Star Wars_ I, Jedi - Michael A. Stackpole [132]
Rostek brushed his hands off, then posted his fists on his hips. “I should make this very clear for you, Corran. I don’t think you’ve been a fool. What you’ve learned is what you needed to learn. It may well be that not everything you studied at the academy will help you find and save Mirax, but you could not have known that before. I saw Nejaa do many things to solve cases that had nothing at all to do with the Force or his training as a Jedi—except where that training made him a better person. Going through that training and being able to make the decision you are to abandon it takes a maturity I’ve never seen in you before. Granted, your adventures with Rogue Squadron and your marriage to Mirax probably imparted much of the maturity to you; but you shouldn’t devalue your training. Just because it did not take you where you wanted to go does not mean the journey was not good for you.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“You didn’t. I hold memories of Nejaa Halcyon very dear. I consider my work here, preserving his knowledge of the Force, to be the greatest thing I could have done with my life; and I am glad that you will have access to it all. I’ll even share it with your Luke Skywalker, if you wish.”
“Please.”
He nodded. “Consider it done. I am very proud of you, Corran, and whatever course you take in your life. Times may not have changed much here on Corellia, but your ability to survive in the maelstrom of the civil war amazes me.”
I walked over and gave him a hug. “Again, thank you.”
He smiled as we parted. “Oh, in your document package, along with the journal datacards I gave you, I included a copy of the CorSec files on that smuggler you asked about, Jorj Car’das. Files were old—he disappeared almost as long ago as Jenos Idanian. I hope they are useful.”
“Me, too. They’ll pay off a debt.”
“Good.” He glanced at his chronometer. “You’d best finish packing. Tosruk will speed you to the spaceport.”
“One other thing I need to do, first.” I reached back and opened the small satchel I’d set on the potting bench nearest the door. I drew out Nejaa Halcyon’s lightsaber and presented the hilt to my grandfather. “A lightsaber is a Jedi’s most prized possession—after his friends. I cannot take it with me because very few pirates wear them these days and, to be honest, I’ve not earned the right to wear it. I’m not Nejaa Halcyon. I’m not really a Jedi Knight. I want you to keep it, keep it safe, as you have his knowledge and his memory.”
My grandfather accepted it carefully, as if it weighed fifty kilos. “It may seem odd, but this was the missing piece. For the time I knew him, this lightsaber was part of him, an instrument of justice. When he died and the lightsaber never came back with him, I felt justice had also vanished. Now, perhaps, it has returned.”
A single tear rolled down his cheek. “You may be right that now is not the time for you to accept the Halcyon mantle, but when it is, this shall be waiting for you.”
I left him there, alone in the greenhouse with his memories and the memories he had stored in the plants. Tosruk took me to the spaceport where I shipped out on the Tinta Palette, and now found myself, several days later, seated next to Keevy Spart, listening to the dismal story of his life. “You don’t say,” I said.
“Yes, yes, it’s all true. I’ve collected every story I can find about Rogue Squadron and want to put together a history of the unit. I know all of the pilots’ profiles, how many kills they had, where they came from.…”
“What they look like …”
“Of course.” He stared at me intently. “Have you ever met any of them?”
“Me? No, not even in passing.” I nodded toward the external viewport. “See the Rainbow yet?”
Keevy shut up and pressed his face against the viewport transparisteel. The shuttle, Tinta Blue Seven, had docked on the outside of the Palette, securely linked to the bigger ship by a docking collar. The shuttle’s gangway extended down into the ship allowing the passengers to move up into the passenger compartments while ship’s crew transferred