Once before, Shmi had awoken and known she had been touched by a power beyond her ability to name or shape. She had been awed, then, before her stomach had swelled and she'd battled both nausea and the fear of what sort of a life her child would be born into.

This time, maybe she would be grateful—or at least understand—later. In the moment, all she felt was pain and dizziness. "Ani?" she stammered. Her son had returned, handsome and tall and free. She remembered that.

"Mom!" Ani shrieked. "You—you're alive!"

Had that been in doubt? She had not feared death, not after enduring the Tuskens' captivity, not after seeing Anakin again had made her whole. But it took a lot to kill an Outer Rim denizen. "Thanks to you."

"But if you're alive—if they didn't kill you—I—"

Anakin broke off, but then there was someone at her hand. "Oh, Shmi."

She tried, slowly, to sit up and take in her surroundings. She was on the sofa in the living room. And that was her husband, sitting in an unfamiliar hoverchair. "Cliegg!"

"My darling," he said. "You're home. You're free. It's all right."

He reached for her left hand. Her only hand, she noted numbly. Somewhere along the way her right arm had been severed at the elbow. Strange; she hadn't felt it. That must have been after Anakin had found her. Or had it? The days with the Tuskens were a blur, a blur she wasn't sure she wanted to remember.

"May I touch you?" Cliegg continued.

"Of course," she said. He raised the chair slightly, slowly ran his fingers through her hair—it must have grown out, too impractical for sand work—and tilted his head upward to kiss her cheek. Only then did she notice he was missing a leg. How long had she been gone?

Once Cliegg had pulled away, she took in the room, trying to make sure nothing else was unfamiliar. Owen looked much the same. Beru was there, as well, looking exhausted. Anakin looked stunned, and impossibly tall, but he was real. And with him, the young handmaiden from the ocean world. Baté or Pané or something?

"Threepio?" she asked. She could not imagine what the Tuskens would have wanted with him, but if there was any other loss, better to get it out of the way.

Owen laughed. "He's fine. Flirting with the astromech, probably. It's—so good to see you."

"All right," said Shmi. "Why don't you tell me what happened."

Cliegg explained how he'd led a pack of farmers and traders from Mos Eisley after the raiders, and how he'd been lucky to escape with only a missing leg. Strangely, Anakin seemed to exhale when he mentioned the others that had died. How could that have come as a relief?

"Thank you for trying," said Shmi. "I'll have to visit the families of the ones who died. To honor them."

"Not till you're ready to walk around," said Beru. "That will take time."

"If you say so," said Shmi, though she knew better than to argue with Beru in matters of medicine. "But how did you get here, Ani?"

"I was having visions," Anakin said. "Nightmares, of you in pain. I wasn't sure about the Tuskens, but I knew you needed me. The Force was telling me. So I came back."

"The Force," Shmi repeated. The Jedi who had visited years before had spoken of duels and meditation and deception. Was it so different from the common things nearly every slave knew without being taught—how to trust yourself, how to defend yourself without a weapon, how to speak true words while hiding your true intent? And yet, Anakin was special, even for Tatooine. "Well, thank you."

"Why don't you introduce your pretty friend?" Cliegg said.

Anakin blushed. "This is Senator Padmé Amidala, from Naboo. There's been some violence in the capital, so I'm making sure she stays out of trouble for a while. Padmé—my mother, Shmi Skywalker."

"Tatooine cannot be an easy place to live," said Amidala, "but it's refreshingly free from politics." Anakin laughed, a few seconds longer than her wisecrack merited. He was a grown man, no doubt, and smitten. "It's my pleasure to see you again, Shmi," Amidala went on, "though I wish it was in better circumstances."

"Any friend of Anakin's is always welcome under our roof," said Shmi.

"Here, here," said Cliegg, floating his chair towards the kitchen.

Beru insisted that Shmi needed to eat something substantial, but not too hot or too cold, to get her strength back, so they wound up having a tepid stew in the bread bowls that Owen liked to bake. They also had mushrooms, which Cliegg considered somewhat ironic considering the circumstances of Shmi's capture. But the family still savored them, and shared them with their guests. "I'm afraid it's not what you're used to," Shmi said, "but we make do."

"It's delightful," said Amidala. "Truly. If there's one upside to this chaperoning, it was getting to visit my family on Naboo. And now there are two upsides."

Goodness, was she as taken with Anakin as he was with her? Well, politicians always had to put a diplomatic spin on things.

As they finished dinner, Amidala's astromech droid rolled in, beeping urgently. Shmi could not recognize its dialect, though it sounded similar to some Bocce variants she'd heard C-3PO use. Amidala frowned, standing up, and a moment later Anakin furrowed his brows. "Excuse us."

They stepped outside, briefly, and looked tense when they returned. "Is there any way we can help?" Shmi asked.

"I'm afraid not," Anakin said. "We may need to stay in this system for a few days."

"We'd be delighted to have you!" Shmi said.

"No, you need to rest and get better," said Anakin. "We can find off-worlder lodgings. It's probably better for us to blend in."

"It won't be long," said Amidala. "We need to get moving."

Anakin blinked. "You heard what Master Windu said. We need to stay here."

"Geonosis is halfway across the galaxy from Coruscant, but it's barely a parsec from us. Obi-Wan risked his life to find the assassins after me. Now it's my turn."

"Maybe you can go charging into a droid foundry, but we can't."

Amidala laughed. "Please. When have you not been the first to go charging into danger, particularly when Obi-Wan is already there?"

"Mom almost died. She can go to Naboo or Coruscant, but I'm not bringing her into the middle of a war."

Shmi laughed. "You may be a great Jedi, but you're still my son. Since when have you been able to 'bring me' anywhere, just because you say so?"

Anakin stared at her like she was the one speaking Bocce. "Well, you can't stay here."

"I most certainly can," said Shmi. "This is where Cliegg and Owen are."

"Well, then, they can come with us," said Anakin. "And Threepio, of course. And Beru too, if she wants."

Beru laughed. "Hyperspace is plenty efficient, but that doesn't mean we can just drop our lives here and leave the system on the spur of the moment."

Anakin blinked. "Sure you can."

He had, Shmi remembered. The Jedi had bought his freedom and whisked him away in moments. He had wanted that, needed it, and she had craved it for him. "We're free, Ani. We don't need to leave our home."

"Those Tuskens almost killed you!"

"And they did kill two dozen of our neighbors," said Cliegg. "Does that mean half of Mos Eisley is going to pack up and go off-planet?"

"Well, they don't have a Jedi. But you do."

"The Sand People have lived here for millennia," said Shmi. "It doesn't excuse what they did to me, or to Cliegg and the others. But it does mean that we humans will adapt. Next time, we'll be wiser."

"There won't be a next time. Not from this camp."

There was something wild and afraid in Anakin's eyes, but it was Amidala who spoke before Shmi could. "Ani?"

"I thought you were dead!" Anakin repeated. "You weren't breathing, you didn't have a pulse. If I knew you were still alive I'd have sped back here as fast as I could, to help you heal…"

"You did," said Shmi. "You saved me."

"No," he said. "Not at first. I...I killed them all, for what they did to you. I was so angry. Not just the raiders, but the civilians too. The children. I wanted to make them hurt."

She was missing an arm and ten years of Anakin's life, but he still needed her to mother him. "Ani," she said. "No one is defined by their worst day, or their best. Remember who you are."

"I'm a Padawan," he said. "And a freedman, and your son, and—and—"

He broke off, panting and trying to compose himself in front of Amidala and the others. Cliegg and Owen were strangers to him, and as much as Shmi wanted to remind him that they were his family, too, she feared that would make him even more insistent on trying to drag them off-world without bothering to ask their opinion.

"Ani," said Amidala, "if you want to stay here, I'll stay with you as long as we need. Until the Council gives us the all-clear."

"Thank you," said Anakin.

"But whenever we do leave, you need to talk to your family. Ask them what they want."

Anakin rolled his eyes. "Democracy doesn't always work, Padmé."

"You were...busy, going after your mom. I got to talk to Beru and the others, find out what they appreciate about Tatooine."

"There's nothing to appreciate here. If it's not the Sand People, it's the Toydarians or the Hutts."

"I'm here," said Shmi, waving with her remaining hand.

"But you don't have to be."

The Jedi had to defend the whole galaxy, she knew, and the senators had to represent their homeworld in the capital. Anakin could not be used to wanting to stay somewhere merely because it was one's home, to having a choice and choosing the familiar.

"Your dreams saved your mother's life, son," said Cliegg. "There are some problems that need blasters, some that need credits. Some need elbow grease, and some need—whatever the kriff the Senate gets up to, nothing personal, ma'am. You don't need to move the galaxy yourself."

"I'm not your son," Anakin glowered, but Amidala smiled. Perhaps her influence was for the best. Shmi had no desire to see Anakin throw himself into further danger, but at his age, he was old enough to know a planet could revolve around more than one sun.

In the end it took two days before his fear for his friend, and frustration at the radio silence from his supervisors, overcame his cocksurety that only he could transplant the Skywalker-Larses. "When this blows over," he said, "I'll be at the Jedi temple, on Coruscant. Let me know what you need."

"All right," said Shmi. What she had needed, had not realized until he had appeared, was Anakin full-grown and free. Complete did not mean finished, of course—every new day with her family was a gift—but she was not about to start explaining it again.

"Do be careful!" fretted C-3PO. "That astromech is a bad influence, he seems far too eager about heading into a violent conflict."

The R2 unit whistled innocently.

"Thank you for coming by," said Cliegg. "It was nice to meet you." Shmi could sense that he wanted to say more, but checked himself.

Anakin shook his head. "Part of me is still the podracer from ten years ago. I don't know if I'll ever see you again."

"I can give you the same answer I gave you last time. What does your heart say?"

"I'm not sure how much was my heart, and how much was the Force."

"The Force lets you do amazing things," said Amidala. "But it doesn't tell you what's right. You have to figure that out yourself."

Anakin rolled his eyes, then pressed on. "Anyway. I'll send for you, yeah? There are droids who make really advanced prosthetics, you can have an bionic arm."

"Can I get a leg that matches?" Cliegg teased.

Ignoring the humor, Anakin leaned down to embrace Shmi. She could stay forever in her son's arms, she knew, and so could he, but the galaxy would keep spinning.

When their transport pulled away, Shmi didn't feel the giddy relief that had greeted her a decade before. Anakin was returning to the life he knew, not grasping his first taste of freedom. And it was tempered by the knowledge that, whatever being a "Padawan learner" involved, he had some control over his assignments—how could have have been assigned to Amidala's bodyguard duty by accident? The injustices of Tatooine were not guaranteed to rank highly in his mind, if they had not merited consideration in the years before.

But that could wait. Grinning, she turned back to Cliegg. "What a pair we'd make!"

"I think you'd be dashing," said C-3PO. "But then, I am an expert in human-cyborg relations."

Everything in the galaxy—light rays, bounties, news—was old by the time it reached Tatooine. In Anchorhead there was sometimes talk of conflict, of an army filled with thousands of men who all looked the same, or millions of droids who had no autonomy but to accept orders. Shmi was skeptical of this; C-3PO was proof that even the humblest builders could create droids with wills of their own. But none of the gossip affected the moisture farms, at least not yet.

Anakin did not contact them, maybe caught up in the war, or perhaps with Amidala, or resentful of Cliegg and Owen for joining the family. His arrival, perhaps, had been like a conjunction of the two suns—brilliant and almost overwhelming in its light, but then breaking apart, not to return for generations.

Shmi took to her new arm. Even if it occasionally acted up or registered phantom pains, it was hers to control freely. Cliegg adapted less well. Even with the hoverchair, he acted like it was his job to monitor every centimeter of the farm, and if illness or exhaustion prevented him, it was clearly his fault.

"It is his job," Owen tried to explain, once, when she became exasperated.

"No," said Shmi, "it's his job, his choice. That's different."

"It's exactly the same thing."

Fortunately, Beru proved to be as committed and loyal a partner as Owen could have dreamed of. When Cliegg's health began to decline, they moved up the date of their marriage. Shmi and Cliegg accompanied a gaggle of Whitesun relatives to toast the new husband and wife. A few weeks later, they buried Cliegg in the gritty Tatooine dust.

Owen was not one to mourn aloud, but Shmi knew that years before, he had scattered his mother's ashes on a vibrant, densely-populated planet. Some part of him was like Anakin, disdainful of Tatooine's arid isolation. Except, even if he had not grown to love it unconditionally, he had loved Beru and the small farm that Cliegg had been determined to create. Maybe that was enough.

And then, the next year, a stranger showed up at dusk, on the back of an Eopie.

"Excuse me," he said politely, in a Core accent. "I'm looking for Shmi Skywalker."

Shmi blinked. "That's me."

Gratified, he exhaled and then tensed. "Thank you. I'm—afraid I don't know where to start. This is all very strange."

Well, he wasn't trying to abduct her, and she wasn't likely to get the jump on him if he changed his mind. At that point, one might as well be hospitable. "Would you like some tea?"

"Er—I don't want to impose. That is—I'm in a bit of a rush." But his gaze flickered towards the Eopie as he said it. There was something strapped to the back, almost like the way Jawas carried trade goods. Perishable or radioactive trade goods.

"We have an ice box," said Shmi. "If you're worried it won't keep."

The off-worlder froze, then shook his head. "Nothing like that." He breathed deliberately, almost like he was trying to meditate beneath the red suns. "I have some very upsetting news."

"If you're not going to come in," Shmi snapped, "I don't need to sit down." It came out more harshly than she'd meant it, but there was no taking it back. Did a young off-worlder think she needed to be insulated from the galaxy?

He did not seem perturbed, however—at least not by her reaction. But the weight he carried was enough to make his voice shake. "Anakin has been—destroyed."

He spoke of her son on a first-name basis. She wanted to seize him by the hands, not let him move until he'd told her everything, good and ill. But she was far too old for dramatics. "Dead?" she whispered.

"Worse." The sun was setting behind them, but he did not need glare to lower his eyes. "He let fear erode his conscience, and slaughtered children by the dozens. He lashed out at those he loved, and chose to become a tool of—of an evil tyrant. I had been his friend, his teacher, and I tried to thwart him—to make the galaxy safe from him—yet I only succeeded in condemning him to terrible agony, and could not bring myself to kill the man who had been my student. If he lives, it is in excruciating pain, and as the servant of a cruel master."

She had not had nightmares after Cliegg's death. Even when terror at the memory of the Sand People had seized her, she was able to awaken. There were always chores one could do on a moisture farm, even in the middle of the night—filters to clean, regulators to check. But this was everything she had dreaded since Anakin had left the first time. He had had loved ones, somewhere, and had let distrust or lust for power blind him from that. There was no slave more helpless than one who could not see his own chains.

"The knowledge of my own failure haunts me," he went on. "I can only imagine what this must be like for you. For what it's worth, you have my condolences."

"Thank you," she stammered, her voice raw.

"There's more," he said. Of course there was more. No doubt the Jedi thought it beneath them to cross the galaxy merely to deliver death notices. "Anakin had—well, he had a human partner."

"The Senator," Shmi said. "Ami...dahr?"

He did a double-take, probably surprised that she knew. "Amidala, yes. And shortly after his incapacitation, she died in—childbirth. They had twin children."

Twins. She had grandchildren. Baby humans from the other side of the galaxy. They might be tinkerers like Anakin, or politicians like Amidala. They could become anything; they were freeborn with their future before them.

"The reason I'm here," he said, "is to ask if you would be willing to raise them."

"Willing?" she echoed. Was she willing to parent her grandchildren? Did Jawas shit in the dunes? He no doubt thought it kindness to give her the choice, she supposed. And...

"It doesn't make a difference to me," she said. "But is there any chance they'll be—like him?"

"That depends on a great many things. Their mentors, their hopes and fears, perhaps destiny if you put stock in that. While I very much hope otherwise, I'm afraid that each of them do have the ability to embrace the darkness, as Anakin did."

"That's not what I mean," Shmi retorted. How could this man claim to have known Anakin, called him friend, and yet think his monstrous deeds the most important thing about him? "I mean, will they have the Force, like him."

"Ah," he said. "Anakin's powers were exceptional, and I suspect neither child alone will have his raw strength. But each will be very strong in the Force, in their own right."

"Then why are you here giving me the chance? I thought you Jedi preferred to raise them together, so they don't know any other life." Was he only there to taunt her with what could not be? Or was this a trap?

"That was tradition, yes. However, the Jedi order has been...destroyed. The galaxy is no longer a safe haven for many of us who wield the Force."

Even Tatooine was not too remote to have heard tales of the Jedi. "Destroyed? Like Anakin?"

"Destroyed as in killed. Dead. One of my mentors is in exile. Perhaps there are a few others hiding, but not many. The political situation has become precarious."

The man had lost hundreds, thousands of colleagues. And he was calmly speaking to her as if discussing podracing results. "You're asking my help."

"Anakin Skywalker's children will be in danger wherever they go, together or apart. But this is not the first place where the government forces would search—or the second or third or hundredth. And you are family."

"Of course they will have a home here," Shmi said. "Whatever the danger."

The Jedi smiled. "Thank you."

That was when Owen stepped outside, squinting in the sunset. "Is everything all right?" he asked Shmi, then rounded on the stranger. "Who are you?"

"Better than all right," said Shmi. "Come meet your—nephews? Nieces?"

"One of each," said the man, reaching to unbuckle the Eopie. "Luke and Leia."

Owen squinted again, and not at the twin suns, but Shmi only smiled.

Luke and Leia Skywalker grow up together on the moisture farm, and this is what they learn:

Their father was Anakin Skywalker, a starpilot who could fly pods and fighters and anything else. For some time he was also a Jedi knight, a warrior who could duel enemies and see visions across time and space. But the Jedi are nearly extinct. Their ability to fight and command did not make them invulnerable, and being able to see across the galaxy did not let them perceive danger and betrayal near at hand.

Their mother was Padmé Amidala from Naboo. Grandmother only knew her briefly, and Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru less, but they remember her being beautiful and kind, though her heart was troubled. She died when they were newborns, but she lived long enough to give them their names.

Their grandfather was Cliegg Lars, a gruff but faithful farmer. He had seen the bright lights of the galaxy and chose to make his home on the outskirts of Anchorhead. And he could be angry, vengeful—he had lost his leg and many of his friends in trying to rescue Grandmother from the Sand People, and it still hadn't been enough. As long as he lived, he carried the pain of what he'd endured and what he'd done—but it was tempered with the knowledge that she had returned.

Tatooine is a dangerous place, full of inhabitable canyons and tyrants to avoid. But so is the rest of the galaxy—especially for people named Skywalker, but also for anyone who fights for freedom. As much as they might hope to venture away, the Empire will see them as interchangeable cogs in a machine, or worse.

They're both expert pilots, cruising in T-16s and taking turns flying or shooting womp rats. Mostly they measure their skills by racing each other, since nobody else can keep up with them. Their friend Biggs used to, for a while, but by the time he was eighteen he got sulky about losing to a girl. Leia, who was harboring a small crush on him, quickly had her affections doused, which Luke teases her endlessly about.

If they ever feel a strange connection, binding them to what they cannot see, it's to each other. Leia will know when Luke is lonely before he can articulate it, and Luke will come in from the farm if Leia's been arguing with Owen. The connection started with just flashes of strong emotion, but it's become deeper and more expressive as they've grown older. But they don't think too much of it. Maybe human twins are all like this.

Grandmother counsels them that they should be thankful for the bond, but not rely on it; choosing what to do has to come from the heart, and that's not something that can be guided by visions. Aunt Beru says it must be nice that they'll always have each other. Uncle Owen snorts and says that's all well and good, but it didn't help their father, did it. C-3PO gets agitated about a phenomenon far beyond his binary reckoning, then fusses and beeps about it in some obscure Bocce dialect.

"Droids!" chirped the Jawas in the Tatooinian trade pidgin. "Very cheap! No need to travel!"

Luke laughed. "We're not in the market today."

"Good prices!" one repeated.

One of the smaller astromech droids whirred noisily.

"Yes, we know," Uncle Owen said. "You're a very bright unit. Nothing for us, thank you. Maybe next year."

Maybe next year. How many times had Uncle Owen said the same things to him and Leia? Maybe next year they'd have opportunities off-world. As if the Empire wouldn't let Sand People enlist before Grandmother let them leave. Or maybe next year Grandmother would be too frail to help with any of the vaporators, and they'd need another droid.

The astromech chirped again.

"Watch your language," said C-3PO.

"All right," said the Jawa trader. "Let's get moving."

The droid whined louder. "Excuse me," said C-3PO. "I believe this R2 unit is trying to say something. Yes, I can hear you perfectly well! I am fluent in over six million forms of communication."

The R2 unit, if that was what it was, continued further.

"An astromech? Yes, on a couple of occasions. He had appalling manners, too."

Owen laughed. "Most droids don't measure up to you, Threepio."

"Come on," said the Jawa. "There are other farms." But the astromech refused to board the transport, zapping the trader with a small shock when she tried to approach.

"I beg your pardon," said Threepio. "This unit insists I met him in the past. I suppose it is possible, I have a long memory. But we don't need to hire any more droids today, and I'm very sorry for the inconvenience…" More beeps. "He says he wishes to speak with me in private."

"Either you pay up, or we head out. Preferably both."

"He says you don't own him and he'll go where he pleases. Quite a civilized fellow, I must say!"

"He can say what he likes," said Owen. "It's not our business."

"Hold on," Luke said. The droid's confidence was the sort of thing Grandmother was always telling C-3PO; there were no mistresses or masters at the moisture farm. "Can't we just...borrow him, for a while? Let him talk to Threepio? Then, I don't know, maybe he'll go back." Leia, he thought. Bring Grandmother. There's something odd going on with the Jawas.

"I've lived all my life on Tatooine," C-3PO was explaining to the astromech. "So if you've visited me, it would have had to be here. I'm glad I don't have anything to do with the Core Worlds! They seem like very violent places."

A moment later, Grandmother was outside, wearing a long hat that protected her from the suns and floating in an old hoverchair. Her legs still worked, but she didn't like spending much time outside. Leia followed behind her, smiling. Sometimes Luke wasn't sure if they really were speaking to each other's minds or if it was just serendipity, but he didn't care as long as it worked.

"Grandma," he said. "Look at this little astromech. He says he's a freedroid and the Jawas don't own him."

The droid continued beeping. "And he claims he's met me in the past," C-3PO continued. "I haven't defragged in a while, I suppose some of my archival memories are getting stale."

Grandmother moved closer. "What brings you here, little friend?"

"He says he's looking for his master—pardon me, for a human colleague—Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"Kenobi?" Luke echoed. "I wonder if he's related to old Ben?"

Grandmother's face tensed, as if the suns had already darkened her firm gaze. "How much to let him go?"

"Errr," said the Jawa, who for all she had been hawking a deal didn't seem ready to trade. "Sixty clorks."

"Forty-five," said Grandmother. "He'll annoy you and be a pest if he doesn't get his way. You won't get a better offer."

Grandma? Leia was wondering. Haggling with a Jawa?

"Fifty," said the Jawa.

"Ma," said Owen. "We don't need a droid."

"Leia, dear," said Grandmother, "get fifty clorks from your aunt. Tell her if she doesn't have them on hand to use some from the crawlspace cache."

The crawlspace cache? Luke and Leia both thought. "Of course," said Leia, hurrying back inside.

"I know you mean well," said Owen, "but we can't liberate every droid that passes through."

"I didn't say we were liberating all of them," said Grandmother. "We're helping this one reach his friend. Obi-Wan Kenobi, did you say?"

"Why, yes!" C-3PO said.

Leia reappeared moments later, clorks in tow. The Jawa accepted them—Luke assumed there actually were fifty—and the R2 unit happily rolled down the ramp.

"Thank the Maker!" C-3PO exulted. "You are a persistent one, aren't you?"

Grandmother had already turned around and was zooming back towards the house, as if she could will the chair to move faster. "Come along," she said. "We need to discuss this."

"We certainly do," Owen muttered, but Grandmother either couldn't hear him or ignored him.

Inside, Grandmother dug out the plug radio, tuning it to a local channel. "Shmi Skywalker calling Ben Kenobi. Please respond, urgent. Shmi Skywalker calling Ben Kenobi. Please respond."

"Does Ben Kenobi even have a plug?" Luke asked. He didn't think the man had a right to call himself a hermit if he was regularly monitoring plug broadcasts.

"Everyone should have a plug," said Grandmother. "If only for weather emergencies."

"He's over in the Dune Sea, right?" said Leia. "If it's urgent, we could take the speeder—"

"No," said Owen. "The Wastes are dangerous."

"Luke can spot me."

"No," Owen repeated. On some level, he had to believe that Luke and Leia were attuned enough to keep track of each other even klicks apart, but he didn't like admitting it.

The R2 unit beeped some more. "He said he would be happy to travel to Ben Kenobi's location by himself," C-3PO translated. "He doesn't want to inconvenience you."

"That's very kind," said Grandmother. "But I suspect Ben will want to discuss this with me."

"Discuss what?" Leia asked. "Do you know this droid?"

"Not well."

That was no answer at all, but Beru's expression suggested she wanted to change the subject. Grandmother continued calling over the plug for a little longer, but there was no response. "If we haven't heard from Ben by the morning, we can take the droid on the speeder," she finally said. "In the meantime, you're staying with Threepio."

The droid whined. "I wouldn't cross her," C-3PO warned. "She can be quite vehement when it comes to those Tusken Raiders. Dreadful creatures." He led the astromech off to the garage.

Luke couldn't sleep, the echoes of the astromech's warbles racing through his head. Was Obi-Wan Kenobi some relative of Ben's, or just a half-hearted attempt at a pseudonym? How much money did Grandmother have hidden away in the crawlspace? And what would an R2 unit know of C-3PO?

He was drifting off when a sharp thought interrupted him. Ben's here!

What? he wondered, dazed.

I'm trying to listen, said Leia. Sometimes when they focused, especially in tandem, they could eavesdrop on conversations happening elsewhere on the farm. But this turned out to be a fairly useless skill. Nothing ever happened in Tatooine.

Despite their combined efforts, there was no telling what else was happening in the house, and only Leia's insistence that she'd heard the door suggested that Ben had arrived in the first place. Maybe the droid snuck out, Luke said. You know Threepio's a pushover.

He'd better not have, Leia sulked. That's fifty clorks wasted.

Reluctantly, Luke let sleep overcome him. He dreamed of a blast of light, a laser bigger than any blaster that burned like a third sun in the sky. He remembered the dream vividly, because he was rudely awakened in the middle; Uncle Owen was shaking his shoulder.

"Come on, Luke," he said.

"It's half-dawn," Luke complained—only one sun's light was visible through the window. "The vaporators can wait."

"Grandmother says it's urgent."

Groggily, Luke roused himself and stumbled into the dining room. There were the droids, the astromech sitting contentedly alongside C-3PO. There was Grandmother, and next to her, Ben Kenobi. Leia, looking similarly exhausted, and Beru entered moments later.

"Ben!" Leia blurted. "What's going on? Is this your droid?"

Ben smiled. "Why don't you let your grandmother explain."

"Ben and I were up late with R2-D2, here," said Grandmother, "and the news he brings is very serious. I cannot guarantee that the plan we have made is foolproof, but we do have several years of accumulated wisdom between us." Ben smirked. "And we strongly feel that despite its risks, this is the safest approach." For some reason, her eyes lingered longer on Owen and Beru than Luke and Leia. Things were truly absurd if the twins' impatience was of less concern than their aunt and uncle's pragmatism.

"Mrs. Shmi only speaks for herself," C-3PO interrupted. "And perhaps for Mr. Ben. I, for one, would be happy to alter the proposed—" The R2 unit beeped.

Grandmother cleared her throat. "This R2 unit knew Ben many years ago. He is here because he is fleeing the Empire, and has stolen important documents that could be critical to the rebellion's mission."

"You know the rebellion?" Leia blurted.

"Time for questions later," said Grandmother. "It is important that he be delivered safely to alliance leaders who can make use of the information. Ben has some military experience, and has graciously volunteered to try to smuggle R2 off-planet. They will move faster if they travel alone, and it is better for the rest of you that you don't know too much about where they will be going and how."

"Okay," said Luke. Ben Kenobi from the Dune Sea, a war veteran and friend of the alliance? Strange, yes, but not strange enough to wake up early for.

"However," said Ben, "the Empire is desperate for information about this unit. If Imperial Stormtroopers find you abetting a fugitive droid, they will not treat you well. Particularly if they discover your relationship to the Jedi, Anakin Skywalker."

"Then you'd better get moving," said Beru. "We can pack you some food, but you'll want to make yourself scarce."

"What Ben means is that you will want to flee, as well," said Grandmother. "It may be that the Empire admits the trail ends here. They may also capture Ben, in which case we all will be in trouble. But for now, the four of you should make your way to Anchorhead or Mos Eisley. Blend in for a spell."

"The four of us?" Luke said.

"Threepio and I will remain here to deal with the Empire, should they track R2 this far," said Grandmother. Owen and Beru had opened their mouths to protest, and C-3PO himself looked no happier about the plan, but she continued, "I have information that may be some leverage against them, and so does Threepio, even if he is too humble to admit it. We can provide a more useful distraction than you young folk."

"But you're in danger, too," said Leia. "For being Anakin's mother…"

"I am. But the Empire, while they may be cruel, are not stupid. They would rather get information out of me than punish me for R2's escape, and perhaps we can reach an accommodation. Besides, I'm seventy-three and have yet to exhibit any telepathic abilities." She gave a self-deprecating wave of her cyborg arm. "Something tells me they may not see me as a threat."

Did that mean the Empire would be scared of him and Leia? Leia gave voice to the thought before Luke could: "Luke and I should split up. We might be able to keep in touch better, that way."

"No," said Grandmother. "Neither of you can stay here, and Ben will make better time without having to haggle you off-planet, as well."

"Besides," said Ben, "as...remarkable as your connection seems to be, I don't think it would span a hyperspace gap."

"How would you know?" asked Luke. "We've never tried."

Grandmother raised her eyebrows. "You see what I deal with here."

Ben gave another grin. All his life Luke had thought Ben Kenobi was a crazy hermit, and here he was answering Grandmother's plug radio and bickering with her like old friends.

Beru exhaled. "How long should we wait? If we don't hear from you…"

"Beru!" Owen hissed.

"It's a fair question," said Shmi. "Rest assured, I have no intention of being a martyr for its own sake. I suspect it'll be cheaper for the four of you to stay planetside, but if you have the chance, make for—"

"Naboo," Ben interrupted. "They know about the Naberries?"

"Yes," said Luke. "But not where to find them, not exactly. I mean, it's a big planet."

Ben laughed. "The Core Worlds have plenty of technology. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised."

Luke sensed Leia's curiosity, but also apprehension. Yes, they'd dreamed of making it off-planet someday, but not like this.

It was C-3PO who broke the tension, when no one human wanted to admit it might be farewell. "You watch out for that droid, Mr. Ben. Or he'll have you dragged into no end of trouble."

"It wouldn't be the first time," said Ben. And then they were standing, embracing, trying to control themselves, R2 beeping impatiently.

"Listen to your heart," Grandmother said. The twins were too old for promises that the adults could solve everything, too young to imagine going their separate ways. But that could be guidance enough, if there was nothing else.

For a while, when there was only silence and C-3PO's pacing, Shmi feared she'd been overly paranoid. What a fool she'd look if the Empire didn't come, and the others had been walking on dragon eggs for no reason!

But even if she was uninformed, Ben—or Obi-Wan or whatever he was calling himself—was not. He had urged caution and haste, and she could help provide both.

"I can't help but think I'd have been safer with memory wipes," C-3PO fretted. "My mainframe is terribly bloated."

Droids had few enough rights; in peacetime, she'd never seriously considered stripping C-3PO of what identity he had, although on a couple occasions the idea of damping his neuroses was tempting. "You know what to do. If you want to make yourself useful, go outside and scout."

C-3PO complied, and Shmi hoisted herself into the hoverchair. She didn't rely on it, and she didn't think Stormtroopers would make her march long distances for no reason, but some people found it less intimidating. And it reminded her of Cliegg. Even if it wasn't in the miraculous way her grandchildren felt each other, some part of his spirit seemed to linger on the farm.

Then C-3PO was, if inadvertently, warning her. "Don't shoot! Please don't shoot, I'm a noncombatant."

Shmi floated out. A squadron of Stormtroopers, perhaps a dozen or two. It seemed like more than enough to search one farm, but she reminded herself they had no idea what they would find. Every Imperial sent after her was one less after her family. She tried to sound confident. "I was wondering when I'd see you."

The masks made it difficult to tell whether they were taken aback by the presence of a lone septuagenarian and her protocol droid. A couple of the flank units raised their blasters, while the one in the middle spoke. "B signs, search the house."

Half of the Stormtroopers split off and began circling the farm, spreading out to make sure they covered every entrance. The leader remained in front of Shmi. "Where's the fugitive?"

"Fugitive?" she said. "I don't know what you mean. I have—"

"Don't play stupid, crone. The Sandcrawler passed through here. Where did it go?"

"Sandcrawlers are always coming through here," said Shmi. "Please, I—"

"You!" barked another Stormtrooper, blaster aimed at C-3PO. "How long have you been here?"

"Twenty-six standard years," said C-3PO.

There were noises from the house, and even some smoke. There was nothing that the Stormtroopers could make use of, she reminded herself. If they wanted to rage, let them rage. But she couldn't help trembling.

"She's hiding something," said the Stormtrooper that had threatened C-3PO. "Force it out."

"I'm not hiding anything," said Shmi. "I thought you were here to bring me in. So I can report to Darth Vader."

"Darth Vader?" asked the leader.

"That is his name, isn't it? Your boss?" She didn't need to fake her uncertainty; Ben's memories were nearly two decades old. A lot could have faded.

"Don't be ridiculous," said another. "Why would Vader have agents out on this dustball?"

"Why would we be hunting down a droid on this dustball?" muttered another.

"Bring the droid, at least," said the leader. "Find out if it knows the Jawas."

Shmi tried to catch C-3PO's eye. If Tatooine was any indication, mistreatment of droids boiled down to scrapping their parts rather than trying to read their memory. But Ben had warned her that even carbon-based life was vulnerable to Imperial probes. Both she and C-3PO had contingencies to prevent memory-raiding, but she hoped it wouldn't come to that, for either of them.

C-3PO gave no indication that he remembered the plan, but his face betrayed no emotion, either. A pair of Stormtroopers dragged him off, joints clanking. "I certainly don't associate with any Jawas!" he pled. "Annoying creatures, really…"

"As for you," the leader continued. "What's your alias?"

"Uh," she said. "Shmi Skywalker, from Tatooine? Near Anchorhead."

"That's not an alias." One of the others tightened his grip on his blaster. "Aliases are...you know."

"That's probably good evidence she's real!" protested another. "She must be important if they sent her all the way out here. A spy would have a better cover."

There was smoke coming from behind her. Shmi willed herself not to look back. "We'll be the judge of that," said the leader. "But if you're wasting our time, Vader will make you wish you hadn't."

Someone shoved her out of the hoverchair, which Shmi just felt was petty—did they expect the astromech's plans to be hidden inside the controls?—and started marching her towards a transport. There was no sense of strangeness, no force large or small warning her or urging her on. Only the knowledge that her family was hidden and Ben was on the move. That was enough to move forward.

After that transport there was another one and after that transport, a small atmoplane. No sign of C-3PO. She got spacesick on the atmoplane—how long had it been since she'd left Tatooine's gravity? Then some kind of hyperspace transport. Not a military craft, she thought, and bigger than a T-16.

The food was bad, and the Imperials were not pleased about having to share space with a civilian who they dismissively called "granny" when they deigned to be polite. She tried not to react to that, or to the others.

From there, they docked at some kind of immense prison complex. She wasn't entirely sure what the planet looked like outside her block, but that was moot. Was this just a detention center for enemies of the Empire? From the way Ben talked, the Empire had plenty of enemies, but the structure felt vacant.

It was probably a few days, though she was spacelagged and couldn't be sure. Then one of the guards stomped by, more slowly than normal. To jeer? To execute her? "You must really be something," he said. "He choked four suits on the way."

Choked? Shmi tried to focus. Be on your guard, Ben had told her. I spent my whole life trying to be at peace, to rise above attachments, and even I nearly fell short. It might have been false modesty, but the midst of hurried planning was an odd time for humility.

She would not pretend to be above attachments, but she could seek peace. Breathing slowly, she stood to take in the form that followed the guard.

It was a cyborg. Not sporting one cybernetic limb like her, but fully sheathed in life-support tech. Taller even than she remembered Anakin had been upon his return, but that could be her mind playing tricks. And equipped with a breathing apparatus that hissed with every motion, as if to underscore that this was no mere biological creature. Yet it seemed more alive than the planet itself.

"You," he said. It was not the voice she remembered, but an electronic construct.

That didn't matter. None of it mattered except whatever decay had taken place deep within, and even that could not be irreversible. "Anakin," she began.

"Do not." If it was possible for the synthvoice to hiss more than it already did, his anger intensified it. "That name no longer has any meaning for me."

"If it no longer has meaning for you, then why did you come?"

He raised one arm, clenched the plastic fingers. "You should be...planetside. Safe."

"I was safe," she said. "It was not my idea to send Stormtroopers to Tatooine."

"The droid. Where is the droid?"

"C-3PO?" Shmi said. "He's here too, I assume. The troopers took him, at least." Of course, there was no reaction. Had his mask been inspired by the Stormtroopers, or the other way around? Yet she felt the urge to provoke him further. Maybe she could reach him, where Ben had failed. "You remember him, don't you? That wonderful golden fellow?"

"Stop," said Vader. "Do not test me."

"Is that a threat?"

"Of course not! I…will not let harm come to you."

Like you protected Amidala? Shmi wondered, but made herself be silent. As far as Vader could know, she knew nothing of Padmé Amidala beyond their two brief encounters. Still, intuition told her there was some kind of a connection between Anakin's rage and the death of his wife.

Instead, she tried another approach. Pleasant, but not too flattering. "I am glad to see you alive. We hear little on Tatooine, of course…"

Too late, she realized the weakness in her plan. If he had been told that someone wanted to speak with Darth Vader, and the "prisoner" addressed him as Anakin Skywalker, how much would he deduce? If it had not been for Ben, she would not have recognized his new name.

But of course, if Vader was determined to invade her mind, she was as good as dead anyway. And there was a chance that somewhere between her boast to the Stormtroopers and his notification that something had been muddled or lost or forgotten. The troopers, for all their shiny armor, were not droids with flawless memories. Somewhere behind their masks, they were human.

"I will see to it," said Vader, "that C-3PO is unharmed. The troops here are...unused to protocol droids, but if anyone has permanently disabled him, they will be...severely punished."

Trying to advocate for Imperial strangers' well-being felt like pushing it, even for Shmi. "Thank you."

"Once he is restored, I will bring him to you. You need an assistant in your condition."

He relied on a myriad metal parts for his survival, and he patronized her arm? "That would be nice," Shmi made herself say.

Vader paused, contemplative, then continued. "If you are mistreated or in danger, when you next see an uninvolved guard, tell them that there is a Code Green. I will attend as soon as possible."

"And what if I'm well, and just want to speak with my son?"

Another pause. "C-3PO will be good company, I think."

With that he was gone, his cape rippling behind him. With all that plating, why wear a cape? It seemed a very human accessory, frivolous and beautiful.

There was no sign of Vader for several days, and Shmi assumed that C-3PO must have been a casualty of the journey. But then the immense cyborg reappeared, flanked by guards. And they were opening her cell! "Come," said Vader.

Shmi tried to remain calm; the Stormtroopers surrounding her helped in tempering her relief. They led her down another maze of corridors to another hyperspace transport, this one larger and better outfitted than the last. Experimental Imperial technology, she wondered? Or merely the necessary equipment for Vader's life support?"

Vader dismissed a few of the guards, but the others followed him aboard and gave her no choice but to come along. C-3PO was on board, looking tired but in one piece. "Mrs. Shmi!" he exclaimed. "It's very good to see you! Did you know that this ghastly being is the Maker? He's calling himself Darth Vader."

Shmi laughed. "Yes, Threepio." Even Vader didn't protest, which she thought was a good sign.

"Where are we going?" Threepio asked. "I've just been through quite an ordeal, you know, and my springs can't take much more of this hyperspace business."

"You'll be all right," Shmi said, hoping he'd take the hint. The last thing they needed was to antagonize Vader by asking too many probing questions.

But he didn't seem to mind. "My base of operations. Those cells they were holding you in...they did their job, but that entire project is a bit of a precarious folly. You are safer elsewhere."

His insistence that he could keep her safe was wearing thin, but R2-D2's message sprung to mind. Critical information, he had said, that could let the rebellion sabotage an immense Imperial project. Was Vader just frustrated with his colleagues, like every bureaucracy before or since, or was Ben's mission underway?

They jumped to hyperspace, and she was spacesick again. "I'm terribly sorry," C-3PO said. "This is most inconvenient…"

"Don't be silly," said Shmi. After all she'd come through, what was a little nausea? "I'm right where I need to be."