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Enjoy the Meal (or Else)!
by JadedMara
ENJOY THE MEAL (OR ELSE!)
Mara's rambles during a dinner party. (Warning: slight
chance of VOTF spoilage!)
I'm not making any money out of this story. All I'm
getting is pure enjoyment, and a bit of an ego boost
out of seeing my name on a web page. Star Wars and all
characters except for Ahna Jade Skywalker are (c), tm, or
whatever else to Lucasfilm, Ltd, George Lucas, etc.
I want to take this opportunity to thank Timothy Zahn
for "Visions of the Future."
Other stories/poems:
"Jade", "Always Chasing After You", "[Insert Pretentious
Title of Choice]", "GoldiLuke and the Three Bears",
"Turn", "Story Hour"
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I was cutting up the rudyard for the dinner party,
minding my own business, acting like a good Jedi wife of a
good Jedi husband. Not much my nature, but I was doing
pretty well.
But then I noticed Mon Mothma standing next to me, a
nervous look on her face. I felt a flash of irritation.
What was I gonna do, assassinate her? After all these
years? She wasn't much of a prize anyway, anymore that is.
An old Rebel relic, confined to a nav chair and forced to
speak through a cascade of wrinkled flesh -- yeah, let me
turn that vibroblade on her now.
Maybe I should have used my little Imperial blaster
to carve the rudyard. That would have made her *really*
nervous.
Besides, she was early. What right did she have to
be in my kitchen?
Then my Jedi training (otherwise known as
brainwashing) took over, and I calmed myself, realizing how
trivial the whole matter was.
It's a constant effort, taming my anger. Luke still
can't believe that one being can have that much anger in
her, or be so content to be in a constant state of spastic
stress. Personally, I'm not so sure if it's all my fault.
Who knows what that Iguana did to me when he raised me?
'Iguana"!?! I'm losing my touch.
I think we all have inner and outer sides of
ourselves that we never allow to intermix. I don't think I
actually realized that until that night, when I saw Leia
twist her face into something ugly as Senator Gous walked
away, smug smile on his face. I would never characterize
Leia as having one hateful thought in her entire life, yet
there she was, bitter. Gous shot down her bill today.
So, maybe being *angry* is an outer side of me. I
like flowers and romantic movies and watching my little girl
sleep. Don't tell anyone, or I'll kill you. Honest. Yes,
inner voices can be murdered. Don't fool yourself.
After Leia's twisted face passed into a state of
serene calm, I walked in, slowly cataloging who was there
and gauging the distances of the people who didn't quite
like me. Luke and I tried to invite people that were close
to us as a couple, but we each had a few individual friends
too. Hmm. Fey'lya. Better point my feet in another
direction.
"Mara!" The joyous cry wafted over to me, dodging
Senators and heroes and Knights. Leia, who actually was all
three, smiled as she sensed the shouter's identity. I
smiled too. Mirax Terrik is the only smuggler, former or
otherwise, who can be efficient and perky at the same time.
And she's the only perky person I can be in the same room
with at the same time.
Leia and I walked over to Mirax and family, as I
fulfilled my duty as hostess and she as ranking guest.
Corran greeted us first. "Madame Chief-of-State,
Jedi Jade, what a pleasure to see both of you again."
Leia sighed. "Corran, Corran. I'm a councilor now.
Madame Councilor."
"Sorry, wishful thinking. I miss having such an
accomplished and beautiful woman at the pinnacle of our
government."
Ooh. A smooth one. His Luke-like sarcasm is turning
into Lando-like debounnair. Once you get rid of one . . .
I shook away my last vesitiges of cynicism and
projected my genuine enthusiasm into my voice. "Well,
you're getting a lot wrong today. You know better."
Corran smiled. "Sorry, *Captain* Jade. It's just
that since I've finally completed my training, I revere the
title of "Jedi" that much more."
Mirax shook her head with wifely patience. (I know
the feeling.) "My goodness, he's been incorrigible. He's
actually making our son call him "Jedi Dad" around the
house. Just like I had to call him "Commander Love" for
weeks after he got promoted."
I know my eyes widened in horror.
Our little party cliques actually congealed into one
big group. I was rather pleased, but I wasn't pleased when
Mon Mothma noticed and tried to make a big speech about how
the dinner group represented the New Republic, with each
separate system and race learning to work together and
become one big happy family . . . I can't go on. Yes, New
Republic officials have a reputation for being erudite.
Fighter pilots, on the other hand, are pure logic. But only
few fighter pilots can be babbly and pure logic at the same
time. This is amazing. Witness:
Corran: "Yes, I knew I made the right decision to
fire. I was in CorSec, and in CorSec, I learned that you
have to make hard decisions sometimes. You have to make
hard decisions whomever you are, even if you are a criminal
like Booster Terrik. Yes, in CorSec, they trained you for
that. I learned the hard way that sometimes, you have to
make the decision to fire. I analyzed all the data in my
cockpit, and I decided that I had to fire. It was
difficult, because I had to decide whether my life was worth
sacrificing another's. But I came to the conclusion that
saving my own life meant that I was around to save others.
I learned that in CorSec too."
Me: "So, did you fire?"
Corran: "No, he got away while I was thinking."
Corran, Corran, Corran. No wonder Kirtan Loor hunted
you down.
I was kinda tempted to shake up our little party
group and invite some Imperials to the gathering, but I
decided that having Booster and Bel Iblis in the same
quarters together would be enough. I almost changed my mind
when Pallaeon sent me a fifth anniversary present yesterday.
It was quite beautiful, actually: a piece of Mon Cal artwork
from Grand Admiral Thrawn's private collection. What a good
way to arouse the suspicions of the local Bothan spies. I
can see it now: "Jade accepts bribes from Imperials."
Forget the peace treaty; people are still on their toes.
What I really wanted, though, was Grand Admiral Thrawn
himself, stuffed and with Rukh's knife still in him. That
would get the headlines going.
The local newsfeed loves stories like that. To this
day, I regret holding my wedding on the fifteenth
anniversary of Endor. Coruscant was already Imperial-crazy
since the peace treaty had just been signed; now, they were
debating whether the spirit of the Emperor would enter me as
I said my vows. No, I'm not kidding. People actually
thought about it.
Maybe I should have scared them all and started
speaking in tongues.
I have to admit, though, walking onto a Star Destroyer
and shaking hands with an Imperial Supreme Commander sure
brought back some memories. I can't tell whether the memories
are pleasant or not -- so many of my mental impressions from
that period in my life are ambivalent. All I know is that I
was confronting my past life, and I guess I won. My presence
on the *Chimaera* that day as a Jedi, the peace treaties
themselves, the galaxy-wide observance of Endor, my wedding
to one of the New Republic's most lauded heroes -- every single
event, occuring over the space of three months, confirmed the
fact that the war was over. It is time for a new era.
Great. I'm starting to sound like Mon Mothma.
They're passing around Ahna now, and I find myself
acting like an anxious mother. Actually, I *am* an anxious
mother. The girl is only three months old and Karrde's
spinning her around like she's a member of the Travelling
Jedi Circus. Oh, good. Booster caught her. (I'm going to
have a talk with Kardde about the appropriateness of flipping
babies in the air. What does he think she is? A hambarver
patty?) Anyway, Booster may be a lot like Kardde, but at least
he has a baby girl himself. I'll have him hand her off to Chewie
soon. She seems to like his soft fur.
She's beautiful -- wrinkled skin, pudgy face, pot belly
and all. Green eyes and blonde hair, the perfect combination.
(I wouldn't wish my red hair on anyone. Although sometimes I
wish she had Luke's baby blues.)
I wonder how she's going to turn out. What scares me
the most is that both Luke and I have a temper, and she's bound
to have inherited it, yet now she'll have double trouble. And
although having two Force-strong parents may be a benefit, that
means that she'll have even more trouble gaining control of
herself. Temper and the Force. Not a good combination. Darth
Vader as a grandfather, the Emperor's Hand as a mother. I see
how much trouble Anakin is having (which is even creepier given
that he's Vader's namesake), and I shiver. I'm scared for her.
Maybe she'll be a better smuggler than Jedi. I'll talk
to Kardde.
Oh boy. War stories. Luke is telling the story of the
Death Star trench for only the thousandth time, Han's doing the
ol' asteroid bit, Lando's still yakking on about the mysterious
Battle of Tanaab, and of course, Booster keeps reminding all about
how much Cracken and Bel Iblis owe him. It's sad, really. Every
one of us has a war story; war, or the prevention of, is what
brought us all together.
I wish that I could join the conversation, but all the
good stories involving me have been told by Karrde or Luke or
Lando. (I notice, however, that he still hasn't mentioned our
"romance" cover story in regards to the Card'as search. Wishful
thinking? Maybe I should set them all straight.)
I could tell them some rollicking stories about the
Emperor's Court. Unfortunately, that would involve implicating
myself in the assassinations of quite a few Rebellion martyrs.
Not that I don't like stirring up the waters a bit, but I never
enjoyed Class Five whitewater rafting.
Everyone here's starting to age. Even Luke, handsome as
he still is. Where's Face and his cute-as-apples cheeks when you
need them? (Take that any way you wish.)
"Mara, you really need to start dancing again," Tendra was
telling me. "I know," I replied regretfully, remembering how the
music used to move me to a plane of . . . well, *existence*, and
nothing else. Tendra herself has a beautiful voice. She sang a
haunting melody on a musical score about the spacing of the
*Cameron*, a doomed pleasure liner in the Old Republic. I actually
was thinking about choreographing an ice-skating routine to it
for one of the local Coruscant Games competitors, but now I'm
toying with the idea of dancing (or skating) it myself, and
dedicating it to those lost on both sides during the war between
the Empire and the New Republic. Fitting tribute for the twentieth
anniversary of Endor.
The idea is not all respect for brave young soldiers,
however. Maybe the fact that it would be performed by me, the
Mara Jade, smuggler, assassin, and evil incarnate, will finally
prove to people that I'm playing for keeps. I'm a wife, I'm a
mother, I'm a Skywalker, I'm a Jedi. Take it or leave it. I'm
not saying that I have changed. I'm still Mara Jade. I still like
sabacc, blasters in little arm holsters, and a stiff drink. I've
just added a little hot chocolate to the mix, that's all.
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