They arrived just as the white sun was passing its zenith. Luke tumbled out of Ben's arms into his aunt's bedroom, Ben close on his heels.

Ben's first impression was that the bedroom was too small for two. The head of the bed and the table beside it took up the entirety of the far wall. One side of the bed and a dresser filled the wall to his right. A simple chair sat next to the table on his left. The only decorations in the little room were the faded paintings on the ceiling and the coverlet, obviously handmade, on the bed.

At last Ben allowed himself to look at Beru. The young woman lay motionless on the bed. Her face was flushed. Her hands, resting on the coverlet, were puffy and swollen, as were her elbows. Sweat trickled down her brow.

"Aunt Beru!" cried Luke, dashing to her side. "Mister Kenobi's here. He's here to help."

Beru stirred slightly and rolled her head to face Luke. She blinked her eyes once, twice, then lay still again. Ben saw a flicker of her tongue behind her cracked lips, but no sound escaped them.

Luke turned pleadingly to Ben.

"Why don't you go fetch some water," suggested Ben, "and I'll see what I can do."

Luke hurried away, and Ben turned his attention to Beru. Gently he pulled the coverlet back and winced. Her knees, ankles, and feet were in even worse condition than her arms. It would clearly be painful for her to move. Ben seated himself in the chair and gingerly brushed back the hairs sticking to her forehead. She was running a very high fever. Continuing to stroke her hair, Ben closed his eyes to think.

The inflamed joints, the parched mouth, the high temperature -- all the symptoms pointed to crazed bantha fever, a disease carried by the sand ticks common to some parts of Tatooine and other dry planets. But crazed bantha fever had an incubation period of at least four days, and Beru could not have been bitten before Owen left or he would surely have seen her to a doctor. The bite of a sand tick was painful and impossible to miss. Nevertheless, Ben opened his eyes and bent down to examine Beru's body for a tick bite.

Her left ankle revealed a dark red ring about the circumference of Ben's thumb. He frowned. It looked like a sand tick bite, certainly. Could it really have affected her so quickly?

Luke came into the room then, walking slowly so as not to spill any water out of the pitcher he carried. Even here on a moisture farm, water was precious.

"Thank you," said Ben, relieving Luke of the pitcher and setting it on the bedside table. "Tell me, young Luke, do you know what a sand tick looks like?"

Luke shook his head.

"It's a little round yellow-brown creature about this big," he explained, indicating his balled fist. "Their bites are very painful."

"Ohh," said Luke, "one of those bit Aunt Beru yesterday. I squished it."


"Good lad. There shouldn't be any more around, but if you see one, be sure to kill it immediately."

Luke nodded solemnly.

"Now," said Ben, "do you think you could find me a soft cloth or rag of some sort?"

Luke ran off on his new errand, and Ben returned to his musing.

In just one day, then, the fever had been incubated and attacked Beru's body. A mutated form, perhaps? He didn't like that idea at all. Normally, the diseases carried by sand ticks were not fatal, but this was a very aggressive strain. He did not think that any of the medicines in his pouch would do much good.

Luke returned, at a run this time, bearing what looked like a clean white washcloth.

"Do you have a comm unit in the house? Some way to contact a doctor?" Ben asked him.

Luke shook his head. "Our comm unit broke. Uncle Owen said he'd pick up parts to fix it on his way home."

Ben sighed and nodded. He took the cloth from Luke, wrapping it around two fingers of his left hand and dipping it into the pitcher. Then he placed the damp cloth at Beru's lips. She licked up the moisture feebly.

He repeated the motion, again and again, until Beru had drunk a third of the pitcher's contents and lapsed into fitful sleep. Ben reached out a hand to soothe her, but pulled back just in time.

No Force use. None. Best to get in the habit now.

"Is she going to get better?" Luke asked from the vicinity of Ben's elbow.

"I don't know," replied Ben. "She will have to heal on her own. There isn't any more I can do."

Luke's expression altered from anxious to angry in a heartbeat.

"But you're a wizard!" he cried. "You have to!"

"And who said I was a wizard?" asked Ben, though he knew the answer already.

"Uncle Owen."

"Told you that, did he?"

"Yes! So you have to do something!" Tears loomed again in Luke's eyes, now accompanied by determination and all the outrage the four-year-old could muster.

Ben raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. Luke's faith in his uncle was touching, as was his concern for his aunt. His anger was a little disturbing, though it seemed only to affect his words and not his actions.

I wonder what Anakin was like at his age?

It was the wrong thing to wonder, for it brought back every painful memory of Anakin--his stubbornness, his passions, his rebellious streak--and with them, the reminder of Ben's own failure.

If I had not failed to save Anakin, I would not be here today. Hundreds of Jedi would not be whispers in the Force today. The Emperor would not hold total sway today. If I had saved Anakin—

Then a new voice broke into his thoughts, a voice not unlike his own, but distinctly different from the voice he had been thinking in.

What if your task was not to save Anakin? it asked. What if your task is to save Luke?

The thought was so new that he responded to it immediately.

If my task is to save Luke, then allowing his aunt to suffer and possibly die will ensure my failure. Using the Force is risky, but not using it...what if Luke reacts to losing his aunt the way that Anakin reacted to losing his mother?

"You're right," he told Luke. "Now that you've reminded me, I think there is something I can do."

Luke's scowl faded immediately.

"It may take some time," Ben continued, "and you will have to look after yourself for a few days. Can you do that? Feed yourself, dress yourself, keep the place clean?"

Luke nodded eagerly.

"Very good," said Ben. "I'll begin at once."

~*~

Ben ushered Luke out of the room with an admonition not to disturb it except in the case of an emergency.

He smoothed the sheets on the bed and arranged Beru as comfortably as possible. Knees creaking, robes rustling, he knelt at her side. With practiced care he rested one hand on the fevered curve of her forehead and the other on her abdomen. He closed his eyes and let himself be swallowed by the Force.

He could feel the barely present breeze like a mighty wind on his face. It was rough, unyielding, full of the sand it picked up everywhere. The suns outside and the illness inside had made it almost too warm to bear. Ben tuned his senses till he could bear it. He did not need to be aware of the wind today; it bore him no messages.

As he lowered his sense of touch, he heightened his sense of sight. Soon he could see everything more clearly than if his eyes had been open. There was Luke, burning brightly nearby. Every spider and fly and dust mite in the room was revealed to him. There were, he noted thankfully, no sand ticks.

Then there was Beru on the bed. Her normally serene presence had become a battlefield, and every hardy and brave and peaceful and kind thing that belonged to Beru Lars was losing the battle against the ugly disease. Ben was glad he had not waited longer or it might have been too late. As it was, her body would need strong convincing from the Force, through Ben, to rid itself of fever.

This is it, he thought. Surely this is why I was exiled to the desert, so that I would be close enough for Luke to find me when he needed me. Surely this is my redemption.

He eased both himself and Beru into the trance that would allow the healing process to take place without the need to stop for food or water. Then he set to work.