Chapter 7: All's Well that Ends Well
"If that concludes all the finer points," Leia said, looking over the document before her. She never understood why, but all great occasions seemed to dictate you have a piece of paper, especially treaties, "Shall we sign this paper?"
Luke stood behind her, against the back wall. He smiled as she was surmounting the greatest obstacle that had prevented peace for many years. To spend all her adult life fighting a great war, now to see that war come to an end. He had played no small part to help these proceedings, but, he had his sister who could take all the glory. A Jedi seeks not glory.
Standing next to him was Supreme Commander Ackbar. Skywalker, with his newly heightened Force powers, could finally feel into the once off-limits area of the Mon Cala's mind. There was a great…sadness there. Ackbar had lost so much in this war, and while he hated leaving a job uncompleted, he was glad the war was over. But, he also was sad.
"Are you alright?" he asked in a low voice, leaning towards the Calamari so only he could hear him.
"What?" Ackbar asked, snapping out of his reverie. He glanced sidelong with his bulbous eyes. "You say something?"
"Are you okay?" Luke repeated.
"Oh, yes," Ackbar said, nodding his head, "Why do you ask?"
Luke shrugged, "You seemed….far away at the moment."
Ackbar let out a sigh. "I was thinking about how Me'lala would have loved this day."
Luke raised an eyebrow. "Me'lala?" he asked, "Who is-"
He felt a tap on his shoulder and he turned to see Han. His brother-in-law gave him a dirty look and held up his fingers to his lips. He felt a set of furry hands fall on his shoulder and he could sense the power of the wookie.
The Jedi gave a rue smile and nodded. Yes, he'd be quiet. He turned towards the table and saw Moff Tyron look up at him and passing a knowing nod bend over and using an old-style pen sign the document. Hundreds of cameras surrounded the group, catching the proceedings from every angle. Passing it back to her, she took a glance at it, and both stood and holding out their hands, shook a short but firm grip.
"The Galactic Civil War is over," Leia announced and a huge sense of relief swept through the room.
The huge banquet area had seven massive tables. Each table was covered in a different type of food. One had strictly desserts, while another had salads and yet another had drinks. Leia stood among a ring of diplomats, all trying to curry favor with the Chief-of-State. Luke looked around the room, completely out of his depth in such settings. He worked best on one-on-one meetings. Not a massive gathering. Standing up from his chair at one of the dining tables, he moved towards the exit, hoping to get some fresh air from the stuffy room.
He moved out onto the balcony and he leaned against the railing. The light of passing traffic passed by him. Out here, he could hear himself think. It was the dawn of a new era and he knew he should give more consideration to the future ahead.
"Master Jedi," a voice said, and he turned to see Moff Dray heading his direction.
"Your Excellency," Skywalker said. The man looked much recovered and well. That was something he could enjoy.
"I had never thanked you for coming to my aid when I….broke down," the older Moff said, moving with some difficulty.
"I think my job isn't as good as I hoped," Skywalker said, "Perhaps I could…."
"There are some things even your Jedi powers cannot stop," the Moff said, "Like old age. The body does begin to fail and there's nothing to be helped for it."
Luke nodded and accepted what he said. The Moff did seem all that much better. Perhaps that had been all that had been needed was the healing through the Force. But why had he improved his own Force abilities when he had healed him? He assumed it was simply that his focus had been such it had tapped into the Force all that much greater.
"Who poisoned you?" Skywalker asked.
Dray looked at him, clearly knowing what he was talking about. He knew exactly who had poisoned him. He didn't say anything, holding his lips together. Skywalker waited. But, it was clear it was not forth coming.
"I have a debt to repay," the Moff said finally and leaned against the wall.
"It is nothing," he shook his head.
"Oh, the famed modesty of Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight," Dray snorted, "Come now, I am sure you will be pleased with how I can repay it. "
"Unfortunately, Your Excellency," Luke said, turning to walk away, "The Empire has nothing I want."
"There is a planet in the Entago System on the Outer Rim," Dray continued, watching the Jedi move off, "I once went there on assignment from the Emperor. I was sent there to fight Jedi. But, when I got there, what did you think I found?"
"I am not sure," Luke said, slowing only slightly as he prepared to walk down the stairs of the Imperial Palace and towards the old ruins of the Jedi Temple not far away. There was no need for him here further.
"I found a colony of Jedi there," Dray said, and Luke stopped, "Probably gone by now. But, that is as good as any place to start searching for your Jedi, eh?"
Luke turned to see Dray standing at the top of the stairs. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked.
"Because having to repay a debt is a dangerous thing to have," Dray remarked.
Somewhere, on some planet few cared about, a man sat in his one story house, his back leaning into the comfortable chair. It wasn't fancy, but it was the same type of comfort one gets when they have had the same furniture for so long, it has changed to fit the person. His vidscreen was playing, one of the Sensor 500 series, despite the fact it wasn't by any means the newest of that line, nor was it the highest end.
The fireplace was lit, and the crackling of the fire could be heard in the background. Fog had rolled into the city, and so the windows lining the upper part of the wall showed nothing but the murky mist outside. But he only half took notice of the surroundings, the report he had just read giving him pause.
Frankly he could care less about the goings on of the galaxy. It surely hadn't cared for him. But this bit of news on the lit datapad gave him cause to think. The war was over. The dirty, grimy work that had cost so much blood had finally concluded.
He heard the door to the bedroom open and looking over saw his wife leaning out, looking at him. Her green eyes had always been jewels that had been slavers to his heart. Her blond hair wasn't done up in the usual ponytail but flowed over her shoulders.
"Are you coming to bed soon?" she asked, "Oladam is down for the night, and we should too. You have a big day tomorrow."
"Oh yeah!" he rolled his eyes, "A meeting with a bunch of nerf-herders who don't realize that there is more than meets the eye."
"Come on now," she chided, "The bankers are just unsure of what way to go with the news of peace. You have to give them direction."
He sighed. Yes, direction. That was a fine delicate point on it. It was more of baby-sitting and hand-holding, letting them know it was fine to go across the road or put their hands in the cookie jar.
"Don't worry," he said, turning off the vidscreen, "I'll be in soon. Just a minute."
She rolled her eyes. "So in an hour or so," she muttered, moving back into the room and closing the door, shutting him out.
He leaned back in his chair, saying a silent thank you to any gods that might be watching. While he loved his wife. She was a might trifling at times.
Thousands of fighters it seemed filled the vast space between the two fleets. Thunderous salvoes were being fired in a massive wave towards the rebel fleet, his eyes scanning the glowing impact on the enemy shields. Man, they were getting close. So close.
"Increase firepower on the center Nebula-B cruiser!" he ordered, and he watched the pattern of lasers begin to track towards the ship, as it was bearing down on his fleet. There was a rippling effect as first the shields collapsed, and then fireballs erupted from it, spewing forth hot pieces of metal through space.
"Order the Zealot and the Crippler to push through the opening created by that cruiser!" he ordered, "I want them to break the enemy lines before they can recover."
Grabbing the armrests of the chair, he pushed himself up, his body stiff. Old glories were just that: old. There was no point pining away after them. He moved into the kitchen, heading towards the juicer, the small machine's light on standby mode. Grabbing a few apples from a small bowl, he dumped them into the top of the machine, then with a small flick of the switch, the juicer began to shred the apples, turning them into juice.
A steady stream of juice sloshed into a cup down a small drain and he waited until the juicer had stopped before picking up the cup and lifting it to his lips. He smirked as he took a small sip.
"I have the most advanced security system in three sectors and locks and force-fields surrounding every door and window," he said aloud, savoring the taste of the apple juice on his tongue, "And the windows are extremely small, smaller than a man could squeeze through with any ounce of ease. But, I would disappointed if you couldn't get past all that….Boba Fett."
"My employer needs a word with you," came the voice modulated reply.
"And if I don't?" he asked.
The sound of a blaster rifle powered up and he could feel the metal of the barrel close behind him. "He was most insistent."
The man raised the glass up one last time and finished drinking his juice. Once it was completely drained, he set the cup on the counter and turned slowly. There stood the green and grey mandalorian armor, the scalps on the belt. The famed dented helmet. This man had been officially dead for eight years, although there had been whispered rumors the helmeted bounty hunter was not dead.
"I'd hate to make your return to the land of the living a failure," he said, "Take me to this employer."
To be continued...