New Beginnings

It was early morning when he woke up. He knew this was the day when things would come out on top for him. Luke grinned as he was lying down; his hair was mussed to one side of his head. His muscles felt sore from the night before, but that didn't matter. Luke was ready to meet his destiny.

Imperial Academy, here I come! He thought as he rose from his cot and went about his daily routine. Today, they'd even buy droids—droids that Luke could somehow use to his advantage.

Owen couldn't sleep off his encounter with the Jedi yesterday. He found himself wondering if he was truly holding his nephew back. Is it Luke's destiny to become a Jedi like his father? Have I only been making matters worse for the boy?

He sighed. He rose, leaving the food that sat in front of him on the table in the kitchen. He would have a long chat with Luke tonight about seeing "old Ben Kenobi." Maybe it was time to let the boy make his own decisions. As much as the old man desperately wanted to wish otherwise, he knew that Luke was no longer a little boy.

He turned to Beru and stated, "I'm going out to see if those Jawas brought any droids. Make sure Luke is up. I want him to come with me."

She nodded as she rose from the table as well, eager to find Luke. She knew that Owen had been having a hard time with letting Luke make a decision about his life.

As she made her way towards his room, she called out for Luke just as he bumped into her.

"Oh, sorry aunt Beru," he replied sheepishly. Today, it appeared he wore a grey sleeveless jumpsuit—very similar to a uniform in some manner. "You needed me?"

"Yes, your uncle would like for you to go outside and join him to purchase some droids." She smiled softly to him. She had come to know him like a son, and she loved him very dearly. She knew he would amount to something great in his lifetime.

"All right, I'll join him then," he replied, kissing her on the cheek as he ran off to meet his uncle.

This is it, he thought. I buy these droids, and then tonight I'll be long gone before they know it. It pained him somewhat to leave them high and dry, but he knew they would understand sooner or later. He would write them letters, and let them know how he was doing. Perhaps he would return there in the future, when he retired from the Navy, and perhaps the Lars' moisture farm would become a Galactic monument.

He made his way outside and saw a large, reddish sandcrawler. It was obvious that the Jawas were setting up shop today. He began to race when he heard Beru calling out for him again.

"Luke, make sure that your uncle buys a droid that speaks Bocce!"

"Well, it looks like we don't have much of a choice. But we'll try," he replied as he raced to meet his uncle, who already began sizing up the droids: a golden-coloured bipedal one and a stout red headed utility droid—most likely an R5 unit—in particular.

When he finally made his way there, he overheard his uncle asking the protocol droid, C-3P something or the other, whether it knew the binary language of moisture vaporators.

"Why of course. It's like a second language to me," it replied proudly.

"All right, we'll take it," Owen said to one of the Jawas—probably the Alpha Male (or Female) of the group—and he pointed to the R5. "We'll take that one too. Luke, take them in and see that they get right to work."

The Jawas began to chatter amongst themselves as the protocol droid and the R5 began to leave.

Between the R5 unit and a bipedal refuse bin apparent droid, a dome-shaped blue coloured R2 unit shook and beeped and twittered, as it obviously wanted something. This caught Luke's attention, but he shrugged it off as he watched the Jawas race to it and use a control on its restraining bolt, forcing the poor droid into a stand-by mode.

"Well," he began, "let's go. You too, Red," he called out to the R5.

It beeped as a reply as it began to leave—only to have its motivator explode and fry more than half of its systems. The droid didn't get far.

Great, he thought, we buy these droids only to have one fall apart already. "Uncle Owen," Luke said, "this one has a bad motivator. Look!" He showed the experienced farmer.

"Hey what are you trying to pull on us?" Owen demanded of the elder Jawa.

"Master," the golden droid acknowledged Luke, "I believe that R2 unit is fully functional and quite ready to serve."

"Are you sure?" He asked carefully. He didn't want his plans to go to ruin at the hands of another possibly faulty droid.

"Oh I am quite sure. I've worked along side that one. We're quite inseparable, you know."

"All right," the young man answered. "Uncle, what about that one over there?" He asked, pointing to the R2.

"Hey, how about that blue one?" Owen asked the Alpha Jawa.

It muttered something in its language that Owen understood as an answer to his question.

"All right, we'll take it then." He waved Luke off, as the two droids accompanied their new Master.

Behind Luke, the golden droid muttered to his diminutive companion. "See all the trouble I go to for you? You'd be in a trash compactor if it weren't for me."

Luke could only smile. Things seemed to be looking up, so far.

Later that afternoon, Luke had brought the droids into the garage, eager to remove the restraining bolts and clear up any damage in their systems—or so he had said to his uncle. He listened to the golden droid—C-3PO, as it turned out—blather on about their adventures, roaming from one end of the Galaxy to the next.

He nodded, ignoring most of what the droid was saying while he had secretly packed his belongings into his speeder. He knew he'd sell it first thing when he arrived at Anchorhead later that evening. It would be the last goodbye to his old life and a hello to his new one. He would be Luke Skywalker: Grand Moff in the Imperial Navy.

He knew that Biggs would wait for him. They both had booked passage off that rock and knew that the Galaxy would soon hear of the exploits of Biggs Darklighter and Luke Skywalker—the inseparable duo.

After a few more moments, still not listening to the droid speak, Luke was finally convinced he had all that he would really need. After all, he would never return to Tatooine—at least for a while. He turned around and caught the last few words that came out of Threepio's mouth.

"…what with the Rebellion and the Empire."

"You know about the Rebellion and the Empire!" Luke exclaimed.

"Why yes," Threepio stated, "that is how we came to be in your service, actually."

Who knew that this was a small Galaxy after all? Luke thought to himself. Well, at least this way he would afford the droids with a better life while he went off to face the Galaxy. "Well, I better go and eat something. You two should shut down for some time."

"All right, Master--,"

"Luke. Just call me Luke," he replied, with a smile.

"I see. Master Luke," Threepio said.

"No, just Luke. You know what? Don't worry about it." He shook his head, chuckling to himself as he went to rummage through the kitchen. Maybe he could grab something and then head out.

As he entered the kitchen, he saw Owen eating something and appeared somewhat tired and haggard. That's odd, Luke thought. I've never seen him like this. Does he know? He grabbed a piece of fruit and bit into it, tasting the sweetness that filled his nostrils and his tongue. The harvest would be good this year.

"Luke," Owen began.

Uh oh, he thought. Here it comes.

"I think we need to talk."

"Well, I have to go to into Anchorhead and get those droids' memories wiped," he lied, hoping the old man wouldn't catch on.

"Hmm. Well I guess we can talk later," he smiled. Great, you scared him off, old man, he thought bitterly as he watched Luke run off to run his errand. Well, at least he seems better today. I just hope he didn't notice that I didn't sleep last night. He picked up a forkful of food from his plate and stuffed it in his mouth. Ah, that's a good kid, he thought to himself. He won't turn out like Anakin. I know he won't.

He put a lot of distance between himself and the homestead. He couldn't help but feel more than a twinge of regret. But he knew that it was for the best. He just couldn't live as a farmer.

He made it to Anchorhead later that evening, as he found a pair of Jawas, who had taken more than a keen notice in his speeder. After he haggled a price with them, he earned 3000 credits. Still a lot less than he would have originally made, had the XP-38 series not come out and reduce the X-34s by more than half their retail value. But it didn't matter anymore. He had more than enough to keep himself satisfied over a handful of drinks—and he had enough to get him off this rock for good.

"Luke!" Biggs called out as he rushed to meet his friend. "So this is it, huh?" It was more of a statement than a question. He carried one of Luke's bags, while Luke carried the other one.

"I told you that I'd make it," he replied reassuringly.

"You're right. But when Owen finds out, there will be hell to pay."

"Well, don't you worry about it. He's got more than enough help this season. And it seems that they'll be find without me." His voice was bittersweet. He was leaving the only place he had known as his home.

Recognizing this, Biggs smiled at Luke and patted him on the back. "Come on, let's go. Next stop: the Imperial Academy."

"Us against the Galaxy," Luke replied as he made his way into the starport—walking aboard the ramp of a transport. Against all odds, Luke Skywalker was ready to face his destiny as the best pilot in the Galaxy.