I wish to thank jedi1952 for the betareading of this fiction. Telling she did a great work is an understatement, because she fixed my poor English and also helped me to improve the scenes and characters, pointing out with precision where problems were. I owe her a lot.

DECLARATION: This fiction is written just for fun and I'm not making money with it. Characters and Star Wars galaxy belong to Lucasfilm and Disney, of course. For original characters and places, I used names taken from the real world, but I chose them just because they sound good in this fiction and so they aren't related to any real person or historical fact: any resemblance is purely coincidental.

CHAPTER 10

When Luke recovered his senses and opened his eyes, he was lying on a cold floor of a cell. He easily recognized it as the Executor prison where Rebels waited for interrogation. He knew all too well that a few steps ahead, behind closed sliding doors, there was the room where Vader did his dirtiest work. Nothing could have enlightened him better about his actual predicament.

He touched his belt on the left. His lightsaber didn't hang there anymore. Of course.

Rage at the way he had been tricked engulfed him. He didn't dispel it: he needed all his darker strengths in order to escape from there. He stood up and called the Force to move the door controls. But… the Force wasn't there. He felt nothing: it didn't matter how strongly he tried to call it, only a dumbfounding silence permeated his senses. He had never experienced something like that before and he was panicked.

He looked around to figure out why and noticed above him a small cage, hung on the high ceiling. Between the bars, he saw a little reptile moving. He walked around and stretched his neck, trying to get a better look. He couldn't see it very well and he was pretty sure he had never seen that creature in life, just in a picture, but he guessed it was a ysalamiri. His father had sometimes spoken about it in disgust, naming it an "unnatural curse", "evil's work" and many other similar epithets. Yet, he hadn't apparently any scruples in using it to keep control of his treacherous son. That one small specimen did surely create a short diameter bubble, hiding the Force just in the small space of the cell and not interfering with Vader's activities on the bridge or in his quarters.

Since the cage was just in the middle of the ceiling, he walked to a corner in order to be at the farthest distance he could be in the short space of his cell. But still he didn't feel the Force.

If he wanted the smallest hope of escape from his prison, he needed to liquidate the ysalamiri. He walked again to the middle of the room and jumped as high as he could. Unfortunately, without the Force to help, it wasn't enough.

Damned!

He took off his right boot and threw it up. It hit the cage strongly enough to make it to swing a little. The reptile uttered one high cry. He tried again and again: aiming more precisely, jumping while throwing, increasing the strength, throwing both boots together. But nothing was useful: he couldn't do any effective damage, just making the scared creature cry. At the end, he was exhausted and drenched with sweat.

Suddenly he felt a fool, realizing that probably the cage was put at sight just to add insult to injury. His father wanted to show him how short and powerless he was, to make him feel again a dependent young child, teaching him his place.

Resigned, he sighed, sat down and put his boots back on.

An indefinite endless time passed. He sat, walked, lay down, and slept. And then he awoke, he sat, walked, lay down, and slept again. And again. And again. He had no idea how many hours he had been there. Probably days.

No one came. He could sometimes hear boots stepping outside the cell, apparently never stopping in front of his door.

His only company was the ysalamiri above his head. He heard it crunching and sucking. The damned creature had been given what he had not: food and water. Which it wasn't strange at all, considering it was the prisoners' usual treatment before an interrogation. His stomach rumbled, but the dryness in his mouth was the real torment, hard to endure without the help of the Force. He began to dream about eating the reptile and drinking the water from its cup, but it was a thought without consequences, since he couldn't reach the cage.

At some point, after a long time and before an equally long time, he heard heartbreaking painful shrieks coming from the torture room. No big surprise: the walls of this area weren't purposely sound-proofed, so the prisoners could foresee what was awaiting them, if they would be reticent. It was an obvious psychological trick, but it worked great: the yells made him to get collywobbles and his flesh creep. For the whole time that distressful noise went on, he hadn't been able to think anything else than imagining himself in such pain.

Then there was silence again. Was the man dead? Had he been a Rebel? Or maybe some poor trooper, chosen at random, just to break Luke's spirit? He would probably never know.

By now, he was scared both of being forgotten in his cell starving to death and of being brought out for interrogation.

So, at last, he could feel exactly what every victim he had captured had endured. Their faces began to fill his mind. Each of them had been different: bravely resolute, or frightened, or resigned. Every human being had his way to face a painful death. He wondered idly if their ghosts still lived those rooms, as they crowded his guilty conscience: what a show was being set for them then!

Maybe it was just right. Both Palpatine and Vader had told him a strong Sith could bend the Force to his will, but Luke felt different: the Force knew its justice and would reward your acts at last. Maybe it was just going to fairly punish him for all his crimes.

Stars! How did he come to think it'd be just fair to be tortured? How did he come in this cell, first of all? He wasn't a Rebel! What had possessed him to pass military secrets to enemies?

He had to acknowledge Vader was really skilled in his job: he hadn't even seen him so far, but he was yet regretting everything he had done. Would he torture him with his own hands?

Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, had never been soft on him. No one had expected any different, by the way. Yet… Yet, he was aware his father had never touched the harshness required for Sith training. He had stayed around Palpatine enough to know what a real Sith Master was. And at the very core his father was not.

But this time, it was not just a family affair. This time, the Emperor himself surely demanded a very slow and painful death for Luke. Would his own father allow that? Or would he run the risk of the older Sith's wrath for the sake of a son, who had deceived him a couple of times?

He couldn't answer, torn between fear and hope.

At some point, without forewarning, his distressed waiting was ended. The noise of boots stopped in front of the cell and the door opened.

He stood fast up in anticipation.

A trooper appeared with a blaster in his hands. Behind the man, in the short corridor, the artificial breathing apparatus could be heard. Luke's eyes didn't search for the owner, not wishing to cross his lenses at all.

Vader didn't near. Of course, he didn't want to enter the ysalamiri's area of action and to experience the revolting silence of the Force, which his son had been subjected to.

Without uttering a word, the trooper stepped inside, pointed his blaster up to the cage and shot a couple of blasts. The reptile gave a last loud cry and fell still.

Luke's senses were suddenly overcome by the vital presence of the hundreds of thousands of people on the ship and, above all, by the dark strong energy his father was casting just out the door. Getting over that shock, the young man harmonized better with the energy field, taking back control of his own mind.

Silently like when he had come in, the trooper went away, leaving Luke to face alone the very angry Sith Lord who was stepping inside, his black boots entering the view of his son's lowered eyes.

Luke thought that maybe he had to kneel, trying to calm him down as much as possible, blathering something to beg forgiveness or, more realistically, imploring for a quick death with the fast execution of a lightsaber.

The assessment of his options was abruptly stopped by the dark voice, hissing "There's the traitor!", and by a violent fist, hitting his left cheek-bone. He had to call his just-found-again Force power not to fall down, struggling for balance. He was still dizzy, as a gloved hand grabbed his throat and lifted him in the way his feet couldn't touch the floor. His eyes met suddenly the black mask he had avoided till now.

Although instinctively his fingers grasped at the mechanical hand chocking him, he didn't really fight. Maybe, after all, his father cared enough to quickly finish him off. The pain grew acute and, just with enormous effort, he could mutter: "Faster, please." The grip tightened. His eyes were dimming and he gratefully knew he was about to pass out. But suddenly he was free and fell on the floor. The air breezed again in his burnt throat, as he automatically stroked his neck to soothe his bruised skin.

So, he saw what had happened was nothing, just a fatherly outburst. Not daring to raise his head, he looked furtively at the black shadow over him.

"I won't do again this mistake," Vader declared, as if he was answering at this son's previous plea.

But Luke didn't understand. What did it mean "again"? His father had never grabbed his throat before, either with his own hands or with the Force. He knelt and decided to appeal to pity, if somehow the Sith felt it: "Please give me a quick death, my Lord."

"Shut up!" Vader ordered drily, raising a commanding hand. "You are surely aware Palpatine will not allow it" was his freezing answer. He turned and went some steps away. His rage was fading and his hands ran behind his back, as he was used to do when pondering something.

Luke looked at his helmet, unsure about what to say.

"I want answers." The black mask turned back to his son, meeting his glance. "Fast and clear, without the shade of a lie." His voice grew darker and menacing: "I will do everything I need to have them."

There couldn't be any misunderstanding as to what he was referring to. The young man was suddenly fully aware again where they were. His heart beat fast and he swallowed. His looked past behind his father's shape to focus on the door: few steps ahead there was the interrogation room. Flashes of tormented prisoners haunted him.

The Alliance meant nothing to him. The Rebels had done their dirty work in blowing up the Death Star and he had really nothing to hide anymore. He won't make himself get tortured. He looked back at the black lenses and nodded cooperatively.

He felt Vader's satisfaction. "Where and when did you steal the plans?" he asked, strongly invading his son's mind to detect any hints of deception.

Luke couldn't avoid the probing and turned his eyes back to the ground, overwhelmed by the painful intrusion. He was aware he had better to be totally true this time. "About an hour before we left the Death Star, I downloaded the plans from the development room, while I was checking the new weapons for the TIE fighter."

"Then why did you connect from the Imperial Palace?" The Dark Lord's angered voice tinted with puzzlement.

"I hadn't enough time to download the decrypting program while on the Death Star," the younger Sith explained. "And so I did the download at the Imperial Palace just before my wedding ceremony."

"How did you give the plans to the Alliance?" his father pressed unrelentingly.

Luke sighed. He had no wish to denounce Leia, but he didn't want to face the consequences of keeping in silence. Plus she seemed to have disappeared: at the moment she should be quite safe, surely much more than him. "I gave them to Senator Organa, in the hangar of Senate." He answered at last.

The Dark Lord hesitated in amazement. "Did she trust you?"

His son shrugged.

"Did you also tell her the location of the Death Star?"

"We met at Rhen Var to ask me the location," the young man admitted. "She had purposely tricked Imperial Intelligence with the tale of the spy."

"And the dead Bothan?" If possible, the mechanical voice darkened.

Luke swallowed. "I took from a jail of Bothawui a common criminal sentenced to death. Then I executed him in the way it looks like he was killed, while he was escaping."

"You show initiative, when you want." His father's tone was mixed with accusation and rancor.

Suddenly something snapped in the younger Sith, despite that his present predicament recommended submission. His jaw tensed and he raised his eyes in rage to look directly at the black lenses. "I had a strict Master," he hissed icily.

Vader's breath quickened as much as the mechanical apparatus let and his hands closed into fists.

A short flick of remorse showed in the dark presence oppressing Luke's mind. Then it went quickly away, leaving the young man to wonder if it had been real.

If the Dark Lord had any scruples for an instant, surely he had soon forgotten them and went back to his questioning. "Why did you do it?"

His son blinked. "That thing was monstrous. I had to stop it."

"Referring to enemies rather than your own father?" Vader asked in a scolding tone.

Luke's eyes grew wide. Had he been supposed to tell he hadn't agreed with the Emperor's pet project?

The thought should be felt clearly to the Sith Lord still in his mind, since he answered patronizingly. "You are not a child anymore, my son. You begin to see the Galaxy government doesn't work. Palpatine doesn't want peace. He has never wanted it. He himself manipulated the Clone Wars behind the scenes, while he was given full powers to stop them." His tone grew resentful. "I was injured on Mustafar, where I was executing Separatists he had sent there."

In his whole life Luke had never heard such bitterness in his father's voice and he fully saw the betrayal the Dark Lord had endured, not only by that Kenobi guy's hands. The young man's features softened almost in compassion.

Vader regained his composure, tuning back to his usual cold tone. "You are right: Death Star was a blasphemy that could not pass unpunished. But," he said sternly, "Rebels aren't the solution."

The younger Sith lowered his head, nodding in acknowledgment of his faults. "I know, but I hadn't alternatives."

"Your training is almost complete," the Dark Lord extended an inviting hand to him. "With our combine strengths we can destroy the Emperor, end this destructive conflict and bring order to the Galaxy. Together we can rule as father and son."

Luke looked back at the black lenses and smile slightly. He had never dared to plan Palpatine's demise, since he was much stronger than him and he had never guessed his father wished it too. But he saw they could together. Since his childhood, the young Sith had known nothing but war, as if it was an unavoidable side of life. A wiser leadership would stop it, giving peace. He was sure his father would be more lenient than the Emperor, he had experienced that many times, and soon other people will see too, fading the rebellions. But it wasn't just the good of Galaxy at large in his mind, he had his own problems: "Will I be allowed to have my wife back?"

The Dark Lord crossed his arms on his chest, and answered: "Of course." The amusement beneath his tone was clear and in the Force even the snicker covered by the mask. "There's much of your father in you, young one," he added as afterthought. "And now rise, my son."

The younger Sith obeyed and waited for orders, keeping a questioning gaze on the black lenses.

"In order to defeat Palpatine we need to train on an ability you still totally lack," Vader explained.

Hi son nodded, knowing well what they were talking about: Force lightning. He had unfortunately some experiences of its strength, but he had never tried to generate it.

"We hadn't much time, since we will be at Coruscant in a few days," the Dark Lord went on. "Now, go to your room, drink, eat and sleep. Tomorrow morning we will train."

Luke bowed his head respectfully. He was expected to voice some formal phrases. But he had just been pardoned from a deserved death for the second time in his life: he had never heard of someone given such favor on that ship. He would like showing his gratitude, yet he lacked in words. The man in front of him had never bestowed him a sign of intimacy and the young Sith hadn't a clue on what to say. At last, he whispered: "Thank you, father," dropping the proper title he was taught to use.

Vader stood, in immediate understanding of his son's feelings. His breathing apparatus noise was the only hint he was still alive. After four cycles, he nodded in acknowledgement, giving acceptance the younger Sith had never received before. The moment passed without a comment and, when they both felt it was gone, the Dark Lord warned more softly than his usual: "If you fail me this time, none of us will survive."

"I will not," Luke answered resolutely.