Astral knows better than to believe fake news, whether it comes from official Imperial sources or the Alliance. But when the holonet crashes from unconfirmed reports of a Rebel attack on a secret super weapon that results in the deaths of both the Emperor and Darth Vader, she gets worried.
No one at the castle knows anything. Insider Vanee is suddenly unreachable, as is Milo. No one on Lord Vader's staff answers their comlink either. Even the local commander for the Mustafar shield gate is in the dark. That turns out to be the most telltale sign that the rigid military chain of command has fallen apart. For what remains of the Imperial high command is busy jockeying for power, not managing the media reports. Alarmed Astral astutely perceives that the longer it takes for official Imperial sources to deny the rumors, the more credence the stories have.
As the hours tick by into days, more sketchy details emerge. There are eye witness accounts on both sides describing a massive climactic battle in a system called Endor. But no one can affirm the Rebels' claim to victory or their news about the Emperor and Lord Vader. Still, persistent, insidious whispers that Lord Vader killed the Emperor only to die himself make their way into published reports. Astral doesn't know who to believe, but she's starting to fear the worst. The Rebel version of events is suspiciously like her husband's plan to team up with his son to destroy the Death Star and Sheev. That makes the reports uncomfortably believable. But still . . . Astral clings to hope.
Finally, four days later, Vanee arrives at the castle. Watching his face as he descends the shuttle ramp, Astral knows her worst fears have come true. Still, she flies to his side on the scorching hot Mustafar landing pad as the rest of the staff peeks from inside to spy on their reunion.
"Where is Lord Vader? Is he safe? Is he alright?" All the stress of the past few days is heard in her choked voice.
Vanee looks very tired and especially old as he reaches for her hand. He squeezes it. "I'm sorry, Astral."
"No!" She refuses to accept the news. "No! No! This is not how this ends!" Astral instantly rages, raising a trembling hand to her forehead. She's indignant that all their efforts have come to this unhappy result. "I saw what they're claiming . . . I know they say he's dead . . . but he can't be—" Vulnerable though he is, her husband nevertheless has the constitution of a rancor and a superhuman pain tolerance. He can survive anything so long as he can breathe.
"I'm very sorry," Vanee soothes in a quiet voice.
"So the holonet reports-?"
"It's true. All of it. The Rebels blew up the second Death Star. But first, Luke Skywalker confronted the Emperor."
"And Lord Vader? Did Luke kill him too? Did he kill his own father?" she wonders aloud in horror. This is one of many scenarios that has kept her up at night.
"The Jedi says no. He says Lord Vader died fighting Lord Sidious."
Yes, she knows the story the Rebels are touting. It's why she has clung to the hope that it's a lie. Astral starts sputtering now as she processes the news. "He knew better than to fight Sheev-he served him over twenty years because he knew he couldn't win-he knew it was suicide. Why would he do it now?" she wails. Lord Vader said he would never let the Emperor get him and Luke in the same room together. He knew what would happen. "Why? Why?" she cries.
Vanee supplies the answers she knows are true. "To save the galaxy from Sheev and his Death Star. And to save his son from becoming the Apprentice."
Darth Vader survived over twenty years against all odds. Refusing to succumb to pain and infirmities. Rejecting death and hopelessness. Why? Because he was a stubborn man who wouldn't give his Master or his enemies the satisfaction. He always soldiered on. That's what Darth Vader did. But apparently, he finally found a good reason to die. And Astral can't fault him for it. Bereft though she is, she both understands and respects the sacrifice. She herself risked death as a treasonous conspirator to ensure that there would be no more Alderaans.
Vanee has tears in his eyes as again he says what soon everyone will tell her. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." Then, Lord Vader's longtime manservant pulls her into a long hug.
When Astral regains her composure, they go inside. She stands beside Vanee with silent tears leaking down her cheeks, looking on as he delivers the bad news to the castle staff. One and all, they are Imperial loyalists who are dismayed at the turn of events. No one ever believed that Mon Mothma's Alliance to Restore the Galactic Republic would succeed in its revolution.
In one battle, the course of history shifts. In one day, the fortunes of so many change. Like with every conflict, there are winners and losers. But not everyone is celebrating the regime's demise by partying in the streets. Many average citizens are fearful of what will come next. Every adult alive over thirty-five standard years recalls the chaos at the end of the Clone Wars. No one wants another civil war, but now that looks inevitable. For the Emperor and his chief henchman might be dead, but the Imperial bureaucracy and its giant war machine live on. There are Moffs and Admirals and Generals all vowing to continue the fight. As the Rebels proclaim victory and make a show of taking over Coruscant, the sizeable Imperial remnants regroup and insist it's not over yet.
In those first few days, Astral like everyone else is glued to the holonet. But while she wants to learn the news, it's hard to see the gleeful haters castigating Darth Vader. Her husband is vilified more in death now than he ever was in life. Astral is not blind to her husband's misdeeds, but even she is taken aback by the vehemence of the condemnation. The holonet commentators don't know that many of Lord Vader's actions were not of his own accord—that he was following orders. And yes, plenty of his decisions were of his own volition. Still, to call Darth Vader complicit is only partly true, for in other ways he was a victim. It's . . . complicated, Astral knows. Too complicated for sound bites to adequately convey. But on some level, it is extremely ironic and terribly frustrating that after Endor Darth Vader quickly becomes an enduring symbol of the fast fading Imperial era.
He's the arch villain now for many people, or the strongman fascist hero if you ascribe to the Imperialist view. But either version of her husband paints an incomplete depiction of who he really was. For few aside from Astral know that beneath the expressionless mask lived a man full of emotions. And not just hate and rage, but understanding and compassion. Even love. And neither side would believe that Lord Vader's mindset was far more pragmatic than it was dogmatic. Darth Vader might be a symbol of Imperial authority, but he was surprisingly flexible in his private personal politics. He was interested more in results than process. That's what made him so impatient with democracy. But that didn't mean he had no limits and the ends would always justify his means. Lord Vader knew when to stop, unlike his cruel Master. He drew the line at things like Death Stars, and he died for those scruples.
Astral has no interest in any of the vicious political posturing afoot. She was never in this for any particular ideology. Her cause was her husband and her family and a desire to prevent more tragedies like Alderaan. With that in mind, Astral decides to return to private life on Coruscant. There's no reason to remain on Mustafar. The castle is full of memories that both comfort and torment her. Plus, she wants to hear from her stepson what really happened. Luke Skywalker owes her an explanation.
Vanee tries to talk her out of it. He pleads at length for her to remain. But Astral will not relent. She gathers her things and takes with her Lord Vader's Jedi lightsaber that he sent home with her from the Executor. It's Luke's sword again now, she decides. Astral plans to give it to him. It's no use sitting in the vault here on Mustafar with the rest of her husband's collection of Jedi relics.
It helps that Astral is no stranger to loss. Thanks to Alderaan, she is now an expert at grief. She's become accustomed to blinking back sudden tears and swallowing sobs that emerge at awkward times. From long practice, Astral knows how to put on a brave face. She learned it at Lord Vader's castle where pity was discouraged and tears were a private indulgence. That experience serves her well now. Back at home in her Coruscant apartment, Astral dons the elaborate black cape and dress she wore to meet the Rebel leaders. She paints on a full face of makeup and coils her hair into an intimidating severe chignon. The look is appropriately grave and formal for her first destination. And hopefully, it will be suitably impressive to brazen her way into her second appointment.
Her first task is a condolence call. Vanee had reluctantly provided the Coruscant address of Lady Sidious. It turns out to be an office building from which the unofficial Empress runs the day-to-day operations of her sprawling enterprise of vice. She's basically a madam, Vanee sniffs as he provides the information. Watch yourself. She's no better than a Hutt, he warns.
Maybe so, Astral concedes, but she's going nonetheless. Darth Sidious' wife had once tried to warn her away from the Sith even as she offered to help. It had been an awkward, unwelcome chance meeting between two very different women. But Astral wants to honor Lady Sidious' gesture. She suspects that Cresta Cole is the one woman in the galaxy who can understand how Astral feels right now. For she too has lost a secret husband who she can neither publicly acknowledge nor openly mourn. Besides, if the experience of loving Lord Vader has taught Astral anything, it's that people are not always what they seem. Cresta Cole might be no better than a Hutt, but then again, she might.
There are conspicuously armed guards at the sleek workplace Astral enters. Not the official uniformed Palace types, but guns-for-hire. This must be what it's like to visit the Pikes on Kessel, Astral thinks, as once more she is scanned for weapons and grilled for her intentions. Finally, she is ushered into a private office. Petite Lady Sidious stands inside dwarfed behind a large desk. She's sporting the same sexy clothes, garish red hair, and purple fingernails that Astral remembers. And actually, this aging Sith femme fetale is sort of endearing with her aggressive wardrobe that matches her big personality.
"I hope that I am welcome," Astral begins gravely. The circumstances are awkward for both of them.
Her hostess nods slowly. For once, Lady Sidious acts the part of unofficial Empress. She addresses the two thugs who flank the door, ordering curtly, "Leave us." Then, she waves Astral into one of two empty chairs opposite her.
Astral seats herself. Nervously, she arranges her skirts as she sits up straight.
Her counterpart plops down into her own chair, tucking her stilettoed feet beneath her. Lady Sidious props her chin up on one hand. Her face relaxes to reveal a wan expression. She's not even attempting to present a stiff upper lip. And actually, that puts Astral more at ease.
"I am very sorry for your loss," Astral begins formally.
Cresta looks up. "You mean, you're sorry I'm sad, but you're not sorry Sheev's dead." Like Astral remembers, this woman is very blunt. She continues, "I was there when he threatened you, remember?"
Astral punts by responding neutrally, "I understand your grief."
"Yes . . . you and I are no strangers to grief," the Empress refers obliquely to their shared affiliation to Alderaan. "I guess this is the point when I say that I'm sorry for your loss. And really, I am. I always liked the kid. I felt sorry for him. Not that I'm glad he killed my Sheev, mind you . . . "
"I understand."
Lady Sidious sighs heavily and sits back in her chair. She looks away and mutters, "I knew this day would come again . . . "
Again? Astral gulps. She feels compelled to prod, "A-Again?"
"He has died before and lived. It was the night he killed his Master. He had just been elected Chancellor. Sheev celebrated by killing Darth Plagueis."
"Oh." Ooooohh. Astral is all ears now.
Luckily, Lady Sidious is in a reflective mood to talk. "That Muun ruined our family and he was going to keep Sheev the forever Apprentice. He would be immortal and Sheev would remain number two until eventually the Muun traded up to Vader. That's how it works, you know." Lady Sidious slants sharp eyes her direction. "You're only the Apprentice until someone better comes along to replace you."
Astral nods. Yes, she knows. Someone like Luke Skywalker.
"Sheev was patient. He waited until he had the maximum leverage and the big position before he struck. They killed each other that night. Sheev hacked his Master's head in two but he fell as well. Milo was there to find them both pretty much dead. In those days, Milo was Plagueis' servant. But he serves the Sith first and foremost—the institution, not the men," she explains. "And so, when he saw them both dead, he panicked. Milo feared the Sith had ended."
That was Lord Vader's goal, Astral recalls. She says nothing as she waits for Lady Sidious to continue her tale.
"Milo took three guards to dying Sheev and told him to drain their Force to rejuvenate himself. It kept Sheev alive in time for the medics, but just barely. Then Milo took care of the Muun's body and covered up the deaths of his wife and son. Made it look like a break-in and a burglary. It's how Milo earned Sheev's trust." Lady Sidious makes a face but admits begrudgingly, "I have never liked the guy, but he did save Sheev's life."
"And you think the Emperor may have lived this time too?" Astral struggles to square what she's hearing with the Rebellion's version of events.
"Oh, yes." Cresta Cole looks very certain.
Frowning Astral tentatively ventures, "But Luke Skywalker says my husband threw your husband down a reactor shaft in the Death Star. Then, it e-exploded. I'm sorry, but there's no way the Emperor survived."
Lady Sidious lifts her chin indignantly. "That's what everyone thinks, but my credits are on my Sheev."
"You really think he lived?" Astral whispers. She's horrified by the implications.
"I know he lived," Lady Sidious is definite. "After he died that first time, Sheev became obsessed with immortality. He got very good at his Dark tricks. If anyone could survive that fall, my Sheev could. If it's even true, that is." Cresta pins skeptical eyes on Astral. "That Jedi Rebel has a vested interest in claiming that Ani killed Sheev. It gets the blame off him."
"But Skywalker says Lord Vader killed Lord Sidious to save him. Because he was Vader's son."
Lady Sidious shrugs. "I guess it's possible. But Vader wasn't the sentimental type. He killed lots of his Jedi friends. Even Jedi kids. I'm not sure why he would treat his own kid any differently. Vader wasn't known for his mercy."
"So you really think the Emperor is still alive . . . "
"Yes." Lady Sidious leans forward now as she brags, "Sheev is the Sith'ari."
"The whaat? I beg your pardon?" Astral plays dumb, but she knows exactly what the title means.
"It's a Sith legend about the Sith Lord who destroys the Sith to make them stronger. My Sheev did that. He destroyed himself and killed his Master. But he lived to found the second Sith Empire. And now, he will live forever."
"I see," Astral whispers.
The unofficial Empress nods encouragingly. "He'll turn up. Just you wait. You'll see. Sheev will be back and he will get his revenge on the Skywalkers."
"Oh."
"Not you. Don't worry, you're fine. But Luke Skywalker is a dead man."
"How are you so certain?" quaking Astral asks. Could this all be the ravings of a grieving widow in deep denial? Or is this the truth of a very wily Dark Master who cannot be felled even by extraordinary means?
Lady Sidious' answer is matter of fact. "How do I know? Because evil never dies. Darkness is forever. It's in all our nature. Even in regular people like you and me. Shit, it's my business model. I sell sex, booze, and spice to lonely, troubled people looking to escape from their miserable lives. Astral—I can call you Astral, right? Astral, I sell sin. It's betrayal and self-destruction and corruption peddled at a very high price. Trust me, there is no shortage of customers. Let this Jedi tell the galaxy he's won. Eventually, he'll figure it out. He hasn't won anything. You can't win against the Sith."
That's what Astral is afraid of. The longer this interview goes on, the more she worries that her husband's sacrifice did not achieve his goals. "You can't win against the Sith," Astral echoes the words weakly as she feels a shiver down her back.
Oblivious Lady Sidious nods along. "Vader knew that. He stopped fighting them and joined them. Because the only way to beat them is to be them and to balance the Force. It was the only thing my Sheev was afraid of. That Vader would fulfill his destiny and balance the Force. That the Chosen One would trump the Sith'ari in the end. But that won't happen now. Er . . . sorry for speaking plainly. But you should know I never sugarcoat about business."
"Yes, of course." Astral doubts this woman has the ability to speak with tact. But Astral appreciates her candor for what it is revealing today. "You once offered to help me—"
"Do you need help now?"
"I will be fine."
"Are you sure? Because Milo has all the account numbers and he'll set you up for life. The Sith are rich and they always take care of their own."
"Thank you. That's not necessary."
"Are you sure?" Lady Sidious prods. "Don't be proud. I'm not. I've been poor and desperate. I don't recommend it," she warns.
"I'll be fine."
"Okay, then. Good luck."
Astral now stands to take her leave. "Thank you for seeing me."
Her hostess stands to shake her hand. "Thank you for coming." Lady Sidious seems very sincere as she offers parting words, "I always liked the kid. Sheev said he was great at his job. My husband would never have been able to study the Force so much if he had to run the galaxy."
Astral nods and bites her lip. Then she leaves as fast as she can.
Next, Astral gathers her courage and sweeps regally into the Imperial Palace that now serves as the makeshift headquarters for the nascent New Republic. She walks in like she owns the place. Because, in an alternate reality, she might have. But Astral never harbored dreams of being an Empress and she's not sorry for the lost opportunity. She's here to deliver the lightsaber and a message. And, hopefully, to get some answers.
The security guards stop her. She informs them coolly, "I am Astral Sidhu. I'm here to see Luke Skywalker."
They don't know what to say. No one knows how to perceive this expensively dressed grand dame whose steely expression is at odds with her red rimmed eyes. So, they call their supervisor.
"Who are you again?"
"I'm Astral Sidhu."
"Never heard of you."
"I am here to see Luke Skywalker. But if he is unavailable, then I will see Leia Organa."
The supervisor now calls his supervisor. Up the chain of command the Rebels continue, giving repeated refusals. But Astral politely resists. She might not have been there on the Death Star, but she is far from a bystander to this conflict. She will see this matter through. Plus, Luke Skywalker owes her an explanation.
Finally, she is shown into a conference room where a somewhat scruffy looking young man awaits. He's introduced as a Rebel general although his lack of uniform and drawling speech don't suggest it. He looks more like a gunslinger from the Rim with that blaster conspicuously strapped to one leg. He's the furthest thing from the spit-and-polish Imperial officers Astral is familiar with. The man looks her over thoughtfully and crosses his arms. "You're a real pushy broad," is his opening line.
"I wish to see Luke Skywalker."
"Luke's not here. But anything you can tell him, you can tell me," the general offers.
"Then, I will see Leia Organa," Astral counters.
"She's busy."
"I can wait."
"No, you can't," the man replies firmly. "Tell me what you want to say and be on your way. As you can imagine, we're sort of busy," he deadpans.
"Very well." Astral produces Lord Vader's Jedi lightsaber from her cloak and lays it on the table. These days, lightsabers are such a rare, near mythical weapon that the young Rebel guards had not recognized it.
But the general does. His jaw drops. His eyes narrow. "Where did you get that?"
"From the man who owned it."
"It belongs to Luke Skywalker."
"This lightsaber was Luke's, but it was his father's before him."
The general's lips tighten into a firm line as he eyes Astral. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I got it from Luke's father. Take it. Give it to Luke. Lord Vader would want him to have it."
"Not likely," the general snaps. "Vader cut his hand off with it."
Astral nods to concede the truth. "He was very sorry for that. More sorry than you can know that Bespin went so badly." That first meeting between father and son set a tone of violence and distrust that they were never able to get past. It had far reaching consequences.
"What do you know about Bespin?"
"More than you, I think," Astral answers.
The Rebel general bristles. "Who are you again exactly?"
"Astral Sidhu."
"You're her, aren't you? Lord Vader's lady? I've heard about you." Apparently, Astral's reputation proceeds her.
She lifts her chin and summons her dignity. "Yes. I am—I was—wife to Darth Vader. I am Luke's stepmother."
"You're the one who pitched the Death Star attack to Leia and Draven?"
"Yes."
The young general smirks. "Thanks for the info and the cash. We made good use of them."
"I'm glad the weapon is gone," Astral responds as diplomatically as possible. The destruction of the second Death Star is the one bright spot in the Battle of Endor.
"Yeah, er . . . sorry about your old man."
Astral does not respond to this insincerity. She just freezes the cocky general with her eyes.
To his credit, he reddens. Then, a thought occurs to him. "So if you're Vader's wife, then you knew when you met with Leia, didn't you?"
"Knew what?"
"Listen, Lady, don't be coy. You knew who Leia was to your husband and Luke—"
"Yes."
"And you didn't think that was relevant to say when you met her?"
"It was not my secret to tell. Besides, she didn't believe anything I said that day. She would never have believed me." Astral looks down, frowning at the awkwardness of the situation. "Please tell the Princess that Lord Vader was sorry for his transgressions against her."
"Like Alderaan, you mean?"
"No. That was Tarkin's call. Lord Vader was not responsible for Alderaan," Astral argues staunchly. But she's not here to debate history. Astral moves on. "Please tell the Princess that Lord Vader was sorry for the interrogation. He would not have done that had he been aware of the situation at the time."
"Because Vader was such a nice guy?" the general observes dryly.
Astral snaps back, "No. Because Lord Vader prized his family. Luke and the Princess were stolen from him. He wanted them back."
"Yeah, right. He wanted to kill them."
"I understand why you feel the way you do," Astral acknowledges his cynicism, "but Lord Vader was more than the person you saw portrayed on the holonet."
"Look, Lady, your sainted husband had me tortured, encased in carbonite, and sold to Jabba the Hutt! So spare me the sob story on Vader."
Wait—"You're the smuggler who loves the Princess?" Astral blinks.
The general shifts his weight a little sheepishly, but admits, "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am."
"I see."
"What's the matter?" The man turns belligerent. "Did he think I'm not good enough for his daughter? Well, he's dead now, so it doesn't matter. Vader can rest in peace in Force Hell for all I care."
Astral sighs and looks away. "I don't think you can understand this, but his Hell was here in life. He suffered more than you can possibly imagine."
The general is unimpressed by her sentiment. "Look, no one around here is crying tears over Darth Vader—"
"Give Luke the saber please," Astral overrides him. She's in no mood to hear her dead husband disrespected. Her loss is too new and too raw. "This, as well." Astral now places a datafile on the table next to the weapon. "These are coordinates to Lord Vader's castle on Mustafar. The castle contains a vault with a great deal of information about the Force The caretaker Vanee will show Luke where it is."
"Yeah, sure. Alright." The general nods.
"There's one more thing, but I need to speak to Luke about it personally."
The smuggler turned general shakes his head. "Anything you want to say to Luke or Leia, you can say to me now."
Astral looks the man over for a long moment before she concedes, "Very well." This might be her only chance to divulge this information, given the stonewalling she has encountered today. Astral very much doubts that she will get another audience here at the Rebel headquarters. So, with a deep breath, she reveals, "I have reason to believe that the Emperor may not be dead."
The general smirks at her. "You're joking, right?"
"No. It's too important to joke about this." She meets the younger man's eyes. "The future of the galaxy depends on it."
"Luke saw him die."
"Maybe so, but he may not be dead." Astral knows that she sounds ridiculous, but she feels compelled to reveal what Lady Sidious said.
"Care to explain that?"
How does she explain what she herself doesn't really understand? Astral takes refuge in the language her husband would have used. "The Dark Side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural."
"Spit it out, Lady." The skeptical general is impatient.
"Emperor Palpatine might be immortal."
"He's dead. End of story." But the general's face soon betrays some doubt as he demands, "Care to share why you think he's alive?"
"I just know that there are some on the inside who believe he's alive . . . through the Force." Remembering her own attack by the Rebels, Astral refuses to give any details about Lady Sidious. It might make her a target for reprisals.
"Huh," the general grunts. "Well, I guess we'll find out soon enough, won't we?"
"I would still like to speak to Luke and Leia," Astral again persists.
"Leia's not going to see you now or ever. Don't come around here again. She doesn't want anyone to know the truth of her father."
That's understandable, Astral thinks. "It's very fresh news, I know—"
"It's a secret and it will remain a secret. Look, Leia's going places in the New Republic and she won't let dear old dad ruin it for her. Luke might acknowledge the relationship to Vader, but she will not."
"I see." Astral gulps. She's glad her husband isn't alive to hear this rejection, even if it's secondhand.
"If you go to the media to discredit her, there will be consequences," the general warns.
"I understand." Astral won't press the point. "Tell her . . . tell her I wish things were different. If she changes her mind—"
"She won't. Bail Organa is her real father. Not Darth Vader."
That basically ends the conversation. Astral is frustrated that this final attempt to reach out to her husband's children, like all her past attempts, has made no headway. And she worries that her warning about Lord Sidious will go unheeded. But she's done her part. There's one more thing she wants to know. "Do you know where my husband's body is?" she asks in a small, choked voice. "W-Was he on the D-Death Star when it blew?"
The general shakes his head. "Luke took him back to Endor and cremated him."
Astral blinks. Surely, she heard that wrong. She stares at the young man opposite her in disbelief. "He burned him?" she whispers. He burned a man in death who burned alive? It's the most insensitive thing Astral conceive of for a burial. She falls to pieces over it. "HE BURNED DARTH VADER?" she screeches indignantly. Instantly, hot tears flood her eyes.
The general looks uncomfortable at her visceral reaction. He mumbles, "Luke said that is the traditional Jedi burial ritual. Er . . . I don't think it was intended as disrespect. I believe he built a bonfire-"
"HE WAS NOT A JEDI!" Astral hisses. Darth Vader was never going to be a Jedi again, despite his son's attempts to convince him and recent public testimonials. Whatever happened on the Death Star, Astral is very certain that her husband didn't revert to his old religion. He wanted to move forward. To let the past die and to build something new. Darth Vader was the visionary the Force needed, but his son refused to see it.
"You tell L-Luke," Astral stammers, waving a trembling finger at the general, "you tell L-Luke that he's not half the man his father w-was! That he will never be as powerful as Darth Vader! Not if he sticks to his Jedi ways and denies the Dark Side!" All her frustration and grief about how things have turned out bubbles over and spills out. Lady Vader is heartbroken, disappointed, and so, so frustrated. "When Darth Sidious returns, he will come for Luke and his family. He will take his revenge on the Skywalkers and we will all suffer for it!" she predicts. "The only way to win—the only solution that is permanent—is to balance the Force."
"I think you had better leave," the general informs her curtly.
"Luke knows where to find me if he has the courage to face me. It's where you Rebels sent your goons to attack me," Astral glares.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
She snaps back. "I didn't think so."
Astral leaves knowing that her uncharacteristic outburst at the end ruined everything. For in this latest overture, as in everything leading up to this point, Astral cannot make any headway. Well, the Rebels have won, she decides. These are their problems now, not hers. She's done with attempting to influence the course of galactic events. She will return to being a private citizen and retreat into her world of art.
As it turns out, Luke never approaches her. He does ultimately get the lightsaber and the warning about the Emperor, however. Just not the coordinates to Lord Vader's castle. General Solo hands the datafile with the location to a subordinate and tells him to check it out.
The subordinate takes a squad of X-wings with him that easily overwhelm the now poorly defended Mustafar shield gate. Then, the fighters begin an aerial bombardment of Lord Vader's castle. It's not much of a siege, for the small onsite garrison has redeployed to combat elsewhere. By the time the Rebel troop carrier lands with infantrymen, the place is a smoking ruin. Its remaining defenders are few. The cook, a maid, and a few techs. These non-combatants form a small army behind their unarmed leader who walks forward to greet the invaders with maximum dignity.
It's Vanee.
The lead Rebel surveys the old man wearing the trademark flowing black robes of the Sith. "Step aside," he orders.
But Vanee will not be dismissed. "What have you come for?"
"We've come to trash Lord Vader's home."
"You have done that."
"We're not through."
"Leave this place," Vanee replies as all the Rebels take aim at him. If he's intimidated by the threat, it doesn't show. "You are not welcome here," the old retainer informs the enemy troops. "Luke Skywalker may come claim his inheritance, but no other Rebel will set foot inside Lord Vader's home."
"We'll see about that, old man."
The lead Rebel puts a blaster shot into Vanee's right leg and his troops gun down the staff members behind him. Then, the Rebels proceed to loot the castle. One man carries off a spare cape, another finds an extra mask. Still others score trophies like artwork and equipment. But as they leave, the still alive but struggling Vanee lifts his head from the hot pavement and smiles. For he knows that the true treasure of Mustafar Castle is safe inside the vault.
Not half an hour after the invaders have left, another ship touches down. It too has armed men inside, but they are friends and not foes. And at their forefront is another man in flowing black robes.
Vanee lifts his head again. "M-Master . . . " he softly croaks.
Concerned Darth Plagueis immediately sinks to a crouch beside the wounded servant. "Hold still, my old friend." He waves a hand before the prone man's eyes. "Better?"
Vanee blinks. "Better. Thank you, Master. I feel no pain now."
"Good." Lord Plagueis slowly stands to look around. He decides, "You're the only one left alive."
"The vault is safe."
"Excellent. We will be taking its contents with us. Now, let's get you onboard. You need more than my Force medicine."
"Did you see him, Master?" Vanee gasps as he is helped to his feet.
"Yes, I have seen Skywalker," Darth Plagueis sighs heavily.
"Will he join you?"
"No. He is headstrong and foolish. Committed to ideals that were outdated when he was born. Kenobi has set him on a quest to bring back the glory days of the Jedi Order."
"Oh, no." Weak Vanee now stumbles and nearly slips back to the ground. "After all this time . . . all is lost . . ."
"We shall see, Vanee, we shall see . . . " The reformed Dark Master puts a supporting arm around the wounded servant. "I will give Skywalker and his sister a chance to do things their way. I will not interfere with the will of the Force. Let us see how this unfolds."
"But will it work?" Vanee worries as he slowly limps with assistance towards the ship.
"They are born of the Chosen One," Darth Plagueis reminds him. "The Force works through them."
"And Sheev?"
"He's on Exogol."
"In a tomb, I hope," Vanee grumbles.
"Alas, not," Darth Plagueis shakes his head. "He lives, but barely. He will be sidelined for a bit. But he will persist thanks to his clones."
Vanee groans. "So, he is immortal now?"
"In a fashion. But not like I am. He can still be killed."
"Go kill him, Master," old Vanee hisses out his bloodlust. "Finish him off. Why does the Force allow him to live?"
Darth Plagueis explains, "It is the same rough balance the universe has always tilted on. Skywalker will rebuild the Jedi, so a Sith must exist. Powerful Darkness rises to equal powerful Light."
"But there's you, my Lord—"
"I am in the middle now. Neither Light nor Dark."
"Are you sure you can't balance the Force yourself, Master?" the injured man complains.
"Vanee, you know better than to ask that."
"But Master—"
"I have the wisdom but not the merit. This is why the Force gives me immortality. It is both penance and promise. My lot in life is to endure and to hope." Lord Plagueis' ruined face is flummoxed. "Ironic, is it not? I'm a Dark Master and yet consigned to live in the Light."
"It's balance, Master."
"Just so. Milo is on board. He stole back everything Sheev stole from me."
"And more, I hope," Vanee grumbles. "What do we do now?"
"First, we heal you. Then, we watch and we wait."
"More exile?"
"Let us see if the Force is with young Skywalker and his sister. Perhaps their new Republic will strike a middle ground."
"He's a zealot."
"For now. But we must have faith that the Force will find a way. We will be ready to do its bidding when the time comes," the Muun Master intones piously.
Vanee is skeptical. "He's a zealot."
"Take heart, my faithful friend," the Sith who isn't a Sith encourages. "The story of the Skywalkers is not over yet."
While Darth Plagueis retreats into quiet exile, circumstances conspire to erase the little-known Lady Vader from history. With the Emperor and his Apprentice gone, Vanee and Milo return to serve their true Master all along, Darth Plagueis. They certainly aren't talking to the media. And while there are those on Lord Vader's staff and ship who know of Astral's existence, all aboard the Executor die when it crashes into the second Death Star. Moff Jerjorrod dies at his post on his beloved superweapon, along with the Death Star construction team. Most of the staff of Lord Vader's Coruscant palace either join the Imperial remnants or melt into anonymity as civilians. That just leaves Lady Sidious, Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa, and a few in the Rebel high command who know of Astral Sidhu. They all survive, but they don't talk. They have more pressing matters to attend to, and Lady Vader is an afterthought. And so, Astral does indeed become a completely private citizen again, albeit a very wealthy one with a prestigious address and a hefty bank account in her name.
The elusive Darth Plagueis remains in exile biding his time. Astral keeps expecting him to re-emerge to end the destructive conflict that drags on for years between the leftover Imperial forces and the newly declared New Republic. But he never does. The disfigured Muun sticks to his resolve to let the Force sort things out.
For a time during the raging civil war, it looks like the Imperial loyalists will win. Fearing they fight for Lord Sidious, Astral presents herself as a volunteer New Republic pilot. Maybe that seems a strange choice. After all, she's no Rebel and she was briefly wife to the Empire's most famous warlord. But Astral is also keenly aware that in order for her husband's sacrifice to have meaning, his children will have to triumph. Lord Vader gave his life so Sheev would be deposed, and grieving, depressed Astral wants to make sure it matters. So she signs up anonymously to fly in a New Republic combat squadron. Astral fights for Team Skywalker against the proponents of Lord Sidious, hoping that a military victory will keep the Emperor at bay for a few years at least.
Astral's actually quite a good pilot—she was trained by the best in the galaxy, after all. But whether it is good training or her beloved Sith Lord watching over her in the Force, Astral survives all the way to the final battle over Jakku. Then she disappears back into academia again, content to read, write, and lecture about art. She cocoons herself in the high culture she loves so much and makes it her life's work.
When the latest civil war ends, the Light prevails for a time, but undercurrents of Darkness stir and rise. And so, in due time, Astral lives to see another Republic fall. It is captained by the Skywalker twins who strive and suffer. They're doing it wrong, Astral knows as she watches from afar. Seeking the wrong solutions that have failed many times before. But they are stubborn in their convictions, like their father before them.
Luke Skywalker will eventually get his comeuppance, but there is no joy in his lesson learned, only pain. The galaxy's most famous Jedi retreats in shame to hide from everyone, including the Force. He knows now the wisdom his father learned and could not impart. Too late, Luke Skywalker realizes that he was wrong. The mistake costs him his father and ultimately his nephew too. And it costs the galaxy yet another civil war.
That conflict provokes Astral to emerge from her ivory tower in academia. By now, she is a white haired, slightly frail septuagenarian. But Professor Sidhu is as elegant as ever and mentally sharp. She quietly slips away from Coruscant one day to heed the call to arms from the princess who is her secret stepdaughter. For ever since the tragedy of Alderaan repeated itself a generation later on Hosnia, Astral has harbored Resistance leanings. She and many others—from all species and countless worlds—show up to put an end to Darth Sidious once and for all.
They succeed, but the Skywalkers lose everything. By the end, when the dust settles, they are all gone. The self-exiled Luke Skywalker dies at Crait, his valiant General sister Leia Organa perishes soon afterwards, and the brilliant but unstable young scion Kylo Ren dies on Exogol. With his loss, the bloodline of the clan of the Chosen Ones dies. The Skywalkers are no more. Astral hopes they find the peace together in death that they never found in life.
At different times and in different ways, the Force was with each of them. But it was never enough. The demigod Chosen Ones were hamstrung by their very human frailties. The divine in them made the Skywalkers dream big and reach far, but the shortcomings inherent in their toxic family relationships and their penchant for extremes made them fall hard.
It all began long ago with a Force trick that Darth Plagueis initially believed went horribly wrong. But time would show that the Force sent him a new son to replace the biological offspring Master Yoda stripped of the Force and Lord Sidious later killed. The Force clearly wanted old Darth Plagueis to rear a new Apprentice so that he could pass on what he had learned. So it gave him Anakin Skywalker as a new hope for the galaxy. But alas, that promising young man did not work out like anyone hoped. Then, the grandson Luke Skywalker sadly refused the call to greatness. In the end, human folly robbed the galaxy of a chance for a new era. Mostly due to the doubts and fears of an orphan farmboy who tried to do what he felt was right to disastrous consequences. Free will is a thorny thing, as it turns out.
So where is the Skywalker patriarch creator, old Darth Plagueis? Well, he's out there somewhere. Watching and waiting. Despite the name Supreme Leader Snoke and the near perfect resemblance, Astral never believes Lord Plagueis is the reclusive leader of the First Order. She's certain that the man who used his nickname for a select few as a sign of endearment would never be known publicly by that moniker. The Lord Plagueis she knew cared far too much for appearances to make himself out as a figure of fun. Moreover, she's certain that the debonair Muun with discerning taste would never, ever appear publicly in a golden sparkly bathrobe. Supreme Leader Snoke must be one of Lord Sidious' clones, Astral theorizes, here to gaslight the galaxy and preemptively discredit the actual man if he ever shows up.
Where is Darth Plagueis? Does he remain in exile because he has learned his lesson not to push too hard? Is he truly content to let cosmic magic work to its own devices? Astral wonders from time to time.
She is an old woman now as she returns from Exogol to Coruscant. She has never remarried, never moved on. She doesn't want to. She is happy to live out her days mired in memories and tormented by bittersweet 'what ifs.' She still goes to lectures, concerts, and the opera, but she's slowing down lately. These days, she tends to spend most nights at home, seated on her couch reading. From that cozy spot every so often, she glances up to see the portrait of the embattled Jedi she loved. The painting was a gift from Lord Plagueis after Endor and it is her most prized possession. The General Anakin Skywalker in the painting looks nothing like the Sith Lord Darth Vader she married. But from almost the beginning, Astral could still see the vestiges of the young hopeful hero in the grizzled, scarred veteran. She could see the humanity buried deep beneath the black armor. And she accepted him as she found him, unlike his son who sought to change him.
Not long after Exogol and wholly unbeknownst to Astral, on a planet that is farthest from the bright center of the universe, an extraordinary event occurs at long last. An old woman approaches a young woman in the desert and asks her name.
"Rey . . . Rey Skywalker," the young woman replies impulsively, after glancing over at the shimmering Force apparitions of her two dead mentors. This young woman is fresh from the fight, bereft and heartsick, but seeking peace. So, she smiles bravely.
The old woman smiles back. Then . . . she morphs into an old Muun with a ruined face.
"You!" the young woman abruptly shrieks. She lights a yellow saberstaff and hotly accuses, "You're dead! I saw you die!"
"Oh, I'm not dead . . . not yet. Not ever, in fact." The towering figure smiles affably down at her.
The young woman answers with a swing.
"Good. Gooood," the old Muun approves of this aggression as the sword passes harmlessly through his Force projection. "So Light and yet so Dark."
Rey is confused. "Whaaat?" Then, she grits her teeth and swings again with the same result.
The confounded woman warrior lowers her weapon and steps back. She's wary now. "Who are you? You're not Snoke."
The man with the familiar gargoyle face is a stranger after all. He proudly announces, "I am Darth Plagueis the Wise, Apprentice to Tenebrous and Master to Sidious."
"I killed Darth Sidious!" she hisses, brandishing her sword again.
The man who looks like Snoke but isn't Snoke looks her over with relish. "Such strength, such power. You are a Skywalker, my dear." He cocks his head to the side and flashes a wry smile. "In all my time, I have yet to take a female Apprentice. You will be the first—"
"Wrong! I'm a Palpatine. And I will kill you like I killed him!" The young woman abandons her sword. She raises a hand and summons the Force as she bares her teeth.
It does nothing against the patient, smiling alien in the black cloak.
"Wanting to kill your father definitely makes you a Skywalker," he chuckles, "but Sheev Palpatine wasn't your father. You're not the child of his rejected imperfect clone or whatever lie he told you. No, my dear, you are something far more special than that. You are a child of the Force. Created by me when Sheev got his hands on the last of my Anakin's bloodline. Welcome home, welcome home, Daughter," the Muun exclaims to the bewildered, hostile girl. "Together, we will finish what Darth Vader started."
Her response is as he anticipates. This isn't Lord Plagueis' first 'I am your father' moment. "I'll never join you!" she hisses.
The Muun has heard that line before. He's an old campaigner who knows a few things about a good lure. So he promises the grieving, abandoned scavenger girl what she craves most: "I can raise the dead. I can bring back the one you love. All things are possible in the Force."
She blinks. The next knee-jerk rejection dies on her lips. She blinks again. The young woman is taken aback . . . and considering.
Seeing this, Darth Plagueis presses his case. "I know you miss him. You were Force bonded to him. I can bring him back."
It is the ultimate temptation. And it works. Because this young woman might be born of the Force as the latest demigod Chosen One, but she is equally human. She wants what her predecessor Lord Vader wanted—love and family. It is what drove a young Jedi to the Dark Side and what prompted him to make the ultimate sacrifice. For if there is anything worth throwing it all away for, this is it. The young woman hems and haws a bit. She's the prickly, harsh sort. But in the end, she too says yes. And that moment more than anything makes her worthy of the name Skywalker.
THE END
Story notes to come
