Galaxies Apart

Thirty Seven

Vader battled in silence.

It wasn't always so, of course; debate and discussion in the midst of a lightsaber duel-to-the-death undoubtedly had their place, and he'd indulged in both on many occasions. Not least on which was on a certain volcanic planet, a lifetime ago…

But here and now, at this moment, he did not utter a word, did not break his concentration for even a microsecond. His opponent did likewise. In fact, throughout the first few minutes they'd been duelling, Palpatine had done all of the talking. His words of encouragement from the sidelines had also been a feature of quite a few of Vader's duels.

Never before, however, had they been directed at his opponent.

The blades flashed. Luke – or whomever he was – was a worthy adversary, that much was certain. He had studied several of the old techniques, and already had shown a capacity to invent a few of his own should the need arise.

Vader pressed forward, landing a flurry of thrusts to Luke's torso. The younger man was equal to the task of blocking them, spinning his saber to intercept every probing strike, turn aside the point of Vader's blade and even force Vader into a defensive stance with a few powerful counter-moves of his own.

Luke's face, though lined with the age and hurt he'd noticed so clearly moments before, was composed and calm. Vader felt himself probe the mind behind; in many ways, the spinning of the sabers was only the top layer of a Jedi duel. Behind the physical curtain, an entirely different but no less intense war was progressing; not of the body, but of the spirit.

Many duels had been lost not due to a combatant's skill with the blade, but their capability to resist the opponent dulling their mind, slowing their reflexes, filling their thoughts with horrors unimaginable or the certainty of their own defeat. Some Sith Masters had been powerful enough to cause their would-be assassins to fall on their sabers without ever having to spark their own blade into life.

Seldom were lightsaber battles between equally matched foes settled in the first few exchanges. More often, these initial rounds were designed to test the opponent, examine their strengths and weaknesses. That was what Vader and Luke were doing now. They knew it.

So, clearly, did Palpatine.

"Enough of this," he growled, standing at the top of the dias that led to his throne, glowering down at them from on high, a malevolent God. "My time and my patience are not without limits. Kill him and take his place, or fall and die."

They were around ten feet from each other at this point, sabers raised and at the ready. Vader could sense the change in stance from his son. Playtime was over.

Very well.

They came together in a roar of movement and energy, blades cutting ribbons of light through the air, the hum of their movement and the clash of their collisions ringing through the Throne Room.

The time for silence had passed. Though the pace of battle never relented, Vader and his opponent found time to speak between flurrys, thrusts and parrys, between leaps and dodges and backflips.

"Why are you doing this?"

"To take my place."

"By taking mine?"

"You don't deserve what was given to you."

"You're my son."

"I know."

"Who told you?"

"Your daughter did."

Vader's saber faltered in its projected path by a fraction. Enough to change the path of battle. Luke pressed his advantage, pushing his father relentlessly back into an overhanging gangway, which would begin to restrict Vader's movement.

"I have no daughter," Vader said, though he knew by the sense in his son's mind that he spoke the truth. His mind raced, distracted, and because of that his saber responses began to lag fatally.

"Not now you don't."

"She's dead?"

"She's dead. Not long after you tortured her and made her watch her homeworld go up in flames."

The enormity of the truth hit him like a series of shockwaves. He had been so focussed on finding his son for all these years, his only child, that the mere thought that he could have had more had never even occurred to him. And to learn that he had, indeed, fathered a second child, a baby daughter…

…a daughter that Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan the traitor, the snake, the stinking piece of flea-bitten bantha fodder, may his cursed body rot, had hidden from him…

…a daughter who had grown up to despise him, who had been one of the founding activists of the Rebel Alliance…

…a daughter he had personally tortured aboard the Death Star.

And now, your Highness, we will discuss the location of your hidden Rebel base. He had spoken those words to her before the entrance of the mind probe droid into her cell. So defiant until then, she had shrank from that terrible device, cowered slightly from the needle until he…by the Force…he had to-

The Force yanked him back to the here and now, screaming a last-ditch warning at him, puppeting his arm up to block a lunging thrust from Luke that would have cleaved his head from his shoulders had it impacted.

Vader used his confusion, his rage and fury, and pushed his son back with the Force. Closing in for the kill, Luke was taken unawares. He tumbled head-over-heels, allowing Vader to vault clear of the confined space he had been backing toward, giving him space to breathe and think and regroup, because Luke was already back on his feet and coming toward him-

Their blades met once more. The impact reverberated throughout the Throne Room. Palpatine descended the dias to get closer to them, his pale features lit by the dancing, strobing light of their blades.

Neither man pulled their blade away, pushing bodily against the other's saber, backing their physical strength up by calling on the Force. Vader sensed that his son was calling on the Dark Side just as he was. He was astonished to feel a sense of disappointment. Long had he dreamed of tutoring his son in the pleasures and skills of the Dark Side, and yet now…seeing his son filled with anger and hate, he felt a palpable sense of sadness.

What had happened to Luke – to whoever this was who wore Luke's face and had his Force sense, warped or not – what had happened to turn him so completely, so quickly?

"He begins to understand," Palpatine broke into his thoughts.

Vader's head snapped around at his former Master's voice. Without a second thought his arm moved forward and back and he sent his lightsaber arrowing for the Emperor's neck. As the blade flew and Luke reacted to its trajectory, Vader leapt forward and grabbed his son's wrist where it held the saber.

It was a bold tactic, completely unorthodox, and one that came within a hair of working. Palpatine, moving with a speed that belied his advanced years and hinted at the power that lurked within, twisted his entire body under the spinning edge that would have left him headless. The saber carried on spinning for a half-meter, then froze in mid-air, its blade pointing vertically at the ceiling for an instant before being retracted with a stray thought from the Emperor.

Lightning crackled along Palpatine's arms, even as Vader and Luke remained locked together. His expression contorted in rage.

"You will be destroyed," he hissed.

Lightning loosed itself from his fingertips. Never a pinpoint weapon at the best of times, its tendrils slammed into both Vader and Luke indiscriminately, coursing and crackling through both their bodies.

The pain was a living being. The pain was sitting on Vader's chest, smiling at him as it reached inside and ripped out his heart, his organs, his electronics. He had been exposed to agonies in his existence, that was a fact that no-one could have denied, and yet nothing had ever come close to this. Force Lightning was more than simply the Dark Side; it was all of its casters evil, all of their malice and bitterness.

It was the darkness of their soul reverberating through every cell, nerve ending, organ, every tiny corner of your mind.

The smell of ozone filtered through his olfactory sensors. He ignored it. What he couldn't ignore was his son's screams of pain.

Luke's grip on his lightsaber lessened. Vader was able to pluck his son's weapon from his hand. He could have used it then and there to end the fight, but instead he threw his son to the side, out of the range of the Emperor's assault. Luke slid to a halt on the polished floor, gasping for breath.

Vader raised the saber his son had wielded, his own saber from so long ago, not the red saber of the Sith but the blue of the Jedi. Palpatine's lightning spread itself across the blade as Vader focussed his mind, redirecting the Dark Side energies seeking to destroy him into the saber crystal where they would be re-dispersed back into the Force.

The lightning stopped.

Still gasping in pain, Ben Skywalker watched from the floor as Palpatine outstretched his hand. A moment later, Darth Vader's flung lightsaber dropped neatly into his palm. Its red blade sprang into existence a heartbeat later.

Master and Apprentice, Sidious and Vader, red and blue, faced each other as never before.

He threw me out of range when he could have killed me. I was trying to kill him and take his place, take the only life he's ever known away from him, and when I was in pain his only thought was to protect me.

"I did it," he called out suddenly. He was speaking to his father. "I time-travelled from the future. I changed history. The Death Star should have been destroyed by Luke at Yavin IV, and the Empire eventually with it."

Vader didn't turn to acknowledge his words, but Ben knew his father had heard them nonetheless.

"Then it is true that I tortured my daughter," was all Vader said in response, his attention still unwaveringly focussed on Palpatine, "but it was you who killed her."

"You will soon join her," Palpatine assured him, as Ben processed what he had just heard, no longer sure if the pain within him was due solely to the lightning.

"You are finished, Master," Vader responded.

"You should have done this years ago," Palpatine growled. "It is the way of the Sith. And yet you were too weak, Darth. Always too weak. I once had such high hopes for you."

Ben felt the change in the air, in the Force, and knew battle was about to commence.

"So did I," Vader replied.

He charged.

It was unlike any duel Ben had ever seen. There was no semblance of form, of structure, no hint of any of the much-vaunted saber techniques he had studied so diligently. These two opponents were not remotely interested in testing each other's capabilities, in playing it safe.

Each, instead, was hellbent on exactly one thing – getting at his opponent and ripping him to shreds.

A Force-created cyclone began to whip through the confines of the Throne Room, battering Ben as he staggered to his feet, as he backed off from the sheer unwavering ferocity of the battle. When saber met saber, each blade seemed a whisper from cutting through the other, such was the power and emotion behind each swing.

The wind picked up speed. The Emperor had been something of a collector and had filled his Throne Room with many trophies. All but the heaviest of these were now airborne, part of the circular maelstrom ringing the room with the two adversaries at the eye of the storm. Ben was forced to stay close to the fight lest he be torn to pieces by the debris of hubris.

Astonishingly, through a fight this intense, his father found a way to speak to him still, though he had to increase the volume of his speech above the deepening roar of the Force storm gathering pace around them.

"He has lied to you, as he has lied to us all."

"Do not listen to him!" Palpatine cried, his teeth clacking together as lightning sprang from his fingertips and wound its way around his saber, seeming to strengthen the blade as he brought it to bear again, and again, on Vader's. "You are Darth Shada! You stand to inherit the Empire and lead it to glory!"

"He faces a rebellion amongst his own troops. He has no power," though necessarily loud to rise above the roar, Vader's voice was remarkably level.

Palpatine smiled a dangerous smile. "We will see," was all he said. As ever, the Force was the acid test of truthfulness behind all words, and Ben felt a thrill of anticipation race down his spine. Despite the truth of what Vader was saying, Palpatine remained absolutely certain that he held all the cards.

"He created the Rebellion," Vader continued, as both he and Palpatine ceased their unending saber thrusts and simply held out their palms, both Force presences pushing against the other, probing for an opening that would send the other spinning back into what was by now merely the rubble of the Throne Room's former furnishings, a priceless shapeless mess of keepsakes hurtling crazily at hundreds of miles per hour in a lethal spiral.

"Just as he created the Trade Federation and the Confederacy to gain power, so he created the Rebel Alliance to maintain that power. He planned for the destruction of the Death Star you saved. You've cost him his stranglehold on the Navy. Do you think he'll forgive you that? Do you th-"

Both men stumbled backward, the Force-pushing contest a stalemate. With a primal roar Palpatine leapt into his opponent, saber flying. Ben lost track of which limb belonged to whom as both men's movements accelerated beyond the physically possible, draining greedily on the Dark Side energies until they were so immersed within it as to be an extension of that great invisible emptiness.

He risked a glance at the whirlpool of destruction still spinning all around them. No-one would be able to enter the Throne Room until that storm dissipated.

And when that happened, one of Darth Vader or the Emperor would be dead.

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The invading Imperial forces, that mysterious explosion behind their front lines aside, had made excellent progress since planetfall. Defending forces had been forced to fall back, ceding more and more ground in a collapsing circle with the Imperial Palace at Ground Zero.

Every single stormtrooper surrounding the Palace was prepared to lay down their lives if it meant defending those hallowed walls from these traitors.

Unknown to quite a few of these staunch defenders, however, that process had already begun some time ago.

A small group was moving through the Palace with an efficiency of deed and thought as remarkable as it was seemingly effortless. They fanned out at a gesture, closed ranks in an instant. Any single or group of stormtroopers who found themselves caught in the jaws of the group's sudden pincer closing manoeuvres barely had time to register surprise at being so totally caught flat before being coldly and completely despatched.

Scarcely had the corpses of those they encountered hit the deck before the group was on the move once again, absolutely silent in their advance, never stalling from its destination.

Each member of the group carried a backpack.

Each was heading for the Throne Room.

The Noghri would not be denied.

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The high-speed deadly ballet had finally been arrested in mid-flow. Ben stood at the bottom of the dias to the Imperial Throne itself as, not more than fifteen feet from him, Darth Vader stood over the man he had called Master for so long. Ben could not tear his eyes away, could barely move. Even the hurricane around the room's perimeter had frozen in place.

"You are beaten," Vader hissed. "Your Fleet is lost to you. Your greatest weapon turned against you."

"You fool. I will become the greatest Sith Lord the galaxy has ever known. I will revel in so much death, absorb so much suffering, that no-one will be able to face me."

A memory clicked in Ben's mind. He had asked Palpatine about foreseeing the Death Star turning against him…I have planned for this day.

Those yellow eyes turned to him. "Your son is more perceptive than you, Lord Vader," Palpatine said mockingly.

"It's a trap," Ben said, hardly able to believe it.

"Indeed!" Palpatine agreed delightedly, rising like a demon from the floor and striking Vader with an outstretched claw, knocking Vader aside and enabling him to regain his posture. The red blade was back in his hand a moment later.

"With a single thought to my Hand," he went on, drawing out the words with obvious relish, "the Death Star will be obliterated from existence. Do you really think I would stop at a rigged exhaust port? One way or the other, that thing up there will be destroyed. And when it dies, Darth, when it blows itself apart and takes every single traitorous Grand Moff and Admiral and their ships with it…"

Ben couldn't grasp the scope of what he was hearing. "That big an explosion…this close to Coruscant…"

Palpatine's smile was lustful at the very prospect of it. "The death toll will be unimaginable. That many hundreds of billions of lives, extinguished at my whim. Imagine. Imagine the scale of the dark energies unleashed at such an act. I. Will. Be. Unstoppable."

Vader said nothing.

"And when it's done…I will rebuild. Coruscant. The Empire. In my image. A new beginning for the Sith."

"No."

Ben was hardly aware the word had escaped him. All he knew was that he was standing side-by-side with his father without ever really being conscious of moving. He glanced at Darth, and got the slightest of nods from that infamous visage.

It was enough.

"So," Palpatine drawled in disgust, "you are as weak as he is. Small matter. Perhaps the real Luke Skywalker will be more appreciative of the chances you have forsaken."

Ben felt his father's reaction to that. He had hoped, somehow, to survive this and never to have to tell his father who…what…he really was. That was gone. Palpatine had wiped it away. He saw the wicked smile on the Emperor's lips. Still, Vader said nothing. Ben wanted desperately for his father to spring into action as he had so recently, to defend him or to defend the galaxy by striking down this monster. But his father uttered not a word. Ben despaired. Had his resolve fled in the face of Palpatine's words?

"You talk too much," Vader said. And looked up.

Ben did likewise, and realised four important things.

Firstly, Vader's silence had not been accidental. Secondly, a group of Noghri commandos had penetrated the Throne Room through a ceiling access port. Thirdly, the Force hurricane had been paused, by Vader, for a very specific reason; specifically, to allow the Noghri unrestricted access to the room and permit them to set up a broadcast signal and pick up what was being said by those below.

Palpatine's entire speech about the eradication of the Death Star and the resultant destruction of huge swathes of the Fleet and the surface of Coruscant had just been broadcast to the entire Imperial Network.

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"Hails coming in from all over the defending Fleet, Admiral," Pellaeon said, a now-familiar sense of amazement slowly receding to be replaced by a rapidly-becoming-familiar sense of pride. "The communications blackout has been lifted. They're surrendering to our authority."

Thrawn permitted himself a smile. "Welcome them, Captain," he replied. "Welcome them to the New Empire."

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"No…" Palpatine breathed. Ben had seen him angry before, but never had he seen the man beaten. Palpatine seemed to deflate visibly before his eyes. "No…you can't do this…"

"It is done," Vader said simply. "Our time commanding the Empire is over."

"NO!" Palpatine screamed. He placed his hands to his temples and closed his eyes. Ben's momentary confusion over the gesture was replaced when he sensed the strength of the Force-based communication that suddenly emanated from Palpatine. A communication bound for-

"He's sending the destruction order!" Ben cried. "Stop him!"

Vader gathered himself to leap the distance, but before he could move seven lithe, compact Noghri bodies dropped noiselessly the thirty or more feet from the ceiling, suspended by thin wires which snapped at a shoulder movement. Ben admired their courage but against the Emperor, they'd last little more than an instant.

As if to prove his point, Palpatine's lip curled in contempt. He raised his hands to unleash a hail of lighting that would scythe through the Noghri ranks.

"Activate," the Noghri on point growled. Backpacks worn by each of the Noghri ceased to emit a soft blue glow.

Palpatine's lightning died stillborn from his fingertips.

Ben staggered to his knees in shock as he felt the Force flee from him. Even as the pain from his muscles (muscles suddenly no longer comforted by Jedi pain-relieving meditations) flared, the truth hit him.

Each of those backpacks had, until now, been emitting a small stasis field. Just big enough to contain a single ysalamiri.

"What…what is this…what have you done," the Emperor choked with anguish, shaking in fury and humiliation and looking, for the first time in some decades Ben guessed, like nothing more than a frail old man.

Ben could only watch as the Noghri fanned out expertly, three to the Emperor and two each for he and Vader. Lightsabers were removed and deactivated. Vader did not seem inclined to resist. Palpatine did not seem capable of it.

"Admiral," the Noghri who had spoken earlier replied, touching his communicator and ignoring Palpatine completely. "Mission accomplished. Targets have been contained as ordered."

"Excellent work, Khabarakh," the unmistakable voice of Thrawn responded. "Maintain your position and continue to contain targets until reinforcements arrive."

"Yes, Admiral," the one called Khabarakh responded evenly.

"You're too late," Palpatine said smugly. "Too late. Soon the skies will be red with blood and fire and the Force shall return to me."

Ben's blood chilled. The order-

"Thrawn," Vader called out. "You must find the Emperor's operative aboard the Death Star. She has orders to activate a self-destruct sequence that will destroy the station. Hurry."

"Noted, Lord Vader. Until we speak again."

The communication died. Only now did Palpatine seem to snap to his senses and try to struggle against his Noghri captors. They overpowered him easily. It was fascinating to watch this man, the centre of Galactic intrigue for two generations, so completely humbled so quickly.

"Your homeworld is poisoned," he spat at the Noghri restraining him, "the cleanup operation Lord Vader promised you a sham, designed to keep you in servitude. Free me and I shall restore life to Honoghr!"

Khabarakh did no more than glance at him with a pitying expression, before turning to Vader. He bowed low. "Our apologies, Ary'ush," he growled, "it is our hope that you remain pleased with the services of your Noghri subjects."

Ben looked from Khabarakh to Vader. He knew, of course, of the great Vader-masterminded con that had been the cleanup of Honoghr until Leia Organa Solo had uncovered it, robbing the Empire of its greatest commando pool and delivering one of the New Republic's staunchest allies into the bargain.

"I am pleased," Vader replied. That was all.

Ben heard no more. Robbed of the Force to draw on, the exhaustion and exertion of recent events took their toll. His last thought, as he slipped gratefully into blackness, was Leia would have been so proud…