5/13/23: Edited and chapter order swapped

Chapter 11
Truth Outweighs the World

Three days before Boonta Eve, Vader was minding the shop alone. Theec had volunteered to guide one of the transmitter deactivation teams into Jabba's palace. Vader had reluctantly decided to remain in Mos Espa in case any last minute complications with the revolution arose. Though he would take great satisfaction in killing Jabba himself, Cody and the others were more than capable of carrying out the assassination. And he wasn't certain that he could resist the temptation to use the Force against the sleemo, which would be, if not a dead giveaway of his participation, at least a reckless and unnecessary risk. Kenobi would never have believed he could exercise such caution.

About midday the girl from the moisture farm arrived on her monthly supply run, a rather battered silver and blue R2 unit at her heels. Vader crushed a stab of nostalgia when the memory of a similarly-decorated old friend threatened to rise. Presumably this was the droid she had been working to repair for the past several months; she must have decided she needed some more direct diagnostic assistance.

His assumption was borne out when she completed her purchase and rather hesitantly said, "Uncle Ben let me bring Artoo with me today. I was hoping you could take a look at him?"

Vader ignored the hitch in his breathing as memory reared its head a second time. He led the way to his repair bench in the front corner of the shop. A quick visual inspection confirmed she had installed the new fuel canisters properly and the jet ports were clean. "I don't see any obvious issues. I need to open up the legs."

She nodded while the droid whistled mournfully. Awkwardly, Vader patted it. "I promise I'll be sure to put everything back properly." Feeling rather foolish, he turned to the tool rack and selected a wrench and screwdriver.

"So—you call your droid Artoo?" Vader asked as he began inspecting the booster jets, resolutely focusing on the job in front of him.

"Yes. I know it's not very creative. There are probably lots of Artoos in the galaxy."

"Oh, I don't know. Most people don't nickname their droids. Artoo is rather obvious for this particular model, of course. The R2 series were very durable little droids. How old is this one, do you know?"

She shrugged. "I'm not sure. He belonged to my parents before I was born, so at least twenty years, I guess. But beyond that, I don't know."

"It's not that important to the repair. The parts haven't changed much over the years. I was merely curious. I've seen my share of astromechs. Now this particular droid was manufactured on Naboo."

"Really? How do you know?"

Vader was carefully extracting the fuel canister from the left booster and kept his eyes on his hands as he said, "Only R2 droids built on Naboo had these types of jets. They were well regarded by pilots and mechanics. Rugged. Creative. Quick." The fuel canister finally released with a little pop. He inspected the cavity, then straightened and studied the droid. "I need to see the circuit board that governs the power regulation to the jets. You'll need to open your access panel."

It popped the panel open, and Vader shined the light in. "Hmmm. Mmhmm. Well, that doesn't seem to be the problem. The circuit board is in fine shape." He closed the panel and extinguished the light. "I think the only option is to take the legs apart to check the wiring. It's a long job, though. Do you want to tackle it?"

"Yes. My uncle has a lot to do. He said he would be quite a while."

"In that case…" Vader began removing bolts from the left leg.

After a moment's hesitation, the girl said timidly, "May I help? I could disassemble one of the legs…"

Wordlessly, he handed her the tools. He summoned the mouse droid, which rolled eagerly to his feet. Plucking another wrench from the caddy strapped to the droid, he set to work on the astromech's opposite leg. They worked in companionable silence, Vader humming tunelessly in brief spurts as he often did when absorbed in his work. "Aha." He pointed to the frayed wires. "There's your problem on this side. Is it the same on yours?"

The girl nodded.

He searched the shelves behind them for a moment, returning with a box of spare wires. "Do you know how to splice new wires in?"

She nodded, then began to strip the insulation and solder the wires together. He watched for a time to be certain she was doing it properly before he resumed work on the other leg. Three quarters of an hour later, they reattached the final bolt. Vader lifted the unit to the floor. The droid tooted its thanks and asked whether it could test the jets. When Vader gestured toward the courtyard, it trundled out with a jaunty air, the girl in its wake. He tidied the work station, listening with some amusement to their chortles of glee. Clearly, the repairs had been successful.

After a few minutes she said, "That's enough, Artoo. Don't waste all the fuel; I can't afford to buy more."

They returned to the shop, the droid's dome whirling in delight. As though summoned by some mechanical brotherhood, the mouse droid zipped over and zoomed in ragged circles around them. Involuntarily, Vader smiled. "Do you have any other problems?"

The astromech spat a highly uncomplimentary string of binary, a rudely phrased objection to the sand in its casing. Amused, Vader wondered if the girl had understood all the terms her droid was using. Still smiling slightly, he offered to clean it. The unit beeped and whistled enthusiastic agreement, though the girl worried her lip until he assured her there was no charge. The miniature vacuum he used nightly on his prosthetics had proven so useful that he had built another for the shop. Squatting, he opened the droid's access panel.

"How often do you clean him?" he asked over the sound of the suction.

"Weekly, usually," she said, stepping behind a shelf overflowing with spare bolts, springs, gears, and other odds and ends. "He's about due. And I think maybe he picked up more sand than usual on the trip into town."

Vader nodded, reaching into the depths of the cavity with the wand. He grabbed his penlight and inspected his work. Satisfied, he was about to close the access panel when the droid's serial number caught his eye. Stunned, he leaned closer, but the numbers did not change. Unable to believe what was in front of him, he put on his reading glasses and peered more closely.

R2-D2 SER3263827J203 MAN 967:03:27RR INDUSTRIAL AUTOMATION/THEED/NABOO

The girl emerged from the shelves and smiled brightly. "Are you finished?"

"How—how did you get this droid?" His eyes did not waver from the astromech.

"Like I told you. He belonged to my parents before I was born. That's all I know." She shrugged lightly.

"Impossible." His voice grated more roughly than usual.

"Why?"

"Because he's my droid."

Artoo whistled loudly, almost sputtering with indignation.

Voice a little shrill, she protested, "He can't be your droid. My uncle wouldn't lie about that."

A familiar Coruscanti accent sounded from the doorway. "Lie? What wouldn't I lie about, Leia?"

Vader nearly lost his balance as he jerked toward the man he loathed second only to Palpatine. He rose with an ungainly stagger.

She darted to the interloper's side, face crumpled in distress. "Kraytrider says Artoo is his droid."

Kenobi placed a hand on her shoulder in a gesture that sent a tide of bitter nostalgia through Vader. "I am most truly sorry, but there must be some mistake," he said earnestly. "This droid did belong to her parents before they died."

A surge of rage and jealousy poured over Vader. His ears rang with it.

Artoo twittered, dome twirling rapidly while he juddered from side to side. Vader hardly noticed.

The roar of blood rushing in his ears dizzied him. In his disorientation, his tongue ran ahead of his brain. "Still lying to children, I see," he sneered. He surveyed the girl disdainfully. "How long will it be until she disappoints you? Will you claim you love her as she burns?"

"Anakin!" Kenobi lurched forward, hand darting toward his side. He had gone ashen under his tan.

Vader stiffened. "Hardly Anakin, old man. He died." He lunged at Kenobi until they were standing face to face. "Betrayed by someone who called him brother and swore he loved him."

Kenobi's eyes widened with indignation. "I did not betray—"

"You did." Vader jabbed his index finger at his adversary's nose. How dare he deny the truth! Kenobi retreated with one hand convulsed around his lightsaber. Vader advanced on him. "And you convinced her to betray me too."

"You're the one who betrayed—"

"Spare me the righteous indignation." Vader lifted his hand and reached for the Force. As he grasped the crackling energy field for the first time in nearly a year and a half, he froze. Without a lightsaber, the only way to fight Kenobi was directly with the Force. And that would bring Palpatine down on his head faster than he could say, "Yes, my Master." Trembling with the effort, he lowered his hand. If it came down to a choice between revenge on Kenobi and escape from Palpatine, he chose freedom. Every time.

He wrenched away, every nerve twanging with the desire to attack. Teeth clenched, he rode out the wave of fury (and hurt and betrayal, but he would never acknowledge those). Once he had himself in hand, he turned back, drawing a deep breath and relishing that he had reclaimed the power to do so, despite both of his masters' efforts. "You know what? I don't want to discuss this. It's water under the bridge. Or rather lava under the superstructure." He nearly spat the words. "Take your—what is she? your padawan?—and get out. I never want to see you again." He took refuge behind the counter, pretending to become absorbed in his accounts, though he positioned himself so he could see Kenobi out of the corner of his eye. The old Jedi groped blindly for a stool and sank onto it.

Artoo opened a panel and his arc welder sparked as it shot out of its port. He squeaked and squealed shrilly, rocking from side to side, until Kenobi waved an impatient hand at the girl. She looked at him questioningly, but he merely gestured more sharply. Despite her evident confusion at the demand, she shut the droid down. Huffing a sigh, Kenobi gestured to her to take a seat too. She perched stiffly on another stool and stared at the two men, wide-eyed. Kenobi leaned heavily on the counter.

At length, he said, "Why are you here?"

"I live here." Vader removed his glasses and ostentatiously set them on the counter.

"Right." Kenobi sighed. "Let me try again. Why did you come back here? You always swore this was one step shy of the underworld."

"I wanted to get away from it all. This seemed like a good place. And thanks to you, I've already been to hell." His tone was acid. "On consideration, this isn't so bad." Vader strode around the counter and picked up tools at random, all the while avoiding looking at Kenobi, though his attention never wavered in the Force. His gut curled and writhed, even as he maintained an icy demeanor.

"The reports said you disappeared over a year ago. The Emperor announced your death. You've been here the whole time?"

"After I had some necessary medical care. Yes."

Vader refused to elaborate. He stalked around the shop, returning tools to the wrong places. Silence stretched into minutes as Vader took refuge among the display of gears, springs, and small tools. Aimlessly, he straightened the bins.

At last Kenobi broke the silence. "What are you doing here?"

"None of your business, old man," Vader bit out from behind the shelves. Kenobi rounded the corner. Vader pretended not to notice.

"Are you on some sort of undercover mission?"

Vader snorted. "Hardly. I left."

Kenobi waited a beat, then said. "Left. Just like that?"

"More or less." Vader dropped a last gear into the wrong bucket and strode back to the counter. When would Kenobi get the message and leave? Not yet, apparently.

"Well, something must have provoked that. What?" Kenobi didn't follow him behind the counter, thank the Great Mother—merely stationed himself on the other side of it and continued staring at Vader.

"It is not any of your concern." Vader grabbed a sensor array and began unscrewing the cover.

"Perhaps not." Kenobi crossed his arms. "Nevertheless, I would like to know."

Vader did not lift his eyes from the array. "He betrayed me." The words grated painfully in his tight throat.

Kenobi tipped his head and gazed pensively at a corner of the ceiling. "Really? He betrayed you? And you're surprised?" He looked back at Vader, mouth twisted. "It's his stock in trade."

To all appearances, Vader's attention remained riveted on his task. "Yes. But he had not betrayed me. He was the only one who didn't. You did. She did. He helped me. Except I discovered his betrayal was the worst of all." The screwdriver slipped. Vader grunted as it jabbed his hand.

"I did not—"

"Spare me." Vader repositioned the tool in the stubborn screw head. He bent all his concentration to removing it.

Kenobi paused. He gripped his chin. Vader could almost hear him employ his old trick of counting to ten when irritated. "Very well. I shall save that argument for later. How did he betray you?"

Every movement deliberate, Vader set down the screwdriver and gripped the sensor, staring at the opposite wall. "He promised me he could save her. And he killed her." His tone was flatter than the salt plains beyond the Dune Sea.

"We are talking about Padmé?" Kenobi's tone was infuriatingly compassionate.

"Yes."

"Ah." Kenobi sucked a deep breath and folded his arms tightly across his chest. "…he did not kill Padmé. She died of unknown causes. The strangulation taxed her system. Combined with the pregnancy…"

"No." Vader drew a breath in turn. "He told me I killed her. When I woke up." The girl gasped, but Vader hardly noticed. The sensor crumpled between his fingers. "But it was him. He drained her life to keep me alive. Even though he had promised he knew how to save her."

Kenobi pulled at the corners of his mouth. "I'm sorry. I'm not quite following…"

Vader dropped the crushed sensor to the floor, pressed both hands on the counter, and leaned aggressively toward Kenobi. "I dreamed she would die in childbirth. The Jedi wouldn't help me. The med droids said she was perfectly healthy. But the dreams wouldn't stop. He told me a Sith legend—that the Sith could manipulate the midichlorians to keep someone from dying. Only that was a lie." He snarled the final word. "The holocron I accessed said the technique did not exist. But it told me about another technique in which a healthy person's life can be used to sustain the life of someone dying. As soon as I heard that, I knew—I knew what he had done." His voice trembled. He was vaguely aware that the girl's—Leia's—eyes were wide.

Kenobi's expression softened. He reached toward Vader's arm. "I'm sorry. I know you loved her deeply."

"Yes. Well." Vader pulled away before Kenobi could actually touch him. "It's over and done. She's dead, and I can't change it. I was not prepared to confront him. But I will never serve him again. I came here. He won't find me here."

Kenobi studied Vader in silence for a long while. He sank heavily onto the stool again, head bowed and shoulders slumped. Vader assumed he was lost in some fruitless regret. Bending to pick up the crushed sensor, he examined it, but it was beyond repair. Ah, well. Kenobi was still hunched over, the girl studying him worriedly. How ironic that was. Long ago, Vader would have been the one with the anxious face. Though she was more patient than he had ever been and didn't try to disturb her master. At last, Kenobi raised his head and turned to the girl. "You have been very quiet. Thank you."

She worried her bottom lip. "Um, Uncle Ben? You know Kraytrider?"

"Yes. Though not by that name."

"Who are you really?" she asked. "How do you know my uncle?"

Vader shook his head sharply. "It does not matter. It was long ago." His quarrel with Kenobi did not concern her, nor did she deserve rudeness from him because of it. He glanced at the courtyard. "You should be going if you want to get back before dark. I assume you have some distance to travel."

She nodded. "To the Jundland Wastes."

Vader frowned at Kenobi. "The Jundland Wastes? No one lives there!"

The other man looked up with a sad smile. "Exactly. It seemed a marvelous place to avoid Imperial notice."

"Seems a little harsh for your padawan."

Kenobi wrapped his arm protectively around the girl's shoulders. Vader sternly suppressed a quite irrational stab of envy. Kenobi said, "So—to be absolutely clear—you have no intention of returning. You have abandoned the Empire." The familiar piercing blue eyes demanded nothing less than complete truthfulness.

Vader jerked a nod. There was no reason to conceal his intentions.

Kenobi gnawed his lip, then studied the girl's face. At last, he heaved a sigh, as at some decision reached. He removed his arm and rose to his feet. "Then I believe it is time for the truth. Leia is rather more than my padawan. She is—" he closed his eyes briefly and braced himself before regarding Vader squarely. "She is Leia Naberrie Skywalker."

Vader stared at her as though she were a ravening gundark. "What!" He wrenched his eyes back to Kenobi.

Leia blinked in shock. "But, Uncle Ben, you've always said—"

"Yes, I know. But in this case, Kraytrider needs to know your full name." Kenobi grasped her shoulder again, squeezing it gently. "It is quite true," he said to Vader. "Padmé gave birth before she died. I'm sorry that I couldn't tell you."

The words rang hollow and distant against his ears. He stood paralyzed, too dazed to think. He did not know what to do. Should he jump across the counter to throttle Kenobi? Should he destroy everything in sight? Should he grab this child and never let her go? At last he stammered, "P-P-Pad—" The tip of his tongue wet his lips. He swallowed drily. "Padmé's daughter?"

Kenobi nodded.

"Truly? The child lived?"

Kenobi nodded again. "The child lived."

Vader finally looked into her face. He gazed in wonder, cataloguing her features. Brown eyes. Pert nose—exactly like Padmé's. Rounded cheeks. Dainty pointed chin. Hair a shade darker and less chestnut than her mother's. He circled the counter, unaware of what he was doing, and stopped beside her. Stars! She was even shorter than Padmé had been. He thought of their work repairing Artoo. Her comments about life in the desert. Her apparent loneliness. She had never mentioned any friends. Only her uncle.

Her uncle.

Obi-Wan.

With the thought, the pattern of the past eighteen years shifted like a kaleidoscope, settling into a new and brighter form. Padmé had died, but their daughter had lived. Here she was, the little girl he had been sure they would have. And Obi-Wan had lived with her on Tatooine through all those years.

"Were you protecting her?" he asked hoarsely.

"Yes."

"She's been with you, all this time?"

"Yes."

Vader bowed his head, eyes closed. How he regretted the years Palpatine had stolen from him. Years he could have spent with the last remnant of his family. Years when his life could have been filled with more than Palpatine and the pursuit of power and the pain of betrayal. He opened his eyes and gently touched her cheek with the fingers of one hand. She stared up at him, expression apprehensive. This precious child. Awed, he stretched out with the Force toward the daughter he had last sensed when she was still in her mother's womb. At the touch, a bond burst into full flower.

He jerked back. "She's shielding!"

"Of course she's shielding." Kenobi's tone stung. "You don't think I would neglect to teach her that, do you?"

"But—You mean—" He swallowed hard. "She's Force sensitive?"

Kenobi stared at him.

"Of course I'm Force sensitive. Why wouldn't I be? My father was a Jedi." Leia's indignation flared in the Force.

Vader jammed his thumbs in his belt loops to keep from reaching out to her again. "I—I didn't know Force sensitivity could be inherited."

"To be honest, neither did I," said Kenobi. "The received wisdom was that sensitivity doesn't run in families, and since Jedi didn't usually reproduce…But her sensitivity was clear at birth and I knew she would need to be hidden." He sighed. "I'm afraid your shielding is all the more imperative now," he said to Leia.

Vader looked sharply at Kenobi. "You believe she's still in danger? Surely you know I would never…"

"Anakin, I'm aware this has been a shock." He clipped the words tartly. "I will chalk that foolish remark up to the surprise. Of course she's in danger—the Empire hunts Force sensitives. And don't you think the Emperor would be eager to get his hands on her? Especially now?"

Icy fingers crawled down Vader's neck. It was true. Sidious would take vicious satisfaction in capturing any child of Anakin Skywalker. The range of things he might do to her was chilling. Anything from making her his new apprentice to using her to manipulate Vader.

Instantly, he knew what he had to do. He had once laid down his freedom for her mother. He would lay down his life for her safety. Eyes narrowed, he turned to Kenobi. "I'm eighteen years too late, but—will you help me? It won't be easy for either of us—but I am more likely to succeed if we work together. Truce?" He stuck his hand out. An endless moment stretched between them before the other man grasped it slowly, compressing his lips as he did so.

"Truce." The reluctance was clear in his tone. After the briefest pressure, he pulled his hand away. "What's your plan?"

"You know me better than that. But yes, we'll need a plan." Vader began to pace rapidly. "An absolutely foolproof plan. Because this cannot fail—her safety is paramount. This is too important to leave to improvisation and dumb luck."

"There is no such thing as luck." Kenobi's tone was wistful at the oft-repeated saying.

Vader shrugged nonchalantly. "All the more reason not to leave Palpatine's destruction up to it, then."

Leia grasped Kenobi's arm. "Uncle Ben? What's going on? I don't understand."

Vader came to a stop beside her. "It's simple. We're going to assassinate the Emperor. You won't be safe until he's dead."

"Me? What's so special about me?" She looked with pleading eyes at Kenobi, but it was Vader who answered.

"Because I am your father. And Palpatine will do anything to punish me."

Leia's anxious glance bounced between the two men. "My—father? But—" She bit her lip.

"He wasn't dead, Leia. I'm sorry I had to lie to you. I couldn't—" Kenobi broke off, hand rising and falling helplessly.

Vader said quietly, "Before you were born, I dreamed your mother would die in childbirth. The only person who offered me hope to save her was Emperor Palpatine—at the price that I become his apprentice. I was desperate, so—I did."

"His apprentice? Apprentice for what?"

Vader lowered his eyes. "The Sith."

"But—But—that can't be right. My father was a Jedi. He was a good man. The Sith—" She licked her lips.

He forced himself to meet her eyes. "Use the Dark Side. Yes. It's true." He wet his lips too, tongue stiff with dread. "I'm sorry, Leia. My—my daughter. I became Darth Vader."

Horror splashed across her features and she ran out into the street.