Disclaimer – Lucas owns the characters in this story. He's hidden them away somewhere dark and dusty whilst he's got his mind on episode2, so I snuck in and broke them out for a quick jaunt in the sunshine. I wish I was making money from them, but unfortunately it's all in the name of 'fun'.

Setting – Eight years post Episode Three.

Note: this is an old, old story which isn't the finest piece I've ever written! I'm only leaving it here for posterity. It was written before the release of AOTC - hence Owen and Beru's background is somewhat different to the canon explanation for their relationship to Luke.

ANAKIN AGAIN?

Episode Two - Resolve

Chapter One

Beru peered out from beneath the skirt of the market stall, desperately searching for her small nephew. White armoured feet marched past and she hid back under the shade, swearing and cursing with everything she knew in basic, and some other more expressionate languages. One minute. She had let him out of her sight for a single minute, and now this. Imperial Stormtroopers, right here. She had no idea if they were searching for Luke and her – and Owen! – but they couldn't take the risk. And the boy had disappeared. Disappeared.

What if they'd found him? What if they had him? What if Vader had him? Her eyes closed in fear and grief and she hated herself for wishing the boy dead instead.

She'd only taken her eyes off him for one minute!

She dug the comlink from her bag when she thought the troopers had passed and flicked it on. "Owen?" she whispered.

"Beru? What is it?" Owen's voice betrayed worry. She wriggled uncomfortably in the cold sand.

"Stormtroopers, Owen." she whispered.

"Here?"

"Here, now. In the market place. I'm hiding."

Owen caught the singular. "Where's Luke?" His deep concern evident, a concern he never let the boy see if possible. He thought it made him seem weak.

"I don't know. He disappeared."

"Disappeared?"

"No, not like that." She could almost imagine him cursing the Force. "I mean he wandered off. And then the troopers turned up."

There was an ominous silence from the other. "Owen, I can't see him anywhere."

"Have they got him?" His voice trembled. Owen's voice never trembled.

She bit her lip. "I...I don't know. I don't think so."

"Beru, I'm coming out there. I'm-"

"No! Owen, stay put. I'll look for Luke when I get the chance. Your charging in is just going to arouse suspicion. We don't even know they're here looking for us."

"Beru-"

"Shssh!"

She'd seen movement outside, shadows under the skirt of the stall. They had stopped. She held her breath; Owen didn't speak.

A white-clad hand lifted up the homespun material and a blaster butt was pointed in her face. She let out a small gasp.

"Beru?" Owen's voice asked over the commlink.

She didn't answer as a white and black mask appeared above the blaster.

"Come out of there."

The blaster didn't leave room for arguments.

---

Luke brushed angrily at the tears scoring his red cheeks. He wasn't a kid – he shouldn't be crying. But he was completely confused, he felt like such an idiot. Why had he run? What had made him run? He didn't know. And now he thought about it, squatted down in a corner of the dusty room, he wasn't sure it hadn't all been in his head.

He should never of gone near that strange old woman that insisted he was a girl. A girl!

He raked a sweaty palm through his unruly hair. Boy, he'd been a real idiot. He was in for it now. First, he'd left his aunt when he'd promised his uncle he'd take care of her. Second, he'd spoken to and listened to that mad street seller. Third, he'd freaked when he'd seen that white armour and ran for it, not bothering to try and find his aunt even. And fourth, he hadn't even checked where he was running to before diving in, so now he was stuck in this dusty old room.

Crying like a baby.

His small hands balled into fists and he clambered to his feet, determined, jaw set. He wasn't going to make his fifth mistake by sitting her bawling when he should be doing something. His hands found the cold stone wall behind his back and he began to trace it with his fingers in the dark. Logically, there was no point in the small room if there wasn't a doorway somewhere.

Luke was choking with the dust and his feet skidded along the floor. His fingers found a seam and he traced it up and down excitedly, glad he'd been right about something. He found the octagonal hand plate and he bit his lip as he reached up and pressed his palm against it. For a minute nothing happened and Luke just stared into the darkness. Then, a falling of yet more dust, and a door slid slowly in the sidewall. No light came from the entranceway and Luke groped into it, more than a little bit apprehensive. His searching fingers found nothing. He took a step forward and his foot collided with a solid stone block.

He squatted down to the block, found another further up – steps.

Steps into darkness.

Luke sucked in air and almost gagged on the sand. He pulled a sleeve down over his hand and placed the material over his mouth, breathing through the makeshift filter.

First step, hands groping the stairwell's cold stone side. Second step. Third, fourth. Still no light and the steps were curving slightly to his left.

---

"What are you doing hiding under there?"

Beru didn't struggle as they clamped binders around her hands. There was still some hope – Luke wasn't here. He must have run. She itched the binders further down her wrists and didn't reply. The trooper hefted his blaster rifle and made to hit her across the back of the neck with it. Beru flinched despite herself – right, what possible reason was there for hiding under a stall talking into a comlink?

The troopers metallic voice spoke again, "Let's start with your name?"

Beru Lars. "Beru Soral."

"Well done." The squad commander nodded, "And where are you from?"

"Tatooine." She glared. The man brought the carbine under her chin.

"Less of that. Where?"

Near Anchorhead. "Here, the old quarters," she spat, eyes glaring. Another trooper behind the commander had turned out the contents of her bags to the street floor and was rummaging through her belongings. She was sure there was nothing there to give her away. She didn't let her eyes linger on the intrusion for fear of enticing even more suspicion. Her eyes fell back on the death mask leaning into her face. "The slave quarters?"

"Not for the past decade."

The fact she had cited that as her home seemed to mean something to the man.

He turned away from her, talking into the built-in comlink.

Beru fidgeted, looking around nervously. The whole troop was gathered in this small street now. There was no way she could run for it.

The commander turned back to her. "All right Soral, let's go."

"What? Where?" Fear was peaking in her and she had to push it down to keep her voice steady.

The commander strode away from her, his men forcing her to follow him. Beru didn't like this, not one bit.

---

Luke reached the top of the stairway to see a chink of light beneath the dark drape that covered the entranceway. He paused, listening, but there was no noise beyond the material screen. No talking, no machinery, nothing. Another frown creased his small forehead and he quietly moved the heavy material aside.
The light that filtered through was delicious, like a real water shower after his uncle had had him working all day on the 'vaporators.

The room beyond was as quiet as death, and fashioned like it too. White shrouds covered worktops and cupboards and strange bulky shapes sat in the middle of the floor that Luke couldn't begin to identify. They were grey in the unearthly shades of filtered sunlight through slats high up in the tall walls.

The curtain disturbed dust at the stair entranceway and it swept out in front of him like a wave over the floor. The room was cavenous, going up at least two levels. The bottom looked like an abandoned workshop - there were still tools laid discarded where there owners had thrown them before leaving the room alone for what had to be years. The upper level was reached by a steel ladder, and on the platform –

Luke stared at the large, bulky, white-shrouded shape sat on the durasteel floor, intrigued.

No longer the least bit scared, he ran to the far side of the room leaving small footprints in the settled sand. He grasped the bottom rung and hauled himself upwards, heart pumping for some reason. He didn't know why, but he was completely attracted to that platform, totally ignoring all the equally mysterious shapes on the bottom floor.

He pulled himself onto the platform and brushed the dust from his tunic before walking slowly to the white coverlet, bright even in the dim light. The slats of light fell across it in streaks.

Luke stood for a few moments just looking at it, wondering what was hiding beneath the cover that so made his heart race and his eyes bulge.

He reached a hand out, grabbed a corner of the cover, and with a tug pulled the sheet off. Dust plumed the air as the sheet slithered to his feet. Luke didn't even notice it; he was gaping open-mouthed at the machine underneath. He almost squealed in delight. He couldn't believe it.

"A podracer!"

Chapter Two

Owen paced the room uneasily, he fingers grasping the comlink tight in his hand. The man didn't want to do this, - it went against everything he believed, it went against everything he had learnt from the past. But Beru was captured and Luke had disappeared.

He swore in angry Corellian and sat down heavily on the rickety old bed in the rented room, bags still littering the floor.

This was not how things were supposed to have turned out. They'd had to run when the destroyer had turned up in orbit; they couldn't risk sitting on their moisture farm waiting for Vader to return for his son.

His son.

Owen shook his head sadly. He was so hard on the boy; the kind, gentle, endearing child left in their care. He couldn't help it, it wasn't that he was taking his anger at Anakin out on his son, but he couldn't bear to see the disarming kid turn into another monster. He was trying to protect him but frequently that meant hurting the child, even though Luke didn't have the slightest idea why Owen was doing it.

His hands came up to his head and he sat, bowed, on the end of the bed.

It was always little things that sparked Owen off. The boy knew absolutely nothing about Jedi, the Force - anything that might even nudge him down that path. But still there were moments that made Owen's heart stop in his chest.

When Luke inexplicably knew where things were. When he came into their bedroom at night, worried, after Beru or him was upset. When he got that tingling of fear right before something bad happened. Or when he'd found the broken heater in the speeder, and somehow, somehow, fixed it without doing anything. Owen had been so angry that time, he cringed as he remembered the small boys streaked cheeks as he shouted at him. He hadn't known what he'd done; he didn't realise he was the image of his father, so many years ago.

No, Owen had never seen Anakin as a child, but Padmé had shown them pictures. Luke wasn't identical by a long shot – he had much more delicate features, and was skinnier, wirier. A lot like his mother. The eyes were the same though, deep and intense.

It wasn't his fault; the kid had no idea. Owen tried to stop himself from taking it out on him but sometimes when he looked at the boy the whole world felt like it was crashing down around him and the nightmares he had of that sweet, passionate young boy turning into his father had Owen waking in the middle of the night, terrified. And very few things terrified Owen Lars – he had seen far too much.

And what terrified him right now was the thought of Luke walking right up to the stormtroopers in his innocence and getting a sharp awakening.

Owen knew he had no choice. He flicked the comlink on, remembering a frequency he hadn't used in a lifetime.

"Owen?" Obi-Wan's voice was hurried and stressed and there was the distinct sound of travel.

"Yes, it's me. We've got a problem." He tried to keep the defeat out of his voice.

"I know. I'm on my way."

Owen ground his teeth, raked a hand through dark hair. "You said you weren't following us."

"I haven't been. I felt a disturbance in the Force. And Vader is on that destroyer, Owen." Obi-Wan sounded truly troubled, which was rare even in those dark times.

"Listen Kenobi-"

"Owen, where is Luke?"

Owen felt his heart sinking. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

Anger made it into his voice. "That's right. I don't know. The troopers have got Beru; Luke has disappeared."

"Owen, you're supposed to guard the boy!" There was a fear in the Jedi's voice and Owen wasn't used to hearing that.

It made him stop himself from biting back. "I know."

Silence. Both men were thinking.

"Obi-Wan, have you seen something...?" Owen hated admitting the Force existed, and even more that it had it's uses.

More silence.

"The Force shows use many things, not all of them true, not all of them untrue."

"Jedi!" Owen spat. "Give me a straight answer for once!" He stood and started pacing the room.

"Yes, Owen, I have seen something. I only hope it won't come true."

Owen stood still and gripped the comlink harder. "Vader's up there? You're sure?"

"I don't want to reach out too much, he would sense it and then come down. But...yes. He's there."

"Will he feel Luke?" Owen bit his lip and stared out the small window that overlooked a bustling market.

Silence again. Obi-Wan was being unusually contemplative. "Not if he's not looking for him. And I can't reach out and find him either."

"Great."

"Owen I'm still a few hours out. See if you can find Beru, I'll meet you at the old quarters at sunset."

Owen's hands were sweaty. "I'll find her. You make sure Vader doesn't sense you."

"Don't worry, I've gotten good at hiding."

"I just wish we could say the same for Luke."

---

Luke's hand brushed the smooth surface of the small podracer. She was beautiful. Absolutely stunning. His palm pressed against the cool metal and a thrill went through him like electricity.

Gorgeous.

He traced the curve of the cockpit with small fingers, eyes wide, grin spread across his face, all danger completely forgotten. The yellow paintwork seemed to be calling to him and another one of those weird electric shocks rode up his arm.

Get in!

He obeyed the thought and grasped both sides of the cockpit, hauling himself over its side. It rocked under his weight, the twin engines disturbing more dust as they jolted. It was a beautiful design – a small, slightly tapered cockpit and long fluted engines at the front.

Luke sat in the padded seat, just about the right size for him, maybe a bit too big but he imagined it would give him more of a feel for the ship to move with her. His fingers traced the dials and instruments in front of him, instinctively knowing what each did, how it worked, what setting it should be at. He didn't even wonder at that, it was all so natural. A podracer!

Podracing had been banned at least a decade ago, although he knew there was an old stadium somewhere around here. He really didn't know why it was banned- it sounded absolutely amazing, hurtling along at mind-boggling speeds; strapping two great engines to your back and going with it. Dangerous. And fun.

Owen would have a fit if he knew he was here.

Luke grabbed the controls and flicked hem experimentally. To his utter joy, they spluttered, coughed, and then lit up. He was almost shaking with excitement. He had been meant to find this. It had drawn him like the moth to the lamp.

He flicked another switch and the ship shuddered up on repulsolifts.

Luke grinned. "Yes!"

This was so right, he could feel his small body pulsing with energy in time with the ship. It begged him to start up the main engines.

He looked up to the big, solid, durasteel door in front of him. If he could get that open-

Suddenly hot with the excitement, he stripped off the loose tunic to just the tight vest beneath. He threw the garment aside to land in a heap on the floor. Then he sprang reluctantly from the cockpit and moved to the heavy door.

A control, somewhere there had to be a control to open it and –

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up suddenly and Luke stood stock-still. He turned slowly and the grin fell from his face as he saw the blaster pointed at him and the man behind it, sat on a worktop, staring nonchalantly at the small figure, eyebrows raised.