Title: Ghost of the Past
Author: Spirit White
Summary: Luke Skywalker died at thirteen years of age. Abruptly, the threads of the future were torn to pieces and remade, and Leia Organa and Lord Darth Vader must deal with the consequences.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas, Lucasfilms Ltd. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: Revised Tuesday, May 8th, 2007
Chapter One: Grief
"No, Luke! No!" His Uncle Owen shouted, his hands scrabbling desperately at the twisted cockpit door. Luke looked up from the Skyhopper to his uncle, confused. He glanced down. No, he still had his clothes on. In fact, they looked exactly as they always had – yellowed from a harsh desert life, cut to keep sand out of the leggings and to let air pass through the tunic.
Looking up at his uncle, Luke frowned in bewilderment. Hadn't he just been in the cockpit? Hadn't he just been in a lot of pain?
"Uncle Owen, what happened?" He asked tentatively. He blinked when his uncle didn't even look at him.
"Luke! Luke, are you all right?" Uncle Owen yelled, and Luke stepped back, startled. Uncle Owen sounded panicked, anguished, and almost as if he were about to start crying. "Can you hear me?"
"Yes, I'm here, Uncle Owen," Luke said, starting to feel frightened.. "Look, Uncle, I'm right here!" Luke stepped forward to tap his uncle on the elbow, and suffered an enormous shock when his hand passed right though his uncle's arm. He snatched it back, disbelieving, his eyes wide with shock. "Uncle Owen, what's going on?" He asked, his voice rising in pitch, panic lacing his tone. He blinked and stepped back when his uncle didn't answer, but continued to yank at the twisted metal, which bit into his calloused hands and caused blood to run. His neck muscles strained and his tendons stood out like cords as he hauled at the door.
Luke looked up, suddenly, feeling a prickling at his neck. At the door of the dome, his Aunt Beru stood, dressed in sleeping clothes and holding her hands to her mouth. Tears streamed down her face, but she made no move to help Owen. Her face was grief stricken, but there was something else in her eyes that Luke couldn't identify.
Finally, Owen managed to free the door and flung it unceremoniously aside. It skidded into the sand, which was bloody beneath the red light of the rising suns.
"Luke," he shouted, on his knees beside the broken cockpit. "Luke, can you hear me?"
But Luke wasn't in the cockpit…only the twisted, yellowed materiel of his whites.
That can't be right, Luke thought, perplexed. I'm wearing my whites; I can see them.
But there was no denying it…they were Luke's farming whites. Then realization slammed into him; the whites, the crash, the horrible, horrible pain…and the knowledge. He watched in stunned disbelief as Uncle Owen freed the trapped clothes and pressed them to his trembling lips, tears leaking from the usually hard eyes.
He was dead.
He was dead.
Oh, Sith, no. Luke felt suddenly out of breath. The world swam before his eyes and he felt light headed. 'But that can't be,' he thought, feeling hysterical. 'I'm dead, how can I feel? I'm dead! Dead, dead, dead!'
"No! Uncle Owen!" The cry was ripped from his throat, tearing violently from his mouth. He jumped forward and stumbled, hitting the ground. The sand didn't shift beneath him…it was hot and hard, like stone beneath the sun. Panting, Luke spun around, staring at the ground behind him. The sun was in front of him, and that meant…
No.
He cast no shadow behind him on the ground.
Luke screamed.
He collapsed on the hard, hot ground, running his fingers over the grains of sand, feeling, to his surprise, tears start to stream down his face. He gulped, trying to stem them, but no avail. He sobbed, on the ground, as his uncle stood up shakily, his thick-jointed hands twisted in Luke's empty clothes, and staggered up to his Aunt Beru to wrap her in his arms. Together, they stood in the doorway, crying silently as the person that they mourned cried behind them in the sand. Despair crept into Luke's heart, and he gave a great, choking cry before staggering to his feet. He couldn't look at his aunt and uncle, couldn't bear the sight of their anguished faces...
Turning, he stumbled away from the dome, staggering up the steps, hot tears streaming down his face and catching in his throat. He reached the rim of the courtyard and picked up speed, running from his home and the remains of his Skyhopper, laying twisted on the ground. A broken, devastating symbol of a shattered life.
Time passed in a blur of tears and despair, and he finally collapsed on the hard, hot ground, screaming his pain to a world that could no longer hear.
But his screams masked the sound of someone approaching – not that they made noise anyways. Someone who could hear the agonized cries. Someone who chose to listen.
A hand settled on Luke's shoulder.
A real, warm, living hand, of flesh and blood. Luke gasped and twisted around, his cheeks rubbed raw and red, his blue eyes swollen with tears.
Behind him was a man.
He was rather an odd man, Luke managed to think through the haze of pain and disbelief. Tall and strong looking, with graying dark hair shorn just below his shoulders. His smile was gentle and sad, and his eyes looked at Luke with the knowledge of many, many years and hard lessons.
"Hello, young Luke," he said, and Luke found that he rather liked his voice. Calm, collected, and gentle. "My name is Qui-Gon."
For a long time after this introduction, there was silence. Luke was too distraught to make any coherent sense beyond the I'm dead, I'm dead, dead dead dead echoing in his mind. So that's what he said, babbling the only thing he could think of to the only man who could hear it.
"I'm dead. I'm dead.. I died. I crashed, and I died. I'm dead now," Luke said, seeming unable to tear his eyes from this man's – this Qui-Gon's – face.
"Yes, I know," the man replied gently. "So am I."
And that, for some reason, made it all seem a little bit more bearable.
"I didn't know ghosts existed," Luke said quietly, some time later. They were still on Tatooine, sitting on the strange hard sand. Qui-Gon had told him that they could leave, but after all he'd gone through, after all his wishing to get away from the dustball he called home, he found himself oddly reluctant to take the final step. To leave behind the last familiar thing he had.
"Did you ever really think about it?" Qui-Gon asked, amused. Luke blinked.
"Well, a little," he said. "I mean, I've wondered what happens – you know," he said awkwardly, and Qui-Gon smiled.
"Yes, I do know," he said easily. "So I will tell you. When people like us die, we have a choice. Go onward, to the next step of our existence, or remain behind, invisible to the majority of the galaxy.
"Remain behind?" Luke asked, feeling...strange. Then his mind caught up with Qui-Gon's words. "Majority?" He asked suddenly. "What do you mean, majority? And people like us? What are we like?" Qui-Gon laughed softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that was rather comforting to Luke.
"One at a time," he said warmly, still smiling. "And you choose difficult questions, young Luke Skywalker." He said Luke's name strangely, as if remembering something sad, but Luke had too much on his mind to ponder it. When Qui-Gon paused, his eyes far away, Luke leaned forward slightly, his own blue eyes intent, and made a quiet, impatient noise. Qui-Gon blinked and seemed to shake himself, smiling.
"What we are," he mused quietly. "That could take some explaining..." and he was off, talking about the Force, the people who wielded it, the Sides of the Force, and what it meant to Luke, who sat, enthralled, listening with every fiber of his being. He spoke of the Jedi Council, the Sith Order, the Empire, the fall of the Republic, which had stood for a thousand years. And he spoke, in a quiet, saddened voice, of the Unbalancing of the Force, and the destruction of the Jedi Order. He told about becoming one with the Force. He spoke of destiny, of prophecy, and of fate. He told Luke about what happened when a Force-user died. And most importantly...to Luke, anyways, he spoke about a girl on Alderaan.
His sister, Leia.
"What?" Luke asked blankly. Qui-Gon smiled and wrapped his warm fingers around Luke's hand.
"Come, child," Qui-Gon said gently. "All will be explained. You must meet the Council."
The 'Council' turned out to be a room full of humans and strange looking humanoids. Luke stared around in awe at the chamber, eyes wide.
The council stared hard at him as he was led before them, Qui-Gon's warm hand reassuring on his own. In the middle of the half-circle setting of seats, a tall man with dark skin and no hair sat, mouth hard and eyes regarding Luke seriously. Luke blinked shyly and tried a quick smile before ducking behind Qui-Gon.
For a moment, no one spoke.
"This is young Skywalker?" The man in the middle asked. Luke blinked at him.
"Yes, Master Windu," Qui-Gon replied. "This is Luke Skywalker." There was a moment of silence.
"He is not afraid," the man – Master Windu, said slowly. Luke's brow furrowed.
"No, he's not," Qui-Gon said. "Also, he is here, which is unfortunate. Our only hope now is the girl, and she is not as strong."
"She will need a guide," another man, this one with a long, lumpy head, spoke from the side. Luke glanced over at him quickly.
"Who better than her brother?" Qui-Gon asked swiftly, and there was an abrupt silence. Luke frowned.
"He is untrained," the man with the lumpy head said slowly. "Uneducated. How can he guide one with a Destiny such as hers?"
"Because his is still entwined with hers, for all that he is on the other side," Qui-Gon replied. "Uneducated he may be, untrained and young, but he has the most basic knowledge of his Destiny, having lived with the prospect of it. It is linked with hers."
"Yes," Master Windu said quietly. "You are correct. Very well, Master Jinn. Take him and inform him." Master Windu's dark eyes connected with Luke's, who ducked his head. "May the Force be with you, Luke Skywalker," Master Windu said slowly. Luke blinked.
"Uh, thank you," Luke said, and Qui-Gon led him away.