The Executor sped through hyperspace. The three other star destroyers which had entered Vasafaa's system had taken up orbital positions around the planet, surveying for signs of activity like birds of prey.
The effect was quickly felt on Vasafaa. The complete halt of exiting ship traffic caused port cities to become congested. Freighters emptied of imports and loaded with exports sat idle in docking bays. Ships waiting to bring goods to the surface drifted in the planet's orbit, biding time and wasting fuel, waiting for word they could land.
There was nothing to be done in-flight regarding the apprehension of the Rebels on the planet surface. Darth Vader would have to wait. Usually, he could. Patiently. So sure was he of himself, of his cause, of the issue at hand, that there was no hurry. He would get what he sought.
Until Princess Leia.
It gave him no pleasure to pull up the report he had made to the Emperor after her arrest. He put a lock on it, so that Commander Piett could not access it, and set it aside for a time, and returned to the holorecording. This didn't exactly bring him pleasure, either. A torment, blissful and yearning, like the purer oxygen they let him breathe when his helmet was removed in the hyperbaric chamber. Something that existed which was denied him. A healthy body, and...
What, exactly? He scoured every detail of the recording. The darker shadows of the typical hologram-blue, showing evidence of sunshine. The open canopy, which he assumed meant warm temperatures and fresh air. Oh, the feel of it on one's skin, and Vader's gloves would touch the cheek area of his mask. The untamed idealism of the boy, the detour-allowing leisure of the Corellian, which the stern discipline of the Princess would never permit.
Much like himself. He envied the Corellian, admired the boy, understood the Princess.
He sat for six inhales and exhales, and could put it off no longer, and reviewed his report. The Emperor had comm'd him personally several times after the theft of the Death Star plans, demanding an update. Vader would describe his master as supremely agitated.
The Executor had caught up with the ship the Princess traveled on, the Tantive IV, over-
Vader checked. Yes, Tatooine. No mere coincidence, then.
Tatooine, Vader spat in his mind. Only fools lived there.
He had been so informed, he recalled, and wondered at the coincidence, but the Force remained placid, innocent, and so the Executor captured the Tantive IV, and headed for the Death Star, and Darth Vader had no need to consider Tatooine any longer.
Vader wasn't a fool. He had left.
Except, he could see himself, the little boy, small and scared. Sorry to leave his mother behind and still a slave, while that Jedi promised him a future and glory.
Hadn't he? Obi Wan's master? Odd, he used to wish that one had trained him but now he couldn't remember his name...
His mother fell in love and was freed, but the stupid planet killed her.
They had love in common, he and his mother. They had the ruin of love as well.
Don't you think, Anakin?
Leia, and... Luke. Two names, suggested by a dreaming woman. Those same two names, together in a speeder.
The ruin of love. Where was this going?
The Princess had deployed an escape pod before the Tantive IV was captured. She hadn't entered it. Had she sent the plans in it? Vader had ordered it to be checked and sent a squad down to the planet's surface. Up until that time he'd been efficient. His master could not complain.
But he didn't really care about what happened dirtside, for he had the Princess. He didn't need anything else and the Empire only needed him. And from the Princess, from her mind, with the assistance of the Force, he would learn the purpose of the escape pod and obtain the plans. And while he was at it, learn the location of the Rebel base.
But he hadn't.
He hadn't! Admittedly, he had not followed the investigation of the escape pod on Tatooine. Events on the Death Star kept him preoccupied. The Princess had proved startlingly resistant. Grand Moff Tarkin, in charge of the Death Star, commanded a lot of Vader's attention. And then there was the captured, supposedly crewless freighter, only to learn somehow the crew evaded capture and the intruders had infiltrated the battle station. Tarkin's office comm had constant updates on the situation. And the bodies they left behind. Members of the scan crew, those in the hangar control room, the switchboard engineers in the detention center... They learned the Princess had escaped and there was a firefight in the detention cell corridor; she and her rescuers had jumped into a garbage masher; they split up on two different levels-
And then there was Obi Wan Kenobi, whose Force sense Darth Vader followed around like the aroma of perfume.
Everything was usually so clear but the Force niggled at the back of his mind. The dark side was easy. Simple. Inward, whereas functioning in the light was work. One needed to have perspective, allow for others, ascend to peace.
Vader listened to himself breathe. He had failed with the Princess, this was true. Truth was not a friend to the dark side; in this respect he had earned his master's wrath. But even through his failure he had learned about her. She was determined and not to be dissuaded. She would return to the Alliance with her precious cargo.
And she did, so therefore the loss of the Death Star was not his fault. He hadn't designed it, with its fatal flaw. Indirectly, he had learned the location of the Alliance headquarters. This dark side energy- the blame, the snide insinuation of cowardice or lack of fealty- was not his. Resentment, however, was.
Vader allowed it to build while he searched for the communiques from the commanding officer sent from Tatooine. Only his master would know of his lapse. Vader seethed, enjoying the twisted morality of his resentment. There was truth in it, nestled within a protective anger.
The escape pod carried two droids, as determined by the discovery of some hardware on the desert sand. One which stepped and the other which rolled. The two tracks separated not far from the landing site. One headed for the canyons and the other across the expanse of sea.
Vader lifted his head, bored by droids.
Why was the Tantive IV over Tatooine? The Princess had dared to challenge her arrest. Vader grunted in memory. She'd been stunned and brought to him after she regained consciousness. He remembered her stubborn haughtiness, how well she hid the effects of a stun blast. It was a diplomatic mission, she'd claimed with self-importance, to Alderaan.
But this did not add up, which was why he ignored her protests and brought her into custody. Alderaan was in the Core and her ship had no business in the Outer Rim. At the time, Vader wrote it off as the Tantive IV's desperate attempts to elude the Empire.
But now Tatooine held great significance. It went, perhaps, beyond the Death Star.
He had never wanted to return there. Not even in memory.
He knew he needed to examine this. Take a moment in the dark side, revel in the selfish injustice the mention of Tatooine brought him, but he found himself resistant. The Death Star still distracted him, as well as the overall dissatisfaction its destruction had brought him. He had taken part in the space battle because the Rebels were getting too close. And his Tie-fighter had been sent into a spin. Not by a Rebel pilot; he had only a glimpse but the flat round shape was unmistakable of the YT models-
And the briefest glimpse of the flare of the proton torpedo as it entered the Death Star's reactor core shaft. A direct hit, delivered by a pilot who had caused Vader to mutter to himself of things not felt in a long time.
As if synchronized with his thoughts, the holo on his desk was at the part when the youth stood up in the speeder. I am a Jedi!
Vader stared at it. It could be him. Yes, he'd felt the same once upon a time. That pride and sense of fulfillment, the conceit of an exclusive community.
Which had abandoned him. His fists clenched as he remembered that feeling of personal defeat, seconds before the Imperial's tragic loss. His ship spinning, the torpedo's exact trajectory, the emotions of the young pilot while the other in the freighter cheered and flew away. Saw them clearer than the pilot knew what he was feeling. Humility, awe, hope and the untapped strength of the Force.
It had been a slap. The Force excluded him once again. And while he had fought to get his ship under control, he thought of his boot, stepping on the empty robes that should have held Obi Wan Kenobi's corpse. The battle station's radiation was his spotting focus as he whirled round and round, and because he wasn't sure where he would wind up, he thought to his dead master, where did you go?
Without reading them, Vader deleted the rest of the communiques. The personnel were here aboard the Executor. He would leave no trail.
"Commander Piett. Summon TD-110 to my office."
Luke and Leia bounded into the house. The dining room was the first room on the left. The father's hands were on the table and he was half-frozen out of his seat. Leia recognized the pose. She had also stood when told the Empire was in pursuit of her vessel. And her mind had raced so wildly her body actually halted.
"I've got a problem," Han was telling them, "and you're going to solve it." He noticed Luke and Leia and gave them a wink.
Beside her, Luke heard Leia growl under her breath. Maybe she had guessed Han's plan, but Luke still felt in the dark.
"Take what you need," the mother wailed a bit. "Take it! Just leave us alone." Her little boy had run to her side and was crying into her chest. She covered his head with her protective arms.
"That's the problem," Han nodded at her. "I can't. We're having speeder trouble." He interrupted his explanation to the frightened family and turned to Luke and Leia. "Theirs seats eight. And it's white. Our favorite color."
"You could just ask," the father snarled, fighting his disbelief at what was happening. His body had managed to complete the movement to standing. "We'd have helped! Instead, you barge in here waving a blaster, scaring us half to death- Why didn't you ask! We'd have helped."
"You will," Han nodded at him. "You're coming with us. Sorry, Sweetheart," Han tossed at Leia. "This way is better. They can't make a report if they're with us. And then we're just a large white speeder traveling the lanes. Luke, go load our luggage." He stepped toward the family. "I'm gonna search you. I'll need any comms you got on you."
The mother shrieked but thankfully the father calmed her down. "Just do what he says."
Luke brushed past Leia on his way out the door. The sobs of the boy were heard in the background. "Now we're taking hostages? Command is going to kill us," he said grimly.
But he hadn't raised an objection. Leia thought about that as she watched him disappear into the darkness towards the speeder. She hadn't either. Shocked into complicity. She weighed her own decision. Once again, Han was setting events in motion without consideration of others, but it seemed they were already beyond a point of return. She turned around to locate the 'fresher.
The stormtrooper stopped before Commander Piett's desk.
Piett worked hard to show no interest. That was the Imperial way. "Yes, what is it?" he demanded brusquely.
"Lord Vader has asked to see me, sir."
The trooper was obviously nervous. Piett understood. And the man should be. Many did not survive an interview with the Dark Lord. Standing before Piett without the white body armor, one could see he was young and human, as all troopers were. This one's hair was a light brown and so were his eyes. Piett wanted to ask if he knew why, but that question was generally discouraged aboard a star destroyer.
"Your designation?" Piett said dispassionately, and spoke into the intercom. "My Lord, TD-110 has arrived." The door whisked open and TD-110 strode into the office.
Piett's fingers played at his lips. This was an interesting development. Why would Lord Vader wish to see a stormtrooper? Piett couldn't see that it had anything to do with Vader's recent convictions about the Force. But the little holo still played its endless loop on his desk. TD-110 wasn't on the Death Star obviously since he was alive, so it must have something to do with the Princess's arrest.
A flash of irritation made him feel like either writing his letter of resignation or going to the officer's lounge and sulk over a brandy. Were there other reasons Vader would want to consult a stormtrooper? Who knew. The black costume was successful in hinting at a dangerous unpredictability. But given what Piett knew, namely, that his superior was obsessed with a holorecording because in it a youth waving around a lightsaber convinced him the Jedi were resurrected, it must have to do with events of the recent past.
Vader seemed to have embarked upon on his own investigation. Did he not trust Piett? Had he evaluated Piett as not up to the job? Piett rejected these thoughts. He had performed well. Made suggestions of which Lord Vader had approved. Vader had listened to him.
The Force and the Death Star. No reason for a stormtrooper. And yet-
Piett keyed up a search for Obi Wan Kenobi. There were numerous results. Not as many as for the Princess Organa, and not as varied. Most were news items about conflicts resolved on some world with his partner Jedi Knight Skywalker. No holos. This was a Jedi rule, probably, Piett figured. Jedi were to live humbly.
Kenobi had a long career as a Jedi Knight, based out of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. He was a council member, whatever that was. It was interesting how much of Jedi culture was lost. Kenobi rose to fame as a general during the Clone Wars, stirring imaginations with daring tales of escapades. Believed to have escaped during the Purge, whereabouts unknown. Well, that obviously needed updating.
Piett lifted his head, lost in thought a moment. Interesting, how neither Vader nor Emperor Palpatine celebrated the end of another Jedi but allowed it to be muted under the demise of the Death Star. He looked at his other monitor, which bore witness to his struggle to learn whether or not a Jedi's lightsaber was registered to a user as Vader suggested. So far he had managed to learn the ancient Coruscanti word for the tool. The basic name was a direct, if slightly inaccurate, translation since apparently the word laser came into the language late. 'Light cutter.'
Piett closed the Kenobi files. It seemed Lord Vader had been greatly affected by the presence of his old master on the Death Star. Perhaps Piett could learn why. He rose from his desk to seek the lift.
Leia went through the family's rooms. She felt practical. There was no use harping on what they had done. It was best to focus on getting through it and out of it. She could see an end. It was messy in the middle, but if they reached the space port and the ship, they'd be back on familiar ground.
She looked for items they could use as disguises, and selected hats and a few jackets. She also found a large bag made of some type of straw, and packed a child's play tablet, credit chips, and some food.
Outside, Han watched his passengers, placidly pointing his blaster at the speeder window. He was chewing on a roll. Luke was already inside the speeder. He sat on the middle bench next to the boy, who was beside his mother. The husband sat against the other door, glaring out the window at Han. It looked crowded in that row. Threepio was in the back, on a rear-facing bench. The luggage containing the stolen explosive materiel must be with him, Leia figured.
"Oh, thank heavens, Her Highness has appeared!" Threepio exclaimed.
"No need to worry, Threepio," Leia slapped her hand against the speeder as she moved around to the front.
"Well, there is," Luke argued gently, but he didn't elaborate.
Leia threw the bag in the front seat and took the same place she'd had earlier next to Han. This speeder was large and very roomy. They had space to spread out if they desired, but all they'd done was remove the droid and crowd their hostages.
Han added the various communication devices to the bag. "Nice work," he complimented her after glancing in it. "Threepio thought you were in there fixing your makeup."
"You thought," Leia said. "He knows I don't wear any."
"You don't? Kid, throw those rolls in here."
"I'm gonna eat them."
"Not all, you're not. Hand 'em over." To Leia, he added, "You've got nice skin, then."
Luke dumped the bowl of rolls into the bag and noticed the little boy was watching him. He was calmer now, recovered from the surprise appearance of a man with a blaster. He didn't take cues from his parents, either the fear or the fury. It impressed Luke. He didn't know if he should be surprised, but then he didn't know much about children. If anything, the boy should dislike Han for making his mother so afraid and his father so angry. Instead, he merely observed, watching Han and Leia speak to one another, his eyes large, moving from one person to the next.
What were the boy's instincts, Luke wondered. He thought back to the few things Ben Kenobi had mentioned about the Force. It had felt like he was talking about life experiences in general, and how the Force affected all. Did the boy trust his parents so completely he felt safe because they were with him? Or did he see something in Han, Leia and himself that his parents could not? He decided to offer the boy a small smile.
Didn't you eat?" the little boy asked, glancing at the roll Luke did not add to the bag and kept on his lap.
"I had breakfast," Luke told him. "That was hours ago. Do you want one?" He held out the roll to the boy. "We interrupted your dinner, huh. Sorry about that." He leaned over his seat to talk to the father, who wouldn't look at him. "Sir, it's going to be all right. We're not killers or anything."
"But sir, I beg to differ," Threepio interrupted from the rear bench. "I distinctly recall when you broke into the hangar control room-"
"Not now, Threepio!" Luke warned. The mother had blanched and her chin was trembling. "Really," he assured her. "We just need to get to Alten to where our ship is docked."
"Then why not call ride assistance!" the father's frightened fury overflowed. "Why take us?"
"Well, my buddy kind of explained it," Luke said apologetically.
"No, he did a very poor job of explaining! He made it sound like he's a pathological speeder thief with a penchant for kidnapping families! Do you know how many laws you've broken?" the father demanded.
"You don't know the half of it," Han gloated. He felt fine, curious but also correct, just like he had when he made the right turn to follow the bad driver. In hindsight, it had been a stupid move and it remained to be seen if this one would look the same. Probably, he figured. But he had no regrets. Sometimes one stupid move demanded another.
"Be quiet," Leia warned. The family didn't need to know any more than they thought.
"What's your name?" Luke asked the little boy. He was sorry for the family. He completely understood what it felt like to fall in to something so beyond one's understanding of their own world. Everyone was in danger now as far as he was concerned. The authorities might still catch up to them, or Han might decide he needed to wound the father, or the father could lash out of a desperate need for heroics and affect their tidy arrangement. He wouldn't even put it past Threepio to ruin everything. A kind of friendship was needed with the family.
"Mikel."
"Mikel, hi." Luke put out a hand. "I'm-" he caught Leia's warning glare and decided the Force told him to ignore it. "- Luke. It's nice to meet you. I'll tell you something about myself, all right, so if you talk to the authorities later you can tell them this-" Luke watched the father's eyes snap sideways. He nodded to himself. This was the right thing to do. "My name is Luke and I'm from Tatooine."
Leia listened but remained silent.
"Really, kid?" Han mocked. His eyes met Luke's through the reflector placed on the top center of the viewport. He didn't understand why Luke was bothering to reassure the family. Their worry wouldn't go away. They were taken against their will! Pointing a blaster at them ensured they behaved, and used a lot less breath.
"Why not," Luke said. "Can't hurt anything."
"Are you from Tatooine, too?" Mikel asked either Han or Leia.
They looked at each other, offering the other to speak first. Han said, "Corellia. Not so important."
"Might as well finish," the mother said wearily. "Gods. I can't believe this."
"They're not learning my name," the father said.
"You can call me Chewie," Han told the boy.
The little boy giggled. "That's a funny name."
"Where are you taking us?" the mother demanded.
"He told you," Han said. "Alten. That's all we need you for."
"I'd like to believe you," she answered. "For Mikel's sake."
"He believes us. Don't you?" Luke smiled at the boy. "How old are you Mikel?"
Mikel held out three fingers. "Four."
"He's as deceptive as you, Ha- Chewie," Luke laughed. "I'm nineteen," he told the boy.
Leia twisted in her seat. The speeder began to move down the drive, the first actual speeder path they used since they met the bad driver. Threepio had called her Her Highness. "My name is Leia. I'm from Alderaan," she said.
"And that's important," Han said.