Chapter 37: Interlude II
8 BBY
Kawlan and the Faulties had continued freighting refugees long after Cere and Cal had wandered off on new paths; there might have been few Jedi to find in the galaxy these days but there was no shortage of rebels, both deliberate and inadvertent, who had bounties on their heads and needed help laying low. But over the years the scattered sparks of rebellion had begun to organise into something with real gravitational pull. There was a place to be if you hated the Empire and that place was on Yavin 4, in the still-under-construction headquarters of the Alliance to Restore the Republic.
After years of flitting about the galaxy, following their own gut instinct and whims, no one was much looking forward to having a boss to answer to but everyone, Kawlan knew, was looking forward to seeing their young prince again. Korkie Kryze stood awaiting them at the landing site, surrounded by sprawling forest, grown finally into the length of his once-gangly limbs.
"About bloody time!"
He hooked Kawlan under one arm and Cody under the other, delivering to each of them a kiss upon the head. He frowned with faint worry but did not remark upon the grey of Cody's hair.
"I can appreciate you've all been busy doing rather important work," he conceded. "We've had a lot of people join the Alliance who tell us they owe their lives to you. So it's only fair that we finally get to show you some hospitality."
Kawlan craned his neck to behold the towers of scaffolding and the leaning skeleton of the rebel base.
"This is going to be enormous!"
Korkie grinned.
"Yep. Going to have a hangar that fits a whole fleet. And yet almost completely concealed by the forest. Ahsoka and I made an emergency landing here a few years ago and found the old temple by accident. We realised it was perfect for a base. It's been slow going, of course, but we're getting there."
Cody nodded appreciatively.
"It's coming along very nicely. We've not stayed anywhere this solid since… well, since forever."
Since Kamino. Since the Grand Army of the Republic. The galaxy before the rise of the Empire truly did seem a lifetime ago.
"Well, this can be your new home," Korkie informed him and the following Faulties with a grin. "All of our new home, I suppose. With much better weather than Kamino."
As they approached the hangar beneath the semi-constructed rebel base, a Togruta warrior came into view. The clones bade a hasty farewell to Kawlan and Korkie and sprinted to greet her. Korkie grinned at the sight.
"Ahsoka's been dying to see them."
"I'll have to give her a hug too," Kawlan mused. "For saving your life when I couldn't."
Korkie looked at him with something between reproach and tenderness.
"It wasn't that you couldn't, Kawlan, it was that I was being a brat and very difficult to deal with and-"
"Justifiably bratty and difficult to deal with," Kawlan conceded. "You know, we made a stop on Yaga Minor a little while back, on our way through the Entralla Route."
He gauged Korkie's reaction; the young man's gaze sobered, but did not flinch with pain as he might have, years ago.
"Tenth sector's been rebuilt," Kawlan went on. "And the Hive's back up and running. Apparently it was only closed two lunar cycles after the explosion."
Korkie gaped and gave a breath of laughter.
"Two lunar cycles? No way."
"I know! The only place in the district that survived the factory explosion and they turned it back into a nightclub the moment they'd got some housing up. Before they'd rebuilt the market hall or anything."
"That city is crazy," Korkie declared.
"Best city in the world."
The conversation might have died there – they were approaching a scattered crowd of milling rebels now, and there were introductions to be made – but Korkie stalled in their path, led Kawlan to lean against one of the enormous corner pillars forming the foundation of the structure.
"Did you go in?" he asked. "To the Hive?"
"Yeah," Kawlan admitted, with a smile. "Couldn't resist. They've kept it just the same. Same dirty carpet and everything."
"What about the bathrooms? The green tiles and broken sinks and the mirrors and…"
"Yeah. Just the same."
There was a long pause, a wistful half-smile upon Korkie's face. His glazed eyes looked to his feet but Kawlan knew he was seeing something else.
"I don't think I could go back," he confessed.
"That's fair enough."
He lifted his gaze, found a brave smile.
"Mahdi and I first kissed in that bathroom."
Kawlan snorted.
"Classy."
Korkie raised his hands in his own defence.
"He kissed me."
"Lucky you."'
Sobriety fell again.
"I was really lucky," Korkie agreed, voice low and quiet. "To know him like that."
Kawlan nodded. He knew that ache. But what was there to say? For their love story had been blighted by the very worst of luck, or whatever it was that the Jedi believed in.
"Well," Korkie mounted a smile again, "I'm glad you went back. Glad it's up and running again. Did you have a dance?"
Kawlan snorted.
"Barely. The kids play terrible music, these days."
"Spoken like a true geriatric."
"Do you go dancing anymore?" Kawlan challenged.
Korkie conceded the point with good grace.
"No. I don't. I suppose I'm old too."
Kawlan groaned at the thought that a twenty-five-standard-year-old could consider himself old.
"You're too young and far too good-looking to give up forever," Kawlan admonished him.
Korkie looked at him knowingly.
"Are we still talking about dancing?"
"In part."
Korkie sighed.
"The thought of anyone else still feels wrong."
"I don't think it's wrong."
"I don't know," Korkie muttered, uneasily, before finding a smirking challenge. "I'll date again when you do, huh?"
"Yeah, alright," Kawlan conceded. "I get it. I'm sorry."
Korkie shrugged.
"It's okay."
"We should open a nightclub for the bereaved and broken-hearted," Kawlan proposed. "No kissing allowed. Just dancing and crying."
Korkie nodded pensively with a rising smile.
"I don't hate it. A business venture for after the war, perhaps."
"You'll have to supply the funding," Kawlan advised. "I'm all out."
Korkie raised his brows.
"What makes you think I have any money?"
"Aren't you a prince?" Kawlan challenged.
Korkie laughed.
"In exile."
"And a captain?" Kawlan prodded, with a nod at his badge.
"We don't really have salaries here. Just allowances."
Kawlan tutted.
"I'm sure we can find room in the Alliance's budget," Korkie assured him, with a pat on the arm. "A mental health investment. We've got plenty of bereaved amongst us. I'll speak to Mon Mothma about it."
Kawlan fished in his bag.
"I have a present for you."
Korkie brightened in a manner that reminded Kawlan he'd probably received his last lifeday gift at the age of fourteen-standard.
"Really?"
"From Yaga Minor."
Kawlan pressed the neatly-folded brown fabric into his hands.
"Sorry. Didn't wrap it."
But Korkie did not seem to hear him; he was unravelling the cloak, awestruck. Kawlan blabbered on in the way that Relya had always told him not to do. He was no good with silence.
"I paid top dollar for it. The vendor knew what he had. Jedi cloak, battle-damaged. Bright young guy, had scavenged all sorts of things from the explosions that he'd put up for sale."
Korkie was poking a hand through a singed hole at the cloak's elbow.
"He tried to charge me for ship parking too, even though I was parked in a free spot. Spun some tale about vandals-"
Korkie finally seemed to be listening again; he froze in his exploration of his gift and cocked his head.
"Did this young vendor by any chance look at all like Mahdi?"
Kawlan blinked his surprise.
"Yeah. I guess he did, actually."
And Korkie laughed, tossing his head back.
"That little shit. He promised Mahdi he'd go to school."
"He looked like he was doing well for himself."
"Oh, I have no doubt. Riyan's a born entrepreneur."
Korkie shook his head in wonderment, slipped his arms into his father's cloak. It hung ragged about him. But it fit perfectly.
"Come on in, Kawlan. I'll introduce you to everyone."
7 BBY
"One indignity after another."
Beru opened her eyes to find her niece at her bedside, brandishing a handful of blood-smeared cream cloth that Beru blearily recognised as her sleeping shorts.
"Why couldn't I be born a boy?" Leia demanded.
Rubbing at her eyes, Beru righted herself while Owen snored serenely on.
"Oh, Leia, it's not an indignity!" she assured her, clambering out of bed and guiding Leia to the bathroom. "Congratulations. Your body is growing into a woman. I can teach you what to do with all this mess."
"But it's not fair!" Leia sulked. "When we talked about this you said you were fourteen-standard when you got it and I'm barely twelve!"
Beru gave her niece a sympathetic smile.
"Girls can have their first bleed at all sorts of different ages, Leia. I was on the later side. I'm sure many of your friends already have theirs."
Leia cocked a brow.
"What kriffing friends? Luke? Biggs?"
Beru sighed and conceded the point. Leia and Luke were old enough this year to qualify for secondary education and the children from neighbouring farms – those with enough credits to spare – had been sent away to the nearest off-planet education centres. There of course had been no real question, and yet a great deal of argument, around the matter of Luke and Leia attending. Beyond the obvious matter of Anakin's role in shielding the twins from detection by the Sith – and beyond Owen's gripes that they really didn't have the money, in any case – most of the accessible education centres were Imperial-run anyway. The twins would learn far more from their father and the education droid he had programmed. But the matter was still a sore point, particularly for Leia, who had educational aspirations far beyond her father's rather accelerated Temple education. Who would have fit in so seamlessly, Beru thought, in the fine academies that had educated her beautifully-spoken and brilliantly analytical mother.
"It's something that runs in families," Beru advised, returning to the matter at hand. "I imagine your mother had her first bleed around your age."
Leia's expression softened.
"You think so?"
"Yeah."
Her shoulders slumped.
"I wish I could ask her."
Beru gave her shoulders a squeeze.
"I know."
She applied the stain-removal powder and a few precious drops of water to the red-brown smear of blood. They stood side by side at the basin and watched the colour leach away.
"I bet Dad doesn't know."
"Maybe not. But you could ask. Your mum might have told him."
The twins knew their mother's name now, knew of her birthplace and her upbringing and her long list of political achievements. They knew an abridged version of their parents' love story. They had seen the photos in the Family Book. But the conversations that had once soothed them like a fairytale sparked more arguments than affection these days. Talk of Padme Amidala, of whom the children knew enough to know that she would never ever have been convinced to hide in the Tatooine desert for years while the galaxy rotted, was reluctant on Anakin's part.
"It doesn't matter," Leia mumbled. "Doesn't change anything."
She scrubbed at the stain, wrinkling her nose with the effort.
"This doesn't make me a woman," she muttered. "It's just another waste of kriffing water."
6 BBY
Trilla had known she would rise again into the Emperor's favour. She had not planned, exactly, that it would happen like this.
It had, of course, again been the fault of Kenobi's insolent child, now grown to adulthood, who had first started all her kriffing trouble so many years ago. The embarrassment of the General Grievous's hijacked star destroyer mandated change and the General who had once been famed as a killer of Jedi had been assigned his own personal Jedi-fighter: Trilla. That Trilla too had failed in her last bout against Kenobi had apparently slipped the Emperor's memory. Or, more likely, he was far less senile than he looked and had given Trilla the least prestigious promotion he could conceive of to remind her that he still neither liked nor respected her. She had been tasked not only with protecting Grievous and his assets from further Jedi interference but also with training his soldiers to be less useless in combat against the latter, which was a little like training burra fish to walk and not at all helped by the high turnover rates. If the Emperor had asked Trilla's opinion, which of course he had not, she could have told him exactly why Grievous was no longer the mighty enforcer he had been in the years of the Clone Wars: he was getting old (and accordingly cranky, falling into a bad habit of summary executions).
If the Emperor had asked Trilla's opinion, which of course he had not, she also could have told him that he needed to take an apprentice quick-smart; Grievous was no longer fit to fill the void. Not that Trilla was volunteering. The work with Grievous might be dull and demeaning but a whole lot less stressful than answering directly to the Emperor all of the time – beneath his cantankerousness, the cyborg was not mean-spirited. And her professional distance from the Emperor afforded Trilla the small freedom to pursue her own agenda of unfinished business. While Korkie Kryze seemed to be more infamous by the day, Cere Junda seemed to surface only for the briefest moments before disappearing again into some impenetrable hiding place. Trilla had not heard anything of her for years now but knew better than to hope she was dead. Junda was no easy kill and anyone who craved the Emperor's favour – or credits – would hurry to claim credit for her scalp. Trilla was afforded a precious glimpse into finding her when her and Grievous's joint assault on Saw Gerrera's Partisans on Inusagi delivered her a familiar face.
"Kestis," she growled. "Where is your Master?"
The young man, who Trilla had once known as a slight freckled boy on the Temple sparring mats, drew his 'saber and ignited its double blades. She felt the inevitable pang of recognition at that ugly second-hand hilt. Half Junda's.
"Don't have one," he sniped.
It was so like Kestis to waste her time on technicalities. He'd had one, certainly. She'd encountered them as a pairing before in several stalemate battles: Cere Junda being too much a coward to kill her former Padawan and Cal Kestis being too untalented. He seemed to have grown stronger, however, since she'd last fought him. Trilla grunted with the effort of deflecting his strikes.
"Junda trained you to Knighthood, did she?" she taunted. "Please extend to her my sincerest congratulations. I'll confess I didn't think her capable of such a feat."
There was the booming shockwave of another Partisan detonator in the near distance. Trilla was technically supposed to be finding Governor Tophervin and preventing his assassination but was unwilling to give up her lead. Grievous would handle matters, with any luck. Otherwise, she would wear the Emperor's disfavour again.
"Tell me," Trilla pressed, "has she betrayed you yet? Given you up to save her own skin?"
Her red blade singed his flapping jacket.
"She will," Trilla assured him. "Trust me, Kestis. With time, she will. People do not change."
Kestis raised a brow.
"You changed."
Insolent Jedi. Trilla pressed him back further still without regard for the thronging crowd of panicked civilians.
"I learned," she snarled. "I learned to use the anger that had always lived in me. That lives in all of us."
She'd felt his anger before. The self-deprecating anger of having failed Tapal. That anger needed only to be turned outwards…
"We can fall towards our truest selves, Kestis. But there is no climbing back."
He shook his head, jaw set.
"Cere Junda climbed back."
"She will fall again."
"I don't believe you."
"You needn't."
She found what might have been the perfect opening – his stance a fraction off-balance, his arm overextended – before she realised his ploy. Blast Gerrera's forces and all their damned explosives. Trilla lifted an arm to shield herself with the Force and lost her momentary advantage. When the flash of light and sound subsided Trilla saw him fleeing. Kestis had spent what remained of his energy in shielding the civilians from his own detonator. Trilla tutted at the Jedi righteousness, at the karking hypocrisy. Gerrera and his other troops never bothered to do the same.
General Grievous's voice wheezed over her comms.
"If you had any inclination to do your job, Second Sister, and lend assistance with the Governor…"
Trilla sighed and turned to meet him. Another battle without victory. Another dead-end lead. The rebellion was a slippery, many-headed monster – more like a weed than any sentient beast. If the Emperor had asked Trilla her opinion she would have told him that the balance of power in the galaxy was changing.
But of course, he had not asked her. And it was difficult, really, to bring herself to care if his whole kriffing Empire crumbled and burned.
5 BBY
After years of careful progress, the scaffolding on Yavin 4 had given way to a full restoration and militarisation of the towering temple amidst the ancient forest. It was the closest thing to the palaces of her childhood – closer to the hulking stone of the castle on Kalevala than the sun-drenched glass of the palace in Sundari – that Bo-Katan Kryze had ever called home. Not that this was the home, exactly, that she was seeking. The time was surely coming to return to Mandalore.
The rebellion, too, had solidified now. The Alliance to Restore the Republic not only had infrastructure but structure to its leadership: their longtime Chief of State, Mon Mothma, was now supported by an Alliance Cabinet. There had been great fuss over the selection of ministers for finance, education, state, industry, supply and war (Bo-Katan quietly knew herself to be the most qualified for that particular job, not that she had any inclination to raise her hand). Mothma loomed also as the Commander-in-Chief of the re-organised rebel military, with commanders appointed for the rebel fleet, starfighters, special forces and sector troops.
The last step in this seemingly endless festival of bureaucratic appointments was to appoint the Advisory Council, a body of seven representatives who would hold heavily weighted votes in matters of civil government. The proposed model was for the Council to represent the seven states that had given the most lives in battle to defeat the Empire. The trouble was, of course, that Mandalore seemed to have been omitted from the list.
"Have you seen-"
"I have seen," Korkie acknowledged.
His voice was tight and heavy.
"You needn't say anything more, Ba'vodu. I'll handle this."
He had the particular ice to his voice that Bo-Katan had always told Satine made her a better native of Sundari than Kalevala. They marched, together, into the room boasting the new Council's round table.
"I would congratulate you all upon your appointments," Korkie said, with a nod to the seated councillors, "except that it is obvious that some error has been made. What of Mandalore? Where is our seat?"
The eyes of the gathered councillors lifted in helpless silence to their leader. Mon Mothma sighed somewhat apologetically.
"The criteria that was felt to be most equitable, Prince Korkaran, was that the seven planetary systems that lost the most lives in their fight against the Empire-"
"Then there's been some sort of error of arithmetic," Korkie scoffed. "Mandalore has lost more lives in battles with the Empire than any other state in this galaxy."
Mothma dipped her head in acknowledgement.
"The genocide on Mandalore was devastating, your Highness. I do not wish to diminish that tragedy."
She straightened and found his gaze again.
"It was not a straightforward matter to quantify the sentient lives lost in battle against the Empire. When the report was compiled, it was judged that the Purge of Mandalore was a show of the Empire's might. Those civilians died senselessly, tragically. But they were not rebels."
Bo-Katan was usually glad to let her nephew do the talking but, fingers balled into armoured fists, she could not hold her tongue. None of them had been there but her. No one else had any right to say anything about it, blast it, but her.
"How dare you?" she spat. "We fought the invading forces until there were no soldiers left to carry on the fight. We did not lay down to die."
"I meant to suggest nothing of the sort."
The room crackled with tension. Mon Mothma was – probably justifiably – adored by all within the Alliance. And Bo-Katan supposed she could have addressed her a little more politely. Korkie laid a placating hand on his aunt's arm.
"Mandalore was destroyed not as a random demonstration of the Empire's might," he articulated, voice cool and clear. "Mandalore was destroyed because my mother was the galaxy's fiercest opponent of the Emperor at that time."
An Ithorian representative snorted derisively.
"I suspect that the Emperor's retribution had more to do with your father."
Korkie's cheeks flushed a dark, angry red. It was Bo-Katan's turn, now, to breathe to him a word of calm. They could not tell this rabble of politicians that Satine Kryze had saved the lives of Padme Amidala and Anakin Skywalker's precious children. No one could possibly understand the significance of that sacrifice, nor could they be entrusted with the secret.
"I will not have my mother's work diminished," Korkie gritted out. "The New Mandalorian government was a powerful antagonist of the Emperor that began its battle years before anyone else had the courage or insight to do so."
"And yet the current authoritative powers on Mandalore are fierce defenders of the Empire," a Sullustan representative pointed out. "Governor Saxon, the Countess Wren-"
Bo-Katan grimaced at the mention of her old friend.
"Saxon will be dealt with in time," Korkie promised swiftly. "Besides, I presume we are all well aware that the leader of a planetary system cannot yet stand in open defiance of the Emperor. All of our current proposed Councillors stand in the Imperial Senate. As do you, Chancellor Mothma, as our Chief of State."
Mothma gave a nod.
"Appearances must be maintained."
"I agree," Korkie snapped. "Thus, excluding us on the basis of Saxon's leadership is hypocrisy."
The Sullustan opened his mouth to retaliate but was cut off by Bail Organa.
"Prince Kryze, Senators, let us-"
"Even failing to recognise the early battles fought by my mother and her government against the Emperor," Korkie went, ignoring his old friend. "You must all acknowledge that the Mandalorians serving this Alliance today constitute its most effective taskforce. We have achieved landmark victories on Mon Cala and Atollon for this Alliance. And with our decimated population of survivors, Senators, with our people at risk not simply of defeat but of extinction-"
His voice wavered with emotion, then steadied.
"Every Mandalorian life given for this cause carries enormous weight."
"It does, your Highness," Mothma conceded.
"We are very grateful for the contributions of your troops," the Ithorian acknowledged, conciliatory.
Korkie raised a brow in challenge.
"Then you would not be pleased, I take it, should I withdraw them from your cause?"
The room clamoured with panic.
"Prince Korkaran-"
"Please think of what you are suggesting-"
"Your Highness, you wouldn't-"
"I have fought against the Emperor from the moment I left my home," Korkie stated. "I believe in this cause above anything else. But I cannot ask my people to fight for an alliance that does not give weight to their voices."
"The Advisory Council cannot represent every rebel cell," Mothma sighed. "It must be limited in its membership to ensure it remains a decisive body."
"I'm not proposing we recreate the Republican Senate," Korkie countered. "But there is room for Mandalore on the Advisory Council. There must be room for Mandalore on the Advisory Council."
He stood tall, half-armoured – they had shortly returned to Yavin 4 from a mission when they had heard the news – with his mismatched weapons at his belt and the Alliance's insignia upon his chest. His father's worn travelling cloak was slung over his shoulder. Mando, Jedi, rebel. He knew this fight, Bo-Katan realised, perhaps better than any of them.
"Beyond all matters of fairness, I tell you unequivocally that Mandalore must be represented," he went on. "We are a broken system, Senators. We are a vulnerable system. But we will resurge, I promise you. We will rise to eminence again and you cannot expect that the warriors of Mandalore will give you their loyalty if you do not give them a seat at this table."
The Ithorian's face darkened.
"Are you threatening us?"
"He's telling you the truth, di'kut," Bo-Katan cut in.
"These are reasonable arguments," Organa acknowledged, conciliatory. "The matter merits further discussion."
Korkie gave a tight smile and checked his chrono.
"I'm available. Shall we all have a cup of tea and find ourselves a fair solution?"
4 BBY
It was never easy to sneak anywhere across the Great Choff salt flat beneath three glowing moons, even for two Force-sensitive adolescents. It was particularly difficult when one had a Force-sensitive father with serious anxiety to contend with.
"Where in the hells do you think you're going?"
Luke flinched. Leia cursed.
"We're worried about the slaves, Dad," Luke implored.
They had long ago learned that in moments of confrontation their father responded far better to Luke's pleas than Leia's unbridled fire, which simply fed into her father's own.
"All the disappearances," Luke went on. "There's someone out to get them, someone hurting them, and we're going to find-"
Anakin shook his head.
"No, you're not."
"Dad, this is important!" Leia insisted. "I know you worry about us all the kriffing time but don't you understand how important this is? Imagine if someone had made you and Nana Shmi disappear before Master Jinn had ever showed up-"
"No one's hurting the slaves," Anakin interrupted heavily.
Luke frowned.
"What are you talking about? How can you know that?"
"Because I've been helping them to disappear."
There was a long, bewildered silence. There seemed to be no trick in the Force. But surely their father could not be-
"Really?" Leia demanded.
"Yes," Anakin sighed, folding his prosthetic arms. "I have it all under control, so there's no need for the two of you to be sneaking out and getting yourselves killed."
"You're helping them out of slavery?" Luke asked, agape.
"Doing my best," Anakin grumbled. "Please come back inside."
The twins did not budge. A wild grin was rising on each of their faces.
"You're doing something illegal?" Leia asked.
"Don't look so surprised. My whole being alive is illegal."
With this proclamation, Anakin waved a hand and with a jerk in the Force, the teenagers found themselves stumbling over the threshold back into the house. Luke looked from his father and back to the scuffed boot marks in the sand.
"Woah, that was cool. I'm going to learn to do that."
Leia raised a menacing finger.
"Try it on me and I'll impale you with Uncle Owen's pitchfork."
"Don't be jealous," Luke sniped at his marginally less telekinetically-gifted twin. "Nana Shmi says it makes you ugly."
"Nana Shmi says that jealousy is ugly," Leia corrected. "Don't you listen? Besides, who on this dustbowl do you think I might be trying to impress?"
Luke smirked.
"You ask that like you didn't spend two whole hours braiding your hair last night."
Leia rolled her eyes.
"That's just how I stave off the boredom of being stuck with no one but you to hang out with after dinner, Luke."
Their father had nearly succeeded in skulking out of the kitchen before the twins returned to the matter at hand.
"So Dad, you're freeing the slaves?"
"We'll help you free the slaves."
"How do you do it?"
"Do you use mind tricks?"
"Can we help with our mind tricks?"
"What if we just killed Jabba?"
Anakin's determined disapproval gave way to a beat of laughter.
"Yes, not telling, yes, no… and as for killing Jabba the Hutt…"
He rubbed at his forehead with metallic fingers.
"This is where I need your mum to teach you about power vacuums and all that political stuff."
It was perhaps the rare mention of their mother that dissuaded the twins from the usual vicious argument about injustice in the galaxy and their teenage freedoms (or lack thereof).
"What would Mum have done?" Leia asked, circumspect.
Anakin pondered a moment.
"She'd have passed further anti-slavery legislation in the Senate. Pushed for funding to enact it. That's what she had always wanted to do as a Senator. But the war got in the way."
Leia looked at her father with pointed gaze.
"But if she were alive now. With no Senate. What would she do?"
The twins knew from years of interrogating the other members of their extended family that their father had once been considered amongst the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy. Their continued existence seemed proof of the fact; Anakin had successfully shielded them from discovery by a Sith Emperor who (apparently) had a keen interest in finding them. They had seen their father tame the sands tossed by the desert winds and watched him slowly mend Luke's broken leg over weeks in vigil by his side. But they had learned that the mighty Anakin Skywalker had one rather significant limitation: he could not, when tested, shield his own thoughts from his children.
Had Luke and Leia been a little older and wiser and understood more of the Force, they would have understood that their father could, technically, resist their probes. But that to do so in defiance of the bond they shared – a bond that ran deeper and intertwined more intricately than any bond between Master and Apprentice – would hurt them. Would damage that precious connection that they shared. So Anakin allowed the tugs on that shared thread of consciousness and lost the argument.
"Mum would take a pistol and shoot Jabba herself!" Leia declared. "With perfect aim!"
"And with a contingency plan she'd already thought up," Luke added. "About the power vacuum."
Anakin sighed.
"Your mum knew about the importance of waiting for the right time to do these sorts of things," he told them. "When Naboo was invaded she waited. She came to Coruscant. She took it back when the time was right."
Leia arched a brow.
"She can't have waited on Coruscant very long. Ba'vodu Korkie was born after Naboo had been won back and the Duchess Satine had only been pregnant for five months, which means that Obi Wan must have been on Mandalore-"
"How do you know that?" Anakin asked, bewildered and perhaps faintly revolted.
"All the stills in the Family Book are dated," Leia pointed out. "So that means Mum only waited like… a few months, at the most, to win her planet back. Not a whole fifteen standard years."
"The Hutts have controlled Tatooine for a lot longer than fifteen standard years," Anakin pointed out sourly. "It's a big problem and there's no quick fix but I'm working on it, alright?"
"We just want to help you work on it, Dad," Luke insisted. "Instead of you doing it alone."
"If you want to convince me you're ready to help," Anakin grumbled. "Then do the homework TC-21 set you before you snuck out like desert rats. You could tack on a few extra paragraphs about power vacuums, maybe."
"Or we could practice our pistol-shooting," Leia muttered, in half-hearted protest. "Get Jabba right in his slimy eyes."
But any heroism worthy of their mythical mother would wait for another day. The twins allowed the protocol droid to shepherd them back to their desks. Leia wrote not a few extra paragraphs but a few extra essays about power vacuums. Luke mainly tapped his pencil against his flimsi pad and listened to the movements of the wind outside. There must have been something that the Force was trying to tell him. There was something like change in the air.
Go Korkie! So proud of our Mand'alor. I had to give him Obi Wan's cloak back. It was just too wrong to let it decompose on the riverbanks of Yaga Minor's tenth sector. Riyan is spending his credits wisely, I'm sure.
Next chapter, a few restless teenagers across the galaxy make their moves. The Empire starts mining kyber crystal. Lot of kyber crystal. We are approaching a famous era of galactic history and I'm so excited.
xx - S.