Chapter 7
"Luke?"
Someone was insistently shaking him awake, jostling him out of an enjoyable, peaceful darkness. He groaned and opened sleep-gummed eyelids. As he sat up, odd pains in his limbs and back made him wince. The cockpit of an X-wing fighter was not a comfortable place to fall asleep.
"Have you been here all night?" asked Bekme.
"Must've fallen asleep," he groaned, pulling off his helmet to rub his eyes. "I guess Ghede isn't too happy that I disappeared, is he?"
"Is he ever happy?" she snorted. "He's going on and on about your immaturity and the stupidity of every higher-upper in the Alliance. I swear, he's worse than a sando aqua monster with heartburn."
"Well, he can eat engine exhaust for all I care," Luke replied, climbing out of the cockpit with a grunt.
"You really don't like him, do you?"
"Does anyone?"
"Probably not. Hobbie and Squib were discussing the possibility of getting away with treating his X-wing controls with engine grease."
"More power to them if they can pull it off. Aside from Vader, Ghede's the one person here I can't stand."
"I hate Ghede a lot more than I hate Vader. At least Vader isn't bossing everyone around, acting like a snob, and giving KP duty to anyone who breathes out of turn."
"Vader didn't kill your father, either."
Her eyes went wide. "He killed your father?"
Luke nodded. "Betrayed and murdered him. He was a Jedi Knight. I never had a chance to meet him."
She shook her head. "That's terrible. I'm so sorry."
"Not your fault."
A bulky freight transport backed into the hangar, directed by three bored-looking technicians of various species. The two pilots watched as the transport noisily deposited its load in a heap at the far side of the hangar. Metallic-tasting dust filled the air as the clatter of metal faded.
"What, did we buy a junkyard?" asked Bekme.
"It's a donation from a parts dealer on Nar Shadda, I hear," Luke replied. "He gave us all the stuff he can't sell in hopes that we can use some of it."
"The mechanics are going to have a job sorting anything useful out of that mess," Bekme noted.
"Yeah, well, I hope a certain mechanic cuts himself on a corroded spanner and contracts tetanus."
"Luke!"
"You know who I'm referring to."
"That's still not something to joke about. He's a member of the Alliance now."
"I thought you said you couldn't picture him fighting on our side."
"Well, he IS fighting on our side. And he doesn't even remember killing your father."
"So I'm supposed to act like it never happened?"
"Don't get all defensive. I was just trying to..."
"Bekme," he interrupted. "Look, I'm sorry. I just got carried away." He strained to find the appropriate words. "I just... wish I knew my father. The way you know your father. Not just as a name or a handed-down lightsaber or a few stories, but as a person, a guiding figure."
She smiled. "It's okay, Luke. I'm just trying to keep you out of trouble. Mothma won't be happy to find any member of the Alliance, even Vader, shot in the back."
He sighed. "It's just so hard to forget who he was and accept who he is now."
"We'll all just have to try a little harder, then," she pointed out, and leaned against him. He put an arm around her shoulders, and they stared out of the open hangar doors into the thick jungle surrounding the base. Together they knew a moment of peace and serenity, a rarity in the Alliance's daily business.
Ghede had to end it, naturally.
"I thought we talked about you chattering with the pilots of Life Squadron, Skywalker," Ghede said sternly, stepping up beside Luke. "And it appears we must discuss your unexcused absence as well..."
"Give me a break," Luke griped. "I fell asleep. And the Life Squadron pilots are my friends. I have every right to talk to them."
"Just as I have every right to discipline you for insubordination and truancy?" Ghede demanded, eyebrow arced.
"Okay, what is it? KP for a week? Not that I care..."
"Not KP." He gave a sly smile and glanced at Luke's X-wing. "I think having you and your fighter grounded for the next two weeks will be sufficient to cool that regrettably hot temper of yours."
Luke was too stunned to reply, but inside he was fuming. That was totally unfair!
"And I've just been informed that our newest mechanic is recovering from major surgery this morning. Thus, you shall take his place and aid ground crew in sorting the usable components from the junkyard we now have in the main hangar."
"Commander, that's harassment and you know it!" Bekme declared.
"And KP duty for you, Olie, for backtalking an officer," he retorted, ruby eyes narrowed. "Another flippant or tactless remark, and you'll be assigned the same chore as Skywalker."
"In that case," Bekme replied crisply, "I'll just call you a stuck-up tyrannical nerf herder and report directly to the mechanics."
"As you wish." Ghede spun on his heel and marched off.
Luke turned to Bekme. "You didn't have to do that."
"I know," she replied. "But it was purely selfish. I hate working in the kitchens. The sanitizing agents dry out my hands something awful. Besides, misery loves company."
He laughed. Truth be told, he didn't mind Bekme hanging around.
"Let's go get some gloves on," he suggested.
***
"And how are we this morning, Vader?"
Vader replied to Forenze's sarcastic, oozingly-sweet voice with an unintelligible groan.
"Sorry, didn't catch that."
He opened his eyes a crack, regretting it instantly. The bright lights of the med center felt like daggers in his eye sockets.
"I feel like I've been hit over the head, chewed up by a rancor, and spit out in the path of a bantha stampede," he complained.
"Oh good," she replied cheerily, bending over his prone body to make an adjustment to a monitor. "Means your nervous system's shaking off the drugs and kicking in on schedule. Want a painkiller?"
"No thanks."
Whatever had gone on when he'd been under anesthesia, it didn't seem to have helped any. If anything, he felt worse. His chest felt like it had been stepped on by a ronto, his head pulsed painfully, his legs and right arm tingled unbearably...
Legs? Right arm? He shouldn't be able to feel those limbs. They were cybernetic. But he most definitely had sensation in every limb, even if it was only pins and needles. He flexed his fingers, puzzled.
"What... exactly... did you do, Dr. Forenze?"
"To make a long story short, I replaced your prehistoric pacemaker with something more up-to-date -- had to break some ribs to do it, which accounts for your chest pain -- and tidied up the worst of your scarring. The droids replaced your obsolete droid arm and legs with the newer bionic prosthetics. They're much more lifelike and even restore most of your sensation."
That explained it. He wanted to pull off his glove and look at the new limb, but when he raised his arm Forenze pushed it back down.
"You need rest," she ordered. "You've just undergone major surgery. You'll stay in that bed if I have to drug you into insensibility to do it."
"Did anyone ever tell you you're stubborn, Doctor?"
"Did anyone ever tell YOU you're difficult, Darth?"
He laughed. "What else needs done?"
"What doesn't? Your new pacemaker just makes the rest of your body look like a museum. Next operation will be to your digestive system. That's a real mess, I can tell you."
"What of my mask?"
She sighed in frustration. "The part of your armor you want to be rid of most, and it's the one thing I can't do a blasted thing about."
He stared at her. "You're joking."
"I don't joke about medical matters. I'm sorry, but your lungs are in terrible shape. And with their delicate condition and all the other hardware in your body, I don't dare risk a transplant. The other option is to administer drugs and transfusions that will stimulate the cells in your lungs and help them replace the damaged tissues, but those drugs and the equipment to use them were destroyed when we fled Dantooine. And thus far obtaining more has been low on the Alliance's priority list, seeing as they're very expensive."
Vader hissed an expletive. "I'm stuck with this cursed mask? I may as well wear a sign that says 'Shoot me!'"
"Oh, quit your whining," Forenze snapped. "You're almost as bad as Skywalker. I can't get rid of the mask at the moment, so deal with it."
"Forgive me, Forenze. I just had such hopes..."
"Keep hoping, friend," she replied. "Hope is the fuel that keeps the Alliance's fire burning." She moaned and rubbed the bridge of her nose wearily. "I'm going to lay down awhile. Between your surgery and the fraggin' Whitesun and Drake boys who think it's a thrill to goof off with blasters, it's been a long night. Call the droids if you need something."
"Sweet dreams," he told her as she left the med center.
When he was sure she was out of earshot, he reached over and disconnected the monitors, then gingerly got to his feet. His legs trembled a moment, threatening to buckle beneath him, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay upright. When he was sure he could trust his legs to support him, he slowly made his way out of the med center, wincing at the pain in his cracked ribs.
He knew Forenze was going to hit the roof when she learned that her uncooperative patient was wandering the halls, and he smiled at the thought. But something was urging him forward, something he couldn't put words to. What was he seeking and why? He wasn't sure, but he trusted this feeling, and somehow he knew it wouldn't lead him astray.
***
"Apparently the Alliance's motto is 'never refuse anything free,'" Luke quipped, tossing a crushed protocol droid's head into the "discard" bin. "Even if ninety percent of it goes straight to the trash compactors."
"But it's that leftover ten percent that can benefit us." Bekme lifted an almost-new cooling unit. "This can keep a starfighter running a while longer."
"And this makes a great beep-ball paddle," Luke said with a mischievous grin, holding up a paddle-shaped scrap of metal.
"That's a fuel-port cover, you goofball," she shot back, playfully throwing a rubber insulating ring at him. He batted it back at her with the paddle, laughing.
The first few minutes into the project, Luke had been irritated by Ghede's punishment, but now he was actually having fun. It was like a treasure hunt, digging through the flotsam to find those precious workable components that could so aid the Alliance. And often the two of them would joke about the odder pieces they found, either parts of more exotic ships and droids or simply components that had been rather... creatively repaired.
Bekme paused a moment to wipe her forehead with the back of a gloved hand. Her brown hair hung in tangles, and sweat tinged red-brown with dust and rust darkened her skin. Luke was sure he wasn't exactly immaculate himself, but at least Bekme didn't look any less attractive when dirty.
"So why did you become a pilot, Bekme?" he asked.
"I thought Ghede didn't want you talking to the pilots," she kidded.
"I don't care what Ghede wants. I'm not subscribing to his methods."
She rolled one shoulder in a shrug as she worked. "I like to fly. When I was little my father let me borrow... oops." She looked at him sheepishly.
"Don't worry, you can talk about fathers around me," he assured her.
"Anyway, he let me borrow the family speeder sometimes and drive around the big fields surrounding Theed. I couldn't crash or get hurt out there, and it was good practice. But if he found I was chasing animals or going where a police officer might see me, I lost flying privileges. Once I ran over a baby kaadu, and he grounded me for three months when he found out. I was very upset at the time, but looking back, I know I deserved it."
Luke nodded. "I used to get in trouble for taking my skyhopper through Beggar's Canyon to bulls-eye womp rats."
"Beggar's Canyon?"
"Yeah, it's a big canyon just outside my hometown of Anchorhead. Uncle Owen told me they used to have podraces there."
"I've heard of podraces. Illegal, aren't they?"
"Yeah, but Tatooine's pretty lawless."
She tossed a melted-down repulsor coil in the junk bin. "You and I seem to come from opposite worlds. Me from lush, orderly, Imperial-governed Naboo, and you from harsh, rugged, lawless Tatooine."
"But we're connected through the Alliance," Luke pointed out. "And our love of flying."
"That's so true," she replied. "I always wanted to fly Naboo's N-1 starfighters. They were so beautiful and fast! But the Empire forced Bravo Squadron into retirement when I was nine, and most of the fighters were melted down. It's said that an intact N-1 starfighter is worth hundreds of thousands of credits."
"The Empire didn't want their TIEs being outshone, eh?" Luke asked, reaching down to pick up a tapered rod. "Ungh! Feels like this thing's connected to something heavy."
"Let's try digging it out," Bekme suggested.
They set to work, chucking parts aside with gusto. It soon became apparent that this "rod" was attached to something much larger.
"Oh stars," Bekme breathed, brushing aside assorted bits of metal. "Is this what I think it is?"
"It's some kind of starship," Luke noted, kicking a corroded alluvial damper off the fighter's bow.
"Some kind of starship? Luke, this is the N-1 starfighter of Naboo!"
"Get out of here!"
"No joke!"
Luke marveled at their find. The ship was terribly battered -- its domed canopy was badly cracked, its plating riddled with dents, and only a few chips of faded yellow paint clung to the hull for dear life. But the sweeping, elegant forked body indicated it had once been an incredibly agile and swift machine.
"There are only seven of these left," she went on, reverently stroking the dulled chrome finish on the bow. "Four are in museums, two are in private collections, and the last was in a Corellian museum but was stolen years ago. This must be the missing ship!"
"I wonder if it still runs," Luke mused.
Bekme glanced up sharply. "Oh no. Luke..."
"What is it?"
"Three guesses who's coming."
"Ghede?"
"No."
"Stang! How quick can I hide?"
"Not quick enough. He's spotted us."
Vader approached the junk heap, limping slightly as if in pain. Bekme swallowed but otherwise showed no emotion. Luke tried to keep his cool as he continued to sort components.
"Skywalker?" asked Vader.
"His name's Luke," Bekme told him.
"Ah yes. Luke Skywalker. And you are...?" He inclined his helmet toward her.
"B-Bekme," she answered, stumbling slightly over the name as she tried to keep calm. "Bekme Olie."
"You need not fear me, Bekme," he assured her. "But if my presence bothers you, you may leave. I need to talk to Luke."
She shot Luke a concerned look.
"Oh, go," Luke ordered. "I can take care of myself."
"If you're sure..." she replied, then quickly left.
Luke pointedly ignored the Dark Lord as he tossed aside a rusted power converter. Vader didn't seem to take the hint, though, because he only climbed up the mountain of junk to stand by Luke's side.
"I thought you would be flying with Life Squadron," he noted.
"Grounded for insubordination," he mumbled bluntly, not even looking up.
"I see. Commander Ironmoon seems to be a strict man. I pity your squadron."
"You dragged yourself out here to discuss Ghede?" Luke snapped.
"No. I came to speak to you."
Angrily Luke flung the dented spanner he'd been holding back into the pile, the harsh clatter ringing through the hangar. He whirled to face Vader, his cheeks flushed.
"What do you want from me?! Why do you want to talk to me?! I told you what you did to me! Do you honestly think I want anything to do with you after you killed my father and Ben Kenobi?!"
He regretted the outburst immediately. Vader engaged in an intense study of his boots, obviously stung by the words. "I apologize for your loss, Luke. I do not remember your father, but I would like to think he died honorably."
"I'm sure he did," Luke replied. /More honorably than you've ever acted/ he wanted to add, but he bit his tongue.
"Luke, I am no longer the man I was. I have no recollection of my actions before you rescued me. Please, can you not simply see me as a stranger rather than an old enemy?"
He shook his head. "I've thought of you as an enemy for too long to change my mind in an instant."
"I understand. I don't expect anyone to accept me right away. But I would appreciate a little tolerance."
"It's hard to tolerate a mass murderer," he retorted a little more tartly than he meant.
"What do you expect me to do?" Vader demanded. "I cannot resurrect your father! I cannot go back in time and undo all I have done! What is it you want from me?"
Luke looked away. "My father."
"Luke, your father is dead. I haven't the power to bring him back..."
"No." He turned back to Vader. "I want a face to associate with my father. I want to know what kind of man he was. I've been told he was a pilot and a Jedi, but that's all I have to go on. I want to know more." He looked pleadingly at Vader. "Do you remember anything about Anakin Skywalker? Anything at all?"
There was a long pause as Vader pondered. "No. Nothing."
The lump in Luke's throat threatened to choke him. "I wish I knew something... anything..."
"Luke, I'm so sorry..."
He leaned against Vader's chest, sobbing.
"Luke?" inquired Vader, shocked at this sudden change.
"It just... hurts... not knowing..."
"A feeling I know all too well, Luke."
Luke continued to cry, his emotions in turmoil. Part of him continued to hate Vader for his role in the death of his father and Jedi Master. But another part of him reasoned that hating him was useless, that nothing could bring Ben and Anakin back and he may as well forgive the man.
/He is repentant, Luke. At the very least, he deserves your forgiveness./
/Do you forgive him, Ben?/
/Of course. Death puts things in perspective. You come to realize that carrying a grudge is like carrying a pack of rocks -- it only wears you out and accomplishes nothing./
/Would my father forgive him?/
A thoughtful pause. /What do you think a true Jedi would do?/
"I forgive you," Luke choked.
"My thanks, Luke," he replied softly.
Luke and Vader stood together a long time, Luke venting his grief, Vader's arms cradling him. He couldn't hate this man. He was no longer the murderer of his father, but a man simply wishing for a little understanding. And though it would take awhile for him to differentiate between the two, he would do it. He had little choice.
"Guess I should go back to work," Luke said at last, pulling away.
"Would you like some help?" Vader asked.
"Sure. Help me with this?" He gestured to the starfighter.
"That's a beautiful ship. If I could fix it up..."
And a truce was granted as the two of them, with some help from a very reluctant ground crew, hauled the battered Nubian fighter out of the junk heap.
"Luke?"
Someone was insistently shaking him awake, jostling him out of an enjoyable, peaceful darkness. He groaned and opened sleep-gummed eyelids. As he sat up, odd pains in his limbs and back made him wince. The cockpit of an X-wing fighter was not a comfortable place to fall asleep.
"Have you been here all night?" asked Bekme.
"Must've fallen asleep," he groaned, pulling off his helmet to rub his eyes. "I guess Ghede isn't too happy that I disappeared, is he?"
"Is he ever happy?" she snorted. "He's going on and on about your immaturity and the stupidity of every higher-upper in the Alliance. I swear, he's worse than a sando aqua monster with heartburn."
"Well, he can eat engine exhaust for all I care," Luke replied, climbing out of the cockpit with a grunt.
"You really don't like him, do you?"
"Does anyone?"
"Probably not. Hobbie and Squib were discussing the possibility of getting away with treating his X-wing controls with engine grease."
"More power to them if they can pull it off. Aside from Vader, Ghede's the one person here I can't stand."
"I hate Ghede a lot more than I hate Vader. At least Vader isn't bossing everyone around, acting like a snob, and giving KP duty to anyone who breathes out of turn."
"Vader didn't kill your father, either."
Her eyes went wide. "He killed your father?"
Luke nodded. "Betrayed and murdered him. He was a Jedi Knight. I never had a chance to meet him."
She shook her head. "That's terrible. I'm so sorry."
"Not your fault."
A bulky freight transport backed into the hangar, directed by three bored-looking technicians of various species. The two pilots watched as the transport noisily deposited its load in a heap at the far side of the hangar. Metallic-tasting dust filled the air as the clatter of metal faded.
"What, did we buy a junkyard?" asked Bekme.
"It's a donation from a parts dealer on Nar Shadda, I hear," Luke replied. "He gave us all the stuff he can't sell in hopes that we can use some of it."
"The mechanics are going to have a job sorting anything useful out of that mess," Bekme noted.
"Yeah, well, I hope a certain mechanic cuts himself on a corroded spanner and contracts tetanus."
"Luke!"
"You know who I'm referring to."
"That's still not something to joke about. He's a member of the Alliance now."
"I thought you said you couldn't picture him fighting on our side."
"Well, he IS fighting on our side. And he doesn't even remember killing your father."
"So I'm supposed to act like it never happened?"
"Don't get all defensive. I was just trying to..."
"Bekme," he interrupted. "Look, I'm sorry. I just got carried away." He strained to find the appropriate words. "I just... wish I knew my father. The way you know your father. Not just as a name or a handed-down lightsaber or a few stories, but as a person, a guiding figure."
She smiled. "It's okay, Luke. I'm just trying to keep you out of trouble. Mothma won't be happy to find any member of the Alliance, even Vader, shot in the back."
He sighed. "It's just so hard to forget who he was and accept who he is now."
"We'll all just have to try a little harder, then," she pointed out, and leaned against him. He put an arm around her shoulders, and they stared out of the open hangar doors into the thick jungle surrounding the base. Together they knew a moment of peace and serenity, a rarity in the Alliance's daily business.
Ghede had to end it, naturally.
"I thought we talked about you chattering with the pilots of Life Squadron, Skywalker," Ghede said sternly, stepping up beside Luke. "And it appears we must discuss your unexcused absence as well..."
"Give me a break," Luke griped. "I fell asleep. And the Life Squadron pilots are my friends. I have every right to talk to them."
"Just as I have every right to discipline you for insubordination and truancy?" Ghede demanded, eyebrow arced.
"Okay, what is it? KP for a week? Not that I care..."
"Not KP." He gave a sly smile and glanced at Luke's X-wing. "I think having you and your fighter grounded for the next two weeks will be sufficient to cool that regrettably hot temper of yours."
Luke was too stunned to reply, but inside he was fuming. That was totally unfair!
"And I've just been informed that our newest mechanic is recovering from major surgery this morning. Thus, you shall take his place and aid ground crew in sorting the usable components from the junkyard we now have in the main hangar."
"Commander, that's harassment and you know it!" Bekme declared.
"And KP duty for you, Olie, for backtalking an officer," he retorted, ruby eyes narrowed. "Another flippant or tactless remark, and you'll be assigned the same chore as Skywalker."
"In that case," Bekme replied crisply, "I'll just call you a stuck-up tyrannical nerf herder and report directly to the mechanics."
"As you wish." Ghede spun on his heel and marched off.
Luke turned to Bekme. "You didn't have to do that."
"I know," she replied. "But it was purely selfish. I hate working in the kitchens. The sanitizing agents dry out my hands something awful. Besides, misery loves company."
He laughed. Truth be told, he didn't mind Bekme hanging around.
"Let's go get some gloves on," he suggested.
***
"And how are we this morning, Vader?"
Vader replied to Forenze's sarcastic, oozingly-sweet voice with an unintelligible groan.
"Sorry, didn't catch that."
He opened his eyes a crack, regretting it instantly. The bright lights of the med center felt like daggers in his eye sockets.
"I feel like I've been hit over the head, chewed up by a rancor, and spit out in the path of a bantha stampede," he complained.
"Oh good," she replied cheerily, bending over his prone body to make an adjustment to a monitor. "Means your nervous system's shaking off the drugs and kicking in on schedule. Want a painkiller?"
"No thanks."
Whatever had gone on when he'd been under anesthesia, it didn't seem to have helped any. If anything, he felt worse. His chest felt like it had been stepped on by a ronto, his head pulsed painfully, his legs and right arm tingled unbearably...
Legs? Right arm? He shouldn't be able to feel those limbs. They were cybernetic. But he most definitely had sensation in every limb, even if it was only pins and needles. He flexed his fingers, puzzled.
"What... exactly... did you do, Dr. Forenze?"
"To make a long story short, I replaced your prehistoric pacemaker with something more up-to-date -- had to break some ribs to do it, which accounts for your chest pain -- and tidied up the worst of your scarring. The droids replaced your obsolete droid arm and legs with the newer bionic prosthetics. They're much more lifelike and even restore most of your sensation."
That explained it. He wanted to pull off his glove and look at the new limb, but when he raised his arm Forenze pushed it back down.
"You need rest," she ordered. "You've just undergone major surgery. You'll stay in that bed if I have to drug you into insensibility to do it."
"Did anyone ever tell you you're stubborn, Doctor?"
"Did anyone ever tell YOU you're difficult, Darth?"
He laughed. "What else needs done?"
"What doesn't? Your new pacemaker just makes the rest of your body look like a museum. Next operation will be to your digestive system. That's a real mess, I can tell you."
"What of my mask?"
She sighed in frustration. "The part of your armor you want to be rid of most, and it's the one thing I can't do a blasted thing about."
He stared at her. "You're joking."
"I don't joke about medical matters. I'm sorry, but your lungs are in terrible shape. And with their delicate condition and all the other hardware in your body, I don't dare risk a transplant. The other option is to administer drugs and transfusions that will stimulate the cells in your lungs and help them replace the damaged tissues, but those drugs and the equipment to use them were destroyed when we fled Dantooine. And thus far obtaining more has been low on the Alliance's priority list, seeing as they're very expensive."
Vader hissed an expletive. "I'm stuck with this cursed mask? I may as well wear a sign that says 'Shoot me!'"
"Oh, quit your whining," Forenze snapped. "You're almost as bad as Skywalker. I can't get rid of the mask at the moment, so deal with it."
"Forgive me, Forenze. I just had such hopes..."
"Keep hoping, friend," she replied. "Hope is the fuel that keeps the Alliance's fire burning." She moaned and rubbed the bridge of her nose wearily. "I'm going to lay down awhile. Between your surgery and the fraggin' Whitesun and Drake boys who think it's a thrill to goof off with blasters, it's been a long night. Call the droids if you need something."
"Sweet dreams," he told her as she left the med center.
When he was sure she was out of earshot, he reached over and disconnected the monitors, then gingerly got to his feet. His legs trembled a moment, threatening to buckle beneath him, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay upright. When he was sure he could trust his legs to support him, he slowly made his way out of the med center, wincing at the pain in his cracked ribs.
He knew Forenze was going to hit the roof when she learned that her uncooperative patient was wandering the halls, and he smiled at the thought. But something was urging him forward, something he couldn't put words to. What was he seeking and why? He wasn't sure, but he trusted this feeling, and somehow he knew it wouldn't lead him astray.
***
"Apparently the Alliance's motto is 'never refuse anything free,'" Luke quipped, tossing a crushed protocol droid's head into the "discard" bin. "Even if ninety percent of it goes straight to the trash compactors."
"But it's that leftover ten percent that can benefit us." Bekme lifted an almost-new cooling unit. "This can keep a starfighter running a while longer."
"And this makes a great beep-ball paddle," Luke said with a mischievous grin, holding up a paddle-shaped scrap of metal.
"That's a fuel-port cover, you goofball," she shot back, playfully throwing a rubber insulating ring at him. He batted it back at her with the paddle, laughing.
The first few minutes into the project, Luke had been irritated by Ghede's punishment, but now he was actually having fun. It was like a treasure hunt, digging through the flotsam to find those precious workable components that could so aid the Alliance. And often the two of them would joke about the odder pieces they found, either parts of more exotic ships and droids or simply components that had been rather... creatively repaired.
Bekme paused a moment to wipe her forehead with the back of a gloved hand. Her brown hair hung in tangles, and sweat tinged red-brown with dust and rust darkened her skin. Luke was sure he wasn't exactly immaculate himself, but at least Bekme didn't look any less attractive when dirty.
"So why did you become a pilot, Bekme?" he asked.
"I thought Ghede didn't want you talking to the pilots," she kidded.
"I don't care what Ghede wants. I'm not subscribing to his methods."
She rolled one shoulder in a shrug as she worked. "I like to fly. When I was little my father let me borrow... oops." She looked at him sheepishly.
"Don't worry, you can talk about fathers around me," he assured her.
"Anyway, he let me borrow the family speeder sometimes and drive around the big fields surrounding Theed. I couldn't crash or get hurt out there, and it was good practice. But if he found I was chasing animals or going where a police officer might see me, I lost flying privileges. Once I ran over a baby kaadu, and he grounded me for three months when he found out. I was very upset at the time, but looking back, I know I deserved it."
Luke nodded. "I used to get in trouble for taking my skyhopper through Beggar's Canyon to bulls-eye womp rats."
"Beggar's Canyon?"
"Yeah, it's a big canyon just outside my hometown of Anchorhead. Uncle Owen told me they used to have podraces there."
"I've heard of podraces. Illegal, aren't they?"
"Yeah, but Tatooine's pretty lawless."
She tossed a melted-down repulsor coil in the junk bin. "You and I seem to come from opposite worlds. Me from lush, orderly, Imperial-governed Naboo, and you from harsh, rugged, lawless Tatooine."
"But we're connected through the Alliance," Luke pointed out. "And our love of flying."
"That's so true," she replied. "I always wanted to fly Naboo's N-1 starfighters. They were so beautiful and fast! But the Empire forced Bravo Squadron into retirement when I was nine, and most of the fighters were melted down. It's said that an intact N-1 starfighter is worth hundreds of thousands of credits."
"The Empire didn't want their TIEs being outshone, eh?" Luke asked, reaching down to pick up a tapered rod. "Ungh! Feels like this thing's connected to something heavy."
"Let's try digging it out," Bekme suggested.
They set to work, chucking parts aside with gusto. It soon became apparent that this "rod" was attached to something much larger.
"Oh stars," Bekme breathed, brushing aside assorted bits of metal. "Is this what I think it is?"
"It's some kind of starship," Luke noted, kicking a corroded alluvial damper off the fighter's bow.
"Some kind of starship? Luke, this is the N-1 starfighter of Naboo!"
"Get out of here!"
"No joke!"
Luke marveled at their find. The ship was terribly battered -- its domed canopy was badly cracked, its plating riddled with dents, and only a few chips of faded yellow paint clung to the hull for dear life. But the sweeping, elegant forked body indicated it had once been an incredibly agile and swift machine.
"There are only seven of these left," she went on, reverently stroking the dulled chrome finish on the bow. "Four are in museums, two are in private collections, and the last was in a Corellian museum but was stolen years ago. This must be the missing ship!"
"I wonder if it still runs," Luke mused.
Bekme glanced up sharply. "Oh no. Luke..."
"What is it?"
"Three guesses who's coming."
"Ghede?"
"No."
"Stang! How quick can I hide?"
"Not quick enough. He's spotted us."
Vader approached the junk heap, limping slightly as if in pain. Bekme swallowed but otherwise showed no emotion. Luke tried to keep his cool as he continued to sort components.
"Skywalker?" asked Vader.
"His name's Luke," Bekme told him.
"Ah yes. Luke Skywalker. And you are...?" He inclined his helmet toward her.
"B-Bekme," she answered, stumbling slightly over the name as she tried to keep calm. "Bekme Olie."
"You need not fear me, Bekme," he assured her. "But if my presence bothers you, you may leave. I need to talk to Luke."
She shot Luke a concerned look.
"Oh, go," Luke ordered. "I can take care of myself."
"If you're sure..." she replied, then quickly left.
Luke pointedly ignored the Dark Lord as he tossed aside a rusted power converter. Vader didn't seem to take the hint, though, because he only climbed up the mountain of junk to stand by Luke's side.
"I thought you would be flying with Life Squadron," he noted.
"Grounded for insubordination," he mumbled bluntly, not even looking up.
"I see. Commander Ironmoon seems to be a strict man. I pity your squadron."
"You dragged yourself out here to discuss Ghede?" Luke snapped.
"No. I came to speak to you."
Angrily Luke flung the dented spanner he'd been holding back into the pile, the harsh clatter ringing through the hangar. He whirled to face Vader, his cheeks flushed.
"What do you want from me?! Why do you want to talk to me?! I told you what you did to me! Do you honestly think I want anything to do with you after you killed my father and Ben Kenobi?!"
He regretted the outburst immediately. Vader engaged in an intense study of his boots, obviously stung by the words. "I apologize for your loss, Luke. I do not remember your father, but I would like to think he died honorably."
"I'm sure he did," Luke replied. /More honorably than you've ever acted/ he wanted to add, but he bit his tongue.
"Luke, I am no longer the man I was. I have no recollection of my actions before you rescued me. Please, can you not simply see me as a stranger rather than an old enemy?"
He shook his head. "I've thought of you as an enemy for too long to change my mind in an instant."
"I understand. I don't expect anyone to accept me right away. But I would appreciate a little tolerance."
"It's hard to tolerate a mass murderer," he retorted a little more tartly than he meant.
"What do you expect me to do?" Vader demanded. "I cannot resurrect your father! I cannot go back in time and undo all I have done! What is it you want from me?"
Luke looked away. "My father."
"Luke, your father is dead. I haven't the power to bring him back..."
"No." He turned back to Vader. "I want a face to associate with my father. I want to know what kind of man he was. I've been told he was a pilot and a Jedi, but that's all I have to go on. I want to know more." He looked pleadingly at Vader. "Do you remember anything about Anakin Skywalker? Anything at all?"
There was a long pause as Vader pondered. "No. Nothing."
The lump in Luke's throat threatened to choke him. "I wish I knew something... anything..."
"Luke, I'm so sorry..."
He leaned against Vader's chest, sobbing.
"Luke?" inquired Vader, shocked at this sudden change.
"It just... hurts... not knowing..."
"A feeling I know all too well, Luke."
Luke continued to cry, his emotions in turmoil. Part of him continued to hate Vader for his role in the death of his father and Jedi Master. But another part of him reasoned that hating him was useless, that nothing could bring Ben and Anakin back and he may as well forgive the man.
/He is repentant, Luke. At the very least, he deserves your forgiveness./
/Do you forgive him, Ben?/
/Of course. Death puts things in perspective. You come to realize that carrying a grudge is like carrying a pack of rocks -- it only wears you out and accomplishes nothing./
/Would my father forgive him?/
A thoughtful pause. /What do you think a true Jedi would do?/
"I forgive you," Luke choked.
"My thanks, Luke," he replied softly.
Luke and Vader stood together a long time, Luke venting his grief, Vader's arms cradling him. He couldn't hate this man. He was no longer the murderer of his father, but a man simply wishing for a little understanding. And though it would take awhile for him to differentiate between the two, he would do it. He had little choice.
"Guess I should go back to work," Luke said at last, pulling away.
"Would you like some help?" Vader asked.
"Sure. Help me with this?" He gestured to the starfighter.
"That's a beautiful ship. If I could fix it up..."
And a truce was granted as the two of them, with some help from a very reluctant ground crew, hauled the battered Nubian fighter out of the junk heap.