A Son at Last

As the twin suns of Tatooine set, Owen and Beru Lars, finished with their dinner, settled beside each other on their living room couch. As Beru poured them each a glass of iced quintberry tea from the pitcher she had placed on the table before them, Owen flipped on the holoscreen, switching to the holonews station for their daily update on the Clone Wars. Since Tatooine had never been Republic or Separatist soil, the only reason they bothered to monitor the war's progress was because of Anakin Skywalker.

Shmi, whom they had both loved, would have been glued to the holoscreen every evening, hoping to hear that her beloved son was still among the living, and dreading the revelation that he had perished in a wave of fire dodging enemy fire up where even the stars had no more secrets to conceal. He could picture his gentle stepmother wedged between him and Beru, clinging onto both their fingers for comfort as she listened to the news anchor provide information on battlefront after battlefront throughout a galaxy ripped apart by strife and greed. Owen figured that as long as he could feel Shmi's presence so strongly, she wasn't really dead, and, as long as she was alive, Owen would keep himself apprised as to what was happening to her precious Anakin.

"Today certainly has been an eventful one—a day promised to go down in galactic history," announced the anchor, Jenyah Min, whose chirping tone had always seemed a grating contrast to the terrible news it constantly imparted. Flashing her dazzling grin, which was far too bright for the dim Lars living room, Jenyah continued even more perkily, "To the delight of every peace-loving soul in the galaxy, the Clone Wars have ended. All the Separatist leaders, who instigated a rebellion against lawful authority that ended in the slaughtering of millions of innocent civilians, have been executed."

Owen felt numb. He knew that he should have been clapping or screaming with delight that the war was over, and Shmi's son, who was always on the news for doing something so stupid that it was bound to be the death of him, was finally safe. However, the too upbeat tone of the anchor made it impossible for him to take her words seriously.

A second later, he supposed that it was just as well that he hadn't started rejoicing that Anakin Skywalker was really free at least, because Jenyah went on, "Meanwhile, the Jedi, whose clandestine plot against the legitimate leader Palpatine has recently been exposed when they tried and failed to assassinate the respected Supereme Chancellor, have been killed as traitors and their Temple burned. Any Republic civilians who spot what they suspect to be a Jedi on the run are to report such a sighting to their local law enforcement immediately. Failure to do so could result in a sentence of up to two hundred years in prison for aiding and abetting a traitor. Civilians are urged to remember that Jedi are infamous for using mind tricks on the unwary, so all citizens should be on the guard for such deception and manipulation."

"All the Jedi are dead?" Beru whispered, eyes wide with horror, and her cup trembling in her hands.

"They can't all be." Owen shook his head, running a finger along the condensation on the rim of his glass to keep his mind focused. "The citizens of the Republic wouldn't have been told to report any sightings of Jedi if there were none left to see. If all the Jedi really were dead, they wouldn't have to make a news bulletin about capturing them."

"So Anakin might still be alive?" murmured Beru, hope filling her gaze.

"He's survived enough scrapes that should have been the death of him." Gruffly, Owen shrugged. "I don't see why he shouldn't beat the odds and live through this one too. He seems to thrive off being under fire."

"All citizens of the former Galactic Republic should also note that they are now officially citizens of the new Galactic Empire," said Jenyah. Owen felt Beru gasp beside him and wondered how many people across the galaxy had made similar expressions of shock when listening to this broadcast. As for himself, he could only state blankly at the holoscreen, as the anchor added cheerily, "Everyone will be overjoyed to hear that the Supreme Chancellor they never wanted to leave office will be their Emperor—their leader—forever. In his speech before the Imperial Senate, formerly known as the Republic Senate, the Emperor guaranteed us safety and prosperity. I think that I speak for everybody when I express my overwhelming gratitude that we have a leader strong enough to bring us from the turmoil of war to the abundance of peace."

"Could her words, her teeth, and her hair be anymore artificial?" Owen snorted irritably as he flipped off the screen.

"I'm not worried about that." Beru elbowed him in the ribs. "I'm concerned about this Galactic Empire."

"Tatooine isn't part of the Republic," pointed out Owen, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "It won't be part of this new Empire, either."

"Yes, but is a galaxy where the greatest political entity is an empire under the control of one man who seems to only want more and more power a safe place for anyone?" Beru bit her lip. "Is even tiny Tatooine small enough to escape his notice? Is even the hinterland of the Outer Rim far enough away from him?"

"If we just continue to work hard and quietly on our farm, no government will bother us." Owen leaned forward to kiss the nervous furrows out of her forehead. "Relax. Our biggest fear will be the Tusken Raiders, as always."

"Yes, of course." Beru tried to put on her bravest smile, but her hands, stroking anxiously at her stomach, betrayed her. "It's just—I never thought I'd be happy to think that we aren't able to have a baby."

Owen closed his eyes, remembering the pain and shame of visiting the doctors in Anchorhead and Mos Eisley for all sorts of tests only to hear the heart-wrenching news that Beru would never be able to conceive a child. There were options for them, of course, the doctors had all been quick to assure them. There was adoption and artificial insemination even on rural Tatooine, but he and Beru, who had wanted to have their own child in the natural way, hadn't been able to bring themselves to consider any of those alternatives yet.

At the sharp beep of the comm unit that indicated an incoming transmission, Owen's eyes jerked open. "Receiving a message from Obi-Wan Kenobi, a friend of Anakin Skywalker's," reported the comm unit in its flat, mechanical manner. "Do you wish to answer?"

The part of Owen that wanted to keep out of anything to do with the Jedi the Empire sought to exterminate, even if he wasn't an Imperial citizen on Imperial soil, because he had seen on the holoscreen what those clone troopers could do and he didn't want to be on the wrong side of their blasters, screamed at him to refuse the transmission. Yet, the more courageous element in himself reminded him that Kenobi was Anakin's friend—the one who had been beside Anakin Skywalker as he risked life and limb in battle after battle. Shmi would want to hear any information Obi-Wan Kenobi could provide about her dear child.

"Yes," he told the unit after a long pause.

"Accepting transmission." The comm unit beeped, and, a second later, a ghostly miniature of a bearded man in flowing robes appeared.

"I'm Obi-Wan Kenobi." The figure offered a polite bow. "You must be Anakin's stepbrother, Owen Lars."

"That's right." Owen nodded. "This is my wife, Beru."

"My pleasure, madam." Again, the man bowed, this time directing the motion toward Beru. "I hate to seem rude, but I will have to make this communication as quick as possible. I don't know if you've heard any news lately—"

"We do get the holonews even on remote Tatooine, yes," Owen said tersely. "We know that the Clone Wars, your reason for being for the past few years, have ended all the sudden. We know that the Republic you fought for is now an Empire. We know that the Jedi Temple has been burned, at least some of the Jedi have been killed, and that the new Emperor, formerly the Chancellor of your Republic, is searching for those of you who have evaded his execution order. As such, we don't need you to provide us with a galactic news report. We just need you to tell us about Anakin. Is he alive or dead?'

Kenobi flinched at the question, but responded steadily enough. "Anakin's dead, but his legacy goes on. He has a newborn son who needs a home, because his mother died in childbirth."

"Padme dead?" demanded Beru, tears welling in her eyes. Like a stab in the chest, Owen recalled how Beru had enjoyed talking and laughing with the confident, kind, and beautiful young lady who had accompanied Anakin to the Lars farm several years ago. They had bonded in the way that two unalike women sometimes did. It was hard to believe that somebody as young as Padme had died in childbirth, but, then again, it had been impossible to imagine that someone as youthful and healthy as Beru would be infertile.

Before Kenobi could answer in the affirmative, Beru shook her head, the tears now flowing down her cheeks, "Oh, stars. Life is so short. So terribly, terribly short, and I will never understand it."

"Padme's star will burn forever in the minds of those who knew her. She was a brave, intelligent, and compassionate woman. The galaxy is a lot emptier without her, and she will be missed." Kenobi ducked his head for a moment, and then forged on, "Her son—Anakin's child—needs a place to be raised away from an Empire that would kill him just for being the son of a powerful Jedi. Will you take him in and protect him? I know it's asking a lot, but—"

"You're too right, it is asking a lot, especially for a first meeting," snapped Owen, wishing that it would hurt Kenobi if he threw a wrench through the Jedi's holographic head. "It's asking us to risk our lives—because we can't be sure that Tatooine will remain out of Imperial reach—and you were the one who killed Anakin Skywalker."

"I believe that was done by another." Kenobi was pure ice.

"Well, I don't!" Owen snarled, slamming his right fist against his left palm. "You Jedi took him away from his own mother. Now he's dead when he should be here, safe as she always wanted. You made him fight in a war to save a Republic that was doomed to become an Empire and that probably wasn't even worth saving even if it could have been rescued by Jedi heroics. You made him risk his life for a government that killed him without a qualm. You let the media make him out to be some sort of idol, flying into battle after battle without a cringe, and now, he dies as a traitor, barely a blip in the news of the day. Not even mentioned by name as among the dead Jedi. What a generous reward to a lifetime spent as a slave to a corrupt Republic!"

"Accusations at this point are a useless waste of time." Kenobi made a placatory gesture. "The fact remains that Anakin Skywalker is dead, and his newborn son needs a home. Will you provide it, or should I look for another guardian for the boy? Will you shelter and nourish the boy who may be our galaxy's greatest hope?"

It was on the tip of Owen's tongue to snarl that Anakin had been a fool, Owen wasn't about to raise the son of a fool as his own, and Kenobi could use his rear end as a filing cabinet for the greatest hope of his universe, when Beru stepped in smoothly, saying, "Taking in a child is a big responsibility. My husband and I would like to discuss the matter privately in the kitchen for a few moments. Please excuse us."

"Of course." All courtesy, Kenobi nodded. "Take your time."

As soon as Owen followed his wife into the kitchen, she spun on him, her face more furious than he had ever glimpsed it.

"You might have been too busy fighting for the position of alpha male to notice it," she hissed, crossing her arms across her chest, "but I wasn't. I'm not about to let our chance at having a child pass, even if you are. This is a chance to have the baby we wanted ever since we were married. Don't throw that away in a fit of temper and pride."

"The boy's not ours," Owen retorted. "He's Anakin's. Let dead Anakin look after his own son. He was apparently a lot more concerned about having an adventure under the pretext of saving the galaxy than about caring for his family."

"So, you're going to let his baby son, who has never done anything to hurt you, suffer because you think his father was too selfish and irresponsible?" Beru asked, shaking her head. "Don't be hard-headed and hard-hearted, Owen. Let's take the child in and love him. Then he'll be ours in every way that counts. You'll see."

"I don't know," Owen said, but he was wavering. He wanted a son so badly. He wanted a boy he could teach how to farm, how to shoot, and how to be handy with tools. He wanted a child he could raise to be fair and honest, as his own father had raised him. He wanted a child he could talk and joke with, as he used to with his father. He wanted a young heart to keep him and his wife from getting too old too quickly in this harsh desert. "You want this really badly, don't you?"

"You should, too," chided Beru, arching an eyebrow at him. "The boy in question happens to be the grandchild of Shmi Skywalker—the woman who raised you and loved you as a son even though you shared not a drop of blood with her. Are you truly going to shove away a baby Shmi Skywalker would have welcomed with hugs and kisses?"

"Very well," Owen conceded, knowing that his stepmother's ghost would nag him in the most loving manner possible for the rest of his life if he refused to take in her grandson. "I'll do it for you, for Mom, and for the innocent baby, but I will not do it for Anakin Skywalker, the selfish fool."

"That's all I need to hear." Melting back into the affectionate creature Owen needed and loved, Beru kissed her husband gently on the lips. "Now you're talking sense."

"No," he corrected, brushing a lock of dark hair away from her face. "I'm talking emotional mumbo-jumbo now."

"Before you were talking angry mumbo-jumbo. Now you are talking loving mumbo-jumbo." Beru tapped him on the nose. "I consider that an improvement."

"I guess we better let Kenobi know we will be taking the boy." Owen grunted, walking toward the living room once more.

As he and Beru returned to the sofa, he said, "You'll be happy to know, Kenobi, that Beru and I are willing to raise the boy as our own son. What's the boy's name, by the way? You didn't say."

"Luke," Kenobi informed them, "but you can change it if you would like."

"We wouldn't want to confuse the baby." Beru shook her head.

"Luke is a solid name," Owen put in, thinking that Anakin could have been faulted for many things, but giving his son an awful name could not be listed among his shortcomings. Luke was a short and sensible name for a boy. Then, trying the boy's full name for the first time to see how it felt against his tongue, he said, "Luke Skywalker. As far as names go, it could be much worse."

"You can feel free to give Luke your surname, if you wish," Kenobi told them.

"Luke Lars is too alliterative." Owen's jaw twisted. "It sounds too cute or like the parents who named the kid are begging for some sort of recognition for their creativity. He'll carry the name Skywalker in honor of his grandmother, the only Skywalker I knew worth honoring."

"I'll come by your homestead at around dusk two days from now. Please call me Ben Kenobi in all future communications." All serenity, Kenobi seemed to ignore the insult to the memory of his best friend. "Thank you again for taking in what may be the galaxy's only hope."

"Luke's going to be a regular farmer." Glaring at the holographic figure in a stern warning, Owen placed his hands firmly on his chest. "He's not going to be tricked into playing the hero for some government that could care less whether he lives or dies. He's not going to go running off on selfish adventures. He's going to live safely with his family. He's not going to be some sort of Jedi, so you can stop calling him your hope right now, Kenobi."

"I'll stop saying it, but I won't stop thinking it." With that final defiance, Kenobi disappeared from the comm unit.

"Arrogant fool," grumbled Owen, switching off the comm unit. Then, remembering that babies needed cradles, food, blankets, toys, and books, he muttered, "I suppose you'll be wanting to travel to Anchorhead tomorrow to buy everything we need to raise our little Luke."

"Oh, I don't think we can buy everything in Anchorhead." Beru chuckled, massaging Owen's neck. "I think we'll have to make the patience and the wisdom ourselves."

"We're farmers." Owen reached back to rub her fingers. "We're used to making things."