Han grinned. “Something like that.”
Leia said, “We’re going to transport Jag to you. Jaina and Zekk will escort us in.”
Luke nodded. “It’ll be good to see you.” He glanced at the monitor that displayed data about this communication. “Another few seconds and the odds of this contact being traced go up by an order of magnitude.”
“See you in a couple of days, old buddy.” Han reached off to the side, his hand disappearing as it extended beyond the range of the holocam at his end, and the hologram winked out.
Luke felt like sitting down, letting gravity just overcome him for a while, but that might worry Ben.
At least it was over, finally over. Mara’s killer was no longer a threat to him, to his family. He felt a touch of regret-unlike Jacen, Alema Rar had insanity to blame for the evils she perpetrated. If she had been able to accept help, she might have remained a force for calmness and order.
But that was pointless speculation. Her life had ended. Perhaps Mara could rest easy now.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Are you all right?”
Luke nodded. “Better. Mara’s murderer has met justice, and we can put that uncertainty behind us.”
“Yes.”
Luke turned to face his son. There was something in Ben’s reply … it was not in the tone of his voice, but there had been a little tug in the Force when Ben spoke. Surely Ben didn’t doubt that Alema was truly dead? Leia would not have said she was if there were any doubt.
Luke pushed the question from his mind. Ben would tell him what was bothering him when he was ready. “Why don’t you go get in some training? I have some thinking to do.”
Ben nodded, dubious. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Sure, Ben.”
On the outpost roof, Luke sat cross-legged on the hard surface of the landing pad, his back straight, a meditative posture.
He could feel the permacrete surface beneath him, feel it as though it were a skin, connected to the outpost’s permacrete and durasteel “bones” its beams, its support columns extending down into the soil and all the way to bedrock. He could feel the kilometers-thick mantle of stone beneath the bedrock, stretching down to the core of the moon, its massiveness suggesting eternity.
He opened himself to the Force and could feel the vibrancy of life around him, the energies of all the people in the outpost, the vitality of all the growing things.
Once, such a contact would have brought him serenity; it would have been peace to his spirit. Now it was merely information.
And the Force still offered him no guidance, no visions of his enemies, no glimpses of his future.
He was no longer disturbed by any of this. He needed no reassurances about his future. Perhaps it all meant that there was no future to glimpse. Luke found himelf to be unworried by the thought.
There was a hum, the distinctive noise of the roof access lift. Luke could feel the Force presence of his son arrive, could hear him approach.
Ben hesitated, then moved into view, settling to the permacrete directly opposite Luke, assuming the same meditative pose.
The boy did not speak, but neither did he relax into proper meditation. Luke could read Ben’s emotions as clearly as though they were on the screen of a datapad: restlessness, concern. … and an unusual degree of mental focus.
Luke let the boy wait. Eventually Ben’s restlessness would get the better of him and he would speak his mind. That was the way of the young, of apprentices.
But Ben still did not speak, and Luke could feel him become calmer, more settled. … although his focus did not waver. Luke waited while breezes carrying the scents of the Endor forest stirred his hair.
“Your feelings betray you, Ben.” It was almost a ritual phrase now-the truth, cloaked in and perhaps even disguised by cliche.
Ben studied him, no emotion on his face. “Betray me? Do they stab me in the back, or do they just give me a swift kick in the butt?”
Despite himself, Luke grinned. “It’s true, under many circumstances being betrayed by your emotions will do you no harm. But it’s still best to remain aware of the fact that you are expressing them so clearly. Transmitting them for anyone sufficiently sensitive to feel.”
“All right.”
Luke paused. Clearly the boy was not willing to be drawn out. “You think something is wrong. Wrong with me.”
“Wrong is one of those kind of relative things. If I think something is wrong and you think it’s right, which one of us is correct?”
Luke nodded. It was a good response. “I suspect I would be. It’s the whole Master-apprentice, father-son, wise old man-foolish young man thing.”
“Right. It’s nice that to be older is to be always right. I can’t wait to be older.”