Chapter 10
The stars coming out from the dying torch of the second twilight glittered overhead by the time Owen Lars found the docking bay he was meant to visit. The massive, duracrete chamber was dark, with only the shadowy silhouette of a rather small spacecraft in the center. He looked to the ceiling, at the door to the docking bay that would spiral open to allow passage, but it remained shut tight to the sky beyond.
His footsteps echoed in the bay as he drew nearer, and in response to the movement, the lights flickered on. He studied the spacecraft in front of him, recognizing it as an older Firespray model that had been greatly customized over the years. Was this the bounty hunter's ship? He must have been brought here to make the call over the ship's com.
Owen glanced back toward the bay's entrance, where there was still no sign of Mandalorian armor. To busy himself, he took a closer look at the intriguing ship. His day job had him repairing freighters mostly, with Hutt yachts occasionally making the list, but rarely did he manage to put his hands on an attack craft such as this.
He noticed a patch on the wing he stood nearest to, and he ran his fingers over the poor welding job. Perhaps Fett had done it himself in a pinch, without access to the proper tools. Owen smiled to himself, wondering how he could have allowed his mind to wander to a matter so trivial in comparison to why he now stood here.
"Hands off, farmer." The hunter had arrived. Owen did not immediately turn to him.
"You do a lot of atmospheric flying," Owen commented, "Far more than this craft was designed for."
"My profession often involves chasing scum back to their planetside hidey holes," Fett replied, and Owen thought he might have heard a hint of amusement. "Now lets get this over with. I've got an appointment to keep on Ithor in twenty standard hours."
They ascended the ship's ramp and slid through the tight corridor that led to the cockpit. Fett directed him to the pilot's chair, directly below the holoprojector. The hunter took the navigator's seat. Owen glared as the other man settled in.
"This is a private matter. I agreed to do the talking myself, and I'll do it alone, hunter."
"This is my ship, farmer. And you have yet to transfer those credits. I will remain out of the holo's view, but if I sense this call taking a bad turn, I reserve the right to terminate it. Vader has been known to choke those who displease him over the holocom."
Owen ignored the sudden stab of apprehension, and shoved away the image of his own, cold body lying upon the ship's metal floor. He grumbled under his breath, already working out how he would have to alter all that he'd planned to say. No longer would he be able to reveal the whole truth. Not with Fett remaining in the cockpit. Stupid man. Did he not yet realize that he was better off never hearing this information? That if Vader discovered this call's origin and Fett was discovered to know too much there was no guarantee of his life?
"Will he know I acquired this frequency from you?" Owen wondered out loud.
"I have it on good authority that he uses this frequency for several of his bounty hunters and personal agents," Fett replied with that same hint of amusement. Then he leveled the blaster he held in his lap at Owen. "It would be in your best interest not to mention how you acquired it." The man then turned his helmeted head to the console and keyed in the numbers.
Owen held his breath as the tone sounded. He realized suddenly that he wasn't ready, but it was too late now. The series of beeps indicated he'd been placed on hold and that the com was undergoing a series of transfers. They began to wait. Five minutes. Ten. Twenty.
"Give it time," Fett quipped when he noticed the farmer's frustration, "You've never seen a star destroyer before have you, Lars? Let me inform you that they are very large. And Vader is a busy man."
Owen was about to snap something in return to indicate that he did not appreciate being patronized in such a manner when the call finally connected and the blue figure of Darth Vader materialized in miniature above the pilot's console. For a moment, a horrible, dreadful moment, the only sound in the cockpit was the electronic rendition of a respirator forcing its host to inhale and exhale rhythmically.
You're way outta your depth, Lars, Owen found himself thinking again, realizing it had become his mantra as of late.
"Vader," he said when he finally found his voice. There was another tense moment while he waited for a response. Perhaps there would be none. Perhaps Vader would simply end the call without saying anything. Was Owen supposed to speak something more? Or should he wait to be addressed? The horrible thought struck him that perhaps under that mask was an utter stranger and all that he'd been told thus far had been a lie.
"How did you obtain this frequency?" was the sudden, booming question, full of anger and authority. He'd not spoken his name, though Owen imagined that the pause had been too long. The suited man had been caught off-guard.
"I purchased it. Cost me all that I was worth," Owen answered.
"Then the agent that sold it to you priced it far too cheap, and when I find him I shall teach him the extent of his folly," Vader cut in swiftly with the first blow, and it made both Owen and the listening bounty hunter flinch. "We have nothing to speak on, moisture farmer. It is time I demonstrate to you your own utter insignificance."
For a moment, Owen had a strange desire to laugh in relief. He had not heard so much the words Vader had spoken, rather than their tone. It was familiar. It brought back the memories of his visit. It was proof that under that mask was the same man. The same man Owen had watched crying over his mother's grave. The thought made the situation a whole lot less intimidating.
"Then consider this a request from a brother."
"You have no claim to that title," Vader spat, "I shall inform you, Lars, for the first and last time, that the Jedi Knight, Anakin Skywalker, is long dead."
Owen would have scowled his frustration if he were not so tense, for these were the exact words he'd not wanted to hear. Kenobi had said them himself and Owen had always viewed them as the crux of the lie Had this all been a waste of time and effort? If Vader persisted in this delusion that Anakin Skywalker was dead then where did it leave Luke? Somehow Owen would have to probe further, because he couldn't just accept it after he'd come this far. The next words left his mouth a test, and he did not think much on how deep they might cut.
"Shmi never needed a son like you in the first place."
It was instant, the way he was lifted from the pilot's chair by a strange force. An invisible grip closed around his throat and panic bubbled nauseatingly in his stomach.
"I will enjoy ending you, Lars," Owen heard Vader snarl. Out of the corner of his vision, he watched the bounty hunter's finger hover over the button that would end the call. He had only mere seconds to fix this.
"You insult her memory... by refusing to acknowledge us," Owen managed to choke, aware that he had a limited amount of breath to expend, one chance to get his point across and save his life, "And if you kill me... you'll never learn... Kenobi's... last... secret."
He was released suddenly, and he landed bonelessly in the chair once again. He struggled to remain upright and conscious as he drew in the breath that had been denied to him. He'd squander it all if he fainted now.
"Speak, Lars, or were those words just a bluff to save your own worthless hide?" Vader said impatiently. It was another minute before Owen was able to compose himself enough to cough out an answer. The display of power had humbled him a bit, but unbeknownst to Vader, a point had been proven.
Owen Lars might be utterly insignificant, but apparently, Shmi Skywalker was not. The farmer massaged his throat, as if he might brush off the last vestige of those invisible fingers.
"You're a big man now. I get it," Owen panted, "Maybe you don't got time for the likes of us, down in the dust. If that's the case, then maybe I should never have made this call. The simple truth of the matter is that something of yours was left on my farm ten years ago. It's not something I can say over the com," and here, Owen had to force his eyes not to flicker over to where the bounty hunter sat, "You wouldn't believe me anyway. I'll have to show it to you in person. You'll understand everything when I do."
"You do not get to make demands of me, farmer. Whatever treason it is you've committed will soon be made apparent when my stormtroopers arrive at your sorry hut and drag you from it."
"Then I hope, for your sake, that you trust those men with your life," Owen remarked, his tone turning vicious. Yet anger would not help. "What I have here with me could be a powerful weapon in the right hands, something that your enemies wouldn't hesitate to use against you," Owen paused for a moment, thinking of Organa and knowing he had to amend that statement, "Already they plot to use it against you, and had not Kenobi entrusted it to me, it would now be under their influence."
Vader was silent as his suit allowed. Several cycles of his respirator passed uninterrupted. Surely he was curious now, curious as to this 'weapon' and curious as to why Owen had not already used it or sold it to said 'enemies.'
Owen realized that he'd gotten his message through, and that any further arguments might only hinder him. It was time to end this call lest he find himself gagging upon air again. Let Vader pull what he would from the conversation in his leisure.
"One standard week from today. Shmi's gravesite. I'll be waiting," Owen told the other man. He did not hold out for any reply, not that he thought he'd receive one. Instead he cut the call himself, letting the blue form in front of him wink out of existence. Instantly, Owen was aware of his surroundings in a way that made him feel terribly enclosed. There were steel ship walls all around him. How could anyone breathe in here?
The deed was done and he could not take it back. Owen could not know how the situation would resolve itself in the end. Might he have just doomed the galaxy? Kenobi would certainly think so, were he not dead or in a cell somewhere. Things were in motion now, and no force in the universe could put a stop to them.
When he rose to his feet, he nearly toppled to the floor due to the trembling in his legs, but managed to steady himself by catching the back of the chair. The bounty hunter sat rather limp in his seat, blaster now in only a loose grip and pointing at the ground. Owen fished the chip containing the promised credits from his robes and placed it upon the navigator's console. The other man made no move to take it. Owen collected himself enough to walk to the cockpit's exit, but with his hand upon the door release, he paused and scraped together what remained of his dignity.
"This concludes our business, hunter. From now on you'll keep your nose out of my family's affairs, if you know what's good for you."
.o.o.o.o.o.