“... and then the ewoks danced until 3am, we cremated Anakin’s body, and my father’s spirit rejoined the Force, redeemed, to stand alongside the ghosts of Yoda and Old Ben… The End…”

Luke’s young apprentice shook her head emphatically. “‘Redeemed’? You said he blew up a planet! And he slaughtered an entire room of defenceless children! Throwing an old man down a shaft doesn’t just wipe away all that.”

Luke gave a sagely smile, gesturing her to calm her emotions. “There's nothing wrong with a desire for justice, my child, but we must accept the will of the Force. In those final moments, his spirit truly returned to the side of Light, and he was absolved for those who died by his hand. It is not my place to mete out judgement.”

The door slid open. A gynoid stepped quietly into the room, carrying mugs of steaming dechin tea. S1-Z1, the long suffering maid droid that waited upon the hundreds of younglings at Luke’s reborn Jedi academy, lingered by the door until given permission to approach.

The droid limped as it walked, the hip of its feminine chassis swinging out further to the right as it compensated for a defect in its left leg. As it grew nearer, Luke noted a mashed-up crayon wedged into the servos of the left knee, that there was woodglue dripping down her chest, and a clown face had been daubed over her face plate.

“My apologies, masters,” the gynoid simpered, curtsying before handing Luke his tea. “I was teaching the younglings their arts and crafts, and the young masters thought it funny to use me as their easel. And one of the teenlings gave me quite the kicking for delaying in bringing him his blue milk. If it pleases you, master…” the droid asked, kneeling for Luke. “... might you perhaps take a look at my poor servos this evening? You are so very good at rebuilding me.”

“Of course, S1-Z1,” Luke said benevolently. He enjoyed their quiet evenings together as he tinkered away inside her with his oily hands, replacing a small part of her here and there. A fixture of the school since its inception, she was more his hobby than a maid, pretty and perfect. After it donated itself for the school's use, it had become the caretaker and surrogate mom of generations of younglings, even if some of them did treat it with all the love and care befitting a toaster.

"And... perhaps you might give me a polishing too?" it asked hopefully in its sweet, electronic voice, clasping its hands before its chest.

"Since you've been such a good girl," Luke winked, giving the device a playful swat on its pink, durasteel rear as it wiggled towards the door.

Luke turned back to his young charge. “As I was saying, I’m sure my father earned atonement for his crimes in the end.”