![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anghraine...I feel I should provide fair warning right here. I’m not a fan of the prequels and I’m definitely not a fan of Anakin’s characterization. I think Luke is better-written, better-acted, and in-story, a much better person than Anakin. I also think comparisons in general are completely valid ways to analyze and interpret characters, and that Luke and Anakin in particular are such obvious foils for each other that we can’t help but compare them. So, consider yourself warned.
Anyway, the remark at TV Tropes was this:
in staring at his ruined stump of a hand, just like Luke’s, it’s got to be apparent to him [Vader] that Luke’s been through almost exactly the same kind of life as he had, but worse on every level
...wha?
No, I’m not making this up. Worse. On. Every. Level.
Yeah.
Well, I have a bit of free time, so I thought, what the hell, I like me my comparisons. And I like comparing these two in particular. So:
ELIZABETH’S COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY OBJECTIVE JUDGMENT OF THE COMPARATIVE AWFULNESS OF LUKE AND ANAKIN SKYWALKER’S LIVES
Let’s do this.
Part 1
(1) Parents
Anakin’s mother was Shmi Skywalker; Luke’s was Padmé Amidala. Anakin’s father was the Force/maybe Darth Plagueis; Luke’s was Anakin himself, Chosen One/Darth Vader.
While it sucks more to be the son of a slave than the son of a senator, little Anakin is so well-balanced and good-natured that I’m going to assume some kickass parenting is going on there. Luke’s mother dies shortly after naming him, so I’m going to say that Anakin is better-off in this regard.
Being the child of the Force is pretty awesome, though it puts Anakin under a lot of pressure to overthrow the Sith. Being the child of the Chosen One is also pretty badass, if one generation removed from the Force itself, though it puts Luke under a lot of pressure to … overthrow the Sith. Luke doesn’t get the pressure until later, but being expected to kill his own father is so messed-up that I’d say the awfulness balances out. Um. Anakin’s status is slightly awesomer, so I’ll say Luke’s a bit worse-off in this department.
Unless we go with the whole Darth Plagueis thing, in which case Anakin’s father was … some creepy foreign DNA-introducing experiment (he obviously has something apart from Shmi’s, since he looks nothing like her). OTOH, Luke’s father at the time of his birth was Darth Vader. And having Vader for a father is considerably more devastating than some Sith Lord Anakin’s never met and doesn’t know much about. Luke still wins.
WORST PARENTAGE: Luke
(2) Birth
Luke is born into the brand-spanking-new Empire, without a single person to consider his interests or advocate for him in any way, since his mother dies immediately afterwards and his father’s in … ah, surgery. Thanks to his epic Force-sensitivity, his life is in danger (as is his mind/soul) from that moment on.
Anakin is born … well, we don’t know, but I’ve always had the impression that Shmi was a slave well before his birth. So let’s assume he was born into a well-established Huttish palace, where only his largely powerless mother wasn’t an active danger to him. Thanks to that accident of birth, his life is not his own (in the most literal way possible) from that moment on.
Luke’s situation is certainly nasty, but even the Empire (as far as we know) doesn’t practice or condone slavery. Luke’s ridiculously high midichlorian levels are risky to him, but they’re not inherently awful, and certainly not on the level of a bomb in his body. He is free and endangered; Anakin is enslaved and endangered.
WORST CIRCUMSTANCES AT BIRTH: Anakin
(3) Involuntary displacement
Early in their lives, Luke and Anakin’s circumstances change dramatically, and neither has anything to say about it.
Anakin and his mother are sold to Watto, which presumably is rather a step up from Gardulla the Hutt, but still pretty awful.
Luke and his sister are separated by people who have no custodial rights over them, and Luke is then taken to live with his father’s mother’s husband’s daughter-in-law and son on their Tatooine moisture farm. It’s honestly difficult to say whether he was better off for this or not.
Well, while I personally find the assumption of custody over the Skywalker twins to be really skeevy, it isn’t anywhere near so skeevy as being a commodity that can be bought and sold. Kidnapping is nasty, but it’s not slavery.
WORST CHANGE OF RESIDENCE IN EARLY LIFE: Anakin
(4) Upbringing
Luke was brought up by affectionate, if ambivalent guardians. They didn’t adopt him, but they certainly tried to do their best for him. Their idea of ‘best’ may not have been perfectly accurate; Owen’s attempts to quash the aspirations and qualities Luke shares with his father have succeeded only in making him (more) restless and dissatisfied. Otherwise the family is a healthy one. While for Luke, life on his uncle and aunt’s farm verges on the soul-crushing, he loves and respects his uncle and aunt themselves and shows every sign of having been brought up well, if in uncongenial circumstances.
Anakin seems to be quite happy with his mother, cheerfully explaining that his body will blow up if he goes too far, though he naturally regards slavery as a Bad Thing that should be stopped, and wants to be free himself. Then he gets taken up by Qui-Gon and brought up by the formerly-resentful Obi-Wan: basically, good parent/horrific circumstances to more-than-usually-unprepared parent/comfortable circumstances. We see nothing of his upbringing over the next ten years, but at the end of that period he’s expressing a mixture of resentment and respect for Obi-Wan, sympathy for fascist dictatorships, and is on the point of committing mass murder.
… Yeah, this one’s a big challenge.
WORST UPBRINGING: Anakin
So far, Anakin is coming out the big winner in the Horrific Life Experience sweepstakes.
---------------
Title: The Adventures of Lucy Skywalker (3/10, 4/10, 5/10)
Fanverse: The Adventures of Lucy Skywalker
Blurb: Obi-Wan expositions and Lucy finds the remains of her life; they fly to Mos Eisley and Obi-Wan hires Han, who misinterprets the nature of their relationship; our heroes escape the Imperials, Han quasi-confronts Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan
---------------
Chapter Three
Ben - Obi-Wan - gave her a kind smile. "I haven't gone by the name Obi-Wan since - " he paused, apparently struggling to remember - "oh, since before you were born."
So Owen had lied to her. Maybe about other things; maybe Beru had too. That stung a little more, but somehow, Lucy wasn't surprised. She'd always felt that they were keeping things from her - not the ordinary things that adults kept from children, important things. Owen didn't like her asking about her father. Beru's silences were so . . . loud.
Obviously, there was something suspicious going on, something they weren't telling her. Now it turned out that she should have questioned the things they had told her, too. Lucy scowled. She lied to her uncle all the time, but that was different. Somehow. She didn't care that they'd just fought. She was going to demand an explanation as soon as she got the droids home.
The thought reminded her of Artoo, his strange fidelity and obstinancy, and the hologram he carried.
"Then the droid does belong to you!" she cried.
"I don't seem to recall owning a droid." Obi-Wan shot an incomprehensible look at him.
Artoo gave a low beep.
"Very interesting," Obi-Wan said, more enigmatic than ever.
Apparently the raiders had hit her harder than she thought, because nothing seemed to make any sense at all. Lucy didn't even try to understand. However, when Obi-Wan suggested that her attackers would soon return, in greater numbers, Lucy gladly agreed to take shelter in his home. Her aunt and uncle would be worried, of course, but they'd understand when she explained about the Sand People.
The three of them went to recover Threepio, Artoo beeping hysterically all the while, and found him half-buried in the sand. He'd obviously suffered in his fall, and one of his arms had been torn completely off. Lucy ran forward and turned him on.
"Can you stand? We've got to get out of here before the Sand People return."
"I don't think I can make it." In a martyred tone, he added, "You go on, Mistress Lucy. There's no sense in you risking yourself on my account. I'm done for."
Artoo's screeching beep required no translation.
"No, you're not!" said Lucy indignantly. "What kind of talk is that?"
Obi-Wan had been peering around the mesa, apparently listening to something that none of the rest of them could hear. Without a moment's hesitation, however, he helped her lift the droid into the air. "Quickly," he said. "They're on the move."
They rushed to the landspeeder, which thankfully hadn't been too damaged by the Sand People, and raced away. Obi-Wan either couldn't fly or didn't care to, but his instructions were easy enough to follow. Lucy chattered idly and he glanced at her face, alight with pleasure. He stared ahead for the rest of their brief journey.
Obi-Wan's house was more like a hut, small and bare. Nevertheless, it seemed to radiate an air of comfort and security. He helped her carry Threepio to one corner, then looked at him in some dismay.
"I'm afraid I can't be of much help," he said.
"That's all right - I shouldn't need any," Lucy told him. "I have my tools and I'm good with machines."
"Yes," murmured Obi-Wan, eyes distant. "I thought you might be."
Lucy worked in silence for a few minutes. Then she said: "Uncle Owen says you knew my father."
"That's true," Obi-Wan said. "We were friends for a very long time. I knew him even before he ever went to war."
She looked up, startled, then laughed. "Oh, my father didn't fight in the wars. He was a navigator on a spice freighter."
Obi-Wan's neutral expression was replaced by something very like horror. Belatedly, Lucy remembered that everything she knew was wrong.
"That's what your uncle told you," he said, his voice cooling.
Lucy suppressed a wince. It did look bad, but - Owen must have meant well. He always did, in his way. As annoying as it was to discover that he'd been lying to her for her entire life, she felt sure he'd have an explanation. Not one she liked or agreed with, but an explanation. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan seemed willing to talk to her about her father.
My father, she thought, excitement bubbling in her chest. The man who had fearlessly marched into the desert to find his mother, who had been a pilot, who had spent his short life longing for more, who had left so much of himself in her that, for as long as she could remember, she'd felt like a chunk of her soul was missing.
She'd never known him, but still, she loved and idolized him. She liked to think he was still there, sometimes almost convinced herself that she could feel him looking out for her, somewhere in the distant reaches of the galaxy. But she never quite managed it; her practical side knew it was impossible. Her father was gone. Instead, she clung to the few scraps of information that her uncle and aunt doled out.
"He didn't hold with your father's ideals," Obi-Wan continued. "Thought he should have stayed here, and not - gotten involved."
"You fought in the Clone Wars?" she said, surprised. Of course, it was twenty years ago now. He'd have been younger then. A lot younger, apparently.
"Yes," Obi-Wan said, chuckling. "I was a Jedi Knight, the same as your father."
Her father, her own father, had been a knight? - a hero? It was just like a story, she thought: knights, adventures, wars, and dead parents.
She sobered. "I wish I'd known him," she said wistfully.
"He was the best starpilot in the galaxy," Obi-Wan said, "and a cunning warrior."
Lucy's eyes rounded. So she had gotten her love of flying from him, but he was beyond anything Owen and Beru had ever told her. Not just a pilot. The best pilot in the entire galaxy. No wonder she'd always been drawn to ships; no wonder everything had come so easily to her.
"I understand you've become quite a good pilot yourself," he added, as if he'd been reading her mind. Lucy flushed and smiled a bit hesitantly. She was good, she knew that. But she was a long, long way from the best starpilot in the galaxy.
If he'd lived, she wouldn't have had to fumble for competence and then skill, untaught and unable to understand what she was doing, or how she was managing it. Her father wouldn't have just encouraged her to follow his footsteps, he'd have taught her personally. She might even have grown up on a ship.
And he'd been cunning. Rash and restless and idealistic, but maybe a little sneaky, too. Ambitious. Like me, like me, like me.
Lucy turned back to Threepio and sighed. Her father, at any rate, would never have been shut up like she was, stuck with repairing machinery and putting droids back together.
"And," Obi-Wan added, with an affectionate, wistful look, "he was a good friend."
Lucy's eyes burned. She kept her head turned away from him, working on Threepio with renewed vigour.
Nobody spoke for a moment, the silence thick and heavy. Then Obi-Wan cleared his throat.
"Which reminds me -"
He got up and shuffled across the room, poking around in a small wooden chest while Lucy started to fit Threepio's restraining bolt back on. The droid gave a small start, though - uncharacteristically enough - he said nothing.
Lucy bit her lip. She'd never much cared for restraining bolts, either in theory or reality, and this one felt somehow repulsive. Yes, droids were machines, made to serve - but then, they shouldn't need them. And if not, then - well, Artoo clearly had a mind of his own, and even Threepio was as much beyond the usual soulless machines as she was beyond . . . womp-rats, or something.
The bolt in her hand was heavy and dirty. Lucy put it back on the table and Threepio's yellow eyes gave a confused flash. She ignored him, wiping her greasy hands on her pants.
"I have something here for you," said Obi-Wan, turning back towards her. He had retrieved whatever he'd been looking for - a slim metal cylinder of some kind, with three or four buttons running up one side. It looked rather like a severed handle to . . . something.
Lucy tried to look less unimpressed than she felt.
"Your father wanted you to have this, when you were old enough," Obi-Wan added, and Lucy's head instantly snapped up. "But your uncle wouldn't allow it."
The broken-down thing instantly became a precious relic. She'd never had anything that belonged to her father, never even seen anything. Lucy just kept herself from snatching it right out of Obi-Wan's hand.
Obi-Wan looked at the handle thoughtfully, grief flickering over his face again. "He feared that you might follow old Obi-Wan on some damn fool idealistic crusade," he said, "like your father did."
He handed it to her, and Lucy reverently closed her fingers around it. She didn't care that it was probably garbage now. It had been her father's; that was enough.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Your father's lightsaber - the weapon of a Jedi Knight."
Lucy's breath caught. This wasn't a broken handle in her hands, it was a hilt. It was - it was -
"Not as clumsy or random as a blaster -"
She pressed one of the buttons and four feet of blue light shot out. She swung it gently, trying to keep her hands from shaking, and watched in fascination as the blade hummed back and forth.
Obi-Wan was saying something, but Lucy couldn't bring herself to pay attention. She was holding a lightsaber. Her father's lightsaber. He had held it in his own hands. He'd thought of her, wanted this given to her, to his daughter. And now it had been, just like he wanted. It was hers.
For a moment, Lucy's heart pounded so fiercely that she could hear it in her head. Her chest burned and her throat dried and she couldn't breathe or hear or speak or do anything except think that she had a lightsaber.
Then she thought: Anakin had had this, and he'd still died. What could kill a Jedi Knight?
She'd asked her aunt and uncle, of course. They said he was killed by a hyperdrive malfunction - that was why there wasn't a body. But even then, Lucy hadn't believed it.
She ran her thumb back over the button she'd pressed, and the blade disappeared. Lucy lifted her eyes to Obi-Wan's.
"How did my father die?"
He drew a harsh breath and glanced away, apparently unable to even meet her eyes.
"A young Jedi named Darth Vader," he said evenly, "who was a pupil of mine until he turned to evil, helped the Empire hunt down and destroy the Jedi Knights." He stared straight ahead, then his gaze skittered back to Lucy. "He betrayed and murdered your father."
Lucy recoiled. She'd known it must be bigger than an accident with a hyperdrive, but she'd never dreamed of anything like this. Not murder.
"Now the Jedi are all but extinct," Obi-Wan said. "Vader was seduced by the Dark Side of the Force."
"The Force?" she echoed.
"The Force is what gives a Jedi his power." He turned a sharp, considering look on her, rather as if he were weighing her on some invisible scale, then smiled. "Or hers. It's an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us and binds the galaxy together."
Lucy's eyes widened, but before she could ask more, Artoo gave an insistent beep. Obi-Wan walked over to him.
"Now let's see if we can't figure out what you are, my little friend, and where you come from."
Lucy said, "I saw part of - "
The girl in the hologram appeared once more, projected from Artoo's databanks. She was in a different position now; this wasn't just the fragment Lucy had seen.
"I seem to have found it," Obi-Wan said. She narrowed her eyes at the droid and he beeped a bit sheepishly.
"General Kenobi," said the girl, her voice low and commanding, "years ago you served my father in the Clone Wars. Now he begs you to help him in his struggle against the Empire. I regret that I am unable to present my father's request to you in person, but my ship has fallen under attack and I'm afraid my mission to bring you to Alderaan has failed."
Lucy gasped, but the girl didn't even hesitate, and continued without a tremor:
"I have placed information vital to the survival of the Rebellion into the memory systems of this R2 unit. My father will know how to retrieve it. You must see this droid safely delivered to him on Alderaan. This is our most desperate hour." The pleading look Lucy had already seen came over her face; she spread her hands once more. "Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope."
With a buzz of static, the transmission ended.
Obi-Wan leaned back, rubbing his beard, and Lucy eyed him. Of course he was going to help her. He had to. But why hadn't he been helping already? What was a general and a Jedi Knight doing here, anyway?
He smiled. "You must learn the ways of the Force, if you are to come with me to Alderaan."
Lucy's mouth dropped open.
"Alderaan?" She gave an incredulous laugh. "I'm not going to Alderaan! I've got to get home. It's late - I'm in for it as it is!"
"I need your help, Lucy." Obi-Wan nodded at the hologram. "She needs your help. I'm getting too old for this kind of thing."
Lucy bit her lip. She'd wanted to help the strange girl from the first. And she wanted nothing more than to leave this rock. Only yesterday, she'd been despairing at the impossibility of ever getting out, of her life ever amounting to anything. Now, opportunity wasn't so knocking at the door as crashing through the windows.
She could go with Obi-Wan, as her father had done. Get off Tatooine, do something important, become a hero. A knight. Every chance she'd ever been denied was at her fingertips. She could have it all, and not in some distant future. Not even soon. At this very moment.
It wasn't as if there were anything for her to do at home, either. Her uncle and aunt didn't need her, not really. But -
"It's not that I like the Empire," she said carefully. "Or that I want to stay. But my uncle and aunt have done everything for me. I can't just leave them without a word. I have to talk to them."
"Your uncle won't let you go," Obi-Wan warned.
He didn't have to mention Anakin's lightsaber; Lucy thought of it anyway. This was her rightful inheritance, and Owen hadn't even let him pass that much on to her. He'd never agree to this. He'd be angry.
Lucy's chin firmed. "I'm seventeen. He can't stop me! But I can't leave them to wonder what happened to me, either. I'll explain things. I'll make them understand, somehow. And even if I can't, I'm strong enough to defy them. I just can't disappear and let them think I've been killed or worse when I'm safe on Alderaan."
"But you will learn about the Force," Obi-Wan said. It wasn't exactly a question.
"Yes." Her hand seemed, of its own volition, to settle on the lightsaber. "I want to learn its ways and become a Jedi, like my father."
"Good," he said, seeming less triumphant than weary. "Good."
Lucy felt a flicker of discomfort. "Yes, well, after I've talked to them, where should I meet you? Here? Anchorhead? I can take you that far now, if you want. We should be able to get a transport there to Mos Eisley or - wherever we're going."
"Yes, I think that would be best," Obi-Wan said. "Thank you."
She flushed, her eyes dropping to the floor. All things considered, Lucy should be thanking him, but she thought she might burst into tears if she tried, and she'd rather die.
Obi-Wan reactivated Threepio and gathered his few belongings while Lucy went out to the landspeeder, trailed by a suspiciously meek Artoo. She settled behind the wheel, more reassured than ever by the machinery beneath her fingers and feet, and within five minutes, they were on their way to Anchorhead.
It was Threepio, always ready to be alarmed, who first espied the column of smoke.
"What's that?" Lucy said aloud, estimating the distance. It couldn't be that far from home, but nobody would have started a fire at this time of year.
"Nothing natural. If you can spare the time, we should do what we can to help."
Lucy hesitated, then nodded. "I can't think it makes any difference now," she said, and veered towards the smoke.
As they approached, she easily made out the remains of the enormous Jawa sandcrawler. She could smell something sweet and acrid on the air, which turned her stomach and tightened her grip on the wheel. She didn't recognize the scent, but her instincts were screaming that it meant something awful.
Lucy stopped the landspeeder and they all scrambled out. She was in the lead, so she was the first to see the Jawa body sprawled at her feet, its yellow eyes staring sightlessly out of the black mask.
It wasn't the first dead body she'd seen, but this wasn't like Fixer's grandmother dying. It wasn't even like the Darklighter cousin who'd been killed in a raid. There must be dozens of dead Jawas here. This was a massacre.
Shock and horror wouldn't accomplish anything now, she reminded herself. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, forcing herself into something approximating calm, then opened them again.
"It looks like Sand People," she said, gazing around. It did look like them. But it didn't seem right. "Look, here are gaffi sticks, bantha tracks. It's just - I've never heard of them hitting anything so large before."
Obi-Wan crouched in the sand, studying the tracks. "They didn't - but we are meant to think they did," he announced. "These tracks are side-by-side. Sand People always ride single-file, to hide their numbers."
"These are the same Jawas that sold us Artoo and Threepio," Lucy said slowly. Something was niggling at her brain.
He gestured at the sandcrawler. "And these bullet points, too accurate for Sand People. Only Imperial stormtroopers are so precise."
"Why would Imperial troops want to slaughter Jawas?" she asked blankly. She glanced around, from the bullet-riddled crawler, to the bodies, to the droids.
The droids. Artoo gave a low, distressed beep and Threepio lifted his head, bewildered. Lucy stared at them in gathering horror. Her sharpening suspicions tumbled ahead of her, faster than she could follow.
"If they traced the robots here, they may have learned who they sold them to," she said, voice shaking even as her brain relentlessly shoved the pieces together. "And that would lead them - home!"
Home. Owen and Beru. No, she thought, no, no -
She raced back to the speeder, throwing herself inside even as Obi-Wan shouted after her. She didn't bother listening.
They'd be all right. They had to be. Owen could hold them off. Her aunt would know how to placate them, they'd - they'd - it would be fine. She just had to check. Had to make sure.
Lucy sped across the wasteland. Flying didn't matter. Nothing mattered, except -
The homestead was burning. She could see the smoke, the holes and damage. It looked like a battle had taken place, not just . . . no. They must have fled when they saw the stormtroopers coming. That would have been sensible, and Owen and Beru Lars were nothing if not sensible.
She jumped out of the speeder. "Uncle Owen!" she screamed. "Aunt Beru! Uncle Owen!"
Half-dazed, Lucy wandered around the homestead, searching for her aunt and uncle. They had to be gone. They wouldn't ignore her like this. They'd have answered, if they were here.
Lucy's eyes dropped to the ground. Amidst all the debris, two skeletons lay smouldering.
Chapter Four
Lucy's terror vanished.
She turned her face away from the charred corpses.
There was nothing to be afraid of, now. Owen and Beru were dead, and her father's lightsaber hung heavy on her hip. If the stormtroopers returned, she'd welcome them - she'd be glad to see them. She wanted them to pay, she wanted to make them all pay.
The Empire had taken her entire family: her father, most likely her mother, and now her uncle and aunt. Nobody else could ever avenge them. Just her. And she knew she could do it. Something deep in her told her she could, that with this much rage burning in her, it'd be easy - nothing.
She waited a minute and then another one, her left hand curling and uncurling. She didn't hear anything. The stormtroopers had gotten all they wanted here.
Her right hand, which had somehow ended up clenched around her lightsaber, dropped. She'd find another way - they were heading towards the Rebellion, after all. For now, there was something more important to be done.
She walked past the ruins of her home, to the stretch of land where Shmi Skywalker and Cliegg Lars were buried. Even stormtroopers had the decency to leave graves untouched, she thought distantly, and knelt a few feet to the right of Cliegg's grave.
She couldn't give Owen and Beru the burials they ought to have, but she wasn't leaving them like this, either. Lucy dug into the sand as quickly as she could. She ignored the heat of the grains spilling through her fingers, the hair sticking to the back of her neck, her scalp burning beneath her light hair.
Once she'd made two long, shallow pits, Lucy lined them with chunks of rock and brick. The soldiers had kindly left more than enough to finish the job with. For a moment, she just stared at the two holes, hands tight on her thighs, steeling herself for what would come next. Then she walked back towards the house, and picked the smaller skeleton up in her arms.
It was still hot, but not enough to burn. Lucy tried not to think about it, even when some of Beru's bones slipped out of her grasp. Once she'd laid the skeleton down, she ran back and picked up her aunt's fallen bones, then set them in the pit and filled it with more stones.
She stopped to brace herself once more, then did the same thing for Owen's remains. His were cooler, she thought, in some remote corner of her sickened, horrified mind, but harder to carry.
She knew she was crying and for once, didn't mind. Owen and Beru deserved her tears. Lucy didn't even try to wipe them away, just blinked enough to see what she needed to finish her task.
She covered Owen's skeleton in rocks and rubble, too, then slowly got to her feet. It wasn't what it should be, but at least they would be safe from scavengers. It even seemed suitable, in an odd way, for them to be buried with pieces of their house.
Lucy turned to go, and stopped. There should be a eulogy. It was custom - the word rested uncomfortably in her mind, hedged about with reverence and suffering, but it had governed their lives. They'd have wanted it. But there wasn't anything to say.
She stood in silence, ash smeared on her hands and leggings, hair whipping in the wind.
"Uncle Owen, Aunt Beru - "
Lucy bowed her head, waiting for the right thing to come to her. Nothing did.
"Thank you," she said miserably, and walked away.
Obi-Wan felt a small shudder in the Force as he waited.
He did nothing. There was little enough danger, now that the stormtroopers had gone, and Lucy's raw, undisciplined power couldn't grant her much more than improbable reflexes and intuition in any case. The risk would be in her training.
Yoda, he suspected, would not consider the risk worthwhile. Nothing could stop Vader if he won the allegiance of Anakin's daughter - either of Anakin's daughters. Obi-Wan knew little more of Leia than he had seen in the hologram. Lucy, however, was very much her father's child: rash, restless, ambitious. It was not at all impossible that she might choose to serve Vader.
As matters stood, however, it was rather more likely that she would oppose him. He did not fool himself that the situation could not grow any worse - darkness was infinitely versatile in that regard - but they were quite bad enough. Even the slimmest of hopes must be seized upon.
Lucy, properly trained, could offer much more than a slim hope. She could save them all. As far as Obi-Wan was concerned, there was no choice. She must be taught - must become a Jedi. Only then could she accomplish what was necessary. He was just grateful that she had consented so easily.
A Jedi, like my father, she'd said, and Obi-Wan knew he hadn't quite managed to conceal the dread that overcame him at the words. Yet she was right, after a fashion. Anakin had been a great warrior, bold and cunning, and so must she be - but more. Faster, cleverer, stronger. Stronger in every way.
And she would be, if Obi-Wan had anything to say about it.
He opened his eyes. The Force was bright and clear once more, and the corpses of these poor creatures still lay at his feet.
They weren't Jedi, but it was no matter. All sentient life deserved to be more than food for scavengers; they must be disposed of in a civilized manner, and this was all he knew. Obi-Wan summoned the protocol droid, and ordered him to stack the bodies on a pyre, where he began burning them.
They had nearly finished when Lucy returned, filth streaking her trousers and hands. Obi-Wan chose not to dwell on its likely origin.
She strode past the pyre and looked straight at him, her eyes wide and hard and fearless, just like her - sister's.
"I am going to be a Jedi," she said fiercely, "and I'm going to find some way to stop things like this from happening."
Obi-Wan dropped his hand on her shoulder. Even through the tunic, he could feel the tightness of her muscles.
"There's nothing you could have done, Lucy, had you been there. You'd have been killed, too, and the droids would be in the hands of the Empire."
Lucy's gaze didn't waver, but she tilted her head in a familiar gesture of thought.
"I need to wash my hands," she said.
Obi-Wan looked at the dirt - no, the charred human flesh - staining the girl's fingers, and remembered Anakin's wide, stricken eyes after their first battle.
I can't do this, Master, he'd said, sickened, and Obi-Wan had assured him that his revulsion was only natural, this first time, and it would pass.
It had.
He tore off a corner off his rough robe and handed it to her without a word. While she scrubbed at her fingers, Obi-Wan and Threepio finished burning the Jawa corpses, and then all four of them returned to the landspeeder.
"Mos Eisley?" Lucy asked, her voice flat and toneless.
"Yes."
Obi-Wan kept a sharp eye on her as the speeder hurtled across the desert. She was staring straight ahead with the kind of desperate composure that he could only regard as dangerous: face set, dark blonde hair tangled about her shoulders, hands sure and steady on the wheel. Obi-Wan couldn't see her without thinking of her father, but never had she reminded him quite so much of Anakin.
Nobody spoke, not even Threepio, until they reached a bluff overlooking the city. Lucy stopped, her blank expression turning quizzical.
"Mos Eisley Spaceport," said Obi-Wan darkly. "You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious."
She nodded and gave him a determined smile.
They continued down into the city, making their way through the main thoroughfare. A group of stormtroopers stopped them, but they were gormless and weak-minded; Obi-Wan easily convinced them that they had seen nothing of interest, and gestured for Lucy to continue driving, until they reached a familiar cantina.
Obi-Wan hesitated. Aside from the occasional dancer, he'd never seen a female of any kind in there - let alone a pretty young girl who stood at little more than five feet tall and all but exuded innocence and naïveté. He could give her his cloak, but it'd be shoddy concealment in the best of situations; the cantina's clientele would see past it in a minute.
"You'll have to sell your speeder," he said.
Lucy shrugged. "That's okay. I'm never coming back to this planet again."
"I'll find a transport for us here," he said. "You better go find a buyer for the speeder."
She eyed the cantina. "Do you really think you're going to find a pilot here that'll take us to Alderaan?"
"Well," said Obi-Wan, "most of the best freighter pilots can be found here. It can be a little rough, but I can take care of myself."
He tried to look less worried than he felt. He had no fears for his own safety, but he couldn't begin to imagine the sort of trouble Lucy might get herself into. Of course, he'd never had any trouble sensing danger to her, or rescuing her from it, but danger moved more swiftly here. He found himself . . . disinclined to let her out of his sight.
"That's all right then," Lucy said, and darted a suspicious glance over her shoulder. Several unprepossessing figures of various species were lurking nearby. Two humans leered at her, and she flinched. "Ben, what do I do if someone . . . if something happens?"
"Chop their arms off," said Obi-Wan.
He nodded at Anakin's lightsaber and Lucy immediately brightened.
Obi-Wan wondered if he should be more encouraged or alarmed by this, and instead simply watched as she drove away, accompanied by her sister's droids. It was odd, he thought: after all the trouble they'd taken to pull that family apart, and seventeen years of separation, sheer chance had intervened to bind their lives together once more.
Chance, he scoffed to himself, and ducked inside the cantina.
Obi-Wan glanced around, but saw no cause for any greater caution than usual. He made his way to the bar and seated himself beside a group of repulsive humans. Within a few minutes, he'd convinced them not to shoot him and to direct him to a more promising specimen, which he considered a greater feat of negotiation than anything he'd accomplished in his years of service to the Republic.
This superior being turned out to be a Wookiee named Chewbacca, the first mate on a ship that could bring them to Alderaan.
Provided, he added, that Obi-Wan could pay them for their trouble.
Naturally, Obi-Wan assured him, and Chewbacca told him to stay at the bar while he went to consult with his partner. A few minutes later, the Wookiee returned to lead him to a small booth.
The partner turned out to be a cocky young man, perhaps thirty, with brown hair and the Core in his voice.
"Han Solo," he said brusquely. "I'm captain of the Millennium Falcon. Chewie here tells me you're looking for passage to the Alderaan system."
"Yes, indeed - if it's a fast ship."
"Fast ship!" Solo looked outraged. "You've never heard of the Millennium Falcon? It's the ship that made the Kessel run in less than twelve parsecs!"
Parsecs? Obi-Wan all but mouthed, and the Wookiee looked almost sheepish.
Solo was not the first brash young pilot Obi-Wan had met - not at all, he thought, Anakin's and Lucy's hands blurring together in his mind. However, he was certainly the first to try and impress him with such obvious misinformation.
"I've outrun Imperial starships - not the local bulk cruisers, mind you. I'm talking about the big Corellian ships now. She's fast enough for you, old man." He looked around. "What's the cargo?"
"Only passengers: myself, two droids, and - " Obi-Wan paused - "a woman."
"A woman, huh?"
Obi-Wan ignored him. "And no questions asked."
"What is it? Some kind of . . . local trouble?" Solo said, his lips quirking.
"We'd like to avoid Imperial entanglements."
The pilot laughed. "Well, that's the trick, isn't it? And it's going to cost you something extra."
After several minutes of haggling, they settled the deal, and Obi-Wan left the cantina in reasonably good spirits. He found Lucy safe in a speeder lot, arguing in a clear, querulous voice with the dealer. She'd just accepted some coins by the time Obi-Wan made his way to her side.
"He says it's the best he can do," Lucy said in disgust. "Since the XP-38 came out, they're just not in demand."
Obi-Wan had no more idea what this meant than when it'd been Anakin prattling on about rear thrusters and sublight engines. He settled for a reassuring nod.
"It will be enough," he said.
"Did you find a ship?"
Obi-Wan chuckled. "Yes. If it's as fast as its pilot boasts, we ought to do well."
They made their way down the street, trailed by the droids, and Obi-Wan felt a frisson of alarm. He quickened their pace, relieved to reach the correct docking bay without incident. Chewbacca was waiting for them and after a brief glance at Lucy, hurried them on their way to the ship.
"What a piece of junk!" Lucy cried.
Obi-Wan found it difficult to disagree with her. The great Millennium Falcon looked less like a starship and more like a heap of trash that some reckless soul had taken upon himself to bolt together.
"She'll make point five beyond the speed of light," Solo said as he came down the ramp. "She may not look like much, but she's got - "
He stopped in his tracks. Solo, Obi-Wan suspected, was not a man of many scruples, but even he seemed appalled at the sight of Lucy standing between the two droids.
"You said you were bringing a woman," he said, half-accusingly, "not a little girl."
Lucy glared at him. "I'm not a little girl!"
Chewbacca hurried up the ramp and roared something that Obi-Wan didn't catch. Solo gave a short laugh.
"Lucky you paid extra, old man," he told Obi-Wan, his voice heavy with contempt. "Well, we're a little rushed, so if you'll hurry aboard we'll get out of here."
Lucy hesitated, then hurried up the ramp, prodded by Solo's hand at the small of her back. Obi-Wan and the droids trailed after her, climbing inside the ship just in time to miss a volley of shots. After a minute, Solo dashed inside, and the overhead entry slammed shut.
"Chewie, get us out of here!" he shouted. Obi-Wan, Lucy, and Threepio strapped themselves into the passengers' seats as the ship began to shake.
"Oh my," Threepio said faintly. "I'd forgotten how much I hate space travel."
Chapter Five
The Falcon sailed into space, several Imperial cruisers in hot pursuit. Obi-Wan, who had briefly felt some small optimism, sighed.
"Would it be possible to clean ourselves? I'm afraid it's been a rather trying day."
One of the Star Destroyers fired at them, Solo barely evading the blast. Chewbacca shouted directions, and Obi-Wan led Lucy down the hall.
"Do you understand him?" she asked. "I mean, the . . . uh . . ."
"Yes," said Obi-Wan. "I can't speak the Wookiee tongue - no human can, any more than they can speak Basic - but long ago, I found myself in a position to learn their language. It's a skill that can never be wasted." He nodded at the fourth doorway. "There should be enough water to wash yourself in there."
Her eyes widened. "Water?"
By sheer force of will, Obi-Wan managed to keep his mind in the present. "Water is not quite the commodity for Captain Solo that it has been for you, Lucy."
"Oh . . ."
Several minutes later, she emerged, her face pale and her hands red. Obi-Wan opted not to comment on it and simply took his turn, then retraced their steps. His hand was on the door when he stopped in his tracks.
"What is it?"
"I think it would be best," Obi-Wan said carefully, "if I were your uncle."
"What?"
He gave her a level glance. "Captain Solo, I suspect, is under a certain misapprehension about the connection between us."
Lucy blinked. "He thinks that we're - oh!" She looked horrified, then resentful. "All right, Ben. Uncle Ben."
They squeezed into the cramped cockpit, staring out the viewscreen at the vastness of space, and the enormous Imperial ships.
"Stay sharp!" Solo snapped at his companion. "There are two more coming in - they're going to try to cut us off."
Lucy gasped, then narrowed her eyes at him. "Why don't you outrun them? I thought you said this thing was fast!"
He glowered at her. "Watch your mouth, little girl, or you're going to find yourself floating home. We'll be safe enough once we make the jump to hyperspace. Besides, I know a few maneuvers. We'll lose them!"
An explosion flashed past the window. Threepio gave something very like a whimper. Only Anakin, Obi-Wan thought, would create a droid with such a ridiculously organic personality.
"Here's where the fun begins," Solo said with a short laugh.
Obi-Wan winced. "How long before you can make the jump to light-speed?"
"It'll take a few moments to get the coordinates from the navicomputer."
A volley of lasers struck the ship, which shuddered violently. Lucy stumbled.
"Are you kidding?" she cried. "At the rate they're gaining - "
"Travelling through hyperspace isn't like dusting crops, girl!" snarled Solo. "Without precise calculations we could fly right through a star or bounce too close to a supernova and that'd end your trip real quick, wouldn't it?"
She subsided into sullen silence, locking her hands behind her back and staring straight ahead. The Imperial ships continued to fire on the Falcon. A light on the navicomputer flashed red.
"What's that flashing?" Lucy asked, impulsively reaching toward it. Solo slapped her hand away.
"We're losing our deflector shield," he said shortly, and jerked his head at the passenger seats. "Go strap yourself in. I'm going to make the jump to light speed."
They obeyed, Obi-Wan and Threepio with rather less reluctance than Lucy. She glared at the back of the captain's head and Artoo gave a beep of solidarity.
"Don't worry, Artoo," she whispered. "If this trash heap holds together, I'll get you cleaned and oiled in no time. Everything's going to be fine."
With a groan from strained machinery, the ship lurched into hyperspace.
Obi-Wan's heart clenched in his chest, Lucy's head snapped back, Artoo crashed into the wall and Threepio kept up a steady stream of complaints, but rather to his surprise, no new catastrophe befell them.
Within a few minutes, the ship had steadied. Lucy unbuckled her belt and rushed over to Artoo's side, kneeling down and shoving him upright. The little astrodroid whistled, then wobbled closer to her, beeping.
Lucy smiled down at him.
"I need to oil my droids," she announced.
Solo gave an exasperated sigh. "Chewie, deal with the girl, will you? The old man's about all I can handle."
"I'm right here." She crossed her arms, scowling. "And we have names, you know."
"Yeah? What are they?"
She deflated a little. "This is Ben Kenobi, and I'm Lucy. Lucy Skywalker."
Obi-Wan saw the man's hand jerk in surprise, and his amusement at the interchange faded. Solo was young, but not that young; he couldn't be much under thirty. He'd have been what, twelve, when the wars ended? Plenty old enough to remember them.
Chewbacca clambered to his feet and gestured at the door, but Lucy seemed too busy glowering at Solo to notice. Obi-Wan suppressed a smile.
Solo didn't bother. "Those droids going to oil themselves?"
Chewbacca advised her to ignore him. Lucy, Obi-Wan felt certain, didn't understand a word he'd said, but some things clearly transcended language: she tossed her hair, collected her droids, and stalked out the door.
Solo turned in his chair and leaned back, letting his hands rest on his head. Something that a less observant man might have called a smile tugged at his mouth.
"You going to tell me she's your granddaughter?" he said.
"My niece," Obi-Wan said smoothly.
Anakin had been his brother. Lucy was his niece, from a certain point of view. But if he thought that would settle the smuggler's doubts, he was wrong. Solo gave him a skeptical look.
"Your niece. Right."
For a moment, they sat in silence. Obi-Wan had no intention of inventing an elaborate story to appease this boy, and Solo seemed occupied with his own thoughts. He didn't imagine the respite would last long.
"So." Solo cast him a swift, sharp glance. He was young, Obi-Wan reminded himself, but not stupid. And apparently whatever principles he might have once possessed hadn't been entirely eradicated; he might make himself difficult. "Skywalker and Kenobi, huh?"
Obi-Wan contented himself with a nod, and Solo swung back to the viewscreen, staring at the black of hyperspace.
"I don't know what the hell you're up to, old man," he said finally. "You've done more than drag off some idiot teenage girl. Well, I don't care. But it better not get me killed, all right?"
"Of course." Obi-Wan rose to his feet. "Now, if you don't mind, I think I should go see how Lucy is holding up."
"Sure."
He was at the door when the smuggler called after him, "Hey, one more thing."
"Yes?"
"Pick better names. You want you and your … niece to survive a year in the Empire, you'll need something a three-year-old couldn't see through."
Lucy knelt in front of Artoo, scrubbing at the layers of sand and grime.
"I nearly had you clean last night," she told him, "before you want haring off into the desert."
Artoo's beep seemed half-apologetic.
"I understand now. Really, I do. You had to get that girl's message to Ben. It's just - " She dropped the rag and leaned forward, her hands pressing against the floor. She thought she could still smell something sweet and sickly in the air.
Artoo gave a compassionate whistle. Lucy just managed to smile at him, blinking her eyes clear.
"Thanks. You know, it's strange - " she went back to oiling his wheels - "but after everything, I still don't know who she is. I don't know anything about her at all, even though she's changed my entire life."
Threepio's eyes glinted in her direction. "You mean the princess, ma'am?"
"So you do know who she is!" Lucy cried.
She was a princess. Of course she was - it really was just like a story. Not a nice story, obviously - the kind she'd overheard when she was little, that sent her scurrying behind her aunt's skirts or hiding her head under a pillow. Yet somehow, as soon as she thought of the girl in the hologram, everything else seemed to fade away, as if . . . she didn't know what. But it felt important.
"Well, I - "
"It's all right," Lucy assured him. "You probably have to keep important secrets all the time."
"I'm not sure I'd say that, ma'am."
"R2-D2 would, though!" she said, laughing. "Wouldn't you, Artoo?"
He beeped.
"Well, can you tell me who she is now? You've fulfilled your mission, haven't you? And you know I'm trustworthy."
"I didn't know about the mission," said Threepio, sounding alarmed. "Believe me, I didn't! If I'd had any idea - well! Things would have gone very differently, I assure you."
Artoo gave a derisive whistle, then rocked back and forth.
"I'll find out eventually, anyway, since we're taking you to her father," Lucy said, and grinned. "I just want to know now."
After a high, hysterical screech, the astrodroid settled into a series of thoughtful whirrs. Then he seemed to cheer up, and projected a familiar white-clad figure.
"Artoo, I've already - " Lucy stopped. The belt clasped around the princess' waist was gold, not silver; her gown, though white and cowled, had fuller, stiffer skirts and a square neck. It was a different message.
After a burst of static, the princess came to holographic life, straightening and pushing her hood off her shoulders. Now Lucy could see that her cheeks were rounder; her frame seemed a little slighter, too, and she wore her dark hair in long, elaborate, impractical curls.
"I am Princess Leia of Alderaan," she said tonelessly. "On behalf of my father, Viceroy Organa, I am obliged to inform you that whatever tax you choose to place on - " she glanced to the side - "laser missiles are of no interest to us whatsoever, as Alderaan has no weapons. House Organa, moreover, is wholly loyal to the Emperor. We suggest you take your seditious plans elsewhere."
She looked positively martyred. Lucy giggled.
"Princess Leia," she repeated.
Leia. It sounded - right. "Thanks, Artoo."
He beeped and extended a rusty data probe. Lucy had just begun to clean it when the door opened and Obi-Wan entered.
"Hello, Lucy," he said, and glanced around in some confusion. "Ah, I thought I heard Chewbacca in here."
"No - he went to do . . . something. I didn't quite follow. Oh! You probably just heard Leia."
"Leia!"
His eyes fell on the hologram.
"Artoo," he said, "you - you should be more careful of old data. It would be unfortunate if you were to lose anything crucial."
Artoo's beep might have been penitent. Lucy rather thought not.
"I came, however, to see if you were nearly finished, Lucy. We'll be in hyperspace for awhile, so it'll be an excellent time to begin your training."
"Oh!" Lucy looked down at the droid. "Well, Threepio can manage himself - whatever our great captain might think - but I'm only half-done with Artoo, and I did promise. How long is awhile?"
"Probably something in the vicinity of two weeks, for us," Obi-Wan replied. "I think I can spare a few minutes for Artoo to finish his bath."
A quarter of an hour later, Artoo wheeled away with a string of happy beeps, Lucy went off to wash her hands again, and then ran back.
"I'm ready," she announced.
Obi-Wan, who had apparently been lost in contemplation, lifted his eyes to meet hers, his gaze steady and somehow disconcerting.
"The Force," he said, "is constantly with us: with everything, to some degree or another. That degree is great enough, with some of us, that we can learn to sense its presence and channel its power."
"The Jedi, right?"
He inclined his head. "Among others, yes. The Jedi are - were - warriors sworn to the Force, who vowed to use its powers to guard truth and justice wherever we may. However, many of those sensitive to the Force have used its powers for other, less noble purposes."
Lucy couldn't imagine why anyone would choose not to be a Jedi. Her brows drew together. "Like who?" she asked.
"Palpatine, for one."
It took her a moment to place the name. "The Emperor! He has . . ." Lucy gestured vaguely. "Powers?"
"Oh, yes. The Force is very strong with him - stronger than with almost anyone who has ever lived."
"Stronger than Father?"
"No," said Obi-Wan, "not - nobody was, except Vader. That's why, when Palpatine came to power, he had a particular interest in your father. Every Jedi came under order of execution, as each of us was a threat to him, but - Anakin most of all. To this day, any Force-sensitive found in the galaxy is immediately put to death."
Lucy had always dutifully hated the Empire. But not like this. Even when Obi-Wan told her of her father's murder, she'd blamed the evil traitor who had killed him, not the Empire at large. But it was the Empire's fault.
She remembered, with a sharp clarity, the first time she'd suddenly known something. It wasn't important - Beru had lost a spoon, or a spool of thread, or something like that. Lucy didn't remember; she'd only been five or six years old. But she remembered telling her aunt where it was. She hadn't seen it; she just knew. She didn't even think anything of it until she got a sharp scolding from Beru, and then a sharper one from Owen. Lucy couldn't understand why they were so angry with her, but she learned not to speak when those inexplicable insights came to her.
Good instincts and good memory, she'd always told herself, but it wasn't. Even she knew that, deep down. And now she knew that they hadn't been angry at all - they'd been afraid.
Lucy swallowed. "My uncle and aunt always kept me home when there were vaccinations at my school," she said. "I overheard him saying it was too dangerous. Was that . . .?"
"Yes. There's no way to directly measure Force-sensitivity, of course, and few know the signs any more, but certain correlations with blood levels are high enough that it's relatively easy to test. If the Empire had known of your existence, you would have been killed before you could talk - or worse."
She didn't want to know what was worse.
"What can he do?"
Obi-Wan reached out his hand, and her father's lightsaber flew from her side to his fingers. Lucy jumped.
"That, I'm afraid, is the least of his abilities," Obi-Wan told her. "To list every possible use of the Force would take several years that we do not have. Suffice it to say that nothing is impossible."
He tossed the lightsaber back at her, and she snatched it out of the air before she knew what had happened, her fingers tightening convulsively around the hilt. It was foolish, she knew, but she'd felt almost naked without it.
"If he's that powerful," she said slowly, "how can the Rebellion even hope to defeat him? How can anyone?"
Obi-Wan only looked at her.
Lucy didn't let herself think through his meaning. She thought, instead, of how there ought to be hundreds if not thousands of Jedi throughout the galaxy. It was at times like this that people most needed heroes. Instead, there was the Emperor, not a Jedi at all, just a man twisting his gifts into a tool of tyranny; Darth Vader, who was a Jedi and therefore still worse; and Obi-Wan, who himself insisted that he was getting old and weak. The others were killed before they could do anything at all.
Yet the Force kept granting its powers, to the wicked and doomed alike. And by some chance, she had survived.
Not chance, she thought, remembering Owen and Beru's bodies.
She'd realized, then, that she was the last Skywalker. If anybody was to avenge the wreck of her family, it would have to be her. Now she knew it was bigger than that. She would be the last Jedi. She'd have to look beyond the concerns of her own family, to the entire galaxy.
Lucy felt very small and very weak. She looked down at her hands, at the blue veins running down her wrists. That was her father's blood flowing under her skin, her father's power. She had a duty to him, to use it as he would have wanted, and to the universe, to repay the gift. Her mouth firmed and she lifted her eyes to Obi-Wan's.
"How do I start?"