Title: Beginnings
Summary: Was it destiny?
A/N: My third attempt at uploading this. :p Please leave feedback!
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Though mostly empty, rarely is Tatooine silent, even in those empty reaches. Sand, thrown by the strong, arid and hot winds, would scatter across stretches of sun-bleached rock, and the combined noise of a million tiny particles built into a noise – a noise that often sounded like nothing more than a quiet whisper, incomprehensible but never ceasing.
Biggs had often teased Luke that it was the whispers of the dead. Seven year-old Luke Skywalker, future fighter pilot and hero – he would be, he was certain – did not believe in such silly stories, of course. But he always shivered anyway, and hit his older friend's arm, telling him to stop. Biggs would merely grin.
It was a quiet night – though not silent – that Luke woke without knowing why. Shivering in the desert air, often cold so late at night in the way of deserts, Luke pulled on his scuffed boots, found used at the market. His sandy colored nightclothes were fairly heavy, so Luke judged he wouldn't get too cold, though his Aunt Beru would have disagreed with such an idea.
Moved by some unknown force to walk, to go somewhere, anywhere, Luke crept past Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru's bedroom, knowing they would be angry if they found him awake and moving at this time of night, especially with such a flimsy excuse. His boots scuffled quietly against the hard floor of the kitchen, and then he was up the stairs and outside.
Outside there was little but featureless desert, though he knew there were canyons in the far distance. From time to time, a clunky looking spire would mar the horizon, one of Uncle Owen's moisture machines.
The wind blew, and he could almost hear the soft whispers, louder this night than they had ever been.
Luke folded his arms and scrunched his face, looking down for a moment with his sandy hair falling into his eyes to keep warmer.
Metal. The sharp tang of it pierced the air strongly, while the broken cries of the little girl's parents faded into nothing. It was night, and dark. She was never out so late. Her parents would be mad if they found her outside like this. She sniffled, frightened tears rolling down baby-soft cheeks. Tentatively, wrapping her arms around herself, she called out. "Mommy?"
Luke jerked his head back with such force his small legs couldn't react quickly enough, and he fell on his bottom as faint, ghostly images flashed across his vision, disappearing quickly into the shades of night. The whispers were louder now, almost audible. He could almost hear them; he could almost hear the dead!
The vegetation was wet beneath the little girl's feet. She was cold. She cried again, a little whimper, and looked up. A horrible creature was mere feet away from her. It was all shiny white, with black on the joints, and it was carrying something that looked long and heavy in its arms. And it was looking at her.
A man walked up to the little girl, nothing of compassion his eyes, just cold evaluation. "This is the one that tested high?"
"Yes, sir," the creature said.
"Take her, then," the man in uniform replied, turning away, his job done. The little girl began to cry again. She wanted her mommy and daddy. Her daddy could protect her from anyone, he had always promised he would.
The creature grabbed her by the waist and picked her up as she struggled in vain against the steel grip. And she cried.
Luke could hear the voices now. Little girl, they said, our little girl. He could tell they were grieved, but those were the only words that he could understand. The rest, angry and frightened, were mutters, sharp and jagged, soft and melodic.
Take care of our little girl.
Breathing hard, Luke scrambled away a meter. But not any farther. He could feel that he wasn't in any danger, just like the time he had found Uncle Owen's tool, he just knew it. The energy and knowledge seemed to sing within him, and he looked up at the sky, wanting to be calmed by those little points of light, focusing on them rather than the dim flashes across his mind's eye of events taking place far away. The voices were becoming softer now. Quieter every moment, regretful.
Sad.
There were more of the creatures. They were bringing her aboard a ship, not a big one like the ones Daddy had sometimes pointed out from the farm that picked up food, but a little one. Her cries were fading in hiccups and sniffles.
The creature wouldn't let go of her. She twisted in its arms, looking behind her, just in time to see the door of the ship shut, the ramp turning into a part of the bulkhead. Her little mouth opened in shock as the metal totally surrounded her.
She couldn't smell home at all anymore. Just that sharp tang of metal.
Luke gasped for air, feeling a sudden sense of loss and confusion, knowing that the little girl was upset and harmonizing with that emotion. Hot tears slid down his cheeks, and his small hands fisted the dirt. Still on the ground, he ignored the cold, and looked up at the stars.
They twinkled warmly. Stars had always seemed welcoming to him, every flicker a hello. They spread across the sky in swathe, like brightly colored sand strewn across a velvety surface. And every time he looked at those stars, he knew that that was where he was supposed to be.
The stars twinkled on.
The little girl looked around the ship, the ability to make noise seeming to have left her. Tears still slid down her cheeks. She looked away from the metal, anything to get away from the metal.
To see the stars. They glared at her coldly, each bright spot unmoving. She blinked at them, and they seemed to shimmer for a moment as more tears fell. She ignored her dim reflection, the faintly visible emerald eyes and soft red-gold hair.
The stars didn't twinkle as she remembered.
And she turned away.
The vision, mere flashes within the young boy's mind, ceased. "Luke! Luke, what are you doing?" came the concerned voice of Aunt Beru. Still a fairly young woman, she ran out in her nightclothes quickly and agilely, with quickly pulled on boots, her short hair falling into her face. She knelt beside Luke, her light blue eyes meeting his.
Luke sniffled, knowing something had gone horribly wrong, but that he couldn't say what, and opened his arms. The little girl – he had to help her. He promised himself they would. Scary as the voices had been, they had only wanted to protect their little girl. And isn't that what heroes did? Protected people? He sniffled again, frightened and confused.
Beru's angry face softened at the tears on Luke's face, and she wiped them away as she pulled him into a tight embrace.
"Is he all right?" a gruffer voice asked. Uncle Owen stood beside her, crouching down as he looked at how tightly the ever-independent Luke held his aunt.
Beru looked at her husband, and could only give a slight shrug and a helpless look. She quickly turned her attention back to Luke. "Let's go inside, okay?"
Luke nodded into her shoulder, sniffling still.
As Beru walked him inside, holding his hand, he heard Owen speak – not angrily, but in a tone of sadness and confusion. "Such a strange child."
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It wasn't the first time Luke Skywalker had been a criminal's ship, but it was one of the more interesting times. Not only was something very oddly wrong, someone named Mara Jade had mysteriously found him, stranded in the middle of nowhere – and he had no idea how they had managed to find him. And now here he was talking to Talon Karrde on the way to the bridge. And as Luke entered . . .
Luke had rarely seen such vicious hate, and even more rarely directed at him, with such utter loathing usually being reserved for the Empire. But that she hated him bitterly was clear enough. Her brightly green eyes shone with it, and her body posture showed not only a readiness to attack, but a willingness. And her hatred seemed personal – as if he had done something to her, as if he had failed somehow, it seemed to his confused mind, a memory buried and unacknowledged making its presence known in instinct. But regardless of her abhorrence of him, his eyes were drawn to her, with a strange fascination.
Karrde spoke to him, but he hardly heard it, giving it only enough thought to reply.
"I've never met her before."
The End.