AN: I'd like to thank everyone who has shown an interest in this story. To say that I am overwhelmed by the response to Consequences is an understatement. Thank you all who have been kind enough to leave their thoughts and I hope that you continue to enjoy the story as it progresses.

All previous disclaimers apply

Part Nine

Boba Fett's fingers lightly danced over the controls as he programmed in the co-ordinates for the jump to Tatooine and, as the stars streaked beyond the cockpit, he removed his helmet and and gloves and set them down. He relaxed into the pilot's chair staring unseeing at the chaotic lights beyond the viewing window, thinking of the battered youth in the cargo hold below who Vader had inexplicably placed into his safe keeping.

It had been obvious to Fett that the Dark Lord had been putting on an act; a ruse for his own men. He had called the prisoner 'it' while in the hanger and in front of the soldiers who had dragged the boy into the ship but, in private, he had changed to "him," acknowledging the youth as a person, not a commodity or a thing. Vader's distain and distaste for the boy had disappeared as soon as his personnel had been out of earshot. If Fett was not mistaken he would have thought that Vader had been distracted by the boy - had cared.

He snorted laughter at the ridiculous thought. The Dark Lord's fury with the youth, the venom in his warning to the boy not to fail him had been cold; a bitter caution of unspoken penalties.

But then there had been a warning for him; "I will know if any harm comes to him, bounty hunter. I will not be forgiving."

So, who was the boy, what was the boy?

"You would be wise not to underestimate him."

Fett fisted his right hand and grimaced with distaste as an old memory surfaced; the arena on Geonosis, the swing of a lightsaber blade as it took his father's head from his shoulders.

Could the boy be a Force user like Vader? A wizard like the damned Jedi. It had been rumoured that Vader once had an apprentice; could this be him, or his replacement? Or was he just one of the Dark Lord's favoured operatives being sent back into the field after receiving punishment for failing?

Didn't Vader just kill those who failed him?

It was a shame he didn't have access to a facility that would take a count of the boy's midichlorian levels without setting off an alarm somewhere in the galaxy. Although, he knew he couldn't kill the youth, couldn't risk having Vader as his enemy, but it would be good to have some knowledge about his passenger.

However, Vader had warned against asking questions and the galaxy just wasn't big enough to hide from the Darth Lord's wrath. The entire Jedi order had tried and failed; falling to the Dark Lord one after another until they were wiped out completely.

Fett smiled, cracked his knuckles. He had never thanked Vader for that particular act, would liked to have witnessed the death of one particular Jedi Master.

He reached out, picked up a datapad and flicked it on. He stabbed at the keys as he brought up the current list of posted bounties. He dismissed most of them, concentrated only on those of missing or runaway slaves from Tatooine.

There weren't many and it didn't take long for him to have the list whittled down to just two choices. He brought the faces of the slaves onto to the screen beside one another and studied his choices.

He had guessed the boy to be in his late teens and only these two fit that age group as well as his approximate height and weight. However, both were the wrong colouring; dark haired and just one had blue eyes.

Not that he intended their owners to get a close look at the captive.

He considered their faces; saw the despair in their eyes, the fear and hatred of their lot. But which one suited his needs most?

The slave of the parts dealer from Mos Espa, or the Slave of the moisture farmer from the outskirts of Bestine?

He called up more information on both the owners, noted the bounties posted and scowled. Neither were amounts that he would normally go after, leaving both slaves to lesser, more inexperienced hunters. However, he had little choice if he was carry out Vader's demands.

The dealer was in the centre of Mos Espa near the docking bays. This would be ideal for witnesses to see his taking the boy into the building, good for a quick get away, but how to get the boy out without the same witnesses seeing two leaving?

The farm, on the other hand, was more isolated, but the farmer well off. There were more slaves, more witnesses, but he was also a family man and despite his reputation Fett was not in the business of wholesale slaughter.

He shut off the data pad, tapped it lightly on the edge of the console as he considered his choices and his plans for Vader's ruse.

He frowned at his thoughts; this was a scam, a dodge, but just who was it for? Who was Vader trying to trick and throw off track?

And where would he take the boy once it had played out?

He threw the datapad onto the empty co-pilot's chair, drew himself up and grabbed the portable medkit from the overhead storage. It was time to check on his cargo.

ooOOoo

"Stay awake, Luke."

The gentle, but commanding, tones cut through the haze of pain and Luke forced his eyes open to squint into gloom. He dimly recognised the faint flickering lights in front of him as a force cage, vaguely understood that he was chained to a wall in the cold cargo hold of a ship, knew the thrumming tremors that ran through his body was the vibration of the ship's engines and his own beaten body's instinctive efforts to retain heat.

He closed his eyes again wanting to succumb to darkness, to peace, wanting nothing more than to escape the pain of his body and the thudding of his head. He was so tired.

"Luke."

His leg muscles cramped, drawing a whimper from between parched and cracked lips. He tried to bring moisture to his mouth, to his thickening tongue, tried to swallow. He gagged, dryly, trying to remember the last time his body had fluids.

"Luke, looked at me."

It took effort, but Luke cracked his eyes open again and smiled at what he saw; knowing his brain was playing tricks with.

Ben Kenobi stood within the lights of the force cage.

Luke knew what this was; growing up on Tatooine one of the first things you learn is of the importance of water and the effects of dehydration. This was a hallucination, this was his brain misfiring. He shook his head, trying to shake away the image of the dead Jedi, he was too tired for this.

"You need to stay awake, Luke."

There was a sudden flare of fluorescent light, a scrape of metal upon metal and a brief draft of air brushed against his skin as the Force cage winked out of sight taking Kenobi with it.

"'B...e...Be...Ben.." he whispered as a shadow fell over him. Afraid, he glanced up, peered through the swollen flesh around his eyes at the man who bent over him.

"Still awake, huh?" Fett noted, not expecting an answer. "Just how much stim did they pump into you?"

The bounty hunter undid the clasps that held the boys wrists in the binders and caught him as he fell with a groan. He barely had the strength to cry out as he was laid on the floor, lips moving with silent whispers. Fett moved quickly and with the assurance of one who knew field care. His experience of growing up with Jango Fett as his father, growing up among clones who were training for war, his years of bounty hunting since Geonosis and patching up himself and his prey for delivery had taught him a medical knowledge that many true medics would envy.

"Ple..ase..." the word was cracked, broken, pushed out through a throat damaged by screams and desiccated by thirst. "Wa...wa...ter..."

A quick visual noted the broken wrists – defensive wounds – the deep burn on the boy's shoulder, the dried blood around the hairline from a head injury, cuts, abrasions and contusions marred all visible skin and Fett knew that under the stained clothing that he would find more of the same.

He cracked open the medpac, immediately setting up a rehydration unit and fixing it to Luke's arm. He lined up a vein, noting needle marks already marking the skin, and cursed as it collapsed. He changed arms and found another and inserted the line into the blood vessel. He strapped the unit in place and slipped a clear bag of saline into the casing, smiling as the fluid transfer registered in the green.

"Wa...t, plea..se. Wa..ter."

He placed the scanner on the boy's chest watching the readouts on his charge's condition. He had a low grade fever from an infection growing in the burn, his blood pressure was low but slowly rising now he was getting fluids, his respiration was shallow, but rapid; a testimony to the pain of cracked ribs and dehydration. He would have watch those ribs, less the boy puncture a lung, but for now his oxygenation was adequate.

There was no internal bleeding, the Imperials being expert at inflicting pain without fatally injuring their subjects. However, the boy's legs and arms had been pulled from their sockets, ligaments snapped and popped under pressure. The fractures at the wrists had also stretched and it appeared to be that that had saved the boys hands by keeping the shards of bone straight and away from blood vessels.

He frowned as the scanner showed evidence that many of the wounds had already received some treatment. There was evidence of bacta, of antibiotics, of wounds being previously cleaned.

The Imps had really given the boy the works, had treated his worst injuries and had gone at him again. He must be in agony.

Once more, Fett had to wonder who he was - what he was - for Vader to instigate such punishment and then to save him and send him away.

The scanner began to scroll through suggested treatments, but Fett switched it off. The youth was supposed to be a slave, not worth a bounty hunter wasting money on. It would be up to a slaves master to decide either to treat, or cut his losses and destroy his property. The boy would have to wait a few hours longer before he could dress his wounds. All he could do just now was to maintain his patient's fluids and administer a broad spectrum antibiotic for the fever.

"Ple..."

Fett reached into the medkit and withdrew a water bulb and cracked it open. He slid his hand behind the boy's head and tilted it, placing the rim of the container to the cracked and bleeding lips.

Lost in the miasma of pain Luke could do nothing but allow the man to do what he wanted, he couldn't fight, couldn't protest, couldn't defend himself in anyway. He lay still with eyes shut, pleading for water while wondering what further horrors awaited him at the hands of Boba Fett.

He knew of this bounty hunter. Had grown up with tales of his deeds, of how he captured and tortured prey, of how he mercilessly dispatched anyone who got in his way. Hadn't he and Biggs played at "Bounty Hunters" when they were younger, scampering around the homestead firing pretend blasters at each other. Didn't Biggs always want to be Boba Fett?

He opened his eyes as a hand angled his head up and cool, sweet water spilled into his mouth and understanding slowly penetrated his headache that Fett was helping him and not hurting him intentionally.

"Sip," Fett told him.

It was painful to swallow, but the water was so good; wetting his lips, his tongue and soothing his parched throat. "Thank... you."

Fett lifted the water away and sat back on his haunches; watching the boy watch him. "So," he said finally. "'You got a name?"

"Tell him it's classified."

Ben's voice made him smile and he closed his eyes, turned away from the bounty hunter. "Class...ssified," he echoed.

The smile and answer chilled Fett; the boy was either completely indoctrinated and thus truly one of Vader's men, or completely out of it.

Fresh blood trickled from the youth's lips as the bounty hunter turned his head back and placed the water bulb back to his mouth. He allowed a few more sips. "I need to call you something. We might be together for a while."

"Say nothing, Luke."

"Lu...ke," he dully repeated, just as he had in that cell on the Death Star. He was tired, so tired.

The boy wasn't making sense, eyes beginning to sleepily close as the stims the Imps had filled him with finally began to wear off.

Fett pressed him. "Look?"

"No, Luke! Remind him about Vader!"

Luke swallowed, fought against Ob-Wan's voice, the frustration in it, wanting nothing more to slip into the darkness he felt closing warmly around him. "V...a...der."

Fett frowned in confusion as his charge's body relaxed into unconsciousness, head rolling to the side as he began to lightly snore.

So, the kid wouldn't say his name, wouldn't – or couldn't – divulge his identity. But what in the hells did he mean with 'Look Vader?' Was it a warning? A reminder that Vader had advised him not to ask questions? Or did it mean something else?

Look. Vader.

An icy chill abruptly flooded through him. He stood up quickly from the sleeping boy, backed away; shock and horror thrilling through him as an absurd thought cross his mind freezing him to the core.

Not "look Vader."

But "Luke Vader."

Was that why the Dark Lord was trying to hide him? Was it because this boy was his son that Vader's warnings were so severe?

He stared at the youth at his feet and drew his blaster, pointing it at the prone figure as though the sleeping injured youth was capable to jumping up and overwhelming him.

Then he laughed, chuckled aloud and re-holstered his weapon. He stepped from the hold berating himself for allowing the Dark Lord to get to him. It was farcical to think that Vader had spawned a child. It was a ridiculous idea borne from a battered youth's delirium.

He paused at the door, and glanced back as the boy mumbled in his sleep. The word sounded like "sorry," and Fett laughed again, snorting at his own imagination.

Any child of Vader's would be by his father's side, serving the Empire and commanding fleets, not lying beaten and tortured in the cold hold of a bounty hunter's ship and facing an uncertain future.

He cycled the door shut and dismissed the ludicrous notion.

"I will know if any harm comes to him, bounty hunter. I will not be forgiving."

ooOOoo

He gritted his teeth against the throbbing in his legs. The join between his prosthetics and flesh flashed and flared with pain as he maintained his kneeling position on the holo-projector, but he dared not move as he waited for Palpatine to respond to his transmission. He bore the pain, carried it, drew strength from the anger it stirred in him and used that anger to dull his fear.

He winced, fought the urge to shift his position. His didn't used to fear Palptine. He didn't used to hate him.

He had once looked up to the man as a friend, a confidant, a mentor. Palpatine was once the calming voice that had stilled his fears and had cooled his anger. He missed the distinguished gentleman who fondly called him "my dear boy," and placed a reassuring hand on his arm or shoulder after his arguments with Obi-Wan or the council and advised against rash actions.

Palpatine still called him friend, but there was no friendship in their relationship. Not anymore. Vader was the apprentice and Palpatine was his master. There was no brotherhood, no camaraderie, no spirit of comradeship and equality like the relationship he had enjoyed with his previous master.

I miss you, too, Anakin.

Vader ignored the errant thought, crushed Kenobi's melancholy humour beneath his darkness, banished it to the void and chased away the dead Jedi's lingering presence. He didn't understand why Obi-Wan continued to haunt him in this way, couldn't grasp why his imagination would taunt and tease him.

Anakin...

His life support drew in a measured breath, expelled it and drew in another. He used the time to quell his feelings, to bury them and hide them lest his master feel them even at this great distance. He would have to be careful, he would have to maintain his focus to keep Palpatine placated and unaware...

...to keep his son safe.

His son!

There was a swelling of pride, a surge of...

...what?

A feeling he had never known. A feeling not unlike the one that used to shiver through him when he placed his hand upon Padme's swollen belly and tease her that the baby was a girl. The feeling was raw, wild, untamed and untainted and he had no name for it.

It is love, Anakin.

No. This wasn't love. This wasn't the adoration that he had for Padme, the deep affection he once had for Obi-Wan, or the devotion for his mother. This was something he could not explain, or define, something for which he simply did not have the words to describe.

A son!

My son.

The child had somehow survived, had been born as his mother had died; just as his dream had shown him.

He closed his eyes beneath the mask, used the agony of his legs to burn away the rush of grief that flooded through him. It was an old feeling, a familiar friend that often visited him in his isolation to torment him with guilt, with a wound that refused heal.

You killed her!

She betrayed me!

You promised to save her and yet it was you who lifted your hands against her.

She brought him, she brought him to kill me!

She was carrying your child!

He groaned in pain, fighting against the internal argument that had raged since Padme's death, head dipping with decades old anguish.

"You are not on board the Death Star, my friend."

Vader's head dropped further, horror rattling through him at his master catching him at vulnerable moment, angry that he had allowed his thoughts and feelings to wander away from his control at such a crucial moment. Again he gathered his anger, used it to soothe his weaker feelings, used it to deepen and darken the Force around him.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi is dead," he announced, hoping that this news would explain his convoluted feelings and distract Palpatine from questioning those feelings.

The Sith master leaned forward, his holographic image towering over Vader. "He resurfaced?"

"Yes, master," Vader intoned. "He was on Tatooine."

"Interesting," the Emperor intoned distantly. "Interesting that he chose now to show himself. It is also interesting that we have lost contact with the Death Star and that you appear to be orbiting Felucia."

And Vader felt like a young Jedi Knight once more, having to explain to the Council why he was half a galaxy away from where he was supposed to be. He drew in calming breath, gathered the dark side to him and let the Force guide his words.

"Tarkin destroyed Alderaan..."

"I know," Palpatine interjected. "I gave the consent. Organa's treachery could not continue to go unpunished."

Vader paused, considered this briefly and continued. "While in the system we captured a freighter. It carried Kenobi. He, and his companions, freed the Princess Organa. I confronted and killed him as they escaped and..."

"They escaped?"

Vader swallowed, kept his voice level, his feelings muted. "Not all, master. We captured one, interrogated him and..."

Palpatine was not interested in captured rebels. "What of the Organa brat?"

"She escaped. I had a homing beacon placed on board their ship. We tracked them to their base of operations on the fourth moon of Yavin. The Death Star was destroyed during the battle, lost when..."

"Lost!" the Emperor rasped and Vader could feel his master's rage across the stars. It was a seething torrent of unspeakable power. It bowed him, dropping him to both knees, forcing his head down and he had to place a hand to floor to stop himself from keeling over.

"Lost!"

"Master," he forced out. "Tarkin was a fool, he refused to listen when I advised that we prepare for battle..."

"And yet you live, Lord Vader! I did not expect cowardice from you, my friend."

"I live to serve you, my master," Vader assured him, daring to pull himself back up onto one knee and straightened to look up at his master's hooded visage. "I had ordered the prisoner to be transferred to the Devastator, to return him to his master. When it was clear that Tarkin was taking the Death Star to its demise I boarded the shuttle before it left."

"Prisoner?" the Emperor questioned. "What prisoner?"

"The rebel captured during Organa's escape," Vader reminded him, loathed to mention the boy again, but needing to explain himself more fully. "We identified him as a runaway slave and contacted a bounty hunter to rendezvous at Felucia. I thought returning him to his master a more fitting punishment than death."

Palpatine was silent and Vader could feel the man searching through the Force, could feel his blackened presence flood into the chamber around him. Even at such a great distance he was not immune to Palaptine's corruption. He braced himself, allowed the facts to speak for themselves.

"The Death Star is destroyed. The Princess Organa escaped. The Rebels are on Yavin Four and you are at Felucia overseeing the transfer of a slave after abandoning your post!" Palpatine was apoplectic, his voice harsh and cold with disbelief.

Vader said nothing. He could feel his heart rate increase, the blood rushing through his body as unfamiliar adrenalin flooded his system. It had been a long time since he had felt fear this strongly, a long time since he had felt this alive!

He kept his eyes to the floor giving his master time to gather his wits and calm. He knew he could be recalled to Imperial Centre, knew that he could face severe penalties for his actions, but he also knew that Palpatine still needed him and he wasn't just another lackey that the Emperor could dispose of on a whim.

The Rule of Two would save his life; there was no other who could replace the Jedi's fallen Chosen One.

There is Luke...

He quashed the thought instantly.

"You disappointment me, Lord Vader," Palpatine coolly stated, his facade calm, his voice like glass; smooth and translucent. "It seems that Kenobi's reappearance has shaken you, I sense conflict within you."

"No conflict, my master," Vader denied, smiling, but he tempered his feelings lest Palpatine sense his victory. "I have waited for this moment for a long time. I am merely disappointed he died so quickly."

"Hmm," the Emperor mused, a little humour playing in his tones like a father feigning anger with his restless child after the initial ire has passed; needing to be convinced of his offspring's remorse. "He was your teacher for a long time. It is natural that you would feel this way. Even those of us who reside in darkness can grieve."

"There is no grief," Vader assured him.

"Very well," Palpatine discarded the moment. "I should summon you to answer for your negligence..." he let the threat hang, enjoying the moment. "But I have need of your talents, my friend.

"I am yours to command, my master."

"Gather the fleet and go to Yavin. Route out the Rebels, destroy them and bring Organa to me."

"As you wish," Vader bowed low as the Emperor's hologram vanished, feeling relief flood through him as the connection was severed.

His son was safe.

ooOOoo

Palpatine sat for a moment behind his desk contemplating the deactivated holoprojector and replaying the conversation he had just had with Vader in his mind. He could feel the conflict within his servant no matter how much Vader denied it, he could also sense the truth in his words and yet there was something about the conversation, a lingering feeling that Vader had been deflecting the exchange away from something important.

"We identified him as a runaway slave and contacted a bounty hunter to rendezvous at Felucia. I thought returning him to his master a more fitting punishment than death."

The Sith Lord linked his fingers, rested his chin on his knuckles. Vader was still sensitive about slavery, had been unable to shake the feelings of resentment that he had unwittingly nurtured as a child, as Anakin Skywalker, while growing up as another being's property. It had been these feelings that had aided him in turning the young man, the slow burning anger that Anakin had tried to bury deep inside had been easy to reach and flame with carefully placed words and doubts.

Vader had always been particularly brutal toward slave owners, had taken delight and relish in butchering them when the opportunity had presented itself and yet he now returns a runaway slave to his owner as punishment for an act on treason.

It was a harsh punishment, one fitting of Vader's status as a Dark Lord of the Sith, however it was an act that Palpatine was suspicious of purely because of Anakin Skywalker's origins.

There was an untruth buried within the truth; something about this slave.

He activated his comm, didn't wait to be acknowledged. "Contact the Captain of the Devastator. I want a report on the ship's movements. I want reports from all stations. I want to know everything that has occurred on that ship since Lord Vader boarded with his prisoner."

"As you wish, Sire."

Palpatine smiled. "Make it a general request, through Naval Command. There is no need to frighten the man." That would only alert Vader.

He switched the comm off and closed his eyes, drawing the dark of the Force closer, wrapping its folds around him, relishing its strength, its purity.

Again he smiled; soon he would know what it was that Vader was trying to hide.

ooOOoo

to be continued...