing a glowing spirit finger at him. "A Jedi Master, you are."

"But," Luke pressed, unwilling to accept that at face value, "So many people look upon me to help make this peace. But it is not me who is the key. It is Moff Dray. He's the one they look to."

"Why?" Yoda asked simply.

Luke frowned slightly. Was this a rhetorical question? Or was it serious?

"What do you mean?" he inquired.

"Moff Dray, why the key of peace, is he?" Yoda elaborated, "And not you?"

Luke sighed and held up his hands in a hopeless gesture. Yoda had never been a politician. He had never seen the workings of political power. He had trained Jedi for hundreds of years. What did he know of the bitter battlefield of politics?

"He's got so much more experience than I do," he explained, searching for the right words, "He knows politics better than any of us on either side. How can I be a politician of his caliber?"

"No!" Yoda thumped the ground with his gimmick stick, which had somehow become part of the Force Spirit, "A Jedi seeks not politics."

Luke raised an eyebrow at that. Was that not what a Jedi seeks? The ability through the law to create peace? That was what politics were. He expressed that thought to Yoda, who seemed to chuckle at the absurd notion. Wasn't it politics that ended violence?

"Politics, serve the moment they do," Yoda explained. He waved his hand and before Luke's eyes appeared a vision. "When war is best, serve it politics does. When peace is best, politics go there. True peace, only through choice and dedication, it comes."

He saw Chewbacca at his home on Kassshyyyk, visiting his family. But fires began to spread through the house and he ran onto the tree-platform, only to see ships bloating out the sun as they rained fire and death on the forests of the wookies. He saw massive space battles, explosions ripping apart the hulls of ships, people being sucked into the vacuum of space. Red Imperial Guards swarmed a stadium of defenders, their elite ranks deflecting bolts with their staffs and going in for the kill. He saw hundreds of dark robed men standing in a chamber, a dark figure standing above them on a balcony. He looked closer to see a face he dreaded to see again. It was laughing and filling hatred in all that beheld him.

"But does not the politics define the peace?" Luke asked, shuddering as the scenes of death and life passing before him as Yoda spoke, "Is not it the duty of politics to create the peace? What good are the Jedi if they do not support the politics? They need to uphold those policies of the current politics. The Jedi must defend the politicians so they can make the wisest course of action."

"The shadow of Vader, that thought is," Yoda said simply.

"He's right you know," another voice, gentile and aged, but no less wise came at his side, "Vader once thought as you do."

"Ben," Luke moaned, "I don't know if I can create a peace that will not destroy the politics of the Republic and contradict it. Our policies demand the destruction of the Empire, and not peace."

"Your father during the Clone Wars had the same concerns," Obi-Wan told him, his disembodied voice coming through the Force, "He refused to see that it was the politics of the Galactic Republic that destroyed the Republic. He believed everything Palpatine and the Senate told us. The lies webbed so thick around him, he believed them more than the truths we told him. He could have done something. He should have done something. But he left it to the politicians. Do not fall into the same trap your father did."

Luke absorbed the information that had just been delivered. He did not know much about his father. He had been a great pilot. He had served alongside Obi-Wan during the Clone Wars. He had fallen into evil. Some great calamity had befallen him, forcing him into a suit of metal and death. Beyond that, he had known nothing else.

But, if his father had fallen by listening to the politics, was he really in danger with his father to suffer the same fate? Then why was he being asked to be the one people looked to?

"What must I do?" Luke asked to Yoda, who was gnawing on his spirit stick.

"The knowledge, in your mind, it is," Yoda informed him, pointing at his face. And yes, he knew what needed to be done.

"All right," Luke sighed, "I'll give it a try."

A sharp pain shot through his knuckles as if he had gotten slapped. He yanked it back and rubbed the smarting body part. Yoda and Obi-wan were beginning to fade away, back to where they had come from.

"Do, or do not. There...is...no...try."

Luke walked into the medlab. Security personal had tried to stop him, but he had waved his hand and they had promptly collapsed, deep in sleep. The doors to the room slid open with a quick flick of his fingers and he strode into the room. Medical droids rushed up to stop him, but a wave of his hand deactivated the droids. He slid the door shut with another flick of his hand and sealed it shut with a yank of his hand, which twisted the locked until they were broken.

He walked up to Dray, and he could feel Dray's body dying. He could see through the Force the living essence slowly fading into nothingness. The flaws were there, glowing like mynocks in the dark. But, he would not allow Dray to die. Not here, not now.

Softly he put his fingers of Dray's forehead, and with the Force, he drove into the body of illness that was winning. And, in his minds' eye, he could see the illness, like a plague of massive rancors destroying the city that was the temple of Dray's soul. This was not a natural illness. He had seen sickness, but he had never seen such a thing as this. He knew this was a poison of sorts. But…it was…organic in nature. Made to look like the diagnosed illness.

It was not of Pealleon's doing. Nor Moff Tyron's.

Intriguing as it was to diagnose the patient, time was running out. He ignited the lightsaber of his mind and assaulted the sickness.

The doors burst open, the guards dropping their makeshift battering ram and leaping into the room. Luke's head was drooping, his body trembling from the exertion of what he had done. Han Solo was behind the group of men, shoving his way through and coming up to Luke. Chewbacca was also following him, his furry bulk towering over the mainly human group. He had heard of what was going on, and he had rushed over, not wanting to wake Leia.

"Luke!" he said, jumping over to him, and catching him right as Luke was about to fall on his side. Chewbacca growled in alarm, seeing that Luke looked not good.

"I-did-it-Han," Luke rasped out harshly, "He-will-live-"

He closed his eyes, his eyes slowly closing. As Luke laid in his friend's arms, Han marveled at the change that had come over Luke. His brother-in-law looked older. Much older. As if the effort had aged him ten years. But, at the same time, he looked wiser.

And more powerful. Like a wizard. In some ways…he reminded him of that crazy old fossil, Ben Kenobi. But then, that would mean he was tapping into that Force in a way that no one could imagine.