[Legacy Of The Force] - 01(95)

The window hissed as it unsealed. Cooler air from inside flowed out. Luke pulled at the window from the bottom-it remained attached, hinged, at the top-and rolled through it, coming up on his feet in what looked like a small schoolroom beyond. The window sealed itself shut behind him.

The room was darkened but not dark. No glow rods supplied light; the only illumination came from sunlight through the viewport, tinted green by the transparisteel coloration. It revealed chairs and desks, too small for adults, and pictures all over the walls: diagrams showing the angles of attack and defense in lightsaber technique; long-dead Master Yoda, face furrowed in concentration, telekinetically holding an Old Republic gunship weighing many tons over his head; a female Jedi Master-generic and probably fictitious, not a person Luke had ever seen in person or in records-sitting cross-legged in meditation, her eyes closed.

A silver protocol droid, powered down, stood at the head of the room, one arm raised as though to illustrate a point.

The only sound to be heard was the hum of the enclave’s air-cooling machinery. Luke shook his head, regretful. A Jedi teaching facility should never be so silent, so empty. But in the wake of the assault on Tralus and Centerpoint Station, the Corellians had declared the Jedi enemies of the state and had made an effort to close down all Jedi facilities and round up Jedi in the planetary system.

That last part hadn’t gone so well. Determined not to let the teachings of the order come as close to extinction as they had in the time of Emperor Palpatine, Luke had taught his students what he knew of avoiding hunters. He knew a lot.

He moved to the door. It didn’t slide open at his approach. He gripped the edge and gave it a shove; it slid aside on well-lubricated rails.

Just beyond it, a silver lightsaber blade snap-hissed into life. The man who carried it said, “You’re going to find it hard to loot with both your arms cut off.”

Luke grinned. “That’s quite a greeting, Corran.”

The other Jedi turned his lightsaber off just as quickly as he’d powered it on. “Luke! Master Skywalker.” He stepped forward into the faint light admitted by the doorway.

Corran Horn was about Luke’s age and height, but a bit stockier of build, broader in the shoulder. Grandson of a famous Corellian Jedi of the Old Republic era, he’d come into recognition and training of his Jedi powers even later than Luke had-careers as a CorSec officer and Rebel Alliance fighter pilot had come first. As conflicted as he might have been in early days about aptitudes, duties, and careers, he was now a Jedi Master, whose graying hair and beard gave visual support to his reputation as an elder statesman of the order.

He wasn’t dressed as a Jedi now. He wore anonymous blue-and-white pin-striped coveralls, spattered with grease and hydraulic fluids, and a set of welder’s goggles pushed up on his forehead. As he held out his hand for Luke, he looked like a pit mechanic ready to explain just how much his hyperdrive repairs were going to cost.

Luke took his hand, an embrace of brothers in arms. “How’s your family?”

“Good.” Corran’s voice suggested he wasn’t entirely happy. “Mirax is under house arrest. Quite a flap over that, too. Some in the government want her expertise in smuggling critical materials into the system. Others don’t trust her because she’s married to a Jedi. So she waits at home, under arrest, every need being catered to by government personnel, enjoying a vacation.” He snorted. “As for Valin and Jysella … well, I suspect you’d know better than I would what they’re up to.”

Luke nodded. Corran and Mirax’s children were both Jedi, raised as much by the teachers of the Jedi academy as by their biological parents, off doing the business of the order.

Corran’s face softened. “Thanks for not using them on the Corellian missions.”

“That was an easy decision,” Luke said. He moved forward, Corran stepping aside so he could enter the hall, and slid the door shut. Now they were in deeper darkness, illuminated only by dim emergency glowstrips at the baseboards of this hallway. “I didn’t want any Jedi to be considered traitors by their homeworlds. For most, it’s nice to be able to return home from time to time.”

Corran didn’t comment. Luke knew that he, Luke, was an exception to that generalization. His own homeworld of Tatooine held no lure for him-hadn’t in all the decades since he’d left it to find a new home elsewhere.

Corran gestured down the hallway toward the rear of the enclave. “I’ve set up one of the bolt-holes as a staging area. Your lightsaber components are there. Also clothes, supplies, credits-“