Home: An Exiles Tale
by DBKate and KassPart 1
The nights are immense here in the Tatooine desert, the darkness shattered as the first of six moons flood reflected light over the endless wastes, rays dancing golden in their fullness.
In the distance, the night creatures sing and fill the thin air with chirps and cricks of warning, hunger and desire. Bright stars shimmer overhead and dry winds blow, chilling the inside of our tiny home, making us shiver even after a day of relentless heat.
It's a strange, harsh world we live in now, Qui-Gon and I.
We are both older, though not exactly wiser, but I think we are slowly learning. Learning how to live the life of ordinary men, men who would deny with their dying breath that they were ever Jedi, finally understanding things most others take for granted.
Things we never needed to understand before.
We now negotiate bleak dunes instead of trade agreements. We fight unreliable machines instead of enemies of the Republic. We battle for our daily lives -- for food and water and shelter, instead of a galaxy's honor.
We survive and claim another war won with every sunrise we see.
Yes, it is a strange, harsh life we live, but it's softened by the comfort we take in each other. Survival is a welcome fight as long as Qui-Gon is by my side and I by his.
My own, my life-bonded and beloved. I welcome his weight and warmth against my chest at night, welcome the sight of him each morning, his sleepy eyes not yet accustomed to the sharp light of Tatooine's brutal dawn.
We rise with the suns because we have no choice. We must move or die, for there is no rest for the creatures who would live on this cruel world.
This morning I watch as he rubs his eyes and glares angrily at his reflection in the wall glass. He's looking at the lines that crease his forehead, at the silver mass of hair that's become tangled after another restless night beside me.
He threatens to cut it off as I pick up the comb and quietly bid him to sit. He obeys and I tell him about the day that lies ahead while gently picking through the knots and tangles that plague him.
Afterwards, I braid his hair until it hangs down his back in a single, shining silver plait, until it is softer than kempur silk and twice as beautiful.
He grumbles while I work, then smiles at me via the glass when I'm done, amused by this small ritual of ours.
I return the smile and we laugh, knowing that tomorrow and the day after and the day after that will be exactly the same.
He will threaten, I will braid and then, we'll laugh.
Hopefully, for the rest of our lives.
"Besides," I whisper as I kiss his cheek. "How can I undo it tonight if you cut it off today?"
Qui-Gon laughs even louder at this. He knows what pleasure I take in undoing my morning's work while we lay in bed where he is rewarded for his patience with kisses, then with love, slow and knowing.
Our nightly lovemaking is a far cry from the frantic groping of a decade past but is just as satisfying in its own calm way. We know each other intimately now and this silent knowledge adds a depth to our passion only time can bring.
It adds a peace only we can know.
This isn't to say we lack creativity. Our last adventure outside probably had the night creatures squeaking for days and I doubt the sand now imbedded in our blanket will ever fully dissipate.
But most nights are not for adventurous living. They're a time for peace and joy, a time when I can enjoy Qui-Gon looking at me with his infinite eyes, while his voice and bright body keep me warm. Soft kisses are shared until I want to touch him everywhere, inside and out, then watch as the night whitens his profile with moonlight.
This is what makes me rise every morning and work my hands raw while the furious suns burn my skin and soul until they sear away whatever is left of my youth.
It is for him and for the legacy we have sworn to protect.
A legacy which has finally returned to haunt us.
It's high noon, the hottest part of the day, and I'm struggling with a vaporizer lever that simply doesn't want to budge. I wipe the sweat from my brow and hear a sharp tap of metal against rock. The sound makes me tense but I make no move toward it, instead, I continue to work.
Slowly, I turn and pretend I am reaching for another tool while taking a quick Jedi-thorough check of my surroundings. One can't be too careful on this hostile world -- enemies lurk in every corner, they hide behind every dune.
I squint into the sunlight, my body and mind at the ready. The source of the noise immediately becomes clear and I huff with surprise at the sight.
It is a 'droid.
An old fashioned astrotech repair 'droid from the looks of it, with its squat barrel and three-pronged wheel carriage clumsily huddled into a rock crevice to my left. It's a rather dented and battle-scratched machine and I take a moment to examine it while its single 'eye' returns the favor.
I wave it forward. "Hello. Don't be afraid my friend, I won't hurt you."
It gives a short whistle in reply and hesitantly waddles toward me.
Suddenly, I recognize this 'droid. Kneeling beside it, I search for its identification tag and read its call numbers, just to make sure.
R2-D2 - 1S82DK18.
I'm right, it is Artoo-Detoo, Queen Amidala's 'droid, the one who saved her yacht during that first fateful flight from Naboo.
Perhaps I'm assuming too much, but I could swear this faithful machine is more than just a simple bundle of circuits and components, for very often it has seemed much the friend, more so than many of the living creatures we've met in our travels.
"Welcome, little one. Come inside, out of the sun." Rising, I bid the 'droid to follow me and it rolls noisily over desert stones, beeping and humming softly in its own mysterious mechanical language.
We enter the house together and the little machine whistles a loud greeting to Qui-Gon who is busily preparing our supper.
He whirls around and stares at the 'droid. "What's this?" Surprised.
I settle on a workbench and motion the 'droid closer. "Don't you remember? It's our old friend from days past, Artoo-Detoo."
Qui-Gon peers closely at the little 'droid. "Yes, it does look somewhat familiar." He pauses and a flicker of worry crosses his features. "But why is it here?"
I shrug and wipe a bit of dust from Artoo's metal covering. "We'll have to assume it's brought us a message." I lean toward the small 'droid. "Is this the case?"
A soft beep in the affirmative.
Qui-Gon nods and folds his arms uncomfortably over his chest. I can see him biting the inside of his lip in a rare gesture of discomfiture. "Whatever news it brings, it can't be good."
"I'm afraid we won't know until we hear it." I bend down and squint at the 'droid's front panel. Study it for a moment before I make a few standard passes over its minute controls and immediately, a holotape recording flickers to life.
I'm more than a little surprised to see the familiar face of Prince Bail Organa of Alderaan speaking to us from somewhere within his palace, his image cloudy from a bad recording, the projection hazy as if rushed and filmed in dim light.
Bail's voice is slow and measured and it's obvious that his words are carefully chosen. "To Benjamin and Kale, greeting. It is with great sorrow I must inform you that our mutual friend will soon no longer be with us. It is our friend's most fervent wish that one of you will be so kind as to come and ease our friend's mind on certain important matters that are held near to our friend's heart. Enclosed in this 'droid's carry case you'll find all that is necessary to accommodate any needs you may have in regards to this trip. I regret that I am unable to give you this message in person but I'm sure we all understand the need for discretion, particularly in regards to our beloved friend, who, as always, is held dear to us. Salutnus Rex, Bail Organa, Alderaan."
I feel the blood drain from my face and swallow past a tightening throat. It's a convoluted, coded message Bail sends, but to Qui-Gon and myself, its meaning is painfully clear.
Our mutual friend -- Amidala -- is dying.
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