Star Wars - I,Jedi (by Michael A Stackpole)

Star Wars - I, Jedi

by Michael A Stackpole

One

None of us liked waiting in ambush, primarily because we couldn't be wholly certain we weren't the ones

being set up for a hotvape. The Invids-the pirate crews working with the ex-Imperial Star Destroyer

Invidious-had so far eluded the best efforts of the New Republic to engage them. They seemed to know

where we would be, when we would get there, and in what force, then planned their raids appropriately.

As a result we spent a lot of time doing battle-damage assessments on their efforts, and they really

pushed to give us plenty of BDA work.

Rogue Squadron had gone to ground to wait on several of the larger asteroids in the K'vath system. This

location put us in close proximity to K'vath 5's primary moon, Alakatha. We pow-ered down our engines

and had our sensors in passive mode only to avoid detection by the folks we wanted to trap. According

to our mission briefing, New Republic Intelligence had gotten a tip they considered reliable that at least

part of Leonia Tavira's pirate fleet would be hitting a luxury liner coming out of the resort coast on

Alakatha's northern continent. Mirax and I had actually honeymooned there three years ago, before

Thrawn turned the New Republic insideout, so I had fond memories of the place and could well

remember the wealth dripping in jewels and precious metals from the throats and hands of the New

RepubliCs elite.

I glanced at my X-wing's chronometer. "The Glitterstar is still on schedule?"

Whistler, nestled behind my cockpit, hooted with just a hint of derision in his voice.

"Yes, I know I told you to let me know if there was a change and, no, I didn't think it had slipped your

circuits." I forced my gloved hands open, then rotated my wrists to get rid of some of the tension. "I'm

just anxious."

He blatted a quick comment at me.

"Hey, just because patience is a virtue, that doesn't make impatience a vice." I sighed and turned the

latter half of it into a piece of a Jedi breathing exercise Luke Skywalker had urged upon me when trying

to recruit me as a Jedi. Breathing in through my nose to a count of four, I held the breath for a seven

count, then exhaled in eight beats. With each breath I let more tension flow out of me. I sought the clarity

of mind I'd need for the coming battle-if the Invids materialized-but it eluded me with the ease the Invids

had shown in escaping the New Republic.

Things kept seeming to happen fast. Mirax and I married fast, and while I did not at all regret having

done so, events conspired to make our married life extremely difficult. Grand Admiral Thrawn and his

antics ruined our first anniversary, and rescuing Jan Dodonna and the others who had once been

imprisoned with me on the Lusankya had called me away during the second. And then the reborn

Emperor's assault on Coruscant dropped a Star Destroyer on what had been our home. Neither of us

were there at the time, which was standard operating procedure far too often.

In fact, the only benefit of being assigned to go after the Invids was that their leader, ex-Moff Leonia

Tarira, seemed to have a taste for a life of leisure. When her Invidious vanished between raids, we usually

had a week of down time before having to worry about another attack. Mirax and I put this free time to

good use, rebuilding our home and our relationship, but with that came some consequences that I saw as

incredibly disruptiveon the scale of Thrawn disruptive.

Mirax decided she wanted children.

I have nothing against kids-as long as they go home with

their parents at the end of the day. Expressing this opinion in those terms to Mirax was not the smartest

thing I had ever done and, in fact, proved to be one of the more painful ones. The hurt and pain in her

eyes haunted me for a long time. Deep down, I knew there would be no dissuading her, and I wasn't

even sure, in the end, I wanted to.

I did try, however, and employed most of the standard arguments to do so. The "this is an unsettled time

in the galaxy" ploy lost out to the fact that our parents had faced a similar choice and we'd turned out

pretty well. The "uncertainty of my job" argument wilted beneath the logic of my life insurance and then

withered away when Mirax gave me a glimpse at the accounts files-the real ones-for her import/export

business. She pointed out that she could easily support the three or four of us and I'd not have to work a

single second, outside of caring for the children. And, she noted, that carrying a child for nine full months

meant she would already have 3.11 years of forty-hour weeks of childcare logged and that I would owe

her.

Over and above all that, she said I'd make a great father. She noted that my father had done a great job

with me. Having learned from him the skills of being a father, she just knew I'd be wonderful with kids. In

using that argument, she turned the love and respect I had for my father around on me. She made it seem

as if I was dishonoring his memory by not bringing children into the world. It was a most persuasive

argument, as she knew it would be, and hammered me pretty hard.

In retrospect, I should have given up at the start and saved the two of us a great deal of grief. She makes

her living-a vely good living, it turns out-convincing all sorts of folks that junk no one else wants is

absolutely vital to them. While she en-gaged me in logical discussions-focusing my defenses on that

avenue of attack-she slipped past my guard on a purely emotional level. Little comments about what kind

of child our genetic lottery would produce got me investing brain-sweat in solving that puzzle. That went

straight to the detective training in methe training that wouldn't let me drop a case until I had an answer.

Which, in this case, meant a child.

She also managed to flick on the HoloNet monitors when some event featuring news about Leia Organa

Solo's three-year-old twins was being shown. The children were frighteningly cute and their very

existence had been blamed for a babybinge in the New Republic. I knew Mirax was not so shallow as to

be wanting a child out of envy or to be trendy, but she did note that she was Leia's age, and that it was a

good time to have a child or two.

And that cuteness factor really can get under your skin. The New Republic media avoided showing the

twins drooling and dripping the way children do, and they really maximized the appealing things about the

toddlers. It got so that when I did remember dreams, they were of me cradling a sleeping child in my

arms. Oddly enough, I stopped thinking of those dreams as nightmares pretty quickly and did my best to

preserve them in my mind.

Realizing I was lost, I began to bargain for time. Mirax flat refused to accept fixed time dates, mainly

because I was thinking in years, so I made things conditional. I told her once the Invids were taken care

of, we'd make a final decision. She accepted my decision a bit better than I expected, which started

preying on me, and making me feel guilty. I would have thought that was a tactic she'd decided to use,

but she thought guilt was a hammer and she's definitely a vibroblade fan.

I exhaled slowly again. "Whistler, remind me when we get home, Mirax and I need to make a decision on

this baby thing, now, not later. Tavira's not going to dictate my life."

Whistler's happy high staccato sailed down into a low warning tone.

I glanced at my primary monitor. The Glitterstar had lifted from Alakatha and another ship had appeared

insystem. Whistler identified it as a modified bulk cruiser known as the BooU Full. Unlike the liner's sleek

design, the cruiser was studded with warty protrusions that quickly detached themselves and began to

run in on the liner.

I keyed my comm. "Rogue Lead, three flight has contact.

One cruiser and eighteen uglies heading in on the Glitterstar."

Tycho's voice came back cool and calm. "I copy, Nine. Engage the fighters with two flight. One has the

cruiser."

I flicked over to three flight's tactical channel. "Light them up, Rogues, we have the fighters."

I started the engines, then shunted power to the repulsorlift coils. The X-wing rose like a ghost from a

grave and came about to point its nose toward the liner. As Ooryl's X-wing pulled up on my left and my

other two pilots, Vurrulf and Ghufran, arrived on the right, I punched the throttle full forward and

launched myself into the fight.

A smile blossomed on my face. Any sapient creature making a claim to sanity would find hurtling along in

a fragile craft of metal and ferroceramics to be stupid or suicidal. Pushing that same craft into battle

merely compounded the situation, and I knew it. By the same token, very few experiences in life can

compare to flying in combat-or engaging any enemy in a fight-because doing that is the one point where

civilization demands us to harness our animal nature and employ it against a most dangerous prey.

Without being physically and mentally and even mechanically at my best, I would die and my friends

might even die with me.

But I had no intention of letting that happen.

With a flick of my thumb I switched from lasers over to proton torpedoes and allowed for single fire. I

selected an initial target and eased the crosshairs on my heads-up display onto its outline. Whistler

beeped steadily as he worked for a target lock, then the box surrounding the fighter went red and his

tone became a constant.

I hit the trigger and launched my first proton torpedo. It streaked away hot and pinkish-white, trailed by

others lancing out from my flight. While employing proton torpedoes against fighters is seen as overkill by

some pilots, within Rogue Squadron using such a tactic was always seen as an expedient way of lowering

the odds against us-odds that were usually longer than a Hutt and decidedly more ugly.

The Invids used a form of customdesigned fighter called a Tri-fighter. It started with the ball cockpit and

ion engine assembly of Seinar Svstem's basic TIE fighter-a commodity which, after hydrogen and

stupidity, was the most plentiful in the galaxyand married it to a trio of angular blades set 120 degrees

apart. The bottom two served as landing gear, while the third came up over the top of the cockpit. The

fighter still had the TIE's twin lasers mounted beneath the cockpit, while the third tine sprouted an ion

cannon. The ships also had some basic shields, which explained why they were more successful than

your basic eyeball, and side viewports cut into the hull gave the pilot more visibility. Because the trio of

tines looked as if they were grasping at the cockpit, we'd nicknamed the design "clutch."

The shields and extra visibility didn't help the clutch I'd targeted. The proton torpedo jammed itself right

up the left engine's exhaust port and actually punched out through the cockpit before detonating. The

fighter flew into the roiling, golden ball of fire and just vanished. Three more clutches ex-ploded nearby,

then another three exploded off to starboard, where two flight was coming in.

"Pick targets carefully, three flight. Ooryl, we're on the pair to port."

"Ten copies, Nine."

I kicked my X-wing up on the port stabilizer foils and hauled back on the stick. Chopping power to the

engine, I tightened the circle, then rolled out to the right as the pirates started a long serpentine turn. I

switched over from missiles to dual lasers and immediately got a yellow box around the lead fighter. I

goosed the throttle back to full to close range and keyed my comm. "I'm on the leader."

Oorvl gave me a double-click on his comm to let me know he'd gotten the message. Nudging the stick

just a bit right, the targeting box went green and I hit the firing button. Two red bolts hit the target. The

first fried the shields. The clutch trailed sparks from the shield generator like a comet trailing ice. The

second bolt pierced the cockpit and though it hit kind of high, it hit hard, too. Sparks shot from the hole

and the clutch began a slow spiral down toward Alakatha.

Ooryl rolled to port as the other clutch broke. I brought my X-wing around in behind him as he lined his

shot up. Tile Gand's first two shots blasted past the shields and burned furrows in the ship's hull. The next

two drilled the engines, jetting the disintegrating ship forward on a golden gout of flame. The flame

abruptly died, leaving the Tri-fighter to tumble through space out toward the asteroid belt.

Up through the cockpit canopy I could see the green and white streaky ball of Alakatha and the

Glitterstar rising up from it. Off to starboard the Boot), Full seemed to crouch in the void like a malignant

insect. The turbolasers along its spine and in a bellv turret fired out, trying to track one fiight's X-wings,

but the shots were no real danger to the fighters. Colonel Celchu, Hobbie, Janson and Gavin Darklighter

were old hands at pulling the teeth of raiders like these. As long as we kept the clutches busy, the Booty

Full had no chance.

The X-wing's first slashing attack came from Tycho and Hobhie. They rolled through and each drove a

proton torpedo into the aft shields. Coming from the other direction, Gavin and Wes Janson strafed the

ship with laser fire. Gavin's second burst melted the belly turret clean away while Janson's shots nibbled

away at the ship's aft vector jets. The Booty Full was done, though I had no doubts it would take a

couple more passes before the crew realized that and surrendered.

I followed Ooryl up and around the back toward the fight. It had fairly well degenerated into a

chase-and-kill run. The loss of seven ships before they even saw their enemies had clearly shocked the

pirates and, more importantly, brought their numbers down close to ours. While clutches were more agile

than X-wings-not by much, but by enough to make fighting them difficult-they couldn't outrun us or

outgun us. Lacking the discipline of a trained military unit like Rogue Squadron, when panic set in, they

fell apart and made our job that much easier.

Ooryl settled in on one and hit it with a full quad burst from his lasers. The clutch exploded, but boiling in

through the explosion came another clutch making a head-to-head pass at Ooryl. The clutch got off a

shot with the ion cannon that sent a lightning storm skittering over Ooryl's shields, but they died before

the ion blast did. The motivator blew on his R5 unit and Whistler reported his engines were out.

"Ooryl, go for a restart." I didn't know if he still had comm or not, but I offered that bit of advice and

fired a dual burst at the clutch. Hastily aimed, the shot missed low, but did cause the clutch to veer off.

Rolling out to the right, I headed in after him. "This is Nine on one. Someone watch my back."

Vurrulf, the Klatooinan in three flight, barked a harsh, "I copy, on it," so I felt a bit safer in pursuing the

clutch. One of the worst things a pilot can do is to get so locked in on a target that he misses what else is

happening. When situational awareness focuses down on one target, the hunter becomes hunted and

never knows what hits him. It's a rookie mistake and while I'm no rookie, I'm not immune to it.

The clutch's pilot was good and clearly had no desire to die, but Whistler wasn't reporting that he'd

powered down his weapons, so he was just as clearly willing to fight. I tried to settle in on him, but he

modulated his throttle and used his ship's agility to keep breaking before I could get a lock. I snapped a

couple of shots off at him, but they missed wide or high. Try as I might, I was having trouble keeping up

with his shifts and cuts.

I pulled back on the throttle and let him gain some distance. His juking antics continued, but with range

the movements that had ripped him out of my sights in close barely broke the edges of my targeting box.

I hit the firing button and sent two paired bursts at him. One pair lanced through the aft shield and

mangled one of the landing tines. The other two energy darts clipped the thrust vector vents on the port

side, limiting his maneuverability.

Whistler displayed a comm frequency being used by the clutch and I punched it up on my comm unit.

"This is Captain Corran Horn of the New Republic Armed Forces. I will accept your surrender."

A woman answered me. "Don't you know, Invids never surrender?"

"Not true of the BooO' Ftdl."

"Riizolo is a fool, but he doesn't have a capital warrant out on his head. I do." She laughed. "I have

nothing to live for, except my honor. One pass, Horn, you and me."

"You'll die." A single pass would negate the clutch's agility advantage. She had to know that.

"But perhaps not alone." Her ship stopped jinking and headed out on a long loop. "Allow me this honor."

The clutch turned and began its run at me.

I wanted to do as she asked, and would have, except for one thing: the Invids had proved over and over

again that they had no honor.

I switched to proton torpedoes, got a quick tone-lock from Whistler and pulled the trigger. The missile

shot from my X-wing and sprinted straight for her ship. As good as she was, the clutch pilot knew there

was no dodging it. She fired with both lasers, but they missed. Then, at the last moment, she shot an ion

blast that hit the missile. Blue lightning played over it, burning out every circuit that allowed the torpedo to

track and close on her ship.

I'm fairly certain, just for a second, she thought she had won. The problem with a projectile is that even if

its sophisticated circuitry fails, it still has a lot of kinetic energy built up. Even if it never senses the

proximity of its target and detonates, that much mass moving that fast treats a clutch cockpit much the

way a needle treats a bubble. The torpedo drove the ion engines out the back of the clutch, where they

exploded. The fighter's hollow remains slowly spun off through space and would eventually burn through

the atmosphere and give resort guests a thrill.

Whistler made my threat screen all green indicating no more active hostiles in the area. Three flight

reported in and Ooryl was back up and running. His forward shield had collapsed and refused to come

back up, but otherwise he was fine. Vurrulf and Ghufran reported no trouble with their X-wings. As it

turned out only Reme Pollar in two flight had been hit hard enough to be forced extra-vehicular, but she

reported she would be fine until the Skipray blast boat from the Glitterstar picked her up.

I switched the comm over to the command channel. "All green here, Rogue Leader."

"I copy, Nine. Looks like this wasn't the trap we feared it would be."

"No, sir, it doesn't."

"Have your people prepare to rejoin the fleet."

"As ordered, Colonel."

I relayed the order to my people, but before we could reach my designated rendezvous point, the fleet

made a microjump in from the edge of the system. A Mon Calamari Cruiser and two Victory,class Star

Destroyers formed a triangle in the space above Alakatha. We'd come to the system aboard Horne One

and used microjumps to get in as close as we did. Because the information about the Booty Full had

been unusual, we expected it might be an ambush, so the fleet had waited to see if the Invids would

pounce on the Rogues.

If they had, we would have gotten a chance to finish them once and for all.

I keyed my comm. "Colonel, if we were expecting the pirates to jump us, and they did not, was this

mission a success?"

"Good question, Nine. This is one of these missions where only Intelligence will be able to tell us how we

did." Tycho hesitated for a moment. "Then again, we lost only machines, not people. It's a victory

anytime that happens."

Two

Te K'vath system was far enough from Coruscant to be trendy and desirable for seclusion-though the

price of a mug of lum there would have been enough to discourage most folks from enjoying their

holiday. Mirax and I never would have gone there three years ago, but Wedge Antilles had

recommended it, and someone in management had been convinced that our participation in the liberation

of Coruscant made Mirax and me just the sort of glare couple to attract the notice of the New Republic's

fashionable elite. As a result we didn't pay for anything while we were there, and stopping the Boot), Full

over A]akatha helped me feel a bit better about having enjoyed the world's hospitality.

The Glimmerstar requested an escort all the way to Coruscant, which Home One agreed to supply. This

meant our return trip would be at the leisurely pace dictated by the liner instead of the faster speed of

which the Mon Calamari Cruiser was capable. The Rogues could have taken our X-wings home, but the

trip would have locked us in the cockpit for a full twenty-four hours, which I looked forward to with the

same enthusiasm I had for discussing old times with Mirax's father. It would have been nice if the

Glimmerstar had allowed us to spend the extra day of travel time on the liner, but their gratitude extended

only as far as letting us study the ship's beautiful lines from afar.

We had duties enough to keep us busy anyway, and despite the oppressive humidity, the Mon Cal

Cruiser's accommodations were not that bad. After landing my X-wing and getting Whistler set up for

recharging, I caught a quick meal in the galley, then joined the rest of the squadron in a briefing room for

our debriefing. We all rode Reme for going EV, but we were glad to have her back and enjoyed her

descriptions of the Glimmerstar's blast boat. After that I grabbed some rack time, slept for eight hours,

worked out a bit and headed for the galley for some breakfast.

Ooryl raised a three-fingered hand and waved me over to the table he occupied all by himself. I smiled

and nodded to him, then grabbed some breakfast cakes and an artificial nerfmilk protein beverage. I

almost balked at it, because consuming anything that doesn't sit well on the stomach can be a mistake

when eating with a Gand, but I was very thirsty.

I dropped into the chair opposite Ooryl and did my best not to glance down into the bowl from which he

was feeding. "Anything interesting happen while I've been down?"

Ooryl's mouth parts moved apart in his approximation of a smile and his compound eyes glittered

brightly. His grey-green flesh was of a hue slightly darker than the sauce on the tentacles he was fishing

out of the bowl, and contrasted sharply with the bright orange of his flight suit. Knobby bits of his

exoskeleton poked at odd angles from within the fabric, as if his flesh were having an allergic reaction to

the color.

"Nothing Ooryl considers out of the ordinary."

I frowned. The Gands had a tradition of speaking of themselves in the third person and not using the

pronoun "I" because they thought it was the height of arrogance to do so. Only those Gands who had

committed acts so great that all Gands would know of them were allowed to speak of themselves as "I."

The whole of Rogue Squadron had even gone to Gand and been part of Ooryl'sjanwuine-jika, the

ceremony that conferred that right upon him. For him to have reverted to third person meant something

was bothering him.

"What is the matter?" I narrowed my green eyes and stared into his black faceted orbs. "You can't be

embarrassed about getting shot by that Invid."

Ooryl slowly and deliberately shook his head. "Ooryl is ashamed that he has not been able to help you

with your problem."

"My' problem?"

"You have been distracted, Corran." Ooryl perched his hands on the tabletop like two armored spiders.

"You and Mirax desire offspring. If Ooryl was on Gand, Ooryl could help solve this problem."

I stuffed a crumb from one of the cakes into my mouth, chewed quickly and swallowed. "Back up here.

How do you know about the child thing?"

The Gand remained rockstill for a moment, then lowered his head. "Qrygg was told by Mirax that you

and she would have children, therefore Qrygg had to do Qrygg's best to make certain you were not

killed in combat."

I gave him a hard stare. "Mirax talked to you about our discussion on children?"

"Mirax wished to know if you had spoken with Qrygg about the discussion. When Qrygg said you had

not, she asked Qrygg to encourage the discussion if you did." Ooryl's head came back up. "You should

not have been ashamed to speak to Ooryl of it. Ooryl would have been worthy of your trust."

I gave Ooryl the biggest smile I could muster. I overexaggerated it because he wasn't so good at reading

subtlety. "Ooryl, if i was talking to anybody about our wanting kids, it would have been you. I trust you

with my life every day and have never had any cause to regret it." I saw his mouth parts open, aping my

smile and I realized right then and there I'd been fairly stupid in keeping the whole discussion to myself.

"And I really should have spoken with you about it. Your advice has always been welcomed and wise. I

just didn't think, which is a bad habit I had hoped to abandon."

"If Ooryl was truly wise, Ooryl would have advised you to abandon it."

"You have, in very many ways." I sighed slowly. "And, as Mirax told you, we have been talking about

having kids. She went to you to learn what I was thinking. I'm sure any help you offered her was

appreciated."

"Ooryl would like to think so. You will recall that during Ooryl's janwuine-jika, Ooryl was also initiated

into the ways of being a Findsman. On Gand, the Findsman performs many useful tasks. He locates lost

slaves, reads the mists for omens and hunts criminals. There is one more duty he performs for people like

you and Mirax. He can wander into the mists and find the child they desire. These mistborn children are a

gift and raised by the people as their own. I would be honored to do this for you, my friend."

I smiled. "Thanks, but I think I can handle the child production part on my own."

Ooryl's mandibles sprang open. "Then you are capable.... "

"Yes, very much so." I raised my chin. "Voy much so. No problems here."

A membrane nictitated up over Ooryl's eyes for a moment.

"Then why would you not have a child already?" "Huh?"

"This is the purpose of life, is it not? To create life is the greatest act a living creature can commit."

The solemnity and truth in his words hit me hard. "That's true, but..."

"Is this a time Ooryl should remind you that you are trying to abandon being thoughtless?"

I snapped my jaw shut and narrowed my eyes. "If having kids is so important, why don't you have any?"

Ooryl shrugged. It wasn't a motion natural to him and his exoskeleton clicked in protest. "I am janwuine.

It is not for me to choose a wife, but for Gand to choose one for me. At that time I shall proudly commit

genetic fusion."

"The idea loses something in translation there." I drank a bit of the milk and used another piece of cake to

get rid of the thick chalky taste. "The fact is I mean to settle this thing with Mirax once we get back to

Coruscant."

"Good. With the stories you have told of your father, any child you will have will be well cared for."

I arched an eyebrow at him. "And how do you know I'll agree to have children?"

"I have spoken with Mirax. That is enough."

I sat back and laughed lightly. "I never really had a chance, did I?"

"No, Corran, but that really means you will have every chance." Ooryl slurped in a tentacle, then wiped

verdant gravy from his cheek. "We have all helped create and strengthen the New Republic. Creating the

generation to which it will be passed is one more duty we owe posterity."

Ooryl's words stuck with me through the rest of the trip and worked on me like a virus. By the time I

loaded myself into my X-wing and began to descend to our hangar facility, I was looking forward to

heading home with Mirax and start working on a child then and there. And while that sort of an

enthusiastic greeting when either one of us returned from journeys was not at all uncommon, this time it

would be more than a wordless way of saying "I missed you."

It would mean parts of us would never be separated again. That thought struck me as so right and good,

even flying over the debris fields littering Coruscant could only slightly tarnish my mood. Vast swathes of

destruction had been carved across the urban landscape. Ships never meant for entry into atmosphere

had crashed down, glowing white from the heat, trailing thick clouds of black smoke, to slam into the

cityscape. They gouged great furrows through neighborhoods and blasted huge craters out of the

buildings. Hundreds of millions, perhaps even billions of people had died in the factional fighting that

followed Thrawn's assault on the New Republic; and we were nowhere near recovered from it.

Looking at the shattered buildings and twisted wreckage, I found it difficult to conjure up my memories of

Coruscant from before, back when it was still Imperial Center. I could remember vast rivers of light

making the nightside glow with life, but here only dull grey predominated. Bright lights had once given

Coruscant an artificial life and without them the urban planet seemed dead.

I knew it wasn't really that bad. Despite the vast surface destruction and tremendous loss of life, people

did continue living. The catastrophic damage did bring out the worst in some people, but it brought out

the best in even more. Mirax and I had planned to live in her Pulsar Skate when our home had been

destroyed by one of the crashing ships, but friends wouldn't let us. Iella Wessiri, my old partner from the

Corellian Security Force, managed to convince her boss at New Republic Intelligence that we should be

given the run of a safehouse they maintained, so we ended up with a place even closer to Rogue

Squadron Headquarters than before.

Ours was hardly the most remarkable of tales. Supplies that had been hoarded for years during times of

political instability suddenly poured forth. People took refugees into their homes, which seems hardly

unexpected, but a lot of the hosts were old Imperial families and the refugees were from the wlrious

nonhuman species in the galaxy. The battering Cornscant had taken at the hands of Imperial warlords had

broken down the last walls of resistance. Suffering formed a common bond that began to erode

xenophobia on both sides.

With the rest of the squadron I made my approach and landed in our hangar bay. I turned the X-wing

,wcr to a tech, changed into civilian clothes and caught a hoverbus south to the Manarai mountains. A

mother and child in a seat up the way from me caught my eye. I watched the woman smile as the infant

reached out unsteadily and grasped at her nose. She tilted her face up slightly, kissing the hand, then

lowered her face until she was nose to nose with her baby. She whispered something and rubbed her

nose against the child's, then pulled back accompanied by the baby's laughter.

The infant's delighted laugh still echoed in my ears as the bus broke from the darkened canyons and

started flying across a ruined landscape of duracrete chunks strewn like a dewback's scales on a stable

floor. The burned-out hulks of airspeeders lay twisted and half-melted all over the place. Scraps of cloth

that had once clothed victims flapped and fluttered from various points in the stone piles. Bright bits of

color that could have been anything from toys to the shards of a holodisk player, littered the landscape.

Despite the utter destruction, the child's laugh overwhelmed it all. The laugh was innocent and light, it

mocked the ruin surrounding us. People could create and destroy, but, the laugh seemed to suggest,

anyone who thought destruction was more powerful than creation was a fool. Within the first ten years of

that child's life, the scars from the battling on Coruscant would be erased. And even if they were not, that

child could, in twenty or thirty years, be the person who saw to their erasure. Life truly was the antidote

to destruction.

I smiled. Mirax has been right all along, and 0o0'l, too. If we live for the present and in the present, we

short-change the future. Living for the future is necessary if we are to have any sort of jutttre at all. Yes,

Mirax, we'll have a child. Make that children. We'll make our contribution to the future.

I winked at the woman with the child as I got off at my stop. I threaded my way through the buildings and

over the catwalks that led to my home. I almost stopped at a store to buy a decent wine to celebrate the

resolution of our problem, but decided instead to whisk Mirax off somewhere for a quiet, romantic meal.

I didn't know where we'd go exactly, but with the con-struction droids roaming over the planet, I knew

there were dozens of restaurants that had been created in the week I'd been gone. Finding a place to eat

wouldn't be much of a problem.

I hit the door and punched the code into the lockplate. The door slid open and a wave of warm air

cascaded down over me. I stepped into the apartment's darkened interior, letting the door close behind

me. The warm air surrounded me like a thick blanket and for a moment I almost gave in to panic because

it seemed suffocating and dense.

My high spirits began to die down. The air had become warm because Mirax had shut off the

apartment's environmental comfort unit. We both did that when we were going to be gone for an

extended period of time. It was possible she was only going to be gone during the day, but a quick

glance at the food prep station told me that wasn't the case. All the dishes had been washed and put

away; and the small basket of fruit she kept around wasn't in sight. That meant she'd tossed it in the

conservator so it wouldn't spoil while she was gone.

I continued my way on into the apartment. I ducked my head into the darkened bedroom on the left, but

saw no signs of life there. The dining area, which abutted the food prep station on the right was likewise

devoid of life. The main table had a couple days' worth of dust on it and the datacard that had been set

near my place likely held all the messages that had come in for me up to the time Mirax left.

In the living room area off to the left I saw a light blinking on the holotable. I smiled. Good girl, you didn't

leave without giving me a message. I shucked my jacket and tossed it on a nerf-hide chair, then crouched

down and hit the button below the light.

Standing forty-five centimeters tall and as beautiful as ever, Mirax smiled at me. Even in miniature, her

black hair shined lustrously and fire filled her brown eyes. She wore the black boots and dark blue

jumpsuit in which I'd first seen her, and had a blue neff-hide jacket slung over her shoulder. A small

canvas satchel rested at her feet.

Star Wars - I, Jedi (by Michael A Stackpole)

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