The package is delivered.
I hope you can read my thoughts, Master Qui-Gon: I haven’t heard your voice since that day on Polis Massa, when Master Yoda told me I could commune with you through the Force. You’ll remember that we decided that I should take Anakin’s son to his relatives for safekeeping. That mission is now accomplished.
It feels so strange, being here, at this place and in this circumstance. Years ago, we removed one child from Tatooine, thinking him to be the galaxy’s greatest hope. Now I have returned one–with the same goal in mind. I hope it goes better this time. Because the path to this moment has been filled with pain. For the whole galaxy, for my friends–and for me.
I still can’t believe the Jedi Order is gone–and the Republic, corrupted and in the hands of Palpatine. And Anakin, corrupted as well. The holovids I saw of him slaughtering the Jedi younglings in the Temple still haunt my dreams…and shatter my heart into pieces, over and over again.
But after the horror of children’s deaths, a child may bring hope, as well. It’s as I said: the delivery is made. I’m standing on a ridge with my riding beast–a Tatooine eopie–looking back at the Lars homestead. Owen and Beru Lars are outside, holding the child. The last chapter is finished: a new one has begun.
I’ll look for a place nearby, though if I hang around too long, I half expect Owen will want me to move someplace else, farther away. There may be wisdom in that. I seem to attract trouble, even in such a remote place as this. There was some mischief yesterday at Anchorhead–and before that, some trouble in one of the spaceports I passed through. None of it was really about me, thankfully, or why I’m here. But I can’t afford to react to things as Obi-wan Kenobi anymore. I won’t be able to turn on my lightsaber without screaming “Jedi Knight” to everyone around. Even on Tatooine, I expect someone knows what it is!
So this will be it. From here on out, as long as it takes, I’m minding my own business and staying out of trouble. I can’t play Jedi for this world and help save other worlds at the same time. Isolation is the answer.
The city–even a village like Anchorhead–runs at too fast a pace. Out on the periphery, though, should be another story. I can already feel time moving differently–to the rhythm of the desert.
Yes, I expect things will be slower. I’ll be far from anywhere, and alone, with nothing but my regrets to keep me company.
If only there were a place to hide from those.
—Kenobi, by John Jackson Miller, pgs 8-9.
Read my review of Kenobi here.
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