The Millennium Falcon descended carefully through the dense canopy and settled onto its usual landing pad, and Han Solo—relatively recently and still to his mind rather ludicrously, Lieutenant Han Solo—powered down the engines and sat back with a sigh. "This is all your fault. You know that, right?"
The Wookiee in the copilot's seat gave an unimpressed roar.
"Yeah, yeah, I know." Han stood and stretched. It had been an uneventful mission, which was good, technically. Boring, but good.
But still boring. There were definitely times when he missed their smuggling days.
On the other hand, he didn't currently have a price on his head. Well, other than the default death mark they all carried in this group. But not having anyone out for him specifically—that part was pretty nice, he had to admit. "I'm heading in to report, Chewie. See you at lunch?"
Chewbacca let out a series of rumbling growls, gesturing all the while.
"Well, yeah," Han said. "I figured you'd be in the hangars. It was either that, hanging out in the jungle, or terrorizing the cooks."
Another growl.
Han grinned. "Sure you don't. Tell it to someone who might actually believe you, buddy."
Wookiee facial expressions could be tricky to read, but Han had seen that reproachful look on Chewie's face way too often to miss it now. He'd also seen it way too often to be impressed by it. He slapped the Wookiee genially on the shoulder and headed out of the ship.
Most of his life had been spent in cities, spaceports, and ships. Even after several months of working out of this base, it still felt weird to be surrounded by trees. Chewie loved it, of course.
Han dutifully gave his report to General Dodonna: they'd made contact with a group of Rebel sympathizers on Averam, and had brought back the names of a few of the cell's leaders, as well as drop locations and code words for the next agent to make use of. There was definite potential there, especially for Supply and Procurement. With the support of an existing cell on the ground who would be expecting further contact, they could raid local storehouses and depots with minimum risk. All in all, a successful mission.
It was still, Han thought afterward, as he sat in his room finishing his more extensive written report to submit, ridiculous that he was here at all, never mind an officer. He'd already been through all of that with the Imperial Navy, and hadn't been sorry to see an end to it when he rescued Chewie and was kicked out for insubordination. It had been a way off Corellia, a way to fly, but the more he saw of it, the more Han had realized that he wasn't cut out for a life of taking orders from other people, especially from the sort of know-nothing blowhards who were usually promoted to officer rank in the Imperial Navy.
And yet here he was, willingly doing exactly the same thing for the Rebel Alliance. Granted, there were at least fewer blowhards here than in the Navy. Not quite so many pointless regulations, either. An underground guerrilla movement didn't have personnel or energy to waste debating about the finer points of uniform appearance or enforcing specific standards for straight-backed salutes. And Chewie had been right when he'd argued for them to join the Rebellion: they'd both seen the cruelty of the Empire close up. The Rebellion might be a pointless fight—Han was still far from convinced they had any chance at all against the Empire, as vastly outnumbered and outgunned as they were—but at least they were frequently making some sort of difference in the lives of those most oppressed by the Empire. Not as much of a difference as anyone involved wanted to make, but still. It was something. Han could admit—to himself, not to Chewie, who would have been insufferably smug about it—that he did appreciate being a part of that much.
Didn't mean that he didn't have an escape plan for when this whole thing finally collapsed in on itself, though. And what with this new planet-killing battle station the Empire had just debuted, that collapse could be sooner than he'd expected. He'd have to keep an eye out for that, so he and Chewie didn't get trapped in the fallout.
He finished his report and went to the hangar to collect Chewie before heading in the direction of the mess hall, where Han smirked to see the exasperation of the staff when they caught sight of Chewie beside him. The Wookiee definitely had one of the biggest appetites on the base, and wasn't shy about expressing his opinion of the choices on offer. They collected their meals with only minimal grumbling from either Chewie or the mess hall staff and wandered through the crowded hall looking for an empty table. Or rather, Chewie wandered, and Han followed. Once the big walking carpet took the lead, Han couldn't see anything in front of them anyway, so there wasn't much choice in the matter.
A flash of dark gold hair off to the side caught his eye and he drew up, putting on a casual expression. "Hey, Iella. How's things been around this antique market while I was gone?"
Iella Wessiri, leaning against a table a few meters away, paused in her conversation to raise an eyebrow at him. "You were gone? I didn't notice."
"Funny." Han turned his gaze to the woman Iella had been speaking to. Slender, with vibrant green eyes and long red-gold hair pulled back into a braid. He definitely didn't remember seeing her before. "New arrival, sweetheart? Name's Han Solo. I could show you around, help you get settled."
Those intense green eyes narrowed. "I'm married."
Seated at the table just beyond her and Iella, a young blond man he didn't recognize had apparently overheard and was laughing silently. Han sent him a glare. Chewie, having caught on that he was no longer being followed, had returned to tower over his shoulder and whuff his own amusement, while Iella smirked. "My mistake, ma'am," Han said smoothly.
Iella shook her head. "Don't let him bother you," she told the redhead. "He's like this with everyone. Fortunately—or unfortunately, as the case may be—he's useful enough to keep around. Solo, this is Jade, a new addition to my department. Leave her alone, would you? We're shorthanded enough without you scaring people off."
"Oh, don't worry about that," Jade said coolly. "I don't scare easily." She cast Han another narrow-eyed look.
"Name one person I've 'scared off,' Iella," Han grumbled.
"Name one woman on this moon you haven't hit on, Solo," Iella countered. "This is an Alliance base, not a cantina."
"You're right about that," Han agreed. "Cantinas are way more fun." Chewie let out an indignant yowl, and Han turned to him. "I'm here, aren't I? Catch you around, Iella. Ma'am—" with a nod to Jade.
He elbowed Chewie, and they continued on their way until they found a table empty enough to comfortably accommodate a Wookiee. Chewie was still whuffing with quiet laughter as they sat. "Hey, how was I supposed to know she was married," Han protested. Chewie replied at some length, and Han rolled his eyes. "I am focused on the mission. The whole point is that we're between missions right now. Nothing wrong with a little fraternization to pass the time."
Chewie yowled, supremely unimpressed as always. "Well, good for you," Han grumbled, and turned his attention to his meal, sighing inwardly. This was shaping up to be another painfully boring between-missions stretch on this gods-forsaken base full of earnest-faced do-gooders. Great, just great.
He definitely should have stayed with smuggling.
Tatooine hadn't changed in the years that Vader had been away. He rather suspected that it never would. However many millennia stood between this moment and the heat death of the universe, Tatooine would weather them all unchangingly, barren and desolate.
In contrast to the ancient, stolid desert, the Mos Eisley garrison was awash in frantic activity. Unaccustomed as they were to any visitors above the rank of general, the arrival of Darth Vader's own Super Star Destroyer in orbit had clearly caused a near-panic among the officers in charge.
Indifferent to the fear all around him, Vader stood in the garrison commander's office, arms folded, looking out the window into the dingy courtyard, the early morning light reflecting bright and harsh off the sand. Across the room, the garrison's commander fidgeted, unable to sit while Vader stood, unable to leave as long as Vader stayed. It was irrelevant. The commander was irrelevant. All that mattered was finding his son.
He sensed the approaching presence, the man's apprehension bleeding into the Force and staining the air between them. Vader turned abruptly just as the returning lieutenant stepped over the threshold. "Well?"
The lieutenant flinched, then caught himself. He glanced at the garrison commander, then back at Vader. "My lord, I have the report you asked for."
"So I assume," Vader rumbled. "Otherwise surely you would not have disturbed me."
The man's apprehension developed edges of quivering terror, just barely held at bay. "No, my lor—"
"The descriptions," Vader interrupted.
The lieutenant swallowed hard, then lifted the datapad he held and began to read. "Three employees were present for the civil marriage ceremony for Luke Skywalker and Mara Jade. Two claimed no memory of the incident, but the third—" the lieutenant cringed slightly, glancing up at Vader and then quickly back down at the datapad "—said they were a lovely young couple. He described Skywalker as blond and blue-eyed, wearing black pants and a brown cloak; Jade as green-eyed and wearing black pants and a blue tunic, with red hair mostly covered by a blue cowl."
No disguises, then. Jade was an experienced and thorough undercover agent; for her to have relied on such flimsy camouflage as this when using their real names meant that she felt speed was the most important factor. Why, then, had they stopped for a marriage ceremony? They had already risked their lives to run off together, what need was there to formalize their relationship at all?
A sliver of memory intruded, of another secret relationship, years ago, formalized for no other reason than that the participants wished it. Behind his mask, Vader closed his eyes and pushed the memory away. The only importance it now held was the son that relationship had produced.
He turned his mind to more important questions: why had they come to Tatooine to begin with? And why had they left, and where had they gone?
Vader focused again on the lieutenant, nearly trembling as he stood at stiff attention. "You are dismissed. Major—" he said, ignoring the lieutenant's salute and hasty retreat to turn instead to the garrison commander. "Send stormtrooper units out immediately, searching the city for any sightings of anyone matching those descriptions. I expect results before the day is over."
The mask he wore made it impossible to read facial expressions with the nuances he once had, but such things were trivial for someone as skilled as he in the Force. The major's fear blared out like a klaxon, obvious and unmistakable. "Yes, my lord," he nearly stammered, and quickly left to relay the orders.
Vader turned away to look again at the tiny patch of sand that passed for a courtyard. Patience had never been his strong suit, but decades of living in the Core and traveling the galaxy had reduced his perception of Mos Eisley from the bustling metropolis it had seemed in his boyhood to the unsophisticated tenth-rate village that it was, and few civilians were unintimidated by stormtroopers. The information would soon be his, and so thereafter would his son.
He was still standing in the same place hours later, watching the sands darken to amber as the suns sank in the sky, when behind him a presence approached—still nervous, yes, but also with a purpose that boded well for the success of the day's mission. Vader turned expectantly. "Yes, Major?"
"My lord," the major said, coming to a halt and saluting. "We have multiple confirmed sightings." He raised the datapad and scrolled as he read. "In the late morning, Jade was seen in a cantina, where she—" the major frowned briefly, then continued "—ordered two brandies and incapacitated another patron. No one appeared to notice when she left. In the early afternoon, both Skywalker and Jade were spotted in a small family-owned eating establishment in the Tiagra district. The owners saw them sitting at a table with three other people: a short young woman with dark brown eyes and hair, a slightly taller young woman with white hair and blue eyes, and an old man with white hair and beard. The owners knew the old man as a previous customer, and say his name was Ben Kenobi—"
The world suddenly narrowed to a pinpoint in Vader's awareness, even his son momentarily forgotten. "Kenobi?"
The major visibly quailed. He checked the datapad, then braced himself. "So it was reported, my lord."
Obi-Wan. That must be why they had come to Tatooine, to reconnect with Obi-Wan. He must have stayed here, watching over Luke after delivering him to the Larses. Luke must have known him—rage swelled up, hot and fierce. To all the other betrayals Obi-Wan had committed, add this: that he had not merely taken Vader's son away from his father, but had apparently stepped into the very place of that father, that in his extremity, Luke would turn to him. Clearly he had even trained the boy, for where else would he have learned the shielding he displayed on the Death Star?
Whatever had provoked the boy and Jade to run in the first place, they had run straight here, back to Obi-Wan. It could be no coincidence.
Vader realized that the major was still standing in front of him, almost trembling. "Continue."
It took a moment for the man to catch his breath enough to do so. "Skywalker and Jade conversed with—with the other three customers for a brief period, and they all left together. The final sighting was at the spaceport. Skywalker, Jade, and the other three all entered a small shuttle. It took off shortly thereafter, without anyone disembarking first."
"Destination?"
Now the major was definitely trembling. "Unknown, my lord."
For a brief moment Vader contemplated either ordering a search of the spaceport records to trace the direction the ship had gone or simply strangling the major as a warning to the rest of the garrison of the price of failure. He dismissed both temptations. A mere direction would be useless, the ship untraceable once it entered hyperspace, and both the major and the garrison he commanded were ultimately meaningless. "Order my shuttle to prepare for departure."
"Yes, my lord." The major snapped a salute and turned so quickly that he nearly tripped over his own feet in his hurry to leave.
Vader also turned, his gaze on the horizon. One of the suns was half out of sight already, its twin steadily chasing it, but Vader's contemplation was elsewhere. Summoning all his focus, he stretched out in the Force, reaching for a presence that had once been more familiar to him than any other.
Obi-Wan was deep in meditation when he felt it. At the very edges of his awareness, something questing, searching.
Not something. Someone.
Anakin.
In that instant of recognition, he almost reached out for the connection, old instincts firing despite decades of bitter knowledge.
It was the darkness threading through the familiar sense that stopped him, a corruption that warped its bearer, the stain spreading diffusely through the Force around that outstretched, grasping consciousness. Like ink in water. Like smoke in air. Like the blackness of armor.
Obi-Wan recoiled—but not so clumsily as to be noticed, not even by one so adept and familiar as this searcher. Long years of diligent effort had given him the skill that he had begun to teach Mara, the dexterity to cloak one's presence and slide through and past any seeker in the Force.
Like a shadow within shadows, Obi-Wan silently observed the probing sense as it went past, still searching. Slowly, carefully, he withdrew from his communion with the Force, letting awareness of the physical world creep gradually in.
The firmness of the ground beneath him, the scent of greenery all around, nearly overwhelming after decades in Tatooine's desert. The faint reddish glow of the gas giant Yavin, taking up nearly a third of the early evening sky. The bustle of hundreds of sentients going about their business in the base half a klick behind him.
Obi-Wan gazed up at Yavin's disk, dismay settling into his gut. Vader had been reaching out for him specifically, which could only mean that either he or Palpatine had traced Mara to Tatooine, and discovered somehow that she had met up with him. And if Vader knew that much, then he also certainly knew who else Mara had been with.
Leia's connection was still unknown, nothing on the surface to link her either to Anakin or Padmé, but Luke's had surely been realized. Not for the first time, Obi-Wan cursed himself for handing Luke over to Owen and Beru with his birth name intact. He'd thought at the time that with Anakin dead, there would be no one to think twice about the name, not in a tiny settlement on a distant Rim planet where the Republic had hardly been more than a vague concept. By the time he'd realized that Anakin had survived, Luke was known by the residents of Anchorhead, and it was far too late to do more than stand guard and hope.
At least Luke and Leia—and now Mara as well—were reasonably safe, at least for now, ensconced in the heart of the Rebellion. But the conversation he'd been dreading could no longer be put off.
Tomorrow, he thought, resigned. He would tell them tomorrow. And hope they wouldn't all hate him when they knew.