"I have waited long enough. Show me the recordings."

The bridge of the Devastator was busy, teeming with attendants and officers, active on the decks or huddled in their compact pit stations below. Some of the navigation officers glanced at each other nervously, trying to not be distracted from their work as the Dark Lord and the Grand General spoke above them.

Tagge looked up at the Dark Lord indiscriminately, his arms folded. He turned away, observing a nearby hologram that showcased the surrounding starfleet.

"As I told you, Lord Vader, the footage is being detained. It is evidence. The ISB has been reviewing it to collect any further material that may be of use with the investigation. Surely you see the prudence in this."

Vader stepped forward. As if sensing his aggravation, Tagge hastily added, "Although it isn't proficient... I shall have the workforce copy the data and send it to you. Since you so obviously cannot wait."

Vader stared down at the pouch-faced man for a moment.

"Have the recordings forwarded to my quarters when ready. Inform me immediately if anything is found regarding Cylo or the Rebel."

With slow grinding steps, Vader turned and headed out the exit. He walked down the grey-lit halls, aiming to reach his private chamber. Some meditation might prove useful in clearing his head, in finding answers...

Before meeting with Tagge, he had met with his master. It had been pointless indolence as expected, Sidious speaking to him about the history of the Sith, the stability of the Empire... among other things. He'd given Vader his meager excuse for having favored Cylo — apparently the scientist was too influential and could cause a schism of the scientific minds in the Empire otherwise...

To add to this, his master also casually revealed that Cylo had been among the doctors who had helped rebuild his body, all those years ago...

Cylo, then, could know of him. His past. Who he used to be. He remembered something the Rodian-eyed man had once told him, that day he discovered him and his creations:

In many ways, these are your children.

As if he needed more reasons to want Cylo dead.

The Emperor had then concluded with how much he valued Vader as his "true apprentice", never mind that he'd given Cylo and his creations free reign to eliminate him, to replace him, had withheld so much vital information from him throughout the years...

If any of Cylo's toys had succeeded... you would be making this speech to them.

So he had said to his master. The old man had stared back, not angrily, not coldly. Not uttering any word. For truly, what could he have said?

Sidious had finally let him go, and Vader had returned to his Star Destroyer. Tagge's specialists were trying to weed out any of Cylo's associates within the Empire, as well as trying to reach Cylo's base. The navigation crew was on the lookout for any special sightings of suspicious vessels approaching the Devastator.

Tagge had objected to not taking greater action, claiming that more effort should be spent on locating Thanoth and the disguised Rebel — Tagge had supported Cylo in the Shu-Torun war, and no doubt his treason reflected poorly on him; he wanted to pretend it was less important. But he had complied when Vader told him it was the Emperor's will, that they needed leads on the enemy who was actively trying to escape them, not the one heading their way.

Thankfully, there was no news about the Rebel and Thanoth. Tagge had informed him that the ISB found that certain security units had been tampered with, resulting in visuals and auditory footage that wasn't the best quality. Vader had insisted on viewing the recordings, but even this was met with delays. Tagge had the authority to refuse him any data he saw fit, and as usual the bureaucratic man was keen on keeping whatever clout he could over the Dark Lord.

So Vader had no choice but to wait for results, boil in his frustration, meditate on things and hope the Force showed him something. He despised the waiting, but at the very least it gave him time to center himself, to dwell on things...

He accessed the door of his quarters and strode inside. With a wave of his hand, the dark room brightened as the giant dome of his meditation chamber powered on. The square hatches unsealed and opened. He proceeded into the white encasement and seated himself. The orthogonal interlocks shut the outside air out. The chair whirled around with the press of a button, and he leaned his head back. The familiar devices turned on, pincer-like mechanisms extending, reaching out to grasp his helmet and mask.

He closed his eyes as the weight slowly lifted. The magnetized seal of the helmet depressurized, releasing the neurological needles from his scalp. The mask lifted away with an emitting hiss, and his deep, artificial breath was gone.

Vader inhaled, hearing the weak rasp that came from what remained of his natural throat. Removing his mask often helped with meditation, in clearing his thoughts and seeing things clearly for what they were.

He had to deal with Cylo's treachery. He should have been trying to discover any of Cylo's locations himself, thinking of strategies to deal with the scientist and his followers. There was so much he could be doing...

Yet in these past few hours... he was left with questions about the boy, too many questions. His mind was swollen with them, rummaging with one possibility after another... And he wondered about the two droids he'd sent. They must have been nearing the Setera system by now... He'd given them specific directions, still had secret means to communicate with them if need be, but he knew the risk he would be taking in doing so.

And the risk in sending them in the first place. He had had no other choice for the position he was in, but to think that so much depended on these two homicidal machines with questionable obedience... was not encouraging. They had to find the boy and Thanoth before the Imperial forces did. If Tagge caught them first, there was no telling what could happen; he knew Tagge's orders were to have the Rebel pilot captured dead or alive...

It was out of his hands, he told himself. He'd done what he could. There was no time to waste worrying about what could happen. He had to find Cylo now, that was his mission.

He opened his eyes, diverted by the sudden sound of a signal coming from his built-in console — the recordings. Tagge had transferred them quicker than he thought. His datascreen flashed, and he quickly received the upload. Within seconds, it began to play.

Uncolored images appeared, that from a security cam. It indeed showed Thanoth, limping alongside an alleged stormtrooper, who looked slightly shorter than most. An astromech droid followed them. Cuts of the video showed the so-called trooper blasting through doors, the droid deactivating locks and barriers, all three of them running from patrolmen. Thermionic footage showed what looked like a TIE Defender taking off and being pursued.

The footage cut to the dark environment of a storage room. There was no sound, but Vader could discern movement: a storm of lasers sped past, shot by a man in an Imperial uniform. His target was a young man in trooper armor but without the helmet, and Vader instantly recognized the face of his son. He watched closely as the uniformed man shot at him frantically, the boy dodging the shots, wrestling with him, getting grazed and pushed back. The boy finally shot back at the last moment, forced to choose between killing or being killed.

Interesting, if predictable...

The screen then showed the boy unsealing the lid of a crate. Thanoth and the droid emerged from it, and the three of them left.

Vader scrolled to the rest of the data; there were a few sound recordings available. Information tapped in, notes by the ISB team: Suspect is human. Male. Young adult. Outer Rim accent.

Two voices came through. Thanoth and the boy were conversing.

"Soon as we get to the spaceport, we find an Imperial craft that can get us into that Star Destroyer. If you're really Vader's adjutant, you should be able to get us aboard his flagship no problem... right?"

Vader frowned. So the boy knew of Thanoth's connection to him... There was no sign of him being threatened or coerced in any way by Thanoth, or vice versa. They were clearly working together.

Why? What could be the reason behind their alliance? What did the boy hope to achieve by cooperating with his adjutant, by planning this ludicrous attempt to infiltrate his flagship? For a moment he considered that the boy meant to assassinate him. Vader bitterly remembered the boy's delusional belief that he had murdered his father, a lie planted by Kenobi no doubt... He could still distinctly remember the hate radiating from the youth when they met on Cymoon 1...

Still, to go to such lengths to enact revenge... surely the boy would not be that foolish...

And then there was Thanoth's motivation. Why did he help the boy? How much did he know? If he knew the boy was his son... had he actually dared to tell him? He had gone to great measures to keep his son's identity a secret, it was vital to his plans. Thanoth had been made his adjutant by Tagge; if he knew, why then had he not informed Tagge of all this?

The idea of someone knowing, the thought of the young one finding out through someone other than him... it was... disconcerting. No one could know about the boy. The inspector was out of line regardless, he decided. Traitor or not. Whatever his reasoning, whatever he knew. He would pay for all of this.

Glowering, Vader paused the screen with the lift of a finger, and an image of Thanoth froze. He was standing in a dim hall not far behind the boy, looking calm but alert.

"You thought... you could interfere..." The words left his mouth weakly, with only a hint of sound. "Your inquisitiveness will be your undoing... I will make sure of it."

Vader let out a steep breath, his leather-clad fingers scraping the arm of the chair. The boy was out there, coming to him. Coming to him, without any battles, without any Imperial business or interference from his Rebel companions. As much as he wanted to destroy Cylo, as much as he hated answering to Tagge, they were only obstructions in his path, ones that were not meant to last for long. Finding his son was the most important goal, for his plans, for himself.

And despite this, he could do nothing but sit here, powerless to grasp such an opportunity...

Vader played the footage again, reevaluating it, trying to find anything else worth noting. A word, a location, a movement, any telling details. But nothing helped to answer the many questions numbly crowding his mind.

Sinking into the Force, he let his thoughts unravel. Though his frustration was far from spent, he let it feed his effort to concentrate. To peer into the Force, see the possibilities that lay in the future...

They were infinite, ever distant. There were only faint hints of things, murky visions of a shimmering presence, and a snarl of events unfolding around it. Vader tried, kept searching, pushing to see more clearly... But it all remained vague, like whispers underground. The future was unyielding to him.

Anger stirred in his chest, a flare of desperation needling its way through — he barred himself from feeling it. Instead he sought elsewhere, to be in that place he knew and imagined, apart and within himself. Where he saw himself in the future of the Force...

And as if fulfilling his wishes, it poured itself upon him: he saw red. A whole galaxy of red. His galaxy.

He saw himself, Dark Lord of the Sith, Darth Vader, black-cloaked, black-masked, standing amongst it all, the stars blinking in the distance. Fleets, warships, and Death Stars a plenty, all mere tools for his use. Worlds that were mere specks cast in his shadow. Destruction, creation, and power beyond measure. At last, his... The galaxy was his to rule.

And in the distance below was the young one, standing as if at the foot of invisible stairs. His presence was vivid and golden in the Force. His face held no emotion, but confusion emanated from his being. He looked around him, aimless and lost in the crimson chaos.

Vader stood still. He reached out to him.

Come with me.

The young gaze met his, a familiar set of sea-blue eyes that was piercing among the blood-scarlet around them. There was understanding in those eyes. Acceptance. Awakening.

The boy extended his arm, trying to reach him. Effortlessly they drew closer and closer, the Force bridging them, and Vader's hand was inches from his.

This will be our future. Our galaxy.

Vader's leather fingers could almost brush the boy's —

Then it all stopped; there was a high-pitched sound, and the boy, the power, the galaxy awash in red, it fell away.

Vader opened his eyes, inhaling, causing his throat to throb painfully. The vision vanished, swallowed up like a vortex, back into the darkness. Loathing filled him, and he looked at his gloved hand. It was shaking. The aggregation of metal and wires was as cold and unfeeling as ever, but the artificial joints twitched convulsively.

The noise continued in its irritating cycle, and Vader smashed his fist on the panel to make it stop. He let himself adjust back to reality, and instinctively drew upon the dark side to do so, to channel his anger steadily.

The sound was coming from the transmission's display of his console. He eyed it, and saw a holographic call was on hold... one through the Imperial Network, directed to his private reception. Curious...

Annoyed but intrigued, he called the automatic devices once again, holding still as they returned his mask and helmet to him. When he was fully donned, he pushed the button and accepted the message.

From the holoprojector, a specter-like image appeared.

"Inspector Thanoth here. Calling from Anthan 13."

Taken aback, Vader saw the image of the old, monocled inspector, who looked back at him anxiously, his form bent and hunched.

"You..." Vader hissed, loud and scathing, and he leaned forward, clenching his fists down on the console. "Thanoth... You dare to—"

"Lord Vader — I'm sure we have much to discuss, but now is not the time." Thanoth's tone was rushed and impatient, a hard frown forming behind his mustache. "I am communicating through this ship's system, and the Astarte twins are out searching for me at this very moment. There is very little time — Cylo is here, Vader. Cylo has the boy."



The twins suns were setting.

They blazed over the cloudless atmosphere of Tatooine, two balls of fire in a dusky haze. Their different colors cast on the desert, yellow and orange, and all was still and hot below. Vaporators perched like spindly towers among the stretches of sand. The gorges were overshadowed in the far distance, and there was no wind across the Jundland Wastes.

On the midpoint of the salt flat sat the modest homestead, a round, whitish dome settled in twilight.

Luke stood by it, leaned against the pourstone-made dwelling. He remembered how his uncle would often remind him that their home was handmade, built from the ground up by his father, that he had installed much of the machinery they still relied on, that he had been a hard-working man even after losing his ability to walk. He often told this to Luke, especially whenever his young nephew complained or put off his chores. It usually did the trick, motivating Luke to chin up and get his workload done.

But he remembered once, when he was eight or so, and had heard this same old lecture one too many times, he'd said back to his uncle, "You tell me more about your father then you do about mine!"

Owen, strained after a long, backbreaking day, had looked angrily at the boy for a moment. Then he just sighed, and simply said, "Luke... there's nothing to tell you."

Luke now looked back to the binary sunset. The orange sun was hidden beneath the horizon, its lighter counterpart not far behind. Luke stepped away, staying close to the homestead, and he walked around to the entrance. The front was still bare and sturdy, the open tunnelway leading to the inside, same as he remembered it. But he had the vaguest feeling that something was off here. Something was missing.

He heard a sound: a murmur... some kind of voice that seemed to loom over him, beneath him, awaiting and watching Luke like an omnipresent cloud. He tried to pretend it wasn't there. Maybe it wasn't, really. Maybe it was just the vaporators, acting up again.

"Luke."

A robed figure approached him from the shadow of the homestead. Luke realized who it was, could see the white-bearded face beneath the pointed hood. Obi-Wan halted before him, and lifted the brown folds over his head.

"Luke," he said, his face the same kindly, composed one that Luke remembered, tanned and wrinkled — he looked so alive. Ben... here, no longer a ghostly voice in his head but a person, present and engaging with him. Luke took a step toward his friend.

Then he hesitated, and took a step back.

"Luke, you cannot stay here," Ben said, serenely, but with a nudge of admonishment. "This place... it is gone. They are gone. This is not real."

Luke stared at him. Then, slowly, he pried his gaze away.

"I... know," he said, but felt unmoved. This was all an illusion of memories. He'd known this; but Ben, he sensed, was somehow real. He himself was real. He didn't feel the same level of consciousness, but he knew he was undeniably himself, the both of them manifested in a way he didn't understand.

Luke continued to watch the view of the one remaining sun. He didn't want to talk to Ben. He didn't want to listen. Right now he was just a farmboy on a backwater planet, and all he wanted to do was watch the sun set, illusion or not.

"Luke," Ben said more sharply. "You must listen to me. This time, you must listen. I do not have much time, and you have only led yourself to greater danger by choosing this path, danger you cannot comprehend... You must survive this, Luke. You must escape!"

The young man spared him a sidelong glance. He said nothing. He darted his gaze back to the horizon.

"The dark side is closing in, ready to welcome you," Ben went on, a strain in his voice. "Soon I may not even be able to speak to you at all. Luke, you must escape this place. You must wake up... and you must become a Jedi."

"Jedi..." Luke uttered the word like an afterthought.

"Survive this, Luke, and learn to become a Jedi. Learn the ways of the Force. You must go—"

"Ben... why... why didn't you tell me?"

Silence. Ben said nothing, and Luke continued to look away. The desert evening was turning darker... Luke looked at the dwelling again; two burnt skeletons were now sprawled on the ground, surrounded by ash and debris. The roof was set with plumes of smoke.

Then suddenly more darkness came in, so swift it was like a wave. It shrouded the homestead and engulfed it until it was all gone. Then Luke and Ben were standing near a cluster of crumbled slabs and rocks: slanted remains of ancient walls, pillars, and Jedi monuments. The air was filled with yellow dust.

"You were not ready," he heard Ben say, repeating that familiar warning, his voice soft. Then Luke felt a hand rest on his shoulder, and Ben's own presence reaching out to him, a solace, seeking to ease the young man's many untold burdens.

Luke wanted to accept it, to find comfort from the friend he had so missed... but he faintly shook his head, a need building up within him to shield himself, to not listen to Ben. A man who's guidance and comradeship he had relied on... Old Ben, spiriting him off the dirt-drudged Tatooine and taking him to a life of adventure in the stars... And giving him a reason to feel part of it all; the revelation of a father who had walked the same path, a Jedi Knight, one who died fighting the good fight.

That revelation had changed his life. Luke had always felt that he wasn't destined for the desolate life of a farmer... and with his aunt and uncle dead, there was nothing left but that aspiration to follow in his father's footsteps. He had wrapped himself in that dream like a garment — a treasure, proud and personal to him.

Now it was like the universe was laughing at him for ever having such a dream. It was stripped it from him, suddenly, without warning. And in its place were only illusions, followed by an unrelenting darkness, and a truth he wanted to ignore...

But he couldn't.

"My father." The words trembled out of him, and Luke turned and faced his departed friend, unable to fight the shrill, accusatory tone in his voice. "It... it's true, isn't it? He... He's..."

Ben's eyes didn't meet his. He had removed his hand from Luke's shoulder, the brown sleeves swaying, and he drew back. His posture changed. He slouched, his face bearing a distant weariness.

"Your father... Anakin." Ben stopped for a moment, then made a hollow sigh. "He is as dead as I said he was. He ceased to exist, long ago."

"No," Luke responded quickly, recoiling from the words as if stung. He paused. Then, hating the words as he spoke them, he said: "My father... Darth Vader... is alive."

Around them, the same thriving darkness that had swept up Tatooine approached, and absorbed the temple remains in the barren landscape. In their place, a steely medical lab appeared, with monitors and blinking lights on display. A collection of needles were piled on a counter.

Luke was no longer standing. He was lying on a table, his limbs constrained, his head tied and tilted towards the lamplight.

"I felt it," the young man rasped, his face twisted in pain. "I... know."

Ben looked at him, blue-grey eyes creased in concern, and he took a step towards him, opened his mouth to speak — but he said nothing. Luke shook his head.

"Ben... why didn't you... why didn't you tell me?..."

The old man watched him, his gaze lit with compassion. He rose up a hand, as if to quiet him.

"Luke. You must understand... Your father... Anakin... he was my friend. My student. He was a brave and good-hearted man... once. But he turned to the dark side, he chose it, gave himself to it. He became Darth Vader, a machine of evil, a destroyer devoid of any humanity. He could have saved the galaxy from imbalance and evil; instead he became part of it."

The young man closed his eyes, leaned against the table, holding back the scream he longed to release.

"...I am sorry," Ben said with gentleness, but Luke felt prone to brush the words aside. Sorry... His identity, his family, his trust, his hopes... All that he thought was good and evil in the galaxy... a lie. A needless whirl of lies.

"I meant to tell you someday," Ben went on quietly. "When you were ready... But Luke, you must understand that this changes nothing."

Unbelieving, Luke stared brazenly at the old Jedi. "Changes... nothing?"

"Vader is Anakin's darkness. He corrupted him, destroyed the goodness in him. He is only Vader now, Luke."

Luke felt a stunned anger at this, felt the urge to respond — but found that he couldn't. There was a sudden shot of pain that was sent through him. It resounded deeply, differently... He hadn't felt this kind of pain before. It seemed to shatter through some barrier, connect him back to another existence that was calling him back.

His insides were compressed, a sharpness was in his blood. Luke felt a glaring light on his face, the lamplight, sweat collecting in the crevices of his collarbone...

"Luke." Ben's voice was louder, more urgent, and Luke could see he was changing. His form was fading out, blending into an incoming brightness that was erasing everything. "You must listen to me, Luke, I beg you — you are our only hope — Luke, you must go to the Da—"

The light grew and grew, and Ben's shapeless form became lost in it. The light consumed everything. Everything became light.

Luke felt himself come out of it.

He became aware again. His body was tingling, feeling sore and barely responsive. The solid surface was propped up against his back, the constraints pressing him down, pressing the stormtrooper armor into his cold, sweaty skin. All the unpleasant sensation was returning... The same light was hovering over him, making things hard to distinguish, but things were real, undeniably real.

How long had it been? Hours? Days? He didn't have the strength to truly wonder. He only remembered flashes of the medical lab, of Cylo walking through the door, speaking to him.

A few careless words tossed his way. The words settling, repeating, tearing Luke from the inside out... and everything after was a blur.

Luke shivered.

He saw the figure of someone near, murmuring to someone else. And there was that familiar, skin-crawling static...

"Subject is conscious," he heard Voidgazer say in her dry voice. "Weakness and inflammation is noted, but no signs of resistance decrease. I suggest a thzolomite dosage."

There was a beeping sound, a shuffling, and the recognizable images of Cylo and Voidgazer came into view. They stood a few feet away next to a medical droid, both huddled in discussion away from Luke.

Ben... He tried to mentally call for his friend, pleading as much as he could despite the anger he still felt, despite this dazed state he was in... But he knew the old Jedi was gone. He was on his own.

Despondent, he tried to look around. His vision was distorted, like he was staring through bloated glass, but he could make out the stagnant sheen of tools in an array of silver and black. Mechanisms were flickering around him. He breathed in, taking in the bitter smell of rubber and sanitizer.

He heard the voices of the two scientists still conferring. Cylo made a tiresome sigh.

"No more," he asserted. "No more serums, no more drugs. His system is confounding the procedure, immune to the full affect... What are the results of the scan?"

"Scans are successful in midi-chlorian detection, but all other efforts are ineffective. The micro-bionic extraction has been unsuccessful, even at the most basic level. Analysis of these cells has also proved inconclusive. Tthe computers do not recognize the composite matter."

"Of course. This is something else, something more... complex. A challenge for us... but the midi-chlorians are the key. These Force cultists can call it whatever they want, but it's biology. It's all about biology."

Luke tried to speak, but found nothing would come out of him. He made a wince, from the soreness, the exhaustion, feeling half-buried and wanting to go back to... whatever he'd just left. Back to the sunset.

"...A pity we have limited time to study his responses." Cylo droned lowly in disappointment.

"I don't see why we don't terminate him now, Cylo. Dissection could help in trying to duplicate the midi-chlorians, if you're still planning on cloning or any anatomic replication. And this theory of yours, to implement non-humanoid organic matter to try to confound the cells..."

"I adhere to it, but to be sure, we should keep him alive as long as possible. It would be quite compelling, actually... if we were to install the cyberanimate system. Imagine, complete control of a Force-sensitive... If only we had the time."

Voidgazer let out a stiff breath.

"Perhaps something smaller, then," she suggested dryly. "What of sensory substitution? Control via one primary function."

There was a quiet pause between them, only the sounds of the machines purring, the devices whirring, and Cylo humming in thought.

"Very well," he said finally, making a handclap. "Droid, make the necessary preparations, and ready the utensils... We will start by removing the eye."