Chapter The Last

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Consciousness emerged with a jolt from the vortex of blackness. There was no more emotion, no more heat, no more water, no more tears. No more pain, either, which was a mercy. Only a vast, overwhelming silence. This was the perfect stillness of death. Atomic dissolution. The extinguishment of life energy. Return to the Cosmic Force. Eternal damnation. Nullity. Void.

All of a sudden, the theory was disproved by a sound to his left. What was left of his mind pivoted to absorb it, as a raft of Basic words embedded themselves therein like darts.

"Have you heard, because of the surplus of slave labour, the Coruscant Guard's planning to hire a platoon of Wookiees. They want to put the brute back in police brutality!"

Canned laughter. Accompanied by a living being's soft, controlled chuckle. The stimulus did not feel like being reabsorbed by the Force, subsuming one's self into the cosmic aura of the universe. It was too banal. And real. This was not how one experienced an afterlife, whatever one's sins.

"You know in the holoflick Dathomir Park," the noise resumed. "The rancor wasn't chasing the repulsorvan, it was the rancor being chased by Darth Vader!"

More artificial laughter. Whereas the presence close by merely gave a cough, clearing their throat almost uncomfortably.

How odd, thought the listening consciousness. That is a name I have not heard in a while.

It did not feel like he was in a putative afterlife either. He sensed physical matter encompassing his mind now: what was prosaically, in anatomical terms, labelled a brain, and further attached to it, a body. Or at least, parts of one. Tapping into its capacities within the realm of material existence, he opened the molecules comprising his eyelids, exposing those making up his pupils and irises. They took in a dark room, only illuminated by the glow of a vidscreen against the wall on his left. It showed the flickering image of a yellow avian – a Calibop – holding, of all things, a microphone.

"I was hatched out in the Mid Rim, and I find people from the Core so arrogant: they think the galaxy revolves around them, because the galaxy revolves around them…"

I should look into this fellow, mused the listener, and have him executed for crimes against comedy.

He attempted to sit up, only to find a strap across his chest holding him down. The discovery gave him pause, made him reconsider the existence of a Rebel plot. However, further testing revealed his hands and arms were otherwise free. There was no way terrorists would be stupid enough to leave him so unencumbered, if he were indeed a captive. A second strap held his legs to the cushioned surface, at about knee level; both restraints came free easily.

It began to be apparent that the expedient was not there to bind him, but rather to hold his body in place while he slept. And dreamed.

Memory, mixed with imagination, tinged with pain and longing, he understood. Of course it was all a dream. How stupid. The clues were there from the start: the 'speedervan that chased me was full of 'baggage'…

Additional scattered droplets of awareness were absorbed into his mind via osmosis, as he rose to a seated position. Probing with one mechanical hand, he reached up to his bare head, and felt a bundle of wires attached to his skull via diodes.

With a sigh, he pulled them off.

A monitor began beeping in alarm. The seated silhouette gasped and spun around toward the risen man in the black suit, who was replacing the signature plastoid helmet over his pale white face.

"You are not Rebel scum, are you?" The unmistakable vocabulated voice that infused terror wherever in the galaxy it was heard, was back.

"Perish the thought, My Lord!" squealed a Rodian. His voice was familiar, yet also not. The ambiguity was perplexing at first, though the reason why became apparent after a moment.

"You are not a podracing mechanic, are you? For Skybold Racing?"

The fellow's head jerked to the left. "No, sir. What do you mean? I've never heard that name."

"Good." The no-longer-Anakin mind did not explain his meaning, with the disdain he grasped was normal for him. He had no obligation to justify himself to anyone in the galaxy, save for one man… one who, he began to sense, was not dead in this timeline. If anything, it was the alien stranger who owed him an explanation – in rather well-spoken Basic for members of his species, and more cultured than the speech of the caricature who had appeared in the dream. He was a doctor, after all, and as such must have been better educated than a typical Rodian rapscallion.

"Humor me, lad. Where am I? What is this place?"

"My name is Dr Seldin Yat," said the alien. "I work for eScape Technologies, based on Aargau with a presence on Imperial Center." He waved an arm to take in their surroundings. "This is our experiential lab, located on the galactic capital."

"Go on."

"We enact lux-quality virtual reality solutions for high net worth beings all across the galaxy. I was recommended to you by Commander Gorban."

"Fal Gorban," clarified Darth Vader to himself. "Of the Coruscant Police."

"Exactly. He's been hiring out our immersiTech for about a year, you see. I understand that when you learned from the Commander what we could offer, you wanted to give it a spin."

The man in the mechanical suit stood with his arms crossed, letting his cerebral function settle as if drawn downward by Coruscant's gravity. His skin, his muscles, his organs, his blood, his very cells were sinking back into their new reality – presumably the true one.

Is this another dream, or is this reality? It must be; why would I imagine myself like… like this? As a mechanical monster. Though how can I be sure I have in fact woken up? Can I ever be sure?

"Why am I struggling to re-acclimatize to my surroundings?"

"It's absolutely normal, Lord Vader. Both the entry and exit process for immersiTech typically connote a certain amount of confusion and anxiety. You'll return to baseline levels in a short while, as your brain adjusts to the reality touchdown."

The eerie electronic noise that followed made the Rodian cringe in fear. He had never heard it before, did not conceive of its possibility emerging from the Dark Lord of the Sith. Though he had seen the human form beneath the mask, he had little evidence that it possessed any humanity. Much less a sense of humour.

My mind rationalized the discomfort by inventing a rend in the Force that gave rise to space-time anomalies and multiverse realities! thought Vader as he relaxed into laughter. What abject foolishness. I should not have believed that for an instant.

After several moments it became apparent that his mirth might cross the line, moving from frightening to ridiculous. With an effort, he brought himself under control to continue the questioning more calmly.

"How many times have I tried this technology of yours?"

"If it pleases My Lord," stammered the technician. "This was our… our fourth go."

The room began to shake as he raged, muscles tensing within his suit. A crack appeared in a plasticrete wall panel, and the vidscreen feed disconnected, leaving static in its wake. A beaker of drinking water exploded, spraying liquid into the air.

"Four times?! And still it fails?"

He flexed his right hand, and Yat snatched at his throat in terror. "Please, My Lord! We've done nothing but our best for you! Unfortunately you're… unique."

Vader relaxed his Force Choke. "Explain."

"Your strength of will is simply too great for the illusion to be maintained longer than we've been able to manage, sir." The Rodian grabbed at his trachea, due to the fear of the pain returning after a bad answer. "Unlike other weaker clients, your mind soon starts distinguishing the falseness: inconsistencies creep into your virtuality, and elements of the fantasy you crafted disintegrate piecemeal until you awaken."

That feels like a lie, said Vader to himself, to excuse their imperfect technology. Any 'high net worth beings' would wish their ego massaged about possessing extraordinary 'strength of will' which limits the effectiveness of the experience.

Aloud, he merely shook his head with a tutting noise.

"How long did this dream last, Yat?"

"Nearly thirty hours, My Lord. That appears to be your upper limit, as compared to an average length of between four and five standard days for most of our clients."

There is no hope, thought Darth Vader, trembling again. Padmé and our child are truly lost to me. There is no going back, not even in illusion.

"My Esteemed Lord, I appreciate your frustration; yet I must point out that you insisted on these repeated attempts. We have striven to do our best to make it work for you according to your wishes, despite the obstacles we can't overcome."

"Yes, I remember now."

I could kill this fool right now, and be done with it. Slaughter him like imaginary Neimoidian commandos… or younglings.

However, it was only a brief flirtation with the idea of Force-assisted murder. "If anyone finds out about this…" he began instead, one finger raised.

"I understand, My Lord," replied the doctor smoothly, as if prepared for the issue being brought up. "We're a luxury service, and our clients can rely on our complete discretion. No one knows about you taking up the experience, except Commander Gorban."

Vader nodded at the second reminder of that name. He would deal with the man later, if necessary. The Sith had methods of tying up loose ends as he saw fit.

"Ensure it remains that way, Doctor Yat. You do not want to disappoint me." He gave a wave of his hand. "Those who do, do not live long to regret their mistake."

The fellow gulped, but nodded. He possessed the ability to manage his fear, which was gratifying. Perhaps it was also a factor in why he had been assigned to such a… unique customer. "You can trust me, sir. I'm proud to serve the Empire's greatest hero. You're an inspiration to all of us loyal citizens, for everything you've done to bring peace to the galaxy."

How touching, commented Darth Vader to himself. If only he knew what I have done, who I once was. I am no hero, yet others keep wanting me to be one.

"Your loyalty is commendable, Doctor," he said aloud. "I am a tough taskmaster, yet not unappreciative of those who serve me well."

His thoughts digressed again, to formulate an idea.

I can obtain thirty hours of illusion at a time. I can be with Padmé and hold her hand. Bring her back from death, the only power I ever truly wanted. And see my dead child, if only in my imagination…

…But my Master must never find out. He wishes Anakin Skywalker to disappear for good.

"I am departing on a peacekeeping campaign shortly. I will be in touch in around three months, Doctor. You had better be ready."

Seldin Yat gave him a salute, accompanied by a daring quip. "You don't have to get ready, if you stay ready."

The Dark Lord of the Sith deigned him with a nod of approval, for perpetual readiness was key to the prosperity of the Ten-Thousand-Year Empire. Perhaps this Rodian will not disappoint me after all, he dared to hope.

And then he was gone.

THE END

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