Chapter Text
The whole ship was shaking.
She knew what it meant— the Imperial troops that had been chasing them down ever since they intercepted those plans had finally caught up, and any minute, stormtroopers were going to blast through the door and take prisoner everyone in sight.
She knew how the Empire worked— get what they want now, ask questions later. But the Rebel Alliance had worked too hard, put too many in danger, lost too many lives to give up so quietly. She knew her troops wouldn't go down without a fight— but they didn't matter, not really. She had the plans. She had the mission. She was the one that the fate of the Rebellion rested with.
She heard something suddenly— she thought it was stormtroopers, but quickly recognized it, from the tinny voice, as one of the protocol droids on board her ship. Peeking around the corner, she saw the gold droid round a corner and disappear, followed by an R2 unit. A plan suddenly came to her— it was crazy, barely half-formulated— but if she couldn't finish her mission, maybe this droid could. She had the plans, but she still needed their greatest weapon: an old, powerful, forgotten ally, unknown to the Empire. If the droid got the plans to him, and he could get to Alderaan... She knew they were over Tatooine right now, where he was hiding. She had been so close...
If this droid could do it, the Rebellion would be saved. She needed to reach Derek Kenobi. He was her only hope.
She peeked around the corner slowly, her heart pounding. In all her years of fighting the Empire, both in the senate and from behind battle lines, she had never felt more terrified than she did right now. These plans could alter the fate of the galaxy. It was now or never.
The R2 unit was still there in the corridor, as if it was waiting for her. She slipped over quickly, the file with the plans grasped in her sweaty hand, hoping upon all stars this worked.
If there was one thing Princess Lydia Organa was good at, it was not giving up.
Well, that, and timing.
Barely a minute after she gave the droids the plans, Stormtroopers crowded the hallway and grabbed her. She tried to fight back, attempting to knock their grip off her arms, but realized soon it was pointless— there was nowhere to go, and their armor was not susceptible to her elbows.
As soon as they started dragging her down the hall, she could tell who they were taking her to.
Sure enough, she spotted him at the end of the hall— black mask and helmet obscuring his face completely, his cape just barely brushing the ground of her starship. The stormtroopers shoved her around the corner, and Lydia’s face blanched when the entire scene in front of her became visible— Vader had the captain of her ship pinned against the wall, heavy gloved hand tight around the captain’s neck, his feet dangling a foot off the ground. Lydia felt terror wash over her as the life drained from the face of her captain, his breath sputtering and dying out. Vader dropped the lifeless corpse to the floor of the ship callously, a sickening thud ringing through the hallways. He turned to face her, and Lydia swallowed, trying to contain her terror.
“Darth Vader,” Lydia said coolly, looking her captor in the face. Behind him, stormtroopers stood among the bodies of her crew members, sprawled dead on the floor, scorching blaster marks decorating their uniforms. Her entire crew slaughtered, her captain dead— stormtroopers everywhere, Vader right in front of her— there was no feasible way Lydia was getting out of this one. All she could do was hope that the droids somehow managed to get those plans to the Rebellion. If the Rebellion lived on, what happened to her wouldn’t really matter.
Steeling her nerves, Lydia put on her politician facade, trying to mask her terror at the fact that Darth Vader most definitely knew that she was in possession of the technical readout of his new battle station. “You can't do this, you know,” she informed him, trying to sound more powerful than she felt. “If the Senate gets word that you attacked a diplomatic ship—”
“Quiet, princess,” he replied, his tone even and mechanical. She could hear his breaths, rasping through his mask, which was unnerving. Lydia felt like she was speaking to a machine, not a human being. “We know you intercepted the plans. Where are they?”
She gave him a look that hopefully conveyed indifference and slight confusion, and not the actual terror she felt. “I don't know what you're talking about,” she snapped back. “I'm on a diplomatic mission to Alderaan—”
“If you’re on a diplomatic mission to Alderaan, then what are you doing over Tatooine?” Vader demanded. “Is your navicomputer broken? You’re on the wrong side of the galaxy.” Lydia opened her mouth to answer, but Vader cut her off. “Drop the act, princess; we saw your ship with the rebel fleet over the Imperial base on Scarif, and we know you intercepted the plans broadcasted from the communications tower there. You’re a Rebel and a traitor,” he accused, pointing a gloved finger at her. He turned to the stormtroopers next to her. “Take her on board, and put her in a cell.” The stormtroopers shoved Lydia down a hallway, forcing her off the ship.
“My Lord,” one of Vader’s commanders said, glancing at Darth Vader. “Unfortunately, she's right. If the senate hears of this—”
“I don't care,” replied Vader. “I want those plans, and I want to know the location of the rebel base.”
The commander pulled a face. “I think she’d rather die than give up that information.”
Vader turned to him. “We'll see, Commander. Torture can prove extremely effective in getting information from unwilling subjects.”
“But— she is just a girl,” the commander said. “She’s barely nineteen years old—”
Vader turned slowly, and though the commander couldn’t see the deathly glare aimed at him, he could feel the chill of it.
“Do I need to start questioning your loyalties?” Vader demanded. “That girl has confidential Imperial information and is a traitor to the galactic senate. She’ll be treated accordingly.”
Another officer approached Vader, saving the commander from further ridicule. “We've checked the whole ship, my lord,” he informed Vader. “There was an evacuation pod launched during the boarding, but there were no signs of life in it. It fell to the planet system below us.”
“Tell me, Officer,” Vader spat, aggravated. “Are plans alive?”
The officer swallowed nervously. “No, my lord.”
“Then why didn't you destroy the pod and save us all this trouble?”
“I... uh,” the officer stuttered. “I'm so sorry, my lord.”
“The plans are in that pod,” Vader said, turning away from the incompetent officer and back to the commander. “Tell a unit to go down and investigate. Find those plans.”
“Yes, my lord,” the commander said, turning and disappearing down the hallway. Vader turned next to the officer.
“Tell command to send a distress signal. Say everyone was killed. And scrub down every inch of the ship. I want any possible clue discovered. And do not make another stupid mistake, or it will be your last.”
“Of course, my lord,” the officer said, scurrying after the commander.
Darth Vader turned again, and with a swish of the heavy cape, stormed in the direction the princess had been taken. Vader was far from done with her.
***
It was barely midday, and Scott was already sweating like a bantha.
His father had started them working on their faulty moisture vaporators early this morning, but when neither Scott nor he could figure out what was wrong with them, they had returned to the house, defeated. His mom had made them both lunch, and Scott sat in the cool kitchen, slowly eating his meal. The sooner he finished, the sooner they would be outside in the heat and sand, trying again to get the moisture vaporators to work.
Scott stared out the window as his parents talked, their conversation completely lost on him. The twin suns of his home planet Tatooine were already high in the sky, beating down relentlessly on the sandy dunes that went on for miles. Most of this house was built underground, simply because it was cooler. Scott had been to Mos Espa before, one of the biggest cities on this desolate planet, and had heard tales from rich foreigners of climate-controlled houses on the wealthy core world planets, like Coruscant, that were always pumping in cool air. Scott would give anything to see those places. He'd been stuck in this small, stifling hot house in the middle of the desert his entire life, and he still couldn't tell you why anyone lived on this planet.
They needed to farm water, for stars' sake. That should have been the first warning sign.
“I think we're going to need new droids,” his dad was telling his mom. “We need something to plug into those vaporators and figure out what's wrong, or the harvest this year will be a complete waste. And I can't get by without an R2 unit anymore; I thought I'd be able to manage after the old one broke, but I don't think we can for much longer. With just me and Scott, it's becoming too much.”
Scott bowed his head and pushed his fork around his plate, sensing the underlying meaning in his father’s words. “So I take it that means I can’t go to the Academy next month?”
His dad sighed, looking at him. “As much as we want to send you, Scott, I don’t think we could make it without you here,” he said.
“Next year, hon, okay?” his mom interjected. “I promise.”
As much as Scott loved his parents, he could tell they didn’t really mean it.
“You still want to go to the Imperial Academy?” his dad checked.
“Not for the Empire,” Scott assured him. “I just want to learn to fly better. I’m not going to enlist, or anything.”
Scott meant it, too. He had no love for the Galactic Empire that ruled over all the planets in the galaxy— it was a cruel dictatorship, run by power-hungry politicians who abused their positions and inflicted pain and suffering throughout the galaxy— at least, that's what his mother said, whenever she’d come back from the city with news of the Empire’s latest actions. Out in the desert, without access to the holonews or any other information sources, it was easy to forget there was an entire galaxy of sentient beings beyond the sand dunes.
The Empire had very little jurisdiction out here, anyway. Tatooine was a planet ruled by gangsters— the Hutts, a greedy, selfish race of gigantic slug-like creatures— and the Hutts were unpleasant enough that no one ever seemed willing enough to intervene and do anything. But joining the prestigious Imperial Naval Academy— well, it mainly just offered Scott a way off this planet. His few friends had already gone off to the Academy— his best friend, Harley, being the most notable— and he longed to join her, piloting ships across the galaxy, and seeing every planet he could possibly see. Scott's real father had died when he was a baby, but that was what he had done: flown ships in the Clone Wars, a war nearly twenty years ago that had put the Emperor in charge of the galaxy.
Scott’s parents weren’t his real parents; they were technically his grandparents, but they’d always just been mom and dad to him. His biological parents had been killed in the waning days of the Clone Wars, leaving him a war orphan. He’d been sent back to Tatooine, to the only family he had in the galaxy—his grandmother, Melissa, and her new husband, Noah, had taken him in and raised him as their own. The only thing he had of his real father was the stories Melissa would tell him and his last name—his mother had changed her last name to Stilinski after she married, but she’d left Scott with her maiden name and his father’s last name: Skywalker.
As much as the endless sand dunes and never-ending heat got on Scott’s nerves, he didn’t hate Tatooine, or living with his adoptive parents. He loved their house, his mom and dad, the life they had here. But there was only so much you could do on Tatooine. Scott’s parents had no desire to leave the planet, see everything out there—they were perfectly content to stay here the rest of their lives, which Scott just couldn’t understand. Melissa liked to help people—she was a nurse in Anchorhead, and she would do house calls at all of the neighboring farms—but neither her nor Noah ever wanted to see more. Scott craved it, the adrenaline rush in his blood, the prospect of seeing new things, new planets, new people, exploring every crevice of the universe, discovering things no other sentient had seen before. It was like an addictive spice to him, the thought of being off-world— the dark, expansive galaxy beckoned to him at night, the shining stars luring him off to fantasies of exploring all the different systems in the heavens above.
“Scott?” he heard Noah’s voice say. He was pulled from his daydream and looked up to his father. He gave Scott a look. “The Jawas should be coming by with a batch of droids soon. Why don't you go keep a lookout? Let me know when they get close.”
“Sure,” Scott said, looking at his parents. He pushed his dish back and stood up, bounding up the stairs to aboveground, ducking into the bright white heat of the suns.
The second he was gone, Melissa gave her husband a look.
“We can't keep him shut up here forever,” she told him. “He's miserable. We’re gonna have to let him go eventually.”
Noah sighed, taking his wife's hand. “Don’t talk about that. You know just as well as I do that he can’t leave here. It’s too dangerous for him.”
Melissa sighed. “I know. It kills me though—he wants to see the galaxy. I know that look he has. He’s exactly like his father.”
“I know,” Noah replied. “That's what I'm afraid of. Scott has too much power for his own good. You know what Derek told us; Vader’ll be able to sense him. Especially if he’s at the Academy. If he stays here—”
“I know, but—” She stopped suddenly, because Scott's footsteps were echoing down the staircase again.
“Dad?” Scott said, sticking his head around the corner. His long hair flopped in his eyes, but Scott impatiently pushed it out of his face. “The Jawas are setting up.”
“Alright,” Noah said, getting up from the table as well. “Let's see what they have.”
Scott followed his dad back up the stairs, both of them disappearing above ground. Scott blinked in the bright sunlight. The Jawas' huge sandcrawler vehicle that they used to transport all their droids loomed against the sandy dunes, towering much higher than the above-ground portions of their small house. The Jawas— tiny, native creatures in mottled brown cloaks that hid everything except their glowing eyes—had unloaded some of their droids for sale right in front of the house. Scott surveyed them all. They looked dusty, and old, and battered— typical of Tatooine. Nothing new ever came to this world, and anything that did look new was quickly worn down and beaten by scorching heat, whipping winds, and endless, endless sand. Scott hoped there were some droids that would work, so they didn’t have to spend all afternoon fumbling and trying to figure out what was wrong with the vaporators.
“Scott!” His mom’s voice echoed from the house. Rushing over to the open-aired atrium, Scott gazed down to where his mom was standing, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight with his hand.
“Yeah?” he called back, looking down at her. She tucked a stray strand of dark, curly hair behind her ear, her brown eyes shining at him as she spoke, like they always did. They were Scott’s favorite part of her. Her clothes, her skin, her body was worn down by sand and wind and heat and grit and hard work, but her eyes still shined brighter than the twin suns above Tatooine.
“Remind your dad to look for a translator droid!” she called up. “There’s a family in Anchorhead with a sick little girl, and my Bocce is pretty rusty.”
Scott nodded at her. “Sure.” He jogged back across the dunes, stopping at his dad’s side. The breeze ruffled at Scott’s hair, blowing a fine dusting of sand over his worn boots. Noah was negotiating with a Jawa, who was trying to pitch a droid to him.
“I know, but that’s not what I need,” he replied. “I'll just look myself—” he broke off, turning back to Scott. “Look at those R2 units, okay?” Scott nodded and surveyed the row. There was a red one on the end that looked promising. “Oh!” he called to his dad. “Mom says remember to check if any of the translator droids speak Bocce.” Noah nodded.
Scott went over and checked the red R2 unit, looking for dents and scratches. For a secondhand droid, it wasn't in horrible condition, certainly no worse than most others here. His dad came over a second later, trailed by a gold protocol droid.
“This one looks fine,” he said, gesturing to the red droid. A jawa hurried over, eager to make the sale.
“Scott,” his dad said, handing the Jawa coins, “take these droids back and clean them up before supper, okay?”
“But— I was gonna go to Tosche station to pick up some power converters,” he said, the hope at salvaging his afternoon dying in his throat.
“Scott, if we don’t get these droids cleaned up, they can’t help with the vaporators tomorrow,” his dad responded. “You get them cleaned up tonight, and you can have all day tomorrow to yourself— you can take the speeder out to Anchorhead, or wherever, and I’ll take the droids out on the farm myself.”
“Okay,” Scott agreed, more than happy at the promise of a day off. “Come on, you two,” he called, beckoning the droids to follow him back to the house. Not even ten feet away from the Jawas, the red R2 unit's top exploded, sending off a jet of smoke. Scott peered at the top, before calling back, “Dad, this droid's got a bad motivator!”
Noah looked back at the Jawas angrily. “What are you trying to sell us here?” he demanded.
“Excuse me, sir,” a voice suddenly said. Scott whipped around, coming face to face with the protocol droid. Its voice was tinny and high, and it sounded like it had a simulated Coruscanti accent. What’s a droid from the core worlds doing out here? Scott wondered, but the droid in question was pointing to a blue R2 unit, rocking back and forth and whistling nervously. “That R2 unit is in prime condition; quite a bargain.”
Scott glanced at the R2 unit, who did not seem happy to be left behind. He did look to be in good shape, despite some carbon scoring across his front.
“Dad, we could get that one,” Scott called, gesturing to the blue one. His dad turned to the Jawa, and soon the blue R2 unit was gliding over to meet them.
“I'm sure you'll be quite satisfied with this one,” the protocol droid said, still rambling on. “He really is a fine droid. I've worked with him before.”
Scott led the droids back to the workshop, the hot breeze sweeping sand across the barren horizon.
***
“Oh, thank the maker! This oil bath is going to feel so good.”
Scott chuckled, messing with something on the R2 unit’s front. His mind was always more at peace when he was fixing things. When his hands were moving, tinkering, he could think clearer. “An astromech, huh?” Scott asked the droid, looking at his serial numbers. “There aren’t many starships out here for you to fix. Sorry, buddy.”
The astromech beeped back at him, but Scott didn’t understand much binary, so he didn’t respond.
“I must agree with Artoo,” The protocol droid piped up in basic, from his oil bath. “Where exactly is here?”
Scott glanced at the droid. “You’re on Tatooine,” he informed him. “If there's a bright spot at the center of the galaxy, this planet would be the farthest from it.”
“I see, sir,” the droid said. Scott chuckled at his formality, still working on the R2 unit.
“You can call me Scott,” he said, pushing his hair out of his eyes.
“I see, sir Scott.”
“No, just Scott,” he responded, grinning.
“Of course,” the droid responded. “And I am C-3PO, human cyborg relations. And this is my counterpart, R2-D2.”
The droid Scott was working on beeped in greeting. “Hi,” Scott replied. He continued scrubbing at the front of the droid.
“You've got a lot of carbon scoring here,” he told R2-D2. “Did you guys get caught in a shootout or something?” he joked.
“With all we've been through, it’s a miracle we're in as good condition as we are,” C-3PO responded. “What, with the rebellion and all.”
Scott whipped around, staring at the protocol droid. His stomach had leapt into his throat. “You know about the rebellion against the Empire?” he asked, aghast, looking between both droids in wonder. With the way the Empire ruled the galaxy with an iron fist, it was no secret that most people despised it. But there were whispers— rumors, mostly— of small, fierce bands of rebels fighting for freedom and liberty in the galaxy. The Empire tried to cover up most of the evidence of any rebellion, but things inevitably seeped through the cracks—rumors and stories and victories against the controlling Empire reached even this backwater planet. He and Harley used to dream of going off to the Rebellion, bringing freedom to the people and visiting every planet they could along the way.
He never knew his father, but Scott knew he had died for just that— freedom from oppression. He used to think that if he could never meet his dad, at least he could carry on his legacy.
“Why, yes,” C-3PO said. “That's how we came into your service. We escaped a rebel ship boarded by stormtroopers and landed on this planet, before we were taken by those Jawas.”
Scott completely disregarded the fact that his dad had just purchased two runaway droids, focusing more on the “rebel ship” part.
“So the Rebellion really is real?” he asked, his dark brown eyes full of wonder. “We hear some stuff out here, but it’s mostly rumors.”
“Oh yes,” C-3PO said. “There's really not much to tell, though. I'm merely a translator, and not very good at telling stories.”
Scott turned back to Artoo, crestfallen, but noticed something jammed into one of the droid's ports. It looked like someone had crammed a data file inside it in a hurry. “You've got something stuck in here,” he informed the droid, who whistled back in reply. He jabbed his tool in farther, trying to unstick whatever was jammed in, when Artoo beeped and Scott jumped back, shocked.
A hologram had appeared on the floor, projected by the droid.
It was a girl, very regal and powerful-looking. Her clothes were strange, not like anything people wore on Tatooine— she wore a long, white dress with a hood pulled loosely over her head, her hair twisted into two graceful buns, one on either side of her head. She leaned over and inserted something into the droid— probably the offending data file— before leaning back and checking over her shoulders.
“Help me, Derek Kenobi,” she kept repeating. “You're my only hope.”
“What is this?” Scott asked the droid, staring at the girl in wonder. “Who is she?”
“I'm not sure, sir,” C-3PO responded. “I believe she was someone on our last voyage. Someone of importance, if I recall.”
“She looks it,” Scott breathed. “And she looks scared. She needs help.” He turned to Artoo. “Can you play the whole message back?”
The droid beeped something, and C-3PO responded, annoyed, “Of course you can trust him! He's our new master!” Scott sat still, transfixed by the hologram. “What do you mean, you're on a secret mission?” C-3PO turned back to Scott. “I'm afraid he says he is the property of Derek Kenobi, and that the message can only be played back for him. I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not quite sure what he's talking about. Do you know of a Derek Kenobi from these parts?”
Scott thought for a second. He didn't know of any Dereks nearby, but there was old Miguel Kenobi— he was a recluse who lived out by himself in barren wasteland. Everyone thought he was either crazy or a myth, because he'd been there since before Scott was born, and no one had ever laid eyes on him.
“No, I don't know any Dereks,” Scott told the droid. “But there is an old Miguel Kenobi who lives out beyond the dune sea. I wonder if she means him?” He looked back at the hologram briefly, where the girl was still repeating, “Help me, Derek Kenobi. You're my only hope.” Scott looked at the little droid. “Come on, she's in trouble. You have to play back the whole message!”
The two droids conversed briefly again, before C-3PO said, “Artoo believes that the restraining bolt has short circuited his memory. He says, if you remove it, he believes he will be able to play back the whole message.”
“Well, I guess you are too small to run away on us,” Scott said, prying off the bolt put on by the Jawas. The hologram instantly disappeared.
“Wait, where'd she go?” Scott demanded. “What happened to the message?”
Artoo beeped at him.
“What message?!” C-3PO translated, hitting the droid on the head. “The message you've just been playing, you idiot!” he cried, at the same time as his mom’s voice echoed through the shop, calling “Scott! Dinner!”
Scott groaned. “I have to go,” he told the droids. “See if you can get the message back,” he told C-3PO, turning and running out of the room, and back to the house and the kitchen.
When he entered the kitchen, his parents were already at the table, eating. Scott rinsed his hands quickly before sitting down and helping himself to food.
“How're the droids coming?” Noah immediately asked.
“Well,” Scott started, almost laughing. His parents were going to freak when they realized they’d bought Rebellion droids. “I think they might have been stolen from someone. The protocol droid said they escaped from a rebel ship, and the Artoo unit keeps going on about how he's on a mission for a Derek Kenobi.”
His parents both momentarily froze. “What?” Melissa asked.
“I know,” Scott said, looking at his mom. “They were part of the Rebellion. It really is out there.”
“No, the— Kenobi part,” Noah said, his eyes ever so slightly nervous.
“Yeah, he says he's on a secret mission for him; he's carrying a message addressed to him,” Scott explained. “I thought maybe he meant old Miguel Kenobi, because I've never heard of a Derek Kenobi near here. But what would the Rebellion want with an old hermit?”
Noah shook his head. “Never mind. Tomorrow, first thing, you go and have those droids' memories wiped. We can’t risk them talking about the Rebellion out here. This may be the outer rim, but there are more and more stormtroopers in the cities every day.”
Scott glanced at his dad. “But what if this Derek comes looking for them?”
“He won't,” Melissa said seriously. “He doesn't exist anymore. He died right when your father did.”
“You knew him?” Scott demanded, dropping his fork. “And he knew my father?”
“Enough, Scott,” Melissa said, looking pained. She pushed her hair back, resting her forehead in her palm. “Eat your dinner and finish cleaning up those droids.”
“He was my father,” Scott shot back. “I have a right to know! You can't hide everything from me.”
“Scott, if we’re hiding anything from you, it’s only because we have a very good reason to,” Melissa replied sternly. “We’re not talking about it. It’s dangerous.”
Scott sighed. He did know that if his parents were keeping things from him, it was only for his own good. “This is a dangerous world we live in, sweetheart,” his mother had said to him when he was small. “ We have to be careful what we say. You never know when Imperial sympathizers are around. And the Empire doesn’t like people who don’t like them.”
“I’m sorry,” Scott mumbled, glancing down at his plate. “I know you’re just trying to keep us safe.” He looked at his parents, and both of them looked heartbroken.
“It’s not because I don’t want to tell you about him, Scott,” his mom said, taking his hand across the table and squeezing it. “There’s nothing I want more. But he fought in the war, and he didn’t like the Empire, and it’s dangerous for you to know about him.”
“Do you mind if I go?” Scott asked. “I want to finish those droids tonight.” His mother shook her head, smiling at him sympathetically, dropping his hand. Scott rose, walking up the stairs and back outside to the workshop.
A cool breeze struck his face as soon as he walked outside again— the first cool breeze of the day. Generally, Tatooine was just hot and sandy, but at night, like this, it was almost beautiful. Scott walked over to the edge of their property, staring out over the sand dunes, which stretched for miles. The binary sunset cast shadows of brilliant colors over the dunes, making the sand look like millions of shades of oranges, pinks, and blues.
Scott looked at the two suns, one closer towards the horizon than the other, and wondered if he would ever get to see the suns set on a different planet.