This Is What You Asked For
PART I
As the Second Galactic Civil War continues, it seems like everyone is gunning for Jacen Solo, so much so that it's getting dangerous for all concerned. Ben Skywalker contends with some monumental life lessons as his father reconsiders his role in the conflict. Everyone is getting exactly what he asked for in one way or another, and they all have to come to terms with that. (With scenes from Legacy of the Force: Fury by Aaron Allston.)
40 ABY, Jedi Outpost, Sanctuary Moon of Endor
"Hey, Ben."
Ben jerked so hard that he almost fell off the tree platform, and he yanked his comlink from his belt. "Yeah?"
"Lining up final approach now," his friend in flight control confirmed. "Fifteen minutes."
"Thanks."
Taking the opportunity for some practice, Ben leapt off the platform rather than descend by the ladder, slowing his fall just enough to spare his knees as he landed in the ferns below. Then he set off at a run back toward the landing pad.
He had known his father was close for hours, but he hadn't wanted to be pacing a rut in the permacrete that whole time. He'd been extra nervy for the past two days, ever since that ghastly tremor of death had rolled through the Force, echoed by the horror of the Masters who had witnessed the disaster. Whatever had happened, something had gone horribly wrong.
Ben could feel that Dad was deeply agitated as the six black specks grew into the sharp figures of StealthXs, shedding speed and altitude. Shaken, even. It was a far cry from the cultured serenity he'd left with.
Learning from past mistakes, Dad had spent a lot of time with him in preparation for this run, even though Ben hadn't been invited to participate. They had dwelt on the sensitive and courageous person Jacen used to be, the goofy, well-intentioned nephew Luke had trained from childhood, the kind and empathetic cousin Ben should have had. Ben had seen glimpses of that Jacen, even extended periods of genuine care and affection that had reminded him of the best aspects of Uncle Han and Aunt Leia. That was what had drawn him to Jacen in the first place. But apparently the seeds of Jacen's fall had already been sown by then, a slow rot of compromise, expedience, and pride that had consumed him from the inside out.
Ben was still keeping the worst of his cousin's abuses to himself, although Dad had confessed that Jacen had been caught mind-rubbing him as early as five years ago. Ben knew he'd eventually have to tell Dad that Jacen had apparently continued mind-rubbing him whenever it had been convenient, sent him on rigged training missions meant to either kill him or mold him into a Sith, taught him to steal, to lie, to kill. Part of him wished he could just let those pieces of the past die without dredging them up again, but that wasn't a viable long-term strategy. Secrets had a way of hurting people, and Ben knew Dad had especially strong feelings about that. But it hadn't been the right moment for that conversation, not by a longshot. For now, it was better that Dad didn't know.
Instead, Dad had told him stories of better times, about the hapless creatures that had been charmed into Jacen's curious menageries, about the silly jokes he used to tell in an attempt to coax a smile out of Tenel Ka at the praxeum. Luke recalled the time the restless Sith ghost of Exar Kun had used a young and troubled Kyp Durron to strike him out of his body, when only the two-year-old Solo twins had been able to see and communicate with his spirit, and little Jacen had allowed Luke to use his hands to physically take up his lightsaber and defend himself. They talked about Jacen's exploits against the Shadow Academy and and the many other misadventures he and his sister had managed to survive, about Jacen's intense desire to do the right thing even at great personal expense, the crucial role he had played in the success of the ill-fated mission to destroy the voxyn at Myrkr, what he had suffered during his captivity among the Yuuzhan Vong, and how Jacen had turned that misery into a unique understanding that had finally won that war.
Not least of all, they remembered how Jacen had applied those skills to bring Luke back from the point of death after the reclamation of Coruscant. Ben had imagined how it might have been if the venom had run its course, if Dad had died when he'd been barely three years old, if he had grown up only knowing his father as a figure of legend and a ghost in a holoshrine. He had allowed his gratitude to briefly suppress that compulsion to avenge his mother, not because he was ready to forgive Jacen, but because that had been the whole point of the exercise. They couldn't do what had to be done unless they could strike from a place of compassion rather than hate. Ben couldn't deny that he still harbored that hate somewhere, but for all their sakes he let himself make some uneasy peace with the self-inflicted tragedy of Jacen's life.
And so Luke had been able to fly out to ambush Colonel Solo, intending to put his nephew down as efficiently as possible with nothing but resignation in his heart. Being left behind wasn't easy, accustomed as Ben was to the much more active role he had played in GAG, but he was trying to be more responsible and take orders from his Master like a proper Jedi instead of running off on his own all the time. He knew Dad wanted to trust him, even when he probably shouldn't, but Ben intended to earn that trust honestly this time, without presumptions or shortcuts. He'd tried the quick and easy path already.
Determined to set things right in his own mind, Ben had struggled to maintain that same neutral resignation in himself, but when that tremor had torn through the Force, all bets had been off. It had taken a few anxious seconds for Ben to verify that Dad hadn't been killed, but had certainly witnessed whatever had happened. Now they were back, and Ben was made of questions.
Master Hamner quietly joined him beside the landing pad. "Ben," he greeted him with a very military nod of the head. Master Ramis wasn't far behind. Master Cilghal was likely still in the infirmary, and Master Katarn wasn't cleared for duty yet. Master Durron and Master Horn were with Dad, coming down on their repulsors now. It was as much of the Council as could be had at short notice.
As Red Sword Flight landed and popped their canopies, a small army of mechanics raced out of the maintenance bay to secure and service the fighters. Luke jumped down, clawed off his helmet and tossed it to a passing tech as he strode away, pulling open the neck of his flight suit as though his restless energy had made the cockpit unusually claustrophobic. He gestured to his wingmates behind him, but they were already following. They all gathered in the space the mechanics had vacated, and nobody asked Ben to leave, so he didn't.
"All right," Master Durron seethed as soon as they had a modicum of privacy, "I'm sure I'm not the only one who needs to know what the hell happened! You had him, dead in your kriffing sights! I hope it wasn't a case of you getting sentimental at the last minute!"
Luke shot him a poisonous look, but didn't rise to the bait. "If he'd been alone, Jacen would be dead," he insisted. "But he had a little girl with him."
"A what?" Master Horn demanded, although there was no mistaking what had been said. "Who?"
"No idea." Luke continued pulling open his flight suit, untangling his life support harness and flinging it aside as if compelled to put some distance between himself and the near disaster. "I wasn't sure she was there until I'd nearly spaced them both, and I don't blast children if I can help it."
"Are you saying Colonel Solo is now in the habit of flying with a hostage?" Master Hamner asked.
"I can't speak to his current habits," Luke said. "All I know is what was in front of me, and we couldn't take that shot."
"Why was he out in a fighter in the first place?" Ben interjected. "Wasn't he supposed to be on the Anakin negotiating with the Corellians?"
"The whole Corellian delegation was a ruse," Luke explained. "Or, at least, that's the way it looks. Just an excuse to lure Jacen into a certain spot at a certain time."
Even without the specialized training Jacen had put him through before sending him to put a projectile through Dur Gejjen's brain, Ben could recognize an assassination setup when he saw one. Before another word could leave his mouth, everything suddenly aligned. The ruse, the target, the sudden wave of death . . . "They fired Centerpoint!"
The Masters exchanged glances, and nodded. "Seems that way," Master Horn agreed. "One minute we were looking at two whole task forces gearing up for a major battle, and the next it was just empty space."
"If Jacen had been on his Star Destroyer and not leading us away on a merry mynock chase, we'd have been wiped out, too," Master Horn observed.
Jedi Twool turned to stare out at the forest, his Rodian features unreadable without the shudder of chagrin rising off him, mirrored by Jedi Ti.
"This policy of mutual neglect between us and the Confederation is getting dangerous," Luke said. "We're all moving on Jacen at once and getting caught in the crossfire. Worse, our whole Alema task force was there running an op I knew nothing about—Han, Leia, Jaina, Zekk, and Jag—and they were also only a few minutes from being crushed into oblivion with the Second Fleet. I don't know why they were there or where they're going, but I hope they turn up here so we can start being better coordinated."
"And somehow Jacen still manages to slip away," Master Hamner surmised with a frown.
"That can happen when you're coward enough to hide behind little girls," Master Horn spat.
"If it's any consolation," Ben spoke up, "I don't think they'll be firing Centerpoint again for a while. After what we learned about it for our first mission, I know its internal systems don't like being bypassed. Whatever method they used this time, it's liable to be internally sabotaged already. They'll need some time to beat the system again."
"Any breathing room would be welcome," Luke agreed, looking as frustrated as ever. "They showed a lot of restraint this time, trying to isolate Jacen specifically, but if they get desperate enough, there's nothing to stop them from targeting Coruscant itself."
"Jacen can't let that go unanswered," Master Durron agreed. "He knows just as much about Centerpoint as Ben, and he's going to be back with a major assault in mind before it's operational again."
"Then I'd say we have a lot to think about," Luke concluded. "Now, I don't know about anyone else, but I need to dress down and decompress. Meet me at dinnertime if you have any good ideas."
Ben didn't have any good ideas, at least not at the moment. He wanted to help, but just didn't know how yet. It felt like being reduced to childhood again, and not in a good way. That was what had driven him to leave home in the first place, but running from the situation was what had gotten him into trouble.
As he wandered aimlessly through the grounds, Ben reflected on the trouble he used to think he had, the problem of being too near his father. For a man who couldn't meet the standard height requirements for enlisted infantry, Grand Master Skywalker cast a hulking shadow. Ben had been trying to escape it for years, but now that he'd been burned and wanted nothing more than to retreat out of the harsh glare, that shadow was hard to find. It was still there, intermittently, as Dad found it within himself to rise to their daily challenges, but between crises he would metaphorically lie down again.
It had been good to see him leading missions the way he used to, but Dad still wasn't quite right. He wasn't himself, and Ben was starting to worry that he might never quite find his stride again. Mom had left an awful hole behind.
Ben wanted to help, but just didn't know how.
He didn't know how.
The sound of a child's laughter unexpectedly lifted him out of his gloom, and Ben looked up to see little Petra in the clearing ahead enjoying some additional tumbling practice with Jedi Saskia. Malinza was watching from a fallen log on the sidelines, applauding her daughter's effort.
It was good to have them around. Time had a way of getting away from you if you let it, and Ben was glad they would be able to see Petra's childhood. She reminded him of that spunky little Hapan princess, Allana, and Kiara, the orphan he'd trekked home from Ziost. It really did seem to be a family weakness, rescuing little kids. Maybe it was some vague genetic memory from the time when a slave boy on Tatooine had been noticed and swept into galactic history by a wandering Jedi Master.
"I didn't think class was in session today," Ben observed, sitting down beside Malinza, glad of the company.
"The kid is a competitor," Malinza said, shaking her head. "Eventually she'll have to accept that she doesn't have what it takes to keep up with her Force-enabled classmates, but in the meantime she's determined to put the work in."
"She'll go a long way with that attitude," Ben said. "Funny, but it seems we're all confronting our personal limitations lately."
"I guess war does that to you," Malinza agreed with a bleak look that said she knew exactly what he meant. "Nothing like a crisis to bring out strengths you never knew you had, but at the same time remind you just how finite you really are."
Malinza had already had a crazy ride, Ben knew. After spending her whole life on Bakura, she had finally ventured into the thick of things on Coruscant only to find herself a fugitive of war within a few months. It wasn't quite the professional springboard she'd hoped for, but she was still committed. Now, with Jaina gone, she was the closest thing to a sister he had.
"How does Dad seem to you?" Ben asked, cutting to the chase. Thirteen years his senior, she'd known Luke long before he had.
Malinza frowned. "He's dragging," she said. "He's going through the motions, but I can tell he isn't entirely engaged, just trying to fake it until he makes it."
"Yeah." Ben kicked the toe of his boot through the carpet of tree needles on the ground. "He hasn't been himself."
Malinza tilted her head with a skeptical squint. "I wouldn't quite say that. You've never known your dad without your mom. Unfortunately, I'd say this is exactly who he is without her, at least until he remembers how to be alone." She smiled, an expression that was more irony than amusement. "That's what I'm doing, too, as per his orders. We'll see who figures it out first."
"While the rest of us just sit around hoping for the best," Ben groaned. "I hate waiting. I want to do something, but everything I try just seems to make things worse. So here I am, just sitting on my butt burning oxygen while Dad drifts. I don't think he trusts me in the field yet, not really, so I'm stuck here."
Malinza almost laughed, but she bit her tongue. "Well, pardon me for the observation, but as a mother I can say that sometimes the best way for children to help is by staying where their parents put them and keeping out of trouble until they get back. Seems like you tried to skip that step."
Ben glowered at her, but resisted the urge to throw back a snippy reply. He'd been a soldier, a law enforcement officer, a prisoner of war. He'd travelled the galaxy alone, saved lives and taken them, survived exposure, starvation, and abandonment. And now he was being told to stand still and keep out of the way like a child in a grocery market. "Doesn't sound like much fun," he said.
"No," Malinza agreed, "but I'm sure your dad appreciates it. He's dealing with a lot right now, and it would help if he doesn't have to worry about where you are or what you're doing. Eventually he'll invite you into a more active role, but you have to prove you can keep still first."
"That's . . . surprisingly hard."
"Sounds like a challenge, then."
Ben looked up. The way Malinza was dogging the point had finally convinced him she was serious.
"Listen," she said, "sometimes you just have to start over, and if you're trying to fix what you have with your dad, I think that might be a good idea. A long time ago you told me you helped build the house you all lived in on Ossus. What's the first thing you had to do?"
"Lay the foundation," Ben admitted, allowing her to make her point, although he could already see where it was headed.
"And if the foundation was bad, would you keep building on it? You'd have to break it up and start fresh, no exceptions or shortcuts."
Ben waved away the rest of the pep talk. "All right, all right. I get it."
"Hey, you asked," Malinza insisted. "Let me just give you an example, and then I'll stop bugging you about it. Once upon a time, my biggest fear was a page of advanced mathematics. It was just basic school stuff, normally for twelve-year-olds, but I was seven. Your dad used to help me with my homework when he came to visit. Luke's a pretty smart guy, but whenever we happened across some brand of calculation that wasn't his specialty, he wasn't too proud to take the time to sit down with the text like any other twelve-year-old and figure it out. Sometimes you have to circle back and fill in the gaps, and there's nothing shameful in that." She patted him on the shoulder, less like an affectionate sister and more like a coach sending him into a cage fight. "Prove you can do it. The rest will follow."
Ben tried to scowl, but it became a grin. "Well, now I'll feel like a sissy if I don't, even though I know that was your plan all along."
Malinza lifted her chin and managed to look both demure and smug. "Whatever motivates you," she said with a shrug.
She was probably right. Ben had tried to jump into adulthood with both feet, and he had never felt quite prepared. He had assumed Jacen would always be there to help him keep up, to give him the chance he needed to prove himself. In retrospect, it was chilling to recognize how naive he'd been, how willing Jacen had been to take advantage of his enthusiasm. Perspective could change everything, and now he could see how faulty his foundation really was. It was that quick and easy path again, something he was recognizing everywhere now that he was looking for it.
"Your dad told me you already asked him not to give you any special treatment," Malinza ventured when he didn't answer.
"Yeah," Ben agreed, kicking up the needles again. "I did."
His biggest fear used to be the threat of the social disgrace that would be Dad, as Grand kriffing Master of the Jedi Order, plucking him off the war front and dumping him at the academy with the other younglings to knuckle down to his training from the bottom. But wasn't that a tacit expectation of special treatment? What right did he have to buck the line? He hadn't been explicitly determined to be a Jedi before, but what had he been trying to be? He'd been willing to carry a lightsaber, to accept training from Jacen unsanctioned by the Order, trying to reap the benefits of his heritage without subjecting himself to the rules, trying to be something other. Just like Jacen. Above the rules. Special.
Just the thought made him cringe now.
Time to start over. This was what he'd asked for, a chance to begin again. Ben would put himself on the sidelines until his Master recognized that he was ready, and that was probably the most adult thing he could possibly do. It might look like he was doing nothing, but it felt like everything, the first solid step in the right direction, something to build on.
Restraint was something Dad had been trying to teach him for a long time, along with its sister virtues patience, fortitude, and humility. The lesson wasn't flashy or fun, but trying to get by without it was like firing a warhead without the guidance system, dangerous for all concerned.
"Okay," he huffed. "I'll prove I can stand still and keep quiet. How long do you think I'll have to manage it before he'll let me level up?"
"If I know your dad, not very long," Malinza said. "He needs all the good help he can get."
There were no artificial lights illuminating the outpost after dark, nothing that would signal the presence of advanced technology to a wandering probe. The landing pad was still warm, and a vast depth of stars slowly spun overhead like foam on some cosmic sea.
Luke breathed deeply in the aromatic forest air and sighed. It wasn't that he was trying to find the motivation to go on so much as the will to absorb the frustration of failure. He'd have to try again. And again. And again.
Making the conscious choice to dispatch Jacen wasn't an exercise Luke enjoyed, and it required an enormous effort to put himself in the proper frame of mind to do the job. Leia, Han, and Jaina had already preemptively forgiven him for what obviously had to be done, just waiting for it to be over so they could all grieve together. It was supposed to be a brief agony of necessity, but they were all trapped in it because every time Luke worked up the determination to take a kill shot, there was inexplicably a kid in the way, first Ben and now some nameless girl. Was that just rotten luck, or was the universe trying to tell him something?
Luke deliberately relived those few moments of contact he'd shared with the child in Jacen's fighter, bright and innocent, surprisingly strong in the Force but very young and untrained. Terrified. She'd been afraid of the battle, afraid of the chorus of death in the Force, afraid of Jacen's panicked rage, afraid of him. Luke couldn't blame her for that. After all, he'd been just a few cannon bolts short of reducing Jacen to a fireball. The ruin wrought by Centerpoint Station just a few minutes later must have been especially hard on someone so young and sensitive.
Who she was remained a mystery, as did Jacen's reason for holding her. Luke hoped with all his heart that Jacen hadn't plucked some innocent from her home with the intention of corrupting her into some kind of Sith apprentice now that he'd lost access to Ben. That would be intolerable, too much like the way Palpatine had taken Mara.
Mara.
Luke's desperate desire to wake from that dismal reality and find himself ten years in the past had finally faded. Now he wished he could wake ten years into the future when the misery was long over, after they had somehow learned to rebuild their lives. He knew it wasn't healthy to keep wishing Mara back, but he couldn't let go, even when there was nothing left to hold. He'd never betrayed her before, and he couldn't bring himself to start now.
He knew he shouldn't go on wishing for more than he'd been given. Just once, Luke had let the temptation to test the limits get the better of him, and he had tried reaching for her in the Force, reaching farther than was probably advisable, hoping that if there was any single spirit he would be able to find and call back from the empyrean it would be hers. But there was nothing. He couldn't call it emptiness any more than an ocean could be called empty, teeming with life but immense and anonymous. He might as well try finding a single grain of sand in the Dune Sea.
He missed her so much. He missed her support and her pithy advice, her spontaneous affection and her unsolicited criticisms—right or wrong—that always seemed to illuminate the way forward. He still wasn't used to the silence where her thoughts used to be, the darkness where once there had been light, the emptiness he had to carry with him from day to day.
There were so many concerns he would have put to Mara if he could, hoping she could quiet the noise of all the problems clamoring for his attention. How should he balance the new responsibilities that came as their coalition grew? Should they risk contacting Niathal to clarify the terms of their conscientious rebellion? Where was Hapes in all this? Should they send someone to check on Tenel Ka? What were they going to do about Centerpoint?
He would also tell her how much he missed her, that he loved her, and that she was the best thing that had ever happened to him. She probably already knew that, but Luke wished he could tell her all the same.
But still there was nothing. He'd have to face the next day alone, and the next day, and the next, until that whole horrible war was over. Somehow.
Luke closed his eyes, sighed, and abandoned himself to that great anonymous immensity.
It was better than the noise.
The recent inexplicable absence of the Hapans from all arenas of the war had been a quiet but persistent concern in all corners of the Endor outpost for a while, so it was a welcome surprise when the Queen Mother herself arrived in the system with an entire royal delegation requesting a private audience with Grand Master Skywalker.
Ben, of course, was desperately curious, but private meant private, and Tenel Ka disappeared into the dense forest with Dad and a picked force of personal guards, attended at a distance by Masters Cilghal and Sebatyne. Ben tried not to look like he was loitering, waiting in the branches of a tree with a commanding view of their return path.
Whatever the problem was, Ben was glad that Tenel Ka felt she could come to Dad with it. Ben had always been impressed by her, someone with gumption enough to survive the intrigue endemic to Hapan society, and spine enough to hold the Hapan throne even if she preferred to think of herself as a Jedi and had more in common with her mother's Dathomiri warrior clan.
How those two cultures could be so similar and yet so completely different had always amused him, both of them isolated and fiercely matriarchal with no real regard for the male of the species, high Hapan luxury and ceremony contrasted with rustic Dathomiri practicality, one with a cultural antipathy for Jedi, the other withholding social standing from anyone who couldn't wield the ancient magic. Somehow, in a single year more than three decades ago, Luke Skywalker had managed to make himself infamous to both.
On Dathomir, Dad was a "male witch" who challenged the foundations of their tribal society simply by existing. He had reintroduced them to the Force as the source of their magic, leaving a lasting impression on their culture and on a warrior named Teneniel Djo in particular, who had originally tried to capture him and claim marital rights. To the Hapans, it had been enough that he was a Jedi, the traditional nemesis of their piratical ancestors, but the tables had turned when Luke had earned the friendship of Prince Isolder, the only surviving legitimate heir of Queen Mother Ta'a Chume. That turn was complete when Teneniel finally abandoned her designs on Luke and married Isolder instead, succeeding Ta'a Chume as Queen Mother.
That whole uneasy truce between Hapes and Dathomir was incarnate in their daughter, Tenel Ka, the Hapan Jedi Queen with a Dathomiri name who still inwardly bent the knee to the Grand Master. Ben had always known that she and Dad quietly enjoyed a unique understanding, that Tenel Ka would always consider Master Skywalker a confidant and mentor even though her royal duties had obliged her to renounce the rank of Jedi Knight.
Ben tried to take the opportunity to meditate, recognizing that time wasn't given to be wasted, but even then he was more nosy than contemplative. He could easily identify his father and the Queen Mother in the forest, about a quarter kilometer to the northeast. He could feel their conversation, or at least as much as their emotions could convey, and those were carefully managed, as befitted seasoned Jedi.
Tenel Ka was upset, even sorrowful, but resigned and resolute. Dad was in dad mode, supportive, calm, empathetic. Ben hoped that whatever this was would shake Luke out of the lethargy that had been holding him down. Nothing seemed to motivate him quite so much as an opportunity to solve a problem for someone else.
A spark of satisfaction cut through the gloom, and Ben's instinctive conclusion was that the solution to this problem was simpler than Luke had expected. A cautious hope bloomed in Tenel Ka, and with it profound gratitude.
A smile spread across Ben's face. The whole thing smelled like a mission. He was sick of just sitting around Endor like an invalid. His joints still ached a bit, but otherwise he felt as fit as he ever had.
At the same time, he remembered that the new discipline wouldn't allow him to push his way onto any strike team that his father—his Master—would choose to assemble. He'd have to wait to be invited.
He'd keep quiet, but he really wanted to be invited.
Ben's hand darted in front of his face to catch a conifer cone before it could bounce off his forehead. A pulse of amused approval in the Force made him look down.
"Aren't you too old to be eavesdropping?" Master Katarn demanded with a smile.
"Aren't you too old to be escaping from the med ward?" Ben quipped back. "Master Cilghal's gonna strap you down next time."
"I didn't escape," Master Katarn insisted. "She turned me loose. 'Light and limited exercise,' she said, so here I am, enjoying a light and limited walk."
Ben got his feet under him and dropped out of the tree. "All right, Master, but is it supposed to be a coincidence that your little walk was angled in this particular direction?"
Master Katarn nodded ambiguously. "It might serve a dual purpose, I'll admit."
"You're just trying to be sure Dad sees you on your feet and doesn't write you off if there's work to do."
"If true," Master Katarn qualified, "can you blame me? All this secrecy and mystery smells like a mission coming, and I think I owe Jacen some mischief after what went down on Coruscant."
Ben raised an eyebrow. "You want payback?"
"Oh, no," Master Katarn assured him casually. "I just want to see the look on his face when he realizes I'm still kicking."
It would be a surprise, for sure, but somehow Ben wasn't as impressed as he should have been. Of course Master Katarn had survived. It would take more than a lightsaber to the chest, a slog through the undercity sludge, and a raging epidemic to snuff Kyle Katarn.
More than that, Ben admired the man's forbearance. Kyle had every right to hold a grudge, but he didn't seem to personally bear Jacen any ill will, or else had it so tightly controlled that Ben couldn't sense it. The violence was just a tragic necessity, a professional difference of opinion that couldn't go unanswered. It was something to strive for. Ben's body had healed, but he was still nursing his psychological wounds, the deep and bitter sting of betrayal. He'd have to do a better job of letting that go, or he wouldn't be fit for duty either. Dad might not be quite at the top of his game, but he was watching for that.
When the Hapan entourage reemerged from the forest, they seemed to be moving with greater urgency. The Grand Master and the Queen Mother were close behind, her shimmering blue gown and his severe black robes both conspicuously anomalous against the foliage. There was still a tension between them, but it was nearly masked by Tenel Ka's almost childlike hope and trust in her old Master, and his warm sense of generosity and assurance. Ben felt his heart thumping with excitement. Whatever this was, it was bringing out that spark in Dad he'd been wanting to see.
Luke's eyes narrowed as they approached, and he paused on the path. "Kyle, are you cleared to be out here?" he demanded.
Master Katarn offered a jaunty but very careful salute, still stiff in the chest. "Wouldn't be here otherwise, boss."
Luke glanced back at Cilghal for confirmation, and she nodded. "All right," he said, "come on." He paused again and looked at Ben, looked him up and down, and then straight through his soul. "You, too," he decided, turning toward the outpost. The Hapan guards quietly fell back and allowed him to lead the way.
"Looks like we passed muster," Master Katarn whispered as he and Ben fell into line.
"Great," Ben said, not feeling quite as sarcastic as his tone implied. "I wonder what we just volunteered for."
By the time Luke ushered them all into the largest of the shabby conference rooms, the rest of the Council had assembled—Master Ramis, Master Hamner, Master Durron, Master Horn, and even the Masters Solusar. Master Hamner ceded his place to Tenel Ka and moved down the table as Masters Sebatyne, Cilghal, and Katarn slid into the remaining seats. Ben lurked along the wall, not wanting to seem presumptuous.
"We won't waste time with pleasantries," Luke began, declining to take a seat. He gestured to Tenel Ka. "Her Majesty the Queen Mother has confessed that in the past weeks her fleet was withdrawn from our cause under duress. Apparently, in an effort to force the Consortium back into the Alliance, Jacen personally infiltrated her residence and kidnapped her daughter, the princess Allana. He's been trying to coerce Hapan cooperation ever since, holding her as hostage."
A silent gasp swept the room. The girl in Jacen's ship . . . Allana was just four years old, almost inseparable from her mother unless under heavy guard. Ben couldn't decide whether it was more incredible that Jacen had defeated Hapan security or that he would threaten the kid's life. Somehow Jacen was still full of surprises.
"We could not justify returning our fleet to Colonel Solo," Tenel Ka explained soberly, "but nor could we risk the Chume'da's life by defying him. My hand is forced now by the status of Centerpoint Station. Our people have been fifteen years recovering from the losses sustained the last time that weapon was fired, and its return to active use is intolerable. I came here prepared to put my duty above my daughter's life."
"Which won't be necessary," Luke interjected, "because the Jedi Order is going to intervene."
"How?" Master Hamner asked, brows furrowed. "By publicly denouncing Jacen? Kidnapping and threatening children won't play well with the public."
"No," Luke clarified, "by storming the Anakin Solo and taking her back. Denunciations can wait."
It would have been a laughable proposition not so long ago, but nobody was laughing now. Dad had already proven that Colonel Solo's flagship wasn't impenetrable, and this time it sounded like he intended to bring backup.
Ben felt a new rush of suspense clutch his heart. He wanted more than anything to be included in this mission. He had to face Jacen again, had to prove himself again, his mind clear and unfogged by a lust for revenge. He had to be there for Dad, had to redeem himself after making such a hash of the last occasion. He was so eager to volunteer that he could have jumped out of his skin, but he forced the impulse down and said nothing.
Restraint, he reminded himself. Patience. Maturity. Discipline. Dad was watching for it.
"I know it might sound simplistic," Luke was explaining, "but don't worry, this isn't us going off half-cocked again. I'm not prepared to trust Jacen with anybody's child anymore, and the sooner we get her out the better. Without her, Jacen loses all control over the Consortium, and Hapes can throw in with us again. When it becomes public that this rescue was even necessary, it will bolster the legitimacy of our position, and Niathal might reconsider Jacen's role within the Alliance. A quick and decisive fall from grace might destabilize the regime to the point that they consider suing for peace."
Master Katarn frowned thoughtfully. "I say do it," he agreed. "Go in quick and hot, make it count. More than cruel, it'll make Jacen look incompetent, strip some more veneer off him."
"Maybe we should make it count in other ways while we're at it," Master Durron suggested. "Can't we also do something about Centerpoint? Since we're friends to all but allies to none these days, why should the Confederation get off without a smack for bad behavior?"
"If Jacen does what I suspect he'll do, those objectives could be more closely aligned than you think," Luke explained. "I feel like there's going to be a very elegant way forward that hasn't quite become clear yet, so stay loose and keep your minds open. Kenth, let's start allocating resources and assigning pilots. At least a whole squadron, maybe two. I need to know what I have to work with."
His eyes were closed, but Ben was still aware of everything around him, representations in his imagination, different shades of light and pulsing frequencies of life. He could remain unfocused amid the depth, or he could be minutely aware of the veins on a single leaf. There was peace there, perceiving the rhythms of life without making any effort to control them, content to just be a part of them.
Relinquishing that illusion of control had been a personal challenge. Ben had been trying to exert control over everything in his life long enough that he had begun to recognize his limitations. Even if he learned nothing else from the lives of both Anakin Skywalker and Jacen Solo, he could see that grasping too hard only destroyed things. Order was good, and self-control was essential, but no finite being could control the whole galaxy, or even his whole life. The effort consumed people.
Instead, Ben just tried to relax, to see himself as he existed in that remarkable riot of life all around him, and—for the moment—to be satisfied.
The luminous entity sitting beside him made it difficult to focus on anything else, shining with the concentrated intensity of a blast furnace's crucible. Dad was extended much more deeply into the broad currents of the universe, finding some solace in the steady timelessness which existed beyond the tragic storms of their day in history. To be so receptive to the lives and sentiments of whole populations was almost to feel numb, and to hear so many disparate voices at once eventually mimicked silence.
Ben would have been glad to see his father enjoying such a transcendent moment if it wasn't part of a larger pattern. He had begun to worry that Dad's abandonment to the will of the Force was hovering on the edge of apathy. Luke had been disappearing into it at every opportunity, returning to it like a drug, retreating into a state of mind that made all their griefs and problems seem irrelevant. Dad was still making the effort on those occasions when he was actively engaged in governing the Order and directing their war effort, but Ben was increasingly getting the impression that Luke was merely tolerating his continued participation in the affairs of the living until he could make good his next escape.
Ben didn't like to think that this was as good as it was ever going to get, that Dad would always be hurt and withdrawn, motivated only by a bleak sense of necessity. It was better than not having Dad at all, but he worried about him.
"What are you looking for?" Luke asked, his voice barely rising above the ambient noise of the forest.
It wasn't a demand, but just a gentle nudge, and not without some warm amusement. "I don't know," Ben admitted. "Nothing, I guess."
He felt Dad smile. "Good. Sometimes it's better to just listen."
Ben opened his eyes, too distracted by his own thoughts to return to his meditation. After a moment, Dad did the same. The view from the rooftop landing pad was remarkable, but it was routine now.
"So," Ben asked, "while you were listening, did you hear anything?"
"From the Force, no," Dad admitted, "but Wedge had some intriguing news for me this morning. Some unforeseen but important pieces of our plan should be falling into place very soon."
"Well, that's good." Ben had hoped that somebody was feeling more inspired than he was, or else poor Allana would have to fend for herself.
Luke's comlink pinged. His quiet sigh was the only indication that he dreaded being called back into the ever-shifting affairs below, but he answered it. "Yes?"
"Master Skywalker, we have a live holocomm from the Millennium Falcon. They're waiting for you."
"Thanks." Dad was already on his feet. Ben accepted the hand he offered, and let him pull him up. "C'mon. That has to mean success or complete disaster."
They rode the lift plate down into the nerve center of the outpost, and when they arrived in the communications center they were greeted by a live hologram of Han and Leia. Dad dismissed the duty technician with a nod.
"Hey, old buddy," Uncle Han greeted him with a smile.
"It's good to see you," Dad said, looking like he wanted nothing so much as a hug right then. "A live holocomm transmission all the way from Bimmiel? That's an extravagance for you, isn't it?"
"Big news calls for a big show," Aunt Leia agreed. "Luke, Alema Rar is dead."
Yes. Yes! Ben held his breath as Dad visibly wilted with relief. That had to be it, the unfinished business that was holding him back. If not vengeance, at least it was closure. Ben still didn't believe Alema had killed his mother, but it was enough that Dad believed it. Now maybe he could finally crawl out from beneath that burden of grief and guilt he'd been carrying ever since it happened.
"She gave you no choice?" Luke asked, as he was obliged to do.
"None," Leia assured him. "Jag is badly injured. Zekk is a bit . . . perturbed, but coming out of it. Jaina is unhurt. Also, the asteroid was destroyed."
Luke's expression turned skeptical. "That seems a little excessive."
Han snorted. "Not our doing, Luke. An unmarked frigate attacked while we were doing our support-role thing. They launched shuttles that planted fission bombs all over the asteroid. Then they left. Alema's weird little Sith ship got away, too, but it was unoccupied."
"And there's no hint as to who blew up the asteroid or why?"
"A complete mystery. And you know how I feel about complete mysteries."
"You don't care, as long as they don't interfere with you getting paid."
Uncle Han graced them with his famous grin. "Something like that."
"We're going to transport Jag to you," Leia interjected, dragging them back on course. "Jaina and Zekk will escort us in."
Dad nodded. "It'll be good to see you." Then he glanced at the data display, taking note of the time elapsed since that signal was received, something Ben had been on the point of bringing to his attention. "Another few seconds and the odds of this contact being traced go up by an order of magnitude."
"See you in a couple of days, old buddy." Uncle Han obliged, reaching out of frame and terminating the connection at his end. The hologram winked out, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.
Ben watched his father very carefully, and made no secret of it. Dad was still absorbing the news, looking like he just wanted to sit down for a while but didn't for the sake of appearances. He felt no vengeful satisfaction, just a moment of pity for the waste of Alema's life, a twinge of regret, and a flood of genuine relief. But if Ben had been hoping that would lighten the gloom, it seemed like he was going to be disappointed. Dad still looked exhausted. Maybe it was just too soon to tell.
"Dad," he said, stepping closer.
"Yes?"
"Are you all right?"
Luke nodded. "Better. Mara's murderer has met justice, and we can put that uncertainty behind us."
"Yes."
Dad turned to face him, and Ben knew he must have caught the lack of conviction in his voice. It wasn't easy to deceive him, and Ben didn't have the stomach for it anymore. Part of him wanted Dad to ask so they could rehash the possibility that Jacen was truly to blame, but the rest of him didn't want to disabuse his father of the assumption that the whole tragedy was closed. They needed Dad back, and at full power.
For a second, it looked as if Luke would ask. But the impulse passed, and his curiosity took a step back, resolved to give Ben and his doubts room to breathe before forcing a discussion. "Why don't you go get in some training?" he suggested. "I have some thinking to do."
That wasn't what Ben had been hoping to hear, but he nodded. "Let me know if you need anything," he insisted.
Dad took a moment to squeeze his shoulder before leaving the communication center. "Sure, Ben."
He really didn't feel much like training, but Ben was still working on those broader habits of self-mastery, so he went anyway, remembering what Malinza had said. Dad wanted him to go train, so he would go train. It might be a waste of time, but at least it would be a gesture of good faith. Earning trust took time.
As he wandered out onto the exercise field, he saw he wasn't the only one there. A casual group of study buddies had gathered to try their skills against one another before formal lessons convened again.
Ben immediately felt awkward. He didn't have many friends among the Temple apprentices, which was entirely his own fault. Being the Grand Master's son would have made him enough of an oddity without his aversion to academy life being common knowledge. He wouldn't blame those kids who had stayed the course since childhood for thinking he must be a horrible snob. All the while he had been preoccupied with trying to get away from Dad, they had each been spending their days hoping for the privilege of a few moments of his time. Something to think about.
"Hey, Ben," Seha said, thankfully allaying that awkwardness before it could fully rear its head. She was older than him but relatively new to the Jedi lifestyle. Ben considered her a friend, although they didn't share much besides her being an accomplice to his escape from the Jedi Temple a few months ago, someone else who had believed in Jacen only to be sadly disillusioned. Maybe they did have more in common besides red hair and late apprenticeship. "Looking for some company?"
"I wouldn't object to some," Ben said. "I'm supposed to be out training, and I have been spending an awful lot of time alone these days."
"Well, come on, then," Seha said, beckoning him farther out onto the grass. "That's what we're supposed to be doing. Nobody will mind if you join us."
Some narrow glances from certain individuals let Ben know Seha didn't necessarily speak for the group, but he ignored it.
"How are your lightsaber skills these days?" Seha asked, offering him a training weapon.
"Not everything they should be," Ben confessed, considering the hilt in his hand. It was a low-energy blade, not strong enough to cut, but it would give you a jolt and a burn you wouldn't soon forget. It was a humiliating downgrade after carrying a real one, but considering how badly he'd accidentally injured Zekk, Ben couldn't blame Jaina for confiscating the lightsaber Jacen had given him, or Dad for keeping it. That was another privilege he'd have to earn back.
"That makes me feel a little better, then," Seha laughed. "I'm still a beginner, so I wouldn't mind some tips." She ignited her blade and made a few hesitant passes at him. Ben deflected easily but not dismissively, trying to build her confidence. "Is it true that they pit us against a Master in the final trials?"
"For our own good," Ben told her, more appreciative of the practice in hindsight. He advanced an attack of his own, keeping her on her guard. "Uncle Han always says it's not enough to beat the remote if you really want to make it out there. The galaxy can be a pretty nasty place, and they wouldn't be doing their job if they didn't try to prepare us."
"True enough," Seha agreed. A flurry of rapid strikes almost took Ben by surprise. "But, you know, the most important thing isn't how hard you hit, it's—"
"—it's how often you get up," Ben finished with a tolerant smile. "Yeah, Dad uses that one at home, too."
It was true, though, like most things Dad said, and he'd learned it the hard way over the past sixty unforgiving years. Ben frowned, realizing that that was what he was waiting for. Mom's death had hit Dad harder than anything before, and part of him still hadn't gotten back up. It had started to feel like that moment when you realize the basic medkit wasn't going to cut it, and you might have a serious problem.
"How is your dad?" Seha asked quietly, apparently more interested in conversation than in sparring practice.
"He's hanging in there." Ben didn't want to incite a crisis of confidence, but he wasn't going to lie either.
Seha frowned, turning to walk farther from the group. "He was always kind to me," she said, "though we'd only spoken a few times before the evacuation. We'd hoped he'd be the one leading our mission to Coruscant."
She sounded sincerely hurt. Knowing what he did about that mission, that it had been designed to fail in killing Jacen but secretly succeed in planting a tracer on him, Ben suspected that Dad had declined to participate because he knew he could get away with it. Whenever the skids met the turf and Jacen was truly under the gun, Dad was always in the first rank, mostly out of a grim sense of duty and the desire to spare everyone else the task, but he'd been delegating everything he could. It was like watching a monarch preparing his lieutenants for a change of administration, a change nobody else seemed to want.
"He's fading a bit each day," Seha whispered, biting her lip, "like he's setting the Order straight for the last time, stepping back little by little until one day we'll look up and he'll be gone."
She was surprisingly emotional about it, and Ben had to wonder whether he should attribute that to stress or an especially sharp empathic instinct. Raised and orphaned in the underlevels of Coruscant, sponsored into the Order by Jacen, maybe she was just sensitive to the loss of parental figures. Ben didn't give any outward sign that he privately shared the same concern, now put to words. "I think he's just worn thin," he suggested. "This whole thing has really wrung out the family."
"I hope you're right." Seha tried to compose herself with a discreet sniffle. "This would be a really bad time for him to retire."
"You said it," Ben agreed. They were all craving leadership, a hero to rally around, and while Dad was still giving them that in fits and starts, Seha was right to say it was just a fading echo of what he'd once been. It may not have been the original intention, but the entire New Jedi Order pulsed to Luke Skywalker's heartbeat, and while eventual succession was inevitable, trying to navigate a shock like that at a time like this would be daunting. Dad must know that, or else he would have probably stepped away already, but he did seem to be signaling that his days at the helm were numbered.
None of them was ready to accept that, Ben least of all. Now that he'd isolated the thought, it was intolerable. Holding himself together in the aftermath of what had happened was a strain that was testing him in new and cruel ways, and Dad was everything he had left. If he'd come to his senses just in time to watch his father's final decline, he wasn't sure how he could bear it.
"I'm sorry," Ben said, handing the training weapon back to Seha, "but would you excuse me? I feel like I should go check on him. We just had some . . . some news, and I'm still not sure how Dad's taking it."
Seha nodded emphatically. "Of course. Do what you have to."
After all, they'd all been trained to trust their feelings, and Ben's were pulling him back up to that roof pad.
He'd barely reentered the outpost when he was spotted by one of the infirmary Jedi. "Oh, Ben!" the other said, flagging him down and offering him a large white duraplast bottle of rattling tablets. "Could you do me a favor and run this to your dad's quarters? Master Cilghal refilled it for him. Thanks!"
Ben didn't have a chance to offer so much as a word before the apprentice healer was gone again. He didn't mind the errand, but he was a little perturbed by it. He wasn't aware that Dad was on anything that had to be prescribed out of the infirmary, so of course he read the label without so much as a twinge of guilt.
It looked like a long list of naturopathics rather than hard pharmaceuticals. For Supplemental Cardiac Support.
That hollow feeling inside Ben only deepened. He was pretty sure there was nothing wrong with Dad's heart that a vitamin could fix, but what did he know? The idea that Cilghal was worried had him worried.
He ran the meds to their quarters, and again headed for the roof pad.
When Ben rode the lift back up there, he found Luke exactly where he'd been that morning, cross-legged on the weathered permacrete, eyes partially closed, his presence diffused over a thousand kilometers in every direction, just drifting. Ben hesitated, not sure yet what he intended to say, but driven by a subtle pressure that had been building for weeks. Deciding to be honest rather than clever, he walked right in and sat down opposite Luke, mirroring his posture. He didn't attempt to share the meditation this time, but just waited for his father to return to the common plane of existence.
He was waiting for a while. After a full five minutes, Ben was sure Dad was deliberately making him wait. He drew a quiet breath and banished all impatience from his mind, determined to pass that test, determined not to be the first to break the silence. He could wait. He would prove it.
A forest breeze ruffled through their clothes and their hair, a reminder that they were alive when they might otherwise have been statues.
"Your thoughts betray you, Ben," Dad finally said, though he seemed pleased by his performance.
Ben couldn't quite bring himself to smile. "Betray me? Do they stab me in the back, or do they just give me a swift kick in the butt?"
It made Dad smile, anyway. "It's true," he granted, "under many circumstances being betrayed by your emotions will do you no harm. But it's still best to remain aware of the fact that you're expressing them so clearly. Transmitting them for anyone sufficiently sensitive to feel."
Be humble. Don't sass. Take advice. "All right."
The passive response piqued Dad's interest, and Ben finally felt him fully engage in the exchange, like a rockcrawler sinking its treads into a cliff face. "You think something's wrong," he observed. "Wrong with me."
Ben shrugged. "Wrong is kind of one of those relative things," he said. "If I think something is wrong and you think it's right, which one of us is correct?"
Dad nodded, granting the point. "I suspect I would be. It's the whole Master-apprentice, father-son, wise old man-foolish young man thing."
"Right," Ben said, hearing some of that snark creep back into his voice. "It's nice that to be older is to be always right. I can't wait to be older."
"So?"
Ben didn't answer right away, pausing to gather his jumbled thoughts. This was important, and he didn't want to blow it, but diplomacy had never been his strong suit. Best to just be honest. "I'm trying to figure out why you don't have any energy."
Dad was bemused. "I have energy. It's waiting, in reserve."
"Yeah . . . maybe. Except your energy used to empower other people, too. Get them moving. Make them enthusiastic. Not anymore. Ever since Mom was killed, you've been like someone with a landspeeder resting on his back. Crushed flat, hardly able to move because of the pain. I mean, me too. But for me, over time, that landspeeder has slipped off, mostly. I kind of expected that when we learned that the one who'd killed her was captured or dead, the landspeeder would be gone from your back, too. That you'd be able to move again."
Dad frowned, still not getting it. "I can move."
Ben twisted his face into a dubious expression. "I'm not so sure. And I'm trying to figure out why."
"Let's do some lightsaber training," Luke suggested, a lighthearted threat. "You'll see more of me moving than you want to."
Ben shook his head, trying not to get frustrated. "You're still not you," he insisted. "People are asking questions. Things like, When is Luke Skywalker going to find his center and make everything better again? Nobody knows what to tell them."
"Make things better?" Luke scoffed, an indignant laugh finally piercing the apathy. "You mean snap my fingers, end this war, and cause flower petals to rain down on all civilized worlds?"
Ben grinned. "Yeah, just like that." But then he put the banter aside. "No, I think they just mean, when are you going to really take charge again? Of the Jedi, our role in the war? Lead, not just direct? Because that will make a difference."
Rather than perk up, Luke slumped beneath the expectation as if it added yet another weight to his growing burdens. "Oh, Ben," he sighed. "They're asking that sort of question out of a misguided sense of what I can accomplish. They've based their impressions of what I can do on things that happened when I was a younger man with blind luck and boundless energy . . . and when you could count all the known Force-users in the galaxy on the fingers of one hand. Other Jedi can do what I do."
The disappointment was sharp, and it stung. "No, they can't," Ben insisted, forcing himself to be calm, not to be angry, and not to let his eyes suddenly well with tears. "They can't be Luke Skywalker."
Dad looked away. He clearly had no intention of trying to reclaim his place at the tip of the spear, already fundamentally defeated and resigned to the fact. It felt like he was slipping away despite anything Ben could do or say. "You can't turn back time," he explained sadly. "It's not a landspeeder resting on my back, it's the weight of years and events. I can't cast them off, and even if I could, I'd undo everything I've learned from them. Today I'm more useful as a teacher, a distributor of resources. That's my role. I really ought to be thinking about grooming a viable candidate to become the next Grand Master."
Ben listened in stunned disbelief, too stricken to feel any resentment. Dad was telling him it was over, that he was too spent, too tired, and too old for this, but Ben couldn't believe that. Dad wasn't getting up this time because he didn't believe that he could, because he didn't want to anymore.
Dad had been trying to escape for a while in between doing what was necessary, navigating each crisis while also attempting to resign, trying to cede more authority to the Council, and privately longing to disappear. It was no wonder playing dead over Kashyyyk had come so naturally to him.
That thought shot an icy bolt through Ben, and suddenly a thousand parallels aligned in terrible clarity.
Dad wasn't getting up because he didn't want to.
He didn't want to.
Ben jumped to his feet, staring down at his father and trembling with sudden panic. He was haunted by that terrible holo of his grandmother's death, Cilghal's pills, and Seha's fears. He realized that Luke had been living solely out of an obligation to everyone else, and was losing the will to maintain it. He was actually losing the will to live before their eyes.
Dad stared back at him with a quizzical expression. "What is it?" he asked.
He was dying, and he didn't even realize it.
"I don't know how to say it," Ben stammered. "What are the right words?" He tried to calm his racing thoughts, groping for a coherent way to express what was coming together in his mind. He was glancing aimlessly from side to side, pacing, shoving his fingers through his hair as he tried to distill that sudden clarity into something that made sense. He hadn't trained for this, hadn't spent forty years contemplating the Force, the Jedi Code, and the truths of the universe the way Dad had, but if he was going to make his argument, it was now or never.
"You want to be with Mom," he finally said.
"Of course I do," Luke agreed. "Don't you?"
"Yes, but for me it's different," Ben insisted. "I want her to be here, with us. You want to be with her where she is."
"What do you mean?"
"You want to be dead." Ben forced himself to say it. "At peace. With her. Dead."
Dad shook his head dismissively. "That's ridiculous."
"No, it isn't. When Uncle Han and Aunt Leia told us Alema Rar was dead, you should have said, Now I can get back to work. Instead, you're saying Now I can turn over the Jedi Order to someone who's worthy. You're getting ready to die. Problem is, you don't have an incurable disease or a blaster pressed against your head. So how's it going to happen?"
He hated that his voice cracked on the last word, but at least it was honest.
Dad was looking at him like he'd gone crazy. "Ben, that is so, so . . . You're just leaping to the wrong conclusion."
"That's what attachment is, isn't it?" Ben continued, almost shouting, pacing again, unable to stop the torrent of words now if he tried. "It's not loving somebody. It's not marrying somebody. It's not having kids. It's being where, if something goes wrong, there's nothing left of you. It's where if she goes away, you start functioning like a droid with a restraining bolt installed. Mom wouldn't want you to be this way. So why are you?"
"I can't help it," Luke snarled, standing to confront him, although he seemed surprised by the violence of his reaction.
"You've got to!" Ben countered, gritting his teeth against the hot tears in his eyes.
"How?"
"I don't know. You're the Jedi Master, you figure it out!"
Real anger flashed across Luke's face, but that quickly turned inward. Ben shut his mouth and just watched as Dad wrestled with his own thoughts, hardly daring to breathe as the conflict played itself out. He'd set the fire, and now he just had to wait and see what happened.
In that new light, it seemed Luke was finally able to see what had happened to him, what he had allowed himself to become. He'd been buried under a mountain of grief and regret, with nothing to cling to but the promise that he would be reunited with Mara at the inevitable end. He'd learned to carry that, but it was so punishing that he couldn't bear both his fidelity to the dead and his responsibilities to the living at the same time. He would have to choose.
Ben bit his lip, knowing it was a big ask, but also confident that Dad knew now what he had to do. Mom and everything they'd had together had been taken from them, and eventually Dad had been able to accept that, as he was duty-bound to do. But Luke had never let her go, still hanging on to whatever he had left, even if it was just her memory and his misery.
Abandoning that solemn vigil would feel like a betrayal. Learning to be happy without her would feel like a betrayal. Setting her memory aside at intervals in order to live his life would feel like a betrayal. Learning to forget for a while that obsession with seeing her again would feel like a betrayal. Ben knew, because he had wrestled with it himself. But it was what Mom would want them to do.
Ultimately, Dad knew that, and in an act of deep personal sacrifice that tore open all those recent wounds and filled Ben with pride, Luke forced himself to finally open his fingers for the first time in twenty-one years and consciously let Mara go. It was excruciating, like losing her all over again, and for a moment it left him empty and desolate.
But then that emptiness turned out to be freedom, and with that freedom Dad made a choice. He shouldered those old burdens of duty—to his comrades, to his family, and to the suffering masses of the galaxy—and he got up again. With that came other things he had forgotten, things like his purpose, his life's work, and many essential elements of his identity. He might have just come through one of the roughest patches of his life, but he was still Grand Master Luke Skywalker of the New Jedi Order, and he had work to do.
It was a powerful metamorphosis, and Ben was so filled with relief, and joy, and pride that he thought he might never stop smiling. "Hey, Dad," he said as Luke opened his eyes, "look in a mirror."
Luke smiled, knowing what he meant. "I don't need to."
"You know what?" Ben pressed, leveling a finger. "Your feelings betray you."
Dad's eyes flashed with dangerous amusement. "Ben, if you ever, ever say I told you so—"
"I won't."
"—I'll put you through a training session that would make Kyp Durron cry."
"I won't, I won't."
"How did you get so smart, anyway?" Luke asked, practically glowing with pride of his own. "When I wasn't looking?"
Ben just shrugged, that goofy smile still stuck on his face.
With an old confidence that felt better than all Ben's past birthdays rolled into one, Dad put an arm around his shoulders and led him back toward the lift. "You know," Luke said, "these are unsettled times. Things are too busy for many of our usual formalities. For ceremonies, for rites."
"What are you getting at?" Ben asked.
"I think you should start building your lightsaber."
That smile evaporated as Ben stopped short and turned to look at his father. "But . . . but I haven't faced my trials."
Dad squared up, addressing him like a soldier. "What do you call pulling yourself back from the brink Jacen pushed you to . . . and then pulling the Grand Master back from his own brink?"
"Uh, being obstinate."
Dad chuckled. "Show me a Jedi Knight who isn't obstinate," he said, stepping onto the lift plate. "Get to work on your weapon, son." He pressed the ground switch with the toe of his boot and rode back down into the Jedi Coalition's headquarters, ready for war.
Ben watched him go with a fresh swell of excitement he couldn't possibly contain.
"YES!" he roared, throwing both fists to the sky. "Yes! Yes! Yes!"
The story continues in the next chapter, Part II.