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If life was a game of luck, Fate was the dealer. She dealt you a hand at birth, and you played with what you got. Sometimes you got ahead, usually you fell behind, and the house always won in the end. Still, every now and then, your hand inexplicably altered, almost as if someone swapped cards with you when you weren't looking.
Many years later, Anakin Skywalker could still remember the first day his cards had changed.
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"Well, young one, have you decided? Will you join me to become a Jedi?"
Anakin hesitated. He feared what he was about to say would deeply hurt a man he'd much rather not. But it couldn't be helped.
He looked at his sand-dusted foot coverings, then back into the kindly blue eyes of the man who knelt before him. "I've decided, Master Qui-Gon. I… I won't go with you. I can't. Not without my mom. She needs me."
A troubled expression passed over Qui-Gon's face. "Anakin," he said carefully, "I greatly admire your concern for those who love you. I admire your willingness to make sacrifices for them. And as for your mother…" He sighed and looked away. "Anakin, I would give anything to free her. But it is simply not in my power."
Anakin looked at his foot coverings again, suddenly uncomfortable. "I know, Master Qui-Gon," he said, nodding slowly. "I understand. You have to follow the Jedi rules."
The troubled expression on Qui-Gon's face deepened into a frown. "Yes," he said quietly. "I must follow the Jedi way. I may not betray my mandate." His voice held calm resignation, but when Anakin checked, his face looked like he had just tasted something bitter.
Anakin looked up anxiously. "Please, Master Qui-Gon, don't be mad at me. I remember what you told me—about my 'destiny'." He looked down again. "I'm sorry that I'll never be a Jedi."
Qui-Gon Jinn looked him over for a long while. "Peace, Anakin," he said at last. "It is your life. You must choose your path through it; it is your right. But whatever your choice, I am convinced that a bright future awaits you, far beyond the Tatooine suns, and that you will take your proper place in the galaxy in the end. And as for 'never' becoming a Jedi"—here the older man's regal features crooked into a grin—"I wouldn't be so dire, young one. 'Never' is quite a long time. If it is the will of the Force, you will become a Jedi, however long it takes." He paused, and the grin faded. "And if it is the will of the Force… we shall see one another again." He stood up. "But now I must leave you."
Anakin's lower lip quavered. "I hate goodbyes."
"All life is ending and beginning again, young one." Smiling, Qui-Gon tucked his long arms into the folds of his tunic. "But as I am of a similar feeling, let us simply say, 'May the Force be with you.'"
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From the small opening in the outer wall of her living quarters, Shmi Skywalker had observed the entire proceedings. Her heart swelled as she watched the tall, stately Jedi conversing with her little boy as though with an equal, then gave a sudden lurch at the sight of Anakin moving away from him, first with slow steps, and then breaking into an all-out run. The interview had ended, and Shmi knew Anakin would be off as quickly as possible to get away from any unwelcome feelings of sadness or loss. Though knowing he would return, she hated to see him leave her even for a moment.
A slight tap at the portal caught her attention. She moved to open it, smoothing her hair.
"Master Qui-Gon," she said warmly. "Do come in, please."
"Thank you." He ducked beneath the low threshold to enter.
Shmi led the way to the dining area, gesturing to a chair which was solid, if roughly made. "Will you sit?"
Qui-Gon Jinn eased into the seat, crossing his booted legs.
"Do you take tea?"
"Please."
Shmi reached for a small container of dried olus leaves and made for the kitchen. When crumpled in liquid, the leaves produced a flavorful beverage smelling of flowers. They also had the pleasing effect of steaming in cold water, which made them a refreshing favorite on a planet where no one would think of drinking anything hot until long after the suns were down. In a few moments, she returned with a large mug for Qui-Gon and a small cup for herself. Carefully, she handed the Jedi his drink, then sat across from him and took up her own. Several minutes ticked off in companionable silence.
After a time, Qui-Gon put down his mug. "Anakin has given me his answer. He will remain on Tatooine for the present. We have said our farewells."
"He is gone, then?"
"Yes. He is off to play with his young friend Kitster."
"Now he is free, he may play as much as he likes." But a wistful expression passed over Shmi's face.
Qui-Gon looked at her carefully. "Are you pleased with his decision?"
"I am happy to keep him with me," Shmi admitted. "But I had rather he went with you to become a Jedi. It's what he's always wanted."
"Anakin must make his own choices," Qui-Gon said simply. "That is the meaning of freedom."
"But I am afraid he has missed his only chance. He may repent of it later."
Qui-Gon took another sip of the cool, fragrant tea. "Anakin doesn't seem the sort to waste time on regret. And the Force appears to indicate that his life will be filled with many such opportunities."
Shmi took this in quietly.
"However, his decision does raise a new possibility," Qui-Gon continued. "Watto intimated he felt the boy was worth more than his mother. I will never grasp this concept of placing monetary value on sentient lives, but perhaps it can be used to your advantage."
"What do you suggest?"
"Watto may be persuaded to release you instead, and provide a hefty sum to make up what he sees as the balance. You could then give your son a more comfortable home, and perhaps an education, while he waits for his circumstances to further improve."
Shmi shook her head firmly. "I want Anakin to take his freedom now, whatever his circumstances in it. He does not have the heart for servitude that I have learned. He will never accept a slave's life quietly. In time, it will destroy him." Rising, Shmi collected the empty cup and mug, took them back into the small kitchen, and began wiping them clean with a tattered cloth. "It's better this way. This way, he has an opportunity for a better life now."
Qui-Gon regarded her quietly. "And you, Shmi? What of your life?"
She paused for a moment, as if the question were a new one. "I am content," she said at last, turning to meet the keen gaze. "And Anakin is a clever boy. He will find a way to free me someday. He has said so many times."
Qui-Gon rose slowly from his seat. "I am moved by the purity of your spirit and the strength of your will. You speak soft, sure words you are certain must be true. Anakin is favored to have you."
Shmi smiled. "I am a mother, Qui-Gon Jinn. That is all."
"No," he replied calmly. "You are far more. In another life..." Grasping her by the shoulder, he peered into her face with such intensity, she was certain he could see to the depths of her soul. Her throat clenched down an unexpected sob. With warmth filling her eyes, she pressed his palm to her lips, then abruptly turned away so he wouldn't see the tears fall.
"Farewell, Master Jedi."
She sensed him standing behind her for several moments, and then heard the measured tread of his boots taking him out of her home, out of her life. The tears were falling in earnest now. Taking up another frayed cloth, she began scrubbing her cooking panel furiously, only to pause when she heard the boots pause. There was a low thunk, another pause, and then the muffled scrapes of nerf leather digging into sand, growing fainter each instant. A few seconds more, and all Shmi could hear was the ordinary milling about of passersby. Still, she remained bent at the cooking panel for a long while, feeling the day grow cooler as evening approached. It was the thought of evening that brought her back to herself.
I must prepare our meal. Anakin will be home soon.
Sighing, she turned around, intending to arrange the table setting at once. But an unfamiliar object on the platform near the entryway stopped her in her tracks. Shmi was still examining it with wonder when a distant voice piped a greeting. Within moments, Anakin raced into the tiny home with sand trailing from his foot coverings, bringing the smells of the brisk evening in with him. Smiling broadly, Shmi shook her head. Greeting her son at day's end was something like welcoming a small tempest: everything was noise and excitement, everything was everywhere, and everywhere was sand.
"...and then I told Kitster about how now Watto can never, ever hit me any more, or even yell, no matter how mad he gets, ever again, because now I get to be free, and Kitster thinks it's really—what's that, Mom?"
"Oh, Ani," Shmi said happily. "Look at what Master Jedi Qui-Gon has left for you. Isn't it wonderful?" She held out the gift, and Anakin took it carefully into his hands.
"It's a Coruscanti datapad, just like the Jedi use." Shmi crouched down to look her son in the eye. "Now you can learn all about different planets and their histories, and you can even learn languages and sciences. It will teach you, Anakin. It will teach you everything you wish to know."
Anakin eyed it nervously. "Will you help me learn?"
"Of course, my darling."
Anakin looked up at her solemnly. "I'll never forget him, Mom."
Resisting the urge to pull her son into a tight embrace—Anakin did not relish hugs—Shmi contented herself with fondly smoothing the hair from his sticky forehead. "Nor he you, my love," she said softly, giving the boy a gentle nudge toward the 'fresher. "Nor he you."
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Twelve years had passed since that bittersweet day, and Anakin hadn't looked back. But though life had long since taught him to be alert, to pay attention even when nothing seemed amiss, he was still unprepared for the vision about to enter his world, altering it forever.
For the rest of his life he would ask himself how he hadn't seen it coming.
To the end of his days he would wonder just when Fate swapped his deuce for a Queen.
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