The Ties that Bind Us
He paid no mind to the attentions of the officers as he walked towards his quarters. He was a fearsome presence, causing many officers to often move to other corridors just to be as far away from him as humanly possible. Darth Vader had always found it amusing. Lately, he had been growing complacent, forcing himself to meditate as he felt ripples and shifting within the Force. He didn't know what it was, but it was obvious a new presence had emerged. He continued to walk through the corridors of the Death Star, eager to find his way into his meditation chamber within his quarters.
The Force continued to play havoc with him. Undoubtedly the Emperor had felt this not-so-subtle disturbance as well. Whoever had awoken in the Force would soon be facing the wrath of Lord Vader. But what had continued to curiously prod at Vader was that the presence seemed vaguely familiar—almost as if he should know it. And whoever this familiar presence was, he or she was certainly strong in the Force—perhaps as strong as even he was. But that was impossible; Vader was the only strongest Force-User in the Galaxy. This new presence would have to have come from his family line—and that was completely impossible.
The only other possibility was the Emperor—he did entertain concubines, after all.
Vader left that line of thought as he found himself in his chambers. He suppressed a smile as he realized that he would soon meditate and be released from this shell—and be able to pinpoint the oh-so familiar presence. It continued to bite at him. It was as if it was someone from his very past, but he knew soon he would find the presence of the person. What also seemed odd was that the figure had no seeming knowledge of the Force—or even allegiance to the Light and Dark Sides of the Force.
A plan began to formulate in his mind, one that made him relish the thought of being the first one to find the presence. Perhaps I have gained a new ally—and a temporary one at that, he thought to himself as he began to picture statues of himself towering over those of the Emperor on planets such as, Coruscant. And perhaps that person could become my Apprentice, he thought. If only for a while.
She screamed out in pain, her face showed the tears that streamed down her round face. Her soft and kind features seemed saddened. She screamed out in pain once more, yelping and she finally said something. "Anakin, help me, please!" An infant could be heard crying somewhere. Her face seemed weak and tired, her eyes were closed as she continued to cry, whispering, "Anakin, help me."
No! He screamed in his mind. What does this mean? She is dead! I can't bring her back!
"Save your strength, Padmé," a warm voice spoke, urging her to stay strong. The voice's face revealed an image: light brown hair with a beard, soft blue eyes and cream-coloured robes. It was a figure that he had never expected to see again: it was Obi-Wan Kenobi when he was much younger.
My old Master… He said flatly. What are you trying to tell me? Obi-Wan and Padmé are gone!
The sound of a child crying overpowered everything else.
The child died with her! They are gone and nothing I do can ever bring them back!
The child continued to cry; its screams were becoming distant. Suddenly, he could heard echoes of a familiar voice: a bewildered and grieving Obi-Wan.
"You were the Chosen One! You were supposed to destroy the Sith, not join them! Bring balance to the Force, not leave it in darkness!"
He awoke moments after. It took him a few moments to gather his surroundings—realizing he was in his black shell. What was the Force telling me? Has Padmé survived? His heart leapt at the thought. But he also knew that he had continued to have those visions even after those dark events, some 20 years ago. Perhaps the Emperor has been—lying? It hadn't been the first time he had witness the Emperor lie; it certainly wouldn't be the last.
But Vader could never believe his oldest friend would lie and betray him. It has happened before, he rationalized. He remembered his old experience with Obi-Wan. That Jedi had tricked him and forced him into the most humiliating position ever conceived. Vader didn't like where his thoughts began to tread. There was the possibility he could have been lied to his entire life—and the two people who had cared most about him might have been the very ones he damned to death.
He rose and left the room—he needed to take his mind off things. He would make sure the new recruits in his Imperial Death Squadron would understand that failure meant death—no exceptions. But for now, he would go and find some of the commanders that were incompetent and he kept around for occasions such as these. Nothing else invigorated the Dark Lord of the Sith than putting a few officers in line and motivating others from the example set by their superiors.
Obi-Wan felt perturbed. He had felt the dark corners of his mind produce memories—or visions of the past. He had only arrived at Anchorhead and already he felt the dark tremors in the Force. I better tread carefully, he thought. This is for Luke, I can ill afford to waste as much time as I already have.
He remembered his trek to the Lars' homestead—only to find it in smoking ruins. He rushed to see if they lived, but found two smoldering corpses. His heart had found its way in his throat, as he thought of their innocence in this dangerous game that had begun because of a man who wanted complete dominance of the Galaxy. He had to get Luke, prove to him about the evils of the Empire before it was too late. He owed that much to the boy's family. Shortly after he buried their remains, the old Jedi raced to find the boy; he took what he needed, including the droids.
He shook himself out of thought as he began to walk through the array of buildings on either side of him, with both droids. He had to keep his mind on the present—to the events that would unfold before his very eyes.
"Hey you there," an audio-like voice commanded.
He stopped and felt his heart leap and tense for a moment. A variety of things could go wrong right now. He felt the presence of three Stormtroopers, the Lackeys of the Emperor and inept ones at that. He wouldn't need his lightsaber—there always were alternatives of getting past one's enemies.
"How long have you had these droids?" One of the white-armoured men asked.
"I've had them for about 2 or 3 years," he said with confidence.
"Let me see your identification."
"You don't need to see my identification," the old hermit replied, subtly moving his right hand across from his chest.
"We don't need to see your identification," the Stormtrooper agreed, causing his companions to stare at him for a moment before nodding their heads.
"These are not the droids you are looking for," Obi-Wan added.
To his companions, the Stormtrooper said, "these aren't the droids we're looking for."
"I can go about my business."
"You can go about your business."
"Now, let me move along," the old man quipped.
"Move along," the Stormtrooper agreed. "Move along."
He walked three steps and released an internal sigh, thanking the Force for a weak-minded Stormtrooper. The time of the Jedi was over, but certainly even the Emperor had failed to realize that there might be a Jedi or two that had slipped past his vast power.
He entered one of the Mos Eisley cantinas, walking through the lit entrance and into the dim, dank and musty scent of cigara smoke floating throughout the entire cantina. He walked down the few steps before the bartender noticed his presence.
The bartender looked at Obi-Wan only to declare, "we don't take their kind here! Take your droids elsewhere."
Obi-Wan paused and looked at the droids. "Perhaps it is better if you two wait outside."
"I agree Master Kenobi," C-3PO replied. The protocol droid turned to R2. "Come along R2."
The astromech only whistled in reply as both droids walked out of the cantina.
Now, Obi-Wan thought, time to begin the arduous task of finding a capable pilot. But first, a drink. He walked over to where a large furry wookiee stood. He sat down beside the furry biped and nodded to him in acknowledgement. He then looked at the bartender and nodded for something to drink—most likely Juma Juice. He turned to the wookiee and noticed something familiar about it. He had only seen a few, but he knew he had seen this one at some point. He just didn't remember.
After a moment, he decided to ask the wookiee a question—it would stand to reason the wookiee would be a spacer. "Come here often?" He asked, smiling.
"Perhaps," the wookiee growled. "Are you looking for something?"
"Actually yes," the old Jedi began, "I am looking for a ship—and a capable pilot."
"There aren't many in this part of the Galaxy who understands Shyriiwook." This caused the wookiee to smile—that is, if baring its teeth constituted a smile. "I am Chewbacca, first mate of the Millennium Falcon. I know a capable pilot who might just fit whatever you are looking for."
"Excellent," Obi-Wan answered, a small smile formed on his lips. "Is there a place where we could talk in private?"
"Of course," Chewbacca replied. "Come with me towards that booth. We'll discuss our terms."
"Very well," the old man bowed, "lead the way."
After a moment of weaving through tables and heading towards an even seedier part of the cantina, the two figures finally sat down in a booth, with a young looking man with dark hair and a roguish countenance.
"I'm Han Solo," he announced. "Captain of the Millennium Falcon. Chewie here says that you need passage to the Alderaan system?"
"That is correct. If it is a fast ship."
"Fast ship?" This caused the young man to chuckle. "You've never heard of the Millennium Falcon?"
"Should I?"
"It made the Kessel Run in less that 12 parsecs. It's fast enough for you, old man."
Obi-Wan smiled politely. He seemed to like the man immediately. His free natured spirit seemed to remind the old man of others in his past. "Then let us talk business."
"What's the cargo?"
"2 droids, myself—and no questions asked."
"What are you in some kind of trouble?"
"Let us just say that I'd like to avoid some Imperial entanglements."
"No problem, she can outrun anything—and I don't mean those large bulky Corellian cruisers." After a moment of taking pride in his vessel, Solo's expression turned to one of complete business and seriousness. "All right, 10 000."
"All right, 10 now and 7 when we arrive to Alderaan."
"17? You've got yourself a ship. Meet us in Docking Bay 94," the slightly bewildered smuggler said.
"94," Obi-Wan replied as he got up to leave.
After he was confident that the old man had gone far away, Han looked at his furry companion and with an eagerness exclaimed, "17 000! Can you believe it? He must be more desperate than I thought! Prep the Falcon Chewie, I'll meet you there in a minute."
Chewbacca growled in agreement as he got up and left.
As Solo began to rise and leave, he found himself facing the barrel of a blaster rifle—or worse, a disruptor rifle.
"Leaving somewhere, Solo?" A green skinned, bug-like Rodian asked him.
"As a matter of fact I was just on my way to see your boss. Tell Jabba that I've got the money I owe him," he replied, his voice thick with disdain for bounty hunters.
"Why don't you give me the money and we'll just forget about this whole thing," the Rodian replied, making himself comfortable while his blaster was leveled for the smuggler's chest.
"I don't have the money with me," Solo replied, leaning back casually, one hand playing with the décor on the wall that supported his back. "Tell Jabba—,"
"Jabba has no use for pilots who dump their cargo at the first sign of an Imperial cruiser."
"Hey, even I get boarded sometimes," the smuggler replied, his expression growing angry.
"It's too late. Jabba would rather have your ship," Greedo said, cutting him off.
"Over my dead body," Solo spoke back, protective of his prized vessel. His other hand, hidden from sight, reached towards his trusty DL-44 blaster.
"That's the plan," he quipped, his snout forming what could be construed as a smile. "I've been looking forward to this for a very long time, Solo," the bounty hunter said, taking pleasure in killing the famous Han Solo.
"I'm sure you have," Han quipped, as he formed a lopsided grin.
Before the Rodian knew it, a whining sound erupted and smacked him across the chest, turning him into a burnt, crumpled form.
Han rose and pulled out a coin and tossed it at the bartender as he left. "Sorry for the mess. I always was a rotten host."