Disclaimer –
Despite my begging letters to Mr. Lucas, he simply won't give me even
a few minutes alone with Luke Skywalker and company. I know, terrible
isn't it? So I can't claim any ownership over them, this is purely
for fun.
An AU story, at the time of ANH – what would
have happened if Biggs hadn't jumped ship and had mouthed off at the
wrong moment about Luke's piloting skills?
You asked, so I
continued... btw, I do know where I'm taking this, there honestly
is a plan to all this, but if anyone has been inspired by some sudden
plot ideas, please email
me them and I might tempted to weave them in.
Shooting Stars
Chapter
Two
"Skywalker?"
Was
that an alarm throbbing through his brain or was the blood rushing
too fast through his temples? Biggs' lips were suddenly parched of
any words for Armstrong, now cowering, his flat face showing a
concoction of horror and bewilderment, mixed about equally. His eyes
were bugging like he'd spent too long out on the dunes with only a
stash of Corellia's finest wiskey to keep him company. Understandable
of course, considering the death angel practically ripping the shirt
from Biggs' back with his sudden and unexpected grip on the much
smaller boy. The mask blocked out nearly all other perceptions,
fixing him with a sudden, soul-shattering gaze he couldn't even begin
to read. Not that you could ever read what was going on behind those
black eyes. Not that Biggs had ever been intimate enough with Vader
to try before. His perception did manage to become aware of a sudden
need to breathe and he tried to suck air past the grip around his
throat, not succeeding very well.
Somewhere in it's jaunt
through commenting on the blindingly obvious, his mind registered
that he'd been asked a question.
Parched lips; paralysing
fear; feet straining to touch the deck.
Answer the
question!
This was Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith,
man/machine that killed on a whim, sadist and masochist too if you
believed the stories told in Rebel barracks. You weren't supposed to
stare stupidly at him when he hauled you off your feet and asked you
a question weighted with such a dangerous tone of voice. You really,
really weren't supposed to just stare upwards like a womp rat caught
in the glare of speeder lights, mouth working uselessly,
stuttering.
So answer the question!
Question? Oh
hell, he'd forgotten it. Nice way to freeze up on me oh great,
fearless warrior.
Blood rushing through his temples again.
Panic, sheer panic, and... confusion. "Huh?"
Oh,
good one. Way to go, hotshot.
The growling hiss of the
breath mask choked the terrified thoughts. Vader got a vice-like grip
on Biggs' bicep and squeezed harder, apparently ignorant of the
gawking pilots. Half of them looked ready to bolt; the other half had
on their faces that look of sick fascination of humans transfixed by
the pain of another.
"Skywalker?"
What? Did
the Dark Lord think repeating Luke's name would make it any clearer
exactly what the man was asking? Sithspit, if only Biggs wasn't
looking like quite such a dazed fool right now. He strove for some
sort of calm but all he got was a rush of adrenaline from deep in his
gut that made him feel vaguely queasy.
Concentrate. Right –
Luke's name. Huh?
He shook his head around the grip on
his flightsuit's collar. "I...I..." He was stuttering like
a demented Jawa, feeling the bitter taste of fear rising with the
bile from his stomach and choking off the words.
"I..."
Get the other words out! He doesn't look very patient right now!
"I don't understand, My Lord."
Well, it could have
gone better. He could have managed to pronounce the words singularly
instead of as one long stream of babble. Vader seemed to understand
him anyway, and the death mask glowered down on him. The grip
tightened further and his feet left the deck as he swallowed down the
fear with a welcome gulp of air.
"Who is Luke
Skywalker?"
It was only then that Biggs noticed the
distinct lack of the Imperial's infamous calm. They said he could
take on a legion of the Emperor's Royal Guards without so much as
breaking a sweat (and how would they know that anyway?) but here he
was, clearly disturbed and unsettled by the mention of Biggs' best
friend, a lowly orphaned farmboy.
Unhinged more like, if
the trembling in that arm is anything to go by.
He had to
answer.
"My... my best friend from back home," he
managed, really pretty impressed that the words were actually
coherent. Maybe noticing the Dark Lord's weakness had given him some
new strength. Maybe he'd make it out of this one alive.
The
trembling got worse and Biggs wished he could see the emotions
playing across the face under that mask. Why the interest in Luke
anyway? Even in its mad scramble, his mind came nowhere near a
realistic answer.
"Home?"
"Tatooine."
The fist tightened and he gagged under the pressure, sucking
in shallow breaths as the pilots around them took an involuntary step
backwards. What had he said?
A long, low feral moan escaped
the Dark Lords mask, so quiet only Biggs could hear it. A sudden wash
of cold broke over him as he realised just how affected the Sith was.
It crawled up his spine on cat-claws and he suddenly felt a
reluctance to tell the man any more.
"Where? Who does he
live with? What of his parents? His mother? What does he do?"
The
barrage of questions made Biggs reel backwards in surprise. The Sith
was downgrading to the babble that had afflicted Biggs earlier. The
grip caught him and stopped him going anywhere. Biggs sucked in
another breath and wasn't sure how to answer, what to say first, or
whether to say anything at all. This was important; even he, Tatooine
farmboy, could see that. What kind of trouble was he getting his
friend into? Or himself for that matter?
---
Vader
felt another shiver of absolute certainty claw its way down through
his stomach. His mind was still reeling from the revelation. There
was no way, absolutely no chance, that this boy's best friend
couldn't be his son. Maybe there were other people of the name
'Skywalker' in this galaxy; he would have to be exceptionally naive
and egotistical not to acknowledge that, but this boy... it was like
the Force was screaming at him. Accusingly, joyfully, triumphantly.
It was deafening.
He had to get a grip. For a minute there
was nothing in his world but himself, the pilot, and his unbeknown
son trapped on that hutts-armpit of a world he himself had once
called 'home'. The rage he felt at that indignation was like the cool
rain on a ground already drenched by nearly two decades of betrayal
and hate, and was nothing like the virtual monsoon of shock that
coursed like glitterstem through his veins.
A son!
Get
a grip! The whole bay was staring at him, and soon the whole ship
was going to realise something was definitely wrong with the
unshakable Darth Vader. And if that happened.... it would get back to
the the Emperor.
The Emperor... if Vader was barely ready to
accept the possibility that Padmé had been pregnant before she
had disappeared, he was certainly not ready to let the Emperor know
that little fact. He tried not to think too much about the feelings
of nausea caused by a sudden barrage of images flying at lightspeed
through his mind; images of finding a son, only to have him taken and
twisted into the Emperor's pet. He didn't dwell on those images or
their implications for him. He did, though, feel a sudden surge of
emotion that could only be one thing – the desire to know,
understand and own this child of his. It wasn't like the
desire for his own ship, or even for a prized pet, but it was a
deeper sense of ownership, a truly righteous one where the father
should be allowed to mold the life of his son as he saw fit.
The
pilots were still gawking and he realised with some dismay that he
was nearly choking his only link to the child, the boy he would
find and bring to his side. The grip loosened with some difficulty,
his hands tensed from the thoughts running frantically through his
mind.
The Emperor – he had to keep this from him, which
meant not acting like a stunned mynock.
He let Darklighter's
feet back onto the deck and the other rubbed at his throat, but
wisely resisted the urge to turn and bolt.
"Follow me,"
Vader said, taking some effort to keep the voice as emotionless as
was his norm. Darklighter paled even further, if that were possible,
and looked about to complain. Vader fixed him with a stern glare and
all words were lost to the deck as he quickly averted his eyes
downwards, breathing in shallow rasps.
Vader turned on his
heel, motioning for the aide to follow him, herding the dark haired
Tatooine youth forwards.
---
Biggs
resisted the urge to gag and cough as he followed the suddenly quiet
dark giant through the Destroyer's stark corridors. He couldn't shake
the distinct feeling that something extremely important had occurred,
and for once he didn't like the idea that it centered around him.
Or... not him, but Luke.
He bit his lip in confusion and the
remnants of fear, a mannerism he had picked up from Luke in his
moments of shy contemplation. What could be so important about the
kid to give a Dark Lord the shakes? He'd looked like he was going to
give himself a hernia back there if he didn't calm down. That, or
choke the life out of him.
In one of the many turbolifts they
would take before reaching their destination, he steadfastly ignored
the heavy breathing of the Sith Lord, trying to use the pulse of
blood in his ears to steady himself and his nerves. This was not
good, this was definitely not good.
All right
Darklighter, it's decision time.
Was he going space-crazy
or was he talking to himself again?
He knew the inner voice
was correct though; he doubted Vader was taking him on a personal
tour of his ship; more like making a direct line for the
interrogation 'suites'. Those last questions had gone unanswered and
it was clear that Vader wanted them answering badly. Painfully clear.
He rubbed his neck again and the the red marks beginning to form
there.
Biggs liked to think himself a man of honour, no
matter that he was hooked up with Imperials. When he got past some of
the more childish aspects of his personality, inevitable given his
age, his heart was set absolutely and irrevocably on the side of
loyalty to his friends. That especially included Luke. Now he had two
choices – answer every question Vader asked about his friend and
probably get him into far worse trouble than even Biggs was in right
now, or admit that he'd already bitten off more than he could chew
and clam up, refusing to answer anything more.
There really
was no question at all.
And then they were out of the
turbolift, walking swiftly, eagerly almost, down another bright
utilitarian corridor, lead like a nerf to the slaughter.
---
Hope you liked it... not much action, I think that had to be more cerebrally based somehow.
Continue, yes/no? Please review anyhow. Thanks,
Oh, and for all you hotshots who think you've got the end figured out or that I gave it away in the prologue... tsk tsk... now ask yourselves this - am I stupid enough to do that? Or... am I trying to be clever and going to twist it when we get another month down the line.... OR am I being way too clever for my own good and pretending I'll twist it when I really won't just to annoy you all, OR am I pretending to be clever by not being clever and I really will twist it all.... etc etc... :D