This Is What You Asked For
Part II
The Grand Master is back in the building, Ben starts building his lightsaber, and a rescue mission takes shape. (Includes several scenes from Legacy of the Force: Fury by Aaron Allston, shifted to alternate points of view.)
40 ABY, Jedi Outpost, Sanctuary Moon of Endor
Ben felt a tingle of adrenaline as Luke led him into the back of the enormous mechanic's bay, behind the rows of StealthXs currently being serviced, past the walls and racks of starfighter-specific tools and parts, and into the old supervisor's office. Retrofitted with Jedi-specific hardware and paraphernalia, it held everything an aspiring apprentice might need.
He remembered the thrill that had come when Jacen had laid a lightsaber in his hand all those months ago. It hadn't been the first time Ben had handled one, but he'd never had one he could call his own before that. It had felt like adulthood, like distinction, like accomplishment. But it had all been empty promises.
The intervening year might as well have been a lifetime. Now it felt different, now that Dad was satisfied that he was truly ready, as he brought Ben into that workshop only advanced apprentices ever saw, offering him no advantages, but only the opportunity to prove himself. It felt earned, heavy with tradition as a legacy was passed between generations. It drove home several truths Ben had already known, that there was ultimately no shortcut to success, and that one approving nod from Dad was worth more than all the premature privileges his cousin could offer.
With no extra ceremony, Luke opened a strongbox and laid out several trays of suitable focusing crystals, everything that had been pulled from the Temple vault in the evacuation. They were of all colors and kinds, in no particular order. Ben was supposed to choose one that spoke to him somehow.
The natural ones ran the gamut from common semiprecious minerals to top-shelf gems, but their market value didn't enter into a Jedi's consideration. Price was irrelevant.
Jacen had used a corusca gem worth a small fortune that he had managed to snag while visiting Gem Diver Station, but only because it had been handy when he needed it. Tenel Ka had smashed an heirloom Hapan tiara to repurpose it's priceless rainbow gems, and yet she'd had no qualms about ceremoniously surrendering her weapon to Dad when she'd been obliged to chose her throne over active service. The fact that Luke had allowed her to keep it had more to do with his personal respect for her than any consideration for the royal jewels inside.
Speaking of Dad, the Grand Master's favorite crystal was completely worthless, something he'd cooked up himself from a packet of powder, and when he'd confiscated Alema's first lightsaber for myriad disciplinary infractions, Luke had crushed her naturally Force-attuned Adegan crystal to dust between his fingers without a second thought.
Before Ben had even had a chance to consider more than a handful of them, he'd already made up his mind that he wanted something different.
"What?" Luke asked, wryly amused. "Nothing good enough for you?"
"They're fine," Ben insisted, "but they're just not . . . not exactly what I had in mind." He drew a breath while Dad waited, trying to decide exactly how to say what he wanted to say. "I'd just rather not have anything else handed to me, you know? I want to do this myself, really do it this time, the way you did."
Dad's eyebrows lifted with new interest. "You want to grow your own crystal?"
Ben nodded. "I don't know, maybe that's prideful, but 'begin as you mean to go on,' and all that. I didn't know what I was doing before, and Jacen just kept feeding me stuff I wasn't ready for and didn't understand."
Being honest and vulnerable was something Ben was relearning, but it seemed important, and he wanted Dad to know how he felt. Dad deserved to know after all the teenage drama Ben had put him through already. "I thought I wanted to be somebody else," he said, "get out there and find my own way, but while Jacen was torturing me the only thing that kept me sane was remembering who I was, who I really was, thinking about you and Mom, that I was your son, and that I wouldn't want it any other way. I've also been thinking about you," he admitted with a tentative smile, "building your first lightsaber all alone in the desert, something you probably wish you could have shared with your father. Seeing as how you're right here, I'd have to be a real bonehead to waste that opportunity, so . . ." He thrust his hands into his pockets and just spit it out. ". . . I was hoping you might help me."
Dad didn't say anything for a minute, but that was only because he was so transparently happy. "Are you sure that won't count as special treatment?" he asked.
Ben grinned. "If it is, it's the only kind I want. I'm just trying to spend some quality time with my dad. It's not my fault if he's some overqualified freak of nature."
"Fair point," Luke allowed. Then it was his turn to be sincere. "Look," he said, lowering his voice, "I'm sorry if you ever felt I was pressuring you into the lifestyle. If I was too hard on you, it was only because I knew you were capable of great things."
"Don't worry about it," Ben insisted, shaking his head. "Whatever I thought I wanted back then, I think this is just who I'm meant to be, and I don't want to waste it. Kind of like Tenel Ka agreeing to be Queen Mother when she'd rather have been a Jedi. It's just in my blood." He smirked. "I'll bet my midi-chlorian count says as much. I don't suppose you'll finally tell me what it is."
Luke hesitated, tempted but professionally cautious. Dad had always maintained a strict policy of never disclosing an adept's raw midi-chlorian count, preferring them to discover their own boundaries without preconceived expectations. Mom had been a heavyweight Jedi in her own right, and Dad's count couldn't even be charted until they'd increased the capacity of the instrumentation. With parents like that, it would have been more of a surprise if Ben had inherited only an average Jedi's range. "It's high," Luke finally admitted, surprising no one.
"You always say that everybody is equipped for his particular moment," Ben reminded him, "so I'd rather not be caught unprepared again. I've already lost a lot of time, so I'm going to need you to catch me up, the right way this time. If that means you have to go hard on me, just do it. I'll cope a little better this go 'round, I promise."
"If that's what you want," Dad agreed. Then, to Ben's bemusement, he finished laying out the trays of available crystals. "If you're going to grow your own, you'll still need a seed crystal to start," he explained. "See anything you like?"
His cryptic smile told Ben there was at least one that he was meant to find. Another test already, but okay. This was what he'd asked for.
Skimming lightly over the stones, Ben recognized that some were inert, some were naturally Force-attuned, and others seemed to vibrate in familiar ways that recalled individual people, as if each of them had captured some echo of their maker's essence. Those must be the synth-crystals, he reasoned.
He recognized the echoes of several of the Masters—of Dad, certainly—but Ben's hand abruptly stopped above a pale blue-white stone. It was unremarkable on its face, but unmistakable, and Ben snatched it up. "Mom made this one," he said.
"She did." With all the care the relic deserved, Luke took the crystal from Ben's hand and set it in the jewel vise anchored to the workstation. When it was secured, he set a chisel to the terminal facets and knocked off the smallest sliver possible.
Ben was ready with a small flimsiplast bag, and sealed his precious seed crystal inside. It still felt like Mom, however faintly, and he was glad she could be part of the process. It was more than he had expected.
Before he could get too emotional, Ben was aware of Dad's outstretched hand. He surrendered his datapad without needing further explanation, and Luke queued up the relevant sections of the handbook with his Master's authorization—the part about the construction of synth-crystals—for Ben to study. He'd written most of it.
"Read it," Dad said. "Study it, live it, breathe it, and when you've mastered that, we'll start cooking."
There was something about the silhouette of those old Corellian light freighters that would always stir Luke's raw emotions like few other ships could. As the Millennium Falcon roared over the treetops and descended onto the landing pad with its StealthX escorts, it was an especially welcome sight because it was bringing the rest of his family back to him. It was sad to think the family had shrunk as much as it had, but if there was only one lesson life was absolutely determined to teach him, it was that nothing should ever be taken for granted.
Jaina and Zekk popped their canopies first and left their fighters to the mechanics. Jaina had apparently been contemplating the same life lessons, because she spread her arms for a hug before either of them said a word.
"It's done," she whispered, burying her face against his chest. "It wasn't easy, but it's done."
Luke returned the heartfelt embrace. "Thank you." As a private citizen, he might have thought it best to mortify his curiosity and not ask for the grisly details of Alema's demise, but as Grand Master it was his business to know what had happened. "How did it go down?"
"It was crazy," Jaina said, sounding as tired as she looked as she let him go. "It was Jag who actually got her. Once we get him patched up, we can puzzle out the whole story."
"Zekk," Luke said, acknowledging the other Jedi with a nod and a firm handshake. "Welcome back."
"Thank you, Master Skywalker," Zekk replied, looking rather crestfallen. "Uh, a lot happened out there, and if at any time you could spare a few minutes, I think I could really benefit from some counsel, sir."
"I told you not to bother him with that right now," Jaina hissed. "You're not going to die from it. Just give it time."
"From what?" Luke asked.
Jaina pursed her lips. "Zekk took a dip in the dark side again—just for a minute—and he's all shaken up about it. I told him—"
"All right, all right," Luke said, stemming her objections with a gesture, "but he's not asking you right now. He's asking me. Zekk, today's a little packed, but I should have some time tomorrow morning if you want to talk."
He nodded. "Thank you, Master. I'd appreciate it."
He bowed and left. Luke turned a narrow look on Jaina, and she retaliated with an exaggerated display of bemused indignation.
The Falcon's ramp lowered, and Han and Leia emerged with Jag on a hoversled. "Gotta get this kid to medical in one quick hurry," Han was saying. "He's barely hanging on, and we're out of tranqs. He'll be in a world of hurt if he comes all the way around now."
"Cilghal's on her way," Luke assured them. Jag did look rough, but he was a fighter, fighting his way back to consciousness without knowing why. "Colonel Fel," Luke said, attempting to calm and direct Jag's delirium until Cilghal could get another dose into him, "I hear you served with some distinction."
"Mash-ter Skywalker," Jag managed to say, his eyes still closed, the words breathy and slurred, "you are a just and honorable employer, but I would be much obliged if you would convince . . . the rest of your people . . . to stop leaving me for dead. It's becoming an . . . alarming pattern of behavior."
"I'll get right on that, Jag," Luke promised as Cilghal and her medical team quietly swarmed the pad and took their patient in hand. "Get some rest."
"Thank you, s-s-sir."
Luke turned another demanding look at Leia, and she responded with the same affronted innocence Jaina had.
Han surveyed the surroundings with an ambivalent frown. "Nice place you've got here, kid," he said. "It'll never be homey, but you've managed to make it lean farther that way than any Imperial wreck has any right to."
"Thanks."
Leia wrapped him in a hug warm with support and sympathy, but then pulled back with a look that said she was pleasantly surprised to find he didn't need quite as much support as she had expected. "Hey," she said with a cautious smile, looking deeply into his eyes. "It's good to see you again."
Luke knew she was referring to much more than the last time they had spoken in person over Kashyyyk. With Ben's help, he'd been able to recover more of himself than he had ever expected to see again, and his sister recognized it immediately. "It's good to be back," he admitted.
"You're having those double-sided conversations again," Han complained. "Anyway, I guess you'll be wanting to get this bucket under a tarp, or stashed in a cave, or something."
"Yeah, we can't have that frame spotted from orbit," Luke agreed. "I thought we'd park it under that big piece of Death Star over there. Ground crew will help you with that, show you where to set down. We're expecting a few more guests today, so let's make some room."
Ben had barely enough time to see Uncle Han and Aunt Leia settled before he felt himself pulled back to the landing pad. It was that pesky hankering for adventure and excitement that Mom had promised Dad would beat out of him someday, but Ben wasn't the only one feeling the anticipation.
The whole outpost was buzzing now that things were moving again, now that Master Skywalker seemed invested again. There was still a rescue mission afoot, and now a gleaming Alliance-affiliated shuttle was setting itself down just as Ben reached the edge of the shadow cast by the massive shard of Death Star wreckage that had burnt out the clearing all those years ago.
Inviting ambassadors from the GA directly into their secret base didn't seem like a great idea under the circumstances, but Ben had to believe that Dad knew what he was doing. He was out there now with Wedge Antilles to welcome the delegation, and as soon as the passengers emerged, Ben understood why an exception had been made.
The first one down the ramp, the shuttle's pilot, was Syal Antilles, and once released from her military discipline she threw herself into her father's arms. Ben felt a stab of sympathy, recognizing another family torn in half by the fortunes of war. Her commanding officer, whom Dad seemed to be expecting, turned out to be General Tycho Celchu, making it an official Rogue Squadron reunion. It was good to see old friendships prove stronger than politics. The third passenger brought an unexpected smile to Ben's face, and he rushed forward to greet him.
"Grand Master Skywalker," General Celchu was saying after an amicable handshake, "allow me to introduce—"
"Doctor Seyah!" Ben thrust his hand out to the older man, strangely comforted by his garish electronically-enhanced shirt, this one depicting an animated volcanic landscape across his wide frame. "I'm surprised you're not dead or something."
"Good to see you, Ben," Sayah said, gladly reciprocating the welcome. "You've gotten taller."
"Good!" Ben turned to Luke. "Doctor Seyah is the man who briefed me on Centerpoint Station. He's a gravitic physicist and spy."
With a modest nod of the head, Doctor Seyah shook Luke's hand in turn. "More successful as a physicist than a spy, I suppose. Which is why I'm here."
"Doctor Seyah is on Colonel Solo's arrest-interrogate-and-execute list," General Celchu explained. "For presumed treason, which I know to be incorrect. I, uh, picked him up just before the GAG goons came for him. He's been in safe houses since, but it's hard to keep him out of sight of Solo's investigators."
Ben smirked. "I can totally see that, considering how he dresses."
The general tried not to laugh, and was mostly successful. "Grand Master, I was hoping we could leave him with you."
Dad snorted, amused. "At least you have the courtesy to identify your spies when you try to place them with us."
"Galactic Alliance Intelligence," General Celchu agreed with straight-faced humor. "We're the courteous alternative."
All banter aside, Ben knew it was a ticklish situation. As heartwarming as the reunion may be, General Celchu was still an Alliance officer in good standing, and he had attendant duties and obligations. As sympathetic as he was to his old friends Luke and Wedge, he obviously had no intention of officially turning traitor, and that put Dad in a delicate position. He'd either have to either hold General Celchu as a prisoner of war, or he could let Tycho return to the GA knowing he'd be obliged to report the location of the Endor base to his superiors. Ben expected he would enjoy seeing how Dad decided to handle it. Those wheels must already be turning or else that shuttle would never have been cleared to land.
Luke gestured their guests toward the building, a sly satisfaction behind his smile that only confirmed Ben in that opinion. "Let's get you some food and caf," he said, escorting them inside. "Then we can talk."
As they walked along the path, Luke idly tried to decide whether the situation could more accurately be described as irony, serendipity, or whimsy, or maybe some blend of all three. Adversity had a way of shaking out the strongest elements in any arsenal, so maybe it was almost inevitable that they were all gathered here again in the shade of the Death Star's wreckage, a motley crew of old guard diehards and the heirs to their particular brand of cussedness. Something about life coming full circle, or some such.
When they had come far enough that he could be assured of some privacy, Luke stopped, shrugged off his cloak and spread it across the ground. He sat down on it and invited Han and Leia to do the same. The others followed suit, sharing other Jedi cloaks or contenting themselves with a spot on the cool dirt—Saba, Corran, Kyle, Wedge and Syal, Tycho, Jaina, Zekk, and Ben.
Luke silently apologized to Mara, although he knew it wasn't necessary, and that she probably would have punched him in the ribs had she been there. He still missed her, but it felt good to be focused forward again.
"I've had a brief talk with General Celchu here," he began, "and I'm going to go over some points he made and some other details that have come up recently. Together we're going to make some decisions about a course of action."
He gestured to Tycho. "The general came here to make an official request by the GA government that the Jedi Order return to the Galactic Alliance fold, as is our sworn duty."
Wedge smirked. "Five credits says the invitation came only from Admiral Niathal, and that Colonel Solo had no part in it."
There were no takers, but there were a few eye rolls and some grim frowns.
"I think I need to put Tycho's presence here in perspective," Wedge volunteered. "All this is speculation on my part, but I speculate pretty well. Tycho wouldn't have asked for this meeting on his own initiative, because he doesn't represent the GA in these matters. But he hasn't once suggested that he's here on behalf of his boss, Admiral Niathal. Which means he's here with either her overt or her tacit approval, representing her interests as joint Chief of State of the GA. If anything goes wrong with this mission, he and his career go up in a flash of smoke, but it's something that has to be done. And now he's not going to say anything, because he can offer neither confirmation nor denial of what I've just said." He grinned at Tycho, daring him to do otherwise.
General Celchu, for his part, visibly fought back a few choice replies, and had to content himself with a scowl.
Luke couldn't stop himself from smiling at Tycho's expense. He had missed being with the Rogues. "I said no to General Celchu's request," he continued, "for the simple reason that any action that puts the Order under the command of, or potentially at the mercy of, Jacen Solo is an unacceptable one, particularly after what happened at Ossus. My position remains that we serve the GA best by determining the course of action that is best for everyone, and then implementing it, at least until such time as the GA Chief of State's office can be considered trustworthy again."
Everyone present heartily agreed.
"Let me make this clear, though," Luke continued, looking Tycho directly in the eye. "We serve the Galactic Alliance. When Jacen Solo is no longer a factor, we will return our seat of authority to Coruscant. We retain trust in Admiral Niathal."
Tycho nodded. "I understand and appreciate that," he said. "But once I file my report with her . . . there's always a chance that Colonel Solo will gain access to it, and learn that you're now stationed on Endor."
"By the time you get back to Coruscant, we won't be on Endor any longer," Luke assured him and everyone else. "Now, in the spirit of serving the Alliance—at least what we want the Alliance to be—and of serving the greater good, we're going to sketch out our next operation. Which, in part, will be to rescue Allana, Chume'da of the Hapes Consortium, and daughter of Tenel Ka, from captivity at the hands of Jacen Solo."
Tycho's brows fell, and he tentatively raised a hand.
"Yes, General."
"Let me see if I understand this," he said, quietly incredulous, ready to count off data points on his fingers. "You're going to help the Alliance this way. First, you return the Chume'da to the Queen Mother. Second, the Queen Mother again, who by now must hate Jacen Solo absolutely, turns her fleets against him and the GA. Third, the Confederation, at that point stronger than the Alliance, conquers the Alliance. Fourth . . ." His vision of compounded disaster trailed away into a shrug. "There is no fourth."
Luke smiled. He wasn't taking pleasure in Tycho's discomfort, but it was undeniably satisfying to momentarily hold all the winning cards. "I left out a detail," he allowed.
"Ah, good. I was worried there."
"The Corellians just used Centerpoint Station to destroy elements of the Second Fleet. They also tried to kill Jacen. Now, thinking the way Jacen does, the way he must, it's inconceivable that he would not make an all-out effort to capture the station and have in his possession the most powerful weapon in the galaxy. We're not going to let the Corellians have it, and we're not going to let Jacen have it. We're going to destroy it . . . probably at the same time Jacen mounts his operation to capture it."
Tycho looked even more exasperated beneath his professional calm. "So you continue to deprive us of the Hapan fleets, and you deprive us of Centerpoint Station."
"No," Luke said firmly, realigning the narrative, "we give the Queen Mother the right—her right—to negotiate the terms under which her fleets will be used by the Alliance, and we deprive the Confederation of Centerpoint Station. This will result in a morale blow to the Confederation, and will cost them allies. If the Hapans stay out of it, the two sides remain roughly equal for now. If Admiral Niathal can stuff Jacen into a box, the Hapans return to the Alliance fold, and the Alliance is suddenly the stronger side."
Tycho still wasn't quite ready to get on board. "There are a lot of ifs in that plan, Grand Master."
"True."
"How do you intend to do it?"
Now they got to the gritty details. Luke nodded toward Kyle to recognize his contribution, Kyle who was fortunately looking more recovered every day. "It's inevitable that Jacen will command the mission to Centerpoint Station himself. We've managed to plant a tracer beacon on him, and he still apparently hasn't detected it. Sadly, it's very short-range, but if we can keep StealthXs in rotation near the Anakin Solo, we can detect when the mission starts. It would be better if we had a longer-range tracer, but we'll use what we have. Then—"
"Actually . . ." Leia interrupted from beside him, looking slightly awkward, "there's a full-power holocomm beacon on Jacen's ship. Zekk planted it. He also disabled their tractor beam, partly to allow us to escape and partly to give the ship mechanics some sabotage to detect and repair . . . so they would miss the more subtle addition to their holocomm system."
Surprised, albeit pleasantly, Luke scrutinized both her and Zekk. "When was this?" he asked.
Zekk shrugged. "When we raided to get the information on Brisha Syo's asteroid from his shuttle memory."
So, that's what they had been doing at the ambush point the day they had all inadvertently crossed paths and nearly been blasted by Centerpoint. "It would have been useful to have known this earlier," Luke suggested.
Han cleared his throat and put on his best don't-blame-me face. "We've been busy putting out fires."
Luke sighed, and then forged ahead. "With our new, fancy holocomm beacon on the Anakin Solo, we detect when Jacen begins his operation, and jump to Corellia. General Celchu brought us an expert who can help us figure out how to destroy it."
"That's not what I brought him for," Tycho objected, now looking positively itchy.
"Regardless," Luke said, "he was willing to help blow it up once, he'll be willing to help blow it up a second time." He offered an apologetic shrug, but wasn't the least bit sorry. "Meanwhile, we send a unit of Jedi aboard the Anakin Solo to distract Jacen . . . and to retrieve the Chume'da."
"How do you plan to get them aboard?" Han interjected. "I kind of doubt the old Love Commander trick will work a second time."
That was the sheer beauty of it. If Luke had doubted the Force was with them before, the delivery of everything he needed exactly when he needed it was proof enough for him. He turned back to poor Tycho. "General, when you arrived, your shuttle transceiver broadcast what I assume was a false registration and identity. I assume it's also capable of broadcasting a registration and identity consistent with General Celchu of Starfighter Command."
"Of course."
Luke spread his hands as the solution presented itself. "There you have it. We'll go in on General Celchu's shuttle."
That, as Luke was already well aware, was a step too far. It was one thing to burden a loyal Alliance officer with a rogue element's war plans, but quite another to implicate him in the operation. Tycho slowly shook his head. "Much as I personally might want you to succeed in this, I sort of have to say no. Duty and officer's oaths and all that. You understand."
"Oh, that's right," Luke said, playing along. He turned to Wedge. "Could I trouble you to set your blaster on stun and point it at the other general?"
Wedge frowned. "No, not really."
"Please?"
"I'm not going to point a blaster at my best friend," Wedge apologized. "Plus, his pilot will be obliged to jump in the way or do something equally noble and foolish. I'm not going to point a blaster at my little girl."
Syal leaned into his shoulder. "Thank you, Daddy."
"I do have a solution, though." Wedge turned toward Tycho and menaced him with his thumb and forefinger. "Imagine that's a blaster. Wait a second." He adjusted an imaginary knob on his thumb. "Had to make sure it was on stun."
"I'm imagining that it's a BlasTech DL-Eighteen," Tycho assured him.
"An adequate choice, under these circumstances."
"Maybe. If we'd all imagined that it was a DL-Forty-four, big and imposing, I might actually be intimidated. A DL-Eighteen is barely worth surrendering to."
Content that his prisoner was secure for the time being, Luke pressed on before the fighter jock banter took them too far afield. "Wedge," he said, "handpick a starfighter squadron. We'll use it to chase the shuttle to safety aboard the Anakin Solo, then to support any operation against Centerpoint Station. I'll lead a unit of Jedi to assault Jacen; our job will be to take him out if possible, and to distract him from the rescue mission in any case. Han, Leia, I want you to lead the expedition to rescue the Chume'da. Master Katarn, I want you in reserve for extraction of the assault and rescue teams. Doctor Seyah and our scientific staff will come up with the best ways to destroy Centerpoint Station. Ben, owing to your experience there, I want you on that mission."
Rather than agree, Ben shook his head. "I'll be more useful accompanying you aboard the Anakin Solo."
Luke mentally bit his tongue. Ben had been much better lately about taking orders without pushback, and he didn't want to think they were losing that progress. He decided to let it ride, give his son the benefit of the doubt. "How do you figure that?" he asked.
"Because with both of us boarding, Jacen will conclude that we're there to kill him. It will help keep him from guessing that Allana is the mission's real goal. And he won't be wondering where I am or what I'm up to."
It was a good answer . . . or a good excuse. "And will diversion be your genuine intent?" Luke asked with a probing look. "Not revenge?"
Ben met his gaze without flinching, and more than that, he let many mental barriers fall away to let Luke see the truth for himself rather than a prepared front. "Yes, Grand Master."
Luke saw more than Ben's sincere intention to serve the mission rather than his own passions. He recognized a desire to be near him, to go where he went and face the danger together, a filial pride and affection that wasn't new so much as rediscovered. Luke had never vocalized how much he'd missed that rapport between them, or how desperately he'd wanted it back. It threatened to make him emotional now, which he couldn't hide from Ben, but hopefully from most of the rest of the assembly.
"All right, then." Luke climbed to his feet, a signal for everyone else to do likewise. "General, I'm sorry about imprisoning you and your pilot. And stealing your shuttle. And exposing you to Ewoks again. And such."
Tycho shrugged. "I acknowledge that, from your perspective, you have to keep me a prisoner until your operation begins, to keep me from doing my duty and alerting the Alliance . . ."
Luke could feel a suggestion coming. "Yes?"
"There's no reason why you couldn't take me with you to Colonel Solo's action against Corellia, put me in a starfighter, and let me make my way home from there. After I fly around getting a good look at everything, that is."
"Good point," Luke agreed. "We may do that. And your pilot?"
"Oh, you don't have to imprison her at all." Tycho reached into his tunic pocket.
Wedge jammed the muzzle of his finger-blaster into the prisoner's ribs. "No tricks," he warned.
Tycho grinned, and carefully handed Luke a datacard. "In our ongoing effort to maintain cordial relations with the Jedi Order, and thus effect your rapid return to the Galactic Alliance, I present you with our special envoy, Captain Syal Antilles, who will remain with you and communicate with my office whenever you permit."
Syal's jaw dropped. "Wait. What?"
"This assignment is no milk run, Antilles," Tycho insisted in his best commanding officer's voice. "This is a tricky diplomatic mission with a lot at stake, and just trying to keep up with the Jedi can get you killed. But if you help keep the Alliance and the Jedi in touch, if you keep them talking, you'll be making a big difference in this war."
"I was years older than you when I became an ambassador for the first time," Wedge recalled. "Remember that, Tycho? How did we get through that assignment, anyway."
"Pretty much, we opened fire on everyone who disagreed with us."
Wedge nodded. "When all else fails," he told his daughter, "just do that."
"Yeah, thanks, but no thanks," Syal said with a nervous laugh. "That's not something I want to make a habit of. Once is enough for a lifetime."
Luke had extended his hand to welcome her aboard, but a question suddenly jumped in priority. "Once . . . what?"
"Master Skywalker," she said, clasping his hand as words tumbled out of her in a rush, "I just want to say it will be an honor working with you, sir. And I'm sorry about firing on you while you were closing on Colonel Solo. I didn't know it was you at the time. But thank you for the field promotion in any case."
"Oh," Luke said, wryly amused as he put the pieces together. "Well, I wouldn't want to steal your thunder by admitting I was breaking pursuit anyway, but it might make you feel better. And you're welcome. Now I know who to bill for the damage to the back of my StealthX."
"Don't look at me," Wedge insisted. "She pays her own way these days."
Leaving the reunited father and daughter to themselves, Luke escorted Tycho farther along the path toward the outpost, far enough to be out of earshot. "Special envoy, huh?" he said, making no secret of his skepticism. "Were there many candidates in the running for that position?"
Tycho's expression betrayed nothing, a clear sign he was on his guard. But old friendships were entitled to a certain level of candor, Rogue to Rogue. "I'll admit that I wrote the orders specifically with Syal in mind," he said, quiet and grim. "This war hasn't been easy for any of us, but it's a special kind of hell for a kid to be forced to fly against her own father. She was pretty shaken up about shooting at you, too. Also, they weren't official yet, but she lost her fiancé in the Centerpoint attack. I've seen pilots be fatally distracted over less. She doesn't want to defect or resign, but it was worth it to try getting her out of there."
Luke frowned and nodded. Another lifetime of hopes and dreams shattered, another tragic might-have-been to pin on the warmongers who somehow were never satisfied. "Very delicately done," he said. "I'll try to give her enough work to justify her stay."
"All right, but don't abuse it by sending Colonel Solo misinformation or impertinent hologreetings," Tycho warned.
Luke shot his prisoner a sidelong glance. "Sounds to me like you're still laboring under the illusion that you have any say in the matter." He was admittedly briefly diverted by the thought of tasking Captain Antilles with sending Jacen a saccharine pop-up holocharacter bearing the sentiment Get well soon, or Thinking of you. Just a note to say . . . would you please stop burning the galaxy down and breaking our hearts?
"I'm not asking for any extra special treatment for her," Tycho insisted, his voice low and weary. "But at this point I'm convinced we're all justified in salvaging what we can, however we can."
"You're right," Luke agreed, resuming their walk. "That's why we're out here hiding under rocks. We'll do what we can for her. Of course you're perfectly welcome to join us if you can ever bring yourself to throw your career away. In the meantime, I'll show you to your 'cell,' General Celchu. It's not bad, as Imperial officers' quarters go, so you should be reasonably comfortable. Just ring for extra caf if you need it."
The night had deepened into that dark midnight blue Leia loved so much as she quietly followed Luke through the forest. It had been hard to really see it on Coruscant, where the stars were always washed out by the lights of Galactic City. By comparison, worlds like Kashyyyk and Endor felt very lonely, but peaceful. It really depended on one's own point of view. To the mind of one habituated to civilization, the creaking and chittering of the insects implied a profound sense of isolation, but for a Jedi it was an audible manifestation of the riot of life she could feel all around her. Alone, and yet never really alone.
Leia was mindful enough to wonder whether those thoughts were entirely her own.
As she had advanced in her training, fully embracing her heritage as Anakin Skywalker's daughter after a lifetime of avoidance, the resonance between Leia and her brother had only grown stronger, intensified now to an ever-present harmony that felt more natural and made her feel more alive than she had previously thought possible. There was always some cognitive bleed between them, especially at such close physical proximity. It gave her hope to feel that Luke might finally be recognizing that he was not in fact as alone as he might have felt during the past few months.
Leia could still remember a time when she had been the one person in the galaxy Luke had loved with his whole being, with the devotion of a true friend, the frustrated yearning of a knight errant, and then the jealous protection of a brother. It was when all three had newly come together that he had jumped down Darth Vader's throat rather than allow him to threaten her. Leia was glad Luke had ultimately found someone to share his life, to fill that emptiness in him that she could never satisfy, and yet they could still have something between them that was wholly their own. Even as he mourned his wife, and she mourned her sons, they still had each other.
And yet, even as they found solace together, Leia was mourning the fact that her daughter was losing that singular relationship with her own twin. Had already lost it. Deep down, she knew Luke was mourning it, too.
Finally, far from the distracting presences of the outpost, in a narrow clearing illuminated by starlight, Luke stopped and sank to the ground, legs crossed on the carpet of fallen needles. Leia did likewise opposite him, so close their knees almost touched. She slid her hands into his and closed her eyes in the darkness, giving her attention to powers of perception keener than physical sight.
Luke's mind unfurled before her without guard or reservation, breathtakingly deep, a pulsing nebula of sentiments and emotions, memories and impressions, joys and griefs. But even as Leia let herself fall into that vortex, a disciplined calm descended on the extraneous color and noise, presenting her with a single memory in all its vivid detail.
It was a blind impression of a living being in the Force, bright and innocent, small and yet very strong, resilient, brave, and vulnerable. Lost. Confused. Trusting. Compassionate. Afraid.
It was a child, a girl, the little Chume'da, Allana. None of them had ever met her before, but Luke had come the closest, and Leia had to know her well enough to find and recognize her aboard Jacen's Star Destroyer.
She committed that presence to memory, the precocious maturity and wounded innocence, the brilliant spirit and willing heart. It reminded her so keenly of her own children that Leia felt her eyes well with sympathetic tears, and she loved the child at once. She might have blamed that on maternal sentimentality, but she could feel that Luke already loved her, too. They were both hopeless that way.
Slowly shrinking back into herself, Leia closed her mind around that memory, studying it, protecting it. It wrung her heart to imagine that precious child ripped from her home and imprisoned on a warship. She had some idea of what sort of treatment a captive princess might expect from a Sith lord. It was a wonder Tenel Ka wasn't more frantic than she was.
Returning to the forest gloom, Leia saw Luke gazing back at her, the same bright eyes that had first unexpectedly appeared from beneath a stormtrooper's helmet in her most desperate hour. She tightened her grip in his, and felt him return the gesture. Time to do it all over again.
"Let's go get her," she said.
Ben double-checked the settings on the furnace, bracing himself for a very long night. The powdered elements were already in the crucible with his seed crystal, and it was time to settle in. "Hey, am I allowed to use stims?" he asked. It was worth a try.
"Stims like from caf, sure," Dad said, pulling up chairs for both of them. "Stims like for pilots, no. You'd grow a fratzed-up crystal for sure on that juice."
Ben had dutifully studied all the material Dad had given him. It wasn't enough to understand how to bring the Force to bear on the process; he had to understand the basic nature of crystals themselves, their molecular composition and growth patterns. Through the Force, he was supposed to guide and accelerate that growth, ultimately achieving a unique resonance between himself and the stone that would make his lightsaber all the more his own. The breadth and detail of the task had been daunting, and Ben had almost reconsidered using a natural crystal, but he was determined to master this. Mom had thrived on challenges. She wouldn't want him to settle for the easy route if he could do better.
He straddled his chair and leaned on the back, staring into the furnace. He could perceive the growing heat although the insulation kept it from escaping into the room, and the elements were beginning to dance, suspended in the liquid matrix.
"Here, before you dive in," Dad said, handing him one of those ubiquitous little pills that always appeared in adult situations when caf was in short supply. "You'll need all the concentration you can spare."
"Thanks." Ben popped it into his mouth and swallowed it dry. "Ugh. Can't we get some of those chewable ones that actually taste good?"
Luke laughed. "That costs extra. All we have out here is military-issue. Take it or leave it." He popped one himself. "There's more if you think you need it in a few hours."
Ben was already sinking into the microscopic world inside the crucible. He found his seed crystal and suspended it in the center of the chemical flux. It still vibrated with Mom's memory, like an echo from the past. That, together with the passive but powerful presence of Dad behind him, gave Ben a framework of identity and confidence that was really quite thrilling. He didn't have to wander the galaxy trying to reinvent himself, not when he'd been born into the very heart of the living tradition.
Speaking of traditions, Ben liked the idea that this was a Sith custom Dad had reclaimed and bent to his own purposes. There was a sense of conquest there, not unlike the self-mastery they were all supposed to practice, a ruthlessly utilitarian solution to the present shortage of natural stones that didn't feel compelled to apologize to the sentiments of the past. It seemed fitting somehow to fight the Sith with Sith-grade weapons.
Another reason Ben had gone this route was because he wanted to see what his crystal would tell him about himself. Part of him was afraid his first would be red, whether from a lack of skill on his part or the lingering effects of the dark side. Synth-crystals were apparently naturally inclined to be red, but they could be bent. Dad's had come out green without him really trying, a color the pious traditions of the past associated with wisdom and governance, which seemed appropriate. Blue was supposed to be indicative of strength, courage, justice, and so on. Jaina had grown her own crystal, and it had been a deep purple indigo. It probably didn't really matter, because Dad had made a whole spectrum of different colors in the past—blue, white, violet, even ruby red—but Ben wanted to see how he would be reflected.
Sinking all his focus into the swirling microcosm inside the crucible, Ben was aware of those volatile molecular bonds he'd read about, felt their eagerness to coalesce just as soon as the environment was intense enough to begin the process. His external senses briefly registered a gentle pressure that was Dad's hand on his back, perceiving it more like the blinding warmth of a noonday sun in the Force. Ben maintained his concentration, though it made him smile. This was where he belonged. This was who he was. All he had to do was grab hold of it.
The seed crystal began accepting new growth, layers of molecules binding together seamlessly in an endless hexagonal pattern. It was a mesmerizing process, accelerated through the Force as Ben pulled those elements together in perfect sequence, guarding against imperfections like microscopic air pockets and any impurities leached from the crucible itself.
He found himself contemplating the primordial formation of the galaxy, the fundamental bonds of matter that allowed life to exist, pitiless and answerable to no one. Layer on layer, that crystal grew because it was in its nature to grow. Nature would tolerate his intervention only inasmuch as he respected its laws. He was a brief and passing thing, a leaf in the wind, and he could no more bend reality to his will than he could hold back the rain. And there was no reason to. Everyone who tried was just a momentary tremor in the universe before he was absorbed again into those transcendent forces that would outlast them all. Even Palpatine. Even Jacen. Control was an illusion unless it existed within the harmonies already set at the dawn of time, and that realization brought with it a profound sense of humility, of resignation. Peace.
They didn't have to control anything, but they could build, they could guide, and they could guard. Like tending a garden or starting a family, they could cooperate with those forces and coax glories out of the rough, one layer, one facet at a time.
Submerged in that tranquility, it seemed like it had barely been an hour when Ben again felt Dad rubbing his shoulder, this time with a mute invitation to surface. He was about to protest, but he found that his legs were stiff, and his eyes were dry and irritated.
"Brought you breakfast," Luke said as Ben blinked some moisture back into his corneas.
"Is it done?" he croaked, hardly able to believe how late it probably was. Light was streaming through the far window, well past dawn.
"It was done hours ago." Dad smiled around his tumbler of caf. "You were somewhere else, so I started the furnace cooling for you. Should be safe to open now."
Despite the appetizing aroma from the fresh plate of food, Ben found suspense to be more intolerable than hunger. "Let's see it," he said, lurching up from the chair and holding out a hand. Dad passed him the tongs. Tripping the door release, Ben was blasted with a wave of residual heat, but didn't let that stop him from reaching inside with the pincers and carefully lifting out the crucible. Nothing was glowing anymore, but just very, very hot.
Dad directed him to the protected worktop, and Ben carefully set the crucible down. Reaching inside with a smaller pair of tongs, he drew out his rough crystal.
"Hey, that's a nice one," Dad said, leaning in for a closer look.
Ben lifted it up to the morning sunlight, both relieved and intrigued. It wasn't a questionable muddy red after all, but rather a light aquamarine, one terminus tending toward blue and the other toward green. More importantly, it felt like part of himself, like an extension of his body, and the subtle echoes of Mom and Dad just made it better. He turned it in the light in all its unpolished perfection, savoring that moment of accomplishment before facing the inevitable torrent of new challenges to come.
"Now," Luke said, taking another long draw from his caf, "go catch a few hours' sleep while it cools. Then I'll teach you how to cut it."
Descending into the bowels of what had originally been an emergency war room for the Imperial garrison, Luke reflected in passing that it seemed appropriate that someone was again using the space for its intended purpose. He wondered what the ghosts of the past would make of it. Would they have a laugh at their old foes appreciating their facilities now that the boot was on the other foot? Or would they see the erstwhile leaders of the Rebel Alliance now rebelling against the Imperial successor state they had helped to establish, and shake their heads in despair.
He rapped on the door, sealed from the inside, and it immediately slid open for him. What they had going on in there was as close to top secret as their operations were going to be, so precautions were in place.
"Good afternoon, Master Skywalker," Sui Zax greeted him in her musical Omwati voice.
"Good afternoon, Doctor Zax," Luke replied, returning the pleasantry as the door sealed itself behind him. The room was half-lit, lined with dark towers of computer banks blinking with shifting patterns of indicator lights. He nodded to her husband. "Doctor Zax." And to their colleague, a dark-skinned man in Jedi robes who had turned out to have more aptitude for advanced programming than the ways of the Force. "Doctor Tavian."
"Grand Master Commander," the other said with a grin and a rakish salute.
The Doctors Zax had one daughter who was already an active Jedi Knight, and their son was working through his apprenticeship. Lor Tavian had washed out as a Jedi youngling, but had returned to live the lifestyle and submit his other talents to the Order. They were the best scientific minds currently on the payroll, and were working the Centerpoint problem closely with Doctor Seyah.
Luke turned and offered his hand to the man of the hour. "Doctor Seyah. I'm told you have a report for me."
"I do, Master Skywalker," the portly physicist confirmed, releasing him after an enthusiastic handshake. "I'll admit, I've been wanting to present these master plans for years, let alone see them actionable."
"Plans?" Luke asked, emphasising the plural.
"Of course. Why have only one master plan when you can have three? Or four? Well, realistically, only three and a half."
Luke laughed. "We considered ourselves fortunate to have even one master plan every time we needed to blow up a Death Star."
"Nah, we can do better now," Doctor Seyah insisted. "More brains on staff. Of course, I'll have to preface this with the disclaimer that all of these plans have a high probability of failure."
"Well, I can't fault you for your honesty."
"But," he continued, "if we can implement all three at the same time, it may improve our odds considerably."
"Fair enough," Luke granted. "My interest in physics and programming is admittedly casual, but tell me what you have in mind. And I thought you said three and a half."
Now Seyah laughed. "I did indeed," he said, drawing Luke's attention to the holo schematics of Centerpoint Station suspended over the table. "The half-plan fits nicely into the emerging theme of this mission, which is to let the enemy do the work. Since we're launching at the same time as Colonel Solo, there's a hope that the Corellian crew will initiate a self-destruct sequence on their way out rather than let the station fall to the Alliance. It could make all our work moot, but I'd welcome it."
"As would I," Luke agreed, narrowing his eyes at the unlovely oblong structure with the enormous bulge around the middle, remembering his visit to the place twenty years earlier. A lot of toxic fumes, superheated air, and burning debris, but that was probably his fault for being beneath the ignition point as the weapon fired up.
"However," Doctor Seyah continued, "if we aren't so lucky, we have a few other tricks to try. We've prepared some code that we can splice into the spin thrust control that gives the station its artificial gravity. If we can trigger a hard reverse spin, the kinetic differential would be strong enough to damage the station, maybe catastrophically."
"Make it shake itself apart," Luke translated.
"Basically."
"So why the high probability of failure?"
"That's just the way Centerpoint is," Doctor Tavian said. "There's a lot we still don't know about it, not least of all who built it and how, and its ancient programming is better than most at detecting intrusions. It resists change, which is why the Corellians have had to fight it for each opportunity to fire it. As soon as they write a work-around, Centerpoint sabotages it. Any attempt to alter such fundamental systems may be dead on arrival."
"Good point," Luke admitted. There were a lot of unknowns still in the equation. "I suppose it's still worth a try. What else have we got?"
"If we can bluff our way into the fire-control chamber," Doctor Seyah explained, "we've prepared another sequence of programming that would cause Glowpoint, the ignition source at the center of Hollowtown, to overload and explode."
"Same margin of error, though. For the same reason."
"Correct."
Luke pressed his mouth into a firm line. Despite having the best available minds on the project with their years of research and expertise, he had to admit he wasn't liking the odds so far. Too bad there wasn't a convenient exhaust port he could just lob a torpedo into.
"Don't despair yet, Master," Doctor Zax laughed, the blue cast of her skin highlighted by the blue light from the holo. "This third possibility might just be our skifter in the hole. It's a little more subtle."
"But?"
"But we may not know whether it works for a while," Doctor Tavian confessed.
"How long is a while?" Luke asked. "Hours? Days?"
"Maybe. Maybe years. Maybe never."
Still dubious, but hoping to be convinced, Luke turned back to Doctor Seyah.
"We've prepared a package override we can install by tapping into the data feeds that supply the auxiliary star map databases used by the targeting system," Doctor Seyah explained, "redefining every significant star and planet in the galaxy with the coordinates of Centerpoint Station itself. It's also a programming change, but only to the auxiliary maps, not a foreign order to the master system. It might have a better chance of getting through."
"So," Luke said, visualizing the possibility, "any attempt to fire the weapon at a civilized world or system would amount to a self-destruct?"
"Exactly."
"Oh." That was a little different, passive and yet uncompromising. "Oh, that's very elegant. I like that."
"It seemed a little more in keeping with the Jedi way," Doctor Tavian agreed. "It avoids a lot of unnecessary collateral damage unless the station is used aggressively. If everyone stays off the trigger, no harm, no foul. If they don't, the station crushes itself."
Luke nodded. Under the circumstances, it was the best chance they were going to get. "All right, then. Good work, everyone. Put your packages together and be ready to deploy. Doctor Seyah, I've assigned Master Durron to be your muscle on the Centerpoint side. He'll get you in and out if anyone can."
"Sounds like just the kind of chaos we'll need," Doctor Seyah said, extending his hand once more.
"Probably," Luke agreed, accepting the gesture. "But if all else fails, don't hesitate to pull a Lando Calrissian and just toss a thermal detonator down a garbage chute on your way out."
"We'll definitely keep that in mind."
The story continues in the next chapter, Part III.