KANAN AND HERA walked the long sylvan road from Zaluna’s house.
“I think she’ll be fine,” Hera said for the third time. “The medic I took her to said she’s healing nicely.”
“Oh, sure,” he replied again. They had done an excellent job of talking about nothing on the walk—indeed, since the life pod landed on Gorse. They’d parted quickly then, allowing Kanan time to leave a trail placing him on Gorse during all the previous action. Sloane might know his name, but as far as Imperial surveillance was concerned, he was just one more suicide flier who’d left Gorse when the work dried up.
They approached the small hangar she had rented outside the little town. Not turning toward him, she asked, “So what’s next for you?”
“Well, you know me. A force always in motion.”
“I do know you.” She kept walking. “So what do you think about what Zaluna said?”
“What, going with you?” Kanan shrugged. “Well, you know what I’ve said. You’re great company.” He eyed her. “But I don’t think you’re looking for a traveling companion, are you?”
“Not like that.” She stopped outside the door to the closed hangar, and he did the same. She looked up at him. “What’s happening to the galaxy is serious, and I mean to do something about it. If you mean only to mind your own business,” she said, offering her hand, “then I wish you luck in your travels.”
He looked down at her hand, and then at her. “I still haven’t seen this ship.”
“And you won’t. The fewer people see it, the better.”
He scratched his beard. “It sounds pretty large. Must be a lot on it to keep up.”
She stared at him for a moment—and nodded. “Yes, there is.”
“You might need a crew for something like that.” He looked at her pointedly. “Not a traveling companion. Not a revolutionary. Crew.” He thrust his hand into hers.
She flashed a shrewd smile—and shook his hand. “I can live with that.”
Kanan turned and clapped his hands together. “Great! I just hope it’s not as big a mess as the ship I just left.”
“Well, you’re going to love this,” she said, opening the door to the hangar.
So. Kanan Jarrus was a Jedi. Or rather, he had been in training to become one when the Emperor betrayed them all.
It was just a guess. He hadn’t said anything more to Hera about that moment aboard Forager. It was possible that he was just some random person who happened to have the ability to use the Force. Someone who, in a rush of adrenaline, had reached out to the universe for a great feat—and who had seen his prayer answered.
But Hera didn’t think so. When she was a girl, the Jedi had helped her people in the Clone Wars. Although she had been too young then to remember specific events from those days, her father had told her, time and again, of the Jedi in action. Later, she’d watched many historical holos—all of them now banned—of Jedi in action. She understood that Jedi abilities weren’t some suit of superpowered armor that someone could leave at home, or abandon in a garbage can. The Force influenced and enhanced every action of a person touched with it, whether they were conscious of it or not.
And no one but a Jedi could do the things she had seen Kanan do. The brawl in Shaketown, the escape on the hoverbus, the battle with Vidian—in each, she’d seen a man acting at the outer edge of human performance. And in all cases, she’d somehow thought him capable of doing even more. It seemed as if he’d identified a line that he would not cross, and had stuck to it.
Kanan had gravitated toward a dangerous calling on Gorse, because to him it wasn’t dangerous. And it was a solitary trade, so he secretly could call on his prodigious talents if danger struck. She suspected that described all the odd jobs he’d taken on in his life. It was the strategy of someone trained in a certain discipline, and yet forbidden from practicing it. That, his nomadic nature, and his lack of family ties all added up.
Kanan probably wasn’t yet a Jedi when the massacre came. She doubted he even had a lightsaber—all he had in the galaxy was one bag of clothing, and if he’d hidden it in there, she would never go looking for it. Hera wondered how young Jedi became apprenticed. She didn’t know, and such information was harder to come by now than just about anything else.
Where had he been, when the great betrayal had happened? Who had he been with? Had someone warned him?
And did that someone yet exist?
Kanan might tell her, someday. Or he might not. She was all right with that. The Emperor had disenfranchised souls across the galaxy, people from all walks of life. A reluctant near-Jedi was just one more of their countless number. Many people would be required for a rebellion to work, all contributing their unique talents. All would be equally important, in their own ways.
He obviously liked her starship, she could see as he walked around it. That was good. He was also smitten with her, she could tell—and she was all right with that, too. She didn’t want to tell him that her war had already begun, and that in war, there was no time for anything else. He would probably understand that eventually.
No, she thought, things would be fine the way they were. Kanan would be a great asset to her in the days to come even if he never returned to the Jedi ways.
But she couldn’t help but wonder: What would happen if he did?
Kanan Jarrus was in love.
The Ghost, Hera had called it. It was the ship he’d admired as it passed him on the way to Cynda days earlier—and it was a marvel. Roughly hexagonal in shape, it was a light freighter with lots of modifications—all of them, as near as he could tell, improvements. The two main engines jutting out the back were top-notch pieces of equipment, better than anything he’d seen on Gorse or anywhere else. A cockpit sat front-and-center above another bubble housing a turret for a forward gunner. It had symmetry many Corellian cargo ships lacked—and even a small excursion module mounted aft.
After piloting dingy freighters and explosives haulers, after riding in nasty commercial liners and the holds of mining ships, Kanan found Ghost a breath of pure oxygen. He would kill to fly it—and as Hera had joked, he might have to. It was hers, all hers. That was fine. He’d welcome the ride.
A nightmare had begun for everyone, years earlier, and it continued in almost every way that mattered. The galaxy hadn’t awoken from it yet, and maybe it never would. But Kanan had always been about going to perdition in style, and Ghost was a great way to get there.
Particularly with the company.
She was watching him as he admired the starship. Hera had hidden it well, constantly looking away or fiddling with some part—but Kanan was well trained in knowing when female eyes were on him. Things had changed there, too. Hera had been mildly curious about him before, but the events on Forager had definitely influenced her attitude toward him. That, or he had somehow gotten a lot more attractive.
Either reason was fine. Any excuse to be in her company was a good one, as long as she didn’t push the matter. Hera knew one little thing about his past now, which was one more than he knew about hers. He hoped she’d figure out it had no bearing on who he was. If delivering pinpricks to the Empire was what gave her a thrill, he could certainly help her without getting into all that.
Perhaps the answer will come to you in another form, Master Billaba had said years earlier when he’d asked what a Masterless Jedi should do with his time. He’d sought answers in dangerous jobs and travel, in cantinas and carousing. Hera was a new and very different answer: as good a way to spend his time as any.
The people who had taught Kanan as a child had left him with a handful of skills and some parting advice. Nothing more. That had been their total legacy. Heeding their instructions was all he owed them. He would continue to avoid Coruscant, to avoid detection. He didn’t understand what he needed to “stay strong” for, but he’d continue to defend himself against anyone who challenged him.
And the Force? Well, it might be with him, or it might not. Kanan would get by, either way. He always had.
He slapped the underside of the Ghost and winked as he made for the ramp. “Let’s go somewhere.”