"He kept calling me 'Skywalker,' " Luke said. "Because I don't have a tide-I'm not a Senator, I'm not a general any longer, I'm not an ambassador. He used the word like an insult." "He could have called you 'Master.' Like I do sometimes." Mara Jade's voice was a smoky purr in his ear. Her arms slipped around Luke's waist from behind. Luke smiled. "I don't think it would be the same as when you do it." "It better not be ... Skywalker" Luke jumped as one of her hands gave his stomach a slap. Luke had found Mara waiting for him as he returned to their rooms in the large hotel suite they shared with Han and Leia. He had been calm, even analytical, when he was speaking with Rodan, but when he related the substance of his interview to Mara, he found himself with less reason to maintain calm and objectivity, and the resentment that he hadn't actually felt in Rodan's presence now began to boil. Mara, without comment, had begun to massage the growing tension out of his shoulders. The playful slap on his stomach had banished the rest of it. Luke smiled. Luke turned and let his arms coil about his wife. "We've lost Coruscant," he said, "we're fighting the enemy every day, and the squabbling and rights for precedence never end. Rodan's not going to make it easy for us. He thinks the Jedi are claiming unjustified privileges and can evolve into a menace to the state." He hesitated. "And the problem is," he admitted, "I'm beginning to think that much of what he says might be true." "Sounds like a depressing interview." She drew him closer, let her cheek rest on his shoulder as she directed a mischievous whisper to his ear. "Maybe I should cheer you up. Would you like me to call you 'Master' again?" Luke couldn't help but laugh. With the successful delivery of their child, Mara had at last come out of the shadow of the terrible disease that had afflicted her for so long. For years she'd had to control herself precisely and ruthlessly in order to either fight
the illness or keep it in remission. The birth of Ben had been a kind of internal signal that it was possible to feel joy again. To feel the least bit irresponsible. To be spontaneous and impulsive. To laugh, to play, to take delight in life-despite the seemingly endless war that raged around them. And since Ben had been sent for his own safety to the Maw, Mara's principal plaything had become Luke. "Say what you like," Luke said, "if the mood strikes." "Oh, it strikes. It definitely strikes." "Well," Luke said. "Let it strike, then." Some time later, Luke turned to Mara and said, "So how was your day?" "Thirsty. I need a glass of water." Luke reluctantly allowed her to slip out of his embrace and into the kitchen.