Luke staggered into the apartment paranoid and twitchy.
He could sense that his father was in the house, and he did not want to have to explain what he'd found. Nor was he sure he'd be able to look at Vader without seeing the man he used to be superimposed over the top of him, that face Luke resembled so much, the arrogance in his stance.
His father tried to start a conversation with him anyway.
Luke was tense, his nerves fraying from the revelation and his interaction with Jade. He should have known better than to hide that from his father.
The moment Luke walked into the living room, Vader loomed at the doorway and asked, "Are you all right?"
There was a dark worry in Vader's voice, and Luke felt the dark side constrict around him like a hug, one of the closest things his father gave to physical affection.
Luke tried to grin, grimaced instead, then aborted the gesture. "Yeah. I'm just. . ." —lonely confused missing Leia afraid nervous paranoid angry self-loathing— ". . .tired."
It wasn't a lie, but Vader picked up on the deception anyway. He tilted his head—Luke imagined that cocky young man from the holo narrowed his eyes at him, and was concerned at how vivid the image was—and pressed, "Is your work in the Archives bothering you? Do you miss your sister?"
"Of course I miss Leia. It's like there's a hole in my chest." He didn't mean to snap at his father—indeed, he blanched in horror after he realised what he'd done, he'd snapped at his father—but he was tired. His eyes hurt.
Vader was silent for a moment. "After a while," he said, "You get used to the emptiness."
Luke stepped forward, reaching for his hand. "Father. . .?"
Vader let him take his hand; Luke squeezed it tightly. He sent a wave of adoration over their bond and felt Vader relax. He dropped Luke's hand to brush hair out of his face; his fingers lingered on his cheek.
"I don't want you to have to get used to it," he amended, "but, if needs be. . . you do."
Luke smiled faintly. He could feel exhaustion creeping in at the edge of his senses.
"Once we overthrow Palpatine, you won't have to work in the Archives anymore," his father said lightly, picking up on his thoughts.
"Even if I annoy you?"
"You could never annoy me." The words were soft, then Vader tempered them with a wry, "Though I suppose it might teach you patience for once."
"If you think it's best that I work there," Luke murmured, "I'd be happy to do it." His father wasn't all-powerful, but he was the greatest man Luke knew—and he trusted him with everything he had.
Vader's touch softened, and he made to rest his hand on Luke shoulder. "I know you would." He smiled at him.
Luke couldn't see the smile behind the mask, but he knew it was there. He could feel it in the rush of affection across their bond, see it in the way his helmet tilted forwards, hear it in the gentle words. No holo image could show him that.
This was his father, not the young, brash man who'd once worn his face. This was the man Luke idolised, and this was the man who was important to him.
He didn't need anything else.
Tatooine was just as disgusting as her father had always described.
Her brief correspondence with the Imperials in Bestine had been enough for her to completely lose faith in any Imperial presence on the planet—well, any competent Imperial presence. She left the communications officer squawking as she suddenly abandoned the capital city and took off for another part of the planet.
The only reason she'd headed to Bestine in the first place was to make sure she'd have Imperial backup if she needed it, but at this point she didn't even want that. They'd probably just get in the way.
According to the datachips, Padmé Amidala had landed outside Mos Espa on her brief—and, as far as was recorded, only—visit to Tatooine, and interacted with the residents there. So Leia headed in that direction first, though she knew she was kidding herself.
She didn't expect to find anything on Tatooine. The woman had been here once, thirty years ago; any trace of here would have been buried by the sands and the passage of time long ago. She was here because she wanted to be.
She was here because something called to her.
So she poked around Mos Espa for a while. Seeing the slaves, human and Twi'lek and so many other species, boiled her blood, but she held herself in check despite the anguish she could feel in this place.
Clamping down on her shields, she allowed the fleeting thought that just standing here would have been torture to Luke: he couldn't shield nearly as well as she could, and he'd always been overly sensitive to emotions. It was useful sometimes, as it had been with the Velts, but it was a double-edged blade that cut him just as deeply.
Force, she missed him. If he was here she'd probably be talking him out of starting an impromptu slave revolt or something, and it would be almost cathartic knowing she wasn't the only one who felt this way.
But he wasn't here.
She was alone.
So she squared her shoulders, ignored the residual pain in her leg, and just forced herself to keep moving.
As expected, she found nothing of relevance. But something about the place dazzled her anyway—the sands, the way the sun gleamed off the rundown buildings, the brush of the homespun clothes she'd donned to blend in with the locals. It felt like something out of a dream, and maybe that comparison came from the fact that it was.
Tatooine was the desert she and Luke had been dreaming about their whole lives.
It made her linger, constantly watching and searching for some meaning behind it. Something deeper, beyond the misery that permeated every inch. Why had this suns-stunned world haunted them for so long?
One Rodian vendor scoffed at something a customer told them, weighing up the shrivelled. . . thing. . . they seemed to be selling for meat as they said, "You think you could've competed in a podrace? You're human."
"A human won them before," the man insisted, dark brows creasing. "I just got accepted into the Imperial Academy, Skystrike—"
"I don't care," the Rodian shot back. Leia suspected that what she meant was, I don't know what that means. No one knew anything about the Empire, all the way out here. "Skywalker was the only human who ever won one of those things, and he was magic. I don't care how good you are."
Leia sensed the human man wanting to argue, but he just scowled and stalked off, wrinkled meaty thing dangling from his hand.
The Rodian turned her large eyes on Leia, but by that time her back was turned and she was walking away herself.
Skywalker. The name rang a bell in her mind, but she couldn't have said why. She wracked her memory for it, just as she wracked her memory for the images of the desert she'd always received, but the answers were just as much mirages as they always were. They shimmered tantalisingly at a distance, then vanished as she got closer to the truth.
She gritted her teeth and pulled her long scarf across her face. She'd try the next city.
Mos Eisley was even more disgusting than Mos Espa, if that was possible, but only because it seemed more focused on kissing Jabba's backside than actually getting anything done. It was a free spaceport, supposedly, but anytime someone passed through they were reported to the slug.
One of his cronies tried to get her to pay a ridiculous amount of money to dock in the port. She'd shot him through the head for his troubles.
She'd changed her outfits so she couldn't be linked to the young woman visiting Mos Espa for mysterious reasons, replaced the bacta patch she'd stuck on her calf, and wandered around the city for a while. This place was less familiar—though, again, she couldn't have said why. She managed to procure a map of the surrounding area from a vendor who stared at her a little too intently. She felt his eyes along her back as she walked off; her skin crawled.
She studied the map carefully, taking note of which names and landscapes sparked that mirage, and which didn't. She'd completely abandoned the pretence of searching for Amidala by now; she wanted to find out what was going on in her own head, first.
Bestine. The name was as dull in her mind as the ink it was written in on the map.
Jundland Wastes. Familiar, vaguely, but the way a long-forgotten word might be, or a word that sounded similar to one. For all she knew, it could be anything.
The mirage was strongest around the tiny town marked Anchorhead. She was starting to think this illusion was like her mind trying desperately to hide something from her: the closer she got, the stronger the misdirection and the shimmer.
She was extremely focused on the map, but that didn't mean she didn't notice when a man came up to her. She assessed him thoroughly as she approached, reading the gist of his thoughts if not the thoughts themselves. He meant her no harm.
She didn't look up from the map until his shadow fell across her, an almost welcome relief from the twin suns. When she did, her lips tightened slightly.
It was the young man from earlier, with the dark hair and neat moustache—the one who claimed he'd been accepted into Skystrike. She hadn't sensed a lie when he said so.
Impressive. That was one talented pilot, then.
"Can I help you?" she asked. Her tone wasn't sharp, but it was curt—she didn't have time to entertain him unless he promised to be useful.
"Oh, no," he answered, floundering slightly but still strangely solid. "I was wondering if I could help you? You seem lost."
Leia narrowed her eyes at him minutely. The words rang true.
"I am," she pretended to admit, one of her hands fluttering to hug her stomach. Maybe he could be useful, if he was so intent on being so. "My mother passed away recently, and she told me I had relatives on this planet. At least—I had." She let herself babble; it fed into her persona. "Whether or not I still have them is what I came to find out, I guess."
"I understand. Do you know what their names were?"
There was really only one thing Leia could say. There was only one name that had sparked that mirage. "Skywalker."
The man's reaction was instant and telling: his eyebrows shot up, his mouth parted slightly. If he expected to go into Imperial service, he'd need to learn to hide his emotions a lot better than that. He'd be eaten alive by all the backstabbing required to reach the top.
"Skywalker," he said. "They were definitely a family here—Anakin Skywalker was a slave, I believe. He was freed because he was the first human ever to win the Boonta Eve Classic podrace, then became a navigator on a spice freighter."
A spice dealer? What would be so important about him?
"He's long dead, but I knew his children. Twins. They—" His face fell. "They disappeared around ten years ago, and their homestead was burned."
"Oh." She let herself look crestfallen, crushed.
Sure enough, it evoked pity in him. "I'm sorry." He scratched the back of his neck. "I. . . could take you to what's left of the homestead, if you like? I'm Biggs by the way," he said suddenly, holding out his hand. "Biggs Darklighter."
She took his hand and shook it. "Liana Cedel," she lied. It wasn't the first time she'd used that alias, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.
"The homestead's out by Anchorhead, it's about an hour by speeder," he said, meeting her eyes calmly. She decided she liked him—he seemed honest enough, and it was refreshing.
But—
Anchorhead.
The plot thickened.
She shrugged. "I've got time."
They left almost immediately, though Leia had to squeeze into Biggs's speeder next to all the other mechanical parts and strange meaty things he'd bought. He laughed when she made a face at the smell.
"You're clearly not from around here."
Not. She most certainly was not.
That didn't stop everything from feeling familiar.
The feeling hit her strongest when they arrived at the homestead, now barely recognisable as something that was once lived in. Half of even the sand-blasted stone had been scoured away, leaving the place cracked open like a convor egg shell, the insides bleached and windswept until nothing remained. Leia was surprised this much was even left standing.
The sight of it sent a painful pang through her chest, though she couldn't have said why.
"This is all that's left of your relatives." Biggs's face was carefully blank, in a way that confused Leia enough she probed his mind for answers. He was feeling his own distant grief at the loss—he'd been friends with the Skywalkers, and he'd apparently used to visit this place as often as he did his own home—but he didn't want to intrude on hers. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault." There was a lump in her throat—why? She wasn't attached to this. She had nothing to do with this, dreams of no dreams.
Waking up in the middle of the night, screaming, Luke screaming in synchrony with her, her father trying desperately to calm them both down—
Was it the desert again?
"What—" She swallowed. "What was. . . Anakin, did you say his name was? What was he like?"
Perhaps more information could teach her more—
"I don't actually know," Biggs admitted. "He left Tatooine after he was freed and never came back, but he died just under twenty years ago. The twins were sent to live with their aunt and uncle by marriage. Owen and Beru Lars. Well. Beru Whitesun Lars."
The mirage flickered around those names as well.
"What were the twins called?" she asked. "What were they like?"
"Reckless, if I remember correctly. Very cheerful. One was a boy, one was a girl. You look a lot like the girl, actually," he added. "I can see the family resemblance." He smiled a little.
She smiled back, if only to keep her cover. Her mind was whirring, and she was probably a little harsh when she pressed, "Yes, but what were the twins called?"
He seemed taken aback, but answered automatically, "Luke and Leia Skywalker."
Leia's world screeched to a halt.
Luke had been searching for his father's identity for hours now.
He'd decided that who his father had been before wasn't important, and he stuck by that principle. But he wanted to know who he was.
What would his last name have been—if not Naberrie—had his father seen fit to give him one? He was curious, he wanted to know, and it was tearing him apart.
He had no official standing in the Empire. He was Lord Vader's son—but what did that mean? Who was he? Who would he be?
He was indefatigable in his research.
He'd worked out that his father had likely been a Jedi before he realised how corrupt they were, so the first thing Luke did was search through file after file on every Jedi he could find.
His search remained fruitless. The files on the Jedi were restricted, but that wasn't a problem: he had the codes and clearance to get through it all. If his father or the Emperor asked about what he was doing looking through there, he could say that he was researching his enemy, just as they'd instructed—even if the idea of lying to his father made his stomach turn.
The problem, however, was actually finding the man.
He was a ghost. Occasionally he'd be in the back of holos, never at the forefront, and Luke began to suspect that when he'd become Darth Vader, his father had ordered all previous recollections of him destroyed.
Except Luke and Leia.
So it was nearly impossible to find anything concrete. One couldn't expect the records of even the meticulously bureaucratic Republic to be perfect, and with the chaos of the Clone Wars and the Purges, not much had been recorded. Luke was left to look for pinpricks in between tears and gashes.
But there was one place that did have effective documentation, that did have the pinpricks he was looking for.
The records of who had been elevated to Jedi Master, and who had taken a seat on the Council.
It was a major ceremony to become a Jedi Knight, an hour; it was an even greater honour to be made a Master. Their names were all dutifully recorded, and if they had the unfathomable luck to sit on the Council as well, that was taken down as well.
The turnover was fast during the Clone Wars. So many died, so many proved themselves. When one Council member perished, they were quickly replaced, then again, and again, round and round. Each instance written down for posterity by the Jedi Order's scholar.
Adi Gallia: died on Felucia, her seat filled by her cousin, Stass Allie.
Shaak Ti: took the seat of a Master of unknown species by the name of Yaddle, after Yaddle passed away of a truly ancient age. She'd apparently been of the same species as Grandmaster Yoda, but Luke didn't have a clue what that species might be.
And then there was the man who'd replaced Master Even Piell on the Council.
That man was human, the youngest Council member ever in his early twenties, and he had not been granted the rank of Master.
His name was Anakin Skywalker.
It was the only instance of seeing the name that he'd come across in all of his research, and that in itself, just how thoroughly it had been buried, was telling enough. He'd have known even without the burst of familiarity and rightness the Force granted him.
But the most compelling factor: he had been appointed to the Council as Chancellor Palpatine's personal representative.
His father had been Palpatine's right-hand man from the start.
And now he's plotting treason against him.
Luke did his best to shake the thought away. He had the name.
Anakin Skywalker.
Which made Luke and Leia Skywalkers as well, right?
Luke Skywalker.
It sounded. . . familiar. It sounded right.
He grinned, and had to hide the expression from Horada's questioning glance. He was Luke Skywalker.
He was Luke Skywalker—
His comlink buzzed sharply.
He ignored it.
It buzzed again, insistent. Seeing the glares he was receiving, he hastily stepped into the empty corridor outside before he switched it on. His eyes blew wide.
It was his sister.
"Leia!" he said excitedly. "Great—I have something to tell you."
"If it's about Amidala, not now." Leia may have snapped a little more than usual—more than necessary—but she was tense. Vibrating out of her skin. She'd managed to clamp down on her shock when Biggs had first said the words, the whole of the speeder ride back, when she'd said farewell to him and dashed into her ship, but no more. "I have something important to tell you—"
"So do I—"
"—I found out who we are."
"—I found out who Father was."
Leia blinked. "Anakin Skywalker?"
"Yes." Luke creased his brow—how had she known that? How long had she—
"I just found out, don't look so betrayed." Again, the words were snappish, but he knew his sister. She was excited. She was agitated. She wasn't angry. "Just as I found out that we used to be called—"
"Luke and Leia Skywalker?"
Leia wrinkled her nose. "Are those your magnificent powers of deduction?"
"You bet." The small hologram of him, projected over the console, grinned broadly.
"Very impressive," she drawled. "But remember when Father said that he found us?"
Luke sat forward; she had his full attention now.
"I know where he found us from."
"Where?" Luke was struggling not to let his mouth hang open like a fish. "Where are you now?"
"Tatooine." Leia grimaced. "Apparently we were raised by some extended family until little Luke and Leia Skywalker 'disappeared' at age seven."
"A desert planet?" Age seven was when the dreams of the endless expanses of sand had started—this might begin to explain why.
And explain why their father had been so panicked, so angry, whenever they got them. . .
"It's not like we have any specific or clear memories from before age seven. What's your earliest memory?"
He thought for a moment. "You nearly shoving me down the stairs on Mustafar."
"Me too. Isn't that odd, developing memories that late?"
Luke shrugged. "I don't know. It's not like we've spoken to a great many normal human children."
"No," he saw Leia hide her smile, "we haven't. But I don't think it's normal. I think—"
"That we've had a mind block put in our heads?" He frowned at the idea.
"It's possible." She sighed. "We'd better ask Father when I get back."
He snorted. "That'll go well."
"We'll ask nicely."
"You know how to be nice?"
"Is this really the time to be mocking me?"
"It's always time to mock my sister."
Leia made a face. "Point taken." She frowned, then said, "I—"
A beeping.
She frowned further. "I'm getting an incoming message from. . . Palpatine." Her eyes widened. "I'll call you back later, Luke."
"Looking forward to it."
The comlink winked off.
Luke stared at it for a few moments, then sighed. Tucked it into his pocket. Headed back to the Archives.
He had work to do.
But Leia's revelations distracted him. They buzzed at the back of his mind. The more he learned, it seemed, the more questions he had.
Who were these relatives they'd lived with for seven years?
Why had they been given to them, and not their father?
And, perhaps the most haunting one: Why hadn't his father told him?
He was so deep in thought as he sat at his desk that at first it took him a moment to tell something was wrong.
The place was too quiet. Half the people who'd been here before had left, including Horada. But a few still remained, including one person browsing the architectural section of the shelves, who seemed. . . off.
Luke probed him with the Force. Yes, something was definitely off. The person—a human male, perhaps in his late twenties or thirties with nervous, twitching hands—radiated a calmness that was at odds with his general demeanour.
One of the datapads on Luke's desk had been taken from near to the architectural section. He picked it up and sauntered over, forcing his gait to stay smooth, his steps loud but not too loud. The man stiffened minutely with each approaching step, glancing at Luke as he slotted the datapad into its place on the shelf, then hastily glancing away when Luke looked at him.
"I'm sorry, sir," Luke said lightly, "but weapons aren't allowed in the Imperial Archives." He nodded to the scuffed blaster at the man's hip—perhaps the most obtrusive sign that whoever he was, he wasn't one of the ordinary patrons. They'd rather be defenceless than face Horada's wrath. Luke couldn't really blame them.
He held out his hand. "If you give it to me, I can put it in the draw with the other weapons, for you to pick up on your way out?" The man was still tense, so Luke softened the exchange with a quip: "I'm told that the last time a weapon was allowed in here, there was utter chaos. That was years ago, so it's probably overkill, but better safe than sorry, eh?"
It seemed to convince the man. He tucked he datapad he'd been holding under his arm, and unhooked the blaster from his waist. He held it in his hands briefly before passing it over.
Luke's hand closed around the grip firmly, lest he change his mind and decide to take it back.
The man noticed that, clearly: his eyes narrowed, and his Force sense thrummed like a wire about to break.
Luke was convinced he was a Rebel.
But. . . why here? What was he after?
They could find that out, he decided, during the interrogation.
He flicked the blaster to stun and pointed it. His hand was steady. "Don't move."
The man's datapad clattered to the floor as he lunged.
Luke pulled the trigger, but there was no discharge, no blue ring sparking through his body and shutting down his systems like a power surge. A fist collided with his face and he hit the floor hard.
Lights flashed before his eyes. Footsteps, loud and fast but fading, indignant shouts.
A red flashing light in front of him. He shoved himself onto his hands and knees, scowling at the blaster on the floor next to him, at the crimson display that read NO POWER.
The Rebel had removed the power cell before he handed it over.
Son of a—
At least he'd left the datapad behind in his rush to escape. Luke took the time to dump it on his desk—he could inspect it later—then seized on the man's terrified mind in the Force, and gave chase.
Leia didn't know what to think as her comlink spewed out the image of Palpatine, wrinkled face in exquisite detail, and she sank to one knee. She was nowhere near completing her mission—she'd been away for three weeks at most. What was there for him to say to her?
Leia gritted her teeth, but knelt in front of the hologram. Keeping her eyes to the ground, subservient, she waited for him to speak.
She didn't have to wait long.
"Were you in the middle of something, child? Have I interrupted you?"
There was something mocking in the words, something which dug at Leia, but she crushed her resentment. "It's fine, Master. I was merely talking with Luke."
"Ah, yes. Understandable." His tone implied it was no such thing. "Have you been missing your brother?"
She swallowed. "Yes, Master." Then, because she'd never voluntarily hid anything from him and it would be suspicious to start now— "More than anything."
He watched her for a moment, but he could feel the truth of the words in the Force. They were true.
He smiled. "Then I have good news for you."
She didn't respond, just stayed, head to the ground, and waited for him to continue.
"Whereabouts are you now? I'm told you've left Naboo."
I have spies. I can find out everything I need to know. Don't try to hide it from me.
She wasn't planning on it.
"Tatooine, Master."
The only reason she heard the sharp intake of breath was because she was listening for it.
So. He had known about their. . . past. . . here.
"I was following a lead on Amidala. You know how fond the Rebels are of hiding in the Outer Rim." None of it was technically a lie. She let her distaste—for him, but it could be easily misconstrued—seep into her voice as she continued, "I didn't find anything to do with her."
I found so much more instead.
If Palpatine noticed her equivocation, he said nothing. "A disappointment, to be sure, but an unsurprising one. My dear, I've had time to cool my head since we last spoke, and I apologise for my hasty decision. From what I've heard, your actions on Naboo were to be commended. Your quick thinking saved my beloved home planet from who knows how much chaos and anarchy, and the Queen was saved by it. I've decided your talents would better serve me at home, and I would like you to return."
"Return?" It was everything Leia wanted—she needed to talk to Luke, her father, as soon as possible—but she knew how he expected her to react. Any other reaction would be cause for suspicion. "But Master, I haven't succeeded in my mission—"
"It was foolish of me to expect you would." He smiled kindly, but she heard the insult in the generosity. "You are a child, and scores upon scores of adults have failed to find our quarry. Furthermore, you and your brother have always resisted working separately. It was a poor decision on my part to separate you." He smiled wider, and she couldn't help smiling back his time. She could go back to Luke! "I'd like you to return."
She lowered her head again. "I—" she forced the words out. "Thank you, Master. I'll return as soon as possible."
"I look forward to it."
The hologram winked out.
Leia lifted herself from the kneeling position and stared at the comlink. It was probably too late to comm Luke back—Force knew he'd probably moved onto something else already—but she smiled to herself, broadly. This was perfect.
She was going home.