Luke was woken uncomfortably early the next morning by a sharp, persistent buzzing by his ear. He groaned and rolled over.
It kept buzzing.
"What...?" He groped for his comlink and dragged it over to him, checking some of the messages left over—
Leia's concerned voice blared in his ear.
Closely followed by Zev's concerned and excited voice.
All sorts of other voices, old tutors wishing congratulations and old classmates wanting to catch up, and—
Then he went back and listened to what Leia had said again. In detail. Processing it.
Then he checked the message he'd received from the Palace—from Palpatine.
Luke said, "Shavit."
Doctor Aphra's hologram hovered in front of him. The moment she materialised, she opened her mouth to say something—some irritating, disrespectful greeting, no doubt—but his voice boomed out before she could, and good riddance.
"Before you say anything inane about the functioning of the training droids you built me and my requirement for more," he said. She grinned nervously at that, but didn't move to interrupt. "I am here to ask what you know about the Coruscanti thief Angel."
"Angel? That spectre who's been taking the underworld by storm?" She shrugged. "I haven't been to Coruscant in months, since I dropped off your droids—"
"Do not lie to me. I am aware of your recent escapades here—who do you think it was that allowed you to escape from that skyhook unscathed?"
She blinked. "Ah. Then—thanks, boss?"
"Do not make a habit of involving yourself with Black Sun or any other powerful Imperial affiliates, lest the effort and sacrifices required to keep you useful outweigh the usefulness itself."
"Noted. Now," she chirped, "how can I be useful for you this time?" Vader sighed inwardly. She was even perkier than Luke—though far less innocent and far more annoying. "More droids, a follow up on the Dantooine investigation project—"
"A different investigation project."
She was smart: he saw it in her eyes the moment it clicked. "You want me to investigate Angel?"
"They are a criminal, a petty thief who operates in the underworld. Any attempts by a legitimate, respectable, Imperial body to investigate them have failed."
"So now you're turning to the outlaws."
"Do not presume to take offence."
"I don't." She crossed her arms across her chest, her sleeve tugging down to expose the brown skin of her arm, the tattoo that snaked up it. "Where do you want me to start?"
"Where are you now?"
"The Ring of Kafrene."
"Where did you hear of Angel in the first place?"
"Here. There's plenty of stormtroopers and not much love for the Empire. Gossip spreads."
"Hm." He glared at her, and she did not have the sense to look away. Aphra was like that, but her usefulness outweighed her ability to irritate, for now. "Investigate where you heard it from. Track down any and all information about them that you can find, and report to me. This thief needs to be found and brought to justice, before—"
"One petty thief? Are they really that much of a threat?" Aphra scoffed.
"No. Not yet. But they must be dealt with before they can become one."
"And you want me to deal with them?"
"I want you to find them. Find their identity, find their attachments, find their motivations, find their location. So that I can deal with them."
"Darth Vader, dealing with a petty thief?"
"That thief's actions have been and will be twisted by the Rebellion to use in propaganda. I will not suffer more idiots dying in this fruitless war because a glorified burglar decided to flaunt their mastery of Imperial security to the entire galaxy."
I won't have the Empire look weak.
And I won't have my son targeted by this upstart.
Aphra swallowed. "Yes, boss," she said. Her voice was cheery again. How she stayed cheery so often, he didn't know. "Do you have any information I can start with?"
Vader thought of his datapad—all those summaries on Angel's movements, Angel's attack patterns, what little information they had gleaned.
"I have nothing that will be of use to you," he said. "You are an archaeologist—you claim to be skilled at uncovering things." She swallowed. "Uncover this."
"Yes, boss." Something sparked in her eyes, then, and he did not like the realisation that stole over her, in that moment. "Hey, I meant to ask, how's your kid—"
There was a sharp rapping at the door.
Vader whirled, rage roaring in his chest and the Force barrelling towards the door controls to yank it open with perhaps more vigour than necessary. On the other side stood Captain Piett, a datapad clutched in his hand, pale, mousy face pinched and grey.
"Captain," he ground out. "You know I do not suffer interruptions while I am working."
"Of course, my lord," Piett said. He gave Aphra's hologram a cursory glance, and she uncrossed her arms to place them on her hips, but if he clocked that this was a criminal Vader was consulting on his recommendation, he did not show it. "But it is early morning in Imperial City on Coruscant, and this announcement just came through. I thought it doubtful that you had already seen it, and... it is highly important that you see it."
Aphra had blatantly raised her eyebrows now, but Vader paid her no heed. He just waved his hand and the datapad came flying from Piett to him. He switched it on—
And stared.
Luke face stared back at him—an official holo from that stupid parade Palpatine had forced them to attend. Luke looked good in the holo, admittedly: it was of him standing at the balustrade, looking out onto the parade, watching it all with a hopeful, thoughtful expression.
But it was not the holo that concerned him.
It was the Aurebesh that scrolled next to it: a bold title, a bit of eye-catching news, and the article underneath it.
EMPEROR PALPATINE DECLARES OFFICIAL HEIR AND SUCCESSOR: LUKE SKYWALKER, SON OF LORD VADER, TO ASCEND TO THE TITLE OF IMPERIAL PRINCE.
The datapad crumpled in his hands.
"My son," he hissed, and he wasn't sure if he was talking to Aphra, or Piett, or maybe Palpatine himself, far away in his precious palace, "is no concern of yours."
Luke had switched off his comlink. He'd felt physically nauseated when he read the news that Leia had sent him, and seeing the overwhelming response it garnered... no. No, no, no, no, no.
It was ten o'clock. It was still too early to deal with this.
Luke had been neglecting some of the projects he'd promised to get done for the local mechanic's shop recently, and they were a good way to take his mind off things. So he worked on them now: tweaking the controls on the transports he'd snuck into his father's hangar without him noticing, fiddling with a motor where it went haywire, whacking his head not once, not twice, but three times when he forgot that he was lying on his stomach under a speeder and sat up too quickly...
It proved an excellent distraction.
By the time he'd cleaned his hands of engine grease, soot and sweat, he glanced back at his comlink. Typed out a reply to Leia, deleted most of the messages from old friends, blocking the reporters who'd somehow got hold of his frequency—someone in his contacts was making money, it seemed—and hovering over whether or not he should reply to Zev's anxious enquiry... then he saw his father's.
Oh, shavit. That seemed to be his favourite word today.
Rather than reading what he was sure were increasingly irate messages, he just... commed his father. Directly. Cringing pre-emptively.
He did not cringe in vain.
"Luke!" his father thundered. "I have been trying to get ahold of you for nearly an hour. Why have you not been replying?"
"Because everyone wants to hear from me now and I figured you'd just try to contact me through the Force if you really wanted to say something!"
"I..." Vader paused, then in the little hologram, his finger sprang out to wag in Luke's face. The effect was somewhat ruined by the holo's size. "I did not want to risk any more attention being focused on you by the Emperor, young one, an endeavour that you seem intent on foiling. What did you say to—"
"Before you accuse me, I had nothing to do with this," Luke said hotly. "I just woke up! And I woke up to this! You think I'm happy about this—you know what my reaction to that... vision was! I don't want this, Father!"
Vader was silent for a moment, breathing. In, out. In, out.
"Perhaps it was overly hasty for me to jump to such a conclusion," he allowed.
Luke tried to smirk. "You worry about me. I know. I love you too, Father."
"The Emperor has shown remarkable interest in you of late," Vader said. "Have you any idea what he wants?"
Luke said, "I think we both know what he wants." Vader's silence was enough confirmation. "And this... ascension is just an excuse to get me into the Imperial Palace more, to force me to spend more time with him." Neither one of them wanted that.
"I will speak with the Emperor. Perhaps he can be convinced to take this back."
Luke grimaced doubtfully. "It's a galactic announcement. He won't take it back."
"Alter it, then," he conceded. "But... I wanted to keep you away from him, Luke. I do not want you trained as a Sith."
Luke lowered his head. "I know. I'm not ready."
"You are more than ready, little one. You have been ready for years."
Luke blinked. "What? You said—"
"Perhaps..." Vader looked away. His father, the strongest, most belligerent, most direct man in the galaxy... looked away. "Perhaps I merely wanted to keep you for myself, for a little longer."
Luke blinked. "Father..."
He sighed.
"I... will speak to Palpatine about this development," Vader resolved. He jabbed his finger again. "Do not answer your comlink, for anyone—"
"Even you?" Luke said wryly.
"—until I return with an update on the situation. Do not allow the press to find out anything, do not leave home, and do not get into trouble."
Luke grimaced. Why was staying out of trouble what his father saw fit to put emphasis on?
Vader was silent, for a moment. "I mean it, Luke," he said eventually. "Stay out of trouble. I will do my best to find a way to get you out of this situation."
Luke bowed his head. "Thank you, Father," he whispered. For the first time, he allowed himself to look at the situation, straight on—and he hated it. "I will."
Vader didn't have the time to enter into the foul mood he usually did when traipsing around the Jedi Temple turned Imperial Palace. The red guards met him at the door, for once, and escorted him right to the throne room. Palpatine was once again standing at the vast window, the vista of Coruscant glittering before him, but Vader didn't give it a glance; he forged right for him, heedless of the guards that fell respectfully back to the door, heedless of whether Palpatine was about to gloat over this new decision of his or—
"Lord Vader," Palpatine snapped, doing a full turn towards him and glaring. "My message ordered you to bring young Skywalker here—it is him I wish to talk to, not you."
"I received no message, master," Vader shot back. He was well-aware that such disrespect bordered on insolence, on insubordination, to Palpatine, and he braced himself for an onslaught of chastisement... but it never came. When Palpatine's gaze flickered back to the window, Vader understood:
They had never let Luke learn about his master's punishments before. Vader had done it for Luke himself, to keep him innocent and bold, but now... now he was starting to question Palpatine's motives for only unleashing himself when Luke was too far away to truly sense it.
Perhaps that was a side of himself he didn't want to risk his future Sith prince seeing, just yet.
Yet.
So Vader had the courage to press on: "I came immediately the moment I saw the announcement. How dare—"
"How dare I do what, Lord Vader?" Palpatine asked silkily, flexing his right hand. Sparks crackled between his fingers but Vader had called his bluff; they vanished a moment later when he turned away. "How dare I elevate the boy to the status he deserves, that is his birthright? You and I both know that when I pass, you are my heir apparent, and we also both know that you have no interest in ruling whatsoever. I had thought you would be thrilled at the chance to have your son officially instated as my heir—the next ruler after me."
"Then why," Vader said, "did you not consult me?"
"I had thought this was the natural course of action from our conversation just a few days ago, do you not remember? Shortly before Angel stole that single holocron from my vault. He is the heir to our empire—whether he likes it or not—and his potential begs to be trained. You know as well as I that with someone of his talent standing by us, another Sith for the galaxy to admire and obey, this petty war would be over."
"And yet you could have informed me of this before you made the announcement. Why did you not."
"Because I know that your son does not believe himself ready. You do not believe him ready. That is a lie." Palpatine turned fully towards him, then, hobbling along the floor to stand atop the steps on the dais, eye-to-eye with Vader. "He is more than ready—but neither of you have the sight to see it. Now is the ideal time to begin young Skywalker's training, Lord Vader," he rapped his cane against the floor for emphasis, "and I do not intend to let it go to waste."
"You are trapping him into spending time with you."
Palpatine narrowed his eyes. Vader understood that—he was being bold.
"Indeed," he said. "For his own good. You know as well as I do that sometimes the young need guidance—did I not insist on spending time with you, in order to draw you away from the pernicious influence of the Jedi and show you what true power is?"
Vader stared.
You did not help me save Padmé's life, he wanted to say.
He did not say that.
He said, "Luke is very upset."
"Good. As expected then. If he can turn that into anger, I can teach him better."
Vader ground his teeth.
Palpatine laughed. "Do not tell me you are resistant to this because of your paternal feelings towards him, Vader. You assured me you had no attachment."
"I have none."
"I know you are lying."
"You intend to throw him to the mercy of the court, of the Senate, of the press," Vader hissed, "just to force him into training with you."
"I intend to throw him to the wolves, yes. And I intend to watch him win. Do not tell me you do not have faith in him to do so."
"I have faith in him to get into trouble."
"And faith in him to get out of it again?"
Vader swallowed. His master always talked circles around him.
"This is his destiny, my friend," Palpatine said. "He told you about his vision, I presume? That proves it. He will rule this galaxy, and no amount of teenage reticence is going to stop me from ensuring he knows how to rule it, when the time comes." He took a step forwards, and down, so he could rest his hand on Vader's shoulder. "And that means, as much as I know that you are attached to your child, you must allow him to grow up."
Vader stared, and felt his shoulders sag.
"Luke is important to me," Palpatine whispered. "We do not have the close, grandfatherly relationship I had hoped we would have, when you first returned from your mission to execute Kenobi with a baby in tow, though I do not begrudge you the desire to keep him away from politics on Coruscant while he was young. Nevertheless, he is important to you, and therefore important to me—and important to the future of the Empire.
"He is the future: he is our spark, our symbol, who can rival Angel's a hundredfold and show why the Empire will always win. And he needs to be trained."
Vader hated this.
He really, really hated this.
But his master was right.
Luke was still a child, in many ways. He could fight, he could defend himself, but he had no training in the Force beyond what little Vader had taught him, and he had no purpose—he knew that. He was indecisive, an arrow without a target. He needed... something to bring him to his full glory. And if that was delving into politics like his mother before him...
So be it.
"Yes, master," Vader said finally. Luke would be furious at him, but... this was what was best for him. It must be. And Vader had faith in his son to see through his master's manipulations, wherever they came in.
He just wished that he could've trained him—even if he'd known, from the moment he and Palpatine had first discussed it while baby Luke slept in his crib, that that right would belong to his master and his master alone.
Palpatine would never tolerate otherwise.
"Send him to me tomorrow, then, Vader," Palpatine said, finally turning away. Vader grimaced behind his mask. "I would speak to my new prince, and ease him into the role gently."
Vader loved his son dearly. He was the son of a lord and a queen. He was clever, charming, endearing—and as little as he liked mingling with higher statuses at obligatory functions, he was good at it.
But the concept of Luke being a prince was beyond him.
"Yes, master," he said finally, and turned to walk out of the throne room.
This was Luke's destiny. This had always been the way it would go—and Vader would not complain about getting to see his son ascend to heights heretofore unknown to him.
And besides:
Palpatine would not be denied.
Luke stared at his map of Imperial City and rolled his stylus between his forefinger and thumb.
The senators on the list Leia had given him had their senatorial residences marked out in red. He circled the hologram with soft feet, waving the stylus; it detected the motion and drew a blue dotted line through the starscrapers. There was a maintenance shaft and walkway along by Leia's residence—which he knew he needed to hit, there was no doubt about that—which led right along to Senator Falynn's residence as well.
So. He'd take that path, hit Leia then Falynn, then hop on a speeder and take the short trip to—
He sensed his father coming a few minutes before he came, and got rid of the holo quickly, stuffing it in his pocket. He pulled up something to watch on the holonet instead, flicking between what looked like a show about podracing and one about the Clone Wars...
"Luke," his father said, coming straight into his room. "I have spoken to the Emperor about this new... development."
Luke sat up immediately. "Did you talk him out of it?"
"I believe you should go through with it."
Luke blinked.
And Luke stared.
His father stared back, unashamedly, but Luke was... flummoxed. There was a jab in his chest as he said, "You think I should go through with it? I know that the press puts us and him in an awkward position but—"
His father still did not turn away, but Luke got the feeling he wasn't meeting his eye. "You have told the Emperor—and myself—that you are looking for direction in your life. The Force has seen fit to provide it."
"Palpatine saw fit to provide it," Luke snapped. "And you're agreeing with him?"
"I do not agree with him that you should be thrust immediately into the court, but I do share his faith that you will do better than you expect at the moment. And you need training, Luke. If he is willing to give it..."
"Father, if I train with Palpatine," Luke pleaded, "who will I become?"
His father took a step forwards and rested his hands on his shoulders. "Who you were always meant to be," he intoned.
"You're just too afraid to stand up to him." Luke jerked away in disgust, and scowled at the hand that tried to follow his motion. "You don't actually agree with him, you— you wouldn't, you can't..."
"Luke." Vader's voice was thunder. "I am certain that this is the correct path for you, and you know that I only want what is best for you."
"You just have weird ways of showing it, huh?" Luke paced away, hugging himself. His bedroom window provided a view of Coruscant; he looked out it now, gaze fixed on the distant airlanes. Their constant motion, the criss-crossing cars, calmed him somewhat. "Spending time with him is not going to be good for my health."
"He will not harm you."
"Father, if you actually believe that then you're a fool."
He sensed his father stiffen. "I would not put you in danger, my son," he growled. "If you are insinuating—"
"I'm doing more than insinuating." He turned around to glare. "You—and him; both of you!—are taking away my choice in the matter, my choice in how I spend my life. Having your son as the Imperial prince might look rosy to you, but I do not want this. Father, I have everything I need to make my own decisions, and being prince—"
"Will provide you with both purpose and opportunities."
"It will trap me," Luke said. "And I will never get away from it."
"That is the nature of destiny, my son," Vader informed him. "You will be Prince, and you will be Emperor one day. This has always been my plan for you—"
"I don't think," Luke snapped, "your precious son has exactly grown up to be a carbon copy of your plan!" He pointedly did not reach for the holo map in his pocket—or think of what he was planning to do.
"More than you know, Luke," Vader said softly, and stars, he was getting sentimental. It wasn't common, and Luke usually loved it when he did, but not now. "And you are greater and more wonderful than I could have ever dreamed in so many ways. But—"
"I will not be Prince!"
"The galaxy needs you."
"The galaxy needs me," Luke said. "Not some child wearing a crown."
Vader said nothing for a while—it seemed he had nothing to say to that at all.
"You are both, Luke," came out at last. In truth, Luke wasn't convinced he was either.
He just turned away again. "So this is decided? I don't get a choice?"
"You have to understand—"
"I don't have to understand anything." His voice turned flinty. "Father, please leave."
"Luke—"
"Please." Luke was aware that his father meant well, but— "Leave me in peace to process the fact that you're flinging me into the very environment you worked so hard to keep me away from all my life, all because some wrinkled guy in a bathrobe told you he was right."
"Luke..."
Luke didn't respond. Didn't look at him.
And with that, Vader left. His anguish stained the Force.
Luke kept staring out the window. The sun was setting on this part of the planet now, the light glinting off the starscrapers like glowing embers.
He touched the holo of the map in his pocket. He'd need to leave in a few hours. He had stress to work through, and stuff to steal.
