Vision of the future

Artoo warbled anxiously. 'It's all right,' Luke soothed. 'It's all right.' And to his own mild surprise, he found he actually meant it. The X-wing's disappearing act was frustrating and annoying; but oddly enough, there was no sense of danger or fear accompanying it. Not even any serious concern, despite the fact that the loss of their ship meant no chance for a quick escape should the situation warrant it.

A prodding from the Force? A sense, perhaps, that the X-wing was merely misplaced and not actually lost?

Unfortunately, he realized soberly, it could just as easily be a prodding in the opposite direction. That the loss of the ship didn't matter because he would not be leaving this world alive anyway. Unbidden, an image of Yoda rose from his memory: the old Jedi Master sighing with weariness as he settled onto his bed for the last time. Luke could remember his gut-churning fear at Yoda's frailness; could recall the exact tone of his own voice as he protested to Yoda that he must not die. Strong am I with the Force, Yoda had gently reproved his student. But not that strong. Twilight is upon me and soon night will fall. That is the way of things... the way of the Force. Luke took a deep breath. Obi-Wan had died, Yoda had died, and someday it would be his turn to face that same journey. And if this was the place where that journey would begin, so be it. He was a Jedi, and would face it as one.

In the meantime, the reason he had come here had not changed. 'Nothing we can do about it now,' he told Artoo, turning away from the valley and returning to the task of coiling the syntherope.

'Let's get to the top and see where we go from there.'

From directly above came a soft chirp. There are better ways to pass. Luke looked up. The young Qom Qae was back, hovering on some updraft he'd found and gazing down at them. 'Are you offering to help us?' he asked.

The Qom Qae bent one of his wings slightly, the change in air pressure sending him sidling over to the cliff face beside Luke. He caught one of the bushes in his talons as he reached it, folding his wings behind him. I will help you, he chirped. The Qom Jha have said another has arrived and is with them. I will take you there.

'Thank you,' Luke said, wondering if he should ask about his missing X-wing. But after the young Qom Qae's skittishness earlier it probably would be better to leave any interrogations for later. 'May I ask why you're willing to take the risk?'

I am known to some of the younger Qom Jha, he chirped. I do not fear them.

'I'm not necessarily talking about the Qom Jha,' Luke said, wanting to make sure the young alien genuinely understood the risks. 'The others Hunter Of Winds spoke of may also try to stop us.' I understand that. The alien fluffed his wings. But you asked Hunter Of Winds if he had ever had a friend in danger. I have.

Luke smiled. 'I understand,' he said. 'And I'm honored to have your assistance. I'm Luke Skywalker, as I said, and this is my droid, Artoo. What's your name?' The Qom Qae spread his wings and made a short hop to a bush in front of them. I am too young yet to have a name. I am called merely Child Of Winds.

'Child Of Winds,' Luke repeated, eyeing him thoughtfully. 'You wouldn't by any chance be related to Hunter Of Winds, would you?'

He is my sire, Child Of Winds chirped. It is indeed true about the wisdom of the Jedi Knights.

Luke suppressed a smile. 'Sometimes,' he said. 'But we should get moving now. Along the way, perhaps you can tell me more about your people.'

I would be honored, Child Of Winds said, spreading his wings eagerly. Come, I will show you the path.

CHAPTER

3

The communications blister on the New Republic Dreadnaught Peregrine was something of an anachronism among modern warships, a throwback to the pre-Clone Wars design philosophy that had prevailed at the time the Peregrine and its Katana-fleet sister ships had been built. Not only was the ship's entire primary antenna array located in the blister, but so were the complex and delicate encryption/decryption computers.

The handful of other Katana-fleet Dreadnaughts still in New Republic service had had their comm blisters extensively renovated, with the encrypt/decrypt equipment moved inside into a more sheltered area between the bridge and Intelligence ops. But somehow, no matter how often the renovation procedure was talked about, the Peregrine always seemed to slip through the cracks in the work schedule.

Wedge Antilles had wondered about that on occasion. There was, he knew, still some bad blood between General Garm Bel Iblis and a few of the New Republic's upper echelon, dating back to Bel Iblis's years of running his own private war against the Empire after his falling-out with Mon Mothma. Wedge had always suspected the lack of renovation on this, the general's flagship, was tied to that animosity.