Chapter Text
Luke doesn’t wake up just yet.
He reflects.
In the space between his near deadly force-fever and full wakefulness, Luke shines light-the literal light side of the force-onto his memories.
It’s burning clarity, the kind that hurts your eyes from its brilliance. Good is not nice.
There had been such hope after the fall of the Empire. And yet, just as the Rancor’s caretaker was the only mourner after Luke killed the beast in Jabba’s lair, Luke was the only one to cry for Anakin Skywalker.
Luke could not blame them for that.
But what he could do was blame them for not learning.
Luke’s story had been a charming piece of rebel propaganda. A farm-boy from the stix whose family was murdered by the Empire, the son of a famous Jedi war-hero who had never been erased from the official narrative and galactic records (as other jedi had been, being deemed traitors and also to hide the Empire’s crimes of murdering them. Yoda and Obi-wan were not erased as the Emperor wanted to keep them recognizable in case someone was able to cash in their bounty and erase two thorns in his side.) a farm-boy, a regular boy just like anyone else in the galaxy, who had been able to take down the Empire’s Planet-Destroyer with one-shot. And If a farm-boy could do it, anyone could.
Having nothing else left, Luke embraced his role in the rebellion.
Even today, he did not regret it.
But he could regret what happened after the Imperial remnants surrendered.
The late-comers in the rebellion, many defected Imperials and many from cushy inner-core planets, insisted on a gentle handling of the imperials who had stuck with the Empire until the bitter end. In a reenactment of the end of the clone wars, where people were so desperate for peace and stability they accepted safety and security until it strangled them (literally, in his father’s case). They repeated that same mistake.
The cruel were not punished as they should have been.
The force beams and scatters light at the truth of that.
The Light was sometimes harsh, unforgiving in its brutal honesty-casting light so there were no shadows to hide in-many of the imperials had been too dangerous to be kept alive.
But they were.
War criminals were let loose in favor of rebuilding and letting sleeping rancors lie. Mid-rank imperials folded into its ranks corrupted the New Republic. The Rebel Alliance to Restore the Republic was its official title, but by the time it came to rebuild a galactic democracy, most of those who knew intimately of the flaws of the Old Republic had perished, be it from murder or old-age.
It meant there was no one to tell them not to repeat the same mistakes.
Corruption quickly overwhelmed Leia and Mon Mothma. And then when Luke and Leia’s parentage was revealed by Be- by Kylo, there was little Leia could do to prevent further corruption as she was exiled from the galactic stage.
The surviving inner core worlds withdrew from the outer rim planets, very much like the one Luke was raised on, and focused all rebuilding efforts on the inner planets.
Imperial remnants re-grouped in the outer rim with a New Republic focused on its core and ignoring the dangers. The mid-rank imperials (many of whom had been born on core-worlds) who had been let go after Endor, began to send aid, supplies, and intel.
And children.
Stolen children, raised as a brainwashed army for the First Order.
Slaves.
By ignoring the outer rim, by ignoring all its suffering, its slavery, the Empire was able to rebuild.
There was no other way to put it. Leia had proposed legislation to officially apologize to the few clones who still survived, to acknowledge what was done to them was slavery, and to grant them ironclad citizenship status, along with reparations. Luke had watched her draft that bill in one hand, the other holding the liver-spotted and thin, dying hand of Captain Rex.
Her bill failed.
At least Rex had died before he could see that.
It failed on the grounds of those funds being needed to rebuild inner core worlds, and on grounds that many mid and outer rim planets no longer had official representation in the senate, many of whom had been freed by the clones and would have supported the measure.
One Senator had even pointed out that since Leia no longer had a physical planet to represent, that she no longer belonged in the New Republic senate, even if she was technically representing the survivors.
The silence that had descended when that Senator had said that….
The New Republic had been more comfortable scapegoating The Emperor and Darth Vader for all the pain and suffering, instead of taking accountability. Luke would be the last person in the galaxy to defend the Emperor, but that horrid man had gotten to his position by taking advantage of existing corruption and bigotry.
And Luke would not absolve his father of the horrors he wrought on the universe. But he had been a slave in the very outer rim that would doom the New Republic. If they had taken the time to learn from his fathers story, to finally address the outer rim that had produced a father like Lukes, the fact that a senator, and then Chancellor Palpatine, one of their very own, had groomed and corrupted him from a young age, then maybe, just maybe…
In the end, corruption, no justice, bias against outer and mid rim planets, and no one being there to warn them of the slow rot of the Old Republic, led to the quick collapse of the New Republic.
…
…
…
Luke wakes up.
The angle of the sunlight of his childhood room tells him it’s early in the morning. This room, the one he stayed in until the age of nineteen, until imperials came and murdered his Aunt and Uncle, was one he had dreamt of countless times. The Irony did not escape Luke, that he dreamed of leaving the planet and finding his father in space, then as an adult he dreamt of this room, of what he could have done differently on that day, if he had stayed here a little longer…
Or maybe the Imperials would have simply killed a naive nineteen year old with his family.
But Luke isn’t nineteen.
He’s….
Luke’s throat is desert-dry. His fever broke. Obi-wan had helped to pull Luke from his Force spiral, and he had said he’d be here to talk when Luke woke. He had been honest in Luke’s mind, so where was he now?
Luke goes to reach for water that he always keeps on his nightstand next to his bunk in the rebel barracks. The others had been amused at Luke, but the clear water was a marvel for him.
But there is no water.
There is his clock, and several herbs from Beru’s greenhouse, all used in a failed attempt to heal a fever not caused by anything except the force.
Aunt Beru walks in, with the beginnings of gray in her hair and carrying a glass.
Luke begins crying again.
“Shhh, here.” Beru presses the glass to his lips. Water is not kept on nightstands on Tatooine like it is on rebel bases. A recently sick child could knock over precious drops with his trembling limbs. Luke is confused as to why Aunt Beru is not asking him how he’s feeling, and his sensitive child self is honestly feeling a little hurt.
But then he hears it.
“-will have our water harvest out at the end of this cycle, Jabba will have his-”
Luke’s eyes widen.
Beru stands to leave.
“Stay quiet.” She whispers urgently.
She closes the door.
Oh.
In the summer between his eleventh and twelfth birthday, an unusual drought hit this side of the planet. Many farmers had been unable to make their rations and paid dearly for it. The Lars homestead had barely scraped by, all thanks to Shmi’s engineering on the machines making them just a bit more efficient. Homesteads were mostly underground to escape the heat, but the hard work of a moisture farmer meant laborious walking. The machines were often placed far apart on fields to cast as wide of a net as possible. Their mini-speeders helped cross that distance, but it often had to be done on foot, and the water had to be extracted by hand regardless as machines simply did not have the delicacy needed to ensure not a single drop was spilled. Not to mention the greenhouses, with specialty crops that required tender care.
Luke had been sick for several days at least if the bedpan is anything to go by.
The farm would be struggling.
He bolts upwards.
And immediately collapses, vision swimming on a planet where he physically couldn't.
A few deep breaths later and he tries again, slower, despite his urgency and is able to stand like a wobbly Fawntha and pad to the door.
It opens quietly and in a childhood haze Luke walks halls he left behind years ago.
He reaches Aunt Beru standing at the edge of the kitchen, shotblast in hand.
Obi-wan’s face is grim from the door.
And Uncle Owen is outside, visible from the open door.
None of them have noticed Luke.
Two of Jabba’s men stand arguing with Uncle Owen.
“The Supreme Lord does not appreciate delinquency.” A near-human says. He has sharp teeth and pupiless eyes, yet can clearly see and is enjoying the stress on Uncle Owen’s face.
“I understand, we’ll have your water ready for pickup at the end of this rotation.” Uncle Owen does a good job of keeping his voice calm.
“Will you? Why the delay? Do you need….assistance?” The man croons.
Luke’s stomach drops.
Slaves.
He means slave labor.
Owen stiffens.
Beru is too practiced to drop her shotblast, but her eyes widen.
Obi-wan is statue-still, but Luke feels his disgust in the force.
When some farms could not meet their quota’s, Jabba sent slaves. Upon reflection, it was a clever strategy from the planetary dictator. A reminder to the farmers what would happen to them if they failed to reach their quota, and a way to increase the capacity of that farm, while forcing the farmers to violate their morals and break their spirits.
The Lars farm had never had slave assistance.
Shmi was paid her fair wages, and Luke had even received access to her bank accounts upon his coming of age at eighteen, until the Empire seized all of their accounts.
Owen comes back to himself.
“That’s not needed. We can get to work today.” ‘As soon as you leave’ is left unsaid, but heard.
And clearly not appreciated.
“If you will not accept assistance, then perhaps we will take some, ah, reassurance. I have heard you have a sick boy here? Why not let us have him, to recover in our better facilities, and you can work for your water undistracted."
They wanted to use Luke as a hostage.
Beru turns the safety off.
Obi-Wan steps forward.
“I will be here aiding them in their harvest.” Obi-wan states. “No further assistance is necessary.”
The two enforcers startle, the record keeper and the muscle.
The near-human twitches.
“Is that so? And you are…”
“A Freeman. Ben. Ben Kenobi.”
“I see. And how is it they will pay you? For record keeping, as you know.” The enforcer taps his stylus and datapad. The total output of the farm must be tracked so Jabba knows all the capacity on the planet. That means seeing how much profit is lost going towards Freemen payments.
Obi-wan must say something. No one works out of the goodness of their hearts, and to work for free is seen as an insult on a planet with such brutal open slavery. But the Lars do not have credits to spare, or water which is also used as currency.
“Room and board. The Sand People have recently destroyed my own homestead. The Lars’s have saved my life.” He replies calmly, not a second too late.
The enforcer hums.
“I see. I have put down three adults at this residence, and one sickly child. But, really, shouldn't the child come with us?” The enforcers goes to look at his records again.
“A one ‘Luke Skywalker’. I should think so.” The enforcer decides.
“That's not necessary.” Obi-wan steps forward. His voice becomes soothing, charming, it echoes strangely in the force.
“You don’t want the boy. Another mouth to hydrate.”
“Another mouth to hydrate.” The enforcers mumble.
“...We will give you all until the end of this solar-cycle. There are many mouths to hydrate.” The enforcers leave.
Beru sags in relief, putting the safety back on.
Owen walks in and closes then latches the door.
He turns and stares at Obi-Wan.
“Was that one of those Jedi tricks?”
Obi-wan nods, suddenly looking very tired, and very aware of the unease Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru look at him with. It can be unsettling, and scary to see the loss of control a person can experience in the face of a force user. Especially the removal of free-will when freedom is such a touchy subject.
“Owen, please have my most sincere apologies for any unease I caused, but I would not tolerate them taking Luke.”
“Yeah. I can’t tolerate anybody taking Luke either. Not even you. Maybe you understand me a bit better now, about how I feel with you Jedi takin’ Anakin?”
Obi-wan does not flinch, but it’s a near thing.
“That ain’t happening to this boy. He’s a good boy.” Uncle Owen says roughly, trembling. Luke is suddenly flooded with feelings of deep love and grief and the reminder of how much his Uncle had cared about him. Does. And how much Owen lost. His father, Cliegg, His adoptive mother in Shmi, and birth mother.
“I agree.” Obi-Wan says softly.
“Owen. Luke is very much like his father. When Luke was sick, and having his fits he…oh, you saw, the objects levitated! What if the enforcers had insisted on coming in before Ben helped Luke recover? I-I get sick thinking of what they do to force-sensitive slaves.” Aunt Beru whispers.
Luke’s eyes widen.
He knew he had been deep in force-fever, but to know it had been deep enough to be lashing out unintentionally?
Bad news, bad, bad news.
Luke is lacking a literal lifetime of training and discipline.
Uncle Owen inhales shakily.
“Owen. We need him. For the farms, for Luke. Luke…can’t control himself.”
A pause.
Uncle Owen nods.
“I hear you, Beru. I…look, Kenobi. I am grateful for you bringing Luke to us, it…it was one of the best days of my life. And don’t think I don’t appreciate you saving him from…whatever that episode was. But you gotta earn our trust here.”
“We’re farmers, not foolish.” Aunt Beru adds softly.
“I would never insinuate otherwise.”
“Then why is it the details of what happened with the Jedi so vague from you?” Aunt Beru asks.
“I thought neither of you had wanted to hear of the Jedi.”
“That's fair enough. No love lost, especially when that ‘Jinn’ left Shmi in chains.” Aunt Beru says frostily.
Obi-wan’s force presence flares in pain.
“We mostly didn’t want Luke getting any ideas. But if he’s gonna learn self-control, then we want the full story. And you’ve been dry on details.” Uncle Owen finishes.
Obi-wan says nothing more, only dips his head in a nod.
“....How is he now?” Obi-wan asks Aunt Beru. Luke’s eyes widen.
“Much better, but still very tired. I left him in his room.” Aunt Beru says. “I’ll show you to the spare room.” Shmi and Cliegg’s old room, unused until now.
“I am humbled to receive your hospitality.” Obi-wan murmurs in the customary Tatooine greeting.
Luke tip-toes away.