Many lightyears away…
It was with great reluctance that the aide approached the sealed door. The general had been very stern—sterner than usual, that was to say—about not wanting to be interrupted. And the aide knew perfectly well why. When the leaders of the fledgling rebel movements took the risk of gathering and trying to hash out some kind of mutual alliance, they wanted to get that hashing over with as quickly as possible, and the more interruptions they had to deal with, the longer they would risk drawing Imperial attention.
But the aide was fairly sure that this message qualified as important. It was directed for one of the chief rebel leaders, and had already been judged significant enough to be forwarded from its original destination by that leader's rebel cell. If it was urgent enough to take that kind of risk, the lady would certainly want to know about it. So, summoning up his courage, the aide pressed stalwartly on the buzzer key, and stepped quickly in when the door opened.
"My lady," he said before the general could start scolding, "there's been a message forwarded to you from home."
On the far side of the conference table, a slender brunette stood smoothly, a hint of concern noticeable in her eyes. "Excuse me for a moment, Bail," she said to the man at the head of the conference table. She seemed to flow around table to the aide's side, her soft gray robes whispering against the floor.
The aide, between his delight at avoiding a reprimand from the general and his overwhelming admiration for the lady following him, could hardly keep his head straight as he guided her to the communications suite. "You'll just need to give your code, my lady," he said; then, respectful and reluctant, he withdrew and left her to view whatever message had been sent.
…
The woman smiled brightly at the aide as he departed, but her smile evaporated as quickly as the door whisked shut. She sat grimly in the chair, and for a moment remained there silently. Then with a deep breath, she opened her eyes and firmly keyed her code into the com unit. The projector lit, and just as quickly she choked out a command for it to pause. Her heart clenched in a sudden, impossible agony. She had not expected good news—but this…
No…oh, please no…
It was several painful minutes before she could dredge up courage to continue watching. But at last, she managed to discover some core of strength in her spirit—a strength drawn on far too many times already, but perhaps there was still enough for this…
The man, the only too familiar man displayed in tri-dimension in front her gave a reserved nod and a small smile. "Allow me to allay your fears," he said, sounding a little older than she remembered. "He's just fine."
The woman had to pause the recording again and take in a wavering breath, blink back tears, stop the fluttering of her nerves. It took her some time to release her previous dread and accept the newfound relief, so powerful were both emotions. When she was again composed, she resumed the message.
The smile that had been frozen on the man's face quickly made a stage exit. "I'm afraid that this is no longer a suitable arrangement," he continued. "There was an attack from the natives. I'm sorry…" The man swallowed, blinked, looked away for a moment. "I was not fast enough to save your in-laws."
The woman's hand rose to cover her mouth, tears flooding into her eyes.
"They managed to successfully hide him, and he was unharmed," the man moved onward, clearly fighting back emotion himself. "He's here with me now. I've done my best but he's still quite shaken. I think it would be advisable for you to come as quickly as is safely possible. We'll be waiting." The man scrounged up one last smile for her. "I look forward to seeing you again, and I'm sure he does as well."
The projector shut down with a whir. The woman leaned back weakly in the seat, still trying to absorb a bewildering concoction of relief, sorrow, adrenaline, and elation. It was a few moments before she felt recovered enough to get up and return to the conference room. Ignoring the glances of the other gathered leaders, she moved swiftly to the powerfully built, dark-complexioned man at the head of the table and motioned him aside.
"Bail, it was from Tatooine," she murmured softly in his ear. He started.
"Is everything—"
"It'll be fine, but I need to leave," she said. "I'm sorry. You'll have to carry on without me for a few days."
"Don't apologize," he returned forcefully. "You, of all people, have nothing to apologize for. I'll stand in for you myself. Is there anything you need?"
"No, the ship is stocked. Thank you, Bail."
He took her hand earnestly and looked her square in the eye. "Thank you," he said, nodding. She shook his hand as firmly as she could, nodded to the rest of the table, and all but ran to the hangar, where a tidy gray yacht awaited her. In a few minutes, with an ease she had not possessed six years ago, she had guided the small ship smoothly into hyperspace.
It was a long flight to the Tatooine system—achingly, tortuously long. It seemed almost infinite, in fact. So long resigned to the truth that she must never go to that system again, it seemed impossible that it could now be happening.
Her emotions twisted her mercilessly for the entire voyage; she could not make out what she felt about returning to Tatooine, or even whether she believed that she was actually doing it. She switched on the droids for a short time, hoping some conversation would calm her. It did not, and she deactivated them once more. By the last minutes of the journey she was sitting nervously in the cockpit, twisting in her fingers the simple silver chain of the necklace she had not taken off once for nine years now, and watching the chrono obsessively as it counted off the remaining seconds…
The alarm sang at last, and with a trembling hand the woman brought the yacht out of hyperspace. Ahead of her swelled Tatooine. She was strangely shocked that after all that happened since her last visit, the planet did not look even marginally different. It should have been different. All that bright goldenness should have turned to black, black sand. That this world of all worlds should be the one to escape the shadows…
The woman shook herself from her thoughts and turned briskly to the nav computer, still finding it difficult to believe that she was, in fact, here at Tatooine. She knew the coordinates, very well; she entered the desired destination without a whisper of hesitation. Switching the ship to autopilot, she watched with growing anxiety and excitement as the planet grew larger in her viewport, filling it at last…and then, ever so slowly, coming down through the atmosphere, until finally she could see the broad sands and rocky plateaus whipping by below. The braking system began to whine, the engines to slow as her ship raced across the surface into the advancing line of the sunset. At long last, the engines cycled out completely, yielding to the repulsors, and the ship settled itself down on the surface of Tatooine. Outside the second sun was setting, and dusk was already deepening.
The woman drew a deep bracing breath as she left the cockpit, but her fingers still quavered as she donned a cloak and headed towards the landing ramp. She felt giddy with excitement, so giddy that she surprised herself by walking with measured and steady step down onto the surface. Once her feet touched the ground, though, the parched land seemed to soak up some of her nervous energy, and she felt calmer. She stepped further away from the ship, and turned, searching the horizon.
There—a few hundred meters away, she could just glimpse a rough building, made of the pourstone that was Tatooine's favorite construction material. A light glimmered through the growing darkness. The woman turned back just long enough to seal up the ship before moving quickly towards the building. She wasn't halfway there when the door opened and a hooded figure set out towards her at an even faster pace.
A few feet away the figure lowered its hood, and the woman laughed and ran to hug him; it was unlike her to be so effusive, but she was so light-headed with excitement and it had been so long that she couldn't help it. "Obi-Wan!"
He nodded and smiled at her. "I take it you did receive my message," he said. "I was beginning to wonder. You look very well." He fell in beside her as they continued towards the house.
Her racing heart froze mid-beat as a small figure appeared in the light of the doorway ahead. "Ben?" a high young voice called, very nervously. "Ben, who's that?"
Obi-Wan gave her an encouraging smile and took her hand to help her forward. "It's all right, Luke," he called ahead. "We have a guest. Wait inside."
She could breathe more easily when the diminutive shadowed form disappeared back inside the door—but her body was suddenly charged with anticipation, and her hesitancy dissipated. Her pace quickened, until she was almost pulling Obi-Wan along behind her like a child. But the Jedi moved more briskly and drew just enough ahead of her to open the door. "Welcome to our humble abode," he said gallantly, gesturing her inside. With a last deep breath, the woman entered.
There he was.
A small blonde boy, only just six years old, was huddled on the room's one chair, arms wrapped around his knees. His bright blue eyes followed her entrance with the haunted suspicion of one whose memories of pain were all too fresh. The hurt she saw there resonated with harsh force in her own soul. She could not move, could not take her eyes off the little boy.
Her motionless staring did not do much to assuage the child's concern. "Ben, who's she?" he demanded. He appeared to trust Obi-Wan, but there was still a slight flicker of fear in his voice.
Obi-Wan closed the door behind them and dropped down on one knee beside the boy's chair. "She is a very dear friend of mine," he began.
"I don't know her."
"Actually, you do know her," Obi-Wan continued. "But you have not seen her since you were a very small baby."
The little boy's face wrinkled up comically into a confused frown.
"Do you remember the letters that I would bring to your house every year on your birthday?" Obi-Wan pressed. "The ones from your mother?"
The little boy's eyes widened suddenly, and switched sharply up to the woman. "My mother?" he asked Obi-Wan softly.
Obi-Wan brushed his hand across the boy's hair. "Yes, your mother," he repeated. Then he nodded to the woman, and she felt her heart clench as she took off her hood, then her cloak altogether.
"Hello, Luke," Padmé Amidala Skywalker whispered.
