So, I got my hands on the Legacy comics this past month, and it totally bummed me out. Obviously, the battle between "good" and "evil" will go on forever, but there's something very depressing about the thought that this struggle continues on for one family over and over again. All this effort to save Anakin, and generations later, Cade is busy singing the same old rhyme – "I know I have this incredibly important destiny, but I don't want anything to do with it, I just want to fulfill my own self-centered desires no matter what's going on in the galaxy." So I was a little peeved with the Skywalker family for a while (or maybe fate, or the Force, or whatever) and so that's why the posts haven't been coming along. But I've forgiven them (for the time being, until the next installment comes out).
I'm going to add here that the up-coming scene with Threepio and Artoo are short and unremarkable, but important for me on a personal level. The droids in the Star Wars universe don't get much credit, and other than Chewie and a few others, the aliens are more or less ignored as well. The blame for this can be placed on the fact that there is presently no other recognized fully-sentient life on Earth other than our own, so we tend to focus in more on the humans. But I've always felt that Threepio and Artoo are just as much people in their own right as any of the other characters, regardless of the make-up of their innards. And sometimes, the other characters act in a way that suggests their feelings on the matter (Obi-wan's originally low opinion of droids and aliens verse Han's relationship with Chewie but disrespect for Threepio, verse Luke's camaraderie with both.) I've been bad and haven't given much time to either of the droids in the RotL series, so this is my short look into human-droid relationships in the Skywalker family, because I whole-heartedly believe they are, in fact, family members.
As always, I own nothing, and reviews are greatly appreciated. Thanks for your patience.
Chapter Nine:
Individual Journeys
Five Years After Rebirth of the Light
When nearly a half-hour had passed and still there were no alarms, Artoo knew something had gone wrong.
For all his spontaneity, there was an incredibly predictable pattern to how Anakin ran his missions. The little droid had been on more than enough adventures with Skywalker to know the order of things, and there should have been alarms and explosions by this point. Therefore, he could only assume something had gone wrong and his friends needed rescuing.
It didn't take much to convince the X-wing to release the locks on its droid unit. With a well-controlled firing of his jets, Artoo was up and out of his compartment and carefully lowering himself to the hanger floor. He took a moment to remotely lock the cockpit, then swerved on his wheels and took off across the immense space left empty by the Tie's earlier departure.
Reaching a control panel, he popped out his connecter and plugged in.
Authorization to use this port is required, the central computer informed him.
Hello, Artoo replied. Unlike his counterpart, he never felt one should be remiss about manners, even under duress. I'd like access to your security files, if you don't mind.
Authorization to access files is required.
Well, so much for diplomacy. Grant me access or I will fry your circuit breaker.
Provide proper authorization codes now or you will be in violation of code -
Artoo didn't wait for the rest. He jammed a second connecter into an additional port and did a droid version of slick-fingered hacking, by-passing the programming and going right to the mainframe.
Access granted, the computer belatedly acknowledged.
Thanks! Artoo replied, and proceeded to wreak a little havoc of his own.
"Tarkin," Anakin groaned in greeting. "I thought this station reeked of something foul."
Kneeling on the floor and taking a moment to catch his breath, Skywalker took a quick glance of the room. Behind him, the only exit. Across the room was a large view port looking out into space. Lights flashed and computer banks filled every other available surface. If this wasn't the control room, Anakin was a Wookie's hairless nephew.
Now would be a really good time to have a lightsaber. Or even someone to watch his back. But he was separated from Sabe, he had no weapon, and one of the last people he ever wanted to see again was leaning over him.
The touch of Tarkin's hand as the Grand Moff helped Anakin up was enough to send tingles down the Jedi's arm, screaming danger.
Images and feelings flashed just out of reach, a sense of having been standing in this room before, of Darkness and despair and a familiar, frightened presence pressed up against him as the planet from his dream exploded before them. Anakin had the terrible, haunting feeling he had somehow been involved, and then the memory-that-wasn't-a-memory of that unmade future faded away to reveal Tarkin's pale, smug face.
"I must say, Skywalker, that despite your rather juvenile attempt at infiltrating my station, I am somewhat impressed. With your appearance, if nothing else."
The Imperial casually eyed the Jedi as he circled him, hands clasped demurely behind him, every inch the stiff Imperial boot-licker. Anakin ground his teeth and fought his natural impulse to physically abuse the man. Even during the short time they had served together, Vader had despised the other and longed for Tarkin's downfall. And here they were, all these years later.
"If I recall," Tarkin remarked casually, coming round to face the Jedi once again, "the last time I saw you, you were decked out in one of the most hideous contraptions I'd ever seen. Quite terrifying. Of course, that was the point, wasn't it? And here you are now, wearing –?" he gestured to Anakin's outfit with a contemptuous wave of his hand.
"Rebel fatigues," Anakin replied. "Surprised you didn't recognize the style. It's become all the rage off Coruscant."
Tarkin chuckled and picked an invisible bit of space lint off Anakin's shoulder. "How droll of you. I see the influence of that wife of yours. Only she would be clever enough to use fashion as a means of discussing galactic politics."
Just keep him talking, Anakin thought to himself, and figure out a way to gain the upper-hand of the situation. They needed Tarkin, with all he might know about this station and other imperial projects, alive. "Yeah, well, I heard that jocularity can diffuse a tense situation."
"Tense? This is just two old friends talking."
"Friends? You don't know the meaning of the word, Tarkin."
For a moment, something dark flashed across the Imperial's face. "And you do, I'm supposed to assume? You, the traitor?"
Anakin could feel his anger bubbling just below the surface. "I betrayed the Republic, yes, and I am not proud of that. But I can't be considered a traitor for having left the Empire, not when all it has ever done is betray the people of this galaxy!"
Tarkin grinned slightly before turning away and walking to stare out the large view port, through which the continuing battle between Strike squadron and the station's Ties could be seen. "Your time among those mongrel rebels has played with your memory. You've forgotten the chaos the Republic was in, the effects of an endless war, the decline of justice and order."
Anakin watched the fighters, thinking back on another time and place. "No. I've not forgotten."
"No, you wouldn't have. You and I both fought in those battles. And then, came the Empire. Then came order, and the galaxy once again knew peace. Until," Tarkin turned back, a dangerous edge in his steel eyes, "you and your rebel friends. Tell me, Lord Vader, how do you reconcile having brought us all to the brink of war again, hmm? What…sweet stories have your dear rebel leaders told you now? Are they similar to the ones fed to you by the Jedi? Stories of your own grandeur and heroism?"
Anakin felt the barb, but did his best not to show it. Tarkin would well remember the "Hero With No Fear" from the Clone Wars. How easily, willingly even, the young Jedi had bought into that.
"There's nothing sweet about what our intel tells us about what the Empire has been doing to its subjects."
"Oh no? I suppose as a rebel, you have an interest now in anarchy, rather than peace."
"Now who's telling stories?!" Anakin snapped, storming toward Tarkin with fists clenched. "You don't give a damn about peace, and what passes for order in the Empire is nothing more than oppression and tyranny! You benefit from it, and that's all that matters to you, Grand Moff." Seething, Skywalker pulled up short of the Imperial, face illuminated by the pulse and flares of the star fight going on outside. "Not too long ago, I wasn't any better. But now I won't stand by and watch worlds suffer simply to fulfill the maniacal desires of people like you. The Empire, this station and all that it stands for, will be stopped."
With a wave of his hand and a tsk-tsking sound, Tarkin dismissed him and gracefully slipped past the Jedi. "Come now, Skywalker. Even if you were to manage in destroying this station – which, by the way, is highly unlikely, seeing as you have brought with you only a single squadron and even the great Anakin Skywalker needs more than that to take on the Death Star – it will do you no good. Honestly, what is your plan after this? Siege Coruscant? Take on the entire Core? I assure you, even if your little rebellion did have the resources to stage such a massive coup, the Emperor would never surrender to you."
One of the computer lights began to flash a brilliant red, signaling an alarm had been tripped somewhere. Good; that probably meant Sabe was alive and doing her best to be a nuisance, or maybe Tash and the others had started taking bites out of the station with their torpedoes.
Anakin allowed a small smile to creep through. "Give it up, Tarkin. The secret's out. Palpatine is dead, and the galaxy is on its way out of this dark shadow the Sith and the Empire have cast over it. You're simply delaying the inevitable."
For a moment, the Moff simply stared at him, face slouched in pale contempt. More lights around the control room began to flash, signally trouble, but both men kept their eyes rigid on the other.
Then Tarkin straightened his shoulders, lifted his chin, and offered a grin that bordered on the obscene.
"Oh, my dear friend. For all your noble claims of having seen the light, you are still so blind."
Tarkin's hand moved toward a button on the computer consol behind him. If he had been paying more attention to the Imperial's actions rather than their diatribe, Anakin might have noticed before how strategically the Moff had arranged them both – Skywalker across the room at the view port and Tarkin between him and the controls.
"The Empire will live on, even without the Emperor. We are far too numerous, too far reaching, with both endless amounts of time and resources. When generations from now read of this time, there will be a small paragraph dedicated to the struggles of this rebellion, and end on a fitting note of how easily it was put down. No one will remember you as anything more than a traitor, while Palpatine and men like myself will become the heroes of history. It's you who's been delaying the inevitable."
The button lighted up under Tarkin's hand, the self-destruct mechanism for the station activated.
Silently gathering the Force around him, Anakin prepared to send the Imperial flying with a Force push.
"The Emperor may be dead, and we may soon join him, but others will come after us who will continue to build on what we have achieved. There will be other emperors, other Death Star stations, and certainly other Darth Vaders. Eventually, the rebellion is doomed."
Sabe counted herself lucky that so far she had managed to evade any more encounters with battle droids. She hadn't been so lucky with the two squads of stormtroopers that had her cornered in another maintenance hallway that bridged off a main corridor.
Going down the maintenance route wasn't an option – it would lead her farther away from where her intel told her the control room was – but the continuous blaster bolts from the troopers blocked every chance of diving out from safety and making a run for it down the hallway. On top of that, she had no idea what had happened to Anakin after parting ways in the shaft, and surely they were running out of time before Strike squadron began taking hits at the station.
She would have a few choice words for Anakin when they got out of here.
"I could use some help here," she muttered to herself.
And it came, just at that moment.
The station was equipped with blast doors throughout the corridors, so that should part of the station be destroyed, the doors could seal and preserve atmosphere in the undamaged sectors. This meant little to Sabe, as the blast doors were controlled remotely and she had no access to them. But right at that moment, something activated them, and the entire station seemed to have suddenly gone crazy.
The blast door between Sabe and the troopers slid started to close. The troopers began to shout, issuing pointless orders into the helmet mics. Sabe was forced to fly back as the shield door between the maintenance hallway and the main corridor closed. There was a brief moment of panic that she would be unable to do anything but head off into the dark, then the doors slid open again.
The door down the hall away from the troopers started to close, just as the one across from it started to open again. Through the small square opening, Sabe could see the troopers reorganizing, preparing to start shooting again as soon as they had a visual.
It was all the time she needed. Without glancing back, she sprinted from her hiding place and charged down the hall in the opposite direction. The space between the blast doors kept getting smaller and smaller. Behind her, she could hear the mechanical voices of the troopers, the powering up of their blasters.
With a deep breath and a silent prayer to the Force, Sabe tucked her chin and sprang, cat-like, through the narrow opening remaining.
A moment later and she gracefully rolled back into fighting stance on the other side of the now-sealed blast door.
She had only a second to breathe and to plan.
A glint from the floor caught her eye, and Sabe looked down to find another welcome surprise –Anakin's lightsaber, looking not the worst for wear from its brief jaunt through the exhaust shaft.
The sight of it, lying disengaged on the corridor floor, made her heart quiver for its owner, wondering what had become of him. Surely Skywalker was still in the fight, maybe even a few steps ahead of her, already in the process of taking control of the station. The blast doors might even be his work. But no time for such thoughts – the doors would be opening in another moment, and she needed to be at the next one to make her way further down the hall before the troopers arrived.
Reaching down, the grabbed the weapon, feeling reassured simply by the weight of it in her hand.
"I'll get this back to you," she promised her absent friend before clipping it to her utility belt. "And then I'll use it to bash you over the head for wandering off on your own."
The hallway curved slightly and Sabe raced down it, hoping to gain a little extra cover before the doors behind her opened again. As she approached the end, the blast door in front of her swung open, revealing more endless gray hallway. But it shouldn't be much farther from here to the control room.
She ducked through the blast doors and breathed a sigh of relief as they closed behind her without her having to dodge a single shot.
And for the second time, all the lights went out.
Artoo gave a whoop in surprise. That wasn't meant to happen. In the eerie darkness of the hanger, he swerved his dome, the blue glow of his eye the only light.
Turn the lights back on! He ordered the central computer.
Unauthorized access had been identified and overridden. System has powered down until proper authorization is provided.
His little framed shuddered in annoyance and Artoo seriously considered blasting the panel with a shock from his prod. But that wouldn't do any good. The station didn't seem to have enough self-awareness to be able to appreciate that kind of threat.
Here's your "proper authorization," Artoo retorted, blowing an electronic raspberry.
When they got out of this, he would demand Anakin give his systems an upgrade. It would be incredibly embarrassing if anyone, especially Threepio, ever found out he had been outsmarted by this floating jetsam of Imperial hardware.
With a few choice words about the Death Star's creator, Artoo went back to work.
Anakin could not have thought of a more convenient thing happening just at that moment.
As Tarkin pressed down on the kill switch and Anakin reached out with all the power the Force could lend him, everything in the control room suddenly shut down. The lights on the computer bays flickered out, the interior illuminating system cut off, even the system that pumped recycled air through hummed and then died. Only a dim red glow from the emergency lighting offered any respite.
Of the two of them, Tarkin seemed the least surprised, probably because he thought it had something to do with his finger pressing down the self-destruct. But when the loss of power didn't follow with an explosion, panic replaced the smug look of triumph.
Before the Imperial could tense, Anakin struck.
The force of the non-corporeal blow sent Tarkin streaking away in the darkness. The dull thud of his slim body against the doors announced the end of his short flight. The following groan told Anakin he hadn't killed the other man, but even injured, Tarkin was still a threat.
The Jedi approached the other warily.
"Well then," the Grand Moff replied around a mouthful of blood, "see how easily our positions are reversed?"
It would be impossibly easy to kill Tarkin right now. So easy to remove another stain from the fabric of the galaxy. Fett had taken out the Emperor, and Anakin could take out Tarkin, never again having to worry about the influence this man might yield, the way he could potentially twist and manipulate others in the future.
But Anakin didn't give the option much thought.
"Surrender," he ordered softly in the darkness. Then he offered the other his hand. "Please."
"We're running short here," Han muttered, handing over one of the last data chips they were downloading the Jedi archives' databanks onto.
"And still so much here," Padme breathed, amazed at the depth of information in the archives databanks. "Surely we have the more relevant data – training techniques and the like. The historical information we can come back for another time. Threepio, how far along are you?"
The golden droid sat stiffly in front of the terminal, still awkwardly tapping at keys. "Oh, Mistress Padme! Not nearly as far along as I'd like. Oh, this contraption is so old, it makes me look like I just came off the production line! I am terribly sorry this is taking so long."
"Don't be," Padme laughed. "And for the record, I think you look as wonderful as the first day Anakin introduced us."
If droids could blush, Threepio would have glowed. "You are too kind, Mistress."
"Padme!"
The shout from across the cavern made all three, even the droid, jump in surprise. From out of a dark side tunnel, in a swirl of blue dust and shadow, Obi-wan appeared, face flushed and lightsaber in hand. Setting sight upon his companions, he darted towards them.
"Padme, we've got to get out of here, now!"
She didn't bother to ask why – too many missions had graced the former senator with the experience necessary to react to the tension in her friend's voice. She grabbed their bags before casting a glance at the computer.
"We don't have much downloaded."
"There's no time for that," the Jedi replied, "The Imperials think they'd got an uprising on their hands and are sending more troops to the surface. We've got to get back to the Falcon." He didn't have the heart to tell her what he'd seen in the vision. What had become of the twins, Obi-wan didn't know, didn't dare reach out with the Force to find out. He could only hope if they got to the crash site in time, there might be some hope.
"If those blasted Imps have touched my ship…" Han growled, grabbing datachips and stuffing them into his bag. "Come on, Goldenrod, didn't you hear? We got to get outta here."
Already the three humans were halfway across the cavern, making for the tunnel that would lead them back out into the crevice. Threepio totted behind for a moment before stopping completely.
"Come on, Threepio," Obi-wan shouted, desperation clawing at his insides. Images of the ship crashing against the mountainside tugged at his vision, demanding attention.
But the droid didn't budge. Instead, he stood as straight as he possibly could, yellow eyes glowing. His face, though never changing, seemed to be set in a sort of grim determination.
"No, Master Kenobi. I fear I will only slow you down."
"Threepio!" Padme started back towards him, but Han reached out and held her back by her uninjured arm.
"Go, Mistress Padme."
They left him standing in the bright light of the cavern as they plunged into the darkness. Silently, the droid watched them go before turning back to the computer consol. At the very least, he could make good use of his time.
"Now I know this is Anakin's doing," Sabe growled to herself.
Emergency lighting had flickered on along the floor panels, but overall it didn't offer much. In addition, the blast doors on either side of her were sealed shut, and this portion of the corridor didn't offer a maintenance entrance even if she had been willing to take the risk of getting lost again.
From the other end of the hallway, Sabe could hear pounding on the door and the occasional shot being fired. These must have been the dumbest bunch of clones if the troopers were actually trying to burn their way through.
The thought sparked an idea and Sabe reached down for the lightsaber on her belt.
She didn't particularly know a lot about lightsabers. After all, they were exclusively a Jedi weapon, and though she and Obi-wan were now together (Force, at this particular moment, she missed him desperately) she had few chances to examine him making use of his. But the idea around utilizing the sizzling blade seemed pretty basic – slice through things and block blaster bolts without slicing off body parts – so potentially she could make this work.
Positioning herself in front of the blast door, Sabe held the hilt at a diagonal angle and pressed the ignition.
Immediately, the space lit up in a soft blue hue and the blade shimmered and hummed before her. Clasping it in both hands, she still felt a little unsteady, but turned with determination towards the blast door.
The saber cut into it smoothly, leaving a trail of molten orange metal in its wake as she slid it upwards. Ideally, Sabe hoped to carve a semi-circle in the door small enough that she didn't waste any time making a larger space, but large enough so she could fit through with brushing up against the scorched edges.
"This isn't so bad," she muttered to herself. "Break out of here, get to the control room, take over the station. Gain bragging rights over Skywalker. Things are looking up."
Then, with a brilliant flare, the power kicked back in. Sabe was momentarily blinded and sent flying backwards. She crashed to the floor from the shock of it, barely missing the still-ignited blade of Anakin's saber.
With a screech that tore at the ears, the blast door down the hall wrenched open and stormtroopers poured into the corridor.
They started firing immediately, and purely on instinct, Sabe raised the blade to protect herself.
Bolts sang against the weapon as others left scorch marks on the floor beside her. Half-kneeling now, Sabe kept the blade in front of her, deflecting as many shots as she could. The troopers crowded the corridor, filling her vision, the screaming of blasters renting the air. Gasping, she fought off sudden panic, focusing on the shimmering blade, on how she had seen Obi-wan and Anakin wield it in practice. She was without the Force, but the more Sabe concentrated, the more deftly she swung the saber to block the on-coming assault.
But she knew she couldn't hold up forever. There were too many of them, pushing forward, relentless. To reach for her own blaster would mean releasing control over the lightsaber, leaving her vulnerable.
She was forced back a step, then another, and another as the squad pushed forwards. The hum of the lightsaber filled the air now, as she struck out at every bolt that came near her. It was a dazzling display, and for just a moment, Sabe imagined this is what Obi-wan felt every time he intuned himself to the Force. For a moment, she was a Jedi, a warrior of the Force, and she would not be beaten.
It was in that second of sheer certainty that she realized the blast door she had been trying to cut through was gone. She was home free, no more than a few meters from here to the door that would take her into the control center of the Death Star.
If she could reach it, and seal the doors behind her before the troopers gained access as well, the entire station would be under her command.
"Here goes," she muttered.
The Force warned him that something was about to happen, but Anakin was anticipating a threat from Tarkin, and so was caught off-guard when the lights flared back on. He stepped back, away from the door and the fallen Imperial, but remained cautious all the same.
"Well?"
From the floor came a dry chuckle that sent shivers down Anakin's spine. Memories taunted him, of another man with that same cold laughter. The stars had nearly been drowned in that bitter humor.
"Oh, you Jedi scum," Tarkin laughed, hauling himself slowly to his feet. He stood at an awkward angle, and one of his arms hung limp at his side. But there was a baleful pride that still clung to him, as if even in his ragged defeat there was still some dark victory. "You can't even kill me, can you? Too afraid – of your pitiful beliefs and your own inner demons. How do you ever hope of ruling the galaxy if you can't even rule yourself, Skywalker?"
Anakin was quiet a moment, staring at the man. In him, he could see the viciousness and cruelty of a former master and the selfish impulses that had been his own in another lifetime. But beyond those, he could also see the darkness that had once stared back at him from a mirror, the ruins of a man who knew nothing of any sort of kindness.
"I'll settle for a place to call home and the companionship of good friends," he replied, voice tinged with pity.
Then Tarkin collapsed, as a blaster bolt came singing through the blast doors as they opened and struck him in the back. Troopers stormed forwards, charging towards the control center, heedless of having just killed their superior officer, focused only on the dancing form of a woman and the blue shimmering blade she held.
Anakin reached out instinctively as she backed into him, his arms going around her and dragging her down to the floor. Blaster bolts whizzed over their heads a moment before Anakin palmed the door with the Force, sealing them both inside the control room.
Silence descended almost instantly.
Sabe lay on her side, staring into the still-brightly glowing light of the saber. She breathed a moment, feeling the adrenaline course through her. Behind her, Anakin rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, not saying a word.
There was a warm sensation tangled up around his breastbone, accompanied by the thud-thudding of his heart and the living presence of his friend beside him. For all its vague familiarity, Anakin couldn't place it right away. It came from that other life, from that time before the Darkness, when as a Jedi he had fought for what was right. When he had felt the glow of satisfaction but also the weary resignation that came from serving the Force, even when it required death to balance out life.
And then he remembered, and gave himself over to it, whole again as he had not been – didn't know he hadn't been – since those days.
"Are you okay?" he finally managed.
"Yeah," Sabe murmured. She powered down the saber and was left staring at the lifeless eyes of an Imperial officer looking back at her. "That was quite the adventure."
"Glad you had fun."
"I did." She rolled over on to her back, away from the staring eyes and sighed. "Here, I think this is yours."
He smiled as she rested the familiar weight of his lightsaber on his chest. "Thanks for finding it."
"No problem. Think you could talk the Council into issuing one of these to a non-Jedi? I'd love one of my own."
Anakin chuckled. "With the way you were wielding mine just now, I think you've probably earned one of your own."
The moment of much-needed levity passed. They helped each other to their feet and took stock of their injuries. Nothing major. Outside, they could still hear the troopers, but without higher access, they would never get the blast door open. The control room was theirs, meaning the
station was theirs, meaning they had won. Now the real work – getting the troopers to stand down, rounding up the scientists, and gathering intel – began.
"I'll contact Tash and get this situation under control." Sabe moved to the computer terminals and started looking over the instruments. "You see if you can find a hot-water heater around here. I desperately need some tea."
"Right," Anakin replied, but stood staring down at the lifeless form of a man he realized now that he may have hated but never really knew.
Was he right? Would the Empire continue on regardless of all their efforts?
Well, time to see to that.
Yeah! Glad to have finally gotten this post written – I had problems with the time parallel between Anakin/Sabe and Obi-wan/Padme, so this post was written in parts and then pieced together. There was supposed to be more (I meant for you to find out if the twins are alive in this post) but the time just doesn't line up, so I have to go figure out how to work it out in the next post.
Let me know what you thought – I am very eager for reviews this time around.
Caslia
