Rating: G
Series: Set in the same universe as the _Interludes_ series.
Summary: Ben Kenobi and Owen Lars discuss Luke and life on
Tatooine.
I crossed my arms over my chest and watched the speeders line up below. Luke Skywalker, ten years old, manuevered his speeder into place, his blond hair shimmering in the sunlight. The other racers were all taller, older. Much older: boys who would leave for the Academy in a year or two, various aliens who lacked the skill to race pods, older men who fed their families on prize money.
Owen climbed the rock behind me. "Luke is racing today," I said, the calm statement empty of emotion.
"I can't keep him locked up, Ben. I can't even keep him in the kid's races--it's hard enough to keep him in the adult division." He stood next to me, his shoulder brushing mine. "You wouldn't believe what I've been offered to enter him in the pod races. Or sell him to one of the Hutt, so they can race him." He looked at me, his eyes narrowed against the suns. "They still remember his father here. For all he only won one race, Ben, they remember his skill--and they see it in Luke."
"I know. I see it too."
The signal was given, and the speeders leapt, metal flashing, engines thrumming, the sounds echoing up the walls of the canyon. Speeder racing was inexpensive and informal, not like the huge pod races that still commanded enormous entry fees and brought fame and fortune to the champions. No--we could not risk bringing any unnecessary attention to Luke Skywalker. The Hutt were one thing, but the Empire...well, Vader knew well enough who the only human pod-racer had been. Human speeder-racers were common enough, and Skywalker a common name on Tatooine. Despite his youth, Luke would draw no attention from the Empire in these races, although the Hutt might offer Owen larger and larger sums for the chance to race the boy.
That could be its own trouble, in time.
But not yet, and I could trust Owen. My brother was reliable, and he loved Luke like a son. I watched the race on the viewscreen, watched Luke whip around his opponents, as quick as thought.
"He's good," I said.
"I told you. Beru says--" He cut himself off, swallowed. "He's started asking about the Academy."
"I'm not surprised." I looked over at Owen, saw the lines that ten years on Tatooine had etched into his face. He was early old, my brother, battered by wind and sun, carrying the burden I'd given him. "He is his father's son."
"I know, Ben. I'm...afraid of him sometimes. And afraid for him."
I closed my eyes. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry."
"Don't be. I'm proud to have the raising of him. But...I wonder if I'll end up like you, blaming myself for something I couldn't prevent."
I laughed and opened my eyes. "I don't blame myself for Anakin. He never had a chance against Palpatine. Older and wiser men fell prey to that one--my own Master among them." I looked at the viewscreen again, saw Luke slam his speeder into an opponent's, then dodge a large rock, his reflexes Jedi-fast. "I blame myself for not being the master Anakin needed. I blame myself for not protecting Amidala. But for Anakin's turning--no. Not any more." I touched him, lightly, on the shoulder. "I blame myself for putting you and Beru through all of this."
He turned away, crossed his arms, and studied the viewscreen, watching Luke take a sharp corner sideways. "I told you. I'm proud to be raising him. I wouldn't miss it for anything." I looked at his fingernails, dry and cracked; his clothes, covered in sand and grit; the harsh lines on his face. "Don't worry about me, Ben. I wasn't meant to be a gentleman farmer on a soft green world. This--this desert--" He swept his arm out at the rock-and-sand seas of Tatooine, his rough, worn hand suddenly elegant. "This desert, Ben, is where I was meant to be. Raising the son of Vader is what brought me here, and I'm grateful."
I stood there, next to him, in silence. He knew me well enough to know I'd heard, and believed.
Below us, Luke won the race, a half-lap ahead of his nearest competitor.