Chapter 9
Rogues and the Elite
As lunch was being prepared by the Rebel pilots who lost the straw-draw, Vader stretched out on the flattened grass and dozed in the warm sunshine. After over two decades locked in a climate-controlled life support suit, it was an amazing feeling. A gentle breeze stirred across him and he started to smile—
A flash of warning had him rolling out of the way just milliseconds before a smashball smacked the ground where his head had just been.
"Sorry!" one of the Rebel pilots yelled.
Vader shot the small group a deadly glared and hurled the ball back at them as hard as he could. Seeing as the ball barely made it back to the players, he judged himself far from recovered. He'd meant to smack at least one of them in the head with that ball.
I'm not going to get back to full strength just by doing push-ups and crunches in my little cabin. He sighed and settled back to the ground, keeping one eye fixed on the Rebels playing ball. I need to get out of here.
It was a thought he'd had often since waking up a new man. He couldn't trust the Rebels. He was second on their most-wanted list, right after Palpatine. And if he stayed with them too long, the Empire could catch up with him, and that fate looked to be even worse than whatever it was that the Rebellion had planned for him.
He went to run his hand through his hair and found it still barely more than a fuzz of stubble. I wish this would grow faster, he scowled. I miss my hair.
Shaking his head, he refocused himself on the task of planning. Where to go, where to go… Somewhere in the Outer Rim probably. Hmm… He plucked at the grass around him as he contemplated his options. Hey, maybe—
"Hey there!"
Vader looked up to see a panting Rebel – Wes, if his memory served – standing over him, grinning. "Yes?" he asked warily.
"You look lonely," Wes declared. "Want to come play with us?"
"No," Vader frowned. "Thank you," he tacked on as an afterthought. Must be polite and forgettable.
"Oh come on," Wes whined. "It'll be fun!"
"No, I'm fine," Vader assured him. "Really." I mean it, just leave me alone.
"Please?" Wes begged, aiming for an innocent, child-like look.
"C'mon, join us!" a second pilot – Tycho, he thought – added. "We need another player anyway."
"I'm sorry, I'm just not up to it," Vader shrugged.
"Have you ever played a game of pick-up smashball before?" a third pilot asked curiously.
"No," Vader answered, "but—"
"Well, there's a first time for everything!" the pilot grinned and grabbed him by the shoulder. "You'll never know if you like the game if you don't give it a try."
A prickle of unease slithered over his skin. "No, I'd rather stay here. Please let go of me."
"Don't be such a wimp," Wes teased with a wicked grin and grabbed Vader's other shoulder. "On your feet! My team needs a full-time goal-keeper."
Every muscle in his body tensed. "I'd rather stay here. Let go of me," he insisted, putting some Force behind his words.
The three Rebels looked a little unfocused for a moment before shrugging off his command. They were veteran fighter pilots, and Rebels; they were not terribly weak-minded. Perhaps he could bend one to his will, but in his vulnerable position with his power split three ways…it just wouldn't work.
"C'mon Hobbie," Wes chuckled and tugged on Vader's arm. "A one, a two—"
"Enough boys!" the Princess interceded before they could haul Vader to his feet. "He's not interested. Drop it."
"Aww!" all three whined in almost perfect unison.
"But he looked so lonely just sitting there!" Wes protested.
"And he was watching us play," Tycho added.
"So we thought we'd invite him to even up the teams," Hobbie finished.
"Are you interested in playing with them?" the Princess asked Vader.
"No," Vader growled. Even if I wanted to play, I'd get trashed; I'm just not in shape enough.
"Well there you have it. No means no." The Princess made shooing motions with her hands. "Run along back to your game now."
"Can't you talk to her Tycho?" Wes pleaded. "You're both Alderaanian."
Tycho shook his head in defeat. "She's my princess, my sovereign; I don't tell her what to do."
Admitting their failure, the three pilots shuffled back to their smashball game with a lot of sighing and complaining. Vader struggled not to glare at their retreating backs. He was the weak, sissy prisoner here, not the irritated Sith Lord.
"How much longer will we remain on Dantooine?" he asked her before she could walk away.
"A few more days," she replied. "Why? Is there someone you need to be?"
Vader scowled at her little jab. "I don't like it here. They keep trying to touch me!" he hissed, gesturing towards the group of assorted Rebels.
"They keep trying to touch you?" she repeated. "How old are you, five?"
"I don't like being touched," he growled through gritted teeth.
"Well there's not much I can do about that," she shrugged. "It's only for a few more days. Deal with it."
Vader dug his fingers into the flatten stalks of violet grass. "Why you—"
"Be grateful for the fresh air," the Princess interjected. "Be glad that we don't have you locked up in a cage. This is far better than you deserve." She clearly wanted to say more, but she snapped her mouth shut and stalked off instead.
He glared at her retreating form. What does she know? She's just as deserving of a cell as I am!
To avoid getting smacked by any future wayward smashballs, Vader abandoned his spot in the sun and took shelter under one of the X-wings. While he missed the warmth of the sunshine, the cool shade wasn't too bad. Propping himself against one of the fighter's landing struts, he let his eyes roam over the motley group of Rebel pilots.
Wes, Tycho, and Hobbie had gone back to playing smashball with great enthusiasm. His son and Wedge, the only two other pilots he knew by name, were by the fires, cooking lunch. The Princess, Solo, and his Wookiee companion were discussing something by a burned out fire near where lunch was being assembled. There were two other Human men playing smashball, along with a male Quarren and a male Sullustan. And there was a Human woman, along with a blue female Mon Calamari and a rough-looking female Saloch, assisting in the lunch preparations.
There would never have been such a fighter squadron in the Empire. But then again, the Empire was male-dominated and Human-centric. No matter how talented any woman or alien was, they would be turned away unless they had powerful, male, Human patrons pulling strings for them.
Vader watched them move around their makeshift campsite with a neutral expression. They were laughing and playing as if they didn't have a care in the galaxy. And yet the ruling power of the galaxy was out to exterminate them. Now that he found himself in trapped in their situation, he found that he couldn't share their cheery optimism.
Probably because if they knew who I really was, they'd turn on me faster than a lightning viper. He narrowed his eyes as the blonde woman pilot abruptly left the cooking fires to go check on something inside the cockpit of her fighter. It's hard to be cheery among enemies with an invisible death mark hovering overhead. I was never the most positive person anyway…
A ripple of tension swept over the camp. The cooks left their posts by the fires. The smashball game fell apart. Solo, the Wookiee, and the Princess stopped talking and moved in towards the cluster of the Rebels. Intrigued, Vader slipped out of the shadows at the far side of the camp and moved to the fringe of anxious Rebels. They had all clustered around the woman pilot's fighter and were silent as they listened to the comm which was cranked up loud and tuned to a news channel.
"…response to Lord Vader's treacherous desertion and defection, the Emperor has named seven new special commanders to enforce the will of the Empire and to counter the threat of Rebel terrorists. Spread throughout the Imperial fleet, they will dispense justice and perform all the duties once performed by the disgraced Darth Vader. While it has not been officially confirmed as of yet, it is rumored that these special commanders possess the same supernatural powers as Lord Vader. With men such as these in command of our military, the criminals of the galaxy don't stand a chance. In other news, the economy is—"
"So what is this?" the Quarren growled as soon as the broadcast was cut off. "Seven Darth Vaders?!"
"Well this is depressing," Hobbie sighed.
"I bet they're all Vader clones," Wes cried.
"Don't say things like that!" Tycho snapped. "It might somehow turn out to be true!"
"That's just a holo-film cliché," Wedge snorted.
"We're doomed if it's really seven Darth Vaders running around out there," the woman pilot muttered as she dropped down from her fighter.
"How did you know there was an important newscast coming on, Feylis?" Luke asked.
"I had my Astromech scanning the news channels," the woman, Feylis, answered with a shrug.
"Clones or not," the Sullustan mused, "this isn't looking good for us."
"You can say that again," one of the Humans grumbled.
Vader struggled not to roll his eyes at the Rebels' bizarre speculations and turned to leave, only to run into the Princess.
"Do you know anything about this?" she demanded quietly, falling into step beside him.
"My best guess is that he's put his 'Dark Side Elite' out in the spotlight to replace me," Vader replied after a moment's consideration.
"And what's so special about them?" she pressed.
"It's a group of seven Dark Jedi, all fanatically loyal to Palpatine," he explained. "They're more powerful than the average Imperial Inquisitor, but none of them are a match for me."
"Anything else?" the Princess asked.
"The leader is a man named Sedriss," he added after combing his memory. "The worst fanatic of the bunch, he loves all the violence he gets to inflict in the Emperor's name. He's a brute, a former mercenary, with no morals to speak of. Avoid running into him if you can, you'll live longer."
"Funny," she snorted. "That sounds a lot like a description of you."
Vader froze mid-stride and glared furiously at her. "I am no fanatic believer in Palpatine, I've wanted to kill him for years. I don't enjoy inflicting violence on others, it simply happens to be the most effective way to get things done properly; sometimes it's the only language that others seem to understand perfectly. I am not a brute, I was never a mercenary, and I do possess morals. And despite several run-ins with me, you're still alive."
"You could've fooled me," she shot back calmly. "Anyway, lunch should be ready shortly." And then she walked away and left him at the far end of camp.
Mentally reciting his vast vocabulary of curses and insults, Vader flopped back down in his previous spot in the shade. With every conversation he shared with her, he came closer and closer to exploding on her. She was stubborn, irritating, bold, and at times incredibly disconcerting.
I really need to get out of here before I kill someone…seeing as there's no where to run when all the other Rebels find the corpse and come gunning after me.
Admiral Piett stood stiffly at attention on the bridge as the mighty Executor sailed away from the glittering jewel of Coruscant (technically it was "Imperial Center" but only the Emperor and those trying to win favor from him ever called it that) out towards deep space. The atmosphere on the bridge was tenser than it had been in a long time. It reminded the admiral of the days when Lord Vader ruled the ship, only now it was worse.
After the terrible accident with Darth Vader's modified TIE fighter, Piett had feared that the Emperor would punish him for failing to assist the Dark Lord speedily enough. However, once Piett had delivered his report to Emperor Palpatine, no action had been taken. Aside from keeping their eyes out for Lord Vader's lost fighter, the Executor, along with the rest of the Imperial fleet, was ordered to continue with the previous missions and patrols as assigned.
For months the Executor had gone on without Darth Vader. Those months had been the smoothest Piett could ever recall, and those months had seen the lowest number of crew fatalities. But a mere two weeks ago, the mighty Super Star Destroyer had been recalled at the direct order of the Emperor.
Apparently Emperor Palpatine felt that it was time to have a visible extension of his will in command of the awesome vessel. With Lord Vader gone, officially a traitor although Piett was rather certain that he was dead, the Emperor had introduced a new set of enforcers. Instead of one man, he'd opted to deploy seven: the Dark Side Elite.
The Emperor had assigned two of his new representatives to the Executor and spread the other five throughout the fleet. The senior member of the pair was a rough-looking mercenary sort of individual known only as Sedriss. The other was a grim, distant young man named Kam Solusar. Both were clearly dangerous men and were said to have powers similar to that of the absent Lord Vader, and they carried the Dark Lord's signature weapon.
At the moment, both were present on the bridge, which accounted for the incredible sense of tension.
"What is our ETA for light-speed?" Sedriss hissed, making several younger officers flinch.
"Ten minutes, sir," the navigator replied.
The black cloaked figure made no response to indicate that he had heard, though he didn't ask again. From the corner of his eye, Piett could see the navigator, a seasoned officer who had survived Lord Vader, sweating profusely. Several other officers around him looked just as anxious.
That was the problem with the new overlords. The crew was used to Lord Vader; they knew what would and wouldn't get them killed. With new men in charge, it was now a mystery as to what would set one or both of them off.
Until the crew had adjusted to its new masters, the interior of the Executor would be rife with fear. Everyone was jumping at shadows, looking over their shoulders, and flinching at any unexpected sound. Even the droids seemed wary as they performed their programmed functions.
Hopefully these two will be as competent and effective as Lord Vader was, Piett prayed. And hopefully they don't kill too many crewmen before they get settled in…
As night fell over Dantooine, Luke took the opportunity to slip away from the camp. He hiked through the tall purplish grass away from the circle of X-wings and the parked Millennium Falcon until he couldn't hear his friends joking and laughing. Satisfied at the distance, he settled down into meditation.
He wasn't alone for long.
"What's troubling you, young Luke?"
He opened his eyes, but the bluish specter of Obi-Wan "Ben" Kenobi was nowhere to be seen.
"A lot of things," Luke sighed. "Mostly my father. I thought he'd be at least a little appreciative about what we've done for him."
"Perhaps he would be if he had asked for the help," Ben replied. "He's been removed from a position he's held for over two decades and understood, he's been stripped of most of the power that he's accustomed to, and placed among a group of people that have long been his enemies. While his health has been restored, he is still weak and off-balance; he is very much like a cornered wild animal and he will continue to lash out until he readjusts and re-centers himself."
Luke slumped his shoulders. "I don't suppose you could talk to him?"
"I've tried," Ben answered. "But he believes that I am nothing more than a dream and my presence upsets him."
"What do you suggest I do?" Luke asked wearily.
"Be patient and be careful," Ben's disembodied voice advised. "I doubt that he'll become violent without strong provocation, but he is still convinced that the Dark Side is the aspect of the Force that he should follow and he will tempt you to join him."
Luke hesitated before asking the question that had been bothering him the most lately. "Do you think he'd return to the Emperor if he could?"
"At this moment, no, he won't. He's cut his last ties to Palpatine and now that he is medically independent there is nothing to pull him back to the Emperor's side as of yet." Ben sighed. "However, there is very little holding him to the Alliance; just the fact that he is now a fugitive from the Empire, and you. It is likely, I think, that he will leave the Alliance and strike out on his own for a time. Where he will go and what he will do if he does this, I can't say."
"Father might leave?" Luke sputtered in shock.
"I think it's a strong possibility at this time, Luke," Ben replied. "But remember, the future is always in motion. He may end up staying."
Luke ran his fingers over his mechanical prosthetic. "Ben, do you think it would be better if father were to leave the Alliance?"
Ben didn't immediately answer and Luke began to wonder if his deceased mentor's spirit had left him. "It may be better for him if he left," the ghost said at last. "He feels surrounded by enemies, unsafe; he's under a great deal of stress and it prevents him from thinking beyond how he's thought as Darth Vader. Spending some time on his own could help him get his thoughts in order and decided what he wants to do with this chance he has been given."
"I see," Luke nodded after a moment.
"You have another question," Ben observed after a stretch of silence.
"Do you think he can be saved, Ben?" Luke asked quietly. "Do you think he can come back?"
"I really don't know, Luke," Ben sighed sadly. "I hope so. But I wouldn't get my hopes up too high. The things he did in the early days of the Purges…the Anakin Skywalker that I knew would never do those things."
Feeling his heart sink, Luke stood up. "Thanks for talking with me, Ben."
"You're welcome, Luke," Ben answered. "Have a good night."
Luke bowed awkwardly to the empty air and hiked back towards the camp. He would've liked more support from his first teacher, but he understood Ben's hesitance to get his hopes up. His father had betrayed Ben badly, and Luke imagined that it would hard for even a great Jedi like Ben to forgive the man once known as Anakin Skywalker.
When he reentered the circle of X-wings, Luke found his sister waiting for him with her arms folded over her chest. "Where were you?"
"Out," Luke shrugged, eager to get his hands on the last of dinner.
"Doing what?" she inquired.
"Talking to dead people," he answered.
She shifted uneasily. "Isn't it a little strange?"
"What is a little strange?" Luke blinked, confused.
"Talking to someone you saw die as if they were still alive," she explained. "And having them talk back to you. Normally when that happens to a person, it's a sign of insanity."
Luke shrugged. "I never really thought about it. I needed his guidance, and he was there."
"I wish that my father—" She stopped short and began again. "I wish that-that Bail could talk to me that way."
"I don't know if he can," Luke shrugged awkwardly. "I'm sure that Ben wouldn't mind giving you some advice if you asked."
She gave him a skeptical look. "You think so?"
"Well, he's dead. I don't think he's got anything better to do with his time." Luke ran a hand through his messy hair. "Is there any food left?"
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, there's still plenty of food left. Come on."
Luke grinned and followed his sister towards the campfires. "Great."
"Men," she muttered just loud enough for him to hear. "Always thinking with their stomachs."
Luke only laughed in response.
