Nostagia Trip Escape.

[Zeke]

Zeke moved back from the Sassy Wench's cockpit and sank into the chairs with his family, groaning as his body settled. He hadn't done that in so long. It felt good. To use the Force as a Jedi! It was an experience he'd feared he'd never have again.

"So, tell me, Baby," Carol said slowly, fingers steepled and legs crossed at the knee. "When, precisely, were you going to tell me you were a Jedi?"

"Ah, well..." Zeke blew a breath out and sat up, thinking. "Never?" he tested, looking curiously to his wife for a reaction. Her face was a mask of durasteel. "See, I was going to keep it a secret, to preserve the security of our family, business, and crew, but then those weapons--which I did not know about, by the way--went ahead and endangered everyone anyway. So, I revealed myself as a Jedi and tried to save our family and crew." The room felt suddenly heavier. Even Carol couldn't continue stone-walling her husband and let her expression go sour. "At least I managed this much," he muttered.

"It's okay," Cassandra reassured him, wiping at her reddened eyes. "It could be worse, somehow."

Zeke shrugged one shoulder and tipped his head to that side, a concession to the point. "Coulda been more of 'em," he elaborated, trying to validate the statement. "Coulda been Clones. They were better shots. Their unit tactics were better, too."

"You fought them like you did those Stormtroopers, then?" Carol asked slowly. "The public never got the full story on the Jedi uprising and how that was stopped, or anything. Just suddenly Jedi were outlaws, Clones were Stormtroopers, and there was Vader. Did you do all that you did in the passenger bay? With the floating lightsabers?"

"I want to see them!" Cassandra interjected, eager to get away from the uncomfortable topics of war and death. Zeke drew the hilts from his inside coat pocket and handed them to her. She held one in her hands and let the other rest carefully in her lap, turning the hilt this way and that to get a good look at it. She quickly reasoned out the blade-end and the trigger plate and ignited it, the gold blade hissing out as she pointed it safely away from her parents.

"Wow," she gasped. She waved it a bit, listening to the distinctive hum, then released the plate and watched it fade away. "Incredible. Oh, hey!" She twisted the hilt a bit, noticing the way the light caught the Aurebesh lettering engraved in the hilt. "Dad, what's Ultima Ratio Regum?" Zeke took the hilt back and inspected it.

"This is the lightsaber I built with my own hands. Lightsaber construction was one of the rituals that Jedi Younglings went through when Knights and Masters chose them as Padawans. The Lightsaber was a symbol of the Jedi Order, and being a Jedi meant carrying one. The first mission I took this on didn't involve fighting, though. Rather, it was all about diplomacy."

[Zeke]

*****The Year 25 BBY*****

Young Zeke tromped along after Master Theron, his stubby Padawan braid slapping his neck and ear as he went. His newly-crafted lightsaber thumped lightly on his hip, a reminder of his increase in duty to the Order and his Master.

"So why are we here, again?" he asked, looking about the low-built but lavish compound where their mission was taking place.

"Because, Master Rycorb needs a translator," she answered, ruffling his short black hair. "Didn't you read your briefing? How about you tell me what we're doing here?"

Zeke sighed and recited: "The Republic of Ykaht and the Kingdom of Sirknet want to unify their governments into one ruling body to unite the planet Yheglaih and gain entry into the Galactic Republic. However, negotiations are not going smoothly and each party has agreed to allow a neutral being from the Galactic Republic to mediate. They requested the best diplomat possible, Master Rycorb was chosen, but in spite of all their linguistic fluency, neither delegate speaks Ithorian. So you're translating to Basic."

"Exactly," replied Master Theron with a warm smile. "It won't take long, I promise. The negotiations will be short." The pair entered the compound's elegant gate and made the door. The guards--one each from the planet's two governing bodies, swung the doors open wide and announced their presence. Master Rycorb waved from a table set dead in the center of the big, round atrium.

Zeke plopped into a chair and prepared himself to study, pulling his lightsaber off his belt and admiring his handiwork. The blade was gold when it was powered on, a fairly unique color, and the hilt was built with a solid grip so he wouldn't lose hold of it if someone tried to batter it out of his hands. Next to him, Master Rycorb was speaking. On his other side, Master Theron sat listening patiently.

"He asks whether or not you've tried the solution of ruling as a duumvirate," Theron said with a slight blush, embarrassed at asking such an obvious question.

"We have," answered King Meca. "It doesn't please my fellow leader's love for democracy, though I imagine we'll have plenty of it on the galactic scale."

Rycorb "hrrrmed," his four throats making the empty thinking noise sound oddly musical. He made a short statement. Theron spoke it plainly.

"Then, a council? With equal delegation from both nations?"

"King Meca frets that without an odd number, we will be locked into stalemate and agree on nothing," sighed Prime Minister Nokk. "I don't believe it will be such a grand worry, but it is a valid complaint and I feel we'd be remiss if we didn't address it."

Silence reigned. Zeke had a nagging suspicion that there was an exceedingly obvious answer to the problem; that each side had simply insisted over and over that their way was proper and dismissed out of hand several positive traits about the other's government. The fact that Rycorb's opening questions had been to probe each side for their grievances with the opposite government made that apparent to him.

"Are we so stubborn that we cannot compromise in some fashion?" Nokk lamented.

"Are we so afraid of war that we will not act decisively?" worried Meca.

"War is never the answer," parroted all three Jedi in Basic and Ithorian. Nobody seemed surprised by Rycorb or Theron speaking up, but all eyes went to Zeke, who shrank in his chair and reminded himself that he was just here to study debate.

"Yes, yes, we know," sighed King Meca. "We share a common language, the Kingdom and the Republic. Before our nations split, we were a single Kingdom. Nokk's ancestors split off and became the democracy they wield today."

"Still," Nokk continued, "We each have a tradition. All our weapons have the words The Last Argument of Kings stamped into them. Or, in our own tongue, Ultima Ratio Regum. Fighting should always be the last resort. War changes everything, even the ideal you went to fight for in the first place. It must never be taken lightly. It is why you are here, my Jedi friends."

Zeke looked down at his lightsaber, lost in thought. He didn't look up until his Masters nudged him at the end of the debate.

[Zeke]

"So you thought yourself a King?" needled Carol. Zeke smirked and shook his head. "No, but I thought there was wisdom in that statement, about what fighting did to your ideals. It was absolutely true, you know. The Clone Wars have eradicated nearly everything we Jedi ever tried to stand up for."

"So this lightsaber," Cassandra cut in again, igniting the navy blue one. "What's the story on it? You build it, too?"

Zeke smiled, giggling a little reflexively. "I made friends with another Padawan named Rory, and we did a lot of missions together when our Masters were otherwise occupied. His name used to make me laugh, because of an off-handed comment my Master had made about a jungle cat we once fought being a "roar-y little thing"...so I always thought of that. He died on a mission we once conducted to protect Chancellor Valorum, and I took up his lightsaber to complete the mission. The Council let me keep it, and I learned to dual-wield lightsabers as part of the Ataru style of lightsaber combat. Which is another long explanation. I know you don't wanna talk about fighting or anything right now though, Cassie, so I won't go into the details about Rory or lightsaber combat right now."

"Thanks," she said, and meant it. She looked at the two weapons and sighed. Her dad had turned out so much cooler than she'd thought. Force powers, being an army general...and cool, cool weaponry that could stop blaster shots.

"We should name them," she decided. "Since we're probably gonna lose the shuttle with the Lady. We need named objects in our lives."

"Sure," Zeke agreed. "What will we call them?" There was a significant pause as Cassandra thought.

"The gold one should be named after its inscription," she said with authority. "I dub it The Last Argument of Kings. And the blue one...Roaring, after your friend. Fierce this time, not funny."

"Agreed," Zeke smiled, taking the hilts back and putting them away. Silence fell over the cabin. Soon Cassandra was asleep, exhausted from the ordeal. Carol moved to sit with her husband, leaning back on him and letting him hold her tight.

"So. What happened to push you all into hiding? Why did the Jedi disappear? Specifically, what happened to you, Baby?"

[Zeke]

*****The Year 19 BBY*****

Zeke ran for the trenches on the Mid-Rim planet Dagro, blaster bolts zinging through the air around him from both directions. He flung himself into the first trench and landed in a squat beside a fellow Jedi, a dour-looking Chagrian named Milek Tomberlin. He sat quickly field-stripping a blaster rifle, not flinching as Zeke plopped down with a loud "whew!" of relief.

"Fun!" Zeke gasped, uncapping his canteen and drinking heavily. He looked to Milek, who was slapping the rifle back together with the Force to aid his hands with speed and precision. "C'mon! What's the matter, Tomberlin? Ya don't like it?"

"No, not particularly," groused the blue-skinned Jedi. Zeke looked past him to where a Clone was leaning back against the trench wall, body relaxed and limbs akimbo.

"You should relax," Zeke advised. "Be like that Clone. Just act calm." Milek pushed the body forward off the wall to reveal a collection of char holes in the back of his torso and head.

"He's dead, Zeke," replied Tomberlin wryly.

"The statement stands," Zeke replied airily, checking the position of the sun in the sky. "Nightfall, soon. The Muuns will call their droids in for repairs soon and start scavenging parts. At least we can count on those credit-pinchers to give us reprieve, eh?" Milek didn't answer. At last he finished reassembling the rifle and poked his head up just above the edge of the trench to snipe droids and cover the retreating clones. One, with armor adorned in the gold stripes of command, hopped lightly into the trench and took a knee before Zeke.

"General Zeke, we are in full retreat, as are the opposing droids. Battle recommences at dawn. Orders, sir?"

"Eat and sleep as best you can, soldier. that's all. See you at the base camp soon."

Later that evening Zeke, Tomberlin, and their clones sat in the semi-dark, eating their tasteless ration bars and playing with a datapad by the moonlight. Zeke had snuck it in after his last visit home. All it contained was a program for drawing. This he passed around to his soldiers, and each took a turn drawing whatever came to mind. Some drew women, others tried to replicate the symbol of the Galactic Republic. The only one who never partook of the game was his Commander, who sat passing a single credit between his knuckles. Zeke had drawn upon that skill, somehow unique to his Clone Commander, and let it inspire the man's name.

"Commander Coin, would you draw something if I ordered you to?"

"No, sir," replied Coin. "I'm entertained enough." Zeke shrugged and laid back on the soft grass, pillowing his head under his wadded-up outer robe. "Wonder if the War really is gonna end soon. I hear Skywalker and Kenobi slew Dooku over Coruscant a while ago. Saved Palpatine while they were at it. Good shot, I guess."

"Palpatine is an excellent leader and valuable symbol of morale," answered Tomberlin sternly. "The people love him. To have lost him to capture or death would've crushed our whole side."

"Yeah, the man practically poops gold," Zeke said dryly, earning a few scattered chuckles from his clones.

"Saw a picture of the man, once," remarked Coin. "Bad angle on it. Was shot kinda low and from the side. Made his face look like it was almost all nose. Couldn't believe that saggy old guy was supposed to be our great, indomitable leader."

"That "saggy old guy" you're talking about has held our Republic together with more efficiency and decisive action than the Senate ever could have as a ruling body, and once he's led us through this awful mess, he'll abdicate his emergency powers and let us get on with repairing the wounds this bloody war has left in our fair democracy," sniffed Tomberlin. "You'll see."

"Still think he looks like a baggy rhino," muttered Coin. He and Zeke shared a skewed, mischievous grin as Tomberlin harrumphed and spread out his bedroll.

"Sleep now. And I'll have no more disrespect for our leadership," he ordered sternly as he settled in. "Latrine duty for whoever speaks out of turn again. Even you, Zeke."

Zeke made a face at the Chagrian's back. "Arright, arright. Sheesh. Lights out, cool kids. See you at dawn."

[Zeke]

The war showed no signs of slowing, not even weeks after the rescue of Palpatine. There'd been some rumor that Obi-Wan Kenobi had slain General Grievous. That should have been a game-ending move...but somehow, not so much. Zeke didn't get it. Neither did Tomberlin, but he seemed to tank the news with his usual sour acceptance. He stood with Zeke scanning the horizon, taking in the measure of the opposing army and planning tactics.

"Look, a pincer attack would catch them unawares," Zeke was saying, gesturing at the army ahead and then at the hologram their spy drones in the high atmosphere had created. "See? Your tactic to focus-fire the supers and droidekas has worked. Those units are now spread too thinly. We can crush them easily between our forces." Behind him, Coin drew his holocommunicator and studied the message there-on displayed, then wandered off.

"Glad to have some good news, today," muttered the Chagrian Jedi, lowering his binoculars. "A sound strategy, my friend. Let's prepare."

Zeke shook his head with a laugh. Tomberlin only called him "friend" when he had a bad feeling about something. Coin approached and saluted smartly. "Orders, sir?" he asked. Zeke filled him in on the plan. He would lead Coin and his regiment around to the east. Tomberlin would mirror them, and they'd meet in the center of the clearing by midday and celebrate a job well done. "Very good, sir," Coin complimented, voice flat. "Oh, and I finally drew you a picture on your datapad. Here you are, sir. I hope it passes muster." Coin handed the pad over and moved to spread his General's edict. Zeke pulled the image up and frowned at it.

"What've you got?" asked Tomberlin, back from his own briefing.

"It's this picture that Coin drew for me," Zeke said thoughtfully. "I don't understand it! What's this golden rhino that he's painted? And what's with the colored lines on the horn?"

"Seems your Commander enjoys abstract art," Tomberlin observed. "Strange, the Clones come from the same genetic blueprint, but their skills differ so much. Coin is the only one who can juggle a credit on his knuckles, but he's by far the worst artist in your unit."

Zeke chuckled. "Yeah. Arright, let's move it. Attack commences in one hour."

[Zeke]

Zeke and his troops were in position, hiding in the tall grasslands of Dagro. The droid army hadn't moved in the whole hour-ish that the Republic troops had taken to maneuver. Zeke thought it strange, but chose not to question it. Probably some Muun was asleep at the wheel. It'd happened before, once, and what a glorious day it'd been. He hit his comm.

"Tomberlin, we ready?" Static. "Tomberlin? Must be some interference from the droids. Commander Coin, are you ready?" Behind him, Coin pumped his rifle to charge it.

"Yessir," he replied. Zeke thought he sounded pained. "Lead the charge."

Zeke burst from the brush with his sabers ignited, body held low as he charged down the droids. Even after he was well within their firing range, they didn't move. Didn't even turn to him. Then, he heard Coin's command. "Open fire!"

The droids turned as one and aimed. Zeke skidded to a stop, raising his lightsabers, when a sudden tingle from the Force alerted him to new danger. Danger behind him. Zeke spun, his lightsabers flashing, reflecting blaster bolts from both droid and clone.

"Commander!" he yelled over the cacophony, "What in the great wide galaxy!?"

"Sorry," Coin replied, his voice barely restrained into its usual flat professionalism. "Just following rhino's order."

Zeke's eyes went wide as he let go his sabers and used telekinesis to defend himself, drawing out the datapad and opening Coin's drawing. Golden rhino, colored lines on the horn. A brown line for the body, a black squiggle for a head and hair. Blue and gold lines for the arms, white lines for legs. A stick-figure Jedi, impaled on the rhino's horn. A stick figure Zeke. "Oh, crumbs," he swore. "Coin, you magnificent bastard, ya tried to warn me!"

"Rather hoped you'd figure it out sooner," Coin lamented. "Knew it was too subtle for you." Zeke grinned, and he knew that behind his helmet, Coin was doing the same in spite of himself.

"There's a reason Tomberlin runs the stealth, sabotage, and defense missions," he replied. "Hey, did you warn him? Or did his Commander, Sal?"

"...no, not so much," Coin answered apologetically. Zeke turned and bolted into the thick of the droids, reaching out for Tomberlin's position.

[Zeke]

*****The Present*****

"So, did you ever find Tomberlin?" asked Carol, the worry clear in her voice.

"No, I never did," Zeke answered thoughtfully. I didn't sense his death. It's possible he lived, or at least was alive when I got overwhelmed and fled the battlefield. Maybe he's alive. I hope he's alive. It'd be good to catch up with him sometime and reunite the old team. Plus I could use his lightsaber expertise. He was a master of Shien."

Carol looked up over her shoulder at him with an eyebrow arched.

"Oh, that was a form for transforming defense into offense. It had two types, and Shien was the one for multiple opponents with blasters. Tomberlin was an ace at turning laserfire back to its origin."

"So Ataru is...?"

"Well, it's an aggressive form that makes heavy use of jumping and spinning to attack from many angles at great speed. It's good against a single opponent, but it suffers in cramped spaces or in prolonged combat. It was also pretty crumby at deflecting blaster bolts. I'm better at it if I use telekinesis."

Carol sat up, hands held in a gesture of surrender. "Look, babe, I wanna be proud of you and your Jedi skills and all, but this is so sudden. You can lift things with your mind and fight with laserswords, okay. Fine. But I wish you would've told me sooner. We could've been better prepared. Poor Cassie, she's gonna take this the worst. She already has so few friends, and now we're fugitives? She's almost eighteen, Zeke, and barely knows anyone her own age, won't be able to go to an Academy and advance her education. I don't mean to push it all on you, but what are we going to do?"

[Zeke]

Zeke took a breath and considered.

"We will be patient," he decided at last. "We're on our way to find Merasska and deal with the problem of the smuggled armaments. Once we've confirmed his connection to the Rebellion, we'll barter safe passage to a planet or space station that's friendly to the Rebellion and begin our worries there. For now, let's rest and recover what strength we can."

"I don't like it," Carol sighed, leaning a chair back to lie comfortably. "I always felt like we had control of everything. The ship, the jobs, our lives overall..." She looked to Zeke with a small smile. "I still love you, though."

"I love you, too," he groaned, leaning his own chair back. "Many beings outside the Jedi Order found this hard to swallow, but the Force has a will. Its will decides the fate of all creatures in the galaxy, however big or small, important or insignifcant, male, female, child, elder...It intends all things to the good of the galaxy, even when we don't understand how, or why. We may someday discover that the loss of the Curvy Lady and her crew was the lynchpin to some great movement that will overthrow the Empire and see the Republic restored."

"I should hope so," Carol yawned. "I would like to believe we didn't lose our livelihood or our daughter's future just to be arrested or killed by Imps chasing dead-end leads on the Rebellion."

"Don't worry. I don't believe any of us is going to die in the near future." Zeke took a deep, steadying breath, feeling it soothe his body into the heaviness of sleep. "We're going to make it through this to a better end. Just...have faith."

[Zeke]

The shuttle's warning alarm went off, jerking the whole family awake. A polite, automated voice gently reminded them that they had reverted to realspace over Foless, and would they like to resume command of the shuttle?

"Yes, gaw," grumbled father and daughter together. Zeke's whole body felt stiff; he hadn't exerted himself like that in an age. He was sore and aching everywhere. "I'm way too old for this."

"You're too old for everything," Cassie mumbled, moving back to the little refresher. Carol went ahead of Zeke to the cockpit and quickly dialed up the location of the spaceport.

"It's turning dark there again," she said, her voice bearing her relief into the cockpit. "We can use that to our advantage, maybe sneak in and about to find this Merasska guy."

"I love how quickly you're adapting," Zeke complimented. "It's kinda hot."

"Well, you can show me your appreciation later," Carol promised. "I'm bringing us in. Here's hoping it all goes smoothly..."