CHAPTER TWO

Luke Skywalker sank into a chair in his study, ran his hand across his brow, and stared out at the night, or what passed for it on Coruscant, the hundred shades of nightglow, shimmering lanes of aircars and transports, bright-studded skyhook tethers lancing toward the unseeable stars. How many thousands of years had passed since anyone had seen a star in the night sky of this city world?

On Tatooine the stars had been hard, glittering promises to a boy who wanted more from life than to be a moisture farmer. They had been everything, and yearning toward them was the seed of everything Luke had become. Now, at the heart of the galaxy he had fought so long to save, he couldn’t even see them.

Something drifted in the Force, an embrace waiting to happen. Waiting for permission to happen.

“Come in, Mara,” he said, rising.

“Stay there,” his wife answered. “I’ll join you.”

She settled into the chair next to him and took his hand. He felt her touch move closer, and found himself flinching away.

“Hey, Skywalker,” she said. “It’s not like I’m here to kill you.”

“That’s a comforting thing to say.”

“Yeah?” Her voice took on an edge. “Don’t think it hasn’t occurred to me. Like when I couldn’t hold down breakfast, or when I take one of these twenty-minute lightspeed tours of every emotion I’ve ever had plus a few that I never knew really existed—and then start over. When my ankles start ballooning up like a Gamorrean boar’s and I’m well on my way to Hutthood, I’d advise any responsible parties to start watching their backs.”

“Hey, wait a minute. I don’t recall the two of us conspiring in this matter. I was just as surprised as you. Besides, your last plan to kill me started this whole thing, pregnancy included. Keep it up, and we’ll be ahead of Han and Leia in no time.”

Mara clucked. “Darling,” she said in disingenuous tones. “I love you, you are my life and my light. If you ever do this to me again, I will vape you where you stand.” She squeezed his hand fondly.

“As I was saying,” Luke said. “How can I please you, sweetheart?”

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

He shrugged and turned his face back to the cityscape. “The Jedi, of course. We’re breaking apart. First the galaxy turns against us, then we turn against each other.”

“It’s too bad I didn’t take care of Kyp years ago,” Mara said.

“Don’t even joke about that. And it isn’t Kyp’s fault—ultimately it’s mine. You explained as much to me once, remember?”

“I remember setting you straight about a few things. That doesn’t make Kyp right now.”

“No, he isn’t right. But when children stray, doesn’t that say something about the parents?”

“This is a fine time to tell me you’re going to be a lousy father. Or maybe you don’t think I’ll be a good mother?”

She was joking, but he felt a sudden wave of fear, depression, and anger from his wife.

“Mara?” he asked. “It was just a metaphor.”

“I know. It’s nothing. Just go on.”

“It’s not nothing.”

“It is nothing. Hormones. Mood swings. Very annoying, being jerked around by chemicals, and not your problem, Skywalker. Go on with what you were saying. Sans the parenthood metaphor.”

“Fine. What I mean is, my teachings weren’t durable enough, or strong enough, or satisfying enough, if the others look to Kyp for their answers.”

“We’ve been betrayed and we’re being slaughtered,” Mara said. “Kyp’s given them an answer to that. You haven’t.”

“Wait. Now you agree with Kyp?”

“I agree we can’t just sit and wait. I know you don’t want to do that either, but you aren’t expressing it well enough. Kyp has given the Jedi a vision, as clear and simple as it is wrong. All we’ve done is give a muddy jumble of assurances and prohibitions. We need to tell them what to do, not what not to do.”

“We?”

“Of course we, Skywalker. You and me. Where you go I go.”

Her Force presence kissed lightly against his again, and for an instant he trembled. It felt good, a warmth against the cold hard nest of his doubts and pain. How could he afford to doubt? How could he let anyone else see it, when it might mean the end of everything?

The touch eased, as if retreating, and he relaxed, and it came again, stealthier and stronger. He gave up, opening himself to her so they mingled in a bright stream. He took her in his arms and let her stroke away the worst of his doubts with her hand and the radiance within her.

“I love you, Mara,” he breathed, after a time.

“I love you, too,” she replied.

“It’s hard to watch it all fall apart.”

“It’s not falling apart, Luke. You have to believe that.”

“I have to be strong for them. I have to be an example. But today—”

“Yes, I saw it. You had a moment of weakness. I think I’m the only one who noticed.”

“No. Anakin noticed. It upset him, a lot.”

“You’re worried about Anakin?” she asked, picking up on the subtext of his spoken word. “He adores you. If there is someone he’s always wanted to be, it’s you. He wouldn’t side with Kyp.”

“That’s not my worry. He’s more like Kyp than he thinks, but he doesn’t see it. He’s been through so much, Mara, and he’s too young to easily absorb what he’s had to deal with. He still carries the blame for Chewbacca’s death with him, and in the back of his mind part of him still thinks Han blames him, too. He watched Daeshara’cor die. He blames himself for the destruction of the Hapan fleet at Fondor. He’s carrying around all that pain, and some day that’s bound to add up to something he’s not experienced enough to handle. Grief and guilt are only a micron away from anger and hatred. And he’s still reckless, still thinks he’s immortal despite all of the death he’s seen.”

“That’s what upset him about your weakness today,” Mara guessed. “He thinks you’re immortal, too.”

“He did believe that. But now he knows if he can lose Chewie, he can lose anyone. That’s not making things better. He’s losing faith in everything he’s counted on his whole life.”

“I didn’t have exactly a normal childhood,” Mara said, “but doesn’t that happen to most children at a certain point?”

“Yes. But most children aren’t Jedi adepts. Most children aren’t as strong in the Force as Anakin, or as inclined to use it. Did you know when he was a boy, he once killed a giant snake by stopping its heart with the Force?”

Mara blinked. “No.”

“Yes. He was defending himself and his friends. It probably seemed like the only thing to do at the time.”

“Anakin is a pragmatic lad.”

“That’s the problem,” Luke sighed. “He grew up around Jedi. Using the Force is like breathing for him, and for Anakin there is nothing very mystical about it. It’s a tool he can do things with.”

“Jacen on the other hand—”

“Jacen is older, but he grew up like Anakin. It’s two different reactions to the same situation. What they have in common is that neither of them thinks I really have it right. And what’s worse, I think at least one of them is correct. I’ve seen—” He broke off.

“What?” Mara gently urged.

“I don’t know. I’ve seen a future. Several futures. However this ends with the Yuuzhan Vong, it won’t be me that ends it, or Kyp, or any of the older Jedi. It will be someone new.”

“Anakin?”

“I don’t know. I’m afraid to even talk about it. Every word spreads, puts ripples in the Force for every person who hears it, changes things. I’m starting to know how Yoda and Ben felt. Watching, trying to guide, hoping I’m not wrong, that I’m seeing clearly, that there is such a thing as wisdom and that I’m not just fooling myself.”

She laughed softly and kissed his cheek. “You worry too much.”

“Sometimes I don’t think I worry enough.”

“Worry?” Mara said softly. She took his hand and placed it against her belly. “You want worry? Listen.”

Once more she enfolded him in the Force, and once more they merged toward one another and the third life in the room, the one growing inside of Mara. Tentatively, hesitantly, Luke reached in to touch his son.

The heart was beating, a simple beautiful rhythm, and around it drifted something like a melody, an awareness both alien and familiar, sensations like taste and smell and sight but not like them at all, a universe with no light but with all of the warmth and security in the world.

“Amazing,” he murmured. “That you can give him that. That you can be that for him.”

“It’s humbling,” she said. “It’s worrisome. What if I make a mistake? What if my sickness comes back? And worst of all—” She paused, and he waited, knowing she would get to it in time. “It’s easy, in a way. To protect him now, all I have to do is protect myself, and I’ve been doing that my whole life. Right now, my life is his life. But after he’s born, it will never be like that again. That’s the part that worries me.”

Luke wrapped his arm around her and hugged. “You’ll do fine,” he said. “I promise you.”

“You can’t promise that, any more than you can hold the young Jedi inside of you or keep them safe. It’s the same. It’s the same fear, Luke.”

“Of course,” he replied. “Of course it is.”

They sat and watched the skies of Coruscant, and spoke no more until someone came to their door.

“Speak and they will come,” Luke murmured. “It’s the Solo children.”

“I can send them away.”

“No. They need to talk to me.” He raised his voice. “Come on in.”

He stood and brightened the lights. Anakin, Jaina, and Jacen entered.

“Sorry we left the meeting,” Jaina said.

“I knew what you were doing, and I thank you for trying. Kyp—Kyp must walk his own path for a while. But that’s not why you came, is it?”

“No,” Jacen said. “We’re worried about the Jedi academy.”

“Right,” Anakin joined in. “It occurred to me that if I were Peace Brigade, and wanted to catch a bunch of Jedi all at once—”

“You’d go to Yavin Four. Good thinking.”

Anakin’s face fell visibly. “You already thought of it.”

Luke nodded. “Don’t feel bad. It was only a few days ago that we had enough reports to spot the trend and realize just how seriously the warmaster’s promise has been taken. Trying to deal with all the local fires, trying to find government support to put a stop to this or at least slow it down, I didn’t realize that there are no longer enough mature Jedi in the system to maintain the illusion we were projecting.”

“So what do we do?” Jacen asked.

“I requested the New Republic send a ship to evacuate them, but they’re dragging their heels. They might continue to for weeks.”

“We can’t wait that long!” Jaina said.

“No,” Luke agreed. “I’ve been trying to find Booster Terrik. I think the best thing for the moment would be to not only evacuate the academy but keep the kids on the move, in the Errant Venture. If we just move them to another planet, we don’t really solve the problem.”

“So they’re with Booster?” Anakin said.

“I can’t locate him, unfortunately. I’m still working on it.”

“Talon Karrde,” Mara said softly.

“Perfect,” Luke said. “You know where to find him?”

“What do you think?” Mara said, smirking.

“But what if the Peace Brigade is already at Yavin Four, or on the way?” Anakin asked.

“It’s the best we can do, for the moment,” Luke told him. “Besides, the danger is still hypothetical. The Peace Brigade might not even know about Yavin Four. And even if they did, Kam and Tionne and Master Ikrit are there. They aren’t exactly defenseless.”

“It’s not the best-kept secret in the galaxy,” Jacen said. “And with the illusion gone, what could Kam do against a warship? Let us go.”

“Out of the question,” Luke replied. “I need you all here, and with the bounty on our heads—especially your head, Jacen—it’s too dangerous for you to go off alone. Your parents would never forgive me if I sent you into that with them away.”

“Ask them, then,” Jaina said.

“I can’t. They’re out of contact now, and could be for some time.”

“Shouldn’t we at least go check on the praxeum?” Jaina persisted. “We could just hide at the edge of the system until Karrde shows up, keep an eye on things, run back here to report if things go wrong.”

Luke shook his head. “I know you’re all restless, especially you, Jaina. But your eyes still haven’t fully healed—”

“Not to Rogue Squadron specs, maybe,” Jaina protested, “but I can see well enough to fly.”

“Even if your vision were fully restored,” Luke went on, “I still don’t think sending any or all of you to Yavin Four is the most productive course. There’s important work to do here. Weren’t you just telling Kyp that, Jaina, Jacen?”

“Yes, Uncle Luke,” Jacen said. “We were.”

“Anakin? You haven’t said much.”

Anakin shrugged. “There isn’t much to say, is there?”

Luke detected something a bit dangerous in that, but it quickly passed.

“I’m glad the three of you are thinking about the situation. We agree that the academy is one of our most vulnerable spots. Help me find the rest. Don’t think for a second I’ve thought of everything, because obviously I haven’t. And don’t forget, we’ll reconvene the meeting tomorrow morning.”

The three of them nodded and left.

When they were gone, Mara clucked. “They might be right.”

Luke sighed again. “They might be. But I have a feeling that whoever goes to Yavin Four must go in force, or they won’t be leaving it again. I’ve learned to trust feelings like this.”

“You should have told them that, then,” Mara said.

He flashed her a sardonic smile. “Then they would have gone for sure.”

Mara took his hand. “No rest for the weary. I’ll contact Karrde.” She touched her belly again. “Meanwhile, Skywalker, find me something to eat. Something big and still bleeding.”

   Anakin checked over the systems indicators.

“How do we look, Fiver?” he asked quietly, studying the cockpit readout display.

SYSTEMS WITHIN OPTIMUM VARIANTS, the R7 unit assured him.

“Good. Just hang on while I get clearance. Meanwhile calculate the first jump in the series to get me to the Yavin system.”

That took a certain amount of finagling, including forging a code that would allow him to fly without a check that might alert Uncle Luke or anyone else who would try to stop him.

Because Uncle Luke was wrong, this time. Anakin could feel it in his very center. The Jedi trainees were in grave danger; Talon Karrde would not get there in time. It might already be too late.

It was strange that Uncle Luke still insisted on thinking of Anakin as a child. Anakin had killed Yuuzhan Vong. He had seen friends die and caused the deaths of others. He was responsible for the destruction of countless ships and the beings who crewed them, and that only scratched the most recent skin of the matter.

It was a blind spot the adults in his life had, an ambivalence and a denial. They didn’t understand who he really was, only what he appeared to be. Even his mother and Uncle Luke, who had the Force to help them.

Aunt Mara probably understood—she had never really been a child, either—but even she was blinkered by her relationship with Uncle Luke; she had to take his feelings into account, as well as her own.

Well, there would be anger. He could explain to Uncle Luke about the feeling he had in the Force, but that might only alert the Master to Anakin’s certainty in this matter. Even if Uncle Luke could be convinced to send someone now, it might be someone else, someone older. But Anakin knew it had to be him, he had to go. If he didn’t, his best friend was doomed to a fate much worse than death.

It was the only thing in his life he was really sure of right now.

“Cleared for takeoff,” the port control said.

“Power it up, Fiver,” Anakin murmured. “We’ve got someplace to be.”