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Up they came. She looked down at her folded hands for a moment, then lifted her face and began to read.

Only two. They would soon have one more to keep them company. One final letter, an orphan girl’s wishful memories of a father who had never really lived.

Swallowing hard, she raised fingers that trembled, ever so slightly, and began to type.

Dear Papa,

I know you are gone, and I will never be able to laugh with you, or hug you, or listen to your wisdom ever again. I know that you have become one with the Force, and that in a way you will always be with me. But that gives me very little comfort now, when I am missing you so much.

Master Skywalker spoke with me about how he had felt when he lost his mentor, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Even though Obi-Wan had been with him for a very short time, Master Skywalker speaks eloquently of the pain of the loss, and the comfort that he found when “Ben,” for whom my own dear Ben is named, found a way to return to him.

Dearest Papa, you have always guided and supported me, gently steering me through the myriad challenges that have come my way as a Jedi. No daughter could have asked for a better father. No apprentice could have asked for a wiser master. I cannot tell you how much I miss

The door slid open, and Ben stood there, bleary with sleep, concern on his face. “Vestara, I—what are you doing?”

Frantically she rushed to delete the file, then turned, startled and angry at his intrusion.

“What are you doing, Ben? Walking into my room at this hour?”

But she couldn’t distract him. He had suddenly become very, very awake, and he sprang for the computer. She shoved at him, and he whirled on her.

“What were you doing?”

“It’s none of your business,” she said heatedly. “Why are you even here?”

“I heard you crying, and you didn’t answer when I knocked. I got worried, so I overrode the lock,” he said, his voice hard and angry and cold and sharply at odds with the tenderness of the words. She was taken aback, and as she blinked, she realized that there were indeed tears clinging to her dark lashes.

“Apparently I didn’t need to be concerned,” Ben continued. His hands shot out and gripped her wrists. “Move.”

Embarrassment, hurt, and anger rushed through her. Her eyes narrowed and she Force-shoved him back. Not expecting it, although he should have, Ben barely reacted in time to keep from slamming against the bulkhead. He turned in midair, landed, albeit imperfectly, on his feet, and lifted a hand sharply. To her complete shock, Vestara felt an invisible hand crack across her cheek. He had used the Force not to defend himself, or to restrain her, but to strike her in anger.

Her face stinging from the invisible blow, she flicked a finger and her lightsaber sprang to her hand. Ben had gathered himself to leap at her and had to twist his body sharply as she swung, the glowing red blade singing its unique and unmistakable song as it sliced through air. Vestara pursued, forcing her body to calm, even though she was trembling with outrage.

A whirling kick that she should have seen coming a kilometer away knocked the lightsaber out of her hands. Ben extended a hand and it flew to him, and Vestara had the unique sight of Ben Skywalker, Jedi Knight, standing in a dark room with his angry features lit by the red glow of a Sith lightsaber.

She sprang toward him, but he lifted his left hand and the pillows rose to attack her with soft, harmless vigor that nonetheless blocked her vision and pressed in close to her face, smothering her. The precious second she struggled against them gave Ben all the time he needed to pin her against the bed and use the Force to swathe her in the bedsheets.

She struggled against him for a long moment, then suddenly sagged. He stood, catching his breath, his face still eerily illuminated by the scarlet glow, then extinguished the lightsaber.

“Now,” he said, “I’ll let you up if you tell me what the stang you were up to.”

“Just go away, Ben, it’s got nothing