DECLARATION: My fiction is written just for fun and I'm not making money with it. Characters and Star Wars galaxy belong to Lucas, of course. The names Yimot, Athor, Dovim and Theremon are from the cool novel "Nightfall" by Asimov and Silverberg. But in this story they have no connection with the characters, plots and places of the book. They are just an homage.
I thank Chiara and Jean Genie for the beta-reading of the original Italian fiction and Mari Skyrin-Sarker for the beta-reading of English translation.
Thank you for your review! Let's see what Anakin had absolutely to check...
Father and Son - Chapter 4
The artificial hot wind of warming engines crisped Anakin's head and puffed out his cloak. The Temple hangar was at its most unrest since ten years. The three Republic assault ships were almost ready as the last troopers sailed and technicians checked last details.
"But other Padawans are coming." Luke was whining to him, almost yelling to be heard over the deafening roll of ships.
"I told you I don't want you to go," his Master confirmed the first decision, as he impatiently watched the advancement of preparations. Soon he had to reach Obi-Wan, who was waiting near the second ship, to check the flight laps for the last time.
He saw his disappointed son sighing, lowering his glance to look at the small group of Padawans, who waited for instructions to sail with their Masters. Some of them were watching them with amused curiosity.
"It isn't fair!" Luke broke out at last.
Anakin hesitated at the unexpected rebellion, then he calmly answered: "I-Do-Not-Ca-re." He articulated clearly those words, so that they sounded final and added: "Now, go away!"
Luke nodded slightly, keeping his glance low and chewing his lip angrily to control his annoyance. "May the Force be with you, Master," he whispered, as he huffily went away. Not far away some Padawan was openly laughing now.
To the hell! Anakin thought, turning to the ship where Obi-Wan was waiting for him. He wouldn't risk Luke's neck, just because all the other Masters were fool enough to risk their apprentices'!
He walked beyond the ship under his command, thinking of the amazing turn of events. They had been so occupied by running after Separatist leaders here and there that no one had thought mere office work would give them the conclusive clue. Yet it had happened. When the previous week Luke had uttered the name of Athor, everything had logically unraveled in Anakin's mind.
Athor was an almost unknown small planet in the Outer Rim with very few dry lands covered by a wonderful tropical flora and inhabited just by a primitive race. It had been accorded on Palpatine as usufruct, but no one had thought to lay claim to the estate after his death or recalled it after the Mustafar battle, when the last leaders of the Confederacy of Independent Systems escaped to the Republic Army's attack.
The pictures sent by spy probes in the last days showed how the Separatist leaders had set well in those nine years. The naive but comfortable buildings bathed in the green palms holograms had projected to the puzzled Jedi, weren't much inferior to the sumptuous houses of Coruscant. After so many years, the old war lords had to feel safe, and they enjoyed a comfortable lodging in a nice landscape, after directly or indirectly causing millions of deaths around the Galaxy.
At that, Anakin's artificial hand tightened into a fist. How much he wished he had been able to clench his iron fingers around Nute Gunray and his gang's necks, watching the disgusting green faces grew pale, while their frightened eyes asked for the pity they didn't give their victims and their flabby bodies would pass away bowing in front of him!
Suddenly scared by his own dream, he banished the idea and quickly reached Obi-Wan not to ask himself where that wish of hate and power came from.
General Kenobi, all taken by maps, saw him just now. But he knew him too well not to notice something bothered his ex-apprentice.
"Everything all right?" he asked him with a Master's yet apprehensive tone.
Anakin nodded, but he knew his wrinkled forehead told different and tried to justify himself: "I just hope this time we'll succeed."
Obi-Wan looked at him for a while. His own eyes grew sad and tired, as he stroked his beard. "I hope so too," he finally admitted. Then, his face enlightened again with the calm peace of the mature Jedi knight, the peace Anakin thought he would really never have.
Kenobi paternally stretched out an arm on his shoulder, inducing him near the map. "If we stick to plans, we'll really be able to raid this time," he persuadably declared, "We just must not act non-coordinately, making the same mistake we did at Mustafar."
"We don't fail this time," Anakin resolutely confirmed. "Can I see the last settlements?"
"You're welcome." Obi-Wan smiled and pressed some buttons on the map projector to show a boundless sequence of numbers figuring the fixed course. His ex-apprentice began to study them, totally dipping himself into the data.
After ten hours, Anakin was lying on his uncomfortable hammock in his cabin on board of the assault ship Nemesis. There were several more hours to go before leaving hyperspace and he knew he had better sleep a while before the battle. But he wasn't kept awake by either the usual anxiety preceding an important mission or the thrill of the victory he foresaw near and sure. He felt a terrifying something moving inside him, but he couldn't understand what.
He obliged himself to keep quiet and he began a deep meditation in the dark of his room, just focusing on his breath rhythm. Deep in the Force, absorbed just by himself, he felt his mind relax and his limbs finally become numb, until he lost every awareness and fell asleep.
Luke's familiar face soon took his dreams.
"Master, Master,...", he called whispering, but with some urgency in his voice.
Anakin was too busy to pay him the proper attention, till a painful shout made him to turn towards his son and, shocked, he saw his trembling boy hold his hands, soiled with blood, on a wide wound on his abdomen.
The Jedi woke up with a start, sitting on his bed. He tried to breathe and to slow the mad rhythm of his heart, as his body was still moistening of thousand chilly drops of sweat.
"Luke," was all he could whisper.
No, by the Force, Luke couldn't die, too!
He buried his face into his true hand and he cried like a small child. For a crazy moment he almost wished it had already happened, so he wouldn't go through months of distressful nightmares yet again and the unendurable pain of separation. Then he breathed deeply and stood up. What he was wishing was totally irrational. Nothing had happened yet, so he could still change it. But could he really?
He wore his tunic to go on the pilot bridge. They hadn't been far from the end of hyperspace. Soon he would be able to call Coruscant and ask someone to keep a close eye on his Padawan till he would be back.
It wasn't a big plan, but there wasn't more he could do while his vision didn't show him the nature of the danger. He closed his eyes, focusing to recall the painful image to look for a useful clue. With his attention to visualizing his child's features, he suddenly felt his sign in the Force. Not the memory of his sign, but his real presence.
He opened his eyes as his anguish increased more. He dressed in a rush and run to the ware compartment. Luke's presence became stronger and stronger every meter he walked and he asked himself how he hadn't noticed him before. Now his vision was frighteningly near, since the real danger of the battle loomed over his son's life.
Terrified, he opened the hold hatch, turned on the long dazzling neon lamps and, enraged at his Padawan's recklessness, he yelled: "Luke, come out!"
But no answer came from the darkness of containers filling most of the compartment. Yet he felt his child's presence hidden among the army equipment.
"Luke, do you think I can't feel you?" he said, more and more angry, while he couldn't forget the image of his boy wounded to death.
After some other moment of silence, he heard some little noises, then from behind a container his Padawan came out, approaching falteringly.
Anakin had never been so mad at him and, when Luke was just in front of him, all he could do was hiss "Are you insane?" before dealing him a loud slap. His son's cheek quickly reddened from the blow and he regretfully realized he hadn't softened the impact of his iron fingers on Luke's face.
But his boy didn't utter a moan and just bowed his head, his eyes filling with tears.
The Jedi's anger reduced, making way for something worse: anguish. "Have you a clue of just what kind of danger you've put yourself in?" he asked.
"I'm sorry," his Padawan whispered.
Anakin shook his head. He didn't, he thought.
Time pressed since they were near to the target and he had to find a way to keep Luke from running some even worse risk. "Follow me," he just ordered.
They walked the corridors in silence among the indifferent troopers, used to see Jedi apprentices in war zones. The Master took long steps, not caring of his Padawan's difficultly in following him, or the curiosity and fear his boy openly cast into the Force. He didn't want to waste time with explanations and discussions.
They passed several conveyance compartments, troopers' quarters, the emergency room, then they reached the prison. The Jedi entered the first block they came up to and he gestured for Luke to go into one of the cells, totally empty save for a small, hard bed.
Obviously astonished, his Padawan wavered, shifting his glance from the prison to his Master. "Are you arresting me?" the incredulous boy finally asked blinking.
Anakin shook his head. "I'm just making sure you won't take some other initiatives," he explained.
"Couldn't you lock me in your room?" his Padawan conciliatorily proposed.
The Master crossed his arms. "Giving you more opportunities to escape?"
"No, I won't. It's just... Please! I swear I won't disobey you again," Luke pleaded with such a harmless look that the Jedi almost gave up.
But inside him the feeling of danger still worked. He pointed at the cell interior, ordering: "Now!"
Luke grimaced at the disappointment, but he resignedly went into the small cell without further arguments.
His father slid the door and fingered his secret password to lock it, as if he had just imprisoned some dangerous criminal. He still felt worried, but at least he had kept his son from venturing into the firing-line.