[[Next chapter is were many or even more questions will be answered or made]]
The cockpit was bathed in the soft glow of hyperspace. Through the viewport, stars stretched into pale streaks against a swirling blue backdrop. The only sound was the gentle hum of the hyperdrive. I sat in the navigator's chair, legs dangling, while Father stood behind me with arms crossed, from what I could see of his reflection. In the co-pilot's seat, Shmi clutched a small bundle of her few belongings. She was free, but she looked uncertain, as if still expecting the nightmare of Tatooine to snatch her back.
For a long moment, none of us spoke. Shmi's eyes were on the blur of stars ahead. I could see her hands tremble slightly in her lap, the aftermath of fear and adrenaline slowly ebbing. Finally, her gaze drifted over to me. "Why me?" she asked quietly. Her voice was hoarse but steady. "Why did you… Save me? You don't even know me." There was only genuine confusion in her voice.
I felt Father's attention on me, but he stayed silent. Shmi deserved an answer, but the truth was complicated. I knew exactly why we'd saved her. I knew who Shmi Skywalker was: the mother of Anakin Skywalker, the boy prophesied to bring balance to the Force. In another life, in the galaxy's intended future, Shmi would have remained a slave on Tatooine for years after Anakin left. She had made the hardest choice, urging her son to follow his dreams while she stayed behind, believing her own place and future were on Tatooine. Anakin had promised to return and free her one day, but fate had other plans. In that future I remembered, Shmi's suffering and tragic death became the breaking point that pushed Anakin toward the dark Side. That was why I'd insisted we couldn't leave her behind in Jabba's palace. But I could never tell Shmi any of this. No one could know I carried knowledge of a life not yet lived.
I swallowed, pushing down the heavy thoughts, and managed a small, reassuring smile. "I saved you because…" I lied. "Because I had a vision. A Force vision about you." The words hung in the air between us. I tried to keep my voice calm, matter-of-fact, as if a six-year-old having prophetic visions were nothing unusual. "I saw that you were important, Shmi. That you needed to be saved."
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Father's brow lift a fraction. He was studying me and Shmi with quiet interest, but he didn't interject. Shmi blinked, absorbing what I'd said. "A Force vision… about me?" She looked down as if trying to reconcile the idea with the reality of who she was. I could almost hear her unspoken thought: I'm just a slave… was a slave. She shook her head slowly. "I'm nobody important, dear. I'm just a mother." Her tone was humble and bewildered. "Why would the Force show you me?"
I unbuckled my harness and hopped down from my chair, taking a timid step closer to her. "I don't know why," I admitted softly. It wasn't difficult to inject honesty into my voice. My vision story was a fabrication, but the uncertainty I expressed was real. "Sometimes the Force guides us to do things we can't fully understand. I just… I had a feeling that helping you was the right thing to do." I clasped my small hands in front of me, hoping she couldn't see the slight tremor in them. Lying to someone as kind as Shmi made my stomach twist, but it was a necessary sin. "So when I felt that, I knew we had to get you out of there. I'm sorry if it sounds strange."
Shmi's eyes searched my face. In the soft light, I saw how tired she was, deep shadows under her eyes, a faint bruise on her cheek. But there was a warmth in her gaze that hadn't been there on Tatooine, a fragile hope taking root. "It does sound strange," she admitted, a faint, bewildered smile pulling at her lips. "But… I suppose I can't deny any of it. You did save me." She paused, wetting her cracked lips. "All my life, I thought my path ended on Tatooine. I never imagined leaving that world." Her voice grew even quieter. "When the Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn freed my son years ago but couldn't free me, I accepted it. I told Anakin my place was on Tatooine, and not to look back. It was the hardest thing I've ever done, letting him go." She inhaled a shaky breath, and her eyes grew distant with the memory. "I made my peace with staying behind. I never thought anyone would come for me."
I felt a sting of emotion in my chest at her words. I'd seen that moment in my mind's eye so many times, Shmi standing in the dusty streets, forcing a brave smile as she told Anakin goodbye. Now here she was, torn away from the only life she knew and struggling to understand why. I gently reached out and placed my hand over hers. "You didn't deserve to be left there," I said, my childish voice filled with a conviction far too old for my age. "No one does. It wasn't fair." My fingers curled around Shmi's work-worn hand. I expected she'd feel callouses or roughness, but her hand was surprisingly gentle and warm despite a slight tremor.
She looked at our joined hands and then back at me, eyes shining. "Qui-Gon did what he could," she murmured. Ever the forgiving soul. "And Anakin… he promised he would come back to free me, once he became a Jedi. I never blamed my son, but part of me…" Her voice caught, and she gave a tiny, apologetic laugh for letting the emotion slip. "Part of me hoped it might happen. Some nights I'd stare at the stars and wonder if he'd found his freedom among them." A tear escaped down her cheek, and she wiped it quickly, almost ashamed.
My throat tightened. "He hasn't forgotten you," I whispered. This part, at least, I didn't have to lie about. I knew Anakin's heart, perhaps better than anyone here, because of the show. "Your son loves you, Shmi. And… I thought you should know—" I glanced over my shoulder at Father, seeking a nod of permission. He gave a subtle one. "Anakin is free. He's training to become a Jedi now, on Coruscant. He's safe." I managed a small smile. "He's doing well."
Shmi's lips parted in surprise. Clearly, she hadn't expected news of her son. "You know about my Ani?" she whispered. Her free hand pressed to her heart. "He's really… a Jedi now?"
Father stepped forward quietly, standing at my shoulder. "He's a Padawan learner, from what I hear," he added in a low, courteous tone. It was the first time he'd spoken since we'd entered hyperspace. "Quite a gifted one, by all accounts."
Shmi closed her eyes, and more tears slipped down her cheeks, though her expression was one of relief. She bowed her head, overcome for a moment. I stayed by her side, holding her hand as tightly as my little grip allowed. "Thank you," she said, voice trembling. "Thank you for telling me. That's all I ever wanted to know, he's safe and happy." She opened her eyes again, blinking away the tears. The faint smile she gave us then was genuine and filled with gratitude. "You've given me hope... Thank you..."
A comfortable silence fell as Shmi composed herself. I sensed that a weight she'd carried for years had lifted, just by hearing those words about Anakin. Eventually, she looked at me with a mixture of wonder and affection that I recognized. It was the way my own mother might have looked at me in my past life, or how Shmi must have looked at Anakin. "You're an extraordinary girl," she said softly. "The Force must be strong with you to show you such things." Her eyes drifted to Father, then back to me. It seemed a new question was forming in her mind, one she wasn't sure she should ask. She hesitated, then asked in a careful tone, "Are you… Jedi's?"
The word Jedi hung in the air. I felt myself flinch ever so slightly. My reaction was probably imperceptible, but I had to lower my gaze, breaking eye contact. A knot of complicated emotion pulled tight in my chest. I respected the ideals of the Jedi, but I did not like being associated with them. Not after what I knew… and not when I had seen the hurt in Shmi's eyes from being left behind by the Order's rules. Sensing my discomfort, Father stepped in smoothly.
"We are not Jedi, Shmi," he said, his baritone voice gentle. He shifted a half-step closer, a polite incline of his head accompanying the words. "Not anymore."
Shmi's eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. "Oh." She looked at our clothing, we certainly didn't wear the robes of Jedi, especially Father in his tailored traveling coat and polished boots. Perhaps the question had been silly in hindsight. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to presume… It's just, with the Force and visions, I thought—"
"It's alright," I cut in quietly, offering her a reassuring smile. I didn't want her to feel bad for asking. "We use the Force, but we don't answer to the Jedi Council." That was the simplest way to put it. I released Shmi's hand then, suddenly self-conscious that I'd been clinging to it. My gaze flicked to Father. He was unreadable as ever, but I knew this much: he had his own complicated feelings about the Jedi, about what they'd failed to do for the galaxy… and perhaps for Shmi. His eyes softened as they rested on Shmi, and I could tell he bore her no resentment for the question.
Shmi nodded slowly. "I see. Well, whatever you are…" Her voice gained a touch of lightness, almost teasing, as if whatever you are might encompass a dozen possibilities in this strange galaxy. "…I am grateful. Truly grateful." She looked between Father and me with earnestness. "I owe both of you my life and my freedom."
Father inclined his head again. "You owe us nothing," he said quietly. "We couldn't in good conscience leave you to that fate." His tone was matter-of-fact, but I knew him well enough to hear the undercurrent of empathy. He might not be a Jedi Knight anymore, but Count Dooku was still, at heart, a man who despised injustice.
Shmi let out a shaky breath, as if she'd been holding it. Her posture relaxed for the first time since we'd gotten on the ship. She sat back against the seat, eyes roaming the cockpit, the controls, the gentle blinking lights on the console, the hyperspace swirls outside, as if finally realizing this was real. She really was off Tatooine, escaping to a new life. A small laugh of disbelief escaped her. "I still can't believe I'm here," she admitted. "Free." Saying the word free brought a smile to her lips. She tested it again: "I'm free." A quiet laugh, equal parts joy and astonishment, followed.
I found myself smiling too. "Yes. You are." There was a pride in my voice I couldn't hide. Shmi had endured so much, and yet she remained so kind, so gracious. To play a part in giving her freedom felt… immensely rewarding.
She turned that warm, motherly gaze on me once more. "And what about you, little one?" she asked. "All that excitement back there… Are you holding up okay?" Her concern was genuine, ever the caretaker, even after all she'd been through. It surprised me, and touched me deeply, that she would worry about me after just having her entire world turned upside down.
"I'm alright," I said, a bit shyly. In truth, I was exhausted, and now that the danger was past, I could feel the adrenaline crash coming. But I also felt lighter than air knowing we'd succeeded. "It was scary, but I'm okay."
Shmi gave me a soft smile and, in an instinctive gesture, reached out to smooth a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The tenderness of that simple act froze me for a second. It had been a very long time since anyone touched me with such motherly affection besides my aunt. I didn't pull away; instead, I leaned ever so subtly into her hand. Shmi noticed, and her smile grew, eyes shining with unshed tears again. "Such a brave girl," she murmured. Heat rose to my cheeks at the praise, and I glanced down, fiddling with the hem of my sleeve. "I'm not that brave," I protested softly. "I was… I was so afraid we wouldn't get out."
"But you didn't let fear stop you," Shmi said. She glanced up at Father. "Neither of you did. You both risked so much for me, a stranger. That is bravery and kindness I can never repay."
Father stepped forward and gently laid a hand on my shoulder. I could feel the reassuring weight of it, grounding me. "As I said, you owe us nothing," he reiterated in a kindly but formal tone. "Consider this a new beginning for you. What happens next is entirely your choice."
Shmi looked between us, brow creasing slightly. "My choice…" She hadn't had a true choice in anything for a long time; the concept almost confused her. "I don't even know where to begin deciding something like that." She hesitated, then added in a worried tone, "I have nowhere to go. No family except Ani, and he's… he's out of reach. I don't want to be a burden to either of you."
"You're not a burden," I said quickly. "We're happy to have you with us." I glanced up at Father for confirmation. He gave a single nod.
"Our ship will be stopping on Serenno," Father explained. "That is my homeworld. You will be safe there, and welcome to stay as long as you wish. If you have other wishes later, we will, of course, do whatever we can to help you." His voice carried the refined assurance of a man used to solving problems. I realized, perhaps for the first time, that by rescuing Shmi we had effectively taken her into our family, however unofficially. Father was treating her with the dignity he would afford any guest under his protection.
Shmi brought a hand to her mouth, overcome again. "Your homeworld… You'd take me there?"
"Certainly," Father replied, almost surprised she would doubt it. "There are plenty of opportunities on Serenno for someone as resourceful as you. Or if you prefer, we can arrange transportation to any planet of your choosing once you're ready. The choice is yours, Shmi."
She bowed her head, speechless for a moment. When she looked back up, tears were freely rolling down her cheeks, but her face glowed with quiet happiness. "Thank you… I don't even know how to express it.... thank you both so much." She reached out and took Father's hand in both of hers. It was a bold gesture, but in her eyes, he saw only sincere gratitude. Father stiffened in surprise; he wasn't used to being touched by anyone but me, but he recovered and gave her hand a courteous squeeze before releasing it. I caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his aristocratic features.
Shmi settled back again, dabbing at her tears with the corner of her sleeve. "I feel like I'm dreaming," she said with a watery laugh. "If I am, I don't ever want to wake up."
"This is real," I assured her gently. A comfortable drowsiness was beginning to steal over me; the emotional toll of the day was catching up. I climbed back into my seat, suddenly aware of how heavy my eyelids felt. "You're free, Shmi. We're really on our way to a better place."
Shmi observed me fondly, noting my fatigue. "You should rest, dear," she said softly. Ever the mother, she added, "You've had a long day." She reached over, grabbed something from my father, and tucked the end of the blanket wrapped around my shoulders a bit tighter, making sure I was snug.
I nodded, too tired to protest that I wanted to stay up and keep her company. "Maybe just for a little while," I murmured. I fought a yawn and lost. My body was demanding recovery, even if my mind was far older inside tried to push on.
Father moved back to the pilot's seat and checked a few readings on the navicomputer. Satisfied that all was in order, he powered down some of the console lights to a dim night setting. The cockpit lighting lowered to a calmer hue, almost twilight-like. "There's still some hours left in our first jump," he said quietly. "We'll all have time to rest."
Shmi looked at the single corridor leading out of the cockpit, guessing at the ship's layout. "I can take one of the crew bunks, or even just curl up here," she offered, not wanting to assume too much hospitality.
"Nonsense," Father replied. "There's a proper cabin for you just down the passage, second door on the right. The bed is made. It's yours for the duration of our voyage."
A flush of color warmed Shmi's cheeks. The kindness of it all seemed to overwhelm her anew. "Thank you," she whispered. She rose from the co-pilot's seat, a bit unsteady on her feet until the inertial compensator caught up with her movement. Before leaving, she placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Sleep well, brave one."
I tilted my head up to look at her. "Goodnight, Shmi," I said, giving her a tired but sincere smile. "I'm glad you're here with us."
Her eyes shone as she nodded. "Me too." There was so much she wasn't saying that I was starting to feel with the force, gratitude, relief, even the lingering confusion at the strange turns of fate. We had saved her, and now it seemed she oddly felt the need to take care of me. Perhaps it gave her comfort to have someone to nurture again. And for me… I realized I liked it. I liked having Shmi fuss over me, even a little. It felt nice.
Shmi gave Father a polite nod as well. "Goodnight, Count," she offered, almost shyly formal. He responded with a courteous half-bow of his head. With that, Shmi slipped out of the cockpit, her footsteps soft down the corridor toward the cabin. Father and I were left alone in the gentle thrumming silence.
I remained awake long enough to see Father sink into the co-pilot's seat Shmi had vacated. He let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his silvered hair. There was a thoughtful look on his face as he stared at the tunnel of hyperspace ahead. Perhaps he was pondering all that had happened, the risks we'd taken. But when his eyes met mine, he gave me that rare, small smile reserved only for me. Pride and affection twinkled there.
"You did well," he said softly. High praise, coming from him. I felt a warmth bloom in my chest and returned his smile with a sleepy one of my own. "Thank you, Father."
He reached over and squeezed my shoulder gently. "Get some rest, Liora." I closed my eyes at the sound of my name. Saving Shmi Skywalker was one of the best decisions we had ever made. As my breathing deepened and I drifted on the edge of sleep, I heard the soft creak of Father leaning back in his chair, keeping watch. I could imagine Shmi in the cabin down the hall, perhaps lying awake for a while on a real bed, mind racing with possibilities.