Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Ascension

by Christie Golden

  “So, a few months of exposure to a new way of thinking has completely contradicted everything else you knew since the time you were born.” Luke tried hard not to sound sarcastic, but he thought he wasn’t doing a good job.

  “It’s more complicated than that,” Vestara continued. “I saw what the beliefs of my people really are. I saw a lot of them in Abeloth. And I saw who—what sort of man my father really was.” Her voice broke at this last and she cleared her throat. “I don’t expect you to believe me right away. But I hope that with time I will be able to prove myself to you. All I’m asking for is that chance.”

  Luke leaned back in his chair, arms clasped behind his head, and regarded her intently. “All right. Drop your guard. I know you’re extremely strong in the Force, and I know that you’ve had walls around you probably since you could crawl. Drop them.”

  She looked uncomfortable, but not surprised. Ben reached for her hand and pressed it briefly.

  “It’s just Dad,” he said.

  “Just the Jedi Grand Master,” she replied wryly.

  “If you’re sincere, then you should have nothing to hide,” Luke said.

  “If—if I do, then you’ll believe me?”

  “It would be a good start, yes.”

  She nodded and took a deep breath. He saw her visibly relax her jaw and shoulders. Then Vestara met Luke’s eyes and nodded.

  He could have been harsh, rough. But that wasn’t the Jedi way. He reached for her in the Force gently, in an exploratory fashion, as one might reach a hand out to a timid animal. There was ugliness there; there would have to be, given her history. But there was nothing ugly and dark that was new. Instead, to his surprise, Luke found a small, timid gleam of hope and a desire for and fear of joy. He sent reassurance to her, and that small spot suddenly expanded, and did not contract to its former weak strength. He focused on what it meant to be a Jedi: to protect those who were victimized and could not defend themselves. To trust, to love, to be willing to give of oneself. To fight and risk one’s life for those ideals.

  And the little place in Vestara’s Force aura drank it all in. As gently as he had approached her, he disconnected.

  “Well?” Ben asked impatiently.

  “When we return, I will undertake your training myself, if you wish,” Luke said. At the expression of delight on both young faces he cautioned, “But you’ve got a long way to go.”

  “You’re nervous,” Ben said. He and Vestara sat together on the edge of her bed. Ben had his arm around her, and she leaned on his shoulder. Her hair was soft against his cheek, and he breathed in the scent of it with closed eyes. He was glad Vestara couldn’t see him right now, as he knew he had the most idiotic smile on his face. He was okay with that.

  “No, I’m not,” Vestara said, far too quickly.

  He squeezed her arm. “Yeah, you are. I would be, too. You’re about to meet a whole bunch of people who not long ago were your sworn enemies and say, Hi there, I used to be Sith but not anymore. It’s okay because I’m dating the most amazing, best-looking, smartest Jedi in the—ow!”

  She’d used the Force to smack his head. The blow was clearly playful, but it stung, and Ben used his free hand to rub his ear.

  “Don’t get cocky,” Vestara said. Her voice was teasing, warm with affection, and Ben was discovering he loved to hear that tone. “All right. I am nervous. Who wouldn’t be? No one is going to believe I’ve really had a change of heart. And I don’t blame them.”

  “The Jedi believe in second chances,” Ben told her, growing serious. She needed to trust in that, or else she would be in danger of backsliding. “I know it’s hard for you to be open, but you’ve got nothing to hide anymore. Let everyone see what I see, and they’ll believe you.”

  “I hope so,” Vestara said. A slight quaver had entered her voice. “Master Luke … seems to.”

  Luke’s response had heartened both Ben and Vestara, but Ben knew that facing so many Jedi, who had very recently been attacking Sith ships, had to be an unsettling concept for a Sith born and raised.

  “It’ll be all right,” he reassured her. “You might sense a little doubt and some hostility. Okay, maybe a lot. But you’ll win them over.”

  Vestara pulled away from him slightly, her brown eyes shining with mischief. “Will I?” she said in a mock-sultry tone.

  “Yeah, but you don’t kiss anyone but me, okay?”

  Her teasing smirk melted into a smile—full, genuine, warm. “Okay,” she said.

  “How did your parents handle it?” Luke asked Jaina. She was serving as his copilot during the last few hours before they arrived at Coruscant.

  “Handle what?” Jaina asked. “They’ve handled a lot of things. Especially me.”

  “That’s what I’m referring to,” Luke said. “And Jacen, and Anakin. How did they feel when you … well … when you noticed boys as more than people to spar with?”

  She chuckled. “Mom and Dad were pretty okay with the boys. Dad was a bit overprotective of me, as you can imagine. I think honestly any problems they might have had with me and Jag … and Zekk … stemmed from the fact that they weren’t around to share a lot of our younger years. We seemed to grow up too fast for them. They weren’t ready for me to be an adult, to be forced to think about me having a relationship. I think they realized how much they missed, and that’s why now they’re focusing on spending so much time with Amelia.”

  There was no bitterness in her voice, just a statement of fact. Luke thought, Even if a parent is able to be around for all the special moments—it still goes by too fast.

  “I was thinking about what you said a while ago. Before we let Vestara accompany us to Korriban.”

  She looked at him, confused. “What did I say?”

  “You told me not to underestimate the power of love. And that maybe if Ben believes Vestara is redeemable, it’s because she is.”

  “Oh that, right.”

  “I … can’t help but wonder if you’re right. Vestara seems completely sincere. I’ve always been able to sense when she’s hiding things, at least to some degree. But … I don’t think she’s lying this time.”

  “She’s only sixteen, Uncle Luke. She’s had her father try to make her a head shorter with a lightsaber and is effectively cut off from her whole culture now. She’s had a chance to see far beyond what she’s been taught, and to make up her own mind about what she wants to do. And she’s obviously in love with Ben and he with her, even if they won’t admit it, and he’s a good influence.”

  He eyed her. “They’re awfully young for that. Infatuation, yes. But love?”

  Jaina turned to look him squarely in the eye. “Tahiri was fifteen and Anakin seventeen when he died. Don’t you think those two were really in love?”

  Luke felt slightly chastened. “Because of all he’s been through, I understand that Ben is more of an adult than most people twice his age. I guess I just never thought about him having that level of maturity with regard to relationships.”

  “Some people never become mature with regard to relationships,” Jaina said, returning her attention to the console. “Some people’s hearts settle early, and for good.” She smiled a little. “Even when they don’t realize it.”

  Luke sighed. “Maybe I’m the one who needs to change,” he said. “Maybe I’m too set in my ways to believe that someone who was born Sith, raised Sith, and grew up surrounded by Sith can set that aside enough to become a Jedi.”

  “Well, I would have used the word crotchety myself, but yes, that’s what I’m thinking.”

  “That’s what’s wrong with younglings today,” Luke said, grinning. “No respect for your elders.”

  She grinned back and they fell silent again. Finally Luke said, “All right. My son is dating a former Sith who wants to become a Jedi. I should at least give her a chance. I don’t want her forbidding me to see my grandchildren, after all.”

  “Whoa, whoa, don’t go too far on the other side here, Uncle Luke.”

  �
�Good point,” Luke quipped, rubbing his chin. “Don’t want to look as weathered as your father quite yet.”

  “I’m going to tell him you said that.”

  “I look forward to telling him myself.”

  JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT

  LUKE KNEW THAT THE MASTERS WOULD WANT TO WELCOME HIM BACK with a celebration. It had been a tremendously painful and challenging time for all of them, and they would be relieved to again see the founder of their Order.

  He also knew that with so much going on, there was no time for ceremony or fanfare; nor would it be appropriate. Not yet. So he had requested a quiet arrival, and a few moments alone in the Masters’ Chamber before undertaking his first task as returning Grand Master.

  It had been a long time since he had stood here, and he admitted to himself now he had indeed thought that perhaps it would take several years instead of only one before this moment came at last. While this pause—alone in so familiar a space, a room that had seen so much conversation, so much cooperation, and, yes, so many clashes—was precious and he was savoring it, he also deeply regretted the necessity that had led to his return.

  Daala had wanted answers as to why Jacen Solo had become Darth Caedus. Luke and Ben had wanted answers, too. They had embarked in search of them, thinking to revisit places Jacen had gone in an effort to discover, piecemeal if they had to, how a good man had strayed so far into the shadows. They had learned much of what Jacen learned; skills that no other Jedi had known for centuries, if ever. And they had learned that his fall had been inevitable.

  Standing here, his mind and heart open, Luke realized they should have known that part of the mystery long before they had even set foot onto Jade Shadow. It seemed obvious now. Vergere’s torment, in essence a new, if brutal, morality, had molded Jacen and set him on the path. He had been taught his specialness, but had misunderstood it. While every being was unique and had a gift to offer the galaxy, Jacen had seen his uniqueness as a destiny—one that gave him the right, perhaps even the duty, to trample whatever stood in his path in order to do what he felt was best. He had started the Swarm War in an attempt to prevent a dark future, had convinced himself that the means justified the ends, and by the time of his death at his twin’s hand had been willing to sacrifice trust, love, family—everyone and everything except Allana, who seemed to be his last tie to his humanity. All this, to stop the vision he had seen of the dark man on the throne.

  The true tragedy of Jacen Solo lay not in what he had done, but in why he had done it.

  Luke sensed her at the door, waiting for permission to enter. He turned, projecting welcome and warmth into the Force, and the door slid open.

  Master Saba Sebatyne entered, stopping a few paces away from Luke and dipping her head in acknowledgment. He was surprised at her physical appearance and her presence in the Force. Saba had always been a warrior Jedi, fierce, strong, proud of her heritage, with a passion for doing what was right unclouded by the personal doubts and second-guessing that often plagued humans. He could both see and feel the toll her tenure as acting Grand Master had taken. She seemed slightly … smaller in stature, as if she had been diminished, and her presence in the Force reeked of self-doubt and uncertainty. Quickly Luke hid his surprise, lest she misinterpret it as censure.

  “This one is gratified by your safe return to your proper role, Grand Master Skywalker,” she said. Even her voice was subdued.

  “And I am glad to be back, Master Sebatyne,” Luke replied.

  “This one presentz herself for the judgment of the Grand Master. This one is filled with regret at the repercussionz of her actionz in your absence,” Saba continued. “The death of Master Hamner was in no manner the desired outcome.”

  Had she been a human, Luke would have gone to her and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Instead he merely smiled, again sending out calmness and comfort in the Force.

  “I would have known that without knowing any of the details, Master Sebatyne. I read your report, and those of others. And I am ready to render my judgment.”

  She straightened, her tail twitching slightly, regarding him steadily.

  “Master Hamner was my friend,” he said. “He was yours, as well. I believe that everything he did, he did thinking only of what was best for the Jedi Order. Do you believe that also?”

  The tail-lashing increased. “This one did not think his judgment the right one. But this one would never have accused Master Hamner of knowingly doing something to harm the Jedi.”

  “Yet in your opinion—and the opinion of all the other Masters—he was doing precisely that.”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

  “Master Hamner could not relinquish the responsibility he was given,” Luke said. “As a military man, he could not do something he saw as abandoning his post. He did everything in his power to stop you from doing what he felt in his heart was wrong.”

  He sensed Saba’s confusion and increasing worry in the Force. He disliked drawing out the ordeal, but felt strongly that she needed to comprehend everything. He could forgive her, but Saba also needed to be able to forgive herself. And that kind of forgiveness could only come with true understanding.

  “You were faced with a terrible decision,” Luke continued. “Let Master Hamner die and permit the fleet to launch, or ground the fleet—probably for a long time—and spare him. Did it occur to you that Master Hamner expected you to make the choice that you did? Was even relying on it?”

  She lifted her head sharply in surprise. Clearly such a thing had not occurred to her.

  “His duty would be to escape—by any and all means necessary. To win back the seat that, in his mind, he was not at liberty to abandon, not even by force. He entered into conflict with you knowing he would most likely die. And sooner or later, it would have happened. He would not have stopped until he had won—or was dead.”

  Now Luke closed the gap between him and the Barabel, although he still did not touch her. “He died performing his duty, Saba. He fought what he believed with all his heart was the good fight. There could have been no other outcome.”

  “You would have found one,” Saba said quietly.

  Luke considered that. In a way, the statement could be true. Perhaps he could have intercepted Kenth earlier, or won the fight sooner, or thought to post double guards around the deposed Grand Master.

  “There have been hundreds—probably thousands—of times in my life when I thought, If only. And there will probably be more. But I know them for what they are—useless exercises. Jedi can’t allow themselves to overindulge in if-onlys. Regret, reflection on a situation in order to learn from it—that is what if-onlys are for. Would I have found a different path? Perhaps. But I wasn’t there. You were. Could you have done otherwise and still have been true to yourself?”

  Saba’s eyes lit with understanding, and she considered a long moment. “No,” she said at last. The single word was hard for her to utter, but he sensed a lifting of her spirit in the Force. “This one … could have done nothing else.”

  “Then be content,” Luke said. “Saba Sebatyne. You have been judged by the Grand Master. I find no fault here—not with you, not with any of your decisions, nor with the other Masters for following your orders. Jedi are supposed to protect the weak and helpless. You were right to support those trying to win basic rights for their people. To stop the abuse of sentient beings. To send the fleet to Pydyr to fight the Sith. Even to topple Daala. Those were the acts of a Jedi, and they were necessary. But you know that the Jedi Order’s place is not to rule.”

  She had straightened more with each passing word, and now she seemed almost her old self again. Saba Sebatyne was nothing if not strong and great of heart. Luke knew that a huge burden had been eased, and that with time, she would come to know as he did—know, not just believe—that she had led the Jedi well during a time of extreme duress.

  “Grand Master Skywalker speakz truly, as alwayz,” Saba said.

  “There is much I need to tel
l everyone,” said Luke.

  A hint of humor gleamed in Saba’s eyes. “This one thinkz that Master Skywalker’z wordz are an understatement,” she said.

  “This one thinks you’re right.” Luke grinned. “Now—let’s get this meeting started. I sense there are several people outside eager to come in.”

  Saba sissed, her Force presence easing by the moment. “You did not need to use the Force to know that, Grand Master.”

  “Who says I did?” Luke said. He turned his attention to those gathered outside and sent them a warm, heartfelt welcome. The door slid open and many voices spoke at once.

  “Master Skywalker!” exclaimed Cilghal, her rasping voice as pleased as he had ever heard it.

  “Luke!” This from Kyp Durron, never one for formalities. The younger Master rushed forward to clasp Luke’s arms. Kyle Katarn clapped him warmly on the back. Corran Horn stood off to the side, grinning and looking like his old self again despite the new crow’s-feet framing his eyes. Octa Ramis and the newest member, Barratk’l, inducted during Luke’s absence by Kenth Hamner, were also present and beaming at him.

  Luke was poignantly reminded of his departure from the Temple; of the crowd of beings who had lined up to bid him a sorrowful farewell. He thought of Kenth Hamner’s arm around his shoulders as he viewed those assembled, and that man’s words: Forty years ago, there was one practicing Jedi in the galaxy, and the Order and the Temple were just ill-formed notions taken from suppressed rumors. Today, what you see before you—this is your doing, Master Skywalker. And even as he permitted himself to miss and remember Kenth and that moment, the heaviness in the room lightened. There was much that awaited them all, and the danger posed by both the Sith and Abeloth had not decreased in the slightest. Yet Luke felt buoyed, refreshed simply by being here, in his old position, surrounded by friends who both respected and loved him, and for whom he would do anything.