Tatooine Ghost

by Troy Denning

  “Even if you’re right, it doesn’t mean they’re turning,” Leia said. “They’re insectoid. You can’t presume to know their anatomy.”

  “And neither could Khaddor. He could have painted—designed—them any way he wanted. And he designed them twisting at the waist. He designed them turning toward the storm.”

  “Your point being?”

  “They know it’s coming, and they’re turning to face it,” Han said. “Khaddor isn’t trying to warn anyone about the cost of surrendering to darkness. He’s talking about how you meet it. You turn and look into it.”

  Leia fell silent, at first trying to think of an argument against Han’s point, and then realizing how futile such an attempt was. They were arguing interpretations, and Khaddor would have been the first to agree that the interpretation belonged only to the eye of the beholder.

  “I bet Ob Khaddor didn’t like critics much,” Han said. He had that cocky I-won smile Leia always loved—except when it was directed at her. “Did he?”

  “Not much.” Leia would not deny a fact. “But everybody else doesn’t have to be wrong for you to be right. A painting can mean more than one thing, you know.”

  “No kidding?” Han’s smile grew cockier than ever. “So you admit it… I’m right?”

  “Of all the arrogant…” Leia finally caught the playful tone in Han’s voice and realized he was not trying to humble her, only trying to insist on the validity of his own unique vision. And that was one of the things she loved about him. Most of the time. “I guess that’s what I said, isn’t it?”

  “So what you see depends on how you look at it?” Han slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Like a lot of things.”

  Leia let him, but she knew when she was being outflanked. Han was not talking about Killik Twilight anymore. He was certainly not talking about the situation with TIEs over the oasis, either. He was talking about the future. Again.

  “Han?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Shouldn’t one of us be watching for Imperials?”

  The arm retreated, and Han’s voice grew serious. “We have to talk about this, Leia. You’re not the only one who gets to make the choice.”

  “No? Then I hope you’re ready to consider adoption.” Leia regretted the retort as soon as she uttered it. She felt sure she would love adopted children as dearly as her own, and without any of the attendant fears. But by the time she turned to apologize, Han was already rising. “Han, I’m not closing the discussion. But please not here, not now. Not with tomorrow hanging over us.”

  “Why?” Han’s eyes caught a moon’s reflection and burned down on her in silver. “What’s going to happen tomorrow?”

  “Nothing.” Leia had to look away. “I won’t let it.”

  “Yeah? Well, it might happen anyway—but you can’t be afraid to look. That’s what Khaddor’s saying, Leia.” Han passed the electrobinoculars to her. “Keep an eye on the oasis. Time for me to make a circuit.”

  Leia returned to watching the oasis, so upset she barely registered what she was seeing. She would call what they were having frustrations more than troubles, but Han was certainly right about the need to talk. Unfortunately, her feelings about Anakin Skywalker remained too confused for any intelligent discussion about children—and now was no time to let the matter consume her attention. It was dangerous, even.

  She lowered the electrobinoculars long enough to activate the journal, then returned to her vigil and asked for the next entry. Leia and Han had spent much of the night listening to her grandmother ponder Anakin’s destiny and recount her hard-but-happy life on the moisture farm, and Leia knew the narrative would occupy just enough of her attention to keep the rest of her mind focused on the oasis.

  21:45:24

  Owen caught me celebrating your birthday out on the sand berm. Twenty years old—you and Owen, both! Owen has a lovely girlfriend now, Beru Whitesun. Neither has said so, but I’m sure they’re thinking of marriage. Watching Owen grow, I always find myself wondering about you. Are you happy? Have you become a Jedi Knight yet? Would I recognize you if I saw you?

  With you, I have nothing but questions—questions and love. And I do love you, Annie. I hope you know that—and also how proud I am of you. Always and forever.

  The next day, Shmi reported that they were hearing banthas out on the plain. Leia’s heart grew increasingly heavy as the following entries grew more concerned with the presence of Tusken Raiders, reporting tracks and probes of the security perimeter. Cliegg’s moods turned dark, and Owen actually began to seem apprehensive. Shmi confessed to being worried for the safety of young Beru, who was staying with them for a few days.

  22:45:25

  Today, there are more Tuskens out on the plain. We can’t see them, but the lowing of their banthas carries for kilometers. Owen and Cliegg keep saying we’ll be all right, as long as we don’t go out at night. I’d feel better if they didn’t make such a point of keeping their blasters within reach, even inside. But there isn’t much food out here for banthas; the Tuskens will have to move on soon. And Cliegg is going to the Dorr Farm tomorrow, to start organizing local farmers. We’ll be fine, Anakin, I’m sure.

  Leia continued to watch the stars gleam above the oasis, searching for efflux trails or anything else that might indicate an Imperial movement, and asked for the next entry.

  No sound came from the journal.

  Suspecting another data skip, Leia said, “Advance to next entry.”

  When the journal continued to remain silent, Leia glanced down to find a message on the display: END DATA.

  Leia shut off the journal and forced herself to return to her duties—though she had to keep blinking tears away so she could see through the electrobinoculars. How the journal had come to be where Anya Darklighter found it, she could not even guess; there were a thousand possibilities. The one she favored was that Shmi had been carrying it in a pocket when the Tuskens came, and had tossed it there hoping Cliegg or Owen would find it and one day give it to her son.

  What Leia did know was that the journal had never made it into Anakin’s hands, or it would not have been found beneath a vaporator. She wondered whether it would have made a difference in her father’s life, had it been given to him—and whether it had remained there all those years to make a difference in hers.

  Leia began to experience a profound sense of regret and self-doubt as she thought of Anakin Skywalker. Did she regret not knowing him? Hardly. She had come to hate and fear him as Darth Vader, and the last thing she had ever wanted was to know him better. But self-doubt? Leia had plenty of that. She could hardly think of Anakin Skywalker without questioning half the life decisions she had made in the last five years.

  But the feelings went deeper than that. The regret—a regret she knew she did not feel—weighed on her like a shielding cloak. It was physical and wearying, an emotion so enervating it rooted her to the ground. And the doubt was deeper than any she had ever experienced, a questioning so profound she felt raw and bottomless inside.

  Leia found herself staring out across the desert without realizing she had turned away from the ghost oasis. Though the rolling sands were still swathed in night shadow, the moons were already dropping behind the horizon, and Tatoo I was kindling a golden gleam along the crest of the highest dunes. The sight filled Leia with a sense of loneliness and grief that was almost more than she could bear, and she finally understood the source of her powerful feelings.

  Obi-Wan Kenobi.

  Leia could almost feel him behind her, brooding over his failure as the first sun’s light crept across the sands. How terrible the burden must have been, how deep his sorrow, that she could still feel it nine years after his departure. Had he stood here each morning, reciting the names of Jedi and friends lost to Darth Vader’s saber? Had he reviewed his every conversation with Anakin Skywalker, reexamined every lesson he had taught, rebuked himself each dawn for his inadequacies as a Master?

  Leia thought that perhaps
he had.

  Sitting there where Obi-Wan had stood every morning, she could feel how he had allowed his doubts to rule his life. For years, Obi-Wan had thought of little else but his fallen student, had allowed his concerns to cloud his thoughts—just as Leia had been allowing her own anger and hatred to dominate her view of her father.

  Could that be what Leia’s vision was telling her—that she needed to forgive her father for her own sake? That if she allowed her anger at him to rule her life, she would be harming no one but herself and Han?

  So absorbed was Leia that she did not hear Han’s hurried steps crunching the gravel behind her until he was within a dozen steps. Knowing what a stickler he was about keeping proper watches, she brought the electrobinoculars up and swung her gaze back toward the oasis.

  “Who do you think you’re fooling?” Han demanded.

  “Sorry.” Leia was so excited that her voice sounded anything but apologetic. “Han, I think I have it. What we came here for.”

  “Can you tell me about it later?” Han motioned Leia to her feet. “ ’Cause we gotta leave, and quick.”

  Leia was up instantly, though her stomach was sinking. “Imperials?”

  “Worse.” Han displayed a small transistor with a long wire antenna, the kind used in tracking devices. “Squibs.”

  “Those vermin have been following us?”

  Han nodded. “The sandcrawler is coming up the canyon.”

  “You’re sure it’s them?”

  “Herat seems to think so,” Han said. “We may have to leave her behind, if Chewie can’t catch a Jawa with a broken leg.”

  Leia stopped so abruptly that Han ran into her and knocked the electrobinoculars out of her hand. “That’s it!”

  “What?” Han grabbed the electrobinoculars off the ground, then took Leia by the arm. “The hoverscout’s in the rocks, remember?”

  “We don’t need it.” Leia pulled free of his arm and started down the gully at a run. “Not yet.”

  “Hey!” Han called, racing after her. “Where are you going?”

  “To strike a bargain!” Leia called over her shoulder. “I think Tatooine just gave us profoggs.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  By the time the sandcrawler’s blocky shape could no longer be seen rocking over the crests of the rolling sands, Tatoo I was spreading its golden light across the entire vastness of the Western Dune Sea. Leia glanced back at Han, who lay atop the hoverscout’s forward cargo compartment scanning the sky with the electrobinoculars.

  “It’s gone,” she reported. Along with Chewbacca, C-3PO, and the Squibs, she was about ten kilometers from Obi-Wan’s, waiting in the mouth of a shadowy canyon at the edge of the Dune Sea. “Anything?”

  “Still just the one TIE trailing it.” Han lowered the electrobinoculars and slipped off the hoverscout. “Looks like your plan’s a go.”

  “If Herat keeps her word,” C-3PO pointed out. He was in the front passenger’s seat. “Personally, I never find it advisable to trust a Jawa.”

  Chewbacca, sitting behind the steering yoke, gave a testy grunt. “That has nothing to do with it,” C-3PO said. “I didn’t believe for a moment Mistress Leia would include me in the deal.”

  “Pretty cocky for a droid,” Han said. He turned to Leia. “But Threepio has a point. Herat’s taking a big risk. Maybe she’ll decide it’s too big.”

  “That depends,” Sligh said. He and Grees were in the back, working on the built-in comm units of a pair of stormtrooper helmets they had salvaged back in the cave. “Have you double-crossed her yet?”

  “We haven’t double-crossed anyone,” Leia said. “You were the ones who called the deal off in the canyon. We were under no obligation to return the initiator to you.”

  “Speaking of that, how did you restart the reactor core?” Han asked.

  “The baradium charge from a thermal—”

  “Sligh!” Grees barked. “Did they pay for that?”

  “Then she’ll do her part,” Sligh said, immediately switching back to the question about Herat. “That’s why we told you to promise her a diagnostics kit from the Falcon instead of your protocol droid. A Quaxcon Mark Fifteen is too valuable for a Jawa to pass up. She’ll take the risk, as long as she thinks you’ll come through in the end and drop the kit.”

  Tinny static emerged from the speaker of the helmet in Grees’s lap. He flipped a switch under the chin padding, then nodded and turned to Sligh.

  “The droid was right.” Grees passed the helmet forward to Chewbacca. “They switched modulation. It’s Secure Blue.”

  “Of course,” C-3PO said. “The Imperial datapad assured me that changing modes is standard procedure when communications equipment is captured.”

  Sligh made the frequency change in the helmet he was working on and passed it forward as well.

  To Han, he said, “We’re placing a lot of trust in you.”

  “Then why risk her life?” Han gestured at Emala, who stood beside Leia in a buff-colored sand cloak. She held a stormtrooper blaster rifle much too large for her and was loaded down with a water pack that weighed half what she did. “We don’t need company that bad.”

  “I’m coming to help you find the ghost oasis,” Emala said. “We’re only thinking of the objective.”

  Though Leia knew the Squibs were more interested in protecting their own interests than assuring the outcome of the mission, she didn’t even try to argue. Aside from Herat’s insistence that simply recovering her sandcrawler wasn’t enough compensation for the risk she was taking, this had been the largest sticking point in the hurried negotiations. The Squibs simply refused to go along with the plan unless one of them accompanied Leia and Han to the ghost oasis—and no matter that it might compromise the pair’s disguises.

  Leia took her helmet, then glanced down at Emala. “I just hope you can hold up,” she said. “Without temperature-controlled armor, it’s going to be a long hot walk.”

  “That’s why she’s going,” Grees said. “She’s the tough one.”

  Emala’s ears perked with pride.

  Han rolled his eyes, then took his helmet and clasped Chewbacca on the forearm. “Don’t hit anything. And when you get the Falcon, don’t scratch—”

  Chewbacca cast his eyes at the sky and rowled in mock annoyance.

  “Han, that ship still has scorch marks from fighting the first Death Star.” Leia turned to Chewbacca and said, “Scratch all you want. Maybe he’ll finally paint the blasted thing.”

  Chewbacca nodded enthusiastically and activated the repulsor engines, then started up the canyon with C-3PO and the two male Squibs, casually waving over his shoulder. It was, Leia knew, the Wookiee way of parting under such circumstances; to make a fuss would be to suggest he didn’t think they’d be seeing each other again.

  Han put his arm around Leia’s shoulder, and together they watched as the hoverscout disappeared around the corner.

  “So,” he asked. “You really think this will work?”

  “I don’t know.” Leia turned to face him. “Have a better idea?”

  Han smiled. “Yeah.” He slipped both hands around her waist and pulled her toward him until they bumped chest plates, then leaned down close. “This.”

  Emala groaned.

  Leia ignored her and kissed Han until her stomach began to flutter, then kissed him a little longer. Not because it might be the last time, she told herself, but because they were in this together. At last, she pulled away and smiled up at Han.

  “Time to march, trooper.”

  Leia and Han put on their helmets and started toward the oasis, Emala trailing half a kilometer back to serve as a rear guard—and to stay out of sight, in the event they ran into an unexpected reconnaissance team. They were careful to remain in the shade along the base of the cliffs, both to stay out of the sun and to reduce their chances of being seen by far-flung sentries—Imperial or Tusken.

  Despite the cooling units in their captured armor, the going was slow and uncomfortable.
On the sandcrawler, Han had pieced together a suit of salvaged pieces that almost fit, but Leia had been forced to pad hers out with tomuon wool. Even then, the shin and forearm guards were simply too long for her, and every step was a struggle to bend her ankles, knees, and elbows. It took them four hours of wading through sand and scrambling over rocks to cover the next four kilometers, and by the time they finally ducked into a cranny in a small side canyon to wait, Leia was both exhausted and sore.

  Still, she counted her blessings. Kitster Banai was certainly worse off by far—if he was alive at all. And if they failed to recover Killik Twilight in time to contact Mon Mothma, hundreds of Askajian resistance fighters were certain to endure torments far more painful at the probe tips of Imperial interrogator droids.

  Emala crept up a few minutes later, her movements so stealthy and her sand cloak such perfect camouflage that she was almost past before Leia noticed and stepped out of hiding to wave her over. The Squib looked even more tired than Leia, and she sank into the shaded cranny with a weary sigh. Her water pack was three-quarters empty.

  “How are you feeling, Emala?” Leia asked.

  “I’ve made it this far, haven’t I? Don’t think you’ll leave me passed out in this—”

  “Easy there,” Han said. “We only have your interests at heart.”

  Emala shot him a doe-eyed glower that only managed to look endearing. “Don’t expect me to fall for that. I know you humans.”

  “Do you need to rest?” Leia asked. “Chewie and the others should be at the edge of the salt flats by now. They can’t leave the canyons until we give the signal.”

  Emala took a long draw from the water tube hanging over her shoulder, then stood and brought her blaster rifle to port arms. “I’ve got your backs.”

  Leia put her helmet back on, then removed a captured comlink from her equipment belt and glanced at Han. Fearful that any signal over their own comlinks would lead enemy eavesdroppers down on them, they had decided to confuse the issue by communicating over the Chimaera’s own comm net. With any luck, the Imperials wouldn’t even notice the extra traffic.