The skiff sailed on. It had seemed so gentle, like a haven. The hum of the engine in their ears was freedom; the rush of the wind was exhilaration. It had soothed, endorsed patience. Now everything about it had been a lie. The creak of wood was betrayal; the flapping of the shade awning was jeering irony. The passengers could not be patient, and yet Chewie could not make the skiff fly any faster.
He navigated the canyons, constantly rethinking himself. The bulk of the skiff meant the narrow paths he and Yoda had slipped through would be impassable, and he frantically searched for the quickest and most direct route back to the Falcon.
If he looked straight ahead he could see the Princess hunched over Han. With a steady desperation she continued her attempts at resuscitation. If he looked behind him he saw the silhouette of Darth Vader on the second skiff, waiting patiently for them to stop running.
Saving Han meant they would have to stop running. Chewie feared they might run out of time anyway. And he knew there was no getting away from Vader.
The hour had grown late and the twin suns were lower in the sky, casting long shadows of the craft along the canyon walls. The wind was stilled, the heat changing to a fragile warmth.
The skiff sailed in a queer sort of limbo. There was an air of expectation. While they sailed nothing would change. Everyone knew it would have to stop, and when it did, things would come to conclusion. The Jedi would either fight or make peace; the smuggler would either live or die.
The journey was nothing like what Luke was experiencing. His inner sense was full of dismay, horror, anger and sorrow. He wanted to be physical; to attack, to rail; anything to spend this extra distress inside him.
But Yoda held him firmly to the railing with surprising intensity.
"Process it," Yoda warned.
Luke tried to shove him away. "There's nothing to process," Luke snarled. It was Yoda's favorite phrase. Every time Luke made a discovery Yoda's advice was to process it. Stop, think, learn.
"Act now, you cannot."
"He needs to be stopped!" Luke's voice broke, high and harsh to his own ears. He shot Han… he shot Han. If no one put a stop to Vader, more victims would pile up. He pictured Leia, still and lifeless. "He needs to be stopped," Luke said again, and this time he meant everything: the past, present and future. The war and all the reasons for it.
This was his Alderaan. While the scale of lives lost was nothing compared to what Leia had witnessed, the emotional resonance crippled him. He finally realized the demons Leia grappled with. She had watched the planet explode. She continued to blame herself. But it wasn't just the lives lost, the guilt in thinking she was responsible, that stopped her cold. It was the Empire's actions. The casualness, the disinterest; that's what had dropped her to her knees. They had stood, humans all, on the bridge of the Death Star that day, and one human had separated himself from a billion others, and blown them to smithereens. And not even given it a thought. It damaged every single soul on the bridge that day. Each life was tainted with the knowledge of what evil could be, what evil could do. And once it was done, it could be done again. And by anyone of those witnesses.
Vader had come for Luke. And with the same detachment, the same dispassion, Vader had shot Han. Just to get to Luke. Han's life meant nothing to Vader. He was just a pawn. Expendable.
Luke's thoughts ran in a circle. Yoda urged calm and reason. He would breathe deep, and think, it was a ploy. Don't let Vader get to you, physically or emotionally. Then he would think but he shot Han and his chest swelled with fury and outrage. The last thought to connect his process was Han will die because of me, and then he would deflate. Everyone here, because of me.
Luke looked around. One of the slaves had collected the blaster Han was carrying. He held it up, ready to fire, but looked with wide eyes between Yoda, Luke and Chewie, as if waiting for permission.
They were waiting for Han, Luke realized. As if his life held a power over theirs. While he lived they wouldn't take arms. If he died the spell would be broken.
Luke saw how important Han's life was to them all right now, even Vader's. While Han lived, there existed a grace period. An indistinct grayness where resolve blurred in between wrong and right. An infinite time that begged not for justice but reprieve.
Right now Han was victim. If he died he would become judge and jury. This was a period outside of laws. A victim held the power to accuse and the power to forgive.
If Han died justice would need to be served.
Luke only hoped Vader could be defeated. His inner turmoil made him feel very uncertain.
Behind them Vader's cape billowed in the wind. He looked immobile and unmovable. Ahead of them loomed the Millennium Falcon.
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Chewie jumped off the skiff before it came to a complete stop. He ran across the sand toward the ship and under the hull and unlocked the ramp to the ship. As it descended, he ran back and leaped over the skiff railing. He knelt by Leia, who was still administering first aid to Han.
Chewie had been the cautious voice, reminding them over and over that Jabba was not a merciful being and each had to be prepared to find Han dead or at least in poor condition. But when they had found him, and certainly he had suffered, yet he had been so Han, it had made Chewie so happy to see him. Then this, this arbitrary assassination, hit Chewie hard.
"Stop," he told her gently. "We're here. I'll bring him to the medbay." Chewie spoke to the medic, "You – go on ahead. Start to prep."
The medic looked frightened. He scuttled away, waving his hands.
"Please," PM 7 replied. "I don't know what you are saying." He saw that Chewie was gentle with Leia, but the medic had learned non-human behavior at Jabba's, and it was never gentle. The Wookiee's sharp teeth and growling language were frightening.
"Princess," Chewie said. "Time to let go."
Leia lifted her face from Han's. She shook her head, eyes dull and wide from shock. "I can't. I can't, Chewie. He'll die."
"No. At least not because you stopped," Chewie granted. "He needs more than love right now."
"But -"
"Princess, let me take him." Chewie turned to the medic again, his tone impatient in Shyriiwook and terrifying the medic.
"Leia, what is he saying to me?" PM 7 quailed.
"He says go on board," Leia answered mechanically. She rose and exited the skiff the closest way to the Falcon.
It was out of her hands now, she thought. She glanced down at her hands. Han's blood was caking quickly on them in the dry air. She saw her leggings were also bloodied, by the knees. She rubbed her hands on her leggings absently.
She was torn. Han was inside; Luke out. One fighting for his life, a life she wanted to share. The other fighting for the lives of the galaxy, a fight she had taken up long before Luke.
C-3PO was at the top of the hatch. The Falcon's instruments had alerted him to their arrival. He was ready to welcome them back with a prepared speech, congratulating them on the swift recovery of their captain, but the sight of Chewie carrying a bloodied Captain Solo aboard stopped him.
"Not a word," Leia told him bitterly, showing her palm. "We need the cargo bays opened, the crates with medical supplies. That man," she indicated PM 7, "is a medic. Get whatever he needs, help him with whatever needs to be done. Understood?"
"Yes, Mistress. But may I ask, where is Master Luke?"
Leia closed her eyes and leaned on the doorway. She heard Chewie, calling instructions to PM 7 who remained uncomprehending. She heard a crowbar wrenching open a crate, the crinkly sound of packaging torn open. Exhaustion barely made her answer audible.
"Out there, with Vader."
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Luke was overcome with relief when he saw the Falcon. One way or the other, he thought, it'll be over. Han and me.
He watched Chewie hurry towards the ship, carefully carrying Han. The Corellian's hand dangled from Chewie's clutches, and it bounced with Chewie's quick movements.
Like he's waving to me, Luke observed to himself. All that they'd been through flashed through his mind. Han was many things to Luke; rival, teammate, bad influence. The last time they'd been in a life and death situation it had been Han bending over Luke in the Falcon's med bay. Han had slammed tubes and bandages down roughly, slammed cabinet doors, and wouldn't look Luke in the eye, but he had tended to him.
Luke pictured the mischief in Han's eyes, the soul within, and thought what a waste. I'm sorry Han. Han was like his brother. His family. And his father had cut him down. He felt a powerful regret. And the idea of family became so disillusioning.
"Time you had," Yoda broke into his thoughts. "Time you had, during training, to think."
Luke looked at him. He nodded slowly. He wasn't thinking now.
"Time now, you have not."
"I can't think," Luke told him. "All I have is feelings."
Yoda understood. "Use these feelings, Vader will. Feed the Dark Side, some do."
"But I don't feel the Dark Side, Master Yoda." The green being looked dubious and Luke persisted. "I don't. I won't say I'm not upset. Alderaan, the war, that was Vader. I can separate that. I feel the Force, I know how to judge him for that. The genocide; he'll pay. And the Force will help us make him pay. If not today, then some day. Some day. I know it. And if it doesn't happen today, I will wait. Because I'm certain. Do you feel that too, Master Yoda?"
Yoda was awed by Luke. "Wise, are you. How you became so, I know not. But wise are you."
"But what he did, just now. I want to get on my knees and throw up."
"Different how, is this?" There was a quiet forcefulness in Yoda's voice that reminded Luke to remember just how much was at stake.
"I keep thinking, that's my father. The one that shot Han. It's so… personal."
"Mmm. But not of the self, acts a Jedi. Understanding of that you must have." Yoda gestured with his walking stick to Vader's skiff. "Always your father was he, when committed these crimes he did. This one life, those millions. No difference."
"I loved my father, before I knew him. Before I knew who he was. And now I know who he is, and when I think of him….it makes me sick." Luke stopped, his elbows on the railing, staring across the desert at Vader. "I hate my father. He doesn't love me. He's going to use me. And because of that he stomps on everything I care about." Luke straightened, and gripped the railing until the whites of his knuckles showed. "And I want to kill him. Because he doesn't love me. It makes me so angry."
Something flashed in his mind, so quick, so fleetingly, that it made him pause, questioning himself. Han.
Had Yoda done this? Luke had a vision: He was Han, and Han was him; the tables turned. Luke was the one on the deck, struggling in a pool of blood and Han was angry, inflamed, reactionary. Jumping on Vader's skiff.
That's who Han was, Luke thought. His style was impulsive, instinctive. He simply reacted; reacted to whatever he was feeling at the moment.
But facing Vader was like bouncing off a durosteel wall. Your own emotions bounced back at you, cutting you down. One could not face Vader with emotional reaction. That was the source of the Dark Side, fueled by hate and fear and anger. No, one could not bring Vader down because they hated him. Han would lose that battle.
Vader had already been responsible for so many deaths. Why should Luke wait for one more? How did Han's life mean a difference? And Luke thought he knew. Because there was a chance of reaching Vader. Getting him to acknowledge his wrongs, bring him to remorse.
Alright, Luke thought, and forced himself to calm down. If he didn't want to lose to Vader then he needed to take a different approach. He could see the tendrils of the Force still, leading from him to Han, but now they radiated from Han in ever-expanding concentric circles. Ripples of the Force.
Luke understood. Redemption. Vader could not be redeemed. Could Anakin Skywalker?
"The power have you," Yoda said. "Achieve this alone you can. But by your side will I fight."
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Unwavering, Vader watched Luke move toward him.
His son.
Not a holo, but in the flesh. Full of life and passion and feeling. Racing toward him, full of retribution, his blue eyes glinting in the shadows of the canyon. Slender, hair too long, confident. What a thrill to see him.
Vader searched for a resemblance, either to him or Padme. He could barely remember what his own person had looked like. But it did not matter – this was unequivocally his son.
Vader let his own red-bladed saber stay at his belt. He regarded Luke with curiosity. When he'd learned of his impending fatherhood, he would imagine himself as a parent. As he patrolled the galaxy as a Jedi, he had watched other beings in parental roles, and fantasized how he and Padme would be.
When their child got too tired or too hungry, would they scoop him up with gentle words and carry them to a bed or dining room? When the child's mouth was turned down in anger or sadness, how would he coax a smile out again? Would they ever lose patience with their child, swat at a bottom, snap harsh words without thinking?
He used to watch children, and dream about his own. Children were charming, and simple, and fun. He couldn't wait until his was born.
Vader no longer liked children. He had lost his.
Luke was grown now. His half-brother Owen was the one who wiped tears, gave hugs, disciplined and loved. Vader seethed with resentment.
Vader amended his earlier thought. He had not lost his son; his son had been stolen from him. He clenched his fist, feeling the Dark Side of the Force nudge at him. No, he told it. Not now.
Why had Vader believed Palpatine when he said Padme and his unborn child were dead? He'd trusted Palpatine implicitly, at first. Believed that Palpatine had his best interests at heart, wanted him to achieve greatness.
There would be no greatness for Vader. Palpatine had taken advantage of Darth Vader's fear and passion and used it for his own purposes in gaining personal control of the galaxy. Vader served Palpatine now, that was all. He was alone. His passion had ebbed.
His son was beautiful. But Vader moved from the physical sight of his son to assessing his emotional state. Palpatine wanted Luke for himself, an apprentice of the Dark Side. Vader was to use Luke's anger and desire for revenge to turn him to the Dark side.
Vader didn't find what he was looking for. He turned his head, as if gauging him from another angle would show him what he was seeking. His son was upset, extremely so. But his lightsaber, a Skywalker's lightsaber, no less, was not poised in striking position. Emotions swirled around him.
Where was the fury? Where was the need to cause pain? Where was the thirst for revenge, the desire to take a life for a life?
They were absent. Vader was thunderstruck. In their place was sadness, betrayal, disappointment. Disappointment? He hadn't expected that at all.
No matter. He was of the Dark. Vader lazily raised a hand and Luke flew against the canyon wall, his breath knocked out of him. His chest heaved and he glared at Vader.
Vader was pleased at his son's ferocious stare. Perhaps it would be easy to turn him. The boy wore his emotions on his sleeve. Vader took several steps. "I have been looking forward to meeting you," he said.
Luke gulped air, unable to speak. He eyed Vader warily, disappointed to be struck down this easily.
"I sense your Master.," Vader said. "He does not trust you to face me alone."
"Him, I trust," Yoda announced himself. He used his walking stick, but his steps were sure and rapid. "It is you we trust not." He turned to Luke. "See, do you, twist your feelings he will."
"Master Yoda," Vader's voice was filled with venom. "You never were much help to me. I doubt you will be of help to the boy."
"Trust the Force, I told you," Yoda countered evenly, with no trace of nervousness. "Failed yourself, you did. Trust the Force does the boy. All the difference that is."
Luke watched from the canyon wall as Vader and Yoda circled each other. Luke was struck by the change in Yoda. He no longer carried the weight of centuries of life but exemplified vigor and strength.
"For long years now, in solitude and sorrow have I lived," Yoda was saying, and it took Luke a moment to realize Yoda wasn't talking to him. "Not so different, we are."
Vader took a step forward. "The Emperor knows."
"Told you, he did?"
Vader did not answer.
"For his abilities, does the Emperor want Luke." Yoda held up his stick and pointed it at Vader "Leaves you, where, does it?"
Vader maintained his silence.
Yoda nodded. "Know, you do. Need you not, if Luke he has."
"He would have Luke kill me," Vader admitted. "To complete his turn to the Dark Side."
"I won't turn," Luke stated, getting up to join them. They formed a triangle, Luke and Yoda joined at the base, Vader the pinnacle. Among the three Luke watched in fascination as the Force ripples lazily swirled in and out, around and around.
Vader rotated their connection once more. Now he and Luke formed the base while Yoda was at the tip of the triangle. "There is much you have yet to learn." He found he believed Luke, though. The Emperor was not going to get his prize, at least not by Luke voluntarily. Palpatine would now expect Vader to deliver him as a prisoner.
"Father," Luke said quietly, causing Vader to stand stock still.
"How do you know this," Vader said, his voice so low Luke barely heard it. Age-old betrayal resurfaced. "How do you know this?" he roared. Luke had stolen his trump card. This was to be his Vader's revelation, the way he would turn Luke to the Dark Side. What was Luke hoping to gain by using it?
"Perhaps there is much you have to learn." Luke kept his voice quiet and steady. His heart was thumping. It had hurt to say the word, to commit to the idea of it.
Vader struggled with himself. He had only recently learned of his son. Palpatine had always known, known since the child's birth, and kept it from him. Twenty years he had held that knowledge. And now obviously Yoda had known. Probably Obi-Wan too. His own son! Everyone plotting to keep him from him. And the Dark Side of the Force had never indicated it to him during meditations.
Betrayal, anger, deception, duplicity….his son's disappointment….his own son found his father lacking, failing….his own son did not want his father, when he wanted his son so much. Visions of family dissipated in his mind. They betrayed him, they were treacherous two-faced beings, they would pay, he would crush them, enjoy the sight of life leaving their eyes, he hated them.
"Master Yoda, watch out!" Luke called and they both rolled from their position as giant boulders of the canyon wall hurtled toward them.
False lying deceiving scheming how he hated them all crushing dominating bitter victory he would show them never no one never a secret again never no one ever dead they would all be dead, right he was right, only he, bash the Emperor's conniving face never feel that disappointment again.
Rock after rock barreled at them but Luke activating his lightsaber, swatting at boulders and disintegrating them. How do I reach him? he thought desperately. He's destroying the canyons. Luke watched a canyon wall crumble, and he felt a strange empathy for the resolute timelessness of the desert.
Our home world."Father, please!" he shouted. He dashed out from his cover, his lightsaber blue with indignation.