Before the Storm

by Michael P. Kube-Mcdowell

  “Good-bye, my teacher,” he said softly as the ion trail faded. “May the Force be with you on your journey.”

  In some ways Jacen Solo was like any seven-year-old boy. He liked building houses from a deck of sabacc cards, driving toy speeders through mud puddles, and playing with model spacecraft. The only problem, as Han saw it, was that Jacen wanted to do all of those things with his mind rather than his hands.

  So far, the ability to levitate even small objects had eluded Jacen. The E-wing and TIE fighter that dueled in the air above his bed were suspended by threads, not by thoughts. But knowing that it was possible was motivation enough for Han’s elder son. Like a parent enduring the first year of a child’s clarinet lessons, Han had learned how to keep the sound of small disasters, failed experiments, and the occasional display of impatience in the next room from making his blood pressure spike. And, unlike Leia, he had no trouble with the noise and chaos that are a child at play.

  But Han had a harder time with the realization that Jacen was becoming, well, a bit pudgy. Han remembered childhood as long days of rough-and-tumble play, as a time when he had a lean, strong body that never tired for long. Not so for Jacen. Though the children had the run of the grounds, Han never saw his elder son come in from the courtyard having run himself to a sweaty exhaustion, or emerge from the gardens as dirty and happy as a worm. And Han worried over it.

  Still harder to accept was seeing Jacen always playing alone, with no friends outside the family and less interest all the time in playing with Jaina or Anakin. Han blamed the lack of friends on himself and Leia. The children had been whisked from one place to another, sent away with bodyguards and hidden away with nannies, all in the name of protecting them. In the process, they had been “protected” from having anything remotely like a normal childhood. And for all that, they had still been kidnapped by Hethrir, and nearly lost.

  There was nothing to be done about it now except to try not to compound the mistake. On the first night the family was reunited, with Leia crying tears of relief as they held each other, Han had silently vowed never to leave the children without the care and protection of a parent again.

  There was no disentangling Leia from the business of the government, but Han saw his own position differently. On their return to Coruscant, he had tried to resign his commission. Admiral Ackbar had pointed out that he would lose his security clearances and Class 1 pass, and Leia would lose his counsel and companionship on sensitive matters.

  “Finding you indispensable to the defense of the New Republic, I must refuse your resignation,” Ackbar said.

  “Now, just a blasted moment—”

  “However, I also find that your current assignment does not make the best use of your experience and abilities,” Ackbar went on. “Effective immediately, I order you placed on detached duty, assigned to the president of the Senate as liaison for domestic defense. You are to assist her in whatever way she sees fit. Do you understand?” If the big-eyed Calamarian had been capable of a wink, he would have sent a sly one in Han’s direction at that moment.

  So Han’s days were now spent at the president’s residence, which he shared with Leia, trying to make up for lost time. But he was discovering that children made the Millennium Falcon’s hyperdrive look dependable and predictable by comparison. Little Anakin was Han’s loyal ally, but the twins tested him early and often. They had their own ideas about the proper order of things, and their place in it.

  “But, Dad, Winter let us—”

  “But, Dad, Chewie always—”

  “But, Dad, Threepio never—”

  Sentences beginning with those constructions were banned from the household by the end of the first month. “It’s not fair!” followed soon thereafter. With Leia backing up his edicts down the line (discreetly negotiating her dissents with him in private), all three children eventually acknowledged Dad as boss of the house.

  But he worried about the day he thought must inevitably come—the day a disagreement would turn into a fight he would lose. Raising Jedi children, he decided, was like raising Ralltiir tigers—cute as they were when young and much as they might love you, they still grew long, deadly claws. Han would never forget the afternoon Anakin had an hourlong, Force-assisted tantrum. Every object in the playroom was shoved or thrown against the wall, leaving the youngster alone in the middle of a bare floor, kicking his heels and pounding his fists.

  One mercy was that all the three children were basically good-hearted. Another was that playing with the Force seemed to make them sleep longer and more deeply. Unfortunately, Anakin and Jacen both had their mother’s stubbornness—neither could be readily compelled to do anything they didn’t want to. And Jaina and Jacen both had a streak of irrepressible mischief, which Leia blamed on Han—both could be regularly counted on to do something you didn’t want them to.

  They had established a new family ritual that seemed to please everyone: When Leia came home, they would all climb into the vortex pool in the garden and spend half an hour or more being carried around by its currents. The kids could play—Anakin had suddenly begun to love the water so much that Ackbar proudly called him “my little fish”—or just cling to Mom and Dad, while for Leia and Han it was therapy, a sigh of relief at the end of a long day.

  Then, while the children were off with the valet droid, dressing for dinner, Han and Leia retreated to their own bedroom for what they jokingly called the “the daily briefing.” It was as much a part of the ritual as the pool—a chance for them to rail, complain, or simply entertain while swapping stories about their day.

  That evening Leia threw herself on the bed and hugged a pillow to her chest. “What news from the front, General?” she asked.

  Han let himself drop into a Kesslerite lounging chair that faced the foot of the bed. It quickly softened and conformed to his body shape, leaving him feeling as though he were still floating in the vortex. “I don’t know what to do about Jacen,” he said. “This morning I tried to interest him in some friendly bolo-ball with Dad. He turned me down.”

  “Well—he’s not very good at it, and kids want their parents to be proud of them,” said Leia, rolling over and staring at the ceiling. “Maybe he’s embarrassed to play with you, since you’re so much better than him.”

  “He’s not very good at it because he never practices. There’s no reason he couldn’t be good at it. But he said it was a stupid game.”

  Leia was diplomatically silent.

  “So I said, ‘Okay, you pick,’” Han continued. “‘Do you want to go skate in the velocidrome, play wallball in the courtyard, what?’ He says, ‘No, thank you, Dad.’ I told him he had to start doing something physical, strengthen his body. Or I’d have to assign him a few laps around the inner fence with the sentry droid every day.”

  “What did he say to that?”

  “He said, ‘Why do I have to be strong? Someday I’ll be able to go anywhere I want, or get anything I want, just by thinking about it—like Uncle Luke.’” Han shook his head. “He doesn’t seem to have noticed that Uncle Luke doesn’t look a bit like Jabba the Hutt.”

  “Neither does Jacen!” Leia said defensively.

  “Give him time.”

  “You’re exaggerating.”

  “I hope,” Han said, though his tone was skeptical. “But I’d be glad to see Luke remind Jacen about the physical side of Jedi training—you know, all that stuff he used to bore us with about the body being the instrument of the mind, not just its vessel?”

  Leia rolled over again and propped herself up on her elbows, her expression suddenly earnest. “Han, have you heard anything from Luke?”

  “What? No, not for a while.” He frowned while he thought. “Not for a long time. Why?”

  “I heard from Tionne on Yavin Four today. Luke’s disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “Gone off somewhere. He turned over the Academy to Streen.”

  “He’s done that before.”

  “From what Tion
ne said, this time was different—it sounded like he wasn’t ever coming back.”

  “Hmm,” said Han. “Highly mysterious, I agree. I can’t think of a single reason why he might not want to put himself on a deserted island in the middle of the big Nowhere with a gaggle of Force adepts.”

  Leia threw a pillow at him, which he neatly parried. “I just wish I knew where he was,” she said. “With neither of us having heard from him in months, and no word before he left—”

  “You’re worried about him?”

  “A little. And if he’s not going to be at the Academy, we could surely use his help here. I tried sending a message to the hyperspace comm in his fighter, but it’s not receiving. If it still exists.”

  “When did he leave?”

  “Days ago. Can we do anything from here to find him?”

  Han snorted. “A Jedi Master who knows everything there is to know about New Republic geography and technology? Not unless he wants to be found. You’ve got a better chance of finding him yourself, with your latent whatsis and that twin thing you two seem to have.”

  Leia looked vaguely uncomfortable. “I wondered if I could quietly ask Admiral Ackbar to list Luke’s E-wing as missing.”

  “You could do that,” Han said, “but you couldn’t do it quietly. It’d take about two hours for the whole fleet to be buzzing with ‘Luke Skywalker has vanished!’ Face it, Leia, anything involving Luke is news. Which might be exactly why he slipped out the back door. What does Streen say?”

  “Streen says there’s nothing he can tell us. But I got the impression he was protecting Luke.”

  “Protecting Luke’s privacy, maybe?”

  “Maybe,” Leia said. “I suppose you’re going to tell me I should respect his privacy, and stop worrying about it?”

  “It’s an idea,” Han said. “He’s a Jedi Master—and he’s out there in the best fighter we have, thanks to Admiral Ackbar. If anyone can take care of himself, my buddy Luke can.”

  Leia flopped on her back on the bed. “Funny, when I think that thought, it comes out, ‘If anyone can manage to find trouble, Luke can.’”

  “That,” said Han, “is the difference between a friend and a sister.”

  “I suppose,” Leia said, sighing. “Speaking of sisters—did anything else happen today?”

  “Well, let’s see,” Han said, crossing his arms over his chest and gazing at the ceiling. “After lunch, Jaina got tired of being ignored by Jacen again and started sabotaging his practice. They ended up in a fight that went on so long it made them both sick to their stomachs…”

  As soon as Luke shut down the engines, he could hear the wind howling outside. It rocked the E-wing on its skids and pelted its surface with freezing salt spray ripped from the crests of the waves breaking near the beach.

  “Keep the stabilizers on,” Luke told R7-T1 as he unbuckled his harness.

  The astromech droid chirped in response, and the words RECOMMEND WING DE-ICERS ON flashed on the cockpit monitor.

  “Fine, keep the wing de-icers on, too.”

  R7-T1 purred. PLEASE CONFIRM NEGATIVE RESPONSE TO CORUSCANT TRAFFIC CONTROL.

  “Yes, I’m sure I don’t want you to notify traffic control of our arrival. Not a peep out of you—not even so much as a time synchronization check.” He reached forward and released the cockpit latch, and the seamless bubble tilted up on concealed hinges. Damp, bitterly cold air poured in with the sound of the surf. “I’ll be back when I’ve found the hangar.”

  The beach was barely thirty meters wide, squeezed between an angry-looking greenish sea and a rocky cliff half again that high. Just beyond the breakers, sculpted spires of the same reddish-black rock jutted up from the water. Smaller chunks of rock were scattered through the surf and all along the beach, half buried in the coarse brown sand. Overhead, a thick gray mat of clouds churned as the wind drove it briskly along.

  Oblivious to the cold and the wind, Luke walked slowly south along the rocky beach. He held one hand out in front of him, palm down, sweeping it methodically back and forth through the air, looking almost like a blind man feeling his way through an unfamiliar room.

  Luke had not gone far when he stopped and looked up at the top of the cliff for a long moment, then out at the twin spires of rock. Dropping his chin to his chest and closing his eyes, he turned through two full circles, then looked back up at the cliff edge.

  “Yes,” he said, the wind stealing the word from his lips. “Yes, it is here.”

  He sat down on the sand, cross-legged and straight-backed, and brought his hands together in his lap, fingertip to fingertip. Concentrating on a picture in his mind, Luke dipped his awareness deeply into the flow of the Force beneath him. With eyes that looked inward, he found what he was seeking, like flaws in a near-perfect crystal. He extended his will.

  The sand around him stirred. The rocks shuddered, shifted, then began to rise from the sea and the sand as though sifted from them by an invisible screen. Swirling through the air as they sought their place, the stones took shape as broken wall and shattered foundation, as arch and gate and dome—the ruins of Darth Vader’s fortress retreat. It hung in the air around and above Luke as it had once stood atop the cliff, a dark-faced and forbidding edifice.

  There was no record in Imperial City’s files to say whether his father had ever occupied the fortress, though it had clearly been built for him in accord with his instructions. It had been empty when it was destroyed by a B-wing’s blasters, in the days after the New Republic reclaimed Coruscant.

  Was this where Vader plotted his conquests in the Emperor’s service? Was this where he had come to rejuvenate after a battle? Had there been celebrations here, self-indulgent pleasures or cruelties? Luke listened for the echoes of the old evils, and could not be certain. But that did not matter to his plans. As he had redeemed and reclaimed his father, he would redeem and reclaim his father’s house.

  Now the stones swirled again in the air, joined by others plucked from the sea and stripped from the face of the cliff. Now broken edge fused against broken edge, and the dark faces of the rock lightened as their mineral structure was reshuffled. Now heavy rock walls and floors thinned to an airy elegance as if they were clay in a potter’s press. Now a tower stretched skyward until it rose above the edge of the cliff.

  When it was done, the last gap closed, the last rock transformed, the structure securely perched just above the sand on pillars of stone extending down to the bedrock, Luke brought the E-wing down the beach and nestled it in the chamber he had made for it. It was not a door that closed over the opening, though, but a solid wall that closed out not only the wind and the cold, but the world.

  “Shut down all systems,” Luke told R7-T1. “Then place yourself in standby mode, I won’t be needing you for a while.”

  The last task was to inspect his retreat from the perspective of any outsiders whose gaze might fall upon it. All was as he had planned. From the sky, it appeared as part of the beach. From the sea, as part of the cliffs. From the beach, as part of the sky. From the cliffs, as part of the sea. It was not a trick of camouflage, but a simple matter of allowing the essences of its substance to be seen. The retreat was of the sea, and the rock, and the sand, and the sky, in harmony with them rather than imposed on them.

  The last test was to climb the tower and inspect the view. But when he looked to the east, he found his view blocked by the lowering clouds. So he waited, shrugging off time as easily as he shrugged off the cold. He waited until the wind finally blew the storm away, until he could see the snow-capped Menarai Mountains ruling over the jewel of the Core, outlined against the sky by the light from the yellow-faced inner moon.

  “May this sight remind me always that the few stones I’ve gathered will not last,” he said softly. “And may the memory of Anakin Skywalker remind me always that surrender is more powerful than will.”

  Then he descended at last into his retreat, sealing the opening behind him.

  Leia sat bolt upright in the
darkness. “He’s here.”

  “What?” Han said sleepily.

  “He’s here—on Coruscant.”

  “Who’s here?”

  “Luke. I felt his mind touch mine.”

  “Great. Invite him to dinner,” Han said with a yawn.

  “You don’t understand,” she said impatiently. “I was sleeping, or thought I was. I was dreaming that Luke was looking down at me. Then I realized I was awake. We looked at each other for a moment, and then he disappeared—as though he’d drawn a curtain.”

  “Sounds like dreaming to me.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “You were right, Han—he’s hiding. He doesn’t want to be found.”

  Han pulled a pillow over his head. “Let him hide, then. I could sleep at night.”

  “I just want to know why. I don’t understand what’s happening.” And I need to know that he’s there if I need him, she thought.

  “He’ll tell us when he’s ready,” Han said, drawing Leia down into the comforting circle of his arms. “Sleep, my princess. Mornings always come too soon.”

  Chapter Three

  The broad, curving viewpanes of the staff conference room, high in the restored remnant of the Imperial Palace, looked out toward the oldest and busiest of the three spaceports serving Imperial City.

  For safety and security reasons, neither the landing nor the launch patterns brought ships anywhere near the rebuilt administrative complex. But it was still possible to watch their comings and goings, and—for the sharp-eyed—to identify familiar types and even individual vessels. On more than one occasion Leia had come to the conference room to watch the Millennium Falcon leave on a mission or watch impatiently for its return.

  Rarely, though, did any of the activity at Eastport actually demand the attention of those in the staff conference room. Only the largest ships, the occasional crash landing and explosion, or a full-power launch abort could be heard through the transparisteel. So when the viewpanes began to hum in sympathy with the sound beating on them from outside, both Leia and Ackbar glanced up from their work to see why.