VII: Many Meetings

Before the grand vista of Coruscant at sunset, Luke Skywalker seemed small: Just a cloaked shape, easily lost before the transparisteel expanse. All around him the cityscape was coming to life, twinkling like the first stars of the night. Deep reds and oranges and purples turned the Jedi master into a silhouette, filling the room with warm light as the sun sank toward the distant horizon. Shattered clouds were stretched gauze in the mauve sky, woven by endless threads of contrails and infinite traffic lanes. Behind him the top floor of the Ministry of Justice building slowly filled, each new arrival blooming in the Force like a star.

Kyp Durron was a ball of emotion and intensity, held back by durasteel chains of discipline thicker than a promise. Beside him Wurth Skidder was an energetic tangle of earnest excitement, as stark a difference as could be to the calm breath of Cilghal’s warm presence. As each Jedi entered they glanced at each other, to the cityscape beyond, to Luke. They’d traveled from across half the galaxy and more, yanked away from other duties and responsibilities and dragged all the way to the capital.

Luke Skywalker rarely ever issued orders, but all present respected him enough that even a mere request had them moving.

Lowering his hood, Wurth sidled up next to Kyp, nudging him with an elbow.

“Any idea what Master Skywalker wants to talk to us about?”

“I heard there was something like an invasion,” Kyp observed dryly. Skidder snorted.

Some were taking their seats about a circular table, others choosing to remain standing, conversing in low tones. Luke’s presence was contained and minimal, giving little away. In short order twenty Jedi filled the chamber, greeting friends not seen for months. Without turning away from the window, Luke spoke, the chamber falling quiet at once.

“The New Republic has two enemy defectors in custody.” He turned, lowering his hood, revealing boyish features as he nodded toward his students and friends. “One is a priestess, the other is apparently her mascot or companion. As a result of their supplying military intelligence that was, at least in part, responsible for the recent victory at Ord Mantell, the defectors are being brought to Coruscant for further debriefing.”

A smattering of surprised murmurs and excitement swept the room, punctuated by Kyp’s comment of “Now we’re getting somewhere.” Luke held up a hand and everyone quieted.

“That’s not all. The Council for Security and Intelligence received a confidential message a week ago. A previously unknown group is interested in speaking with the New Republic on the matter of the Yuuzhan Vong. According to the Senator’s office, they took down a Vong squadron to save a Republic Taskforce.” Already primed by the news of the defector, Jedi around the room looked at each other with amazement.

“An alliance? And a whole squadron?” Raltharan asked. The Balosar Knight perked up, antennae twitching free of his tousled blond mane.

Luke nodded. “It seems so. They took in the survivors of a Task Force that escaped the fall of Obroa-Skai and sent a message to the local capital almost immediately.”

“This gets better and better.” Kyp looked around the room. “When do we get a shot at debriefing the Vong? And I’m guessing they want us to help mediate these negotiations?”

“Senator Shesh requested a Jedi representative personally. She’ll be overseeing the outreach to this new faction. As for the priestess…” Luke trailed off. “She’s more complicated.”

“It has to be subterfuge,” Cilghal interjected, spreading her webbed hands on the table. “Doesn’t it? Notwithstanding the alleged military intelligence.” Her gaze took in both Kyp and Luke simultaneously.

Luke nodded, moving toward the table where he paused to perch himself on the edge, one booted foot extending to the floor to steady himself.

“The New Republic is being cautious. If the defectors continue to supply intelligence that holds up, they’ll be given more credence.”

“So they have offered more,” Wurth stated. “that has to be a good sign.”

“Or it’s just a way to creep further into our good graces,” murmured Harlan Ysanna.

“There have to be some disaffected among the Vong.’’ Kyp rubbed his chin, pacing back and forth. "It’d be impossible not to."

“That is the feeling of NRI,” Luke allowed. “The priestess is named Elan and she seems to be a conscientious objector.” There were a few mutters of wry amusement at the last, which Luke smiled at. “As unbelievable as it might be. She is willing to work with NRI further.” He glanced around the table, feeling the interest and eagerness of all present wash over him. “Conditionally.”

“Conditionally,” echoed Kyp.

Harlan leaned back, folding her arms across her chest. “They want to meet with us, don’t they?”

Luke nodded.

Grey-haired Streen laughed, slapping his palm down on the table. “Exactly the sort of thing I expected.” Eyeing Luke, Streen raised an eyebrow. “Did they happen to say just why they want to meet with us?”

“Besides assassinating the people that keep countering them?” Kyp shot a look at Wurth, who deflated a little.

Luke straightened up from the table, slowly pacing around its circumference, hands clasped behind his back. His robe swirled behind him, skimming just above the floor. The former Bespin miner turned sideways in his chair to keep the Jedi master in sight.

“They claim they have information on an illness that Yuuzhan Vong agents introduced, a long time before the first worldships landed on Helska 4.”

Shocked silence fell over the room as several Knights rocked back in their chairs.

“I won’t try to fool any of you,” Luke admitted. “With all my heart, I want to believe it’s the illness Mara has been suffering from, but that remains to be seen.”

There was an eruption of noise, Jedi speaking over one another:

“-of course we couldn’t sense it-”

“-another attack on the Jedi-”

“-then they know-”

“-what if it was a test-”

Luke raised his hand again and in moments the chamber quieted, all eyes fixed on the Master.

Cilghal raised a single digit and Luke gestured towards her. “If it is the same,” she said, gravelly voice filled with surprise, “dare we surmise the Yuuzhan Vong know that Mara is ill?”

Luke shook his head, tightening his lips and frowning. “I don’t think we should leap to that conclusion.”

“Why not?” Wurth asked. “I mean - of course they know. I bet they’re using Mara to get to us just the same way they got to her!”

Anakin spoke up for the first time, rocking forward to plant both boots on the floor from where he had been reclining. “You don’t know that. The defectors have been scanned for just that sort of thing and they’ll be scanned again before we meet them.”

Kyp looked between Luke and his nephew, nonplussed.

“These are Vong,” he said slowly, as if confused that two and two were adding up to five. “Our best scanners can’t make heads or tails of their biotech.”

“That may be so,” Luke allowed, nodding once. “But it's a risk we have to take.”

“Then you’ve already made up your mind to meet with them?”

Luke returned to the table, once again perching on the edge. “As an accommodation to the New Republic as much as anything else - it’s a way to demonstrate to them that we can work together. Like assisting with Senator Shesh’s diplomatic mission.”

“We’ll get to that in a minute, Master Skywalker,” Ganner Rhysode said. The young human Jedi glanced around the chamber beseechingly. “But if we’re going to do this, let’s do it for Mara and not the New Republic. Personally, I couldn’t care less about accommodating the military or the Senate after what’s happened.” There were a few murmurs of agreement that dissolved before Luke’s frown.

“It’s not for us to pick and choose, Ganner. We serve the Galaxy even when it’s difficult.”

“That’s true Master, but-”

“Luke’s right,” Kyp interjected. “It’s for Mara as much as for the New Republic. It’s like I’ve been saying, we can’t stand alone against the Vong.” Rare as it was for Durron and Skywalker to agree of late, there were some surprised expressions that turned thoughtful as the Jedi mulled it over. Letting the room settle, Luke spoke again.

“I’m going to propose that the defectors meet with Mara and me alone.”

It was too much for Jacen, who surged to his feet. “Then you do think it’s a trap!”

Luke turned to his other nephew with a small smile, shaking his head. “I don’t know if it is or it isn’t.”

“Then let them meet with me or Streen or maybe Kam Solusar,” Jacen offered. “Any one of us would be willing to risk our lives to help Mara.”

“Or me,” Kyp offered. “Really, Master Skywalker -" the honorific was not ironic “-if this is a trap, we can’t afford to lose your guidance.”

Cilghal looked between the two masters, often at odds of late, her broad mouth slightly ajar. “Master Durron and your nephew are correct, Master. If there is risk, then you and Mara are the last ones who should assume it.”

Nods rippled around the table along with voiced affirmations.

“What are you suggesting, that all of us meet with them?”

“All of us that aren’t accompanying Senator Shesh,” Streen clarified.The reminder of the other topic brought a moment of quiet.

“There’s that matter too, of course,” Kyp said. “As much as I’d like nothing better than a few moments alone with a Yuuzhan Vong…”

“We’ll need representatives to go with the Senator,” Jacen finished, frowning. “How do we split this up?”

“It’s important to know who they are before we make any decisions. They call themselves the Imperium…” Luke began, as his students and peers listened with rapt attention.

----------------------------------------

Luke found his wife laying on a couch, feet up on the far armrest, forearm thrown across her eyes. Even with a fever, even looking exhausted and wan, even with her skin blushing bruised under her eyes and at her joints, she was beautiful. Always would be. Careful not to jostle her, Luke toed off his boots and slid in beside her, balancing precariously on the edge of the cushions.

“Sorry I missed it,” Mara Jade murmured, her words blurry.

“It’s probably better you did,” Luke said. “You would’ve chewed them out for being so melodramatic.”

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“Skywalker,” she groaned, elbowing him. “I love melodrama. Let me guess, everyone wanted to volunteer to meet Ms. Priestess.”

“They care, Mara,” Luke said softly.

“I know. I know.” Mara hoisted herself up on her elbows, letting her husband slip an arm under her shoulders and shimmy closer, resting her against his chest. “I hate this.”

“This could be our solution.”

“I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

Luke reached out, tentative, not wanting to intrude on Mara. If she caught him trying to feel her through the Force he feared she’d take it personally and pull away. Mara’s presence seemed to sigh and let him in and Luke dove into the sensation of his wife. The nuclear kiln that was her vibrant soul was still there, as ferocious as ever, but like it had been for months, she felt muffled, like skritswool was pulled over her sensation in the Force. A sort of shroud; a dirty pane of transparisteel or a smearing of grease across a lume.

That was the worst part of this illness. He could feel Mara fighting, he could feel her health slipping away, but no matter how hard he tried, the disease itself slipped away from him. It was as slick as a kibo seed between his fingertips, squirming and squirting away from any attempt to see it through the Force. He had tried everything, and Mara too. From cautious, holistic approaches that sent tendrils of the Force through her body, climbing up her lymphatic system and riding immune cells in her veins to brute force grabbing at what-just-wasn’t-there.

Neither of them ever had results. Even Cilghal apologized over and over that she couldn’t find anything. She’d once saved Mon Mothma by extracting poison one molecule at a time, and this at a time in which she was still fresh to the sense of the Force and to medicine. But the talented Mon Calamari was just as helpless as the best medical droids the New Republic could provide.

It was there, it had to be there - all the signs were there. Mara had all the symptoms of a degenerative illness, but there was just nothing to see.

Helplessness never sat well with Luke Skywalker, and as he probed Mara’s presence in the Force, his heart ached at how little he could do.

“Not my best week,” she tried to joke.

“Mara…”

“Don’t, Luke.”

Instead, he kissed her cheek, feeling how hot her skin was. Better to change the subject, so he brought up the other part of the meeting. “We’ve decided on who to send with Senator Shesh.”

“I still don’t like her,” Mara muttered.

“She’s only spoken positively about the Jedi so far. She was the one who reached out to me, not Fey’lya.”

“Still,” Mara said, as stubborn as ever. “Go on, though. Who gets to go be a Jedi?”

“Kyp volunteered, along with Anakin, Harlan and Mei.”

“Mei? Mei Taral? The Jensaarai?" She tapped her lower lip, staring at the ceiling. "What’s she like?”

“Complicated,” Luke said. “But this will suit her. This ‘Imperium’ seems to be a martial culture. Senator Shesh has said she wants to try to appeal to that proclivity.”

“Tell her to pack her armor.”

Luke laughed. The Jensaarai woman was the only of the four that left Susevfi and stayed with the Jedi that kept her ritually constructed armor. Mei had chosen a native creature of Susevfi, a brackardian vrak as her totem. She cut an impressive figure in it when she trained, standing out among the jumpsuits and utility tanktops. All Jensaarai assembled their own suit of armor, taking as much care as a Jedi created a lightsaber, designing it after a creature they felt the closest affinity to. It became a part of them, more than just protection. Taral’s armor was lepidopteran, done up in swirls of crimson and blue with bright aposematic splashes of pinks and whites.

Somehow it worked, accentuating flexible overlapping plates with a short feathery drape about her shoulders. So many branch traditions in the Force brought their own unique and precious heritage, and Luke took care to embrace them all. Mei had kept her armor and every time she wore it in the Temple it was a reminder that the Sith could never win. The ways of the Jedi, varied as they can be, survived.

Luke had encouraged all four to keep their armors, hoping to ease the transition from their sheltered learning to the Jedi ways of Yavin IV after Mei’s own older brother left. Surprisingly Kelbis Nu, Dolk Ush and Mei’s own younger brother, Niko, had been excited to embrace the Jedi ways rather than attempt to syncretize. There had been some friction between the siblings in that, but long before Niko died in Desann’s attack on the Temple the two had reached an understanding.

Mei carried her brother's 'saber now too, along with her own, and seemed all the more determined to keep the tradition of her birth as alive as she wanted to maintain her friendships and connections among the Order.

“I don’t think she’s going to forget,” Luke stared up at the ceiling, feeling Mara breathing next to him. Tried not to think about the occasional hitch as she inhaled. “I was surprised Anakin volunteered.”

“Between some Vong holy woman and this Imperium that blew up a whole vong squadron, I’m surprised Kyp wasn’t already out the door.” Like Luke, Mara had read over the brief Senator Shesh’s office transmitted to the Order’s Coruscant headquarters. So far this ‘Imperium’ was actively communicating through a direct holonet connection, even though for some strange reason they insisted on only using prerecorded messages. The two men in the initial recording hadn’t shown up again, instead replaced by who Luke recognized instantly as a career diplomat. His tone was always perfectly modulated and even his expressions seemed designed. Everything about this man, Noskaur, was warm, friendly and affable, while revealing almost nothing.

So far, all the Senator’s office had managed to agree on was that the New Republic wasn’t interested in any hostilities, and neither was this Imperium. The Yuuzhan Vong were a common enemy, and Taskforce Mousetrap should be returned to the New Republic. Both sides wanted a meeting, but were smilingly dancing around exactly what shape that would take. The Jedi would be there, that was for sure, but for now, whether it would be in the system the Imperium claimed or on neutral ground was still to be hammered out.

There were some standouts, like Noskaur’s offhand comments about “interest in learning more of this region of space". Mara noticed it too. Opinion among those in the know leaned toward this group being some sort of Imperial relic that had been forgotten in the past fifty years, but those few words put a shadow over that. In her years as a Jedi, and sometimes even being seen as ‘Luke Skywalker’s wife’, some forgot that Mara had been an Imperial agent and then the second to an information broker.

“Kyp’s just as worried about Elan as Jacen is, but I think with the rest of the Knights and Masters going there with us, he’s comfortable enough to, well, indulge himself.”

“And Anakin?”

Luke frowned, considering. His nephew was complicated, to say the least.

“How’s he doing? I wish I had time to talk to him more after Dantooine and Ithor, but…” Mara trailed off. The weeks after those catastrophes had been some of Mara’s worst. Some days she could barely even get out of bed, and though her health had improved, the specter still hung over them both. They’d kept it, if not quiet, then not exactly advertised. He hadn’t even told Leia just how ill Mara had been and it still chewed at him to not be completely honest with his sister.

“Han left with an old friend of his a few days ago. Roa. He almost didn’t say goodbye.”

He could feel Mara wince. Han didn’t blame Anakin. He didn’t want to blame his son. It wasn’t Anakin’s fault. No one, not even a Jedi, not even all the greatest Jedi to ever live could have stopped Dobido and thrown the moon back into space. And Chewbacca? The wookiee would count giving his life for his best friend’s son as cheap at twice the price. A losing hand of sabacc he just couldn’t help but play. In a normal family, perhaps, as much as Han said he didn’t blame Anakin for Chewie’s death - maybe it would be believed. Maybe Han could convince everyone else as much as he was convincing himself of this one, precious truth.

Han’s family were Jedi. All of them.

There were times when the Force felt like a weight - never a burden, the Force would never be a burden - but a weight on his shoulders. Times that shook the Galaxy and times that were small, almost petty in the enormity of what had happened to so many people, but times that were intimate and personal.

Times like when he knew his nephew felt the blame that radiated off his brother-in-law like desert heat. When Han protested he didn’t blame Anakin, that he couldn’t blame Anakin, that there was no way, that it would insult Chewie – but when he did, all the same. Han was human, as human as anyone else. Even Anakin understood that his father didn’t want to pin the responsibility on him.

He still felt it, all the same.

That wedge was splitting his family apart. Han blamed Anakin. He blamed Leia, he blamed Luke, he blamed the New Republic, he blamed the Force, Sernpidal, the Vong, the entire Galaxy. His friend, his brother, blamed the very air he breathed.

So it wasn’t Anakin’s fault. No one could argue otherwise.

Luke’s nephew carried it anyway.

“What happened?” Mara asked.

“Anakin tracked him down. I could feel it. It seemed…” Luke trailed off, running fingertips along Mara’s warm upper arm. She always felt feverish now. “It seemed alright. No anger. Just a lot of sorrow.” Mara buried her face into his shoulder, her voice coming out muffled.

“Maybe you were right. Maybe we should have sent him back to Yavin.”

Luke stared up at the eggshell white swirls of the ceiling for a long time. Long enough that Mara’s breathing slowed and her presence in the Force softened. Not asleep, just dozing. The twins' and Anakin’s training redefined the idea of ‘complicated’. If they weren’t being kidnapped by ex-Imperials or swept up in adventures spanning the galaxy, Leia protested them all being away from Coruscant. So they would trade off - Jacen and Jaina at the praxeum, then Anakin, then back again.

He knew his sister felt guilty. Guilty that she wasn’t around more, that Jaina and Jacen had grown up almost without her and Anakin knew his nanny droid better than his mother in his early years. All that tied up with guilt over not doing enough for the New Republic. Guilt that she was being selfish in starting a family. That drove her out to do more, take up more positions, head more committees, more missions.

Sometimes Luke reflected on the tales of the Order before the Fall and thought about the potential wisdom of preventing Force-sensitive families.

When one had no secrets from each other, it was both precious and precarious.

“Tahiri has been sending him letters.”

It took a moment for Mara to reply, but he felt her awareness.

“Quaint.”

“I think Sannah did too.”

Mara stirred next to him, adjusting on the couch and on him, sighing.

“Do you know if he’s writing back?”

Luke hummed and pulled a face.

“I don’t think he is. I think…he’s pulling back from them.” He felt Mara nod.

“Daeshara’cor hurt him. Again. He knows it wasn’t his fault and she told him not to blame himself, but you know how it is.”

“Another person he couldn’t save.”

Mara patted his chest.

“Takes after his Uncle.”

An uncle who could barely spare time for him. Ikrit stepped up and guided the young Jedi in ways that Luke wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to. Sometimes it felt like he had never taught a single Jedi, even with the dozens that now filled the Temple and leant hands around the Galaxy. He talked to them, led them, guided them, but had he ever really taught them?

How much did Luke even know to pass on? The Force was just part of him, like his own heartbeat. Not even like breathing - a person can hold their breath, they can be aware of inhale and exhale, but the Force was just always there. Always in him, around him, part of him.

How could anyone teach that?

“I haven’t been the uncle I should’ve been.”

Mara’s lips brushed his cheek and her breath whispered around his ear. “Don’t, Skywalker. Don’t do that. You don’t get a monopoly on saving-the-galaxy-complexes.” Gently she rose up, propped up on her elbow, looking down at him. Her red-gold hair draped like a curtain, cutting off the world around them. “Chewie wasn’t your fault either. I don’t think anyone’s said that to you yet, so there it is.”

Despite himself he couldn’t help but smile. Mara glowed in the Force and like always, there was nothing but sincerity. She was herself, in and out. No deceptions, no qualifications. Never between them.

“Anakin spent time with me and I think it helped. I hope it helped. After these meetings, take him back to Yavin with you. You were going to check in on Kam and Tionne anyway, and the rest of the apprentices. Bring Anakin along. Go train in the jungle. Make him sweat.”

Luke raised an eyebrow.

“You think?”

“Anakin’s not good when he’s just sitting around. You remember it all. I still can’t figure out how he got into half the stuff he did with Tahiri and they were just kids. He felt the most centered when we were camping, doing simple things.” Mara looked comically thoughtful for a moment, screwing up her face in an exaggeration of focus and pursing her lips. “I think I know someone else like that.”

“After these meetings, then. Elan is supposed to be on Coruscant in a few weeks. I’ll let Anakin know - end of this month.”

“And he’ll be around his friends again.”

Luke nodded.

“That will help him heal too.”

Mara dipped down and pecked him on the lips then sat up and stretched. She felt warmer, brighter, less muffled in the Force.

“This couch isn’t made for two people,” she grumbled as her shoulder popped and back cracked. “I need to hit the ‘fresher anyway. Stick around, husband mine. We’ll have dinner in.”

He choked out a laugh as they rose from the couch, feeling Mara’s own amusement ripple around him. Her endearment was calculated, of course, to get that reaction. She’d heard their friend Mirax say as much to Corran Horn once and it had kept her laughing at inappropriate moments for the next week. ‘Husband mine’ suited that couple perfectly, something so saccharine that it just felt right with Mirax and Corran.

Of course, hearing it from Mara was beyond incongruous, so she made it a habit to drop it when he least expected it, aside from the sudden mischievousness he’d feel in the Force. More than once she innocently projected it into his mind while he discussed specifics of the Jedi Headquarters with Fey’lya. He’d had to pay her back in turn later.

Still smiling, he set about ordering. He reached out, feeling Anakin still ambling around Leia’s apartments. His nephew felt calmer through the Force. He’d have to ask how things went with Han.

Their family would heal. He had no doubts about it.