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?
Chapter Thirteen
Vader watched as Tarkin addressed the little Princess, her stance full of
determination and guile. He kept a restraining hand on his son's shoulder,
holding him in check, knowing that he would leap to her rescue if he could do.
Such naïve idealism; the farmboy saving the Princess – was it in the Skywalker
blood?
"You would prefer another target, a military target? Then name the
system." Tarkin turned on Organa, all beak-nosed determination, pale face
and deep-set eyes glowering with well-manicured loathing.
The Princess backed away. She shook her head fiercely and Vader mentally urged
her to answer. If she didn't, he had no doubts that Tarkin would destroy
Alderaan. That would be a monstrous waste, utterly heinous. But more than that,
the hatred was already rolling off his son. Disgust, pity, contempt. His face
was set in an impassive mask, but Vader saw, and felt, the distance being
created between them by Tarkin's little show.
Things had been going so well! If only he hadn't talked to Organa – if only Tarkin
didn't have to act so cruel, then perhaps father and son could reach a measure
of understanding. Now, that seemed increasingly unlikely, with his son becoming
rapidly disillusioned.
And, worse, Vader had struck him. Hard. He didn't know why that should have
such importance for him, but it did. He might have guessed it was due to his
breaking his vow to protect the boy, but he couldn't say for sure. Perhaps it
had been the flash of hatred that shot from those intense eyes when his hand
connected with Luke's cheek. He couldn't say.
"I grow tired of asking this. So it'll be the last time. Where is the
Rebel base?"
Leia glared, Luke shifted uneasily. The boy was about to charge forward and
defend her, but Vader's grip tightened regretfully. He knew what was coming
next.
"Dantooine," she said. "They're on Dantooine."
"There. You see Lord Vader, she can be reasonable" His 'r's rolled
with the fury coming off Luke; the despair off Leia. Vader sighed as Tarkin
turned to the Motti. "Continue with the operation. You may fire when
ready."
"What?" Both princess and farmboy shouted, enraged. Vader's
fingers tightened and Luke didn't struggle; he was stock-still in outrage,
fuming, much as Leia was. She, though, didn't refrain from action. She stalked
closer to Tarkin. The waif of a man looked disinterested as Vader restrained
her with his other hand. Tarkin offered a cruel smile that never ventured near
this eyes.
"You're far too trusting. Dantooine is too remote to make an effective
demonstration. But don't worry. We will deal with your Rebel friends soon
enough."
Leia shot a helpless glance at Luke, who returned it. Vader realised with some
unease that these two were forming a connection beyond that of two captives
sharing misery. Could this have something to do with Luke's connection to her
during her interrogation? In retrospect it had been that, perhaps more than
anything, that had hurt his relationship with the boy.
Both of them tensed as the beam lanced out from the Death Star, Alderaan
shattering. He gasped inaudibly as the death cries reached out to him, and Luke
flinched, looking around wildly. This close to the destruction, he clearly felt
it. That was far beyond where he should be with so little training. Vader
acknowledged the pride, but also the pity as those voices were irrevocably
silenced.
Luke turned around to give Vader a disbelieving stare, but as their eyes met
Vader's vision exploded.
In a sudden darkness, broken by the reflection of starlight on damp foliage,
Luke seemed to be reaching for him. Vader clenched his hands, his heart
pounding and he didn't know why, as he tried to focus on his son's pale hand,
marked by the dark ebony of blood at midnight.
Luke shook his head 'no' and Vader reached for him, always missing, always slipping
along the slicked hand.
"Luke…"
His son focused his eyes on him as shrugged despairingly. He glanced downwards
and Vader's dream eyes followed his gaze from the tipped blonde head to his
abdomen, to the gut wound his other hand was trying to hold together.
There was a sigh then, no louder than the rustle of leaves in a midnight wind,
and Luke looked back up. Vader felt something break then, and it might have
been his heart. Lost, found, lost again.
"You tried, father."
Luke blinked, blinked again much slower, sighed, and collapsed unmoving.
"Luke!"
Frigid forest was replaced by the cold, hard Death Star bridge as the world
sucked back in on itself. He tried not to shake, or cry out; he tried to remain
focused.
It was only a vision.
Only?
The Princess choked back a cry of hatred and looked around wildly. Luke had
been looking at him strangely, a question on his lips that he daren't ask. At
Organa's distress, he turned to her. Her eyes met his son's and Vader felt the
spark, still unsure what it could be. It didn't matter right now; he would
figure it out, eventually, but the vision was far more important. What did it
mean? Was it… the future? Could it have been the future? His son's death… his
Force-full, endearing, strong son's death?
He let go of their shoulders like they burned his hands and Leia went openly to
Luke's embrace. That show of weakness shocked Vader; he had expected her to
storm from the room, righteous as ever. Luke seemed to have melted that steely
heart.
He could think of another iron heart he was working his way though to, but as
Luke glanced up at Vader with Leia sobbing into his shoulder, Vader saw not
hatred, not loathing, but a deep sadness. Luke felt betrayed by Vader, lied to.
And here, on the bridge, there was nothing he could do about it. Or that
vision.
---
Luke stormed through the quarters, a thunderstorm of confusion and anxiety. The
door whispered shut and clicked with a lock, and he was alone, Vader rushing to
some business elsewhere, promising that he would be back soon.
Wonderful. He would be back soon. Luke had no intention of sitting patiently
and waiting for that. He stormed across the seating area, sadness creeping into
his eyes. The death cries of the Alderaani were still loud in his ears and he
picked up a brushed-silk cushion, throwing it to a disappointingly quiet thud
against the viewport, showing an expanding asteroid field.
Damn Vader! Damn Imperials! Why do they do this to me?
He hurled himself to the seat, enraged and melancholy at the same time. He had
begun to trust Darth Vader, begun to think he might actually care about Luke.
What a fool. What a stupid, idiotic farmboy fool! Vader didn't care – he'd just
stood there whilst Alderaan was destroyed, had even tortured that intriguing
Princess, and Luke had begun to care about the Dark Lord!
He threw his hands up in disgust and stalked the room, confused and disturbed.
His feet sank into the carpet and he couldn't help but think about Leia in her
small, dark cell, waiting to be executed. His fist connected with the wall and
he wondered at the power that he felt coursing bright and brilliant through his
veins, pure glitterstem.
Disturbed, he focused and looked at his hands again, splaying his fingers
against the cold wall, pressing his fingertips to it. The Force filled him and
on instinct he swiped his fingers across the wall, curious. There was a soft
beep and a seam appeared in the wall. He stumbled back, completely taken by
surprise as the cover lifted to reveal a small safe.
He stared at it in confusion. Had he done that? But there had been no control
panel, no sign of a safe in the wall!
He couldn't help it; he had to look. His gaze flicked nervously around the room
before he reached into the dark space in the wall that had previously appeared
no different to the rest of the room. He half expected the bite of a desert
scorpion, but his fingers rested trembling around a cool metal cylinder. A
smile he couldn't explain crept across his lips as he lifted it out, feeling
something screaming in his ear to carry on, to hurry up. He looked down at it
in the dim light, eyes wide, his anger forgotten along with his strange
discovery of the safe.
The cylinder was heavy, smooth but dotted with buttons and a raised plate.
Instinctively he pressed his palm against the plate and a brilliant blue blade
snap-hissed into life, extending from the other end of the hilt. He blinked,
remembering the lightsaber that had hung on old Ben's belt; the fight between him
and Vader with similar weapons. His hands trembled as he realised what he'd
found.
Remembering those scenes, he closed his eyes and swung the blade
experimentally, twisting his hips and raising his arms into a ready position,
blade perpendicular to the ground. He grinned, feeling the naturalness of the
hilt in his hands. It moved beautifully, sharp and controlled. He gave a few
parries, a few twirls. It was light but not too light; long but not too long
for his two-handed grip. His arms tingled and something whispered that he
should keep this.
He went back to the safe, lit now by blue saber-light. There was another saber
in there, one he tentatively identified as Ben Kenobi's, but nothing else. He
grabbed the saber on impulsive and snagged it onto his belt, then pressed his
fingers to the same spot again, the cover closing and the seam disappearing.
Now he had two lightsabers, but no idea how to use them. He grinned, eyes
sparkling in the light. It was a start, at least.
His fingers rested on the cool wall again and he concentrated, biting his lip
nervously. The Force swelled around him again and he was careful no to repeat
the same trick that had brought him into contact with Leia and left him in a
temporary coma. He let his fingers dance across the surface, following a path
of their own, and he was smiling in wonderment, a detached kind of delight. The
Force commanded him to move forwards along the wall, and he did, eager and full
of trepidation and expectation.
They stopped suddenly and he opened his eyes, fingers outlined by blue. Taking
a breath that shivered in the dark room, he pressed his palm against the
apparently smooth surface of the wall and stood absolutely still, delight
catching in his throat. A seam appeared, much larger this time. He stepped
backwards, trembling through excitement and exertion. He had no idea what he
had just done, but he had apparently done something because a doorway appeared,
then slid open quietly.
The room beyond was dark and he felt Destiny cheer him on when he took his
first step inwards, onto a top step of a small flight of stairs. The saber was
still lit, blue light expanding into the darkened room. By the second step into
the room, he made out a pallet and a figure stirring on it. Luke stilled, the
hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention. His fingers tightened
around the hilt, suddenly sweaty, as the light illuminated two deactivated
droids beyond the waking figure.
The figure threw the coverlet to the floor and sat up,
"Been a while, Vader." A voice said. Not just any voice, but a voice
sorely missed, a voice from a different lifetime; deep, soft, more used to
friendly chiding than weary fear.
"Biggs?"
Shorter, but it had to be. Please review.
Mina.