Chapter Text
Luke Skywalker stood impatiently under the meager shade of a moisture vaporator house, his nerves stretched tighter than a Tusken bowstring. Owen Lars, looking a good twenty years older than his age, waited beside him.
In front of them, through the thick and shimmering air, a sleek black Imperial ship was slowly descending upon on the sand. The twin suns were blazing that day and the temperature was fierce, even for Tatooine standards.
"Do we really have to do this?" Luke asked, huffing in frustration. "I mean a tax collector?"
"We make nice, be polite and give them no reason to look any closer at our operation." Owen's voice was calm, but held the same tension clearly visible in his posture.
"What's so special about this one?" Luke grumbled, lifting his hand above his eyes. "Seems there are better things we could be doing. "
Owen took a deep breath, reminding himself to be patient. He loved his nephew, but the boy had a grating habit of questioning every single thing to death.
"This one is of high value to the Empire," he started, carefully. "They've sent Tarkin's niece to do the job and they don't want anything happening to her."
"So, we're gonna babysit some Imperial princess while she bleeds us dry?" Luke didn't bother to hide his irritation. The mention of that name alone had already made his stomach churn. Everyone knew the story of the formidable Grand Moff Tarkin, the Emperor's top officer. And now his niece would be collecting the regional taxes from moisture farmers who could barely scrape enough together to keep their equipment running.
The ship's boarding ramp lowered itself to the ground and the door slid open releasing six white stormtroopers. They were fully armed and immediately pointed their weapons at Owen and Luke.
"Great," Luke mumbled under his breath.
"Hands up, now," one of them ordered. "We need to search you for weapons."
Luke sighed, following his uncle's lead, raising his arms above his head. The troopers wasted no time before they were on them, using their own weapons to poke and prod a little too invasively.
The first trooper nodded to the others. "They're clean. Miss Tarkin may proceed."
A second trooper then disappeared inside the ship, returning a moment later to stand rigidly with the other six.
Everything stayed silent for what seemed like an eternity.
And then finally a figure appeared at the top of the ramp.
Rain Tarkin was nothing at all like Luke expected. The other tax collectors had been older and more sterile in appearance. This woman was young, probably his age.
And to say that she was beautiful didn't quite cover it.
She stood there as if she didn't just own the ship, but the entire planet beneath her. Her glowing skin was a lighter reflection of her mother's rich mocha tone. Straightened brown hair had been streaked with expensive shades of blonde, and the tailored cream dress clinging to her frame looked completely out of place in Anchorhead.
Her eyes swept across the platform before they first landed on Uncle Owen and then on Luke. She looked at them in the way someone might look at a stain on their boot.
"Very funny, guys," she said addressing the troopers in the clipped accent of the core worlds. "Where is the camera?"
The stormtroopers didn't reply, standing silently on either side of the boarding ramp, their hands still close to their weapons.
“Oh, you don’t want to answer me?” she said sweetly. “Adorable. My uncle’s prison block has been dying for six new janitors. I’ll put your names at the top.”
Owen carefully stepped forward. "Welcome to Tatooine, Miss Tarkin. I'm Owen Lars and this is my nephew, Luke. We're honored to meet you."
"You're honored to meet a tax collector?" Rain Tarkin snorted, as she strutted her way down in spiked heeled boots that echoed loudly with each step. "You obviously don't get out much."
As she got closer, Luke couldn't help but notice the way the sun reflected the gold-amber streaks in her eyes.
"This really isn't a holomovie set," she observed as she looked up at the the deep cerulean sky. "You people actually live in this place?" The look on her face was one of genuine bewilderment.
"We call it home." Owen forced a smile and offered his hand to help her down. Rain smacked it away and immediately paid the price when the pointed heel of her shoe caught on something in the sand. She thrashed around awkwardly trying to free herself before taking a hard bellyflop to the ground.
She lay there on her stomach for a moment, not hurt, but secretly mortified. The desert had never been more silent; no one wanting to be the first to acknowledge the situation. The quiet didn't last for long as Rain unleashed a series of curse words, caustic enough to make the most hardened of smugglers blush - language so disturbing that even the stormtroopers, briefly frozen in a terrified stupor, snapped out of it and rushed to her side.
Luke tried not to look directly at the spectacle in front of him - two Bantha's trying to help an ungrateful Wampa might have pulled off a smoother rescue. Once the pair of unfortunate troopers had finally gotten her to her feet, their efforts were rewarded with an aggressive slap or two as well as a couple of derogatory names that likely left them in tears under their helmets.
Rain Tarkin did not like to look foolish in front of others, and fury was her favorite tool to mask her embarrassment.
"This is unacceptable," she yelled towards them. "How do you expect me to walk in this chaos?"
Owen's smile tightened almost imperceptibly. "I'm afraid the whole planet is sand, Miss Tarkin."
"Then do something about it!"
"We could carry you," he offered politely.
Luke had to bite on his tongue, hoping his uncle wasn't being serious. He'd sooner carry a Hutt across Anchorhead.
"You will do no such thing," Rain replied indignantly, before turning her attention back to the stormtroopers. "Why are you standing there like six gormless idiots? Find me some footwear. Now!"
Luke kept his head down scratching the back of his neck, trying to hide his smile. Fortunately for him, Rain was too busy trying to blame Owen for her humiliating fall, that she didn't notice.
"This place is a complete mess. What do you people even do all day?" She placed her hands on her hips. "A fifteen percent tax increase should motivate you to clean up some of this sand."
"That's impossible. It runs miles deep into the bottom of the planet." Owen thought she must be joking, but Rain held up her hand.
"Are you going for twenty, Mr. Lars? I'm not in the mood to listen to complaints. I just spent two days traveling in that garbage can with six of these discount stormtroopers. I'm tired, injured and this heat is unbearable."
One of the troopers appeared with a pair of men's shoes. "This is the best you could do?" she snapped. Do I look like a man?"
Before he could answer, she snatched one of the shoes from his hand and whacked him with it. Then, as if assaulting Imperial soldiers with footwear were as routine as breathing, she calmly plopped herself down on a rock and began unlacing her boots.
"The rate will be fifteen percent higher," she said to Owen as she put her feet in the flats that were way too big. "You'll pay it without complaining. That's how this works."
Luke felt a surge of anger rise in his chest. "And if we can't pay it?"
Rain's head snapped toward him, pure contempt in her expression. She looked him up and down slowly, taking in his worn boots and sun-faded tunic. The corner of her mouth turned up but she wasn't smiling.
"I'm sorry," she said, her tone suggesting she was anything but. "Did the help just speak to me?"
"I'm not…" Luke began, but Owen's hand shot out, gripping his arm hard enough to hurt.
"Luke," Owen said in a quiet warning tone.
Rain stood on her feet, her smirk growing. "No, please continue. You were about to tell me what happens if you can't pay, which is precious, really, because I'm quite curious as to what you think your options are." She gestured around them, with one hand sweeping across the empty landscape. "Will you file a complaint? Take it up with your local representative? Where exactly does he live? Under one of those rocks?"
"We can legally claim…"
"No, you can't, delusional squatter who thinks he's legitimate," she mocked. "There is nobody to complain to. Nobody cares enough to govern over your dust and desperation."
She started walking toward him, her feet slopping through the sand in her oversized shoes. She stopped in front of him, so close that he could smell her expensive floral perfume. She was the most physically beautiful person he'd ever seen, but it didn't matter. He disliked her more than anyone he had ever met in his entire life.
"I do hope you plan to change that unpleasant look on your face," Rain was a few inches shorter than Luke, but she still managed to pull herself up to level him. "I don't care to see you glaring at me while I'm staying at your homestead. Your uncle already agreed. Didn't you, Mr. Lars?"
Luke's head spun toward Owen, who wouldn't meet his eyes.
"The Empire requested…" Owen started.
"The Empire didn't request anything," Rain interrupted, stepping back and brushing imaginary dust from her dress. "I requested it. Because the alternative was the Imperial barracks in Mos Eisley, and I'd rather die than spend one night in whatever bacterial nightmare is likely growing in that establishment."
She looked at Luke again, the smirk back on her face. "Don't look so horrified, farm boy. I'm sure your little mud hut will be adequate. I'll try not to raise my standards too dramatically."
"It's not a mud hut," Luke said through gritted teeth. "It's a homestead."
"I promise you I don't care what you call it. I just need a place to board while I conduct my assessment of whatever taxable assets there are for this region." She called toward the ship, raising her voice after the troopers. "What are you dunderheaded fools doing? Where is my luggage?"
Two stormtroopers quickly emerged, struggling with four or five oversized trunks that probably cost more than one of their vaporators.
"This is insane," Luke kept his voice so low that only Owen could hear. "She's a nightmare. We can't…"
"We can and we will," Owen said firmly. "Keep your mouth shut, boy. You don't know who you're dealing with."
But as Luke watched Rain Tarkin supervise the unloading of her belongings with impatient gestures and cutting remarks to the troopers, he thought he knew exactly who he was dealing with.
A beautiful, spoiled, vicious monster who couldn't even pretend to be human.
Rain turned to him as if she could hear this thoughts. "Well? Are we just going to stand here waiting for our skin to wrinkle? Or is somebody going to show me to my accommodations?"`
Luke opened his mouth to say something he would probably regret, but Owen had already moved in front of him.
"Of course, Miss Tarkin. Right this way. We'll make sure you're comfortable."
"Comfortable," Rain rolled her eyes. "On Tatooine? Well. I suppose there's a first time for everything."
She swept past them toward the landspeeder, leaving the troopers to flounder around with her luggage and Luke staring after her in horror.
A life not easy was about to become a life unbearable.
The journey in the landspeeder was possibly the longest thirty minutes of Luke's life, and he thought nothing could be more painful than the afternoon he'd spent listening to his uncle and his farmer friends argue over who had the most efficient moisture vaporator maintenance schedule.
Rain Tarkin sat rigidly in the passenger seat, a silk scarf covering her nose and mouth. Every bump brought a new onslaught of complaints.
When they finally crossed the ridge and the homestead came into view, her scarf dropped from her face and she climbed out of the speeder toward the entrance.
"Where's the door? Please tell me there is one and not just some tattered fabric flapping in the wind."
"There's a door," Owen said.
"That's the first piece of good news I've heard since I left Coruscant."
Aunt Beru met them at the entrance, wiping her hands on her apron and wearing the smile she reserved for the most trying of occasions.
"Miss Tarkin, welcome to our home. I'm Beru. I hope your journey wasn't too difficult."
Rain folded her arms across her chest. "Difficult would be putting it mildly. "This planet is a dump, and your husband drives like he's actively trying to kill me. I may never recover from that ride."
Beru's eye's widened but her smile didn't waver, which Luke found genuinely impressive. He had been actively fighting the overwhelming urge to throttle Rain.
"Well then," Beru continued, keeping her tone even. "I should probably show you to your room. I'm sure you'd like to wash up."
"I'd like to burn these clothes, but washing up would be a start."
They entered the homestead, moving through the circular courtyard toward the modest dwelling spaces.
"I guess it's better than being outside." Rain observed as she looked around their home.
"Your room is this way," Beru said, leading her down the corridor.
Luke heard Rain's voice echo back. "Well, it's not much of a closet but I'll try to work with it. Where might the room be?"
"This is the whole room, dear."
There was a long drawn out silence.
Then came the clipped accent again. "Surely, it's not legal for people sleep in here?"
Owen caught Luke's arm before he could follow them, pulling him aside to the workroom, where he closed the door. He turned to face his nephew with an expression that Luke knew all too well. It was the one that meant a lecture was incoming.
"Not one word," Owen said.
"I didn't say anything!"
"You were about to."
Luke crossed his arms. "She's the worst person I've ever met."
"She's Tarkin's niece."
"That's doesn't help her case."
Owen pinched the bridge of his nose. "Luke, I need you to understand something. That girl could have our farm seized, and get us shipped off to some mining colony before the suns set tonight. She has that kind of power."
"So, we're just supposed to let her insult us? Increase our taxes? Treat us like we're beneath her?"
"Yes," Owen said simply. "That's exactly what we do. Because the alternative is so much worse than you understand." He put a hand on Luke's shoulder. "I know you hate this. I hate it too. But sometimes surviving means swallowing your pride and being smart."
"This doesn't feel smart. It feels like abuse."
"The abuse will be a lot worse if we lose our freedom to the Empire. Trust me on that one." Owen's grip tightened. "Give her no reason to look deeper into our lives, Luke. No reason at all."
Luke bristled for a moment, but then he realized his uncle was right. "Fine," he conceded. "But I don't have to like it."
"Nobody's asking you to like it. Just endure it."
A crash echoed from the guest quarters, followed by Rain's voice: "Who designed this refresher, a sadist? The water is brown!"
"It's the minerals in the water system," Beru called back patiently. "It clears after a moment."
"This is not going to work. I demand clean water!"
"I'm going to check the vaporators," Luke said, hurrying toward the door.
"Coward," Owen grumbled.
"I prefer the term 'survivor,'" Luke replied, grateful to put the sound of Rain's shrieking voice behind him.
Luke was halfway through a diagnostic on Vaporator Seven when he heard footsteps behind him.
"So this is where you hide."
Luke turned to find Rain standing in the doorway, transformed from her earlier appearance. She was no longer wearing the white dress that looked like it belonged at some socialite party on Coruscant. She had pulled her hair back into a high ponytail and had changed into a simpler but still clearly expensive jumpsuit. She looked younger than before, and somehow softer. He soon found out that this was all just an optical illusion.
"I'm not hiding. I'm working."
"Sure, you are." She stepped into the room, looking around with curiosity. "What are these things?"
Luke gave her an odd look. "They're moisture evaporators. You know, the things you're supposed to figure out the taxes for."
"Shut up. I knew that," Rain said quickly, trying to cover her ignorance. "I really should have you arrested for insubordination."
"You're gonna have me arrested for answering your question?" Luke rolled his eyes, turning his back on her. "Is there something you wanted, or are you just here to threaten and insult me?"
There was a long pause. When Rain spoke again, her voice had lost some of its sharp edge.
"I thought about apologizing for my behavior earlier."
"And are you? Apologizing?"
"Not at all. I'm telling you that I thought about it. That's not the same and I'm not the least bit sorry."
Luke shook his head. "Well at least you're honest."
"Honesty is all I have left. My father stripped me of everything else and shipped me to this dust bowl as punishment." She leaned against the doorframe. "Do you know what I did to deserve this?"
"I'm guessing it was something terrible."
"I put a blanket around my head and pretended to be Emperor Palpatine at one of my parties. I do a great impression of him, my friends thought it was hilarious. But somebody filmed it and put it on the Holonet. And then my uncle saw it and… let's just say he wasn't remotely amused."
Despite himself, Luke almost smiled. "You do impressions of the Emperor?"
"Not anymore. Not after this barbaric punishment."
"Most people would be executed for something like that," he observed.
"In case you didn't notice, I'm not most people."
"Oh, I noticed just fine, " Luke replied dryly, reaching for one of his tools to unfasten a bolt. He tried to ignore the expression on Rain's face which had suddenly changed to one that made him distinctly uncomfortable.
"So, here's the situation, farm boy, " she began. "I'm going to make your life miserable, because that's the way my life is and I see no reason why I should suffer alone. But I'm not completely unreasonable, so I'll throw you a bone." She leaned on the door frame in a pose that was almost seductive.
"You help me get through this whole thing quickly and without incident. And in return, I'll minimize the damage to your little farming operation."
"That's not much of an offer."
"It's the only one you're going to get." She pushed off from the door frame, moving closer toward him. "Think about it. So far, I've been nice. But that can change real fast."
She winked at him, not a friendly wink. More of a warning of what was to come if he didn't comply. Then without another word, she turned and left.
Luke watched her leave, her footsteps fading down the corridor. He turned back to the vaporator, his tools feeling even heavier in his hands.
If there was one thing he didn't doubt, it would be her commitment to his misery.