Disclaimer: Star Wars does not belong to me, nor do any of the people, situations or places portrayed in it.
Part 1: To Differentiate
Prologue: A Setting Sun
There comes a time in every man's life when the sun must set. The hustle and bustle of everyday situations becomes obsolete in comparison to that one act. It is the last chapter, the closing down, the final moments. Some let it come in peace, accept it for what it is, rejoice in what it offers, and move on. Others feel they deserve more time, often they are wrong, but sometimes, just very occasionally, they are right.
This is the truth about one of the few who was right. As he stood on the fiery planet and spoke his last, in the presence of his friend, his enemy, his brother, and his vanquisher he could not comprehend what difference his life would have made had it not ended. It was not his choice and if it had been the lives of many others, not just his, may have been altered, but it was not to be, he was to die.
Indeed that is what happened that one night, a long time ago and in a galaxy far far away. Of the two, who had gone to that place, on that fateful occasion, one was injured and left a mechanical monster and one was killed. Some say it was not always this way, some say it could have gone differently, but it did not, and this is the tale of the consequences. This is the tale of the ancient and the new and the place somewhere in-between. This is the story of a family and how they try to get home.
"Hello?" Owen Lars asked cautiously as he poked his head out of the shadowed entrance of his home. The dust was blowing up all around so, for a moment he didn't see the little green elf. Of course once you first noticed the elf, he stuck out quite a lot. Behind his floppy green ears a tiny tangle of grey hair emerged from his otherwise baldhead, which was now experiencing a battering from the Tatooine sand that had been picked up by the wind and was now being thrown around, namely onto the poor creature's head. He seemed troubled, and indeed considering the recent news he had a right to be. Owen tried very hard to be sympathetic, but he was more concerned about the even smaller bundle of cloth clutched in the creatures unsteady grasp. The baby, Owen presumed, the very baby that he and his wife would now be adopting. They had received a call earlier that afternoon.
Beru had been in the kitchen, clearing away the remainder of the lunch table that she and her husband had enjoyed earlier that day, when the com station that they had so reluctantly installed in the main room went off with its characteristic hiss-buzz sound that indicated, as far as she could tell, that it had too much sand clogging up one or another of its speakers. According to the manual that had come with the infernal device it was supposed to play a 'cheerful, jolly tune, meant to inspire the listener to pick up the machine with the greatest pleasure and ease,' or some similar kind of rot that was clearly meant for a fun loving care-free Coruscant consumers, not hard-working, real people, certainly not Outer-Rim farmers.
In fact that noise, and the all too irritating instruction manual got her so worked up that by the time Beru reached the receiver she wouldn't have cared who was calling, her response was as brisk as usual.
"Yes, Lars Farm here, speaking," she all but yelled into the receiver, regretting her harsh tone instantly as she heard the supremely calm reply.
"Hello, this is Bail Organa, Head of the House of Alderean; I take it I am speaking to Beru Lars."
"Yes," came the subdued answer, "have we done something, I wasn't aware that…"
"You are relations of Anakin Skywalker, are you not?" the voice enquired, not pausing for an answer, "I'm afraid I have some… bad news."
Beru emerged from the foyer, stepping forward into the quickly dying light of the second star, which was rapidly disappearing over the distant horizon. For a planet this hot Tatooine got unusually cold after dusk and she couldn't help but shiver in her, usually practical light clothing left her shivering, feeling open and exposed. She approached the creature hesitantly, reaching out her arms, ready to receive the tiny bundle.
"Is this Luke?" she questioned, the boy seemed to angelic to have come from such a troubled, divided past. He was sleeping peacefully, apparently unaware of his increasing volatile future. Beru felt her heart, warming towards the child as the little elf reached up, placing the bundle gently into her welcoming grasp.
"Luke Skywalker, he is," confirmed the creature. "Done, my duty is. Yours now, he is." Seemingly satisfied the creature turned away.
"Wait, you haven't explained," she called out after him, "last time I saw Anakin he was one of your Jedi, what happened to him? His mother… he loved her, you know? I don't think that someone like that would, would, want to destroy the galaxy."
"Changed, things have" the elf murmured, almost silently, seemingly unwilling to divulge any more information, he continued, plodding away from them over the scorching sands.
"They didn't though, did they?" Beru ploughed on regardless, "We… we heard about him, even out here. The Hero with No Fear, that's what we heard. That… that was him, wasn't it? What happened, what did he do?" her tone hardened, "What did you do? He was a good man and what do you do in return, hmm? You abandon his child, at the first chance you get. After all these years, all he's done for you, does one mistake really wipe all that out; does he really not deserve any of your loyalty?"
She felt Owen's hand snake around her shoulder, pulling her away before she made it any worse, but she has too far gone. She remembered Anakin, and even if she hadn't, she knew of his daring exploits, saving the galaxy over and over again. So what if he had 'turned' did some stupid little force thing like that really matter, weren't there more important things to worry about? She felt her anger rising once again,
"If you really cared, if anything that Anakin did meant anything to you anything at all, you'd stay, stay and look after his son." She found herself yelling, not just to be heard, but from pure, unadulterated anger at the totally blasé attitude of the creature. "I mean, what are we supposed to do, if… when his force sense develops. If this new 'Empire' is as bad as you say it is, won't they come after him? We can't protect him, only you can do that. By walking away now," she paused, closed her eyes and took a deep breath, "by walking away now… you're killing him!"
Finally she seemed to have got the message across; the little creature paused, turned again and began to trek back across. His features betrayed not one iota of feeling, but when he got near she could almost sense his remorse, his sorrow. Perhaps she had been a little too harsh on him.
"In to exile, I must go. Change this, I cannot. Give you just one thing, I can." The creature reached down to the narrow belt that snaked its tunic, and removed a silver tube. "My lightsaber, this is. Protect it, you must. When old enough, he is." The elf ran his eyes hesitantly over the bundle, judging, testing for some unknown quality, "Give it to him, you may. Last chance, this is."
The wind howled around the howled around the homestead and the group gathered there. Even as Beru reached out to except the saber, the wind gave one final gust, and the elf disappeared behind a sheet of sand, leaving Beru stood, with a bundle in one hand and the galaxies deadliest weapon in the other. A weapon that was to be left, untouched, for the next 16 years.
Chapter 1: Dead Men
The tunnels under the richest part of Coruscant resembled a maze, though they had often been compared to a spider's web, on just the same way that the man currently stalking them had often been compared to a spider. Darth Vader was a man used to snide comments, though they rarely originated from the same source twice. However, nothing could be further from his mind as he traversed this particular corridor, for this particular reason. Vader was hunting and the fact that his target was unaware did not even begin to detract from his enjoyment of the experience.
He considered the nature of his forth coming appointment. Realistically, he had to be quick; his sources had informed him that the rebels were on the move and if they had the plans to the Death Star… Well it simply wasn't worth thinking about. He needed to be out, bringing them to justice and he was acutely aware that his Star Destroyer was awaiting his arrival, unable to set off without his presence. They would have to wait. He had been looking forward to this for years, now he was here, ready, nothing was going to get in the way. Still, it would not do to take too long, give the Rebels too much of a head start, after all they could be half way to the Outer Ring by now.
No, Vader would not dally over this. He smirked behind the mask. Simple, easy, he wouldn't even know… no, that was too merciful, after all the trouble he'd caused Vader he deserved at least a little bit of a send-off. He would know what was going to happen, but of course by then it would be too late. After all these years, Vader would have finally won.
He came to a smart stop in front of the entrance and was waved through immediately. Employing human guards really did have some advantages. He had no trouble persuading them to let him take the elevator, climbing the 300 stories to the point of this monumental skyscraper, which was still somehow dwarfed by its prestigious neighbours. In an area where name meant everything this buildings anonymous owners had raised many an eyebrow, but not for much longer. The Imperial Bureau for Press Relations had been looking for a new home for a while now. Vader was more than happy to oblige.
The lift drew up suddenly; its only occupant (the alien that had been in the lift when Vader entered having decided that its business was not so urgent after all) stepped out with an unusually graceful edge. The rebels could wait; this was a victory that would be long remembered.
Prince Xizor barely bothered to look up as Vader entered the meeting room. With any luck, given a month or two Vader wouldn't be anything more than a pile of ashes. The plotting and counter-plotting, which would seem, to any outside observer more than a little extreme, was in reality reaching its climax. So, Xizor was by no means startled at Vader's sudden entry. No doubt the man had just received the news of Xixor's latest victory and was coming here with so ill though out and certainly impossible threat. Without the Emperor's permission Vader was just as powerless as a common Stromtrooper, and Xizor had no time for Stromtroopers.
His latest scheme he considered triumphantly, as he continued to act like he was reading the data pad in front of him, had obviously come into fruition, otherwise Vader would not be here.
It had been so easy, so simple, to get the fleet admiral to sign the forms, (and really it was Vader's fault, if these people weren't so overworked they might actually bother to read what their secretaries put in front of them, rather than just adding their name on the dotted line) before accidently dropping them just as one of the Emperor's advisors walked past and forgetting (quite by chance) to pick that particular incriminating piece of evidence up again. What could he say, oops?
It was only one sheet of paper; Xixor knew it would take a lot more than that to stand against the years of dedicated service that Vader had given the Empire, but even so, this was a piece of paper, signed by Vader's chief fleet admiral no less, claiming that Vader had ordered all military personal to swear a new oath of loyalty to him, above the one they swore to the Emperor. The Emperor was known to despise treason above all things and that's exactly what the document suggested, treason, in the most obvious of forms.
In retrospect one might consider that it took Xizor quite a while to realise that Vader had come here for one, sinister purpose only, but to be honest, even if he had he would have been powerless to stop it. Xizor could, in Vader's opinion, be the master of however many forms of martial arts as he liked. It was, of course, all insignificant next to the power of the force. However, once the lightsaber blade was at his throat Xizor did seem to grasp what was going on.
"You wouldn't dare Vader," he spat, "your name must be mud, after this. You can levy whatever charges you like against me, no one will believe you! A desperate man, they'll say, not fit for duty." He paused, cleared his throat, frustrated to find himself sweating, to be able to hear his heart speeding up, its normally steady march approaching a sprint as the mask leered at him. "Go, on, kill me then," he forced himself to look Vader in the eye, "you'll be doing me a favour."
"I haven't a clue what you're referring to Xizor," Vader sneered, "and I have no desire to sink to your level by finding out, unless you are talking about this botched plan of yours, to incriminate me?" There was barely a question in his tone. "The Emperor has just been kind enough to inform me of the situation." He bent in closer, "You're getting sloppy Xizor, and you know it. Things like that don't help keep up your public appearance Xizor, in fact you've been falling for quite a while," another pause, this was so unlike the normal, to the point, straight-talking Vader, "but don't worry, I'm sure that I can put an end to that."
The saber pressed in, Xizor squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the pain.
"What…how…why?" he questioned uselessly. There was no point in giving answers to a dead man and Vader knew it. An odd scraping sound came from the mask, now mere centimetres from Xizor's ear. It could have been laughter Xizor considered, well he could hardly complain, he who had stood over so many and laughed at their last request. Just deserves, he thought mournfully, as Vader shoved him back, into the wall, so that they were facing each other.
"You can't win, you know. You could never win." Xizor spat, uncaring now, fully aware that nothing he could say would make any difference and too proud to beg. He would never kneel before this monster, he would rather die. "You'll never get the throne, the Emperor can't really trust you and one day you won't be the one doing the killing!"
Vader said nothing, preferring to tilt his head slightly in consideration.
"If that makes you feel better, believe it for all I care. Your thoughts are no longer relevant." He brought up the saber again, placing the end against Xizor's body. Losing all control Xizor yelled,
"Oh, go to hell!"
"You first," Xizor got the feeling that under that mask Vader was smiling, "I insist." Then everything went black.
"Princess, I know you're scared, we all are, but please, be responsible, Obi-Wan is dead."
"He isn't, he can't be," the white robed figure stared hopeless out of the viewpoint, "we can't have come all this way, for nothing."
"Your highness, please don't tell we came here, on some fool's errand for a man who isn't even there." Tension was clearly running high on both sides. "I could have told you." The tone hardened, "Your father did tell you."
"I know," guilt laced those words, "he told me that Kemobi died in the purges, by Vader's hand." Like we will, was left unspoken. They both knew who commanded the Star Destroyer now bearing down on them. Moaning about wouldn't change anything. "I just… it felt right to come here."
"Here, here!" the elder man exclaimed, "here barely exists, it's the back of beyond in the back of beyond." He gestured vaguely to the viewpoint. "It's Tatooine for star's sake. No one important ever comes here, or from here. Anyone who did would deny it instantly."
"Precisely," countered the Princess, "I bet loads of important people come from planets like this, but they're all too stuck-up to mention it." The captain shook his head,
"That's hardly the point. The point is, why are we here and what exactly are we going to do with this?" He held up an innocent looking Data Stick that Leia knew might hold the fate of the galaxy. Leia took it and vainly tried to conceal it in her elaborate hair-do for which she was awarded a look that told her that if the situation wasn't so dire she might want to consider a career in comedy. She ceased her efforts and took a deep breath,
"Look, you go rally the troops, we need to delay those thugs for as long as possible. I'll deal with this." After her previous attempt she could understand why the Captain didn't look particularly impressed, but after fixing him with her most regal stare he relented and she glanced about for inspiration, steadying herself against the wall as the ship began rock uncontrollably, causing a pair of droids who had been trundling along in the corridor to almost fall.
Stupid Imps, they'd be here any second and she and nothing, no plan or course of action. It had all rested on Kenobi. She berated herself silently. She had placed all her hope in a dead man. Now those in her command were going to suffer, probably die for her foolishness. If anything, anything at all was going to come from this venture she needed an idea right now. Otherwise they were back to square 1. She glanced back at those droids. The little R2 unit was looking her way; maybe this was her chance…
Blaster fire sounded from some other part of the ship. She didn't have a choice. Stealing herself she marched up to the droid, reached up to check her hood was in place and then bent down to the record button.
"Dear kind Sir or Madam," she began, "I know you have no reason to believe me or help me, but let me assure you, the fate of many beings rests in your hands…"