Chapter 12

Rebel Base

Obi-Wan was not sure how to respond to Leia's question, for he himself had asked himself the same one for twenty years. How did it happen? How did the brilliant young Jedi, his own best friend and brother, fall into darkness?

"I…I wish I could answer that question, Leia," he said at last. "I really cannot, I'm afraid."

Leia frowned, and looked away, the expression on her face reminding him very much of Anakin at age nineteen.

"He loved my mother," she said quietly. "I know what he did to her on Mustafar, but I know he loved her Obi-Wan," she averred, looking back at him. "I'm certain of that."

Obi-Wan sighed. "I'm sure, at one time, he did, yes," he agreed. "Though I think it was more like obsession than love," he added.

Leia didn't like hearing this, and her frown deepened. "Why do you say that?" she asked. "He went against the Jedi Code to marry my mother, didn't he?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes he did," he replied. "Anakin did a lot of things contrary to conventions," he hastened to add. "It was part of his personality."

Leia studied the old Jedi thoughtfully. She could sense how deeply Obi-wan had been affected by her father's fall; clearly they had once been very close. But she felt certain in her convictions and didn't take lightly to Obi-Wan's cold appraisal of Anakin's motives.

"How did it happen, Obi-Wan?" she asked. "Surely the Jedi who trained him must have taught him about the dark side," she added.

This statement made Obi-Wan very uncomfortable and Leia sensed it at once.

"You were his teacher, weren't you?" she asked.

"Yes Leia, I was," Obi-Wan replied. "Your father had been my pupil since he was nine years old," he told her. "He was my best friend, Leia; I loved him like a brother."

Leia could see how difficult it was for Obi-Wan to remember the past, how painful the memories of her father's fall were for him; but she had no choice. She needed answers, and he was probably the best one to provide them.

"If you were so close, then why didn't you see what was happening to him?" Leia asked. "How could you have allowed such a thing to happen?"

Obi-Wan frowned, and lowered his eyes. His own self-recrimination had haunted him for years. And now here was Anakin's child forcing him to face it head on.

"I didn't know of the struggles he was going through until it was too late to bring him back, Leia," he responded finally. "Anakin hid a great deal from me, from everyone," he added. "I didn't know he and your mother were married, not until the end. I had always suspected that he had strong feelings for her, but I never would have dreamed that he would marry her."

Leia nodded, digesting this. "There's one thing I don't understand," she said. "If he was a Jedi, how did he even have temptation to join the Dark Side? Where did it come from?"

"Palpatine," Obi-Wan told her. "It was he who lured him to the Dark Side. He was a Sith Lord and not one of us knew it. Anakin was the first to learn it, but he chose to join him rather than help the Jedi destroy him. Why, I cannot say. But that is what happened, Leia. I'm sorry, for I know that you're looking for answers. Perhaps only your father can give you the answers you seek."

"Yes, perhaps so," Leia sighed heavily.

"I'm rather surprised he allowed you to leave, actually," Obi-Wan remarked.

"He didn't," Leia told him. "He wanted me to join him when he returned to the Empire, but I refused. I couldn't do it, Obi-Wan; as much as I love my father, and I do love him, I could not join the Empire, even for him."

Obi-Wan nodded, relieved to hear it. "It was believed that he had died at the battle over the Death Star," he told her. "It was all over the holonet."

"Yes, he wanted it that way," she told him. "He knew that the Emperor would come looking for him if he thought that he was alive."

"Yes, no doubt he would have," Obi-Wan agreed. "So why return to the Empire, then? I don't understand."

"He found out about Luke," she told him.

Obi-Wan's eyes widened in horror. "What? How?"

"He sent spies to find out who had been the one who fired the shot that destroyed the Death Star," she explained. "He told me that he'd sensed something …unusual about the pilot," she went on. "And his spies found out that the pilot's name was Luke Skywalker."

Obi-Wan shook his head ruefully. "Force help us," he murmured. "He'll stop at nothing until he finds him," he said. "Until he finds you both," he added, looking up at Leia.

"I know," she replied. "I'm sure he's angry that I left," she added.

"Angry doesn't begin to describe it," Obi-Wan commented with a frown. "He will no doubt do everything possible to find you again."

"I know," Leia replied. "I have to admit that I feel guilty about leaving him, Obi-Wan," she said. "I know how hurt he must feel."

Obi-Wan nodded, knowing that hurt was an understatement in this case.

"I have to think of a way to tell Luke about him," Leia went on. "It will be such a shock to him," she added.

"I think perhaps you shouldn't tell him, Leia," Obi-Wan suggested.

Leia frowned. "Why not?" she asked. "Luke needs to know the truth."

"Yes, but he's not emotionally ready," he pointed out. "Your circumstance were completely different," he added. "Luke knows exactly who Darth Vader is. To learn that he is his father would devastate him."

"Agreed," Leia replied. "But it doesn't erase the fact that he Darth Vader is his father."

Obi-Wan said nothing, not wanting to tell Leia what he himself had told Luke about Vader. He betrayed and murdered your father… "No it does not," he concurred. "Perhaps we can compromise," he suggested. "We will tell him together," he added.

Leia wasn't sure why Kenobi felt as though he needed to have a part in this disclosure, but she nodded in agreement. "I don't even know how to tell him, Obi-Wan," she said. "But he needs to know the truth."

"Of course," Obi-Wan agreed. "He does." So how do I tell him the truth after telling him that Darth Vader murdered his father? He mused as he left Leia's quarters. Obi-Wan considered this further as he headed to his own room. Clearly he needed more time; Leia seemed to be as forthright and single minded as her father. She would not be put off easily. So what if I put some distance between them? He thought as he made himself a cup of tea. What if Luke wasn't here for a few weeks? That would buy me the time I need. He smiled as an idea came to him, and he sat down with his cup of tea to formulate a plan.

Imperial Prison Planet

Padmé had passed a restive night, as she often did, and was up early. Disturbing dreams had become an almost constant source of stress for her. Sometimes she'd dream of the happy times: falling in love with Anakin, their honeymoon, the times he would surprise her coming home from the wars. Other times she would dream of that terrible day when Obi-Wan had come to tell her what Anakin had done, how he'd slaughtered younglings, how he'd turned to the Dark Side. And then, of course, there was Mustafar. Padmé wasn't sure which of the dreams were the most painful, for the memories of her life with Anakin only served to depress her. Anakin was still alive, and wanted nothing to do with her. He had let her spend two decades here, alone and isolated, without so much as trying to find out what had become her. Palpatine enjoyed telling at every opportunity how little she meant to the man she had once called husband, and that was just as painful as any physical torment he could inflict upon her.

Hearing the sound of the door opening, Padmé went out to receive her breakfast. Urru had said nothing to her for days, ever since she'd challenged him to stand up for himself. He was proving to be a very difficult to read, as Padmé had discovered. She had always prided herself on being good at reading people; her long service in politics had made that skill a necessity. But Urru had her puzzled. She knew that he was a slave, and more than likely had been one all his life. She guessed that he was a little older than her, perhaps in his early fifties. And she knew that he had developed a very thick hide, no doubt as a result of harsh treatment he'd received throughout his life. Kindness was something he'd known very little of, if anything, and had no idea how to respond to it. He'd shown confusion and even resentment when Padmé had shown concern for his injuries, which lead her to consider that other tactics would be needed if she was to reach him.

"Thank you," she said as Urru set her tray on the table. He didn't say anything, nor even look at her, which didn't surprise Padmé at all. She looked at his face, however, as he turned to leave, and noted that the gash he'd received during the scrap days earlier was looking very nasty.

"You haven't been to the dispensary, have you?" she asked.

Urru stopped and turned back to her, surprised by her question.

"No," he grunted. "No need."

Padmé frowned. "I beg to differ," she said, walking over to him. "The cut beside your eye looks infected to me," she added.

Urru shrugged. "So?" he asked.

"So?" she asked, growing exasperated. "So if you don't attend to it, it will only get worse," she pointed out. Clearly he didn't care about himself, so perhaps she would need to appeal to a different side of his nature.

"Yeah, probably," he grumbled, and turned to leave again.

"And if it gets worse, you will become weak," she called after him. "And if that happens, how will you serve your master? How will you do your job?"

Urru considered this for a moment, a frown developing on his face. He was not an unintelligent man, and knew exactly what would happen should he fail in his task. And yet…

"Dispensary is a waste of time," he told her. "They won't help slaves."

Padmé frowned, his self-defeatist attitude starting to grate on her nerves.

"Then at least let me have a look at it," she suggested.

Urru was surprised by her request, and grew suspicious. He remembered what the storm troopers had told him about her; how she was manipulative and cunning, how she could not be trusted. But what could she possibly do? He was at least three times her weight, and had more than half a meter on her in height.

"Go ahead," he said at last. "If it will get you off my back about it," he added gruffly.

Padmé nodded, trying not to smile. "Sit down," she said. "I'll be right back."

Urru did so, feeling rather uneasily about the whole thing. He knew that Padmé's rooms were watched, and that anything said would be overheard. He glanced up at the camera that sat in one corner of the room, wondering if he ought to just leave. But Padmé had made a valid point; illness was something he could not afford. The few occasions in his fifty-two years of life when he'd been ill had taught him well; illness is for the free. Slaves were not permitted the luxury. And as much as he hated to admit it, the gash on his face was very painful, and slow to heal. Surely it was permissible for him to have it attended to by her? Surely this would not be misinterpreted by those watching her room right now?

Padmé returned to the room with a clean washcloth in her hand. "Now sit still while I clean this," she instructed.

Urru did so, wincing as the cloth made contact with his wound. But it was warm, and Padmé's hands were gentle, so he relaxed a little.

"I don't think the dispensary would turn you away, you know," she commented as she cleaned his wound. "It's not in their best interest to do so."

"You don't know what it's like to be a slave," he returned.

Padmé frowned. "No," she admitted. "Though I have known slaves in my life," she added.

"How?" he challenged, "you were a politician, I know that much," he added.

Padmé nodded. "I was," she replied. "But the man I married had been a slave when he was a child," she added.

Urru was surprised to hear this, but didn't say so.

"I remember meeting a slave when I was very young," she went on. "I was maybe six years old," she added.

Urru made a very effective show of looking uninterested, but Padmé went on nonetheless.

"A young slave, a little older than me, wandered into the court where my parents' house was," she explained. "I didn't know he was a slave, mind you," she added as she cleaned. "I just thought he was lost."

Urru began to listen, for he was intrigued by her story. More than this, it was starting to sound familiar. Very familiar.

"He was cold, and hungry," she went on. "So I brought him into my parents' house and made him something to eat." She smiled at the memory. "I was only a child, so I'm sure it wasn't very good," she added. "But he seemed to like it."

"What happened to him?" Urru asked.

Padmé frowned with a sigh. "His master came looking for him," she told him. "Only he said he was the boy's father," she added. "It wasn't until I was older that my parents told me what had really happened, how the boy had been a run away slave." She paused as she remembered how that information had made her feel. "You know, when I was a politician I worked very hard to eliminate slavery in the Republic," she told him. "Unfortunately not everyone saw the value in doing so," she added.
"I don't know what ever became of him," she told him. "I never saw him again, so I suppose he must have left Naboo."

Urru stopped listening to her by this point, for his heart was hammering inside of him. He knew exactly what had happened to the runaway slave after he left the Naberrie household, for he was that runaway slave. And this woman helped you…he reflected. Urru had never forgotten that young girl and her kindness. He remembered her big brown eyes, her sweet smile, how she smelled like flowers; but most of all her remembered her kindness, her generosity. How could such a person have become so dangerous a woman that the emperor himself wanted her incarcerated for life?
"That's good enough," he said suddenly and stood up. "You can stop now."

Padmé looked up at him questioningly, but decided not to push the issue. "It looks better," she told him as he made for the door, but Urru didn't stop to listen or even to thank her for her kindness. He had too much going on in his mind and in his heart to do so, and needed to be alone with his thoughts. Padmé could only watch him leave, feeling discouraged that her attempt to reach him had failed once again.