Chapter Two--Bringing Up Baby

They had been on the run now for nearly a year. They had dodged Imperials, Jedi Extermination Squads and the Jedi themselves. It was an unsettled, often dangerous way of life. Owen loved it.

He supposed it must be different for Beru. Women hated having no home, didn't they? But then, Beru had been raised as a space brat. Maybe that made a difference. Because she didn't appear to mind their lifestyle. It never failed to surprise him, but Owen didn't kid himself that he understood his wife. He didn't. Even with the Force to help him with the addition, he had a hard time working out her answer.

There had been no sign of Obi-Wan since they had left Bakanir, and Beru had decided that they had lost him. Owen knew better: if they had not seen him, then he had given up the chase. Owen also knew, or at least suspected, that this was temporary. Eventually, the Council would intervene in the matter of Luke; just now, however, they were concerned with other, more urgent matters.

Since Bakanir, they had sought refuge on several planets, but there had always been a reason to move on. Sometimes to avoid Imperial activity; sometimes to avoid the Jedi; once Owen had narrowly avoided being press-ganged into a local war. On their last planet, they had heard rumours of Squad activity in the system, and had fled before it had reached them. Damnation Alley was the only quick avenue of escape, and they decided to take it.

The Alley was a narrow route between the most remote area of the Middle and Outer Rims. It was littered with worm holes, small planets, asteroids, and space junkyards. An ideal place to hide out, if you needed to, and most of the population did. It was known as Damnation Alley for good reasons--it was the haunt of criminals, fugitives, refugees, the flotsam and jetsam of a hundred worlds.

Owen quickly found a job on the Alley-good pilots were always at a premium-but it became obvious early on that it was not a long term sanctuary. The Alley wasn't a safe place by any stretch of the imagination. True, it was generally free of Imperials. But a place that was free of Imperials because they were frightened of the ordinary inhabitants was not exactly an ideal refuge. It was dangerous--Owen knew that. And dirty. And eye-poppingly--well, open-minded. Owen had expected Beru to be disgusted by some of the things they saw. But she seemed unfazed. Yet she agreed with Owen about the short-term nature of their residence on the Alley. Not that he expected her to disagree when the three of them were propositioned a total of ten times on their first shopping expedition in Central, the Alley's informal capital. Beru garnered six offers, Owen three, and one man offered hard cash for the baby. Owen wondered if the potential buyer had even a clue of the aggravation quotient of his proposed purchase. He suggested to Beru that they accept the offer, as the poor fool would no doubt offer them an additional sum to take Luke back, given a day or two in his company. Easy money. Beru was not noticeably amused by this sally, and she gave him the Look. Owen had come to know the Look well. It meant: "That's not funny, and just for the record: Shut up." Owen also knew that obeying the Look was essential for marital peace.

Luke was now nearly two years old. In one way, Owen knew, he and Beru had already subverted a traditional Jedi future for Luke; he could not now go to the creches. In Owen's opinion, he was a child totally unsuited to such a fate, in any case. It required the undivided and focused attention of two Force-strong adults to keep him under control as it was. Owen was only thankful that Beru had not felt obliged to foster Luke's twin as well. The thought of Luke in stereo made Owen's blood run cold.

Since discovering the question mark at sixteen months, as Owen remarked drily to Beru, Luke had become a terror. "What's that?" and "Why?" were his favorites, though he did not disdain "How?" "Where?" and "When?" either. If his question was not answered in a millisecond, Luke would simply repeat it until it was. The 'terrible twos' arrived nearly a year early. Luke never stopped talking, asking questions, climbing, exploring or taking things apart. No button remained unpushed, no lever unpulled when Luke was around.

Beru stoutly maintained that this was normal behaviour for a Jedi child Luke's age, but in fact neither of them were sure of anything regarding Jedi children. They were raised in the creches and that was that. Owen had heard many a theory why this ancient Jedi tradition was necessary, none of which he particularly believed. Well, amend that---he did believe one of them, though it wasn't the one commonly offered to the public. Supposedly ordinary people, especially those without the Force, could not be trusted to raise Jedi children. But that was true, why admit Aestri to the Jedi ranks? The reason was simple enough; the Jedi could not keep up their numbers otherwise. The Council had been particularly baffled by the reaction of the Aestri to an attempted dictum that all their Force-strong children had to go to the creches: most either immediately left the Order, or they had no further children. Only a very small fraction--the most ambitious ones--complied. The dictum was sheepishly withdrawn: the Aestri were allowed to keep their younger children if they wanted, but they could not become full Jedi. The eldest Force-strong child in each family went to the creches, as this was the galaxy-wide rule for all Force-strong children, and the Jedi could not exempt their own. This uneasy compromise had held for some generations, but was now in the process of breaking down. Owen, who did not particularly want to become a full Jedi, had never been involved in the debate. But he could see a schism coming, just at the time when unity was necessary. His sympathies, when he thought about it at all, lay with the Aestri. The creches seemed to him to be more of a habit among the Jedi than anything else, and he'd had a first hand view of the suffering they caused.

Still, it meant that he and Beru had to raise a child that would try the patience of the most powerful of Jedi Masters. Owen had to admit, at least to himself, that fatherhood had not been among his few ambitions in life. He cared little that Beru was sterile, though he knew she deeply regretted it. In fact, in his eyes, it was an advantage. He had hoped for her undivided attention.

And so sharing Beru with Luke proved something of a disappointment to Owen. Yet despite everything, his heart went out to the child. He knew what it was like to be an orphan-not that Luke was really without parents. Better for him if he had been, Owen thought, and since both Luke's biological parents were currently homicidal, he was prepared to shoulder the burden of paternity, at least for now.

But it did concern him that Beru assumed that their fostering of Luke was permanent. Anakin, for instance, might decide at any time that the paternity of the twins was not in issue. Owen was positive he and Beru, even at their best, could not fight off a Sith Lord. Then there was Amidala. "What if she gets better?" Owen had asked Beru. "And wants him back? What would you do then?"

"What would we do?" Beru had corrected him, eyes hard. "We'd keep him. It's too late for her to demand him back, Owen. Yes, she's his mother. But in this case, he does get a vote, and I don't think he'd vote for her."

Owen loved Beru too much to disillusion her. Beru imagined that Luke's intransigence on being separated from her meant that Amidala and the Council had no choice in the matter. She did not realize that there were other alternatives. And she would not find that out from him. Not yet, anyway. For unbeknownst to Beru, Owen was keeping something from her. He had shielded a small portion of his mind, and there he kept, not intimate matters, but certain facts. It would torture her to know, and he did not see any point in telling her. She had her hands full with Luke as it was.

Owen knew that Beru bitterly resented any intimation that Luke controlled or manipulated her. And yet the child definitely had an effect on their behavior with each other. They discovered, for instance, that they could not fight in front of him. Beru had a sharp tongue, and Owen a ready temper: and they rather enjoyed a good fight. It cleared the air, and making up was--well, it was interesting. But Luke dreaded raised voices and open hostility. During one of their fights, he had a Force-tantrum so severe that he reduced the furniture in the room to matchsticks in a matter of minutes. After that, they confined their disagreements to discussions after Luke was in bed and asleep. They realized that a fight between them symbolized instability to a child who had already too much chaos in his life.

They experienced numerous other difficulties with Luke as he grew out of babyhood. He rarely slept; he rarely ate; and he rarely stopped moving. But the thing about him that most thoroughly exasperated Beru was his lack of physical fear. If there was a light fixture in a room, she said bitterly, you could bet your last credit that Luke would be hanging from it, either by his teeth or his toes. It just depended upon his mood. Owen pretended to agree with her on this. It was terrible, he would intone solemnly, shaking his head as she complained. But in fact, the child's utter fearlessness secretly delighted him, hitting a buried chord in his own outwardly cautious personality.

Beru also despaired of Luke's eating habits; his food remained untasted on his plate while he was doing something that interested him more: asking questions. It was a wonder Owen and Beru got any food themselves, they were so busy fielding a blizzard of inquiries in Luke's never-ending quest for information.

As a result, there was scarcely a pick of flesh on Luke's bones. Beru feared the consequences if he became sick, and tried stuffing him with supplements. They generally found the half-chewed capsules under the table later. Owen was amused by Luke's intransigence on the subject. The child adored Beru and seldom defied her. But when he did, she didn't prevail. Well, nearly always. When Luke decided that the place he most wanted to sleep was between his foster parents in their bed, even Beru rebelled. Owen watched the subsequent fight to the finish with not a little fascination. Beru would put Luke into his own bed; ten minutes later he was cuddled between them. Beru put him back in his bed. Ten minutes later...this went on all night. Owen did and said nothing: he sensed that this battle was the definitive one between Beru and Luke and would govern their relationship from then on.

Finally even Beru's patience snapped and she said to Owen: "Suppress him."

Owen's brows had risen. "Suppress him? I seem to recall you telling me that it was unfair to suppress natural childish behaviour."

"Damn what I said. Suppress him."

"Can't cope without me, eh?" Owen couldn't help saying.

Beru inspected him with narrowed eyes. Then she gave him a glittering smile: "Well, I guess I don't really mind him sleeping between us--forever. Now that I think about it."

Owen gulped, and did what he was told. He fully expected Luke to hold it against him. Oddly enough, though, the child did not. But on a few occasions thereafter, Owen caught the child staring at him in a considering way. There was no hostility in Luke's gaze; at least, none that Owen could see. He seemed suddenly curious about Owen, or perhaps more curious than he had been in the past.

Their relationship with Luke was an odd one, in Owen's opinion. Luke called them 'Ma' and 'Da' for public consumption, but Owen was not sure Luke perfectly understood the concepts behind the titles. He did understand that Beru was his caregiver, and appeared to regard Owen as her trusted bodyguard and factotum. Not so far wrong, Owen thought ironically.

Owen tried hard to assume a paternal role with the child, a difficult matter for him, as even he admitted to lacking patience. And in Luke's case, patience was definitely required. He tried to teach Luke things, but was frustrated by Luke's inability to keep his mind on a single subject for more than the blink of an eye. They concluded that wasn't his fault: Luke was being bombarded by the Force with endless stimuli. Owen discovered that keeping the child under mild suppression filtered out most of these images. It also allowed Luke to sleep at night. But when Luke was upset or angry, mild suppression was not adequate. Owen and Beru learned this the hard way.

They required something in Central--later, Owen could never remember what it was. Beru and Luke, after their first experience, rarely accompanied him to the Den of Thieves, which was her nickname for the Alley capital. Central was actually a series of eccentrically connected space stations of various ages and conditions, and was the informal staging post, stock exchange, and labour recruitment stop for the Alley. One could buy literally anything in Central, except, as Beru said darkly, souls. Owen agreed that most citizens of the Alley had sold theirs long before. But Owen considered Central reasonably safe if you watched yourself at all times.

He was to be disabused of this notion rather brutally.

In a street that had appeared deserted, Owen was seized from behind; he hit the ground with a thump. He was disoriented for only a moment. He broke his attacker's grip and fumbled for his blaster. It was out in a second. He hit the attacker with a bolt in the chest and he fell backward. Two other men closed in on him.

At first Owen feared they had been attacked by a Squad. To his relief, he picked up through the Force that this was a local matter-they were slavers. There were five of them, in the ordinary event enough to overpower two adults and an infant. Three attackers were allocated to him, and two to Beru and Luke.

Beru was scarcely helpless, as he well knew. But she was hampered by her need to protect the child. She had Luke in her arms, and had his face pressed into her neck. Two thugs closed in on her on either side. One of them had reached out to grab Beru's arm. At least Owen thought that's what he had been doing. It was now difficult to tell; the attacker was now spinning helplessly in the air, suspended about two feet above the ground.

Owen fired his blaster into the air; the other thugs, already unnerved by their revolving confrere, were sufficiently frightened to disperse. But the first thug remained, still spinning.

"Beru, stop it!" Owen hissed at her. Beru gave him a despairing look and shook her head. Owen realized that she was not causing it. That meant--

--Luke. Owen looked at the child, who was glaring at the spinning thug with a fierce intensity. He walked quickly over to Beru and took Luke from her arms. Luke accepted the transfer, but did not stop his stare. Owen shook him, gently. Luke finally looked at him; there was a muffled thud in the background as the thug hit the ground. Owen gave the child back to his wife and stood ready for action, blaster drawn. It was hardly needed; the thug was so dizzy he immediately vomited. Owen searched and disarmed him without any resistance, and then kicked him sharply in the ribs.

"Who sent you?" he asked.

The man's reaction was unnerving: silent, flat on his belly, his eyes round and staring, he inched backward. Owen could have stopped him, but to what end? There was no law on the Alley.

But the man's complete abasement sickened Owen. He was afraid; and of a child in arms. Their attacker finally scrambled to his feet and fled.

Owen looked at Beru. She was very pale. Luke was weeping in her arms, at a decibel level that indicated that he was seriously overwrought. That was serious; a public Force tantrum, if he had one, would attract unwanted attention.

Owen took Luke from Beru and sat the child on his knees, facing him. Beru hovered at the edge of his vision, a disapproving shadow. He knew she wanted to interfere. Stay out of it. You wanted me to be his father. So now you let me do it. he sent to her through the Force. She stiffened, but withdrew to stand against the wall.

Owen took this as the vote of confidence it was.

Luke hung his head. His fear and confusion roiled through Owen's Force sense. Owen lifted the child's chin and looked him in the eyes. "I'm not angry with you, Luke," he said. "You protected your Ma. That's good. I'm proud of you." Luke did not look reassured, possibly because he was picking up their ill-concealed horror through the Force.

Owen did not want Luke using the Force, especially at his age. Uncontrolled Force use could attract a Squad. Yet, if one did show up, they might need his abilities, if it came to that. Owen held his gaze, and wondered frantically how to make the distinction clear to a child this young. Most children were forbidden to use the Force unsupervised until they became padawans at age twelve. Luke was not yet two, and Owen had just seen him do, unbidden and untaught, something many adult Jedis could not.

Owen knew there were rumours that Anakin had been a volatile. Luke had quite obviously inherited the tendency. Without suppression, Luke was the ultimate loose cannon. And Owen was not absolutely sure how long he would be able to suppress him.

"Don't do that again, Luke," Owen said to Luke, "unless Ma or I tell you to." Luke stared at him, wide-eyed.

"He doesn't understand----!" Beru said.

Owen gave her a fiery glance, and she subsided.

Owen carefully sent mental images to the child, trying to make his meaning clear. "You understand me, Luke, don't you?" Owen asked him.

Luke stared up at him and after a pause, nodded.

Beru muttered something under her breath that Owen prudently did not hear.

"I guess this is where we kick the wall," he said to her, "they'll have it figured out in no time. And as soon as they do, they'll sell us out to the Squads. How soon can you pack?"

"I'm packed already," Beru said.