A/N: I finally have time to write again! That combined with a rewatch of the OT for May the Fourth and Revenge of the Fifth motivated me to finally get back to this, so enjoy :) I'm gong to endeavour to update more regularly during the summer, but then again, that's always my aim so I make no promises.

Like any author, I thrive on feedback, hint hint.

Chapter 2

Owen Lars wiped the sweat off his brow with the rough material of his sleeve. He straightened from his work slightly and winced, his back sending a twinge of pain down his spine as though to further heighten his need for help from younger bones than his. He squinted against the harsh light of the planet's twin suns and peered into the horizon, looking for Luke. The boy was going to get a piece of his mind once he finally deigned to return with those droids. Or…perhaps not. Beru thought he was too hard on the boy and had already quarreled with him about it during breakfast; she had briefly worried that he might have run away to try and join the Academy. After they had checked his room to find that he had taken nothing but the Speeder and the droids, however, they'd calmed down and come to the conclusion that something had happened with the droids that he was trying to fix himself instead of tell them.

"Maybe's she's right," Owen muttered aloud to himself as he grimaced while struggling to haul the tool he was using around the circuit. He had been hard on the boy lately. The truth was simply that he was at a loss when it came to Luke. Owen had never been possess of the urge to rush off and leave Tattooine. Life was hard and Tattooine was not the most exciting place for a young man, but he had met Beru and settled down into the family farm when he was Luke's age; he'd never been all that ambitious himself. He had been hoping that his young Ward might do the same and come to think like he did after his rebellious streak passed. But the boy wasn't like him. Lars hadn't known Luke's parents well but knowing his father's pilot record and war reputation in addition to the brief meetings that the Lars' had had with Anakin, it seemed that Luke took after his father. A bit too much like his father for Owen's peace of mind, as it happened. Life on Tattooine could be rough, he was the first to admit it, but the Lars' were established members of the community and more than competent in dealing with Sandstorms, Hutts and Sandpeople. They were essential enough in the role of moisture farmers and inauspicious enough in wealth not to come to the attention of slavers or Hutts. They were a family and they were safe at home.

The outside world was a different story. Especially for the son of a Jedi. Out on Tattooine, no one knew or cared who your parents were if you weren't involved in the gangs. Luke's surname never caused any concern or even so much as a second thought in their neighbourhood. Some even remembered Shmi, who had taken a great joy in volunteering at the school and whose son had long left the planet to gain his freedom and make his way in the Galaxy. Truthfully explaining Luke as her grandson had raised no questions because quite frankly no one cared; it was a benefit of hiding a child in the outer systems run largely by the Hutts. Farmers were largely left to their own devices most of the time whilst the ruling gangsters focused more on more 'valuable' trade, like droids, alloys, ships and slavery. But if Luke went to the Academy…Owen didn't know what the attitude was towards jedi in the main systems now, or if their kids would be doomed by association. He'd never even heard of another jedi child, come to think of it. He'd thought they had some rule against marriage or something, but he'd be the first to admit that he didn't know much of the Galaxy and hadn't questioned it. Sometimes he regretted not simply trying to pass him off as their baby and giving Luke his name, but it had seemed too far-fetched that the respected Lars couple who were happily married and been trying for a child had told no one about a much-desired pregnancy. More questions would have been asked about them suddenly rushing an adoption process and there were no records to pass him off as a slave baby. With the end of the war, it had been much easier to simply tell the partial truth about him being orphaned family coming to live with them.

Owen's thoughts travelled to Ben Kenobi. He had long since barred the Jedi from his property and from Luke. The Jedi had come and taken Shmi's son from her and Anakin had gotten himself…well. And all the Jedi were exterminated upon discovery or else it was said that they disappeared into the Imperial ships in chains, never to be seen or heard from again. He wouldn't have his adopted son endangered by association. He mused now that the old madman probably could have told them a little bit about Luke's chances in the Empire. There was clearly no convincing Luke to take over the farm, but in the academy he might be traced back to his father simply by his name alone, and who knew what they might do? Or on the other hand, would they care just as little as people did on Tattooine and just seem him as a simple farmboy with an aptitude for mechanics? Owen didn't know enough about the imperials to know how to gage the dangers his boy might face should he yield to his persistence about the Academy. Nevertheless, Owen didn't regret keeping the old hermit away from them. He stubbornly clung to that in his musings even as he gave up on the tinkering he was immersed in.

Owen sighed and rubbed first his neck, then his lower back as he stiffly straightened from his crouch. His knees weren't what they used to be. Neither were his back or legs or arms. This was supposed to be why he had droids and a nephew. The farmer sighed and squinted out at the horizon, shielding his eyes against the glare from the twin suns. He paused slightly when he saw something move on the horizon.

"Luke?" he murmured to himself. As the shape neared it separated into not one speeder, but a patrol of speeders. All but one imposing black figure at the head was clad entirely in white. There was only one group with that color pattern that ever showed up in the desert. The farmer backed up a step and instinctively glanced towards the house. His breath caught in his throat when he saw Beru walk out with the laundry. The speeders were approaching rapidly. Owen dropped the tools he was holding and hurried over towards his wife.

"Beru!" He cried, his voice gruff but fearful. She glanced up and saw both the expression on his face and the nearing forms of the storm troopers. Her eyes widened and a thin, wrinkled hand came to her mouth as she dropped her basket of laundry.

"Owen!" She cried back.

"Beru, go inside!" Owen half-ordered, half-begged as he reached her. He gently tried to usher her indoors but she dug her feet and grabbed his arms.

"Luke!" She hissed.

"He's not back yet,"

"Owen, we have to get rid of them! If he comes back—" she whispered urgently.

"It's alright, I'm sure it's nothing. Just something routine," Owen assured her.

His words were hollow. They both knew it was a fanciful lie.

The Storm Troopers, about a dozen of them, had reached their property and were in the process of parking their speeders. Amongst them, a glaring black spot in a sea of white and sand, was a darkly clad woman. She was covered in black from head to toe, wearing a black helmet and visor to shield her face from the sand, and also obscuring her identity largely. She made some kind of gesture to the troopers before strolling languidly over to the edge of the pit where they kept much of their equipment, casually inspecting it like an item at an auction she wasn't particularly interested in as she removed her helmet, allowing a tightly woven auburn braid to flap down to her back. Her troopers, in the meantime, marched over with their blasters in hand and spread across the property, with three coming to yank the elderly couple apart amidst fervent protest from the both of them.

The farming couple was forced to their knees about a dozen feet apart from one another. They exchanged fearful looks and Owen gave his wife an attempt at a reassuring smile, wishing he could tell her now—before they died—just how much he loved her. He wished he could talk to her without words the way Jedi had been fabled to do with one another. His heart constricted further in his throat when he saw her return his attempt at a smile through her tears before she sniffed and shut her eyes tightly, shaking with terror.

"Look at me, Farmer," a cool voice ordered. Owen slowly raised his gaze to see that the woman leading the Storm Troopers had come to loom over him, her green eyes glinting gold in a certain light as she regarded him dispassionately.

"Please," Owen croaked as he squinted up at her. "We're just…just farmers. Simple moisture farmers. We…we keep up with our taxes as best we can—"

"Owen Lars, I don't care about taxes," the woman interrupted him in a drawl, emphasizing his name. The farmer felt cold in the blistering heat at the pointed use of his name. "You have a nephew named Luke and you purchased a pair of droids from the Jawas. I want to know where both of them are and you will tell me,"

Lars shook his head with growing desperation.

"I don't—I …please, we don't have much, but take what you want from the house. I don't know where the Droids are, but take them…"

"You know where they are, and you know about the boy," the woman said as she swooped down to kneel in front of him, her gold-flecked eyes boring into his, searching. "Who is he?"

Lars' mouth was dry.

"He's—he's our boy," He replied in a whisper. He glanced over at his wife who gave him a grimacing smile. It was the truth. Luke was theirs. He always would be. At least he always would be to them. The woman seemed unimpressed. She stood again and jerked her head towards him, sauntering away as one of the soldiers brutally kicked him in a well-aimed blow to his kidney and a stomp at his knee. Pain exploded in the farmer's body and he screamed, his cry of pain mingling with his wife's sob of sympathy. He heard the charge of blaster rifles as they were pressed to his and Beru's heads.

"I will ask you one more time, Lars," The woman stated in a quiet, firm tone above him. "Where are the droids, and who is the boy?"

Beru tried unsuccessfully to bite back a sob of despair and terror behind him. Owen himself was shaking like a leaf.

"I don't…I don't know where the droids are! They went missing this morning!" He begged. The woman seemed at once resigned and annoyed. She stepped forward again and knelt in front of him, gripping his chin in her hand and forcing his head up so that he could no longer hide the tears of pain. He stared resolutely at the black insignia at her collar that blended in with the rest of her suit whilst he struggled not to whimper. For nearly a full minute the only sounds that cut through the still desert afternoon were that of the farming couple trying to stifle their own sounds.

"I believe you," the cool, female voice told him dispassionately at the end of that pause. Owen and Beru both snapped their heads up incredulously, not quite daring to take this as a hopeful sign. The gold-flecked green eyes were still boring into Lars' as she continued. "I don't really want to hurt you, Lars. You and your wife, you mind your own business. You run your farm, you don't get into any of the unsavory characters of this place, and you run a charming little herb stall on Market Day. You're not really any kind of threat to anyone, are you?"

"No!" Owen panted, seizing on the offer being extended to him, no matter how slim. "No, we're not!"

"No," The woman agreed, "You're not…not personally. Unfortunately, this isn't personal and unless you help me, it isn't my choice, either. You can't tell me about the droids, that's fine. But you can still help me,"

Owen started to shake again and stole a glance at Beru. She had become very quiet. Her hands were still clasped behind her head, but her fingers were no longer clutching. Her eyes were now open and staring at the sand beneath her. Her tears were now silent and slid down her cheeks in a slow, sluggish trickle that caught the oppressive sunlight in glints.

"The boy. Luke," the woman said, her voice hardening. "I want to know everything about him and I want to know where he is,"

Beru closed her eyes slowly and took a long breath. Her calm and courage helped decide Owen.

"He's our boy," Owen told her, remembering the way Beru's face had lit up the moment she learned that they were going to be parents after all, not caring that the child hadn't come from her body. He thought of the first time she brought Luke to him, face alight with joy even when he had still been uncertain of the whole idea. He thought of Luke, of how he had seemed to grow so quickly. He swallowed at the ache of knowing there would be no more happy memories like that, but felt his own resolve solidfy as he repeated firmly. "He's our boy,"

The woman released her hold on his chin and sat back on her heels with a short sigh. She stood in one smooth motion to loom over them again and looked at the Storm Troopers who had accompanied her, tossing a hand-signal their way. The Lars couple both shut their eyes tight, tensed with renewed terror.

Their end was swift, but far from merciful.

Once it was over their killers looked down at the bodies in silence. The black-clad redhead turned on her heel, her back to the two corpses as she looked over at the Trooper Commander sharply.

"The Sand People are a dangerous menace. They've been known to attack this area," she stated. The storm trooper paused a moment and glanced around before nodding curtly in understanding. The Emperor's Hand raised her chin a fraction and blinked in the direction of the homestead.

"They're known pyromaniacs, too," she added, continuing, "Make sure the bodies are well burned. Leave minimal identifiers, enough DNA for a confirmation of death. No more. But find the boy's room and bring me his personal effects before you burn them. Quickly. I want to be done in no more than ten minutes,"

"Yes, Milady," The Trooper said as he snapped a salute. It wasn't the first time he had been privy to such a cover up.

They were thorough in their task and took nothing with them when they were finished. The Emperor's Hand examined the objects they brought her quickly before having them thrown back to the flames. She had what she wanted.

"Is anything to be done about the boy? Would you like wanted posters put up?" the Trooper asked her as they re-mounted their speeders.

"And have the Rebels take an interest in this boy? I think not. Make sure you and your men know what he looks like. He's only a problem if he decides to leave this cesspool. Watch the transports and apprehend him if he decides to leave the planet. Otherwise he's nothing,"

"To be apprehended dead? Alive?"

"Whichever is more securely accomplished. I don't care. You heard what I said, I want to know if he tries to leave," she said as she summoned her helmet to her hands and put it back on.

The Storm Trooper captain saluted and started to turn and pass on the orders when something occurred to the Emperor's Hand.

"Captain," she beckoned as an afterthought. He turned on his heel to stand at attention facing her. She gave him a small smile and sauntered past him as she ordered,

"Leave a couple of officers here. Out of sight. The boy should return here eventually. Apprehend him,"

"Yes My Lady," The Captain agreed.

"That will be all, Captain," she dismissed him, climbing onto her speeder and settling her hair under a sleek, stylized black helmet.

"What will My Ladyship be doing now, if it's not out of line for me to ask,"

"It is, but you can have a warning," She informed him curtly. She apparently reconsidered her position and then informed him cryptically "I will be tying up a loose end here,"

******888888******88888****

"It looks like the Sand people did this alright," Luke Skywalker remarked as he sifted through the wreckage of the Jawas' trading base, "I mean look, there's baffe sticks, a couple of robes…I've just never heard of them attacking in big groups like this before,"

"This was not the work of Sand People," Obi Wan told him gravely as his fingers ghosted over the deeply-cut slash marks along the outer hull of their caravan. They made the same slash marks as a lightsabre might have, but the spacing was too curious and too precise for it to have been a single blade—perhaps not even a blade at all. He personally had experimented with other weapons like the Light Sabre, but to his knowledge Vader was the only one wielding anything of the kind and he never deviated from his blade. He certainly wasn't on Tattooine; Ben would have known it instantly. The old Jedi didn't like this. He knelt down to examine the footprints in the sand, remarking on their side-by-side placement before his gaze settled upon a different set of footprints. They were smaller, more pointed. Not the standard issue boot of a clone trooper. A knot of dread formed in Kenobi's gut. He didn't know what was going on, but he knew that he didn't like it. The Dark Side of the force had a presence here, a representative that Kenobi had not known of previously, and whomever that was had played a role in the Jawas' destruction.

"This was made to look like Sand People, but they always march single file in order to disguise their numbers. And the accuracy of these blasts…far too neat. No, this was the work of Imperials,"

"But these are the same Jawas that sold us R2 and Threepio. If they were looking for the droids then that would lead them…home!" Luke moaned before sprinting to his speeder.

"Luke!" Obi Wan called after him to no avail as he took a few steps towards the speeder. He was tempted to reach out with the force, but decided against it. He didn't like this dark presence on the planet and had no intention of alerting anyone to his or Luke's presence.

Instead, he followed the boy and managed to convince him to wait just long enough to get in the Speeder with him, knowing with a terrible certainty at what they would find.

He was not wrong. As they approached Luke slammed on the breaks to the vehicle and leapt out of it, running several steps towards his home until he stopped short and fell to his knees in shock.

The farm was burning. Black, billowing smoke issued from the rounded buildings and the carnage of the apparent raid was strewn everywhere. The equipment that wasn't charred was in ruins. There were only ashes left where Beru would have been doing the weekly laundry. And in front of the homestead—

Ben exited the speeder with more care and walked up behind the youth as Luke collapsed to his knees at the top of a sand dune. He put his hand on Luke's shoulder in an attempt to provide a comforting presence.

"Come away, Luke," he beckoned kindly, "The droids and I can handle this, can't we, Threepio?"

"Yes Master, of course," The Protocol droid agreed readily "Come along, Artoo,"

Luke nodded mutely and somehow got to his feet in a daze, struggling to look away from the charred and twisted remains of his aunt and uncle sprawled in the sand. Without meeting Kenobi's eye he swallowed and mumbled:

"I'll see if there's anything left of my room,"

There wasn't much. The fire had been thorough and had collapsed the ceiling between the first floor and the second. There was little left but charred remains of one or two of his models and some tools that had been twisted and misshapen from the heat of the fire. There was nothing of any real consequence to him left, not even so much as a keepsake of the closest thing he'd ever had to parents. Everything was either crumbling or twisted and unrecognizable. What he did find that was still of reasonable use was the hidden, emergency cash of credits stored away for a sand-stormy day in a small pit dug beneath the house.

He found it almost on a fluke. He had nearly forgotten about the little stash, remembering it only when he found the remains of the cooker Aunt Beru had used and deciding that it wouldn't hurt to at least look. Sure enough, with a little digging through rubble and sand, he found the hatch to the little pit. With his throat tight Luke reached into the pit and gingerly gripped the sides of the cube; the box was still hot to the touch. It was also tightly wedged. The young man grimaced and struggled to free it for a moment until with a grunt of effort he pulled it out, rocking back on his heels with the force of the tug.

As he fingered the edge of the lid, however, he stilled. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He wasn't alone. Slowly he slid his hand along the box to grip one of the handles on the side, ignoring the growing pain in his palm from the heated metal. He heard the low whine of a blaster rifle charging and tensed, getting one foot under him securely before the tinny voice spoke through the helmet's synthesiser;

"Alright now, hands in the air. Come on,"

Luke's jaw tightened and his teeth clenched. The Empire was clearly not as familiar with the Sand People as the natives of Tattooine if it took them so long to stage a raid that they would be caught by witnesses before finishing the job. And now they wanted to remove those witnesses, it was obvious.

With a long, deep breath the young man released his grip on the box and slowly put his hands behind his head.

"That's right," the Trooper behind him said smugly. "Now slowly get to your feet,"

"What was all this for?" Luke demanded, "What, did you guys get bored? Thought you'd come harass some farmers that the Hutts wouldn't raise a stink about?"

"No talking. Come on now, on your feet,"

Luke did as he was ordered, but glanced down at the small, heavy metal box. He needed a plan. People who left with Storm Troopers in handcuffs were never heard from again on Tattooine; one of many such pitfalls that accompanied living in the armpit of the Galaxy. And besides, these people had just murdered his family. Who knew what they would do with him once they had him. As he started to turn around slowly he sank to his knees as though in fear, making himself shake.

"Please," he said to buy a few seconds time, eyes searching manically for something that he could use. The only things useful were the box—which would be clearly seen if he grabbed it again—and sand. Another trooper was coming up to join the first one behind him.

"Radio seems to be out, but I got another one. An old geezer of some ki—"

The sudden hiss of a laser interrupted the second trooper and was responded to with a cry of alarm. Luke seized the chance to grab the box and whip around, swinging his heated make-shift club with all his might and connecting with the side of the first trooper's head. The white-clad soldier stumbled back with a cry in time for Ben to finish him off quickly and efficiently with his lightsabre. The Storm trooper collapsed in a heap atop the other armoured corpse. The old man regarded them briefly and then turned his attention to Luke, deactivating his Lightsabre.

"Are you alright, Luke?" he asked calmly. The pilot nodded, eyes round with awe at the Lightsabre's work, his newfound respect for Ben growing. The old man nodded to him and the two walked out through the doorway together. The droids were still there, untouched. Theepio had set himself to work cleaning and Artoo was whistling sadly. For once, they were not bickering. There was a third Stormtrooper body, but that would be dealt with quickly. What Ben truly endeavoured to keep him away from was the two bodies in front of the other dome leading down to the house.

There was little left of his aunt and uncle but skeletons, some charred strips of flesh clinging to their hands and faces; that much he could see from a distance and didn't particularly want to get any closer. Ben sent him to wait at the speeder and he didn't argue. The brief jolt of adrenaline that had surged through him with the Storm Troopers had faded and grief was creeping up on him again. He took the lockbox with him and simply sat there, staring at the smoking wreckage that had been his home, the one he had been so determined to leave. That desire had not changed, but he had never for a moment wanted anything remotely like this. He'd envisioned adventuring through the stars, writing home to his Aunt Beru, visiting them for a few days every once in a long while perhaps, maybe even finding them a nicer place to retire in a few years…if he was honest he hadn't thought quite that far ahead yet, but now that it was no longer a possibility he was certain he would have. They had, after all, essentially been his parents.

The house was still burning and the Droids were starting another pair of bonfires; one for the Storm troopers and a separate one as a funeral pyre for Owen and Beru. Threepio had wrapped the bodies and was finishing their cremation properly, it seemed. Luke sighed and shifted his position against the speeder, glancing up when Ben approached with his hands folded in the sleeves of his robe.

If he had only been there…if he hadn't gone searching for the stupid droids! Or even better, if he hadn't let R2 trick him into removing the restraining bolt on him…

"There was nothing you could have done, Luke," Ben's near psychic proclamation startled the youth into looking up at him as the hermit continued. "If you had been here, they simply would have killed you too. And the droids would now be in Imperial hands. All would have been lost,"

Luke didn't answer him. Instead he merely pried open the lockbox and retrieved the credits stored inside. He stared at them a moment, counting them numbly in his head before stashing them away in a pocket and looking down at the metal container. It was the only thing left from his childhood home, and it meant absolutely nothing to him. It was painful to think of how much he had hated this place, how much he still ached to leave, but now that desire was tinged with guilt. He threw the box away with a grunt, narrowly missing Artoo.

"Luke?" Ben asked.

"Will you take me with you?" Luke asked him. He gestured to the farmhouse. "There's nothing for me here now I want to be a Jedi. Like you. Like my father before me,"

Obi Wan nodded his consent, a small smile on his face as he put on hand on the space between the boy's shoulder blades.

"We must leave immediately," the Jedi told Luke. "More will come to check on those three when they maintain radio silence for too long. We will go into the city and obtain transport,"

"But won't they have set up checkpoints if they're looking for these two?" Luke asked, motioning to the droids.

Ben gave him another smile as they crawled into the speeder.

"Leave them to me,"

888888888

As Luke had predicted, there were checkpoints that they ran into along the way as Ben took them to Mos Eisley. Troopers slowed the speeder with a gesture and the young man felt the hair rise on the back of his neck and fought—successfully—to keep the tension from showing too much. A little fear, after all, was good; it was expected from a simple farm-boy like him. As such he didn't bother trying to keep himself from looking a little nervous when confronted by the trio of armed, anonymous soldiers as they were flagged down. This didn't attract too much attention; all incoming speeders seemed to be getting the same treatment. One bystander, however, seemed to take notice of them; a cloaked and hooded figure slowed its progress through the market as their speeder entered and came to a halt as the Storm Troopers approached the old man and the boy with their droids.

"How long have you had these droids?" The Storm Trooper closest to Ben asked Luke.

" 'Bout three or four seasons," Luke replied innocently, squinting in the harsh sun. Ben leaned forward.

"They're for sale if you want them," he said, feigning eagerness. He hoped that such a show of simple greed might help them along. Unfortunately, it seemed that the Storm Trooper was a little too seasoned on Tattooine.

"Let me see your identification," he ordered Luke brusquely, holding out his hand in demand. Obi Wan merely smiled at him serenely.

"You don't need to see his…identification," Ben trailed off his command when movement in the corner of his eye captured his attention. In the back of his mind he registered the man parroting the words back to them but compartmentalized it. Behind the storm troopers, standing the long shadow cast by the building at her back was a hooded figure wearing a long, rough brown cloak. When the figure raised her head a pair of large, bright blue eyes stared out at him against white-striped orange skin. Once she had caught his eye the Togruta briefly shifted her cloak to give him a brief glimpse of the lightsabre on her belt before allowing the garment to slide back over the weapon.

"We don't—wait, why don't we need to…?" One of the Storm Troopers started to ask in a daze. The uncertainty in the words pulled Ben out of his shock and returned him to the situation at hand. The small, knowing smile returned to his face and he waved his hand at them again.

"He can go about his business,"

"He can go about his business," The trooper said with sudden confidence, his tone bored. The second trooper nodded with apparent disinterest as well. Luke looked from one to the other with eyes that were first wide with disbelief at their apparent luck and then narrow with suspicion.

"Move along," Ben said, calm but distracted as he glanced around for the cloaked Togrutan. As the speeder slowly crawled through into the city proper he had to concede that she had vanished. He sat back in his seat as Luke drove them through the streets and spared a moment to wonder whether his eyes were playing tricks on him or whether he had actually seen what he had thought. Could it have been a Force-vision? Or one of the Order who had survived Order 66. Before he had gone into hiding completely rumor had reached him of Shaak Ti surviving the attack of the Clone troopers at the Temple, and she had been both powerful and resourceful enough to even evade the Empire if anyone could. Except— it had not been Shaak Ti. It had been a Togruta far closer to his heart and past. One he hadn't seen since she was but a padawan…one that he and his fellows on the council had greatly wronged.

"…Ben? Ben?" Luke's beckoning pulled Kenobi out of his reverie and he turned to the youth with an inquisitive raise of his eyebrows.

"Where to now?" Luke asked. The Jedi smiled at him reassuringly.

"Now," he said as the Speeder came to a halt and he hauled himself out of his seat, "We must obtain transport,"