Revenge of the Jedi (8/18)
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Title: Revenge of the Jedi (8/17)
Fanverse: Revenge of the Jedi
Blurb: Vader gets his own random prompting, Leia takes her problems with the generals to their supervisor, and Luke heads home and winds up the backstory.
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Chapter Eight
Vader had not been obliged to execute any subordinates since Lieutenant Janren, thankfully. The deaths of the inept or traitorous aroused no particular feeling in him, but it was inconvenient to keep replacing them.
His current crew’s competence, too, pleased him. The few mistakes that were made did not demand death. The officers had ceased their craven cowering, and several demonstrated courage and resourcefulness in the course of battle. More than once, Piett suggested minor alterations to Vader’s plans -- without presumption or insolence, of course, but without his usual twitching either.
Vader did not have it in him to be content, but he was satisfied.
Satisfied with them, at any rate. His own plans proceeded slowly. He had only the most general idea of his son’s location; his sense of the Force seemed to jump between sharp and murky, and when he did catch a clear image, it was only of somewhere damp and green. Following that hint could lead him anywhere.
Except Tatooine, he thought, and stilled. There was . . . something. Even through his clouded senses, he felt it. Something sudden, urgent. Something to do with Tatooine.
“Tatooine? It’s a desert planet in the Outer Rim, isn’t it? Binary suns?”
Anakin made a vaguely affirmative sound, his eyes dropping to the table between them. Padmé’s hands, he noticed, were soft and unlined. He’d have known she came from wealth and water even if he hadn’t recognized her as Amidala.
“But isn’t it -- ”
“Controlled by Hutts? Yes. They own everything except a few cities.”
She was too canny a politician to miss his tone, and too sheltered a queen to understand it. They own me. Did you know that, Senator? he thought, and then, No. I’m free. I’ve been free for years, and if I didn’t have family to visit, I’d never go back.
Vader angrily pushed the memory out of his mind. He hadn’t thought of the past so much in years -- hadn’t even remembered most of it with any clarity. It didn’t matter. He had no need to remember it. What was past was past, and could not be changed; the future was everything. Yet in the last few weeks, he found himself unable to prevent these fragments of memory from bleeding into his thoughts, as if --
It was of no consequence.
Still, the feeling of urgency persisted. The Force, his only true ally, drew his focus away from the vague sense of his son, narrowed it to their home planet, instead.
Home planet. The phrase resonated oddly in his mind, but told him no more.
Mos Espa? He saw it, as clearly as the walls of his chamber, and felt nothing, not even familiarity. He’d been raised in this filthy city, but he didn’t remember -- yet that was nothing remarkable. He had been very young. His attention drifted north, past Mos Eisley, past --
The homestead. Home planet, homestead, home.
Impossible, he thought. There could be nothing of interest there. Nothing to lead him to his son, even if Luke had once lived there, as he had. Yet the Force told him to go home.
He did not question the Force, nor permit anyone else to do so. Providing Admiral Piett with specific instructions and no explanations -- which Piett had the sense not to expect -- Vader boarded his unmarked shuttle, and headed for Tatooine.
“I have to leave.”
It was the third time Leia had confronted the generals in the last week. She’d been more deferential at first.
Well, a little.
Mon Mothma, however, had never been present before. She glanced up, her usual inflexible composure shifting to mild surprise.
“To leave? Is there some emergency I have yet to hear of?”
“It was an emergency two years ago,” Leia said.
“Princess,” said General Madine, “You are too crucial to the Alliance to be risked on the word of a handful of Wookiee colonists. There is no evidence that this planet exists, and even if it does -- ”
Chewbacca growled. She crossed her arms, feeling slightly more daunting with seven feet of angry, bowcaster-wielding Wookiee behind her.
“Even if it does,” Madine repeated calmly, “locating and transporting several million Alderaanians to a remote planet is, at present, far too massive and dangerous an undertaking -- ”
Leia’s eyes narrowed. “You mean, it’s one thing to use the destruction of Alderaan as a rallying point for the Rebellion, but quite another to help real Alderaanians?”
“Would someone care to explain any of this?” Mothma asked, a thin sliver of impatience edging her voice.
“Oh, gladly,” said Leia. “I am apparently so valuable that I cannot be permitted to do anything of actual value. Or perhaps I read reports so brilliantly that a temporary absence would spell the end of the Rebellion.”
Madine looked long-suffering, and tired. “Princess, you know perfectly well that you are an irreplaceable symbol of what we’re fighting for. We cannot -- ”
“The galaxy doesn’t need to see my face every week to remember what happened to Alderaan. They’re not going to forget it if I disappear for a few months,” she snapped, slamming her hands on the table. “And if they do, then they can burn for all I care.”
Everyone stared at her. There was a moment of awkward silence, punctuated only by Chewie’s low, questioning growl. Then --
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Threepio. “It is a rhetorical device.”
“What is this about a planet?” Mothma asked. Leia quickly explained.
“Such an endeavour, even if it were possible, would be incredibly dangerous,” Madine said. “Princess Leia cannot be risked -- ”
“General Madine is correct,” Mothma said slowly, “that your goal would be difficult, at best, even without the war. Moreover, acting in secrecy would be counter-productive to gathering as many refugees as possible. If you directed the effort -- ”
“You might as well paint a target on your back,” said Madine.
“It would be highly dangerous,” Mothma conceded. “However, I must observe that the Alliance has always opposed conscription; indeed, that opposition was among our founding principles.”
Even Leia blinked. Rieekan and Madine, wending their way through the verbiage, looked puzzled.
Mothma sighed. “The princess is neither an officer nor a soldier,” she said, “but a private citizen. Regardless of considerations of policy, to compel her to remain against her explicitly stated wishes would be to defy everything the Alliance stands for.”
Leia almost flinched; Madine actually did so. She had never considered herself as a private citizen; in her own mind, she had no less obligation to the Rebellion than the pilots did, or Madine himself. So what if Madine was called general and Leia, princess? They all served after their own fashion.
And yet -- perhaps it wasn’t the same. The military, even one so comparatively informal as the Rebellion’s, had clear hierarchies and protocols. Leia had never felt herself bound by them. The politicians and the officers accommodated each other by mutual consent. She had never objected to her role as symbol and figurehead, not as long as she could fight the Empire as she saw fit.
But she couldn’t, now, and she’d withdrawn her consent. That should have meant something; she was not a soldier, sworn to obey her commanding officer. She was Princess Leia. No one should have presumed --
Well.
The generals, to their credit, seemed shocked and dismayed. Clearly, it had never occurred to them to think of her as a civilian, serving the Rebellion at her own volition, free to leave whenever she wished it -- no more than it had occurred to Leia herself. She didn’t know if she were gratified or simply annoyed.
“I had not considered matters in this light,” Madine said, then nodded apologetically at Leia. “I beg your pardon, Princess. I must advise against this course of action in the strongest possible terms, but you are, of course, free to do as you will.”
“Indeed,” said Mothma. “Now, let us be frank. Princess Leia, I have a high regard for your abilities, but operating entirely outside of the Alliance will sharply reduce any chance you have of achieving your objectives.”
Leia suppressed a grimace. “I know that. It’s why --” she began, and stopped. It’s why I bothered asking for approval at all, she thought. I didn’t expect it, but I didn’t expect that I’d be asking for permission, either.
“Your point, however, is a valid one. To ignore the plight of the Alderaanian people when there is a very real opportunity to help them, while exploiting their -- your -- tragedy is unacceptable. You do not have the resources to spearhead an expedition of this kind; I believe we can spare enough to, at the least, verify the position of this planet, and begin to locate refugees. If you are absolutely determined -- ”
“I am,” said Leia.
“Then it seems clear to me that we would all benefit from mutual cooperation. The Alliance is gathering more refugees than we can support, yet turning them away is inconceivable. A settlement on a largely unknown planet, almost beyond the reach of the Empire, would be of invaluable worth to us.”
Madine frowned. “With due respect, ma’am, the situation is hardly urgent.”
“I have found that it is preferable to address situations before they become urgent,” said Mothma. “Am I correct in assuming that we can easily provide one exploratory vessel and a small crew?”
“Yes, but the princess -- ”
“The princess has proven herself an able leader, and she has considerable experience in attracting support and sympathy,” Mothma said. “She is, in fact, better positioned to do so in this matter than perhaps anyone living, and certainly has more right.” She permitted herself a small smile. “And I am sure we can all agree that, if she must risk her life, it’s preferable that she do so with what small protection we can provide her, rather than with none at all.”
“Thank you,” Leia said dryly.
Mothma eyed her. “Princess Leia, I have no doubt that you will act in accordance with Alliance principles. I presume we can also expect you to exercise a reasonable degree of prudence?”
“Of course,” said Leia, and Mothma bowed, then gathered up her work and left the room.
Madine and Rieekan exchanged a glance.
“I have no desire to seem a villain to you, Princess,” Madine said, stiffer than ever. “You realize, I hope, that we have the highest possible opinion of your abilities, and greatly value your contributions to the Rebellion, past and present. We value your life for numerous reasons, few to do with public relations, and wished -- wish -- only to preserve it.”
She could be gracious in victory. Leia smiled up at him. “The galaxy has too many villains for me to add a friend to their number,” she said. “You’ve always been very kind to me and I am grateful. I just can’t sit around when I could be doing something.”
Rieekan cleared his throat. “While we would all prefer to keep you as safe as possible, I know your father would have done everything in his power to help his people, as soon as he possibly could, and fully supported you in doing so.” He paused. “I can do no less. Good luck, and may the Force be with you.”
“And you, Generals,” Leia said.
Yoda had been, to put it lightly, displeased about Luke’s second departure. However, he conceded that rushing off to rescue his friends in the face of prophesied gloom and disaster was not quite the same thing as leaving on the prompting of the Force.
“My friends aren’t even on Tatooine,” Luke said, then grimaced. “Well, Han. But I’m not ready to rescue him yet, I know that.”
Besides, he had no intention of facing down an entire criminal enterprise without a lightsaber. He still felt a little naked without his father’s, even with the power of the Force at his fingertips.
“Hm,” said Yoda. “Certain you are that it is the Force you feel?”
Luke was, but he let himself reach out for confirmation, and felt assurance all but settling into his bones. “Yes,” he said.
Perhaps Yoda felt it himself. In any case, he permitted Luke to go without further opposition, though he made him swear to continue his exercises on his journey. Luke, who suspected he would need all the preparation he could get, readily agreed.
“Master your visions, you must, before you can face your destiny,” Yoda told him. He didn’t have to say that Luke already had perfectly adequate control of his visions into the future and present, while he couldn’t so much as glance into the past without dropping his shields and anything else he happened to be maintaining with the Force. Or even with his mind -- he considered it an accomplishment when he didn’t collapse into the mud.
Now, he’d set his course for Tatooine, cleaned and oiled Artoo, stretched, meditated, sent every non-stationary object in the ship spinning in the air, told himself that he needed to be well-rested for whatever awaited him, and managed a few hours’ uneasy sleep. When he awoke, his nerves were clanging, and something felt -- off.
Luke sighed and returned to the pilot’s seat; it’d be hard to fall from here. He took a deep, cleansing breath, relaxed his grip on the arms of his chair, and dropped his hands into his lap, shutting his eyes.
There was no need to reach for the Force; it was already with him. He hadn’t bothered releasing it for over a week. Luke sent his mind wandering back, even as he realized what had changed. Not the Force itself, of course. Just his father’s presence, growing stronger, sharper, clearer as he approached his -- their? -- home planet. He was --
He was clambering onto a chair, his small fingers grasping the seat as he tried to hoist himself up. He lost his grip, fell to the ground, and scowled at the chair.
Someone laughed, the sound less amused than wearily relieved. Both Lukes turned, just in time to see Anakin stride through the doorway. He looked older -- not only than he’d been before, but older than he could possibly be.
Luke himself looked two or three, at most; Anakin couldn’t be much more than twenty-five, if that. His face, however, seemed anything but young -- pale and strained, tension etching itself into his forehead and around his mouth, deep shadows forming under his eyes. The eyes themselves were heavy-lidded with exhaustion, but nevertheless wide and alert. Too alert, perhaps.
The toddler Luke crossed his arms and his father strode over, lifting him up, onto the chair. One of the hands that had hoisted Luke’s younger self into the air was, he couldn’t help but notice, covered by a black leather glove.
The child’s pique transformed into glee. A disposable flimsi and blue stylus laid just in front of him, and presumably had been his goal all along; he grabbed the stylus and began to draw.
Anakin turned away, his bare hand half-covering his face. The fingers shook, his expression shifting to something other than mere anxiety. Luke instantly recognized it; he had, after all, seen it dozens of times.
Grief.
“Papa, look what I drawed!”
Anakin turned back. Luke, clearly not overburdened with artistic ability, held up the flimsi and beamed. His father and older self blinked.
“Who is this?” Anakin asked, pointing at the most human of the six figures.
“Aunt Beru, acourse,” said Luke, giggling. “This one you, Papa.”
Anakin rested one of his hands on Luke’s head, ruffling his hair. “I seem to be shorter than Aunt Beru.”
“Um,” Luke said, frowning at his picture. “I draw more legs!”
After he’d added six inches of scribbles to the figure, he pointed to the others. “See? Aunt Beru and you and Uncle Bail and Uncle Owen and Leia with the frowny face ‘cause she bossy, and Aunt Padmé.”
Anakin caught his breath.
“When she coming? She bring me a droid!” Luke burbled on, oblivious. “After later. She said.”
“Luke, she can’t -- ”
The syllables seemed to fall harshly into the air, even to Luke’s ears, and Anakin switched to another language, the one that Beru had used so often with Luke, when he was a child, and even later.
It was your grandmother’s, she’d said. She taught it to all three of us, Anakin and then me and then Owen. Using her language is my way of remembering her.
“She can’t come. She’s very sorry.”
“Aunt Padmé gone ’way?” Luke asked, Basic and Alsaraic words mixing freely. It seemed evident that he understood both languages, even if he had yet to master either.
Aunt Beru didn’t teach me, he realized. She kept me from forgetting.
“Yes, she’s -- she’s gone,” Anakin said. More to himself than to Luke, he murmured, “The Emperor’s favourite cousin and a senator, and --”
He stalked over to the window, hands clasped behind his back. For several minutes, he simply watched the traffic straggling by. Luke kept twisting around to peer at him, his small face almost frightened.
Leia had told him of the brutality that had run rampant through the Empire of her childhood -- and his, it turned out. Towards the end of the war, her mother had been one of several politicians murdered in plain sight. No one had been safe. Not even an Imperial Senator.
The adult Luke regarded them both with growing horror. He didn’t remember his third birthday, but he knew it’d been at the homestead, after his father had --
“Papa?” Luke asked plaintively.
Anakin hesitated, then returned to the table, his steps slow and deliberate. He looked, if possible, even more haggard than before. His eyes were still wide and desperate, but there was something different there now -- a resignation, a sort of horrifying calmness, even as he knelt beside Luke’s chair and gazed at him with fierce affection.
The younger Luke’s lip trembled. The elder forced himself to breathe.
“Don’t worry, Luke,” Anakin said, stroking his son’s hair. “I know you’re scared, but it’s going to be fine. Papa’s going to make the galaxy safe for you.”
No, Luke thought wildly, no, no, no, and there are many ways of forgetting, his grandmother had said --
No.
Artoo gave an worried beep, sensors blinking up at him. Luke stared out the viewscreen; he’d only slumped a little in his seat.
“I’m all right,” he said, and scrubbed at his cheeks.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise. He’d already guessed as much, when Obi-Wan told him that his mother had died in the war. That he’d been there, with his father, and Anakin’s natural concern for him had twisted until it fed into his self-immolation. This wasn’t anything he hadn’t known.
Knowing, though, wasn’t the same as seeing it, hearing it.
-- if you choose the quick and easy path, as Vader did, Yoda had said, and Luke found his jaw twitching. Anakin’s choice had been unquestionably wrong, had led to untold suffering and horror, had all but destroyed himself and could still easily destroy his son. But the path he had chosen was anything but quick and easy, and Luke didn’t think he had expected it to be.
He’s still trying to protect me, even if he doesn’t remember why, Luke thought. Some part of Anakin Skywalker lived still, amidst all of Vader’s evil. If --
No. It wasn’t possible. It would be madness to expect more than a refusal to personally kill him. And madness was the last thing he could afford, as Vader’s presence deepened with every parsec nearer to Tatooine. At this rate, Vader would have no difficulty locating him.
The next time Luke met his father, he’d have no lightsaber, nothing to protect him. Nothing but the Force.
He won’t kill me, Luke chanted. He won’t kill me.
By the time that he flew past Obi-Wan’s hut, Luke knew that he had more than mere psychic proximity to contend with. He hadn’t felt his father so clearly since Bespin.
Vader was here.
Luke landed his ship about a mile from the homestead, and clambered out. He hesitated, then brought Artoo along with him. Luke himself had nothing to fear from the Sand People, but the droid, however remarkable, couldn’t be expected to fend them off. He set Artoo on the ground and headed home.
It was odd, he thought idly, trying to ignore the terror clutching at his innards, that Vader hadn’t tried to reach him. He’d rebuilt his shields after the last vision, of course, but as close as they were now --
Well, it was for the best. Probably. But Vader had to know he was here.
Luke climbed over the last dune, and saw the farm spreading out in front of him. What was left of it, anyway. The equipment had long since been raided by Jawas or Sand People, and the burnt remnants of the house had collapsed at some point.
He remembered Owen’s hand on his shoulder, showing him how to shoot the laser rifle, Beru, speaking in careful, lilting Alsaraic as she taught him how to mend his clothes, Anakin swinging him into the air, Shmi touching his face with her ghostly hand. His family, all of them.
Luke walked forward, helping Artoo climb through the rubble. He didn’t see Vader, but he could feel him. He must be around the house, by the -- by the graves.
Even Sand People and Jawas might stay away from those, he thought, and rounded the corner.
Vader stood in front of Luke’s grandmother’s -- his mother’s grave, uncharacteristically oblivious to everything around him. Luke could just hear the respirator’s harsh, measured breaths.
He took a deep breath of his own.
“Hello, Father,” he said.
Title: Revenge of the Jedi (8/17)
Fanverse: Revenge of the Jedi
Blurb: Vader gets his own random prompting, Leia takes her problems with the generals to their supervisor, and Luke heads home and winds up the backstory.
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Chapter Eight
Vader had not been obliged to execute any subordinates since Lieutenant Janren, thankfully. The deaths of the inept or traitorous aroused no particular feeling in him, but it was inconvenient to keep replacing them.
His current crew’s competence, too, pleased him. The few mistakes that were made did not demand death. The officers had ceased their craven cowering, and several demonstrated courage and resourcefulness in the course of battle. More than once, Piett suggested minor alterations to Vader’s plans -- without presumption or insolence, of course, but without his usual twitching either.
Vader did not have it in him to be content, but he was satisfied.
Satisfied with them, at any rate. His own plans proceeded slowly. He had only the most general idea of his son’s location; his sense of the Force seemed to jump between sharp and murky, and when he did catch a clear image, it was only of somewhere damp and green. Following that hint could lead him anywhere.
Except Tatooine, he thought, and stilled. There was . . . something. Even through his clouded senses, he felt it. Something sudden, urgent. Something to do with Tatooine.
“Tatooine? It’s a desert planet in the Outer Rim, isn’t it? Binary suns?”
Anakin made a vaguely affirmative sound, his eyes dropping to the table between them. Padmé’s hands, he noticed, were soft and unlined. He’d have known she came from wealth and water even if he hadn’t recognized her as Amidala.
“But isn’t it -- ”
“Controlled by Hutts? Yes. They own everything except a few cities.”
She was too canny a politician to miss his tone, and too sheltered a queen to understand it. They own me. Did you know that, Senator? he thought, and then, No. I’m free. I’ve been free for years, and if I didn’t have family to visit, I’d never go back.
Vader angrily pushed the memory out of his mind. He hadn’t thought of the past so much in years -- hadn’t even remembered most of it with any clarity. It didn’t matter. He had no need to remember it. What was past was past, and could not be changed; the future was everything. Yet in the last few weeks, he found himself unable to prevent these fragments of memory from bleeding into his thoughts, as if --
It was of no consequence.
Still, the feeling of urgency persisted. The Force, his only true ally, drew his focus away from the vague sense of his son, narrowed it to their home planet, instead.
Home planet. The phrase resonated oddly in his mind, but told him no more.
Mos Espa? He saw it, as clearly as the walls of his chamber, and felt nothing, not even familiarity. He’d been raised in this filthy city, but he didn’t remember -- yet that was nothing remarkable. He had been very young. His attention drifted north, past Mos Eisley, past --
The homestead. Home planet, homestead, home.
Impossible, he thought. There could be nothing of interest there. Nothing to lead him to his son, even if Luke had once lived there, as he had. Yet the Force told him to go home.
He did not question the Force, nor permit anyone else to do so. Providing Admiral Piett with specific instructions and no explanations -- which Piett had the sense not to expect -- Vader boarded his unmarked shuttle, and headed for Tatooine.
“I have to leave.”
It was the third time Leia had confronted the generals in the last week. She’d been more deferential at first.
Well, a little.
Mon Mothma, however, had never been present before. She glanced up, her usual inflexible composure shifting to mild surprise.
“To leave? Is there some emergency I have yet to hear of?”
“It was an emergency two years ago,” Leia said.
“Princess,” said General Madine, “You are too crucial to the Alliance to be risked on the word of a handful of Wookiee colonists. There is no evidence that this planet exists, and even if it does -- ”
Chewbacca growled. She crossed her arms, feeling slightly more daunting with seven feet of angry, bowcaster-wielding Wookiee behind her.
“Even if it does,” Madine repeated calmly, “locating and transporting several million Alderaanians to a remote planet is, at present, far too massive and dangerous an undertaking -- ”
Leia’s eyes narrowed. “You mean, it’s one thing to use the destruction of Alderaan as a rallying point for the Rebellion, but quite another to help real Alderaanians?”
“Would someone care to explain any of this?” Mothma asked, a thin sliver of impatience edging her voice.
“Oh, gladly,” said Leia. “I am apparently so valuable that I cannot be permitted to do anything of actual value. Or perhaps I read reports so brilliantly that a temporary absence would spell the end of the Rebellion.”
Madine looked long-suffering, and tired. “Princess, you know perfectly well that you are an irreplaceable symbol of what we’re fighting for. We cannot -- ”
“The galaxy doesn’t need to see my face every week to remember what happened to Alderaan. They’re not going to forget it if I disappear for a few months,” she snapped, slamming her hands on the table. “And if they do, then they can burn for all I care.”
Everyone stared at her. There was a moment of awkward silence, punctuated only by Chewie’s low, questioning growl. Then --
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Threepio. “It is a rhetorical device.”
“What is this about a planet?” Mothma asked. Leia quickly explained.
“Such an endeavour, even if it were possible, would be incredibly dangerous,” Madine said. “Princess Leia cannot be risked -- ”
“General Madine is correct,” Mothma said slowly, “that your goal would be difficult, at best, even without the war. Moreover, acting in secrecy would be counter-productive to gathering as many refugees as possible. If you directed the effort -- ”
“You might as well paint a target on your back,” said Madine.
“It would be highly dangerous,” Mothma conceded. “However, I must observe that the Alliance has always opposed conscription; indeed, that opposition was among our founding principles.”
Even Leia blinked. Rieekan and Madine, wending their way through the verbiage, looked puzzled.
Mothma sighed. “The princess is neither an officer nor a soldier,” she said, “but a private citizen. Regardless of considerations of policy, to compel her to remain against her explicitly stated wishes would be to defy everything the Alliance stands for.”
Leia almost flinched; Madine actually did so. She had never considered herself as a private citizen; in her own mind, she had no less obligation to the Rebellion than the pilots did, or Madine himself. So what if Madine was called general and Leia, princess? They all served after their own fashion.
And yet -- perhaps it wasn’t the same. The military, even one so comparatively informal as the Rebellion’s, had clear hierarchies and protocols. Leia had never felt herself bound by them. The politicians and the officers accommodated each other by mutual consent. She had never objected to her role as symbol and figurehead, not as long as she could fight the Empire as she saw fit.
But she couldn’t, now, and she’d withdrawn her consent. That should have meant something; she was not a soldier, sworn to obey her commanding officer. She was Princess Leia. No one should have presumed --
Well.
The generals, to their credit, seemed shocked and dismayed. Clearly, it had never occurred to them to think of her as a civilian, serving the Rebellion at her own volition, free to leave whenever she wished it -- no more than it had occurred to Leia herself. She didn’t know if she were gratified or simply annoyed.
“I had not considered matters in this light,” Madine said, then nodded apologetically at Leia. “I beg your pardon, Princess. I must advise against this course of action in the strongest possible terms, but you are, of course, free to do as you will.”
“Indeed,” said Mothma. “Now, let us be frank. Princess Leia, I have a high regard for your abilities, but operating entirely outside of the Alliance will sharply reduce any chance you have of achieving your objectives.”
Leia suppressed a grimace. “I know that. It’s why --” she began, and stopped. It’s why I bothered asking for approval at all, she thought. I didn’t expect it, but I didn’t expect that I’d be asking for permission, either.
“Your point, however, is a valid one. To ignore the plight of the Alderaanian people when there is a very real opportunity to help them, while exploiting their -- your -- tragedy is unacceptable. You do not have the resources to spearhead an expedition of this kind; I believe we can spare enough to, at the least, verify the position of this planet, and begin to locate refugees. If you are absolutely determined -- ”
“I am,” said Leia.
“Then it seems clear to me that we would all benefit from mutual cooperation. The Alliance is gathering more refugees than we can support, yet turning them away is inconceivable. A settlement on a largely unknown planet, almost beyond the reach of the Empire, would be of invaluable worth to us.”
Madine frowned. “With due respect, ma’am, the situation is hardly urgent.”
“I have found that it is preferable to address situations before they become urgent,” said Mothma. “Am I correct in assuming that we can easily provide one exploratory vessel and a small crew?”
“Yes, but the princess -- ”
“The princess has proven herself an able leader, and she has considerable experience in attracting support and sympathy,” Mothma said. “She is, in fact, better positioned to do so in this matter than perhaps anyone living, and certainly has more right.” She permitted herself a small smile. “And I am sure we can all agree that, if she must risk her life, it’s preferable that she do so with what small protection we can provide her, rather than with none at all.”
“Thank you,” Leia said dryly.
Mothma eyed her. “Princess Leia, I have no doubt that you will act in accordance with Alliance principles. I presume we can also expect you to exercise a reasonable degree of prudence?”
“Of course,” said Leia, and Mothma bowed, then gathered up her work and left the room.
Madine and Rieekan exchanged a glance.
“I have no desire to seem a villain to you, Princess,” Madine said, stiffer than ever. “You realize, I hope, that we have the highest possible opinion of your abilities, and greatly value your contributions to the Rebellion, past and present. We value your life for numerous reasons, few to do with public relations, and wished -- wish -- only to preserve it.”
She could be gracious in victory. Leia smiled up at him. “The galaxy has too many villains for me to add a friend to their number,” she said. “You’ve always been very kind to me and I am grateful. I just can’t sit around when I could be doing something.”
Rieekan cleared his throat. “While we would all prefer to keep you as safe as possible, I know your father would have done everything in his power to help his people, as soon as he possibly could, and fully supported you in doing so.” He paused. “I can do no less. Good luck, and may the Force be with you.”
“And you, Generals,” Leia said.
Yoda had been, to put it lightly, displeased about Luke’s second departure. However, he conceded that rushing off to rescue his friends in the face of prophesied gloom and disaster was not quite the same thing as leaving on the prompting of the Force.
“My friends aren’t even on Tatooine,” Luke said, then grimaced. “Well, Han. But I’m not ready to rescue him yet, I know that.”
Besides, he had no intention of facing down an entire criminal enterprise without a lightsaber. He still felt a little naked without his father’s, even with the power of the Force at his fingertips.
“Hm,” said Yoda. “Certain you are that it is the Force you feel?”
Luke was, but he let himself reach out for confirmation, and felt assurance all but settling into his bones. “Yes,” he said.
Perhaps Yoda felt it himself. In any case, he permitted Luke to go without further opposition, though he made him swear to continue his exercises on his journey. Luke, who suspected he would need all the preparation he could get, readily agreed.
“Master your visions, you must, before you can face your destiny,” Yoda told him. He didn’t have to say that Luke already had perfectly adequate control of his visions into the future and present, while he couldn’t so much as glance into the past without dropping his shields and anything else he happened to be maintaining with the Force. Or even with his mind -- he considered it an accomplishment when he didn’t collapse into the mud.
Now, he’d set his course for Tatooine, cleaned and oiled Artoo, stretched, meditated, sent every non-stationary object in the ship spinning in the air, told himself that he needed to be well-rested for whatever awaited him, and managed a few hours’ uneasy sleep. When he awoke, his nerves were clanging, and something felt -- off.
Luke sighed and returned to the pilot’s seat; it’d be hard to fall from here. He took a deep, cleansing breath, relaxed his grip on the arms of his chair, and dropped his hands into his lap, shutting his eyes.
There was no need to reach for the Force; it was already with him. He hadn’t bothered releasing it for over a week. Luke sent his mind wandering back, even as he realized what had changed. Not the Force itself, of course. Just his father’s presence, growing stronger, sharper, clearer as he approached his -- their? -- home planet. He was --
He was clambering onto a chair, his small fingers grasping the seat as he tried to hoist himself up. He lost his grip, fell to the ground, and scowled at the chair.
Someone laughed, the sound less amused than wearily relieved. Both Lukes turned, just in time to see Anakin stride through the doorway. He looked older -- not only than he’d been before, but older than he could possibly be.
Luke himself looked two or three, at most; Anakin couldn’t be much more than twenty-five, if that. His face, however, seemed anything but young -- pale and strained, tension etching itself into his forehead and around his mouth, deep shadows forming under his eyes. The eyes themselves were heavy-lidded with exhaustion, but nevertheless wide and alert. Too alert, perhaps.
The toddler Luke crossed his arms and his father strode over, lifting him up, onto the chair. One of the hands that had hoisted Luke’s younger self into the air was, he couldn’t help but notice, covered by a black leather glove.
The child’s pique transformed into glee. A disposable flimsi and blue stylus laid just in front of him, and presumably had been his goal all along; he grabbed the stylus and began to draw.
Anakin turned away, his bare hand half-covering his face. The fingers shook, his expression shifting to something other than mere anxiety. Luke instantly recognized it; he had, after all, seen it dozens of times.
Grief.
“Papa, look what I drawed!”
Anakin turned back. Luke, clearly not overburdened with artistic ability, held up the flimsi and beamed. His father and older self blinked.
“Who is this?” Anakin asked, pointing at the most human of the six figures.
“Aunt Beru, acourse,” said Luke, giggling. “This one you, Papa.”
Anakin rested one of his hands on Luke’s head, ruffling his hair. “I seem to be shorter than Aunt Beru.”
“Um,” Luke said, frowning at his picture. “I draw more legs!”
After he’d added six inches of scribbles to the figure, he pointed to the others. “See? Aunt Beru and you and Uncle Bail and Uncle Owen and Leia with the frowny face ‘cause she bossy, and Aunt Padmé.”
Anakin caught his breath.
“When she coming? She bring me a droid!” Luke burbled on, oblivious. “After later. She said.”
“Luke, she can’t -- ”
The syllables seemed to fall harshly into the air, even to Luke’s ears, and Anakin switched to another language, the one that Beru had used so often with Luke, when he was a child, and even later.
It was your grandmother’s, she’d said. She taught it to all three of us, Anakin and then me and then Owen. Using her language is my way of remembering her.
“She can’t come. She’s very sorry.”
“Aunt Padmé gone ’way?” Luke asked, Basic and Alsaraic words mixing freely. It seemed evident that he understood both languages, even if he had yet to master either.
Aunt Beru didn’t teach me, he realized. She kept me from forgetting.
“Yes, she’s -- she’s gone,” Anakin said. More to himself than to Luke, he murmured, “The Emperor’s favourite cousin and a senator, and --”
He stalked over to the window, hands clasped behind his back. For several minutes, he simply watched the traffic straggling by. Luke kept twisting around to peer at him, his small face almost frightened.
Leia had told him of the brutality that had run rampant through the Empire of her childhood -- and his, it turned out. Towards the end of the war, her mother had been one of several politicians murdered in plain sight. No one had been safe. Not even an Imperial Senator.
The adult Luke regarded them both with growing horror. He didn’t remember his third birthday, but he knew it’d been at the homestead, after his father had --
“Papa?” Luke asked plaintively.
Anakin hesitated, then returned to the table, his steps slow and deliberate. He looked, if possible, even more haggard than before. His eyes were still wide and desperate, but there was something different there now -- a resignation, a sort of horrifying calmness, even as he knelt beside Luke’s chair and gazed at him with fierce affection.
The younger Luke’s lip trembled. The elder forced himself to breathe.
“Don’t worry, Luke,” Anakin said, stroking his son’s hair. “I know you’re scared, but it’s going to be fine. Papa’s going to make the galaxy safe for you.”
No, Luke thought wildly, no, no, no, and there are many ways of forgetting, his grandmother had said --
No.
Artoo gave an worried beep, sensors blinking up at him. Luke stared out the viewscreen; he’d only slumped a little in his seat.
“I’m all right,” he said, and scrubbed at his cheeks.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise. He’d already guessed as much, when Obi-Wan told him that his mother had died in the war. That he’d been there, with his father, and Anakin’s natural concern for him had twisted until it fed into his self-immolation. This wasn’t anything he hadn’t known.
Knowing, though, wasn’t the same as seeing it, hearing it.
-- if you choose the quick and easy path, as Vader did, Yoda had said, and Luke found his jaw twitching. Anakin’s choice had been unquestionably wrong, had led to untold suffering and horror, had all but destroyed himself and could still easily destroy his son. But the path he had chosen was anything but quick and easy, and Luke didn’t think he had expected it to be.
He’s still trying to protect me, even if he doesn’t remember why, Luke thought. Some part of Anakin Skywalker lived still, amidst all of Vader’s evil. If --
No. It wasn’t possible. It would be madness to expect more than a refusal to personally kill him. And madness was the last thing he could afford, as Vader’s presence deepened with every parsec nearer to Tatooine. At this rate, Vader would have no difficulty locating him.
The next time Luke met his father, he’d have no lightsaber, nothing to protect him. Nothing but the Force.
He won’t kill me, Luke chanted. He won’t kill me.
By the time that he flew past Obi-Wan’s hut, Luke knew that he had more than mere psychic proximity to contend with. He hadn’t felt his father so clearly since Bespin.
Vader was here.
Luke landed his ship about a mile from the homestead, and clambered out. He hesitated, then brought Artoo along with him. Luke himself had nothing to fear from the Sand People, but the droid, however remarkable, couldn’t be expected to fend them off. He set Artoo on the ground and headed home.
It was odd, he thought idly, trying to ignore the terror clutching at his innards, that Vader hadn’t tried to reach him. He’d rebuilt his shields after the last vision, of course, but as close as they were now --
Well, it was for the best. Probably. But Vader had to know he was here.
Luke climbed over the last dune, and saw the farm spreading out in front of him. What was left of it, anyway. The equipment had long since been raided by Jawas or Sand People, and the burnt remnants of the house had collapsed at some point.
He remembered Owen’s hand on his shoulder, showing him how to shoot the laser rifle, Beru, speaking in careful, lilting Alsaraic as she taught him how to mend his clothes, Anakin swinging him into the air, Shmi touching his face with her ghostly hand. His family, all of them.
Luke walked forward, helping Artoo climb through the rubble. He didn’t see Vader, but he could feel him. He must be around the house, by the -- by the graves.
Even Sand People and Jawas might stay away from those, he thought, and rounded the corner.
Vader stood in front of Luke’s grandmother’s -- his mother’s grave, uncharacteristically oblivious to everything around him. Luke could just hear the respirator’s harsh, measured breaths.
He took a deep breath of his own.
“Hello, Father,” he said.