Sorry that it's been awhile since I've updated. RL has been a bear, and this chapter wasn't cooperating by writing itself. Thanks for your comments – I always enjoy them! – and thanks for sticking around and continuing to read. :)
PART 34
A squad of TIES's was lined up in the hanger bay, surrounded by mechanics who crawled under and climbed over them. Darth Vader stood in the center of the flurry of activity, arms folded, probably giving everyone heart palpations by his silent presence.
Luke kicked a lost bolt in front of him like a ball as he criss-crossed the wide expanse and finally stopped next to his dad, capturing the bolt under his foot. "Expecting trouble?" he asked. "Or just hoping for it?"
"I always expect trouble." His pop looked down on him. "It is imperative to keep fighting vessels in peak condition, ready for immediate launch."
He knew a lecture when he heard one. "Yessir! I'll remember that when I'm put in command."
"Good," Vader said dryly. "Let us reinforce the importance of this lesson. Take that TIE," he pointed, "and follow me out."
"Who, me?" he said stupidly, feeling his eyes go wide. "My own ship? You mean - " But his dad was striding off toward another TIE. Luke followed hurriedly, climbing into the vessel that Vader had selected for him. His dad had pointed out the basics of the controls, but he'd never flown in one. Vader must be feeling really guilty about forgetting his birthday to let him do this.
His pulse was fluttering erratically as he maneuvered the TIE out of the dock. Oddly, the space seemed a lot smaller than when he and his dad had taken out bigger ships. It was enough to rattle a guy's nerves, but he managed not to hit the sides of the docking bay (okay, his TIE was actually dwarfed by the bay doors, but it still felt tight) and get safely into open space where he could follow his dad's TIE. His maneuvering was a little irregular at first, but within a couple minutes he had the feel of the ship and was experimenting, looping and curving as he followed his dad's straight path away from the Devastator.
"Where are we going?" he asked over the voice-activated inter-ship com.
"We are not 'going' anywhere. We are moving clear of the ship so that you may practice."
"As if I would hit the Devastator," he teased. "You have no faith in me."
"I have faith in the Force, young one, including the Force in you."
"Oh." He supposed that was Deeply Meaningful, since his father talked about the Force like it was a religion, but it was hard to feel pious about virtuous words coming from a man who'd done the things his father had done. Still, despite what he'd done, Vader was second in command of the universe, so Luke felt he had a lot of wiggle room when it came to any mistakes he might make. Not that he would ever do anything of the magnitude his dad had done, like killing little -
His ship jolted and rocked. "Hey! What?"
"Pay attention. You are under attack." With that, his dad fired off another practice burst.
Luke reacted immediately, but not quickly enough to totally avoid being 'hit'. "You should've warned me!"
"Enemies will give no warning – neither will friends. You must always be prepared to defend yourself. You are armed. Fire at me."
"Armed? Not with real—" He jerked the stick back and sped away from another flash from his dad's weapons. So you wanna play rough? Okay, watch this!
It turned out to be a real struggle to get the other TIE in his sights. His dad was a helluva pilot, no argument there. Vader took the little fighter through maneuvers Luke had never seen, not even in a holo-game. Luke would get the TIE in his crosshairs, but it would vanish before he could fire. After several minutes of getting more and more frustrated, he shouted, "Hold still!" and, surprisingly, his dad did. The TIE lined up beautifully in his scope. He held his breath, pulled the trigger, and – the fake laser exploded harmlessly in the empty place where the TIE had been.
Luke dredged up every curse he could remember.
"Language," his father chastised over the com.
"Language?" Wow, his dad sure had his priorities screwed up. "You sure have your priorities screwed up," he called, putting in motion a brilliant idea that had just occurred to him. "You wipe out the Jedi, you massacre children, you kill – "
"How dare you!" Darth Vader shouted, and Luke took the opportunity to fire his weapons.
"Gotcha," he declared smugly, watching the other TIE wobble.
"Congratulations. Winning by cheating is still a victory. Of course, you have lost your honor again."
"What?" He flushed angrily and fired again, but this time his dad was faster. Vader's ship flipped over, raced above Luke and dropped down on his tail, firing harmless blasts that Luke was hard pressed to avoid. His father's condemnation was a distraction. It wasn't fair! How could his dad criticize him after the things he'd done? "I didn't cheat," he mumbled, with so little conviction that he didn't even persuade himself.
"You – " His dad was interrupted when, without warning, two teardrop-shaped ships dropped from nowhere some distance in front of them. Were they Rebels or pirates? As Luke stared, mesmerized, blazing missiles shot from their deployed foils, streaking by him close enough to make his TIE vibrate.
"Get back to the ship!" Vader barked harshly.
"I'm not leaving you here alone!" He craned his neck, looking around for the fast-moving vessels. "Those were just warning shots! Who are they?"
"Back to the ship!" His dad's TIE dove in front of him. "That's an order!"
"I'm not - "
"You have no weapons!" Vader roared, and he fired at the intruders, proving that his ship carried more armament than just practice lasers.
Luke couldn't bring himself to obey. Besides, a rush of TIE's exploded from the Devastator, jetting around him as they headed out toward the attackers. Not that they were needed. Two bright flashes appeared in quick succession, and both ships were obliterated by his dad's skill.
The TIE's swarmed like insects, some of them returning to the landing bay while the rest began to patrol in orderly formation as if they expected further attacks. Luke flew behind his father back to the ship, dismayed to note that he was shaking – but with excitement, not fear. He made an Academy-perfect landing, jumped down from the TIE, paused to be sure his knees would hold him upright, then hurried to his dad.
He waited until Vader finished speaking with the squad commander and dismissed him. Luke grinned. "Next time, I get real guns! I want to fight, too! That was terrific - you were amazing!"
The Sith Lord stared at him, and Luke could have sworn that the mask was scowling. "Today you have seen once again how easy – and how satisfying – it is to kill," the voice hissed. "We are not unalike, boy."
Shocked, Luke watched his father stalk away in a dramatic swirl of midnight. A shiver ran through him. He hated when Vader held up a mirror and he saw himself reflected. He'd been born Son of Vader, and over the last year he supposed he'd earned that label. But it no longer seemed like such an evil person to be. He and his dad shared a lot of feelings and abilities, both good and bad. It was just a question of how and what they chose to use. There was no reason his dad couldn't change his mind and decide to be good. It was never too late to change. Biggs had told him that a couple times, and Luke hadn't really appreciated its significance until now.
It was a great lesson and he was determined to teach it to his father. The question was: how? His dad carried a lot of guilt, but it was protected and held in place by a wall of defiance and anger that wasn't too hard to penetrate with little jabs and humor. But how to tear it down completely and reach deep inside his father to help him change? Was that even possible?
And how was he going to change his dad, when he still did things like cheating?
"Did you enjoy your first close look at battle, Luke?"
He turned away from watching his dad scold the admiral. "Hey, Cap," he said with a touch of unease. "Yeah, I guess... I didn't get to fight."
"Perhaps the next time Lord Vader takes you for practice, you will be armed." Piett looked slightly perplexed, as if he couldn't decide whether Luke should have weapons or not.
"Probably." He had visions of accidentally blasting his dad to smithereens. "Maybe. Who were they, do you know?"
"Lord Vader suspects they were hijackers." Piett frowned. "Whoever or whatever they expected to hijack, I'm sure they were as startled to drop out of hyperspace and see the Devastator as we were to see them."
They walked through the hangar bay, Luke only partially paying attention as the captain made visual inspections of the fighters. He wondered if Piett knew that Vader was his father. It would be great to have someone to talk to... ah, but there was no way an officer would speak honestly about his dad. Everyone was too afraid. Everyone except him.
"Would you let me work down here?" he asked impulsively. "I'm really good at fixing things, and I swear I wouldn't hurt the ships."
Piett just stared at a point over his head.
Luke shifted his feet. "I want to – to contribute. I've been here for months with nothing to do."
"Nothing to do?" a deep voice repeated.
Wincing, he turned around to face Lord Vader. "You," the Dark Lord pointed at Luke, "come with me. I will give you something to do."
Luke sighed as he watched his father's retreating back. Piett gave him a small, possibly sympathetic, smile, the kind of good-bye smile you gave to someone on their way to execution. "Perhaps we can find a way for you to contribute – if Lord Vader permits."
"That'll be the day." Luke followed his pop into the corridor and tagged behind him on a wordless journey that ended in his dad's practice room. "What're we doing here?" he asked, though it was obvious – his dad was going to let him have the lightsaber lesson he'd asked for. He must feel guiltier than Luke realized.
Vader didn't answer – always an unnerving sign – but instead waved his hand at a cabinet across the room that obediently opened to reveal a lightsaber.
"Take it. Not that way," Vader scolded when Luke began to walk over. "Use the Force."
He closed his eyes, focusing the way he'd been taught. As if he were dreaming, his hand extended, fingers opening. The saber rattled, but didn't moved. He tried again, concentrating harder. To his relief, it raised into the air and floated over.
Half a meter from his outstretched hand, it clattered to the floor.
"Sorry," he apologized nervously, bending to retrieve it. "I wish I could do that as well as you." Maybe some flattery would mellow out the big guy. "My teleporting is sort of hit-and-miss. Hey, this is my lightsaber from Tatooine!" He flicked it on. The blade made a loud humming noise and sent a vibration running along his arm. "Krit, it's heavier than it looks." He hefted it in both hands and swung it in figure eights. "Cool! Where's the practice droid?"
"Right here." Darth Vader snapped on his own fire-red saber.
Luke swallowed. "You, uh... want me to practice with you?" Dueling Vader on one of his happy days would be intimidating, but on a cranky day... "Maybe that's not the greatest idea for my first time. I might accidentally – "
"Block."
The red saber swung and Luke instinctively crossed it with his own blade, staggering back under the power behind the strike. It wasn't followed by a second blow, so he lowered the saber to his side. "Really, I think I should practice with a droid, don't you think? I wouldn't want to – "
"Block."
Three powerful blows, one after the other in quick succession. He managed to parry one and dance out of the way of the other two. "Dad, what're you - ?"
"You require discipline. Stop talking and block properly."
Oh, Sithspit! The blows kept coming, pushing him backward in circles around the room. Never vicious blows, but Vader was aggressive, pushing him, challenging him, and worse – Vader was getting angry, Luke could feel it in the depths of his soul.
What idiot was just gloating that he wasn't afraid of Darth Vader! What moron had thought that he knew how to 'handle' Vader? Krit!
That would be the same idiotic moron who was now out of breath and half-stumbling. "Stop! Okay, I surrender! Whatever! I'm done! Stop!"
"You have more to learn. Why should I obey you when you do not obey me?" The next blow was the hardest yet, and he reeled back, barely able to hang onto his saber.
So that was what this was about! Just because he didn't want to leave his dad behind to die in battle, he was being punished! "Bastard!" he shouted, his own anger flaring to life and driving away the fear. A surge of adrenaline gave him strength and he slashed wildly at his father. The blow glanced off his dad's arm and he hesitated, horrified, holding his breath as his dad grunted in pain. Then Vader's blade swung so quickly that it was barely a brilliant flash in the air, but it sent his lightsaber flying. It turned itself off as it skittered across the floor. But what was that wrapped around its hilt?
Luke stared at his hand. The lightsaber wasn't there and... his hand wasn't there. There was his cuff and a little blood and –
He howled in shock and pain, clutching the wrist to his chest. Wide-eyed, he stared blankly at the motionless cloaked figure. He felt... strange. Light-headed. Woozy. Breathless. "D...Dad?"
The red light vanished and the dark figure let loose a string of curses, some of which Luke had never heard but hoped he would remember. "Language," he mumbled automatically.
"Hush." A strong arm locked around his shoulder and hustled him out of the room.
The... stump... began to throb. "Where's my hand?" Luke shivered. Leaning against the wall of the lift, he closed his eyes but the motion made him nauseous so he opened them again, willing himself not to throw up. What had just happened? He tried to look at Vader, but the elevator stopped and he was hurried along before he could focus.
They landed in sickbay. "Well, well," Doc said too cheerfully, "what have we here? An amputation? Did you bring the detached member, m'lord?"
Wordlessly, Vader handed the physician a hand. My hand. Luke stared at it. It didn't look alive. It wasn't moving. The fingers were curled as though they still held the lightsaber. "That's my hand," he said aloud, looking down at his cuff, expecting to see it there, too.
Doc turned the hand over, examining it with interest while Vader pushed Luke to sit on a gurney. Vader's hand pressed down on his shoulder, as if he thought Luke was going to float away. "I can't fly," he muttered.
"I know," Vader said quietly. "Well, Doctor?" and his voice changed suddenly, becoming loud and impatient.
"Impressive. Of course, as you are well aware, m'lord, lightsaber amputations can't be repaired." Doc kept talking, but Luke didn't hear the next bit. He would be one-handed for the rest of his life. Maybe he should be glad his dad hadn't aimed lower and cut off his legs. Like Kenobi had done to his dad. "...will take awhile to make one in the proper size. Luke, why don't you just relax..."
Without a clue how he got there, he found himself lying down. He yawned. There didn't seem much point in staying awake, so he...
... wasn't sleepy after all. Luke yawned again and stretched his arms over his hands, interlinking his fingers and –
Hands! He opened his eyes and stared at his outstretched limbs. Yeah, he had two hands! What a nightmare that had been! He could've sworn it was real, but –
"How are you feeling?"
His arms dropped to rest across his chest and he turned his head on the pillow. Doc was sitting by his bed. "What're you doing here?"
"Where else would I be?"
"Uh..." This wasn't his quarters. "Where am... Oh." Sickbay. So it hadn't been a nightmare. "He chopped off my hand."
"Lightsabers don't chop, they slice."
"Too much information." Grimacing, he pushed himself into a sitting position. He felt dizzy for a second, then he was fine. "You put my hand back on." He flexed the fingers a few times. They felt odd. Alien. "What's wrong with it?"
"It's a prosthetic." Doc held out his own (real?) hand and took hold of Luke's fingers. He pulled out a needle and poked three times before Luke snatched his hand away. "Did you feel that?"
"Yes! Stop stabbing me." His dad had all prosthetic limbs. Luke hadn't realized that fake ones appeared so real. Maybe his dad didn't look so bad under that armor. He turned the hand over. It even had lines in its palm... but not his lines. "Do you think it will tan?"
"No."
Luke rubbed his hands together. They both got warmer. "It seems to work okay."
"Of course it does. I am an excellent surgeon." The medic studied his face. "If you grow further, it will need to be replaced."
"Oh." He had a vision of himself as big as his dad, with one tiny hand.
Machinery around sickbay hummed quietly, reminding him of the lightsaber. There wasn't much more to say about his hand, at least not to Doc. "Thanks for fixing it."
"You're welcome. Now it's time for you to surrender this bed for someone who needs it. You've been lounging here long enough." Doc opened a small cabinet behind him.
"I have?" He slid off the bed, finally noticing that he was wearing a plain green shirt and matching loose trousers. "How long have I been here?"
The physician tossed his clothes at him. "Nine days," he said shortly.
Luke picked up his tunic and looked first at the bloody cuff of his tunic, then at Doc. "Why? Did something go wrong?"
"Don't ask me, I'm only the doctor. I have no say about what goes on in sickbay – everything is done as Lord Vader commands."
One day that sarcasm would get Doc in trouble. Although so far it had worked pretty well for Luke. "Okay, thanks anyway!" he called after the departing physician.
Hurriedly he pulled on his clothes. Nine days! Time to track down his father and find out what was going on. He paused and looked in the mirror, running his new hand through his hair. What a confusing mess... and what a memorable, horrible, awful, miserable, depressing, secret-revealing birthday it had been. The only part that remotely seemed fair was that every year from now on when his dad brooded about the worst day of his life, he would also have to remember that he had chopped off his son's hand on his birthday.
"Next year," he scolded his reflection, "just settle for a cake."
- - - - -
His study tapes were crushed and strewn across the floor of his quarters, along with the remnants of his computer, desk, and chair. The hulking figure of Darth Vader waited for him amidst the wreckage, arms folded. There was no anger radiating from the Dark Lord, so Luke surmised that the destruction had taken place sometime in the intervening nine days. You could have cleaned up, he thought, hoping that the message wasn't transmitted to his father.
Vader simply stared at him.
"I know why you were so mad," Luke said finally, after discarding several conversation openers that all involved accusations like 'why did you chop off my hand?'.
"Are you inferring that I mutilated you deliberately? I did not."
"I know." He rubbed the alien wrist. "But if something happens because you're angry, is it really an accident?"
His dad chose to ignore that question. "If I was angry, it was because I was worried. You disobeyed me. You could have been killed."
By the hijackers or by you? He shrugged. "That too, I suppose." He let the silence drag on until Vader was forced to ask:
"What else?"
His new palm was fascinating. Luke pretended to be engrossed in examining it. "Because of the things you told me that you didn't want to tell me."
"You are not making sense."
"Stop telling me that!" he snapped, exasperated. "You know exactly what I mean! Now I know the worst about you, so what? Did you think I wouldn't love you anymore?"
He expected some sort of gruff denial about love not being involved, but instead Vader sighed and uncrossed his arms. "Perhaps. But we have a more immediate problem than discussions of affection."
Well, (a) affection wasn't a problem and (b)... "What problem?"
"The Emperor has sent for you."
The words were stark, the tone bleak. Luke felt something draining from him, as though his spirit was seeping out... or going into hiding. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he could speak. "Sent for me?"
Vader nodded. "You alone. Not me. I would not be there to protect you."
He swallowed and licked lips that were suddenly dry. "Is he going to... kill me?"
His father slowly crossed to the bed – the only unbroken piece of furniture – and sat heavily. "Possibly. It is more likely that he wishes totrain you to kill me and take my place."
His head jerked back. "I'm not going to do that! He can't make me!"
"He could make you want to." The helmet turned toward him. "I stalled, keeping you unconscious and telling him you needed time to recuperate from your traumatic injury. However, I will not lose you, so there is only one alternative."
"We could hide together," Luke suggested, putting off the moment when he had to hear the inevitable words of separation. "Just the two of us. We could go live on the edge of the Outer Rim, where he wouldn't think to look for us."
"And one day I would regret all I had given up, lose my temper, and kill you as I killed your mother."
As scared as he felt, he understood that his father was more frightened of the impending separation. But Vader's fear was darker, deeper; it was part of his essence. And he would never be free if he never gathered the courage to face it. "Then what?" Luke asked softly, anticipating the reply. "You're going to hide me?"
"You cannot be hidden, my son. He can sense you. Your Light burns too brightly." Vader stood, suddenly galvanized into action. "I have packed your belongings." Luke's old backpack flew through the air, nearly knocking him over as he caught it.
"If you can't hide me, then where am I going?"
"The orders I have and will execute fully state that you are going to Coruscant. However, your vessel will be hijacked, and Laze Loneozner and his pilot will become the newest members of the Rebel Alliance."
"What? Are you kidding?"
"I do not kid."
"Save that for your officers! I know you kid. Why would you want me to – "
"Difficult as this may be for you to believe," Vader said mildly, gesturing for Luke to exit his quarters and into the wide corridor, "I have a plan."
"And are you going to share that plan with me?"
Vader's head inclined slightly in warning. "You are going to Coruscant, young man, and I will brook no more discussion."
Luke rolled his eyes. "Yes, master." We should've talked more before going into monitored areas, he pointed out. Yoo-hoo! Can you hear me?
I hear you. We will be able to communicate this way in the future... if you are able to focus.
I can focus, all right! he declared grimly, struck by the unhappy thought that momentarily he would be separated from his father. "Did you pack my 'hopper model?"
"No. You have no need for toys where you are going."
"It's not a toy." So, you want to keep it for sentimental reasons!
"Indeed." Vader hustled him toward a small bay off the main hangar where a sleek, long-range ship waited.
"Wow, what is that? It's gorgeous."
"It is a modified Naboo starfighter."
"Oh." That reminded him of his mother, but he kept the thought to himself. His father was quiet, too.
They stopped at the base of the ramp. "This is happening awfully fast," Luke said, his voice unexpectedly choking on the words. "Thank you for... everything. Except for chopping off my hand. If the Emperor decides to train me, maybe I'll see you again."
"Yes," said The Man of Few Words.
Luke nodded. "Okay... well... I guess I should get going." What's going to happen? Who's going to hijack me? Is that your whole plan? What will I do when I get to the Alliance? Can we hug?
"One of our best security officers is piloting you," Vader said threateningly, "so do not try anything foolish."
Does that mean –
The Dark Lord looked beyond him and raised his voice. "He is ready." His gaze returned to Luke. "You have been a good student. Go now."
"Just like that?" he demanded wildly, welling grief pushing aside caution.
"It is an honor to obey the Emperor. Go."
Before he could reply, he felt a soft cloud surround him. It was warm and glowing, filled with sun and... with love.
He smiled faintly and returned the emotion as best he could, hoping his father felt it. "Okay," he said quietly. Turning, he hurried up the ramp, casting a wary glance at the pilot.
"Welcome aboard," Lieutenant Karas Jovay said without a trace of recognition on his face.
- - - - -