I can't believe this is happening to me. Father promised. He told me I meant everything to him, that he loved me. If that was true, who is the little boy he's carrying through the jail? He looks and sounds a lot like a clone of me.

If I'm so important to him, why did he leave me here and clone me? How could he leave me here and just make a new son? What did I do wrong? Can I fix it? Would he even care?

When I was little, I knew that my daddy would come back. I knew that I had to be ready to make him proud when he got back, so I made sure to get good grades, and do my best.

When I understood that he wouldn't come back, that I'd have to wait until I died to see him, I knew that I should make sure that I had interesting things to tell him. If interesting meant stupid, then stupid it was.

When I learned that my father had been a Jedi and that Vader had killed him, I knew that I had to become a Jedi to fix what had gone wrong with the galaxy and avenge my father's death.

When I found out that Vader was my father, I knew that I had to fix what he'd done to the galaxy. I knew that maybe, if I was lucky, my father would turn back to the light side. I knew that I had a chance.

When my father told me that he loved me, that he had space for me when my sentence was over, I knew that I just had to survive. Survive, and I would get a father, but if I died, he promised me that I would have the best of mothers.

Now that Father has a new son, I don't know. For the first time in my life, I don't know what to do. Maybe, at this point, I should just give up fighting. Give up and die. Have a mother, and wait for my father. It would be easiest.

They'd come into hearing range by now. The boy was staring at me, and I could hear him whisper in Father's ear, but I couldn't make out the words.

Father didn't react at all, and I heard the boy say a bit louder, "Daddy, that guy over there's Force sensitive."

I slumped. He knew. I felt his Force sensitivity when our eyes met, but I hoped he wouldn't notice. Or that he wouldn't understand. But I guess he did. I can only think of two reasons he would tell Father. One, Father's looking for an apprentice. Two, they'd been sent here to kill all the Force sensitive prisoners. I'm not sure what would be worse.

Father still wasn't reacting at all.

"Daddy, that guy over there's Force sensitive and you said you needed to train another apprentice!" The little boy shouted in Father's ear. Father turned to look at me.

I was fighting tears now. I just couldn't help it. Now I would find out if I meant anything to my father. I was terrified. I was in so much pain I really didn't trust myself to respond correctly. If Father had asked me to become a Sith Lord then, I might have agreed.

He didn't. Thankfully. But his response was probably more painful.

"Not him, Luke." Father turned back around.

He called the boy Luke. That's my name. He gave away everything. He gave away everything special about me. He gave everything away, from my genetic structure to my name. Father gave my identity to the clone. It's almost like he thought I was done with it.

Does he think that having a prisoner number is the same as having a name? Does he think that commands, and being forced to obey, have forced me away? Does he think I'm just an empty shell? I want to scream at him. I want to tell him that if he believes that, he's wrong. They can try to destroy me, but I won't let them win.

The only person who can destroy my spirit is my father. I just hope he doesn't want to.

While I thought these things, Father and the child argued gently about whether or not I should be Father's next apprentice. I just heard something about that I was a Jedi and that I would never agree to be a Sith.

When I came back to the real world, the little clone was squirming in Father's arms. I wanted to scream at him to stay there, to stay close to Father, to not give him the chance to leave his child again. I wanted the clone to be happy, at least.

I didn't scream to either of them, I held it back. The child crawled out of Father's arms and came over to me. He looked down at me and seemed to decide that he wanted to be on eye level with me. He sat down and looked at my face.

I felt like a bug under a microscope, lying prone on the floor, absently praying to anything and everything that he wouldn't recognise me.

Then the little one spoke, "Are you okay?"

Father hasn't allowed his men to feed me or give me water. Or maybe it's orders from the Emperor. Either way, my throat wasn't ready to speak. So I just shook my head.

"You're gonna be okay, though, right?" The little one looked at me and tilted his head, the way Father used to. Before he was healed. I'll never forget the day he came to my cell without his mask on. He was happier than I've ever seen him. He held me, and comforted me.

I shook my head, wishing I could explain it.

He turned to look over his shoulder and called to Father, "Daddy, why won't he talk to me?"

Father came over to my cell and pulled a stun stick off his belt. I shrank away. Father growled at me, "Why won't you talk to my son, Rebel?"

Little one pushed the stun stick away, "Don't hurt him! He's probably just scared!" Then he turned to me, "Are you scared?"

I decided there was no point lying to him and nodded.

"Are you scared of my daddy?" He asked. He's so innocent. Is this how I appear to people? They accuse me of being naïve, but I'm not this bad, am I?

I nodded again.

"Are you scared of me?"

I'm not sure. I really don't know. I don't find the personality frightening, but in the same way that one doesn't find a time bomb that isn't set frightening. I knew that with one tiny bump, I might make him explode, and just like the chain reaction of one atom exploding and detonating another atom and so on in a bomb, it would make our father explode too. Something told me that he loved this new son in a way he had never loved me.

I shrugged.

The boy reached out and touched my cheek. I don't know what he was trying to do. Then he moved away and looked at the blood that had come off my face and onto his hand. He looked at me for a few more moments, then bent over and kissed me.

I tilted my head, realizing as I did it that I was communicating largely in the same way Chewie and I do.

"Daddy always does that when I cry," he said seriously, "I'd hoped it would make you feel better. Is it all better now?"

I nodded and tried to croak out a yes. I failed miserably. I don't think I made any sound at all. If I did, it probably wasn't very understandable.

"Are you still scared of me?" The boy asked.

I wanted to laugh at the simplicity of a question that can be divided into yes and no. The matter was so much more confusing than that. Instead I smiled and shook my head. No, I wasn't scared of him.

He smiled too, then asked, "Why won't you talk to me?"

It was the first question that required an answer other than yes or no. I tried to speak, to tell him that it was hard for me, but instead I just ended up choking on bile. I managed to cough it out, and some blood came up too. Wonderful, internal bleeding, what fun.

The boy tried to move it away from my mouth, but I pulled away and Father held him back. I swiped it away with my sleeve and managed to moan, "Because when I try to talk that happens, and I'm hard to hear. It hurts too."

Then I started coughing again. Then dry heaving. Luckily, the boy moved. I don't think he understood what was happening to my system at that point, though.

As I curled into a ball and continued dry heaving, Father tried to pick up the little one. He wrapped his arms around one of the bars of the cell and refused to be pulled away.

Father put him back down. "Luke, I have to continue the inspection. I will come back for you when I have finished." He was speaking to the little boy. I wish he was speaking to me.

The child turned to Father, who was already leaving, and said, "Can you let me into his cell? I'd be safer in there."

Father turned and looked questioningly at him, "Whatever makes you think you would be safer locked in a cell with a rebel?"

The little one looked up at him, and I have the strangest feeling that there was some puppy-dog eyes going on. I can't believe Father lets him get away with that! I couldn't even get away with… with being me, but this one, he can do whatever he wants!

"No one could take me and he doesn't have any weapons." He said.

I'm being stupid, being mad at this child. He didn't do anything wrong. I think I'm really just mad at the galaxy, not the boy, not my father, maybe the Emperor. But not the boy.

Father looked past the boy at me. I smiled at him as a non-verbal way of saying that I didn't mind, and he turned back to the boy.

"I suppose. If he does anything, just scream and someone will help you."

Hidden behind the boy's back, I rolled my eyes. The boy bobbed his head, and Father let him in. I tried to sit up, but I wasn't strong enough. Father noticed and came over to me. He grabbed me under my arms and dragged me across the cell to lean me on the wall.

The little boy walked over to me and I tried to pick him up to put him on my lap. Ha, why I thought I could pick up a five year old when I couldn't even sit up, I don't know. He knew what I was trying to do, though, and crawled onto my lap.

Father was about to leave, but he glanced back at us. I smiled at him again, wanting to show that we would be okay and wishing I could say it. He pulled a flask off his belt.

"Here, drink this so you can talk properly. Luke, if he starts coughing, get out of the way."

I nodded, grateful. I hadn't had that much to drink if you added together all I've had this past week. I think I saw Father's expression become guilty for a moment before he turned away, but the boy was too busy nodding to notice.

Then Father was gone, leaving me with the little one. I tried to open the flask he'd given me, but I couldn't close my fingers around the lid properly. The little boy took it and opened it for me. Then he watched me drink some of it.

Force, it felt so good to get some water. I needed it so badly. I could feel myself crying in pure relief and I was surprised the boy's next question wasn't about that.

"What's your name?" He asked.

I paused. I didn't really know how to respond. Clearly, Father had given up on me and taken in this little one. Telling him that he was just a clone (which might be incorrect, and would definitely hurt him) would only make matters worse.

I chose the second thing I thought of, Cliegg Darklighter.

He bounced on my lap, "Really? My name is Luke Skywalker!"

I flinched. Father let him be Luke Skywalker, like I thought. He was also driving a piece of shrapnel deeper into my thigh. Then he stopped bouncing, and looked at me in concern.

I gave him what must be the most fake smile in the galaxy, but he bought it. Then he went right ahead with his interrogation. Maybe that should feel like an exaggeration after the real interrogations I've been through, but it doesn't. This one was one of the most painful.

"Why are you here?"

That was a complicated question. I don't know the full answer myself. A couple of months ago, my father caught me. He took Leia and Han hostage. He swore that they would be tortured unless I came to him. He promised me everything, everything I ever wanted. He said they could go free. He said that I could stay with him. He promised to let my friends be safe. He said he wouldn't even make me train as a Sith.

I went. What else could I do? He let them go, and on the ride to Coruscant, he treated me like he would keep his promises. When we arrived, he said that he had to inform his master that I was with him. He came back different.

When I asked him what was wrong, he just turned away and told me not to worry, that he would work this out. Then the stormtroopers came for me. He's come to me once since then, when he was healed. He said he owed it to me. Because it was thanks to me that he had been healed. I hadn't seen him since then. Until today. And he has someone new. He's left me behind.

I couldn't tell the boy that, though, so I went with the shortest answer, "I disobeyed the Emperor and tried to learn to be a Jedi. Like your daddy told you."

"Why doesn't the Emperor want people to learn to be Jedi? It seems silly." The little boy looked up at me in confusion.

I stared down at him. Father clearly wasn't enforcing the same messages about the Jedi with this boy as he had tried to with me. "He feels that they would be a threat to his Empire."

"Why, though? I mean, the Empire is the Old Republic called somethin' different, and they used to protect the Old Republic, didn't they? Why wouldn't they protect the Empire too?"

It was a fairly good question. I had never thought about it that way. "The Emperor had your daddy hunt down and kill all the Jedi he could find. He thought they were attempting a coup d'état."

"What's that?"

"A coup d'état is a movement when the people rise up and overthrow a tyrant or leader. Basically, he thought they were plotting against him, so he killed thousands."

"Oh. Why did he think they were plotting against him?"

This boy asks the most confusing questions! Well, actually, this one just doesn't have an answer.

"That I wouldn't know. I wish I did," I sighed. After all that killing, the Emperor still didn't feel he'd caused enough damage. No, he had to go ahead and destroy my family too. It's just not fair. It's not.

The little one snuggled me. I hope he doesn't catch anything from me. This place isn't exactly a healthy place.

As if he'd read my mind, he asked, "Are you okay?"

"No. Not really, no," Not even close, kiddo. I thought sarcastically.

"What happened? Why are you breathing so fast?"

Because our daddy doesn`t care enough about me to try to care for me, that`s why. But I can`t tell you that. "This isn't a very good place to be healthy. I just got sick."

"That means you'll get better then, right?" He asked hopefully.

I decided to tell him the truth. "I'm not sure. If someone cared enough to give me a chance I might get better. If I stay here, I won't."

It was true. I won`t get better here, but if Father cared… if he came back for me, I could get better. If he wanted me to, I could fend off the worst poison they've discovered, his affection is all I want. I know that if he changed his mind he could fix everything for me.

"My daddy could help you. He owns the prison. You could come to be with us. You could be safe and you could get better." The little boy pulled on my sleeve.

I wish I could go with him. I wonder if Father would listen to him if he asked for that. I can't bear to know the answer. So I smile at the boy and beg him not to. In the only way I can think of that's not obvious, self-deprecation.

"I don't think your daddy would be too interested in taking me in. Thank you, though." Saying those words, telling someone not to bother helping, saying that it's hopeless, breaks my heart.

"But I want you to be happy! I want you to be safe too!"

And I want to be safe and happy, believe me. But asking our father has at least as much potential to hurt as it does to help.

"Little guy, you can't protect everybody. If you want me to be happy, tell me about living with your daddy."

That would help, at least a little bit. I would get a chance to know what it would be like to be loved. It would hurt, but it would give me something to imagine to distract myself with.

"Why would that make you happy?"

"Because I never had my own parents. I just want to know what it's like to have a father." And who better to tell me that the boy he's treating as his son.

"Why didn't you know your parents?" Apparently, I can ask questions, but answers are out of the picture.

"I'm not sure. Maybe I did something wrong. Maybe they didn't want a son. Maybe they didn't even know I'd been born. My father, that is. My mother is dead. Tell me about having a father. Please."

At least I think, maybe even hope, that my mother's dead. I hate myself for wanting anyone to be dead, but knowing that I'd been rejected by both parents would be too much. Father promised me that she is dead, and that she'd love me. But he also said he'd never let anything hurt me. That was before he dumped me here to be tortured practically nonstop.

The little one doesn't answer right away, I suppose it's because he just takes Father for granted and never considers that other people have never had the luxury of a parent.

I decided to help him along, "What does he do with you?"

"Well… we play together."

"What do you play?" How can you take him for granted like this? Has it never occurred to you what other people, namely me, might give to have the opportunities you do?

"We play with my snake together. He plays starship with me."

"What does he do to play starship?" I have to drag all the information out of him bit by bit, it seems.

"He spins me around and flies me around with the Force."

"Is it fun? Or does it scare you?" I don't know why I asked that. Maybe I was hoping that he would say that it scared him, because it would mean that we were at least a bit different.

"It's really fun! I love doing it!" I just managed to hold back a sigh. It seems he was a perfect copy after all.

"It must be wonderful. What else do you do together?" I felt a tear run down my cheek, luckily he was facing away from me, so he couldn't see it.

"What'd ya mean?" He asked, exasperated.

"Does he read to you? Does he tuck you in at night? Does he make you laugh?" I meant all the things any abandoned child would want to know!

"Yes, yes, and yes."

"What does he read you? Is it interesting?"

"Wait, wait! Too many questions! Too fast!" He covered my mouth with one hand. I nodded, showing that I would speak more slowly. He took his hand away.

"What's your favorite thing to do with him?"

"I like it when he tucks me in and reads to me. Sometimes he makes the stories up. He's really good at telling stories. He tells me about the Jedi sometimes, but don't tell anyone I told you. He says he shouldn't. He also tells me great stories about the rebels, but he said to never tell anyone."

"If he told you not to tell anyone, why are you telling me?" Trust me, disobeying our father is a bad idea.

"You won't tell. I can tell you won't tell. It's like having you look like it, but it's different too."

"All right. I'm not sure I understand, but all right. Didn't your Daddy use to wear a life support suit?" I was asking simply because I couldn't stand hearing more about Father. And being his son. And having him actually love you.

"Yeah, he did. But he got healed. Now he's totally okay." The boy turned to me and smiled.

I sensed Father coming and looked up, "Look, here comes your daddy now."

The little one gave me another hug and spoke in my ear. "I will make sure Daddy helps you. He'd like you."

When he said that, I couldn't hold the sob back anymore. I tried to swallow it and made a sick sound somewhere between choking and whimpering, "He doesn't want me. Just enjoy having a father and forget you ever met me. Trust me. It's good advice."

I kissed his forehead and let him crawl off my lap.

Father entered my cell and knelt next to the little one, "Hey, Luke. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

"No! Of course he didn't!" He laughed and bounced a bit.

"I might have. You are technically the son of the enemy." I nudged him with one foot, telling him that it was a possibility. Some people would have hurt him simply because they were jealous.

He laughed, "You're both silly! Daddy, he's nice. Could he come home with us? I get lonely sometimes when we go to Vjun. You wouldn't need to get a babysitter ever again! It would be easier!" He pulled Father's sleeve.

"No, Luke. I can't. We can't." Suddenly Father sent a crashing wave of guilt through the Force. I couldn't help smiling. I wasn't taking joy from my father's pain, I was just so glad that he really did love me.

"Why not? Please, Daddy! Please!" The little one grabbed me and held on tight, "I'm not coming if we don't bring him!"

I reached out in the Force to Father to ask if he would consider it. His mind was firmly closed, which I took as a no. I tried to pull the little one off. "Go with Daddy. I already told you to forget about me. Just go home with your daddy and be glad you have him. Go on."

Father stared at me. I suppose he was surprised I'd given up so easily. Then he dragged the little one off for me.

I passed back his water bottle, "Thank you. I really appreciate it."

I felt my heart twist as Father took it. He had the little one's head pointed over his shoulder, so the boy didn't see our hands brush. Just for a second, he wrapped his fingers around my hand and gave a gentle squeeze. Enough that it didn't hurt my cracked wrist, but enough that I knew that he'd done it one purpose. Then he took the empty flask from my hand and turned.

As Father walked away, leaving me alone again, the little one smiled at me and waved goodbye. I waved back, but as soon as he was out of sight, I lay on the floor and let myself cry.