Star Wars_ I, Jedi - Michael A. Stackpole [83]
“But you aren’t sure you’re comfortable doing it.” I smiled. “I understand. This is why I am content to be a pilot in Rogue Squadron, not someone leading my own group of fighter pilots. I don’t want to get so spread out that I can’t make a difference when I need to.”
Mara’s gaze sharpened. “I bet the smugglers working your sector of the Corellian system didn’t like you at all.”
“Can’t understand why. Should I have had my sting operations catered or something?” I shook my head. “They traded in rare commodities and I traded them the rarest of all for their wares: time.”
“Yeah, on Kessel. Time goes a long way there.”
“And I didn’t even charge extra for it.” I straightened up and offered her my hand. “I’m sorry to see you go. I thought between us we could really kick some life into this place and help Luke move the students on to the next level of development. I hesitate to say it, but it’s been fun working with you.”
Mara gave me one of her carefully hoarded smiles. “For something that started off with our arguing and my ship getting stolen, the experience hasn’t been as bad as I would have thought. Thanks for your help. If there is anything I can do for you …”
“Actually there is.” I gave her a weak smile. “With your contacts in the smuggling community, maybe you will hear something about Mirax. I’d appreciate hearing anything. I’d owe you.”
“How about a swap?” She hitched for a second, then glanced down at the floor. “Watch out for Luke for me, will you?”
“Sure, gladly.” I frowned. “Anything specific? I know he won’t like your leaving.…”
“That, certainly.” Her voice shrank a bit. “His involvement with the dark side. I know it functions as a spur to drive him on to teach his students, but I don’t think he knows how much he was hurt by it. The experience had to be unbelievably traumatic and he’s still healing. I don’t fear a relapse, but maybe, I don’t know.”
“He might try to do too much, too fast?”
“That would be like him.”
I nodded and wanted to kick myself for not having seen it sooner. For Luke, for anyone, the journey to the dark side and back would have been like being shot multiple times at point-blank range. Bacta therapy might heal the physical wounds, but the memories and nightmares resulting would take time to work out. While the Jedi calming techniques might get rid of the resulting anxiety, they just treated the symptoms without curing the underlying problems. Only time could heal them; time and the love and support of friends.
“I’ll watch him for you. Take care of yourself, okay?”
“Will do.”
“And if any of your smuggler pals manage to have some spare food—good food they need to offload somewhere, you know where we could use it.”
Mara shouldered her satchel and slipped past me. “You’ve got it, CorSec. See you a couple parsecs down the line.”
After Luke saw her off, he took us listlessly through the morning’s exercises. He clearly was trying to do his best with us, but his heart wasn’t in it. I recognized in him the same sort of behavior Iella had reported in me after my father’s death. He was thinking too hard about what had happened and allowing himself to dwell in the past while the rest of the universe was sliding on into the future.
In my case, Iella and Gil Bastra had taken me to one of the seediest cantinas on Treasure Ship Row. The place called the Fel Swoop was packed with a rough crowd of swoop-riders and speeder bike jockeys. After a lot of Corellian whiskey, they got me singing a little song about the lack of brains and intestinal fortitude of speeder bike enthusiasts. My singing voice, even at the best of times, would cause a riot in a receptive audience, and the resulting brawl kind of tore the place apart. Fact was, though, that the aches and pains and scars that resulted brought me back into the real world and anchored me there.