II

I am twenty-five again, Obi-Wan Kenobi fighting at my Master's side. We battle Darth Maul in the hanger, in the power station, down the corridor, which traps me meters away from them. It is the same, always the same. I am stuck and cannot run, I cannot reach them in time and my Master is slain. As I wait for the barrier to open, I transform into an old man, Ben Kenobi. I hear the breathing, I feel the cold...

This time, however, something is different. As I move forward to face my former apprentice in the dark, metallic hallway, I see a figure standing behind him, luminous and radiant: Qui-Gon.

Suddenly, the cold presence is gone and I can feel only Qui-Gon's warmth. Darkness is only the absence of light; cold the absence of heat. In Qui-Gon's light and warmth, Vader's darkness and cold cannot stand.

"Obi-Wan," my Master calls to me, even as I continue to battle my Padawan. "Let go."

I awoke with a start, but for the first time in six nights, my heart was not pounding, I was not sweating, and most importantly, I was not cold. I did, however, feel profoundly sad.

"Qui-Gon," I said softly, "I still had so much to learn..."

Qui-Gon had died while I was still a Padawan; in fact, slaying his killer was the very trial that brought me my Knighthood. I had long ago made peace with that fact, but there were times when the weight of being a Knight without my former Master to counsel me was heavy. This burden was multiplied by the fact that immediately upon achieving Knighthood, I took on my own Padawan, a young prodigy—Qui-Gon's prodigy—named Anakin Skywalker. Anakin was nine, and unlike every other Jedi trainee, including myself, he was not raised in the Jedi Temple and he had no formal training in the ways of the Force. We didn't have a very good start, either. I had been deeply hurt by Qui-Gon's sudden interest in the boy, which seemed to come at my expense. When the Jedi Council refused to allow him to be trained, Qui-Gon immediately requested that Anakin become his Padawan, despite the fact that I already was his apprentice. The Council refused, of course, and then there was the Battle of Naboo and Qui-Gon's dying request that I train Anakin myself. So I did. Despite all the reservations I had and the Council had and most of all Master Yoda had, Anakin became my apprentice. Very quickly, however, I was won over. Despite his lack of formal training, he had the most unbelievable innate talent I'd ever seen in a life form.

Until his son.

I was won over by his character, as well. A thoughtful, courteous boy with a quick wit, Anakin knew how to make me laugh one minute then floor me the next with some astute observation. Eventually the boy who I had regarded almost as a rival, as my replacement in Qui-Gon's life, became my dearest friend, my cherished protégé, my brother.

But Anakin was full of fear and rage; he couldn't understand why a Jedi must be patient, why a Jedi could not always act even when he wanted to. Why the Jedi could not allow attachments, like the love he felt for his mother, whom he could not save. Like the illicit love he felt for his secret wife, whom he also could not save.

Then there were my own flaws, my own baggage that I carried into our relationship, baggage that blinded me to what was happening until it was too late. My desire to prove myself to Qui-Gon, even after his death, made me anxious to be perfect, to overlook flaws in our relationship. And my own past history, the mistakes of my own youth caused me to underemphasize Anakin's. When I was thirteen, a brand-new Padawan, I defied Qui-Gon and left the Jedi. A huge mistake, that, but eventually I had come around and had always been grateful to Qui-Gon for giving me a second chance. So with Anakin, I allowed the small defiances to slide. I'd come around, I'd learned that with experience comes a wisdom that I could not have hoped to possess at thirteen. Surely Anakin would come around, too.

And of course there was Palpatine. I could kick myself for allowing that vile, loathsome excuse for a man anywhere near such an impressionable boy, but he was the Supreme Chancellor, which granted him certain leeway with the Jedi. Besides, I had never sensed anything from him until it was too late. Even Master Windu and Master Yoda hadn't known until the very end.

Damn Palpatine! He stole everything from me: my friends, my home, the only family I'd ever known. He stole my Padawan, my dear friend, a boy I loved first like a son and then as a brother. Palpatine's words to Anakin rang in my ears, words that had seemed so benign at the time but now made me cringe in rage: We'll be watching your career with great interest. Indeed. Not only watching; whispering in Anakin's ear, finding with great precision the exact buttons to push to quietly hone Anakin's rage. The Jedi refused to save your mother. Obi-Wan cannot be trusted—he never wanted you anyway. Because of the Jedi, you will lose Padmé.

And so with Palpatine's prodding, the person I loved most in the universe, save Qui-Gon, became my greatest enemy and the destroyer of the entire Jedi Order.

No, that's not Anakin. Vader did that, not Anakin. Anakin is dead and Vader killed him.

It was a litany I repeated to myself a thousand times a day. Anakin is dead; Vader killed him. He is not the boy I loved, he is a twisted and evil thing, unrecognizable to all who loved him. Anakin died on Mustafar, his soul and body both consumed in volcanic flame. I hate you! had been his final words to me, words that could never have come from the same man who in our final parting on Coruscant had told me how much my friendship meant to him. The man who had been my partner, my other half. Kenobi and Skywalker. Skywalker and Kenobi. Anakin died on Mustafar and there I'd given him his eulogy. You were the Chosen One! You were my brother! I loved you!

But really, he'd died even before then, on Coruscant. He'd died along with Mace Windu. Along with the padawans and younglings Vader slaughtered. Anakin was Vader's victim as much as any other Jedi. I had to believe that just to keep myself from succumbing to the unbearable grief and guilt I still carried with me at his loss, even nearly two decades later. I have failed you, Anakin. I have failed you. And I had to believe it because it was what I would tell Luke when he asked me about his father.

We had made that decision long ago, Yoda and I, to tell Luke that his father was dead. It had been one of the most difficult decisions we'd had to make concerning Luke, and it came only after much debate and soul-searching. Even now I was not entirely comfortable with it, but it was simply too dangerous for him to know the full truth before he understood the Force. Growing up in the Jedi Temple I'd been taught that truth holds great power and that a Jedi must weigh the benefits of revelation or concealment for the greater good. While Luke deserved the truth, I could not deny the burden it would place upon him and the peril if he knew the truth before he was ready for that burden. Of course, Owen had been telling him lies about his father all along, but Owen's agenda was different from ours. Owen wanted Luke to stay here, to mind the farm, to stay out of the rebellion. Yoda and I knew that wasn't possible. We knew that Luke was our last hope, the only being strong enough in the Force to challenge Vader. The only being that would matter to Vader, other than Leia. But without full training, we feared he would be impatient to save his father, just as Anakin was to save his mother and his wife, and if we lost Luke we lost everything. Once he was trained, once he knew how to control his anger, his fear, his impatience, we would tell him everything. And maybe, just maybe, Luke would be able to do what I never could: bring Anakin back. For as much as I told myself again and again that Anakin was dead, a fierce hope burned deep with in me and refused to die. Hope that the young man I once loved as a brother was still in there somewhere and that his son could bring him back. If he fell because of love for his mother, could he not be saved because of love for his son?

Then there was the prophecy. Anakin was the Chosen One, the one to bring balance to the Force. He was the only person stronger than the Emperor; Palpatine himself had told Yoda as much during their final duel. Lord Vader will be stronger than the both of us.

You were the Chosen One! I had cried in anguish to him as our duel ended in ashes. You were supposed to bring balance to the Force, not leave it in darkness! Was it possible that these words could still be yet to pass?

Of course, I had to be realistic. A prophecy that misread could have been, Yoda was fond of reminding me. It could well be that Anakin was not the Chosen One at all, but rather his son, or even his daughter, although my years on Tatooine watching over Luke made me biased toward the boy. I had to be prepared for the fact that Anakin may truly be gone forever, and I had to prepare Luke for that fact as well. Perhaps Luke was the one who could bring balance. Vader had to be destroyed one way or another—and Palpatine with him, that was paramount—and if it couldn't be done by bringing Anakin back…

But how could I possibly prepare Luke for something I myself couldn't do? Yes, I had gone to Mustafar to battle and kill Anakin and had even defeated him, but I had begged him not to make that last attack. I had held the higher ground and the advantage and I knew how it would end if he attacked, and even though my mission had specifically been to kill him, I had wanted him to walk away, to not force me to make that final defense that destroyed him. And then when he was lying in the ash, maimed and on fire, I should have killed him. It would have been a kindness to do so, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I had truly believed he would never survive and I couldn't bring myself to make that final strike myself, to kill my brother.

Like Anakin, I had failed because I had loved.

But everything was different now and I believed, and Yoda to a lesser extent was beginning to agree, that perhaps it would be love that would save us. Or maybe it would destroy us. If Luke loved his father, that love would either be his greatest strength or his greatest failing. Whether or not to foster that love was our most crucial and difficult decision, but in the end I knew I had to teach Luke to love his father because, Force help me, I was incapable of ceasing to love him myself.

I sighed wearily and got out of bed and made my way to the kitchen for the inevitable pre-dawn cup of tea. While I waited for the water to boil, I thought about the dream. Why had it been different this time? Five nights the exact same dream, and now suddenly it is different? Less terrifying and much more peaceful, actually, which was ironic because the disturbance in the Force felt even more pressing this morning than it did yesterday. What message did the Force have for me? Why was Qui-Gon telling me to let go?

Then I remembered something he had once said to me when I was just a young boy, something about his own student lost to the dark side. Xanatos is gone from me. He is just another enemy now. The hate is all on his side. I am prepared to fight the evil he does. He may kill me one day, but he will never wound me again. Qui-Gon came to accept the loss, to move past it and see Xanatos as he truly was. Why was it then that even after eighteen years I could not do the same for Anakin?

Vader. Anakin is dead.

For the first time in years, I felt Qui-Gon's loss heavily. If only he had not died when he did. If only he had been the one to train Anakin, or at least if he had been there to guide me. Of course, it was an irrational thought; I had had Yoda to guide me and still it hadn't made a difference. Yoda, however, was not Qui-Gon. As much as I loved and admired the small Jedi Master, as much as I knew I wouldn't even have become Qui-Gon's Padawan if it hadn't been for him, he was not my Master. No one would ever replace Qui-Gon, not even the oldest and wisest Jedi on the Council.

Of course, in the years since Order Sixty-Six and the birth of the Empire, Qui-Gon had returned to me. In life he had studied with the Ancient Order of the Whills and in death had learned to be one with the Force while still retaining his own consciousness. Though a Master, I had become his Padawan once more, and even Master Yoda had as well and Master Qui-Gon taught us what he had learned from the Order of the Whills. He taught us more, even. Qui-Gon could only come to me as a voice. With his teaching, Yoda and I believed we would even be able to retain in some measure our physical selves. Ironic that Anakin had turned to the dark side in the hopes that Palpatine could teach him immortality when it was Qui-Gon who had the knowledge all along. The ultimate goal of the Sith, yet they can never achieve it, Qui-Gon often reminded me. It comes only by the release of self, not the exaltation of self. It comes through compassion, not greed. Love is the answer to the darkness.

Love is the answer to the darkness. Anakin's love destroyed, but that was the old Jedi way. In the New Jedi Order, love would conquer all. My love for Luke, Luke's love for his father, and Anakin's love for his son. I had to believe that.

But Qui-Gon had not come to me in a long while. It had been months, in fact, since I had last heard from him and now I was cut off even from Yoda for fear that I would expose him or myself to the Imperials if I tried to contact him. Perhaps that was why I was suddenly missing my former Master. Perhaps his recent absence is what made me continually relive the anguish of watching him die, leaving me with so much left to learn?

Luke will face that anguish, too. He will be left alone, his training incomplete.

The thought hit me like a Star Destroyer ramming a freighter. If my dream were to be interpreted as a vision of the future, then apparently he would be made to watch my death, as helpless to stop it as I had been to stop Qui-Gon's. Odd how this idea chilled my heart far more than the mere fact of my own death. I could not do this to him, not knowing how it felt. And I had been fully trained, if not yet fully ascended to the rank of Knight. Luke had no training at all; I doubted he even knew what the Force was let alone how to tap into it. I simply could not allow this to happen, not until he was ready for Yoda.

Obi-Wan. Let go.

Let go of Luke? Is that what my dream meant? How could I possibly let go of the person who had been the focus of my life for eighteen years? How could I let go of all our hopes and plans? No. I had lost Anakin; I would not lose Luke as well.

Obi-Wan. Let go.

I gave up my life for him, to make sure he was well cared for, to watch over him and protect him. I was willing to die for him or even for the rebellion. Was it so much to ask that I live long enough to see it through? To see him trained as a Jedi? To see him bring back his father?

Obi-Wan. Let go.

The tea kettle whistled suddenly, signaling that the water was boiling, but I no longer wanted any tea. I flew up from the table and grabbed the battered kettle off the stove and slammed it onto the stone counter, splashing water onto my hand and burning myself in the process. Furiously I sucked on the angry red blister developing on the back of my hand.

Damn the Force and its destiny and visions! Damn Yoda for not pushing harder to prevent Anakin from being trained! Damn Anakin for choosing the dark path! Damn Qui-Gon for dying and leaving me a Padawan I was not prepared to train!

I collapsed back into my chair and buried my face in my hands. Damn you, Qui-Gon, why did you have to leave me alone until it was too late? Why did I have to train the boy? I failed you, I failed him, I failed us all. Must I fail Luke as well? Must I leave him like you left me?

There was no answer. Qui-Gon, even remaining in the Force, was still dead. But I remained. And Luke. Luke was alive and he needed me. I could go to him right now, ignore Owen's protests and take him off this Force-forsaken planet, take him to Dagobah and begin his training right now, today.

I looked up from my hands and ran them over my weathered face and through my course gray hair. This was getting me nowhere. Anger: my hallmark weakness, the thing that had almost prevented me from becoming a Jedi at all. I was more than fifty years old and still I allowed anger to get the best of me. Qui-Gon would not be pleased. I took a deep breath; acknowledge the anger, then let it evaporate. No, I would not retrieve Luke today. It wasn't yet time, I could sense that much from the disturbance in the Force. Luke would begin his training soon, very soon, but not today. And if the Force required that I die before I see the training completed...

I shook my head, willing the thought away. Not now. There were other tasks that needed my attention. The suns were rising and the Imperial detachment had been on the planet for almost a full day and I still did not know why they were here. I would focus on that, determine if I could do anything to thwart whatever their purpose for being here was. Whatever destiny I faced, whatever destiny Luke faced, whatever choices we had to make, we would make them when they were before us. Not today.

I spent the entire day at my communications console, monitoring transmissions and trying to decode them. I had no luck even beginning to determine the content or recipient of the first holo message from yesterday, so I put it aside and worked on the planetary transmissions.

The Imperial detachment had been easy to trace because they sent hourly reports to the Imperial capital in Bestine township. I was able to trace those reports effortlessly and thus track their movements. As I had supposed, they hadn't gone to Arnthout or even to Bestine, but rather had landed well west of the cities, beyond the northern Jundland Wastes and into the Dune Sea. They were definitely searching for something; their reports generally were messages such as "target not located," or "Sector clear, Zeta unit moving on." Because they were searching the area roughly below the place in orbit where the Tantive IV was captured, I surmised that someone had escaped. But if they were searching the Dune Sea, they might never find what they were looking for. A vast and featureless expanse of yellow sand, the Dune Sea could easily swallow something as small as an ejection pod or a single-being ship. Also, if someone had landed in the Dune Sea in an ejection pod, it was likely they would not have survived the day. Tatooine's two suns were unforgiving and there was no water to be had anywhere for hundreds of kilometers. Apparently the Imperials were of the same mind; their slow and methodical search seemed to me to be more search-and-recover than search-and-capture.

Early in the afternoon, the detachment sent a report that was not at the regularly scheduled time. Unlike the others, this one was coded so I only caught bits and pieces of what was being said, but the alarmed tones from the trooper sending the report and the few words I did catch lifted my spirits. Words such as "two of them" and "tracks" stood out at me and seemed to indicate that they had found an escape pod but that there were two survivors who had not been found. Meanwhile, Bestine fairly exploded into action. A two-way holo connection was established with someone out of system and was heavily coded. The call was short and immediately afterwards the post made a wide-spectrum announcement that three Imperial Star Destroyers were being called in and stationed in orbit over Tatooine. The first would arrive from Bothawui later this evening while the other two could be expected some time tomorrow. In addition to the orbital presence, every city in this hemisphere that contained even a single spaceport, particularly Mos Eisley, would be sent an entire company of stormtroopers who would be monitoring all movement into and out of the cities. Suddenly what had started as a simple recovery mission had turned into a full-blown being-hunt.

My eyes widened and I leaned back in my chair. Three Star Destroyers! What in the name of the Force could require the presence of not one but three Star Destroyers over Tatooine! The lockdown of the cities indicated that not only did they think their two fugitives had survived but that it was likely they would make it to Mos Eisley or one of the other space ports to try and find transport off planet. But the question remained: who or what were these beings that they required three Star Destroyers to prevent them from leaving the system? Even in my heyday when I was considered one of the Empire's most wanted lifeforms I had never warranted this kind of attention. Who were these refugees and why was the Empire so concerned about them?

For a while I debated whether I should head out into the Dune Sea to see if I could find them myself and maybe offer them shelter or help them get off planet. Then I had another thought: perhaps Momaw Nadon was involved. Momaw, an Ithorian who like myself lived out in the Jundland Wastes away from the cities, worked underground for the Rebel Alliance. Could the Tantive IV have come here because of him? Perhaps it was worth a visit? But as I weighed the options, it hardly seemed worth the risks I would take in exposing myself or even Momaw to the Imperials. If he was involved, he would be in a better position than I to assist the fugitives. If he were not involved, I would have done nothing but waste a trip and still be in no better position to help.

What I really wanted to do was contact Yoda. If I could just reach him or maybe even someone connected with the rebellion, perhaps I could find out exactly what the Tantive IV had been carrying. Clearly anything that justified the presence of such a strong Imperial force deserved any help I could give. But it was still too dangerous for me to send a message off planet—more dangerous, in fact. I was itching to act, to do something to help whatever cause could so threaten the Empire, but what could I do with so little information?

A Jedi must have patience, I reminded myself. If it was important for me to be of service in this matter, an opportunity would present itself. In the meantime all I could do was listen and wait, work on decoding some of those messages, and see if I could find out anything useful.

And so for a time, anyway, with this situation to focus on, I was able to put aside my dream and thoughts about my destiny. Meanwhile, the disturbance in the Force grew slowly and steadily stronger.