Ylesia

by Walter Jon Williams

  Such as to hunt smugglers? Luke wondered. He considered bringing up the issue of smuggling, but decided against it—with Rodan in his present mood, Luke didn’t want to remind him why he hated the Jedi in the first place.

  “It’s an amateurish performance,” Rodan continued. “At worst the Jedi are a half-trained group of vigilantes. At best they simply make it all up as they go along, and the result is all too often disaster. I hardly think that the ability to do magic tricks is qualification for supplanting professional diplomats, judges, and military officers.”

  “The situation is critical,” Luke said. “We’re being invaded. The Jedi on the spot—“

  “Should leave it to the professionals,” Rodan said. “That’s what we pay the professionals for.”

  Rodan turned to his datapad, called up information. “I have your record here, Skywalker. You joined Rebel Alliance forces as a starfighter pilot. Though you fought with distinction at Yavin Four and at Hoth, you shortly afterward left your unit, taking with you the starfighter that didn’t belong to you, in order—“ He paused to insert virtual quotation marks around his words. “—to conduct ‘spiritual exercises’ on some jungle planet. And you did all this without even asking permission of your commander.

  “You afterward returned to the military, served bravely and with distinction, and rose to the rank of general. But you resigned your commission, during wartime, again to devote yourself to spiritual matters.” Rodan shrugged. “Perhaps during the Rebellion such irregular practices were necessary, or at any rate tolerated. But now that we have a government, I fail to see why we should continue turning over state resources to a group of amateurs who are all too likely to follow their Master’s example and abandon their posts whenever the mood—or the Force—takes them.”

  Luke stood very still. “I think you will find,” he said, “that our ‘spiritual exercises,’ as you call them, strengthen us in our role as protectors of the New Republic.”

  “Possibly so,” Rodan said. “It would be interesting to conduct a cost-benefit analysis to discover whether the Jedi are in fact worth the resources the government has devoted to you. But my point is this—“ He looked up at Luke again from the depths of his oversoft chair, and his eyes were not soft at all. “You call yourselves protectors of the Republic; very well. But I have looked very carefully at the constitution of our government, and there is no Office of the Protectors of the Republic.”

  Rodan’s expression turned quizzical. “What exactly are you, Skywalker? You aren’t military—we have a military. You aren’t a diplomat—we have diplomats. You aren’t a peace officer or a judge—we have those. So why exactly do we need you?”

  “Jedi Knights,” Luke said, “have been fighting the Yuuzhan Vong from the first day of this invasion—from the first hour. Many Jedi have been killed—some sacrificed to the enemy by their fellow citizens—but we continue our struggle on the New Republic’s behalf. We are effective enough that the Yuuzhan Vong have singled us out for persecution—they are afraid of us.”

  “I don’t question your bravery or your dedication,” Rodan said. “But I do question your effectiveness. If your people want to fight the Yuuzhan Vong, why not join the Defense Force? Train with the other soldiers, accept promotion on the same basis as other soldiers, and accept the same penalties for derogation of duty as other soldiers. As it is, the Jedi expect special privileges, and the regular officers have every right to resent them.”

  “If you feel the Jedi are an undisciplined, uncontrolled force,” Luke asked, “why do you oppose the re-formation of the Jedi Council?”

  “Because the Jedi Council would form an elite group within the government. You say you do not seek power or personal gain—and I will take you at your word—but other Jedi have shown less admirable traits.” His eyes flicked to Luke again, a chill, flinty gaze. “Your father, for one.

  “If you want to fight the Yuuzhan Vong,” Rodan continued, “advise your Jedi to join the military. Or any other branch of the government that appeals to their interests and skills. They can, of course, continue to practice their religion in private, as any other citizen, and not as a state-supported cult.

  “No, Skywalker.” Rodan settled deeply into his chair and returned his attention to his datapad. “Until you actually join this government you say that you defend, and join it on the same basis as any other citizen, then I have every intention of regarding you as I would any other lobbyist for any other interest group demanding special privileges for its members. Now“—his voice became abstracted—“I have many other appointments, Skywalker. I believe our interview is at an end.”

  Why is he behaving this way? Luke wondered. And then he left.

  “He kept calling me ‘Skywalker,’ ” Luke said. “Because I don’t have a title—I’m not a Senator, I’m not a general any longer, I’m not an ambassador. He used the word like an insult.”

  “He could have called you ‘Master.’ Like I do sometimes.” Mara Jade’s voice was a smoky purr in his ear. Her arms slipped around Luke’s waist from behind.

  Luke smiled. “I don’t think it would be the same as when you do it.”

  “It better not be . . . Skywalker.” Luke jumped as one of her hands gave his stomach a slap.

  Luke had found Mara waiting for him as he returned to their rooms in the large hotel suite they shared with Han and Leia. He had been calm, even analytical, when he was speaking with Rodan, but when he related the substance of his interview to Mara, he found himself with less reason to maintain calm and objectivity, and the resentment that he hadn’t actually felt in Rodan’s presence now began to boil.

  Mara, without comment, had begun to massage the growing tension out of his shoulders. The playful slap on his stomach had banished the rest of it. Luke smiled.

  Luke turned and let his arms coil about his wife. “We’ve lost Coruscant,” he said, “we’re fighting the enemy every day, and the squabbling and fights for precedence never end. Rodan’s not going to make it easy for us. He thinks the Jedi are claiming unjustified privileges and can evolve into a menace to the state.” He hesitated. “And the problem is,” he admitted, “I’m beginning to think that much of what he says might be true.”

  “Sounds like a depressing interview.” She drew him closer, let her cheek rest on his shoulder as she directed a mischievous whisper to his ear. “Maybe I should cheer you up. Would you like me to call you ‘Master’ again?”

  Luke couldn’t help but laugh. With the successful delivery of their child, Mara had at last come out of the shadow of the terrible disease that had afflicted her for so long. For years she’d had to control herself precisely and ruthlessly in order to either fight the illness or keep it in remission. The birth of Ben had been a kind of internal signal that it was possible to feel joy again. To feel the least bit irresponsible. To be spontaneous and impulsive. To laugh, to play, to take delight in life—despite the seemingly endless war that raged around them.

  And since Ben had been sent for his own safety to the Maw, Mara’s principal plaything had become Luke.

  “Say what you like,” Luke said, “if the mood strikes.”

  “Oh, it strikes. It definitely strikes.”

  “Well,” Luke said. “Let it strike, then.”

  Some time later, Luke turned to Mara and said, “So how was your day?”

  “Thirsty. I need a glass of water.”

  Luke reluctantly allowed her to slip out of his embrace and into the kitchen.

  Mon Calamari had been swarmed by refugees from worlds conquered or threatened by the Yuuzhan Vong, and housing in the great floating cities was expensive, particularly for those who insisted on breathing only air.

  Mara brushed her red-gold hair back from her freckled shoulders and took a long drink. She put the glass down, turned to Luke, and sighed. “It was work, but I think Triebakk and I finally convinced Cal Omas that he needs to be our next Chief of State.”

  “Congratulations to both of you,” Luke said. In the
past few weeks he’d grown accustomed to the way their lives, and their conversation, veered sharply from the political to the personal and back again.

  Cal Omas had fought with the Rebel Alliance, and had shown himself sympathetic to the Jedi. Certainly, from the Jedi point of view, he was a better candidate for Chief of State than Fyor Rodan.

  “Fyor Rodan wants the job, too,” he said. “The possibility was the only thing that got a reaction out of him.”

  “There are two more candidates. Senator Cola Quis announced his intention to run this morning, after you left.”

  Luke searched his memory. “I never heard of him.”

  “A Twi’lek from Ryloth. Serves on the Commerce Council. I don’t think he stands much of a chance, but maybe he thinks he can forge an unbeatable lead if he starts now.”

  “And the fourth?”

  “Ta’laam Ranth of the Justice Council. He’s known to be canvassing for support.”

  “Can he win?”

  “Triebakk thinks he isn’t trying to win. Ranth is trying to build a bloc of supporters in order to play a decisive role in the outcome. At the last second he can swing his bloc to another candidate in return for favors.”

  Luke shook his head. “At least there are four Senators left who think the job is worth having. That means they think they’ve a future in the New Republic yet.”

  Or a future in looting the New Republic before it goes down. The dark thought intruded before Luke could quite prevent it.

  Carefully, he pushed the thought away, and chose a different tack.

  “The question is,” he said, “how much do we involve ourselves in this election?”

  “As Jedi? Or as private citizens?”

  Luke smiled. “That’s a separate question.”

  Mara considered this. “Would it benefit Cal to be known as the Jedi’s choice?”

  Luke sighed. “Well, that question’s answered.”

  Mara was surprised. “You think it’s that bad?”

  “I think somebody’s got to be blamed for the fall of Coruscant.”

  “Borsk Fey’lya seems a fair choice. He was Chief of State, and he made a lot of mistakes.”

  “Fey’lya was martyred during the battle. He died a hero. It’s going to be politically impossible to assign him blame.”

  Mara nodded slowly. “So you think it’s the Jedi who are going to be assigned responsibility.”

  “I think we should take care that it’s not. The question is how.” He reached for Mara’s water glass and took a sip. “If we’re seen as interfering in the selection of the Chief of State, then we’ll start hearing complaints of ‘Jedi interference’ and ‘Jedi power grab’ and ‘secret Jedi cabal’—from Fyor Rodan, if no one else.”

  “So we act as private citizens.”

  “And we don’t do anything Cal Omas doesn’t want us to do. He’s the professional. He knows just how far to push, and where.”

  He’s the professional. Luke smiled at the irony. Rodan had wanted him to follow the professionals’ advice, and here he was doing it.

  Mara smiled. “So—let’s assume we win, and we get a government that will work with the Jedi . . .”

  “That’s a lot of assumptions.”

  “What becomes of the Insiders?”

  Luke paused. During the Battle of Borleias he and Mara, together with Han and Leia and Wedge Antilles and some others, had formed the conspiracy that was the Insiders, a group intended to form a Rebel Alliance within the New Republic, dedicated to fighting the war with the Yuuzhan Vong.

  “We don’t go public with the Insiders under any conditions,” Luke said. “We don’t tell Cal, even if he wins. The Insiders are our reserve, the people we know we can trust. It remains our secret.”

  And then suddenly, he thought, Jacen!

  The water glass fell from his fingers and shattered on the floor. Mara stared at him.

  Luke didn’t notice. A strange bliss had fallen on him.

  Now everything changes, he thought.

  “It’s the turning point.” The words fell from his lips without volition. And even as he spoke, he came to the realization that he didn’t know the place, amid all the great stars of the universe, from whence the words had come.

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  Copyright © 2002 by Lucasfilm Ltd. & ® or ™ where indicated.

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  Excerpt from Destiny’s Way by Walter Jon Williams copyright © 2002 by Lucasfilm Ltd. ® or ™ where indicated.

  All rights reserved. Used Under Authorization.

  Author Q&A copyright © 2002 by Walter Jon Williams and The Ballantine Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc.

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