The Truth 55: Trouble Comes Home

Sorry, this was getting too long so I had to cut it. The scene will continue the next chapter, which hopefully won't take long to publish because I'm feeling some anxiety about our ability to always be able to connect to the internet as more people and businesses depend on it. Anyone else feel that way?

I promised me that I would never suggest songs, but here I go breaking that promise: hippity-hop over to YouTube and listen to the old "I Don't Know How to Love Him" (the Helen Reddy version that has 2 mill views). I had to restrain myself from quoting lines, it's so V-L (not for this chapter though!).

OooOoo

He set the course to Corellia and waited stiffly until the hyperdrive kicked in, then sat back and stared at the blurred stars without seeing them.

The connection with his father was a filament of iridescence that stretched across the cosmos. His mind was teeming with what had happened since they had initiated the familial bond. Despite the warning, it had been only mildly uncomfortable when Vader entered his mind and began the creation, but that deceptive gentleness hadn't prepared him for the violent impact of his own travel into the Dark Lord's mind. He would have turned and fled if tendrils of Darkness hadn't curled and entwined around his emotions and lured him on, whispering wordless promises, plunging him further into the deepest recesses of the Sith.

The most painful realization had been recognizing himself in that complex Darkness, not just in his father's thoughts but deeper; the roots of his thoughts and beliefs were there as if when his parents created him, his empty shell had been filled with their thoughts and feelings. His father's staggering mental abilities were present now— and far stronger with his desperate grip on anger and love; he could barely sense his mother, just lingering impressions of strength, joy, fear, and sadness. But all those feelings had been in Anakin, too, so he couldn't separate them. Was there nothing solely of Padme Naberrie in him?

And the Darkness…. it was not what he'd expected. There was beauty in the depths of a power that stretched far beyond his wildest dreams, an exquisite strength that dimmed the flickering Light inside him. It felt good and pure and right and true and strong. He could do anything— anything— and the possibilities thrilled him. How could he go back to the Alliance and pretend? How could he live a small life again when the entire galaxy could be his playground? If this was a sampling of the extent of Palpatine's power—

No. This power was his and his father's doubled. How easy it would be to take down the Emperor. But Vader still held him back, ignoring his arguments, telling him to learn and train. That seemed so useless and he wondered if his Light had contaminated his father when they linked.

There was a jolt in his mind as though someone had tugged a string. You have more to learn, young one. If it were simple, I would have accomplished it years ago.

If you had been strong enough alone, you mean. Luke smiled tightly. I understand. Neither of us can do it without the other. But why do we have to wait? Why do I have to reach all those unnecessary goals first?

I wish you to be the strongest you can be before we rule. There will be many temptations you will face, and I do not want you to fail. Stop dreaming of power and attend to the practicalities. We will have many opportunities to discuss our strategies. For now—

Appearances matter. Yes, Father, I'm on my way to Corellia.

Fail? He would never fail again. Losing was impossible now. He could only win.

But that was how his father talked, altering and slanting the truth just enough to woo him over or, in this case, placate him. Truth be told, he really didn't mind; it was a good learning experience. But eventually would come his father's 'just one more thing'… and he was curious what it might be.

A wisp of a thought invaded: what if the one more thing was love? He wondered if he was still capable of it in the Darkness. And if his father was. And if not… against his wishes, something buried inside him mourned for its loss.

OooOoo

Coronet City reminded him of an upscale Mos Eisley. An elegant, affluent Eisley. And he was part of the affluence. It was a gratifying knowledge that he could buy anything he wanted… although with Vader supervising, the credits might come to an end if he got carried away.

Which presented him with a challenge. Exactly how much could he get away with while still being the obedient son?

So he left after his single alloted day, after doing as much damage as possible to his new account. He was beautified to the point of youthful perfection with a permanent tan— even his prosthetic hand had been dyed to match— and styled, tousled hair, blonde by injection, which the attendant had assured him only had to be reinjected once per standard year. Oh, he supposed his father would say it was petty and meaningless— but Sith-hell he looked good and had basked in the glances of admiration. He would likely get the same reception at the Alliance base. He was no longer the skinny, homeless drunk from Tatooine. He wasn't even the poor Rebel mechanic— he was Someone. Someone important, someone cared for… someone loved. And, okay, evidently someone easily manipulated, but he could accept that if it was the price of these rewards… couldn't he?

Why couldn't questions just go away? It was so much easier to have no doubts about anything, especially about his father. Everyone's life was complicated, right? Maybe not to the level of Sith-complicated, but everyone had problems no matter how well they hid them.

With long hours of hyper looming ahead, he decided to pack. The set of two nerf-hide bags would hold all his clothes, and out of sentimentality he stuffed in his ragged Tatooine pack, too. He debated about wearing the cloak and swirled it around his shoulders. Standing in front of the reflector, he pulled up the hood, then tugged it lower over his face. He looked like—

The Dark Lord.

He folded his arms inside the fabric so nothing of Luke Skywalker remained. He was a shadow, a shape that came out of the night… out of the most fearsome of nightmares. Reaching out one hand, he touched the reflection and felt….

Sad. Ancient. A memory he couldn't remember. Impossible past, impossible future. A life forgotten and never lived. A life lived and never forgotten. He was no one, everyone. But his image existed so he must be someone. He was full of… emptiness. Power. He was God. He was Skywalker. He was...

Elemental.

Both fists pounded against the image, slamming it over and over, but it didn't shatter. Of course not. There was no glass, just steel, dented now, ruining another part of the Princess's damn ship.

Trembling with fear and rage, he yanked off the cloak—

No thinking.

—and wrapped his lightsaber in it, remembering his father's warning about Palpatine's spies. If he needed the saber, he'd have to wear one of the new coats, but Yavin was too hot to pull off that look.

No thoughts. No regrets. No doubts.

The black formal suit screamed 'Sith', too intimidating for the Alliance, so he changed into what his father had called 'Jedi daywear', lightweight black and brown and a new pair of dark chestnut boots with hand-tooled designs climbing up the shafts. He had managed to buy, still with his dad's evident permission, two dozen silk t-shirts that had FLYING REBEL printed on the front and a dozen of the latest model blasters for his crew, and those took up all the space in the second bag.

Once packed, he decided to clean the ship's interior. If it really belonged to the princess, he didn't want her thinking he was a slob despite his stunning appearance. Although there was the little matter of the chair arm they had sliced into pieces to build his lightsaber. And parts from the sonic shower head. And the reflector. Well, he couldn't fix everything.

No regrets.

He wished he'd brought a few educational tapes along to pass the time. His father had dismissed his idea of being a Shadow Jedi and suggested he study the Grey Jedi or Grey Sith, both of whom used Dark and Light talents. But why should he be constrained by a title? When Palpatine was gone, the galaxy would know 'Skywalker' and that would be title enough.

No doubts.

He sank back into the pilot's seat. Fantasizing was a great morale booster, but he had to face the fact that—-for now— he was going back to a Rebel base as a mechanic/pilot who lived in a tiny room in a large barracks with six pilots who were his friends.

Were any of them Imperial spies? The question made him uncomfortable. Would he be able to sense spies as his father said? And what would happen when he reported them to Vader? His father would expect him to take some action, even against a friend.

And the body parts, the corpses. Luke groaned aloud. How would he even begin to ask that question tactfully? Still, he had to remember his ultimate purpose made everything appropriate— the downfall of Sidious.

The confrontation.

No doubts no doubts no doubts.

Despite his satisfaction with himself and his new knowledge, he was afraid. He could ask his father for reassurance, but he wasn't a child any longer and he couldn't reveal weakness. That was one thing he'd felt from his father— disappointment in any weakness or reluctance that Luke had shown. So… no more. He was strong on his own, stronger than he'd ever been. They were stronger together, they would succeed in the end. In the meanwhile, Luke would make himself into the superior being his father wanted him to be... correction, that he wanted to be.

No regrets.

OooOoo

Exiting hyperspace, he checked the chron to time his arrival with 'his' Red Squad's off-duty shift. Not that he didn't like the other guys, but he barely knew them because they were either sleeping or on duty when he was awake. Still, he'd brought enough shirts for all of them.

Punching in his ship's security clearance, he cruised into the hangar and parked to one side, gratified to see all the Reds in their places. Gently he reached out to confirm that his friends were unharmed and sighed with relief.

Standing on the ramp, unpleasantly slapped in the face with humidity and heat, he spied a young uniformed man nearby. "Ensign!" he called and tossed his bags toward him. Impressively the kid caught the bigger one but the other landed at his feet. "Take these to Red barracks and tell them Oz is back. I'll be there shortly."

He walked a few meters and didn't bother to glance over his shoulder to know the man hadn't moved. "Now, Ensign!"

"Yessir!" came the obedient response, and Luke didn't care whether it was caused by the Force, his new confidence, or his obvious affluence. Whatever, it worked.

He strode toward the CC, nodding to a couple people he vaguely remembered. As a courtesy he tapped once on the door before opening it and entering. His entry would have been more impressive if he'd been able to wear his lightsaber, but his new aura should be more than enough.

"Hi, I'm home!" he blurted, which was not the quiet, dignified, gracious announcement he'd practiced. Oh, well, Oz was still Oz… He smiled, managing not to burst into a silly grin at Commander Narra, whose mouth dropped open, and General Willard.

There was a gratifying silence as they reacted to his appearance. "Oz…." Narra said weakly, undoubtedly astonished by his fabulosity. "Welcome back. Did you return the ship?"

Nice to see you too. "Of course I did. I promised I would." He cleared his throat. "It needs a bit of repair inside."

Willard put down his stylus and stood. "You look… very well. How was your… experience?"

Did they not believe that he'd been training in the Force? He straightened. "It was enlightening. I learned many new skills and knowledge of the Force that I can bring to the Alliance." And there was the matter of his familial bond with a certain Dark Lord of the Sith but perhaps he wouldn't mention it.

Narra was openly staring. "Commander," Luke asked gently, "why are you still flying a desk?"

"I… someone has to do it."

"Better someone who knows pilots and tactics," Willard stated. "Who was the Jedi Master you saw?"

"Trained with," he corrected. "So you remember all the Jedi Masters? It was Yoda."

"Yoda? He's alive?" Apparently they both remembered the colorful head of the Jedi Council. "How is…. I mean, will you train more with him?"

"Can't," Luke said cheerfully. "He's dead. Well, what can you expect, he was nine hundred years old, after all. Every Jedi Master is gone now. Doesn't matter, I'm not a Jedi, never will be, don't like them much."

That silenced them and he decided attempting any more conversation would be a waste of his time. "I'm going to Red barracks. Catch you later."

"Oz!" Narra stood as he opened the door. "Uh… Red has a new mechanic."

Krit! Affecting nonchalance, he shrugged. "I'm not planning on being a mechanic again. I can fly, you know. And I have more Force training that will keep me busy." He gave them an informal salute and left, closing the door quietly behind him without even bothering to ask for his allowance because now he had an account. Unless his dad cut it off. Like his hand.

OooOoo

Hmm. Obviously he should project a different attitude when reuniting with his friends. In the distance, he saw the young ensign returning to the hangar, so at least they were forewarned that he was back. He hesitated at the door, inexplicably nervous. It was ridiculous to wonder if they would still like him. Why wouldn't they?

He wiped his sweaty hands on his pants and entered. "Holy krit, you've got air conditioning!"

There was a burst of laughter. "I told them that was the first thing you'd say!" Porkins exclaimed. "Welcome home, brother!"

Oh, no! Don't get teary, Skywalker— remember your image! "Group hug!" So much for an image. He held open his arms and waited until they crowded around, awkwardly patting backs— except for Janson, who tried to kiss his cheek. "Oh, stop! I see nothing's changed!"

Even Boss smiled at him. "A few adventures, but no casualties."

Hobbie waved Boss away. "But get to the important stuff— what did you do to yourself? Sith, you look amazing! Were you in a desert? You look tan and… blonde."

"I'm just back to my old Tatooine looks— two suns, you know." He preened a little. "No, it was Dagobah and it was filthy. Muddy, wet, bugs and snakes— disgusting!"

"Not the place for our clean young prince," Dev said with a wink.

"Eww, I've read about Dagobah," Janson said. "But then… why do you look so… fabulous? Is it a Force thing?

He grinned. "I stopped at a spa," he said loftily. "I had to, I was grossly scruffy and slovenly. Hey, where're my bags? I brought stuff back for you guys."

"Not snakes, I hope."

"No, good stuff from Corellia." He headed to his old bunk.

"Sorry," Boss said, "that's the new kid's. I put you Five's room. It's bigger… if you want it."

He looked over his shoulder, distracted by… something. "Yeah, that's fine. I'll fly when I can, but I have other things to do... Who's the 'new kid'?"

"Name's Tadeo, been here for a few weeks. Came in on a…. What are you doing?"

His hand touched the pillow and blankets, feather-light. Impressions— a ship, a freighter, flying under neutral signals, but...

He tugged the filament in his mind. Father… Imperial?

His father traveled the same path he had and a moment later: Possibly. Not one of mine. If he proves to be a spy, eliminate him.

He sighed. "A few weeks? Did you talk about anything important when he was around?"

The pilots looked at each other. "I don't know," Wedge said slowly. "What would be important? He's almost off-shift now. Should be back any time."

Damn, why didn't I sense him in the hangar? Maybe he couldn't pick Imperials out of a crowd. Or maybe the kid wasn't an Imperial. "I don't want him here."

"Ooh, jealous!" Janson snickered.

"I'd rather you pilot," Boss said. "You don't need to be a mech again. We need a Five."

"I'd like to, but my schedule is going to be rather full."

Zev rolled his eyes. "Prince Oz."

"I didn't mean it that way," Luke defended hotly. "I just… I'm supposed to study and take classes—"

"This isn't university."

He sighed. "I mean, I'd have to practice flying a lot. I don't know anything about combat—"

"Can someone say 'Death Star'?" Porkins interjected.

"That was… that was… a fluke. I'd never flown in space before." Well, except for a few TIE flights. And the Falleen cruiser. "Fine! As long as I can get in some practice runs." He hesitated. "So who's the new Three?"

"I am," Boss said quietly, and Luke suppressed a shiver of superstition. He hoped Boss would have better luck with Three than Biggs had. "Just the position. You'll still call me 'Leader'. And if you're flying, you have to enlist."

Luke grinned back at him, relieved that apparently he'd been forgiven for his past actions, and decided to ignore the last reminder. Enlist?— never! "Uh-huh." He found his bags in the slightly bigger room. This one actually had a pole to hang clothes. "Anybody have extra hangers? I have more clothes."

"Of course you do!" Hobbie caught a few of the t-shirts Luke threw at him, while some tumbled to the floor and the others scrabbled for them.

"Hey, I like!" Porkins exclaimed.

"I want a blue one!" Janson insisted. "Find me a— No, are they all red?!"

Luke pulled out the shirt he'd tucked aside. "I knew you'd want a blue one."

"Awesome, thanks!" Janson pulled it over his uniform. "Stunning. Seriously stunning."

The door opened. A man entered— so young, not more than twenty, with dark skin and liquid brown eyes. "Hi," he said, then stopped, immediately aware of the stranger.

"Hi, I'm Oz." Luke held out his hand and the other grasped it awkwardly.

Father… he's just a kid. I can't…. But he could feel a presence in the other's thoughts that beckoned to his own Darkness.

A 'kid' who may report to Sidious. Eliminate him.

He didn't have the heart for this, despite his new affiliation for the Dark Side. The young one looked at him. "Tadeo. Um… are you taking your job back?"

"No, it's all yours."

"Oh." Tadeo looked dejected.

Boss put his fists on his hips. Dad Vader. "What's going on? You wanted this job— you volunteered."

"I still want it! I just… I was hoping I could go back and stay with my brother. We were working on transports," he explained to Luke, "so we were bunking together in Green. Can I keep the job and not have to live here?"

Ugh. He wondered if Green was as disgusting and smelly as it had been at the other base. And he had certainly never sounded as young and naive as this one— who was actually older than Luke.

"You would have to report to me every morning at 0600– that's before breakfast— for your assignments." Boss had a soft spot for youngsters, Luke decided.

"Yessir, I can do that! Thank you! I'll just get my stuff out of here !" he added to Luke.

A little too eager to get away from me. He wasn't sure if that was a good sign or a bad one.

I'll leave the decision of his fate to you, Son.

Great. Well, it wasn't a decision he was going to make in haste. "Thanks, kid."

"I want to see your clothes," Hobbie said. "Maybe I can borrow something."

OooOoo