Crossing Twilight

by MJ Mink

Between father and son, there is a bridge that neither Time nor Death can shatter. Each stands at one end, needing to cross, needing to meet...

(attributed to Master Po, Kung Fu)

"Come with me," Biggs urged. "You can't stay here forever."

"My uncle needs me," Luke replied sullenly. He swung his legs, digging his heels into the wall they perched on, wondering if he could knock down the entire structure if he kicked hard enough. "Only one more season, he says. Then he'll find someone else to help him."

"That's what he said last year." Biggs jumped off the ledge. Puffs of dirt and sand shot upward from his feet, scattering and blowing away in the mild breeze that did little to cool the heat of the evening suns. "I have to take off."

"Wait for me!" he called and ran after his friend whose long legs had already carried him halfway to his speeder. "Look, can't you stay until next season? Then we could get a ship and explore the galaxy like--"

"Get a ship?" Biggs echoed. "We can't just 'get a ship'! You know what your problem is, Luke? Your head is in the clouds. You're always dreaming instead of facing reality."

"I don't--"

"Yeah, you do." Biggs whirled to face him, the long cape snapping against Luke's leg. "You're the best bush pilot I've ever seen. You could apply to the Naval Academy and have a career--"

"I can't believe you'd suggest that! It's bad enough you're going there!" Furious, he stalked away, kicking at the sand. "You're going to become one of them. It's like you're a traitor, Biggs. They're evil. Look what they've done to the galaxy! There are civil wars all over, more breaking out every day. Krit, there're even clone troopers stationed in Anchorhead! We're all going to become slaves of the government!"

"Ah, that's your uncle talking, Luke." Biggs made a dismissive gesture with one hand. "You're not him. Start thinking for yourself. Start living for yourself. You can't stay here forever."

"I'll stay as long as he needs me. I have to." Resigned, he looked across the barren landscape toward home. "I'm all he's got."

Biggs began to say something, then stopped and shook his head. "We've been over this too many times. I didn't come to argue, just to say my good-byes. Best of luck to you, Luke. I hope we'll see each other again one day."

A hand was thrust into his line of vision. Luke bit his lip. It would serve Biggs right if he didn't take it. They couldn't be friends any longer, not if Biggs was going to join the Navy and become one of them.

But he and Biggs had been close since childhood, getting in and out of scrapes together, covering for each other, racing, laughing, teasing, fighting. That counted for a lot. Luke turned and clasped the offered fingers, and their handshake turned into an awkward hug. "Be careful," he mumbled, and the words held many meanings.

"You, too, hotshot." With a grin that wasn't reflected in his troubled gaze, Biggs gave a mock salute and headed for his speeder. With a final wave, he was on his way.

"Damnit, Biggs," Luke grumbled. He climbed into his own speeder, making no move to start it. He was in no rush to return home. His uncle would have more chores and lessons for him. More lectures. More reminders about what to do and what not to do. More of the same things he'd heard all his life.

Why couldn't he leave? Whatever stopped him was something more than simple loyalty to his uncle. Sometimes, desperate, he wanted to flee his home, even the entire planet, though he had no destination and few dreams despite what Biggs thought. But there was a heaviness weighing down on him, a gray pall encircling him, waking and sleeping. Everything was an effort, everything was tiring, even living. His thoughts were clouded, and nothing was as clear to him as it seemed to be for Biggs. He wanted to leave, but he could barely make himself move. It seemed like the only times he had endless energy was when he was angry. Then he felt powerful, invincible and somehow… wrong. If only his life had been different. If only he hadn't been an orphaned baby, dependent on the charity of distant relatives.

It wasn't that he hated his uncle; he didn't. But neither did he love the man. His uncle needed him and depended on him. His uncle was just there, an immovable object that stood between him and his life.

"This is your life, idiot!" he muttered, switching on the speeder and depressing the pedal to the floor.

Hot wind whipped through his hair and slapped his face as he sped across the desert. Occasional grains of sand landed in his eyes, making him wince with pain and blink tears until the sand was washed away. Stars, how he hated sand! He wanted a rich, lush landscape. The soft feel of grass, the rustling noises that trees made in the wind, the heady scents of rain-laden flora... they seemed almost tangible to him. But how could something he'd never known feel so real?

The arid Tatooine surroundings vanished, replaced by a pastoral scene: a dozen shades of green, all the green he could wish for, and azure skies spotted with cotton clouds. A woman with sad dark eyes, whispering against his cheek. Always remember who you are, Luke. Always remember…. His mother, he thought. She had died bearing him and he had no memory of her, yet he was certain it was she who frequented his dreams; who else could it be? Always remember who you are... she told him.

But he'd forgotten.

It was nearing sunset when the lights of the homestead appeared, a beacon in the wilderness. Home, despite his unhappiness there. Luke parked the speeder in the garage and went outside. The twin suns were near the horizon, the first sitting atop distant mountains like a ripe, juicy pomerand. If only he could follow the suns like the old legend of the boy Itharin, then he could escape. Flee from this planet, this home, this uncle who bound him here with guilt and promises. If only he could escape...

Come inside. I need you, boy.

He sighed and closed his eyes. Coming, Uncle Sidious.

Turning his back on the suns, he descended the stairs into the depths of their underground home.

- - - - -

"No other possibility there is." Yoda's aged body was rigidly upright. "Palpatine it must be."

"Impossible! Not after so many years," Mace Windu snapped. "Besides, I was there. I saw Anakin kill him."

"So certain, are you?" The shrewd gaze slid around the circle of Jedi Masters until it rested on Anakin Skywalker.

Anakin remained motionless, though his feet wanted to push him up and out of the Council Chamber, running and running until he faced the nightmare that haunted him. He kept his face impassive. To his left, Obi-Wan squirmed, sensing his former padawan's anxiety.

"Are you questioning Master Skywalker's word?" Kenobi asked, his distress not masked behind the gentleness of his voice.

Yoda did not reply, choosing instead to continue gazing silently at the youngest member of the Jedi Council.

"Not so young," Anakin said dryly. "But you will always see me as an impetuous youth, won't you, Master Yoda?"

A small smile flashed across the other's face but vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "Long have I sensed the existence of a Sith. Wounded him, you did, but perhaps not mortally. Through the window and into the streets he went, but found, no body was."

"We've discussed this before," Windu said sharply. "He would have been stripped of clothing and jewels-- and we all know what would have happened to his body beneath the city."

Eyes were averted. No one cared to pursue such thoughts aloud. The underbelly of Coruscant was a blight on the planet, one that not even the Army of the Jedi Republic had been able to eliminate.

"If not Palpatine," Yoda whispered, "then... another there is. A threat to the Jedi Republic."

A silence grew. Around the circle, heads bowed and surreptitious glances were exchanged. Another Sith? It was improbable… and perhaps inevitable. Anakin hid his doubts deeper, reinforcing the thick shields around them. The time was long past when he should have told them... but he could not now confess that he had known his former master had survived the fall from his office. He couldn't admit that he'd tracked down Palpatine on Mustafar but had not been able to execute the final blow against his mentor of so many years. Hideously scarred, blinded, burned, crippled beyond restoration... Pity stayed his hand, though he was certain Palpatine would die.

But after, when it was too late, Anakin had felt the life-force struggling to hold on, like an ember seeking wood. Evidently Palpatine had indeed found a way to survive, but he would not be the man-- or the Sith-- that he had been. At best, he would be a parasite, relying on others to keep him alive. What threat could the former chancellor be in such condition? None, Anakin had always believed.

Until recently. Until the Unease had returned, clouding the famed Jedi vision. Nothing was clear any longer. It was as if a blanket of chaos had fallen upon the galaxy, causing unrest and confusion. As if someone was growing in power. As if...

...the Sith were back.