Chapter 8
Ghosts
Anakin was growing weary of dreaming of the ghost Temple, even though this was only the third time. After his verbal sparring with his son and the Princess, he was in absolutely no mood for messing around with Obi-Wan. So instead of heading for the High Council Chamber, he made for the Room of a Thousand Fountains.
The cavernous chamber deep in the heart of the Temple was one of the oldest and largest gardens on Coruscant. Filled with numerous artificial waterfalls, ponds, decorative fountains, and countless species of plants, it was the most beautiful area of the Temple. Intended for meditation and communing with nature, it was also a playground for the Temple's Younglings and the Jedi Order's private swimming pool.
He had always enjoyed this part of the Temple, especially as a child. The sight of all that water and greenery had awed and overwhelmed his Tatooinian senses, and reminded him of verdant Naboo. However, there were times when the tranquil atmosphere of the Fountain Room felt stifling and stagnant to him and he would scamper off to fix or build something to soothe his restless energy.
When he entered the vast chamber, it was just as he remembered it. The trees were tall and leafy, the grass was green, the flowers were blooming, and the air was filled with the soft hiss of flowing, cascading water. The only difference that he noticed was the complete lack of Jedi, something that probably only happened in the very dead of night. However, the massive sun lamps set high in the arched ceiling were on full blast, giving him the sense that it was noon, not midnight.
Tugging his dark cloak tighter over his shoulders, he strolled through the eerily deserted room. Every now and then he's pause to admire one of the more intricate fountains or one of the arrangements of exotic plants. Eventually, he reached a small artificial mountain near the center of the chamber that sported several waterfalls which terminated into small, deep pools that circled its base. Gazing up at it, he felt a bitter half smile work its way onto his face as he recalled all the times that he'd climbed it as a young Padawan, and how Obi-Wan had always yelled at him to come down before he broke his neck.
"There was a time when Obi-Wan used to love this cliff," someone said. "But then he fell, sprained his wrist, and cut open his forehead."
Anakin spun around and found one of the last people he was expecting to see. "Master Qui-Gon?" he blinked, stunned. "Sir?"
The long-dead Jedi looked just as he had in life. Tall, broad-shouldered, and regal, his dark brown hair in the process of fading to gray, he looked quite alive. It was a change from the last time that Anakin had seen him—laid out on a stone table with a charred hole in his chest, waiting to be set on fire.
"There's no need to be so formal, Anakin," Master Qui-Gon chuckled.
"But…you're dead," Anakin managed after a moment.
Master Qui-Gon smiled in amusement. "Yes, I know."
Anakin looked away from the first Jedi he'd ever known and focused on the waterfalls to help gather his scattered thoughts. "I was expecting to see Obi-Wan," he said finally.
"You probably won't be seeing him for a while," Master Qui-Gon replied. "You hurt his feelings last time."
"I hurt his feelings?" Anakin laughed darkly. "He's dead, what's there to hurt?"
"Even the dead have feelings, Anakin," Master Qui-Gon chided. "Just because our hearts no longer beat does not mean that they are made of stone."
Anakin shrugged and kept his eyes pinned on the misty spray that wafted off the waterfalls.
Master Qui-Gon sighed deeply. "Although I'm sure that you are already aware of this, the Emperor is moving against you now that you have confirmed your betrayal. What his plans are, we don't know. The Darkness that surrounds him is so deep that not even combining our skills can we pierce it and read the futures that he spins."
"Why do you care what he does?" Anakin muttered. "You're dead; he can't do anything to you."
"True, he cannot harm the dead. However, there are those still living that I care about that he could." Master Qui-Gon fixed Anakin with a worried look that he struggled to ignore. "Despite all that you have done, I still have faith in you, Anakin; you can still fulfill your destiny."
"That destiny is dead, Master," Anakin snapped. "And I never wanted that destiny anyway. It ruined my life!"
"I am sorry, Anakin," Master Qui-Gon apologized. "I should have kept my suspicions about your nature to myself instead of declaring them to the galaxy. I should not have laid such a burden upon you the way that I did. Despite all my diplomatic experience, there are times when I speak rashly and come to regret it."
"It's a bit late for apologies, isn't it?" Anakin spat bitterly. "After I've laid the Order to waste for a dead woman? Why even bother to apologize? Really, I'd think you should be demanding an apology of me."
"I'm not here to demand apologies or cast blame, Anakin," Master Qui-Gon sighed. "I am here to offer guidance and advice if you want it, and warnings whether you want me to or not."
"And what are you here to warn me of that I don't already know?" Anakin grumbled.
"The Chosen One is a prestigious pawn for Sidious to control, and with your body restored, you are more powerful than before. However, now that you are no longer dependant on his medical resources, and now that you are well-versed in his ways, you will be much harder for him to control. If he cannot regain you, he will seek to acquire Luke." Master Qui-Gon hesitated before continuing. "You are aware that Princess Leia is Force-sensitive?"
"Yes," Anakin nodded. "What does she have to do with anything?"
"Because she is wholly untrained, her strength is difficult to measure without a blood test." Again Master Qui-Gon hesitated, as if he was unsure as to how he should proceed. "Her potential is nearly as great as Luke's, and with her temper and anger towards you, she makes a stronger Sith candidate. If Sidious was to learn of her potential, it is likely that he would concentrate his efforts on her and simply kill your son."
Anakin bit his lip as he mulled this over. He hated to admit it, but he hadn't considered the Princess's potential as anything other than an annoyance. His son had always been his first choice as the next Sith apprentice. Luke had incredible potential and he was family—that was all the reason that Anakin had needed. But with her drive, her temper, and the anger that smoldered in her heart, the Princess had the greater potential to be turned.
He glanced over at the deceased Jedi Master. "Her commitment to her cause is unwavering. She did not betray it when the life of her father and the existence of her home-world was on the line, she will not betray them by turning and serving the Emperor that she so despises."
"We all thought the same of you once," Master Qui-Gon responded quietly.
Anakin shot the Jedi a dark glare. "I'm really starting to hate these dreams."
"This is only a dream in the sense that you are asleep at the moment," the Jedi remarked. "I assure you that I am not a creation of your subconscious, nor was Obi-Wan."
"So you're real ghosts haunting me in my dreams?" Anakin snorted skeptically.
"I know you know the Code as well as any of us," Master Qui-Gon smiled faintly. "Remember the last verse: 'There is no death, there is the Force.'"
Anakin shifted uneasily. "I don't believe you."
"That is your choice," Qui-Gon conceded. "But whether you believe it or not, I still exist—as does Obi-Wan and Yoda."
"Sure," Anakin muttered, taking a step away from the Jedi.
"Ever since my death I've kept my eye on you," the Master continued. "I even tried to speak to you once, in the Tusken camp…but you did not hear me." His expression shifted into one of great disappointment. "I really wish that you hadn't done that. I wish that you had admitted your transgressions to Obi-Wan and not Palpatine. Obi-Wan would've helped you; he loved you. He still loves you."
Anakin recoiled more and more from Master Qui-Gon with each sentence until he simply couldn't take it anymore. "You've been dead for decades! What do you know? Leave me alone!"
"As you wish," Master Qui-Gon agreed sadly. "If you ever need any of us, you need only call."
"I needed you like a hole in the head!" Anakin snarled back. "If you hadn't come to Tatooine and taken me away, I could've protected my mother! And I would've been free of your damned prophecy!"
"I'm sorry you feel that way, Ani," Master Qui-Gon sighed and walked away to some other corner of the Fountain Room.
Anakin stubbornly turned away from the retreating figment of his subconscious imagination and waited to wake up. There was simply no such thing as ghosts. When someone died, they died, end of story. There was nothing else to it. Nothing at—
Something solid was nudging his shoulder repeatedly, driving him to wakefulness. Groggily muttering unintelligible curses, he cracked open his eyes and twisted around to squint at his attacker. It took him a few minutes to focus his eyes, and a few more to realize what he was looking at.
"Artoo?" he croaked dazedly. First Threepio, now Artoo… Who's next? Jar Jar Binks? …Oh Force, I hope not.
The blue and white Astromech warbled something at him and extended one of his delicate manipulation arms to make a beckoning gesture.
Vader sleepily glanced around to find that he was no longer crouched near the campfire. At some point in the night, he'd been moved into a small, triangular tent and wrapped up in a blanket. Artoo's barrel-shaped bulk filled up most of the tent's opening, but enough light seeped in around him to tell Vader that it was now at least midmorning.
He squinted at the familiar droid again. "What is it?"
Artoo sharply repeated the string of electronic whistles and opened a panel in his chest to extend a two-pronged plug. Normally, it functioned as a power umbilical between the droid and the ship it was screwed into. However, Artoo had reversed the polarity of the plug, turning it into a painful shock prod that crackled threateningly at him.
"Hey!" Vader snapped upright, suddenly very awake. "What's that for?!"
Instead of answering in whistles, Artoo started to play an audio recording.
"Liar!" Vader heard himself shout in rage.
"No!" she cried back tearfully in denial.
"Shut it off!" Vader interrupted before it could go any further.
Unlike Threepio, it seemed that Artoo's memory was untouched. Also, Artoo had disobeyed him on Mustafar and not stayed with the ship. But then it was Artoo. The droid had probably detected her arrival with the starfighter's sensors and come to see her.
Electricity stopped crackling on the needle-like prongs, but the plug remained extended as the audio recording cut off.
"All right!" Vader sighed. "I'm up. What? Do you want me to follow you?"
Artoo whistled an affirmative, retracted the threatening plug, and rolled out of the tiny tent to wait beside it.
"I guess that's a yes," Vader muttered.
Not desiring to be threatened by electric shock again, he peeled himself free from his blanket and stiffly crawled out of the tent. Straightening up, he stretched until he heard his joints crack. Wishing for a water shower, he smoothed out his rumpled clothes and pulled on his boots.
"Okay, lead on," he grumbled.
Artoo blatted an electronic raspberry at him and wobbled over the uneven dirt and flattened prairie grass towards the cluster of campfires, Rebels, and the smell of cooking breakfast. Vader followed the droid at a slight distance. He was in no hurry to join up with the Rebels around their fires. However, breakfast smelled very good and he was simply too hungry to resist.
Vader looked to Luke, but found his son at the heart of the Rebel clump. He had no desire for such a high profile position; the key to surviving for now was to keep quiet and unnoticeable. So instead of taking a seat by his son, he settled down beside the princess, who was off to the side away from the others, probably thinking about something.
She was displeased by his presence, but did not outwardly show it. Aside from silently offering him some of the food that had been cooked up, she completely ignored him. Vader didn't mind. In fact, he preferred it that way. Unfortunately, his peaceful breakfast was not to last.
"Hiya Princess!" an entirely too cheerfully voice cried.
Vader glanced up from his plate to find a Rebel pilot standing by their fire. The man was entirely too cheerful. Wracking his brains, Vader could vaguely recall him from the previous night.
"What do you want Wes?" the Princess asked warily.
"Just stopping by to say hello," Wes grinned, sliding down to the ground next to Vader. "And I was curious to see just who you're cheating on Han with."
Vader was lucky that he didn't have anything in his mouth when Wes said that, otherwise he would've choked. "Excuse me?" he growled once the shock wore off enough for him to speak. The very idea of bedding the Princess was disgusting, she was half his age.
"Don't be absurd Wes," the Princess scowled. "He's twice my age at least."
"Isn't Han?" Wes asked innocently.
"No he's not," she frowned, "he's barely six years older than I am."
Wes winked at her. "Got a thing for older men, eh?"
"Oh grow up!" she snapped, returning her focus to her breakfast.
"Aw," Wes pouted. He immediately brightened up and turned to Vader. "Hey there! Can't say that I've seen you before. What's your name?"
"Leave him alone," she ordered, "let him eat in peace."
"What?" Wes whined. "I'm just trying to engage him in some polite conversation."
"Wedge!" The Princess yelled, appealing to someone else over by the other fires. "Get your little minion out of here!"
"Minion? My dear Princess you insult me! I am not a minion!" Wes sputtered indignantly.
"Would you prefer being called a suicidal maniac?" she asked in a perfectly serious tone.
Wes started to answer, but then he shut his mouth and considered this.
"Come on Wes," another Rebel, who Vader took to be Wedge, sighed.
"Aw, come on Boss!" Wes whined childishly. "I was just—"
"No buts, come on, let's go." Wedge commanded.
"Oh fine," Wes groaned, "always ruining my fun…"
Vader watched the two men warily as they retreated back to their cluster of comrades. Only when the group settled down, did the tense muscles in his shoulders unwind. Satisfied that no more invasions were imminent, he settled back to his breakfast.
But just as he finished eating, his peace was again disturbed. "Starkiller."
It took Vader a moment to recall that that was his new last name. "Yes?" he grumbled and glanced up at the displeased smuggler captain, Han Solo.
The Corellian narrowed his eyes. "If you're going to stay on my ship, you're going to pull your own weight, understand?"
"What would you have me do?" Vader asked curiously.
"Chewie's working on the Falcon's shield generator," Solo grunted and hooked his thumb over his shoulder in the ship's general direction. "Go help him."
Vader considered this task for a moment. "Yes, sir," he agreed before the Corellian could grow more irritated with him and staggered to his feet.
Nodding to the Corellian and the princess, he left them for the aging freighter. Normally, he found being ordered around that way to be insulting and demeaning. However, accepting this task would get him away from most of the Rebels and give him the chance to do something that he enjoyed—working on machines.
Perhaps I can actually make Solo's heap space-worthy, he smirked to himself. How that ship always managed to outrun my forces I'll never know. When I'm done with it, it will truly be one of the fastest ships in the galaxy…
Mara Jade glided through the shadowy corridors of the Imperial Palace towards her Master's chamber. She was still dressed for the Imperial Court and she would've changed if she'd had the time, but any summons was urgent and she would not delay. Her Master understood; he appreciated her devout loyalty and punctuality. Even though she would be appearing before him dressed in the flashy, revealing clothing of an Imperial concubine, he would not mind.
The Emperor made some allowances for his favorite servant. She was his Hand, his personal assassin who he dispatched to quietly clean up the Empire's dangerous dissidents. While Darth Vader had been Emperor Palpatine's right hand, she was his left. She was the subtle knife who stayed in the shadows while Vader had been the big stick with spikes in it. Vader had been for big messes, she was for small, sensitive messes.
She was superior to that traitor, and if she worked hard enough, her Master would see it. With Vader out of the picture, the position of apprentice was now wide open. At the moment, her Master was not seeking to fill the post, but when he did start seriously looking at candidates, she was determined to come out on top. She was already a highly skilled assassin, all she needed was the training in the Force.
Passing between a pair of red-robed Imperial guards, she breezed into the Emperor's private audience chamber and knelt before his throne, her head bowed and eyes cast to the black marble floor. "What is thy bidding, my Master?"
"Rise, my Hand," her Master croaked, and she obeyed. "Come to me," he beckoned with a pale, withered hand, and she moved to stand at the armrest of his black thorny throne. "I must amend your previous orders concerning Luke Skywalker," he announced.
"In what way, my Master?" she asked politely.
Months before, the Emperor had dispatched her to slay Luke Skywalker. She had tracked him to Tatooine and infiltrated Jabba's Palace as the dancing girl Arica. When Skywalker appeared there to rescue his smuggler friend, she had been a hair's breadth away from fulfilling her mandate. However, when Skywalker got himself set up to be executed by Sarlacc, she had not been able to get herself aboard the Hutt's sail barge and so she missed her target.
Normally such failure would result in punishment. But instead of punishing her, the Emperor had set her on a different target—a politician that she had easily slain. After that, she had expected her punishment to come, however the destruction of the second Death Star and the continuing mystery of Lord Vader's whereabouts had probably distracted her Master from that particular task. This amending of her orders concerning Skywalker was the first she'd heard of the mission in a long time.
"Do not worry about killing Skywalker just yet," the Emperor commanded. "Instead, you will seek him out and befriend him. If you feel you can do it without compromising your cover, seduce him. Do not underestimate him," her Master warned, "he possesses forbidden Jedi skills."
"Yes, my Master, it will be done," she promised, baffled at this radical change in plans.
"Once you have insinuated yourself in his life, he will lead you to Lord Vader," her Master continued. "When you have discovered Lord Vader's location and condition, report it to me."
"It will be done, my Master," Mara agreed.
"Because Skywalker has the power of the Force, as we do, I will not be able to watch over you or speak to you. You will be completely your own, beyond any Imperial support in the heart of the criminal Rebellion." Her Master pinned her with a warning stare from under his deep, shadowy hood. "Do not fail me, my Hand."
"I will not fail, my Master," she swore with a bow. "Your will shall be done."
"Good," he purred. "Now go and prepare for your mission."
"Yes, my Master." She bowed and exited the audience chamber.
Her stiletto heels clicked against the black marble floors as she strode through the Palace towards her private quarters. As she walked, she removed various jeweled hairpins from her red-gold hair, destroying the elaborate hairstyle she had worn for the court. As soon as her door closed behind her, she stripped out of her slinky green dress, took off her other jewelry, and pulled on the form-fitting black clothing that she preferred. And then she set about preparing her departure.
Of all her missions, this would be her most difficult. She would have to go deep into enemy territory, befriend and perhaps even seduce the man that she had been previously ordered to kill, and discover the location and condition of the traitorous dog, Darth Vader. And this time, she would have to do so without her Master's guidance, without feeling his presence until she had completed all her objectives. While she was incredibly pleased to be so trusted by her Master that he would grant her such a task, she also feared it.
The Emperor had given her everything. When she had been abandoned on the streets of Coruscant, he had taken her in. He had fed her, clothed her, put a roof over her head, and given her the finest education in everything from culture and politics to weapons and hand-to-hand combat. She lived for his praise and feared his punishment. Making him proud of her was what she lived for. He was the only family that she had ever known and she would die to keep his Empire and its citizens secure.
I will not fail, she swore to herself. I will get Skywalker eating out of my hand, I will find that slime Lord Vader, and I will win the Sith apprenticeship. I will make my Master proud and I will be a much better Sith than that pathetic creep ever was!
