Devotion

by adalric

Chapter One

It was nearing ship´s midnight when the report finally came in. It was about time. For the last several hours, Darth Vader had paced the room incessantly, squeezing his hands impatiently with his mind brooding and exploring its own darkest areas. And when the console on his desk finally gave an affirmative beep he instantly stirred from his fruitless thoughts.

He went over to read the displayed message. Another hint of the prey's whereabouts, but this time a promising one.

Darth Vader allowed himself a small smile, hidden savely behind his ebony mask so that noone would see it and maybe draw false conclusions. "When was this filed in?" he asked the ship's captain who had just entered the reception area of his quarters and who was exceptionally nervous and sweating. If he had time he would be bored by this frequent display of fear and incompetence amongst his officers. He chose to ignore it, as he always tried to do when he did not have the energy and patience to draw on these emotions as was the nature of the dark side.

"Half an hour ago, mylord. The contact seems to be a professional information seller of whom the Empire has made use before. He seems to be reliable."

Vader looked up, scrutinizing the man for a long, quiet moment. His voice was cold and had more than an edge of challenge as he spoke: "You choose your words carefully. Is he or is he not to be trusted?"

He saw the man swallow, probably cursing himself for trying to play word games with a Dark Lord. "The information he has sold before has always been reliable. We have no reason to believe it is now otherwise."

Vader was quiet for another dreadfully long and silent moment. He probed the Force but it did not answer his request for guidance. "Very well. Set course for Gardha, then. Best speed available."

"Yes, mylord", the young man said, turned and headed out of the Dark Lord´s private rooms. Before he reached the door, however, his superior brought him to a halt. "Remember, there is no place under my command for those who are unable to take responsibility."

"Yes, mylord. I will remember."

"Good. Dismissed."

After the door closed, Darth Vader leaned back in his chair and allowed himself a moment of relief.

Finally. After six months of hunting, after finding and following a trace only to lose it again, their prey just one step ahead, this might possibly be the end. And it was about time. Vader thought it a waste of his time and resources the Empire could not spare. Apart from the small and never ending uprisings on one planet or other, calling Imperial Forces to reestablish order, the persistent rumors and first small evidences for an organized resistance were too important to be just dismissed the way the Emperor seemed to be comfortable with. It was important to push back any rebellion before it had the chance to gain followers.

But what the Emperor willed was so. And this time, for motives unfathomable for even the Dark Lord, he had ordered his most trusted servant to go out personally and hunt for one of his wayward apprentices, thereby forcing him to neglect his duties and work with the Fleet. It had happened before, of course, that one of them had run off, foolishly believing to be able to hide from the galactic ruler. How very wrong they were they probably realized only the moment they were again brought before their master. Not everyone survived. Adalric Brandl, however, had proven himself to be more clever than his predecessors. What made him special for the Emperor sending out Darth Vader himself remained in the shadows. The Dark Lord had met Brandl only two or three times before and had found nothing especially recognizable about the young man.

Vader leaned back his head and closed his eyes, remembering. It had been one of those tedious functions at the Imperial Palace, the promotion of someone, perhaps … he could no longer remember. He had been standing slightly off, being bored and craving to get out of this room to the secure isolation of his chambers. But his master had ordered him to stay until the formalities were over, and so he stayed. At some point of the ceremony, the young Dark Jedi had stepped up to him—something unusual in itself, for other beings, wisely, kept their distance from the Dark Lord. "One can only wonder how the New Order is supposed to succeed when people are forced to let themselves be bored to death by this", the young man had said. Darth Vader had believed it an attempt at wry humour and did not answer. It was known throughout the galaxy that he did not have any sense of humour, after all. The Dark Jedi had left only moments after his comment. Despite his efforts to be the ever-faithful servant his master expected him to be Vader found himself wondering about the truthfulness of this comment.

Enough of this, he thought as he lay the report aside, switched off the lights and closed the jawed lids of his chamber. It was time for some serious meditation. After all, if he really encountered Brandl at the end of this journey he would need all his strength and could not afford to be distracted by thoughts of how close Brandl´s opinion actually came to his. And of how he sometimes longed to do it as the Dark Jedi had done: to simply run away and be done with the Empire, darkness and servitude.

But he was a Dark Lord of the Sith. It was a commitment for life and he had sworn allegiance to his master.

The joy and prospect of an end to the hunt had been too early.

He stood in the middle of a large room of beautiful architecture, a testimony to the craftsmanship arts had achieved on this far-away world. It was flooded with red light from the sunset, reflecting on the Dark Lord´s armour and helmet and making him appear the focus of the light.

But if the information seller noticed the strange play of light before him he did not show any sign. He was a business man, and this was business. High business, admittedly, but business nonetheless. "I though it prudent not to hold him back. He might have got suspicious. Also, delaying his departure seemed not wise for I don't know how much a Jedi will be able to draw out of the mind of another."

The ominous black mask swiveled abruptly towards him. "He is no Jedi!", the Dark Lord uttered firmly.

The man quickly bowed his head, carefully choosing his words. "Of course not, mylord."

Vader was quiet. This was quite unreasonable, to react to the mention of Jedi in that way. But the hunt had indeed stirred memories, old memories, long dormant. He tried to shove them away. "When did he leave?"

"Only three hours ago. The name of the planet where he's headed is Myrkr, not far from here, just off the trade route. As far as I know, only forest and almost no living beings."

Darth Vader nodded only distantly at this and the information seller took his chance, bowed quickly his head and hurried to the door. Vader's eyes followed him until the door closed and then let out a deep sigh, turning to the window. He did not know why the man's words affected him so, he could only suspect that this hunt for Brandl reminded him too much of the Jedi Purges ten years ago. And although they had been a great personal victory for the former Jedi he had never been given the chance and time to deal with the traumatic effect they certainly had on him.

The Jedi's demise had been celebrated throughout the Empire and he himself had been rewarded and publicly commended for this glorious victory, but the thought of that time stirred something inside the Dark Lord, something he did not wish to be reminded of. He was afraid of these memories. And yes, fear was of the dark side, but not really becoming of a Dark Lord: to master the dark side meant to master his fear, not let himself be overwhelmed by it. However, if he was any judge of his own emotions that was exactlywhat was happening right now.

He took a deep breath and reached out to the Force to calm himself. This would lead him nowhere. But he could control his memories only to a certain degree, and only on good days. Obviously this was not a good day.

He remembered the time of the Purges vividly, a time when he was still new to the arts of the dark, still new to this life of endless rage and anger and discontentment. He closed his eyes as he remembered what that felt like.

He had not yet mastered to control his anger, to channel its power and use it as a weapon. Too often he felt defeated by his overpowering feelings, raging through his days and leaving him exhausted for the nights when he succumbed to sleep that was fitful at best. Too many had suffered his wrath at that time; sometimes he could not even remember the next day who and how many had died, and for what. He was blinded by this furious anger and hate; hate for his former fellow Jedi as he hunted them through the star systems, hate for his old master and for his finaly treachery, for leaving him crippled and burning on the shores of a lava river, hate for himself for destroying his life so utterly and now being unable and afraid and too cowardly to atone for his faults. But atone he did nevertheless, every day, every waking hour of knowing that it was only him to be blamed for the misery in his own life. And the only way of relief from this crushing guilt was giving in to this hate, let it dominate his thoughts and actions because then there was no space left for for doubts and sorrow and mourning.

He had raged like a tormenting, violent thunderstorm through various star systems, only a means and power conduit for the destruction the dark side wrought. And finally this destruction had turned upon himself, a year and a half after Mustafar when his body was still fragile and healing. He had often found himself, disbelieving and disoriented, in some medical ward, being fixed and laboured on by some droid or physician, explaining in all detail what had been damaged this time. It was only then that his new master had deemed him worthy of a lesson in the dark side. He could remember that as well.

He had been on Coruscant, in his private infirmary in the part of the Imperial Palace that had been reserved for him, after a new bout of raving, self-destructive rage had left him incapacitated for already two weeks, with yet more to come. he lay on his bed and concentrated on keeping the pain at bay when he heard the chime that signaled the arrival of a visitor. Palpatine had entered the room but he had made no move to acknowledge his arrival. Once he had felt reverence and admiration for this man, now there was only emptiness. His master had stepped at his bedside and taken the chair, only watching him for several long and silent minutes.

Finally he could bear the silence no more. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice coarse and faint. It was always difficult and sometimes even impossible to speak when the respiratory tube was directly connected to the attachment at his throat; the doctors had assured him, long ago, that his vocal chords would somewhat heal with time and he could achieve some unassisted use of his natural voice, but like everything they had promised this seemed to take "just a little bit more time".

"Ah, my apprentice, I wondered when you would have enough courage to talk to me."

"This has nothing to do with courage."

"Enlighten me, then", Palpatine spread his hands in a perfect gesture of friendliness.

However, he had only shaken his head. "I am … tired."

Palpatine just smiled. "You seem to be tired too many times, lately. Tell me what happened."

Surely the doctors had already told him. "I was distracted during an attack and shot twice. My troops managed to transport me back to the ship. I cannot remember anything else."

"But surely you can remember why this happened?"

"I was distracted …"

"No! You were a Jedi. You are a Sith. Distraction is no excuse for our kind."

He closed his eyes in a desperate attempt to shut out the face of the man he had once called friend. He was not yet ready for another lecture. He just wanted to be left alone.

He felt a hand on his chest, just where the shot had hit him. The pain was slowly subsiding at the touch, his lungs no longer hurting with every breath. It was a special moment.

"You know the power of the dark side, my friend. Why don't you use it?"

"I … try, master." He opened his eyes again and hoped there was not too much pleading in them. "I cannot …I …" The words failed him and he felt despondent, worthless.

The hand moved upwards to touch his forehead. "Lord Vader, I know this is a difficult time for you. But you must learn focus. You have enough anger in you for a dozen Sith, but you don't use it. You have to savour the moment but not at the cost of losing control. You have to accumulate your hate until you can make use of it. Only then you may unleash your power."

They were quiet for a few moments, and Palpatine withdrew his hand. "I will order the droids to dress you now. You will join me in the throne room for a lesson in control, my apprentice."

"Master, I am not healthy enough to …"

But Palpatine had cut off his words. "Pain is a strong motivator for the dark side, Lord Vader. Do not worry, you will be given enough time to heal. But remember always: your devotion is to the dark side, and sacrifices must be made."

"Lord Vader? Lord Vader…!"

Slowly, Darth Vader returned to the presence and noticed the ship's captain, who had accompanied him to the planet, standing at his side.

"What is it?"

"What are your orders, mylord?"

"Brandl has been here. He left for a planet called Myrkr. You will leave and rejoin the Fleet and I shall follow Brandl in my shuttle."

"Yes, mylord." The man gave a short bow and left.

Vader reached out to the Force, let the dark side surround him completely. Yes, Brandl had been here. But he no longer intended to run. He did not know exactly what he planned but he could say that his prey – as well as Vader himself – grew tired of this hunt.

It was time to end this.

The planet beyond the small vessel's viewports was a pleasing interplay of huge soft green forests and brown, rough plains that stretched far across its surface to the blue oceans that were shining in the sun's faint light.

The pilot, however, did not even recognize the comforting beauty the planet offered him. Instead he held his gaze on the ship's screens, waiting for his prey to get into range of his weapons. When it finally happened he let out a satisfied sigh and steadied his hand on the fire button. He would give the doomed fighter's pilot right before him one last chance.

Darth Vader reached out with his Force senses, touching the other's presence with brute force, not bothering to exert any of his usual restrain. The other's mind flinched in sudden pain and the Dark Lord could not but notice the almost otherwordly beauty of his dark presence as it shone through the Force with faint yet strong and invincible light.

"You are doomed, Brandl", he transmitted to the Force-user. "Surrender or the hunt will end here and now."

The Sith Lord thought he could feel some kind of angry snort from his prey before he answered: "What will your master say if you kill me, Vader?"

Vader stiffened in sudden anger and he had to hold himself back not to push the fire button in a fit of rage. "He is not my master, Brandl, but our", he told him sternly.

"Wrong, mylord", Adalric Brandl told Darth Vader's mind and laughed silently. "But considering you want to remain his servant I think you better kill me now. Then you can return home with the message of defeating yet another renegade Jedi." The Dark Lord's mind, however, did not answer to this, so Adalric added: "I am not afraid of dying."

"So that is how it shall be, then", Vader replied and retreated from the other's mind abruptly, concentrating on the ship's controls once more. A small red light went to green, signifying that Brandl's ship was now once more in range of his weapons.

"Goodbye", Vader whispered to himself and pushed the button.

Adalric Brandl, however, was not defeated that easily. The hunt had taken over five weeks by now and he wanted not to be killed by Vader without presenting the Dark Lord yet another challenge. So he pulled his ship's controls back and steered it in a high arch right into the planet's atmosphere. Darth Vader followed him, knowing that the two ships' course was almost suicidal. But he did not want his prey to evade him now, when the end was so close at hand. With an iron grip he forced his fighter down into the upper atmosphere, eyeing the temperature level of the outer hull closely. Then, Adalric was once again on his weapons' screen, the green light shining in the darkened cockpit.

But, as he steadied his finger over the fire button, he was distracted by a sudden and uncomforting sensation, rising quickly to unknown levels of pain. It was as if his essence, his inner self was torn apart by an unknown force, ripping him open with brutality and white-hot agony that seared through his mind.

The shot did not hit its target where it should, only destroying the other ship's engines, and it was only then, as his vision was splashed with crimson of his own pain, that he realized what was wrong: he could not feel the Force; it was no longer part of himself as it had been all his life. Had he not been in so much pain he could have felt the emptiness the Force's absence left in him.

He began to scream.

The ship, now robbed of its pilot's control, continued its steep descent to the planet's surface.