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?

Interlude

Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, Commander of the Imperial Navy and unbeknownst father of a certain Luke Skywalker, clasped black-gloved hands behind his back and suppressed a sigh.

"Admiral, have you got a tracking vector on that ship yet?"

Although they had only been under his command for the past five years, the crew already jumped at his every word. Granted, that was at least in part due to the jet-black armour covering his body, the mask deliberately sculpted to strike fear into his men. And the odd execution for failure didn't hurt, either. His hands tensed and flexed into a fist at the temptation to punish someone - anyone - for their failure to track the slaver's transport. How could a Star Destroyer fail to track a smugglers ship?

They were gone before we were in full sensor range, sir.

They might have hidden in the canyon walls, my Lord.

We can't tell from here if they were caught in the explosion, Lord Vader.

The fist tensed again. He was tempted to label them all as imbeciles, except for the fact that he knew they were right. The transport's transponder signal was completely gone, and there was nothing on the scopes. That explosion had distrupted the sensor readings and when it had cleared...

"There's nothing, my Lord. Perhaps we should send down a search crew...?" The fox-faced Admiral was rapidly loosing the ruddy colour in his cheeks and his hands were clasped securely behind his back where Vader couldn't seen them shaking.

"No, Admiral, that would be pointless. Send down a half squadron of TIE fighters to finish off what that explosion started. Get a transport down and collect the children."

"Sir?"

The Admiral blatantly didn't understand the second part of this order. And Vader wasn't about to explain his slavery background to the man. "Fewer questions, more action, Admiral," he warned him. As expected, the man scuttled away, more colour draining from his face.

Vader turned to the viewport and stared at the arid planet below him. I never wanted to come back here. I swore I'd never return here. Not after...everything.

And yet, here he was. Darth Vader was as lot different to the weak Anakin Skywalker, the golden skinned, blond-haired child rescued from slavery by the Jedi. The anger flared in him as the image of Obi-Wan came to him unbidden, swinging his saber, jaw set in grim determination. But the Jedi was dead, along with the rest of his weak little band. And Tatooine would never see another tow-headed would-be Jedi shackled to the hutts again as long as Vader had any control over the Galaxy. Which he did have, and quite a lot at that.

He turned away from the disturbing planet. Why did it keep pulling him back here? It was a strange magnetism. And it was growing. He didn't understand it, and he didn't want to either. He clasped his hands behind his back again and tried not to think too much, or allow the past to creep back up on him. He had a new life now, and he had rid himself of everything connected to the old one. There was nothing left. No nasty surprises to come back and -

"Sir, Mos Espa spaceport control reports tracking an out-bound vector for a transport matching the description you gave us."

"Set course and follow it."

The planet Tatooine slowly receded from the viewport and Darth Vader swore once again to never return.