Aphra repressed a grunt as she attempted to pull herself to her feet, each movement threatening to crack her dry, bruised skin. Her feet were still swollen and deadened from the cold, and yet it felt as if she were stepping on blades. Never, in her whole life, had she been in such pain.
She finally managed to steady her voice and answer Triple-Zero's question.
"Only way he'd let me go was if he thought I was dead. Only way he'd think I was dead was if he'd killed me." It hurt to say it – not just physically – but she knew it was the truth.
"Hmm. Of course, he might always have used the saber…" the droid countered. There was a time when she had almost hoped for that. But she had seen reason.
"He's Darth Vader," she answered, looking down at the ground as she paused in her efforts to get up. "He was never going to be kind," she murmured, more to herself than to the droid.
How she wished she could have been wrong. That wasn't what she wanted. She wanted more, a lot more… And she knew she would never have it. She would have been a fool to believe otherwise. Yes, she had betrayed him. That was what she did; Sana could testify. She had never planned on doing it, but it was survival instinct, and it was stronger than her. What other options did she have? Part of her would have died in a heartbeat for him, laid her life at his feet, hoping for a quick end. She had even told herself that such an end would be sweet, that dying for passion was only half a death. But it was delirium. Aphra was not one of those romantic fools. She was a survivor, programmed to flee and stay alive, and her suicidal devotion had eventually made room for more rational thinking.
"Hm. Point taken," the droid answered, interrupting her train of thoughts. "What now?"
Oh, what a question…
"Take me to the bacta tank and get us out of here. And…" And what, exactly? What was she going to do now? She didn't have a clue. She felt lost and exhausted, agitated and empty, like she had suddenly aged ten years and regressed into childhood at the same time. Her words hung in the air for a moment, until she blurted out the first semi-consistent thought that emerged from the whirlwind of her mind.
"…That was fun. Let's never do it again."
The ship jumped into hyperspace and headed to Force knew where, leaving danger behind, at least for the time being.
The mood aboard the Executor wasn't much lighter.
Vader walked passed the corpse of Grand General Tagge – former Grand General Tagge – and strode his way towards the main bridge with that haughty, yet fast-paced demeanor which Imperial troops had learnt to interpret as stay out of my bloody way, lest the meaning of 'bloody' might become much more literal. There, he proceeded to give his orders, mechanically, as if he were a ship on autopilot. It had been a taxing day. If his nerves had been worn by those petty skirmishes, it was not the fighting that had exhausted him. There was that dream, of course, that suffocating dream, those demons of the past come to life to haunt him. But time had toughened him to this kind of torment. And there was the airlock. Not the airlock itself of course, but what had happened there.
No! No! she shouted in his mind. You promised me the saber! Nice and quick! You promised! she whimpered.
I promised you nothing. That was the bare truth.
He gazed out of the viewport in a vain attempt to spot the body. It had surely drifted into the asteroid field.
You know you can trust me, she had told him, and he, like the fool he was, had believed her. He had given her a chance in spite of all that was at stake. But she had lied. It seemed that trusting and being lied to was a recurring pattern in his life. He knew he shouldn't dwell on her. He had more urgent things to do than mull over the dead. But his traitorous mind would not have it that way.
Elated, half-whispered words resounded in his mind.
You're what I've been looking for all my life.
Another lie. A well-polished one. He had almost believed that she meant it. She had kept her warm, friendly façade even after she'd openly betrayed him, bantering and joking as if everything was fine. In short, being Aphra until the very end. It would have been refreshing if he had been feeling anything but cold rage at that moment. And he could tell she knew it from the fear that radiated off her. The way she had begged and clung to his arm when he had opened the airlock was… was what, exactly? Did she truly believe that she was safer here? Did she sincerely think that her pleas would save her? Vader was not renowned for his mercy. He had turned away from her as her tears started flowing, causing a bit of steam to appear on the porthole. They shouldn't have affected him, not the way they had, but they did not stop him from pressing the button. Even if the anger had subsided – and it hadn't, not yet – he had to kill her. He didn't have a choice! When did he ever have a karking choice? What options did he have, now that his master knew of her existence? Vader didn't spare those who disappointed him, and to treat her differently would have triggered his suspicions. Not only that, but if she had betrayed him once then she could do it again. And he could not allow that. No, killing her was the only alternative. He had done the right thing. Hadn't he?
An odd mix of emotions flooded him, clenching at his throat and making him swallow hard. Relief and guilt, anger and… sorrow? He shouldn't feel guilty. He shouldn't mourn her. She didn't deserve his tears. She wasn't Padme. She would never be Padme. Padme. It had been but a dream, and yet he had killed her too. Again. Why should Aphra's fate be any different? She had betrayed him. So he had killed her. It was only fair. He had played by the rules. He could have done it differently, but he hadn't. He had wanted to hurt her, make her taste his pain before he – literally – threw her out of his life.
Betrayal should not faze him anymore. It was the Sith way, one he was all too familiar with, one that had led him to suspect his closest allies and the very few he used to call his friends. No, it wasn't her betrayal that should afflict him. It was his foolishness, it was that he was weak, that he had let her live knowing that she could be his doom, that he had been lenient when he should have killed her long ago. That he had dithered for weeks, not quite knowing why he didn't want her gone. That he had hoped, he who thought he had buried that childish instinct long ago. But after all he had been through, the feeling was still here, anchored in the depths of his heart. And there was still one hope he would not relinquish. Vader had a son. A son. A living, breathing miracle, shining through the Force like a bright Tatooine Sun. Yes, they were adversaries, for now. But he knew, better than anyone, that loyalties could be turned. He reached out through the Force, feeling for the warm light that was Luke. He couldn't locate its source, but it was out there, calling to him. And he would find it soon.
"Soon," he repeated. They would be together soon. He would find his son if he had to burn worlds to ashes. Nothing would stand in his way.