Timothy Zahn - Survivor's Quest

"Yes," Luke said. "We don't know anything about him or his people, after all. It's possible he's running with his own agenda."

"Possible, but unlikely," Mara said, shaking her head. "The Five-Oh-First wasn't exactly your run-of-the-star-lane stormtrooper unit. They were an elite among elites, and I can't imagine Parck reviving it without holding to those standards."

"I didn't say it was likely," Luke reminded her mildly. "I would hope that Fel hadn't just thrown chance cubes when he picked his people for this mission. I just thought it was something we should keep in mind."

They did make one short side trip on the way back, stopping by the Jade Sabre to make sure she was properly locked down against intruders. After that admittedly snide comment to Fel, Mara knew she would never live it down if her own ship got broken into. Back in their quarters, they were preparing for bed when Formbi's official announcement came over the shipwide speaker system that the fire damage had been repaired and that the mission would continue without interruption. He made no mention of the assistance the Chiss had received in battling the blaze; nor was there any comment as to the cause of the explosion that had started the fire in the first place.

Later, lying beside Luke in the darkness, Mara stared at the ceiling and wondered what exactly was going on inside her.

It had come on so quickly, this quiet feeling of guilt that had suddenly taken hold of her like a hand gently gripping her throat. Suddenly, all the things she'd done through the years she was Palpatine's agent were coming back to haunt her. The heavy-handed investigations; the casual brushing aside of even the limited rights that had existed under the Empire; the summary judgments.

The summary killings.

But she'd put all that behind her. Hadn't she? She'd never truly been on the dark side, after all—Luke himself had pointed that out to her three years ago. She'd served Palpatine and the Empire as best and as honestly as she'd known how, based on the admittedly slanted information he'd given her. Certainly the fact that she was now a Jedi seemed to support the view that her actions were redeemable.

So what was it that was bringing all this back? Fel and his stormtroopers, the most visible image of Imperial rule and excesses? The mission itself and its constant reminder that the destruction of Outbound Flight had been one of Palpatine's early atrocities?

Or was it something else entirely, something more subtle? After all, Palpatine had paid for his deeds with his life. So had Darth Vader and Tarkin and all the other Grand Moffs. Even Thrawn, whom she now realized had probably been nobler than all the rest of them put together, was gone. Only she, Mara Jade, the Emperor's Hand, had survived.

Why?

She rolled uncomfortably over onto her side, transferring her stare from the darkness of the ceiling to the darkness on the far side of the room. Survivor's guilt, she remembered hearing someone call it once. Was that what Fel and Outbound Flight had sparked in her? If true, it was pretty stupid, particularly at this late date.

Unless it was what Luke had suggested earlier. That there were still things about the Empire that she was reluctant to let go of.

She took a deep breath, let it out quietly. Luke was still awake, too, she knew, watching her emotions swirl around, ready to join her in her struggle whenever she was ready to invite him in.

She reached over and found his hand. "We're supposed to be doing Jedi healing trances, right?" she murmured.

He took the hint. "Right," he murmured back. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she said. "Good night."

"Good night."

She closed her eyes, settling herself more comfortably against the pillow and stretching out to the Force. After all, Luke had accepted her, dark past and all. If he could do it, she certainly ought to be able to.

Mara's breathing slowed, her mind and emotions quieting as she slipped into the healing trance. Luke watched her lovingly as she went silent, then gently disengaged his hand from hers and rolled over to face the opposite wall. It had been a long and busy day, and he had his own burns to deal with. He'd best get to it.

But the calmness and concentration necessary for the healing trance refused to come. Something was going on aboard this ship, something wrapped in a dark and murky purpose. Someone aboard—maybe more than one someone—was going to Outbound Flight for some other reason besides respect or penance.

He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably beneath the weight of the blankets. But then, to be perfectly honest, didn't he have an ulterior reason of his own for being here?

Of course he did. Outbound Flight was a relic from the last, turbulent days of the Old Republic, its existence and records offering the chance to fill in some of the gaps in the New Republic's history of that period. But even more importantly, it might offer a detailed look into the ways and organization of that last generation of the full Jedi Order. There might be information aboard that would fill in the gaps in his own knowledge and understanding, showing him what he was doing right.

And, more importantly, what he was doing wrong.

He grimaced in the darkness. Luke Skywalker, Jedi Master. The Jedi Master, as far as most of the New Republic was concerned. Founder, teacher, and leader of the resurgent Jedi Order.

How in the worlds had he wound up in this position, anyway? How was it that he had been loaded with the responsibility for rebuilding something that had taken past generations centuries or more to create?

Because he had been all that there was, that was how. When gone am I, Yoda had said in those final moments, the last of the Jedi will you be. Pass on what you have learned.

He'd done his best to live up to Yoda's command. But sometimes—too many times—his best hadn't been enough.

Yoda's training had helped, but not enough. The Holocron had helped, but not enough. Advice and correction from Leia and Mara had helped, but not enough.

Was there something that had survived aboard Outbound Flight that might also help? He didn't know. To be honest, he was almost afraid to find out.

He was going to search for it just the same, because he had to. He and Mara had both felt the gentle but unmistakable leading of the Force in accepting Formbi's invitation, and he knew too well that ignoring that nudge would bring bitter regret somewhere down the line. For good or evil, they were going to Outbound Flight.

And who could tell? Maybe there was even something aboard that would finally lay to rest his questions about Jedi marriage. Dissenting opinions from other Jedi Masters, perhaps, or even an indication that the whole Order had been wrong in the prohibition.

But he wouldn't know until they arrived. And he might as well arrive healthy. Taking a deep breath, letting the doubts and concerns slide away from him, he stretched out to the Force.

All the noise and bustle in the corridors outside had died down by the time Dean Jinzler put aside his datapad and started getting ready for bed. It had been a long, strange day, full of odd people and odd events, and he was tired with the kind of weariness that had haunted him for so much of his adult life.

And yet, at the same time, there was a fresh excitement underlying the fatigue. An excitement, and a darkly simmering dread.

Outbound Flight. After half a century, he was finally going to see the huge, mysterious project that had taken Lorana away from the Republic. He would stand where she had stood, see what she had seen. Perhaps, if he was very lucky, he would even be able to catch an echo of the idea or goal that had captured her own imagination, and to which she had dedicated her life.