Lor San Tekka ran his sand-calloused fingers across the faded carvings etched into the handle of the heatmug. He could feel the slightly smoothed-down sections where countless hands before his had held the old thing. Knowing that he pressed his hands in the imprint of the old masters helped him feel closer to them. Let him imagine their presence even if he had no force-sensitivity to feel them in truth.
The tea he boiled was thin and weak, but tea leaves were hard to come by on Jakku, a place of dust and endings.
San Tekka heard his guest shift awkwardly on the mat behind him, clearly impatient. The Resistance pilot, Dameron, was known to San Tekka. He knew that Dameron was here at the behest of Lady Organa, but he couldn’t let that sway him. He needed to be as the teachings led him: balanced and wise, without attachment.
The ritual of making tea for his guest helped. He silently placed a cup in front of the pilot and poured from the heatmug, steam filling the inside of his sturdy desert hut. First for his guest and then for himself. Not speaking, merely considering. The dark-haired young man was evidently not as invested in the formality of the tea ceremony as he spoke before even touching his cup.
“Your message said you had found it, the map?”
San Tekka felt his mouth twitch into a smile, hidden by his rugged white beard and bowed head, focused on his own tea. He still remembered what it was like to be young.
“I have found what I believe will let you trace Master Skywalker’s destination," he said before taking a sip of the weak but honest tea, “But I still do not know if that is the correct path.”
“What?” the pilot broke in, confused, “Wait, is it a map, or not a map?”
“It is a map, but I don’t know if following it is the correct decision,” San Tekka explained patiently, “Luke left for his exile at the height of his power in the Force. We must consider he left because he knew something we don’t.”
The pilot sat back, dark eyes searching across San Tekka’s aged face. San Tekka watched silently, sipping his tea even as the cup across from him went untouched.
“The General has been searching for this for a long time,” Dameron finally spoke, making an effort to measure his words.
“She feels that finding him will give us the opportunity we need. To have a chance.”
San Tekka nodded. The pilot didn’t emphasise the word ‘feel’ in the way an adherent to the Church of the Force might take the words of a Jedi like Leia. His belief stemmed from loyalty, hard-won and certain. Dameron took his nod and relaxed, finally picking up the tea and politely taking a sip. The cup rimmed with faint remains of ancient paint.
“Even if Skywalker left for a good reason,” Dameron continued after placing the cup purposely back onto the pressed mat, “the First Order has infiltrated the New Republic. There are confused reports of foundry worlds churning beyond their demand, of Republic governors in the border regions taking meetings with Stormtrooper escorts. Our small slice of the galaxy is tensed for invasion. Skywalker needs to come back, to help us fight.”
San Tekka’s eyes crinkled with amusement at the simple and naive argument. The young man was driven and found clear purpose in righting the wrongs he saw in the world.
The New Republic had been hollowed out long before the First Order had risen from the ashes of the Empire. The galaxy had jumped at the vacuum left by the defeat of the Empire and, in doing so, had shattered into splinters of confederacies and pseudo-coalitions. The New Republic had faltered without a unifying enemy and had allowed itself to be captured by internal interest groups and nationalist lobbying.
The First Order was the natural heir to the infrastructure left behind by the Empire. Each hyperspecialised planet is tuned to either manufacture or agriculture, whilst being starved of the other. These planets needed a central control to avoid exploitation by their neighbours. Control, which the First Order had supplied with efficiency. It was inevitable that the planets had chosen to secede from the New Republic.
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The Resistance pilot was waiting as San Tekka’s mind wandered. He took another drink of the tea, his throat dry from the Jakku air. Dameron’s face was strong but open. His eyes didn’t hold any trace of deceit or manipulation. He earnestly believed in what he was saying and felt that anyone would come to the same conclusion if only he could find the words to explain himself.
San Tekka felt his body settle as he made his decision. Although he knew that he had made up his mind days ago when he contacted Leia. The balance of the Force was difficult to interpret. But the meteoric rise of the First Order, with clear ties to the once again operating Cult of the Sith, had convinced San Tekka.
Luke had made his theories of balance, and they had argued about them day and night. But now the Dark was yawning before them, and one side of the invisible scales felt heavy. The galaxy needed the Jedi to return weight to the Light.
The pilot was fidgeting again. He had sensed the change in San Tekka and was now launching his mind ahead, eager to find what he had come for. San Tekka rose from the mat, clearing away the still half-full tea set. Dameron watched him as he pulled back a corner of the mat and dug his hands into a portion of the sand underneath, just as innocuous as the rest. Dameron made a small whistle, and an orange and white BB droid rolled in, excited and curious.
San Tekka’s leathery hands quickly made a small mound of sand and revealed the sleek black and brushed steel. The Imperial Data Reliquary was the shape of an inverted diamond, wide at the base, pointed at the top and angular all over.
“This reliquary should contain a multitude of Imperial secrets and projects which never came to fruition. But they are not important. It also contains an archive of hidden maps, including the one to Ahch-To.”
San Tekka turned the reliquary to show Dameron the corner where the black plating had cracked to reveal the light from the tainted holocron beneath.
“The information began self-purging when it sensed it had been discovered. Your droid will have to absorb the data and manage the purge. Compel the gradual deletion of the unneeded information, and you should be able to preserve the map until it can be safely copied.”
The BB droid chirped in affirmative, and its data arm extended and twitched in a mimicry of a salute. The droid rolled forward and made contact on the ornate silver data ports before opening a small cache in its body and pulling the reliquary inside. The head of the droid swivelled towards Dameron and gave a confident series of beeps. Dameron’s face split into a grin of satisfaction.
“We were due some good lu-”
The droid interrupted with an agitated boop, an antenna sprouting from its head. Dameron’s face hardened and became stern.
“We’ve got company.”
The Resistance pilot strode through the flaps of the hut, brushing the thick hide apart and causing a breeze of dry, cool desert air. Dameron reached under his leather pilot's jacket for the quadnoculars clipped next to a dangerous-looking blaster. San Tekka could only see lights in the distant sky, but Dameron’s eyes were unnerved as he lowered the scopes.
“You have to hide.”
San Tekka shook his head. Jakku was not a planet of abundant cover, and he would not abandon his congregation.
“You have to leave. Go.”
The young hero hesitated, conflict coursing across his eyes. He finally nodded and hurried into the darkness, already in a crouching run with the droid rolling along by his side.
San Tekka turned away from the disappearing form and raised his voice to the villagers who had come from their huts of wattle and daub into the night air, drawn by the now audible sound of engines.
“We are under attack. Hold positions to defend while the vulnerable evacuate. Gather blasters and focus your minds.” San Tekka breathed deeply, feeling the rush of wind and scent of sand.
”The Force is with us.”
The villagers became a rush of activity. A Rodian male, bare-chested and eyes still lidded from sleep, became focused at San Tekka’s words. He returned to his hut, throwing the flap open, revealing a small Rodian child. The father, San Tekka recalled that his name was Proutz, took a knee in front of the child, placing his hands on their shoulders.
San Tekka turned away from the private moment and focused on the approaching craft instead. They were closer now, and he could see that one of the ships was a specialised shuttle with a massively imposing wingspan, reaching thirty meters across and into the sky.
Lor San Tekka had never been able to feel the Force, but in this moment, he felt something from that shuttle. And he knew his purpose.
