Oh, What a Tangled Web

Vader was absorbed in repairing the humidifier for a starship ventilation system while Theec completed the monthly accounting. A week had passed since his nightmare. It was a relief that the intervening dreams had not been so intense. He had dreamed of Padmé nightly, but he had become accustomed to that long ago.

Shortly before closing, Banai wandered in. Vader ignored him, expecting him to make his usual minor purchase and send his coded message to Theec. This time, however, he did not even make a pretense of doing business. He signaled, something Vader didn't catch, and Theec began lowering the shades.

"Theec, what are you doing?" Vader demanded.

Banai waved his hand in a signal that meant, "Wait." Vader sat back on his stool, seething. Theec placidly continued closing the shop.

Kitster grinned broadly. With no attempt at secrecy he signaled, "I know you understand."

Vader glared at him. "What is the meaning of this, Banai? You do not have the right to come in here and start ordering my employee around."

"I know that," he said, still grinning. "I was confirming a suspicion."

"What suspicion?"

"That you are in fact a former slave. You know the signals."

The atmosphere turned frigid. "I do not care to discuss my history. Now get out. Since you've taken it upon yourself to close my shop, I shall call it a day." He strode toward his rooms.

"Wait," called Kitster, "I need to talk to you."

Not quite understanding why he paused, Vader turned back slightly, one hand on the door frame. "Then talk quickly."

"It's plain you understand slavery. The first thing you did after you bought the shop was to free Theec. He told me how you loathe the word 'master.' You knew how vital it was to deactivate his tracker immediately. And of course, there's your name. You're an escaped slave."

Vader's hand clenched so hard it crushed some of the plaster that formed the door frame. "And if I am?" He addressed his door. "What is that to you?"

"You know. How humiliating it is. How degrading." Kit's voice was loaded with unaccustomed gravity. "All my friends were slaves when I was a boy. Only one of us was freed legally—my best friend. Someone from the Core won him and set him free. When I saw Ani leave, I swore I would be free someday too. I worked hard and earned enough money to buy my freedom. I don't know what happened to my friend—I think he's dead now. But we dreamed of bringing freedom to our people. And though he isn't here to do it with me, I still want to free slaves."

"That's a dangerous business, Banai."

"Yes. But it's good work. And I think you could help."

Vader stiffened, still facing his apartment's door. "I have no interest in helping. Yes, I was a slave once. And, yes, I've escaped. Now I just want to be left alone.

"You're a good man, Kaneis Kraytrider. Whoever you really are. You wouldn't have cared enough to free Theec if you weren't. And you wouldn't have ignored all those signals I've been sending him. You could help us—a lot, I think." Kitster's voice held an earnest note Vader refused to acknowledge.

"What do you want from me?" Vader shifted his head enough to see Kitster out of the corner of his eye.

"We need a place to hide escaping slaves."

"I don't have a safe room."

"Actually, you do." Kitster's triumphant grin was audible. "My friend Ani that I mentioned? His mom used to hide escaping slaves right here in this shop."

Vader whirled. "What?! What did you say?"

Kitster appeared taken aback by Vader's vehemence. "I—I said that slaves used to hide here until they could be transported elsewhere."

"No. Before that. Your friend's mother hid them?" Vader's voice sounded strangled to his own ears.

"Yes. We didn't know when we were boys. I heard about it later from my mom. Miss Shmi was freed by a moisture farmer and moved away when I was thirteen. But my mom told me that she had hid slaves here for years, right under Watto's nose."

Vader turned away again, afraid his expression would betray him. "How—how did she do that?"

"Oh. Well, there's a safe room in the east wall of the courtyard. The door is hidden, and there's a big pile of heavy junk in front of it. Watto went to the cantinas every night to gamble, so Miss Shmi knew when she could slip into the shop without Watto knowing."

Vader thought of the nights his mother had taken a walk after he was in bed. She had told him she needed that small taste of freedom to bear the days. How many times had she actually been smuggling people into the shop? Or bringing them food and water? How had he never guessed what she was doing? And if she had access to the safe house—knew the contacts for the Underground—why had she never escaped? He realized with regret that he would probably never know the answer.

Kitster was still talking. "Theec took over after he came." Vader looked up sharply. Theec too had known how to escape and had not. Maybe he could shed some light on his mother's reasoning? But later. Not now. "I'm afraid we rather presumed on your generosity and kept up the use of the safe room after you bought the shop. I know it wasn't the same as going behind a master's back. It was an abuse of your kindness, really, but this is one of the best locations for hiding people before they get on the transports."

Vader stalked across the shop, then retraced his steps, perturbation lending his stride an atypical jerkiness. How had he missed the presence of an ever-changing roster of escaping slaves hiding in his shop? Their emotions ought to have shouted to him.

Then again—their misery and fear would simply have melted into the general wretchedness that filled Mos Espa. And it wasn't as if he were using the Force much at the moment, except for a habitual passive awareness of his surroundings.

Kitster seemed uncharacteristically abashed. Vader waved a negligent hand. "It is no matter. You may continue. And there is no need to hide your comings and goings with them, Theec. Feel free to let them out for exercise, so long as they do not steal anything."

"Ahem. There is actually a bit more you could do," Kitster said. Vader spread his hands and inclined his head mockingly. "If you could employ them in your shop while they wait for a spot on a transport…"

Vader's hands fell to his sides. He stared a Kit. "Employ them? Exactly how many are we talking about?"

"No more than three at a time. I will provide you with credentials that will indicate you employ three people in addition to Theec. They will have false names. The files will be set up so that you can accommodate the various species at any time. If inspectors come through, the documents will prove that they are legally employed and clearly not runaway slaves."

Vader rather wanted to roll his eyes as that young lady from the moisture farm was in the habit of doing. This would involve him with people again. A step he did not want to take. On the other hand, his mother—his mother!—had worked on this project too. She would want him to do this. Someday I will come back and free the slaves, his inner voice whispered.

Fine. He would do it. But nothing further. Jamming his thumbs in his belt, he said, "Very well. Bring me the files, and I shall provide cover for your activities." He turned to Theec. "Is anyone in the safe room right now?"

"Yes—a mother and her daughter. Twi'leks."

Vader winced. Not much question what they were escaping. "You might as well bring them out for the evening. They will have to remain in the safe room during the day until I have those permits."

"I hope to have them to you by tomorrow," Kitster said.

"Have their trackers been deactivated?" Vader asked.

"Yes," Theec said. "I've been—um—using my old tracker. I—ah—"

Vader waved his hand again. "Yes, of course. That is what you should use it for." He looked back to Kit in resignation. "Is there anything else?"

Kitster grinned. "Not tonight. I knew you would help, once we laid it out for you."

"You are presumptuous, Banai. Do not assume I shall always be so obliging." Even to himself, the rebuke sounded perfunctory.

True to his word, Kitster brought the forged employment permits late the next afternoon. "You can select the appropriate files, depending on the species and sex of the particular individuals you employ," Kitster said.

Vader shot him a wry glance but did not object to this characterization of the situation. He placed the datapad in a drawer behind the counter, expecting Kitster to leave now that his objective was accomplished, but Banai leaned against the counter and settled in to chat. Vader's monosyllabic answers did not deter him. At last he said casually, "It's about closing time."

"Yes. Don't you have a shop to tend, too?" Vader's tone was sharp with irritation.

Kitster shrugged. "Yes. Lalla is minding it."

"Lalla?"

"My wife. She and Noru, our oldest, will close up before dinner. Speaking of which—come join us. Theec frequently eats with us, and we would be happy to share our water with you as well."

"Ah…I—"

As Vader fumbled for a reply, Theec entered from the courtyard and added, "You should come. Lalla is an excellent cook."

"She is. The food will be simple, but plenty of it. Theec, why don't you close up the counter. I'll get the shutters."

Before Vader quite knew what had happened, they were walking down the dusty street together. His companions ignored his disjointed protests as they discussed local gossip and news. A few streets from Vader's shop, Kitster led them into an unremarkable house. It was built in typical Tatooine style—thick adobe to keep out the heat of the twin suns, a domed roof, and arched doors and windows. The interior was cool and dim. Bright hangings of geometric designs covered the walls. The floor was some smooth surface—duracrete perhaps—and the residents had made a determined effort to keep the sand out, though it was clearly a daily battle. Kitster led them through another doorway into a large, bright kitchen with a table in the center. The rich aroma of beans and broth filled the room.

"Lalla, I'm home. And look who came with me."

A woman of about Kitster's height turned from the countertop where she was mixing something in a bowl. Her dark hair was streaked with gray and tied back from her face, which would have been pretty in an ordinary sort of way, had it not been for the ridged, discolored scar that ran from her left temple to her jaw and stood out starkly against her olive skin. She smiled and the skin pulled against the scar. Vader involuntarily winced with sympathy, though she gave no sign of pain with the gesture. "Theec. Welcome. And this is…"

"Kaneis Kraytrider," Kitster said. "I didn't give him much of a choice about dinner."

Her expression grew warmer yet. "I'm glad to meet you, Kraytrider. I've heard a lot about you."

"You have?" Vader was perplexed. His interactions with Kitster had been superficial for the most part. What was there to tell?

"The whole town is speculating about you. Well, maybe not the whole town, but there's a lot of curiosity about you. I'm glad to meet you for myself."

Vader frowned. "Speculating? Can't they mind their own business?"

"Of course not. Your business is so much more interesting. Especially since there's so little accurate information about you." Her eyes twinkled. "You're everything from a retired bounty hunter to a wealthy industrialist getting away from it all. Or maybe a reclusive genius mechanic on the run from the Empire's war machine. Of course, what would draw any of those people to Mos Espa of all places is an irrelevant question." She resumed mixing the dish she had abandoned at their entrance.

"I'm the subject of common gossip," Vader said blankly.

"Well, yes. Surely you expected it. You're a mystery. And this is a very boring town most of the year. Speculating on your history is far more interesting than the weather. And a much safer topic than the Empire, even all the way out here. You never know who might report back." She brushed her husband's shoulder with her hand as she passed on her way to the stove. "You remember all those inquiries about your friend, Kit."

"Ani? Yeah. It was strange. He's been gone over thirty years and probably died when the Empire killed the Jedi. So why were Imperial agents asking about him?" Kit held a large platter for Lalla as she dished out the contents of the pot.

Vader's mouth was drier than the aftermath of a sandstorm. "Inquiries? Who?"

"A couple of humans. They tried to look like spacers but their accents and clothes were all wrong," Kit said.

"And they were asking about your friend? The one you mentioned?"

"Yeah. Anakin Skywalker." Kit carried the platter to the table. "I don't know if you ever heard of him. He was in the news a lot back in the Clone Wars. Anyway, they wanted to know about anyone named Skywalker who still lived here." Kit shrugged. "Like I said, Ani left thirty years ago. I don't think he ever came back. Miss Shmi married a moisture farmer who lived somewhere out in the desert, and as far as I know, she never came back either. My mom heard a rumor that she died. Or maybe was killed. We never really got the facts straight about that. It was too bad; she was like another mom to me."

Vader clenched his fists and concentrated on breathing. He could not think about his mother's death. Desperately, he sought another topic to focus on. The agents. Palpatine. So he had searched for Vader on Tatooine after all. "When—" He paused to steady his voice. "When did you say those agents were here?"

Kitster and Lalla exchanged thoughtful glances. "About—six or seven months ago? It was before last Boonta Eve."

Vader stifled a sigh of relief. So far he should be safe. All this interest in his history was a problem, though. If Palpatine sent agents again, they might put together rumors about a man with a mysterious past and the Emperor's missing servant.

"I'm not a retired bounty hunter. Or a rich business owner," he said.

"Or on the run from the Empire?" Kit winked and grinned. Vader tried to smile in return, but feared the effort was sickly. "That's all right. Everyone knows who you are."

"They do?" A feeling he had not experienced since the war jolted through him. It was a moment before he identified it as panic.

"But don't worry," said Lalla, checking another pot on the stove. "We won't tell. We understand. None of us who really know would ever betray you."

Vader didn't know what to say. He tried to speak through stiff lips anyway but couldn't make a sound.

Kit's face grew sober. "Of course we know you're a fugitive slave. Your name's pretty obvious. And your escape must have really been something if you felt you deserved to use Kraytrider." He grinned at his wife. "I keep telling Lalla she should take it." Lalla shook her head reprovingly. Clearly this was an old disagreement.

"I'm happy with Banai." She moved a final serving dish to the table.

"You're—an escaped slave?" Vader asked.

"It's quite the story," Kit answered with pride, placing a stack of plates on the table. "Though she's very modest and usually makes little of it."

"Kit, would you tell the kids dinner is ready? Please, pull up a stool," she said to Theec and Vader. She began dishing out generous helpings of beans and mushrooms over semet, the hardy grain that formed the staple of Tatooine natives' diet. After a moment of helter-skelter confusion, everyone was seated around the table. "I don't want to draw any more attention to the network," Lalla continued. "Freedom is enough reward for me; I don't need all the notoriety that would come with taking the name Kraytrider." She smiled at Vader to show she intended no insult to him.

"I've heard your story, but Kraytrider hasn't. Will you tell us?" Theec asked curiously.

"Of course. When I was a young teen, I was sold to a merchant's family in Mos Elray. I was supposed to be a combination playmate and nanny for their children. And—well, they were not kind people." Lalla pressed her lips together and looked at her children. "If the children misbehaved, I was disciplined. I tried to escape a couple of times, so my mistress confined me to the house. I was probably about seventeen when I decided I couldn't bear it any more. My master had given me this," she pointed to her scar, "after my second escape attempt. He said he would mark me so that I would be easy to find, even if I did manage to run away. It became infected and scarred heavily."

Kitster brushed it tenderly. "It's a badge of honor, my darling."

She smiled. "It doesn't trouble me. Anyway, I knew my mistress kept my tracker in her bedroom. One day when she went out, I searched her room and found it. A kind grandmother in the slave quarters hid me, and as soon as it was dark, the old woman gave me more food and water than she could spare and told me to shelter in the ruins of a moisture farm one night's journey west. She would get word to the Underground to meet me there. My water had nearly run out when someone finally arrived to take me to the next station. I traveled like that for several weeks, but then I was almost discovered by a bounty hunter. I didn't dare risk capture, so I walked for three nights across the Jundland Wastes to Mos Espa. I sheltered in caves and found springs in small rock formations."

Her expression was far away. "It was so silent. I felt so alone. I wished I could meet a krayt, like in the stories, but the nearest I came was hearing a trumpet call one night right after sunset." She gave an embarrassed smile. "I don't even know if it was a krayt. When I reached here, the network provided identity papers and shelter. Eventually, I found a job, while secretly I worked with the network at night. That's how Kit and I met." She smiled at her husband. "We couldn't get married until he had freed himself, but it was worth the wait. Now I want the children to know my story. Partly so they know where they came from, but also…well, in case anything ever happens. I want them to know there are people to help, even when they have nothing."

Kit took her hand. "Every time you tell your story, I wish I had not so tamely purchased my freedom."

"But if you had run away, we might never have met." She squeezed his hand tenderly. "At the least, we would have had to flee Mos Espa and change our names. But this way, we can continue to work with the network. I think what matters is that you're free, however it happened." She released his hand and picked up her spoon again.

Vader's heart ached as he watched their easy manner together. He had once hoped to share such companionship with Padmé. Lost in thought, he didn't hear the youngest Banai ask a question until it was repeated.

"Mr. Kraytrider! Tell me your story. Please," he added as an afterthought with a look at his mother.

Vader was puzzled. "What story?"

"How you got the name. Dad says when somebody earns the name Kraytrider, they always have a story to tell. You know—how they escaped their cruel master across the desert and met the Great Mother," he said with relish. "The Three Questions she asked them. What boon she granted."

Vader recoiled. "No. I don't have a story to tell. I've never met a krayt."

"But your name is Kraytrider. So even if you didn't meet a krayt when you escaped, you must have a story to tell. Like Mom. Did you almost run out of water like she did?"

"No. I didn't escape across the desert. My—um—master lived—someplace else."

"Then how did you escape?"

"I—um—flew away."

The boy's eyes grew round. "Flew? You mean in a ship? A space ship?"

"Chazzer," said Lalla, "he already said he doesn't want to talk about it."

"But he's supposed to, Mom." Chazzer's expression was earnest and pleading. "His name is Kraytrider; that means he should tell his story. He has lots of scars, so his master must have been very mean. And Dad says anybody who escapes their master is really brave. I think it's wizard that he escaped in a space ship!"

Lalla looked at Vader apologetically before turning back to her son. "Not everybody wants to tell their story, even if their name is Kraytrider. Mr. Kraytrider is our guest and we need to respect his wishes." She said to Vader, "I'm sorry. Sometimes it seems I have four children, not three, and Kitster is the biggest one of them all. He's filled their heads with romantic tales, and I think he half believes them himself."

Her husband grinned unrepentantly. "You never know. Just because we've never met anyone who's ever talked with a krayt doesn't mean it couldn't happen…"

Chazzer ignored this exchange, attention still riveted on Vader. "You mean you really didn't meet a krayt?"

"No. I've never so much as seen one." Vader shifted uneasily under the weight of the boy's disappointment.

"Someday I'm going to meet one," he declared with all the assurance of his six years. "And she'll ask me her Three Questions and I'll tell the truth and then she'll give me a boon." He sighed. "I wish I could be a slave so I could become a real Kraytrider."

"Chazzer!" his mother said. "That's a wicked wish."

"It's all right, Lalla," said Kit as he placed a soothing hand on her arm, "he doesn't know what he's saying." He turned to his son. "But your mother is right. No one should wish to be a slave. We want to make it so there are no more Kraytriders. No more slaves who need the Great Mother's help to run away across the desert. It may be a long time before that happens, but we'll keep working toward it. That's why it's important to tell our stories," he shot an apologetic glance across the table at Vader, "but not everyone is ready to tell their story right away. You have to respect their choice."

Vader thought this was a clear example of the sand calling the desert dry, given Kitster's repeated questions in the same vein.

Chazzer looked mulish. "It's not fair that only escaping slaves get to meet a krayt. I want to meet one and have an adventure."

Kit ruffled his hair. "Who says only escaping slaves get to meet krayts? You never know. It could still happen."

"And there are lots of adventures in the world that don't require you become a slave," Lalla put in. "Now, since you're finished with your dinner, it's time to do your math."

"But, Mom, I don't want to. It's so boring."

She smiled patiently at her son. "I think you mean you don't like it. But what have I told you about school?"

The boy sighed dramatically. "It's the gateway to a better life and I should be grateful to be educated, not like you, who didn't even learn to read until you came to Mos Espa," he parroted.

"That's right. Run along now. Tem will help you if you get stuck."

He left the table with dragging footsteps and several backwards glances. His brother grimaced but followed him from the room.

Vader said, "I…ah…Thank you for dinner. I think I should leave now."

"Nonsense. Or we'll think we've offended you," said Kitster heartily. "Have some jawa juice and stay awhile. Theec always does."

Vader considered Kit's earnest expression and his wife's determined one and bowed to the inevitable. He settled back on the stool.