notes: Chapter updated 4/22/20


PART 3: TRIAL AND TRIBULATION

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.

-The Bible, James 1:2-4 NIV


CHAPTER 1

Han Solo was not sure what to make of Luke Skywalker.

He was surprisingly difficult to read. Though his bright, blue eyes were open and honest, his words were guarded and his expressions careful. When Han tried to pry, to learn more about him—what made him tick, what made him angry, what made him happy—Luke would slip around him, telling him nothing that he had not already told, or that Han had not already guessed.

"So tell me, Luke," Han said on the way back to the Millennium Falcon, "you leaving anything behind here on Tatooine?"

"No," Luke said, short and sharp.

Han knew that was a lie. He could hear it in Luke's voice, and see it in the way his shoulders tensed.

That's something else I know about him, then, Han thought. He's bad at lying.

"You sure?" Han pressed. "Because—"

"I'm sure," said Luke quickly, still short, still sharp.

Han relented and did not press harder. He knew what it was like to want to keep the secret of one's past. Chewie was the only one who knew where he came from—and Han intended to keep it that way. He certainly wouldn't want to divulge that information to someone he had just met, even if that person was someone who had hired him.

Especially if it was someone who had just hired him.

"Tell me a little bit about yourself," said Han, turning his head to look at Luke at his shoulder.

They were walking down the long, curving streets that connected the market and cantina district to the docks. The walls of the buildings to either side crowded the sky, blocking out all but the narrowest strip of blue overhead. Trash littered the gutters and walkways, and sand sifted back and forth across the duracrete, reminding Han just how much he hated the desert.

Beside him, Luke shrugged. "There's not much to say, really," he told Han. "I'm 16, I used to work on a moisture farm, and want to get off this rock—need to get off this rock"

"Why's that?" Han asked.

"I just do," was Luke's terse reply.

Okay, thought Han, so he doesn't like to talk about that either. Han considered pressing for more details—but then decided against it. He would learn more of Luke's motivations later, once he wasn't quite so on guard and quite so prickly.

"What about you?" Luke asked suddenly, surprising Han. "Tell me a little bit about yourself."

Han grinned, mirthless. "There's not much to tell, really," he said. "I smuggle, and do odd jobs for anyone who pays the right price. My first mate Chewbacca's a Wookiee. I like dejarik and sabacc. I love my ship, which I won in a sabacc game. Really," he added, "I'm not that complicated."

"Hm," Luke said—and Han wondered just what Luke had learned from him. That he was decidedly anti-slavery, for all that he was a criminal, maybe—though he had said as much already, back in the cantina. That he liked games of strategy and quick wits—and more than that, that he was good at strategy and battles of wit. That he was far more complicated than he let on, and that he was good at lying and playing the fool—if Luke was good at reading between the lines, and good at reading people.

They reached the docking bay, and Han punched in the code to the door. It opened with a creak and a groan, revealing the Falcon sitting in her berth. She glinted in the sunlight streaming in from overhead, all silver and grey and sleek lines.

"This is your ship?" Luke asked, sounding askance.

"Yeah," said Han. "Why?"

"It's a piece of junk!"

"Hey now," Han said, affronted, "she'll make .5 past light speed. She might not look like much, kid, but she's got it where it counts. She hasn't ever let me down. Not yet. Besides, you'd better learn to be nicer to her—she's going to be your home for at least the next two weeks, maybe longer."

Turning, Han saw Luke bite his lower lip. Something wild and unreadable flashed in his eyes, and they took on a strange and distant, far-away look. He blinked, and the look was gone, replaced instead with grudging acceptance.

"Okay," he said, and hiked his bag higher onto his shoulder. Somehow, Han didn't think Luke was speaking to him.

"Come on," he said, filing away the strangeness of the incident to ponder later. "I'll show you around."

They ducked up the open ramp and into the cool shade of the Falcon's interior. The long hall that curved around the outer hull of the ship, connecting the galley, cockpit, captain and crew bunks, 'fresher, and the lounge opened up before them. To the left was the corridor that led down to the cargo bays that lined the Falcon's belly.

Han led the way through the ship, showing Luke each room in turn. Finally he reached the crew bunk, which he opened and ushered Luke through.

"This is where you'll be sleeping," he said. "You'll have to share with Chewie—my first mate—but it shouldn't be too bad. Chewie doesn't snore, and he's impeccable when it comes to keeping things clean."

The room was long and low-ceilinged. The bunks that lined the left- and right-hand walls—four in total, two on each side—nearly reached the roof, leaving just enough room to roll over on the top bed. A hammock had been slung between the back two bunks, the blankets that were folded neatly beneath it bearing the tell-tale sign of Wookiee fur. A chest was crammed into the back corner.

"As you can probably guess, Chewie sleeps in the hammock. Feel free to take any of the other beds for yourself. We don't have dressers or anything, so if you want to buy a chest or something for your belongings, feel free."

"Okay," said Luke, slinging down his bag on the nearest, right-hand bunk.

"Blankets are in the storage space just outside of the door. You can also find a spare pillow in there if you need one. Towels for the 'fresher are on the top shelf."

Luke frowned. "Towels?"

Han laughed, sudden and abrupt and halfway to delighted. "You've probably never had a water shower, have you?"

Luke, blushing, shook his head.

"Well Chewie and I can show you how to use the water setting later, if you want. If not, we do have a sonic setting."

"Okay," said Luke.

Han led Luke back out of the bunk and to the galley. "Chewie and I eat dinner together most nights. He cooks—and is an amazing cook too. You're more than welcome to join us if you want to."

The galley was surprisingly spacious for its size. A stove was crammed into one corner, connected to the sink and dishwasher by a few feet of counter. Cabinets sealed with magnets lined the walls at head-height, and a table and chairs were bolted to the floor against the left-hand wall. A pantry, stocked with cans and vacuum-sealed packages was in the far corner, beside another long row of counters.

"You won't have much to do in the cockpit," said Han, when they reached it. "If you are up here, you'll be sitting in the tactical chair." He pointed to one of the two chairs sitting halfway back from the command console. "If I'm not flying, it's Chewie flying. If Chewie's not flying, we're in deep shit. Until I teach you how to fly her, I don't want you even touching the Falcon's controls. Understand?"

Luke nodded. "Understood."

"We're in port for another two days," Han said, turning and propping a hip against the captain's chair. "Feel free to do what you want. We ship out at 0700 day after tomorrow though. Be here, or we're leaving you behind. Got it?"

Luke nodded again. "Got it."

It was Han's turn to nod. "Good." He straightened, and then brushed past Luke, pausing for just long enough to clap him on the shoulder and say, "Welcome to the Falcon, kid."

"Thanks," Luke said with a grin. Then Han was out of the cockpit, striding toward the ramp. He had some repairs to finish on the ship's underbelly before it got too dark to see.

He was almost done by the time Chewbacca arrived back at the ship. The large Wookiee bent down and shuffled toward Han, standing in a crouch beneath it and holding a welding torch in one hand and a pair of goggles with the other.

"[I smell the cub]," said Chewie, kneeling down on the permacrete and fixing Han with a long, hard stare. "[I take it you agreed with me?]"

Han shrugged. "He looked pathetic, sitting there."

"[So we're in the business of picking up pathetic life forms now]?"

"Just this once," said Han. "And do I need to remind you that it was you who pushed me to let the kid onto our crew?"

Chewbacca huffed a laugh. "[No, Cub]," he said. "[I remember full well what it was I said]."

Han lit the welding torch, and a cascade of sparks flew from the metal, filling the shadows underneath the ship with warm, gold heat.

"You never did give me a good answer, though," Han said, as he finished welding the bolt into place. "Why did you speak up for him?"

Chewbacca shrugged his massive shoulders. "[He reminded me of someone]."

"Who?"

"[You, for one. Lost, alone, drowning beneath the weight of the harsh world, teetering on the edge of the void…]."

"Poetic," said Han dryly.

Chewie snorted.

"You said "for one". Is there someone else he reminds you of?"

"[An old Jedi I once knew]," Chewie said. "[He died with the rise of the Empire, and so far as I know he had no children, but there was something about the boy's eyes…]." Chewbacca laughed at himself. "[I was seeing ghosts. But it was enough to catch my eye, which caught my attention]."

"Huh," Han said. "Well I hope you're not wrong about him."

"[Since when have I been wrong about someone]?" Chewie asked.

Han shook his head. "There's a first time for everyone."

"[What is his name]?" Chewbacca asked.

"Skywalker. Luke Skywalker."

Chewie recoiled, hitting his head on the underbelly of the ship. "[You're certain that's his name]?" he asked, voice thick with tension, eyes hot and hard.

Han frowned. "Yeah, why?"

Chewie shook his head. "[Nothing, Cub. Nothing you need worry yourself over]."

Han frowned, but knew he would not be getting anything from Chewie—not now, when his eyes were burning and his lips were pulled back from his teeth in a silent snarl of shock.

"[I will leave you to the repairs]," Chewie said, and backed out from underneath the Falcon.

Confused, and a little alarmed—had he made the wrong decision in bringing Luke onboard after all?—Han went back to soldering the panel back onto the ship.

If there was something wrong, he had to trust that Chewie would say something. He did trust that Chewie would say something. In the meantime, he had a ship to repair.

~oOo~

Leia was wary of Han, and it was filling Luke with a deep sense of unease.

"Why don't you like him?" Luke asked. He was perched on the bunk he had claimed as his own, the datapad that he had brought with him, filled with as many books and textbooks as he could find, lying dark on his lap. The lights in the room were on low, filling the corners under the top bunk with warm, yellow shadows.

"It's not that I don't like him," Leia said cagily. "I just don't trust him."

"Why not?" Luke asked. "He seemed trustworthy to me."

"He was lying to you," Leia said. "When he was telling you about himself. I mean, what he said wasn't a lie, but he was lying to you all the same. I could feel his deceit."

Luke frowned. "You think he's hiding something?"

"Yes," said Leia. "Though I dunno what."

"Well regardless, whatever the skeletons in his closet are, they're probably not as bad as what you've been through—what I've witnessed through you. I'll be fine."

"What if he sells you into slavery?"

"He said his first mate is a Wookiee. I think he was telling the truth about being anti-slavery."

Leia huffed, but then nodded mentally. "He didn't seem to be lying about that. Just about everything else."

"So he didn't win his ship in a game of sabacc?"

"No, that was honest too. But even when he said that, there was something...missing. I don't know. It's hard to describe."

"Can you try?" Luke asked.

"Sure. It felt...hollow, when he was talking to you. Like what he was saying was a thin piece of paper stretched over the truth. And what was written on the paper wasn't a lie, exactly, but that there was more to it than he was saying."

"Do you really blame him?" Luke asked. "We just met the man. I'm not ready to spill all my secrets to him either."

"I guess," said Leia. "I still don't trust him."

"That's fair. We don't have to trust him. Just work with him."

"So you're with me?" Leia asked, sounding relieved.

"Of course I'm with you," said Luke, eyebrows crawling up his forehead in spite of himself. "I'm always with you—in more ways than one. Even if I disagree with you—which I don't here—I'm with you."

Leia laughed, breathless. "Thank you," she said.

The door to the bunk opened, admitting a tall, shaggy creature Luke knew from his textbooks was a Wookiee. Even though he had seen pictures and illustrations, however, he was not ready for the real thing.

Wookiees were even bigger in real life than Luke had realized. Over two meters tall, Chewbacca seemed to dominate the room—though whether that was because of sheer size or because of the weight of his presence, Luke couldn't be sure. Though his shoulders were narrow in proportion to his body, they were broader than any human's Luke had met, speaking of great strength. His paws were massive, tipped with with sheathed claws, and when he opened his mouth to howl what Luke guessed was a greeting, he revealed great predatory teeth made and meant for tearing flesh from bones.

"Uh, hi," said Luke, lifting a hand to wave. "I'm Luke. I guess we'll be roommates from now on."

Chewbacca warbled something. Luke shook his head.

"Sorry," he said, "I don't speak Shyriiwook."

Chewbacca huffed and nodded. He crossed to stand over Luke, saw the datapad lying on his lap, and crooned a clear question, pointing to it.

"Er, yeah, sure," said Luke, handing the datapad to him.

A few deft movements later, Chewbacca had pulled up the notepad function on the datapad. Chewbacca sat down on the floor, cradling the device on one knee, and typed something into the interface. When he was done, he handed it back to Luke.

Call me Chewie, read the first line.

"Okay," said Luke, glancing up at him. He offered a tentative smile, and added, "Call me Luke." Then he looked down to read the second line—and felt a thrill of shock spirit up from his stomach to his throat and into his mouth, cold and hot by turns.

I knew your father, read the second line.

"You did?" Luke asked, half a gasp, and looked up. "How?"

Chewie took the datapad back from him and for a moment there was only the sound of his claws tapping at the screen. Then he handed it back to Luke, who read, He was a General in the Clone Wars. We fought together for a time.

Luke frowned. "My father wasn't a General in the Clone Wars," he said. "He was a navigator on a spice freighter."

Chewie took back the datapad and typed something else out.

Your father was named Anakin Skywalker, was he not?

Luke nodded. "My aunt and uncle always said it was a different Anakin Skywalker though," Luke told him. "Like I said, my father was a navigator on a spice freighter. Not a General."

Not just a General, Chewie told him. But also a Jedi.

Luke shook his head. "No," he said. "It can't be the same Anakin Skywalker. I would know if my father was a Jedi."

Would you?

"Of course! At least...I think so."

Suddenly Obi-Wan's words on the way back home from Anchorhead, after the Tuskens, came back to Luke. There is much about your father that you don't know, he had said. He had also said that Luke's ability to use the Force came from his father—and even Luke knew the Jedi were known for their use of the Force.

Had Luke in fact been the one to use the Force against the Tusken, not Leia? Had they been wrong this whole time?

Could his father really have been a General of the Clone Wars? A Jedi?

Chewie took back the datapad once more. Luke watched him type with bated breath, and then quickly read the message Chewie handed him.

You are the spitting image of General Skywalker, he said, if a little younger than when I knew him. The likeness is uncanny. There is no way the two of you are not related.

Luke shook his head. "But...but no," he protested. "It can't be… I mean—"

Chewie took the datapad back once more. A simple DNA test could confirm it. Anakin Skywalker's DNA is a matter of public record.

"How would we go about doing that?" Luke asked.

Go to a clinic, Chewie said. Have them perform a DNA scan, and ask for the results.

Luke swallowed past a sudden surge of anxiety. He hesitated, then asked in a small voice, "Would you come with me?" Somehow the prospect of going to a clinic in a strange city, and asking for the results of a test Luke wasn't sure he wanted to know, didn't seem quite so daunting if Chewie was with him—even though he had only just met the Wookiee. Chewbacca radiated warmth and security, and Luke could not help but trust him. He could tell without even asking that Leia felt the same way.

Of course I will, Chewie replied. When?

"Tomorrow morning?" Luke suggested. "First thing? Oh, but I don't have any money." Luke blushed.

Don't worry about the money, Chewie told him. Reaching out with one giant paw, he ruffled Luke's hair.

"Are you sure?" Luke asked.

Chewie huffed and nodded.

Luke smiled. "Okay," he said. "Tomorrow then. First thing."

Chewie nodded again and rose, depositing the datapad back in Luke's lap. He warbled something, then turned and left the bunk room, the door swishing shut behind him, leaving Luke alone with his thoughts—and Leia—once more.

Leia had been silent throughout Luke's exchange with Chewie. Now, however, she spoke.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Luke asked.

Leia hesitated. "I don't know," she said slowly.

"You do know," Luke accused. "I can feel feel it."

"It's just… I was always told as a child not to let anyone draw my blood. That's probably why I'm worried about it. It just seems…" She hesitated again. "Dangerous."

"Why would it be dangerous?" Luke asked.

"What if you are that Jedi's son?" she asked. "Knowing that could put you in danger—could draw the Emperor's attention, even. Or at least the attention of the Inquisitors."

"I've lived this long without being found out," Luke pointed out. "I think I can last a little longer."

"It's your choice," Leia said finally. "Just...be careful. And be ready for whatever the truth is."

"I will be."

Luke went to bed early that night. He had gone out to talk to Han as the suns were setting, and helped him finish reattaching the panelling to the Falcon's underbelly. Han had pulled half of it off to reach and rewire much of the inner circuitry.

"We've been hearing a rattle during take-off and landing," Han said, when Luke asked him what he was doing. "We think it probably has to do with the landing strut wiring."

"Huh," Luke said, and finished soldering a plate of metal back onto the hull.

"Thanks, kid," Han said once they were done. Night had truly fallen by then, claiming the sky with stars and moons. Floodlights mounted onto the walls shed bright, white-yellow light over the Falcon and the circular permacrete docking bay she sat in, though shadows lay thick beneath the ship.

"Sure thing," said Luke. His hands were streaked with grease, and he fought the urge to wipe them off on his pants. He smiled.

Han smiled back. "I think you're gonna do just fine, kid," he said, and clapped Luke on the shoulder.

"I'm gonna try," was Luke's reply.

He slept fitfully that night, plagued not only by the strange sounds of a new place, but also by nightmares. He dreamed of Pale Eyes and of Vrosha, of rape and of torture. He woke drenched in sweat and shaking, automatically reaching out for Leia even before he was fully conscious.

"Leia?" he called, dreading what he would hear in response.

"I'm here," came Leia's quiet, deadened reply.

"Are you okay?" Luke asked.

"Yes," said Leia. She shivered, and Luke felt it ripple beneath his skin.

"No, you're not. What's wrong?"

Leia hesitated, then said, "I don't know. Everything is just...too much, somehow. The lights are too bright, the air conditioning is too loud, the shirt too soft, the mattress too hard…"

Luke sank into her mind and felt what she was feeling. It was like an overwhelming blast of sensation, sound, and touch—so much that he felt battered, bloody and raw. He began to shake, and felt it echoed in Leia's body.

"C'mere," Luke said, and drew Leia into his own mind, pulling her thought by thought and sense by sense out of her own body and into his.

Leia shuddered as she sank into his mind, and Luke felt tears gather in the corners of her eyes. "I hurt," she whispered to Luke as she crossed the threshold of his thoughts.

"I know," Luke replied, cradling her mind in his. "I know…"

They spent the rest of the night existing together, Leia hiding in Luke's mind from the overwhelming nature of her world. She still hurt—still ached, still shook, still shuddered from the weight of everything that rested on her mind and heart, memories of rape and torture that no one, let alone a girl of 13, should ever have to face—but she hid from that hurt in Luke and his warmth, his brightness, his comfort.

Chewbacca rose at 0600 sharply, waking without alarm or signal that Luke could discern. Luke yawned and sat up in bed as well, blinking bleary eyes and meeting the gaze of the large Wookiee. Chewie motioned for Luke to hand him something—and after a few seconds Luke reached under the bunk and produced the datapad, handing it over to Chewie without hesitation.

Meet me outside in half an hour, Chewie typed, handing the datapad back once he was done.

"Okay," said Luke, once he had read the message.

Chewie took the datapad back. I fix caf and breakfast first thing in the morning. I'll make enough for you.

Luke smiled. "Thanks," he said, trying not to feel awkward. While he was used to his aunt fixing his meals, Beru was his aunt. Chewie was a Wookiee that he barely knew; it made him uncomfortable to depend on a stranger for even one meal.

All the same, after Luke rose and washed his face and hands and dressed in one of the few outfits he had brought with him, he was glad for the hot breakfast waiting for him in the galley. He ate the rehydrated eggs and toast greedily, sipping the steaming cup of caf Chewie handed to him. He wrinkled his nose at the taste at first—he was used to drinking caf only irregularly, and when he did he added copious amounts of cream and sugar to it—but it grew on him the more he drank of it.

Once Luke was done with breakfast, he headed out to the landing ramp. He perched himself on the edge of it, legs dangling over the edge at an angle, and waited. He only had a few moments to wait, though, before Chewie appeared, carrying Luke's datapad in one giant hand.

He howled, and Luke rose. He didn't need a translator to know what Chewie had meant: Let's go.

They walked down the landing ramp and out into the docking bay. The large blast door was shut and locked, a red light blinking on the keypad set into the wall at shoulder-height. Chewie paused by it for just long enough to punch in the opening code, then he waited with an impatient Luke as the large, heavy door groaned open.

With Chewie a step and a half in front of Luke, they crossed the threshold. A long, broad avenue swept from north to south, passing by both open and closed blast doors leading to more berths, some empty and echoing, some filled with the hulking shadows of ships of every shape and size.

A thousand yards north, the avenue opened into the spaceport proper. The walls of the vast building were lined with vendors of every sort, many of the booths and stalls already filled with men and women of a hundred species, each of them shouting to be heard over their neighbor. On the far eastern end of the large room was a customs counter where all incoming shipments of cargo were supposed to be registered, while on the northern edge of the building was a seating area meant for passengers awaiting transport. The room was filled with beings—so many that Luke's head swam and he faltered in his stride, slowing to a halt.

Realizing that Luke was no longer behind him, Chewie doubled back and laid one massive paw on his shoulder. He warbled something that Luke could not understand, and then gently propelled him forward, through the crowd and toward the massive doors leading out onto the outside street.

It was barely less crowded. The air was cool, the second sun not yet risen to heat the day, the sky a peerless blue with nary a cloud in sight. Luke stumbled once, only for Chewie to catch and right him. He huffed something that Luke imagined meant Be careful, then nudged him forward once more.

Together the two of them passed through the sprawling marketplace surrounding the spaceport and pressed deeper into the rambling city that edged up against it. While still technically considered part of the spaceport, Anchorhead was an unofficial city complete with business and residential districts—though those districts were splintered and trapped between cantinas, marketplaces, brothels, and slums.

It was to one such business district that Chewie now guided Luke. The streets grew less crowded, the buildings nicer, the pavement underfoot less cracked and pitted with sand. Soon enough Luke was able to walk without brushing shoulders with someone every step. He breathed a breath of relief.

Chewie halted Luke outside of a short, squat building situated between two taller buildings halfway down a slightly curving street paved with cobblestones and permacrete. Chewie lifted one massive paw and knocked three times on the red door. The sound was hollow and empty, as if he was knocking on a tomb. The sound made Luke shiver, and wonder at what was coming.

For a long moment there was only silence. Then the door hissed open, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered human with dark hair and dark skin, eyes black pools of shadow. He smiled when he saw Chewie, white teeth flashing in the soft, yellow light spilling forth from within the building.

"Greetings," the man said, extending a hand first to Chewie, then to Luke. "My name is Kitster Banai. Please, come in." He ushered them inside.

The first floor of the building was wide and open. Narrow pillars supported the ceiling and the lights hanging from it, and between the pillars sat a bed covered with a thin, white sheet, counters covered with medical instruments, and a metal examination table.

An unexpected pang of fear arced from Luke's mouth to stomach, copper to iron. Suddenly all he could see was the glimpses he'd gotten from Leia of her time with Vrosha: the clamps, the saws, the needles, the scalpels. He began to tremble, and bile rose, hot and bitter and biting, into the back of his throat.

"I can't—" he began, turning toward the door—only for Chewie to suddenly be beside him, grabbing him by the shoulder and supporting him as his legs gave out.

Chewie warbled a question. And then Kitster Banai's strong, warm voice said, "Are you okay, young one?"

Luke nodded, but did not trust himself to speak again. The bile had risen higher, threatening now to creep onto his tongue and into his mouth. There was a flash of thought, of memory, of feeling: Leia screaming, hot blood running down her sides as Vrosha cut into her stomach, baring her internal organs; Vrosha reaching into her stomach cavity; Vrosha cutting, cutting, cutting and pulling out pink portions of her internal organs—portions she did not need immediately, and that could be regrown before they did.

Luke threw up, vomit spattering across the tile floor and staining his boots and the tips of Chewie's toes.

"I'm sorry," Leia sobbed. "I couldn't stop it, and—"

Luke hadn't even realized she was in his mind.

Chewie gripped Luke's shoulders, comforting and stolid and warm. Kitster knelt beside Luke, careful to avoid the puddle of vomit. "What's wrong?" he asked in a soft and gentle voice, urging and compelling.

Luke shook his head. "Nothing," he mumbled, tasting the fading memory of the bitter bile on his tongue and in his throat.

Kitster shared a look with Chewbacca that Luke did not fully comprehend. Kitster must have seen something in Luke's face, however, warning him away, for he did not press. He merely smiled, then said, "When Chewbacca here contacted me last night, he said you were interested in a DNA test. Are you still interested?"

Luke nodded, steeling himself to look up. "I am," he said. "But...could we do it quickly?"

It was Kitster's turn to nod. "Of course."

They helped Luke rise, shaky and unsteady on his feet, and Kitster guided him over to the exam table. Luke hopped up onto it, taking long, deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth. Leia rested in his mind, not looking out through his eyes but merely existing.

"I don't want to see it," she said. "I don't want to lose control on you again. I'm sorry," she said for what had to be the fourth or fifth time.

"It's okay," Luke said. "Really."

"Okay," said Kitster, "I'm going to go get my supplies. I'll be right back." He turned and left, leaving Luke alone with Chewie.

Chewie lifted the datapad he still carried in one massive paw, and daintily typed something out on it. He held the datapad out to Luke, who took it and glanced over the text written on the screen.

Are you okay, cub? it said.

Luke nodded, feeling Leia shudder in his mind. The smell of antiseptic and sterile metal permeated the air and Luke's nose, reaching Leia coiled among his thoughts.

"Maybe you should go," said Luke.

"Do you not want me here?" Leia asked. She sounded scared and horrified, and Luke could feel the hurt in her.

"No, I do," Luke reassured her quickly. "I just don't want you to suffer. I don't want this to hurt you."

Luke felt Leia shake her head. "No," she said. "This is important for you. I'm going to be here."

"Okay," said Luke slowly. "If you say so."

Chewie howled, and Luke blinked, coming back to himself. A second later Chewie took the datapad back from Luke's hands, quickly typed something on it, and handed it back. It read, Are you okay, cub? You looked dazed. Do we need to leave?

Luke shook his head. "I'm okay," he assured Chewie. He opened his mouth, not sure what he was going to say, and closed it again. He couldn't tell Chewie the truth, even though something in him wanted to—Chewie seemed trustworthy and kind, the kind of being who would understand and accept the fact that there was a girl he could talk to in his mind. He hardly knew the Wookiee though; he couldn't trust him with such a big secret. Not now. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"I just don't like doctors," Luke said instead, shrugging as nonchalantly as he could manage. "I had a bad experience with one, and ever since then…" Luke trailed off, not wanting to dig himself into a hole.

Chewie nodded sagely and growled something. Luke handed him the datapad. When he handed it back, Luke read, If you need to leave, tell me.

"I will," said Luke honestly—though what he did not tell Chewie was that it would not be him needing to leave, but Leia.

Kitster returned a moment later holding a datapad and a small, needled device. He put the datapad down on the table beside Luke, then gripped the wrist of his left arm and held it out straight.

"This will pinch a little," he warned, then slid the needle into the crook of Luke's elbow. Luke tried not to wince, and then watched in fascination as the clear needle filled with his blood. After a few seconds Kitster removed the needle, pressed a piece of gauze to the small hole beading with blood, and folded Luke's arm so that he was clenching the gauze tight.

"There," Kitster said. "The worst part is done."

He picked up the datapad and fit the small, blood-collecting device into a port at the bottom. The machine hummed, and Luke watched the screen boot up from his position on the table. A loading bar circled against a white background for a long, agonizing moment. Then the white flickered and vanished, leaving a screen full of black and red text.

Chewie warbled. Luke wiggled in his seat. On the other end of their connection, Luke felt Leia perk up a little.

"Well?" Luke asked, when Kitster said nothing.

"I have the results," said Kitster slowly, staring at the datapad. "And…"

"And?" Luke prompted.

Kitster Banai smiled forcefully. "And what?" he asked.

"What are the results?"

Kitster shared a look with Chewie, and motioned for him to walk over and read the datapad. Chewie obliged, eyes widening as he read the text there.

"One moment, young one," said Kitster, and he drew Chewie away.

Luke sat on the table and waited impatiently. What was going on? Why did Kitster look as though he had seen a ghost? What was he talking about with Chewie?

In his mind, Leia was just as anxious.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"I don't know," Luke replied.

At last, the Wookiee and the human returned. Kitster was still smiling his forced smile, and his eyes were shadowed.

"Well?" Luke demanded.

"Your father was named Anakin Skywalker," said Kitster. "Your mother was a woman from the Mid-Rim."

"What was her name?" Luke asked curiously.

But Kitster shook his head. "She's a nobody," he told Luke. "Just someone from Naboo."

"What was her name?" Luke asked, more insistently.

Chewie howled. Kitster grimaced. "I can't pronounce it," he said.

"That's a lie," Leia said. "He's lying."

"You're lying," Luke accused.

"Perhaps I am," said Kitster. "Perhaps I'm not. You'll never know."

"Can I see the datapad?" Luke asked.

Kitster turned it around—and Luke saw that it was blank.

"The information has already been erased," Kitster said, and his voice dripped with apology. His eyes, though, remained cold.

"What aren't you telling me?" Luke asked hotly.

Chewie huffed, then took the datapad and typed on it, handing it to Luke when he was done.

Your father was just a navigator on a spice freighter, he told Luke. He wasn't the Jedi I knew.

"Oh," said Luke, a sour feeling of disappointment welling in his stomach. "I see."

Chewie took the datapad back, and when he handed it to Luke again, Luke read, I'm sorry, cub.

Luke forced a smile. "It's fine," he said. "I just…it would have been nice, I guess."

Chewie nodded, and Kitster still looked as though he had seen a ghost.

"You should be heading back to your ship now, I think," said Kitster.

Chewie howled an agreement, and Luke nodded. "Alright," he said, and hopped down off of the table.

With Chewie leading the way, they bade Kitster farewell, then exited the clinic. Luke, lost in thought, was silent for the duration of the walk back to the Falcon.

He could not help but feel as though they were hiding something from him. Something important. But what reason would they have to lie to him about his identity? Why would they lie about who his father—and maybe even his mother—was? There was none that he—or Leia, who was in his mind and felt his every thought and feeling—could think of.

"I don't know," said Leia as they boarded the Falcon. "All I know is that Kitster was lying to you."

"But about what?" Luke asked her.

"I don't know," Leia said. "I don't know…"