Chapter 6: Trahens Tangite

When Vader awoke, he was back on his knees in the sparring chamber; his head ringing from his Master's penetration. The migraine had only intensified since his release, with each violent throb accompanied by temporarily blinding white lights that flashed in his vision. Groaning, he went to raise his left arm. The agonizing effort rewarding him with yet another skull-crushing thump. Dropping it back down, he slumped forward and instead focused on clearing his mind. He listened to the respirator, using the rhythmic hiss and purr as a guide to regulate his heartbeat.

As the fog started to lift, he became acutely aware of new, previously unnoticed pains: sharp stabbing jolts in his thighs, a burning throb in his left bicep, and a dull squeezing pressure gripping the lower part of his chest. He gritted his teeth and tried to breathe through it. Pain was nothing but a way of life for him now. A not-so-friendly reminder of all he'd sacrificed to learn the ways of the dark side. If it were ever to suddenly disappear, he was convinced it would mean only one thing – that he was in-fact dead.

Mind now clearing, he was better able to analyse what had just happened. He had been fighting Syrennè. Waiting for the moment when she would finally give in to her anger and embrace the dark side. Then, when he was sure of her surrender, listening with anticipation for the tell-tale snap-hiss of her lightsaber, his Master had seized control of his mind. Somehow managing to remotely tap into his conscious from the other side of the galaxy and turn his body – both human and cybernetic parts alike – to stone and effectively paralysing him.

It wasn't the first time he'd reached out to him. In actual fact they both did it routinely, stretching out with the Force along their bond and sensing each other's presence; sometimes talking, other times simply reminding them of their connection to each other. But this had been different. Never before had his Master managed to control him like this. Suggest thoughts, yes. Manipulate his emotions, certainly. But to actively seize control of his body and imprison him within the confines of his own mind?

He felt violated. Like some unspoken boundary had suddenly been crossed. His heart rate accelerated, building and building into a voracious staccato. He was but a puppet – a marionette on a string. Twisted and manipulated and made to perform tricks by his Master. Even his own body no longer belonged to him!

His hate started to grow even as he brought both gloved hands out before him and squeezed them tight into fists. The leather gloves cracked and creaked. Fire ignited in his chest – the sparking embers feeding on his anger until they transformed into a raging inferno. The respirator responded in kind; increasing in speed; pumping more and more filtered oxygen down into his burning lungs.

He would not be a puppet to be toyed with. Not for the Jedi. Not for the Republic. Not for his Master.

Not again.

Pulling on the Force, he willed it to fester. To flow deep into his senses and completely take hold. The Dark Side answered, swirling and pulsing in the air around him like a charging energy bomb. The electric sensation consuming him, stealing away all notion of rational thought and reason. Hyperventilating from the strain of keeping his manifesting power contained he threw his arms wide and howled in a fit of primal rage. He unleashed, catapulting his anger and frustration out, channelling it violently through the Force along every bond and connection. So overcome by his madness he failed to notice the devastating shockwave that tore through the air; the quaking shudder of the sparring chamber as it shook on its foundations; the pained scream from his apprentice as she was swept from her feet.

CORUSCANT: SENATE BUILDING: EMPEROR'S OFFICE

Forks of lightning cracked and speared the night. Illuminating the tops of hundreds of permacrete and transparisteel skyscrapers that rose like jagged stalagmites from the planet's surface. Speeders and transports littered the air, ducking and weaving as they traversed the chaotic web-like skylanes that connected the city districts.

It was a view that often gave him a heightened sense of omnipotence. To gaze out at his Empire and watch his insignificant minions go about their pitiful existence. Completely unaware of the rancor that watched them. Blissfully ignorant of the Dark Lord of the Sith that had painstakingly manipulated them into willingly handing over control of their precious Republic. Cheering and applauding when he did away with their ridiculous democracy and declared himself the new Emperor of the galaxy.

Cowl pulled up and hands clasped together, the black cloaked figure of Darth Sidious lingered by the sweeping glass wall of his office. His forced interaction with his wayward apprentice had quickly confirmed what he had already come to suspect. Lord Vader was losing himself in his melancholy. Allowing his self-loathing and self-pity to take hold and cripple him.

This was not the first time the boy had fallen victim to his own misery. For the first few months since he had risen from the operating table freshly clad in the armoured life-support suit, he'd had to fight to reawaken him. Threatening him with death if he didn't actively try to snap out of his stupor. He'd even watched him rip off the mask in a tantrum, only for him to collapse minutes later as a result of severe oxygen deprivation.

His disappointing defeat to his former Jedi Master Obi-wan Kenobi on Mustafar had left him but a mere smouldering corpse of his former self. Both legs amputated and the rest of him burned to almost beyond recognition. He'd momentarily contemplated leaving him there, but that thought quickly evaporated when he'd felt the sheer magnitude of his power dominating the Force.

The trip back to Coruscant had been challenging. Hour after agonizing hour he'd sat beside his broken apprentice, coaching him on how to draw on his pain and anger, and use its strength in sustaining his body until they reached his private medical facility. When he finally had him locked down and secured to the operating table, he went about administering his punishment.

Upon him giving the final order, the med-droids commenced his treatment, performing surgical procedure after procedure without the use of anaesthesia. Vader was under the impression that his vocal cords were scorched from exposure to the lava planet's heat and toxic gas. While that was true to a degree; the real damage was due to his constant screaming as the droids butchered his body. Scraping clean severed nerve endings so they could be interlaced with the cybernetics. Inserting and wiring up his central regulatory chest implant so it could monitor his vital systems.

When the table finally tilted his new creation upright, he had been most eager to see him come to life. He'd had visions of this day since the moment he'd consciously decided to take the young Jedi as his apprentice. But his elation quickly turned sour when his newly reborn Sith immediately asked after his dear little wife!

"It seems, in your anger ... you killed her," he'd said.

The fallen Jedi roared in grief and disbelief, lashing out at him with his fury and reducing the theatre to rubble. He'd been certain that the identity of Anakin Skywalker had died that night in the theatre. Even Vader had refused to refer to himself by that name from then on. Adamant that his former identity had been weak and that he'd destroyed him. Even going so far as to erase all knowledge and evidence of his existence from any official records he could locate, right down to his own medical history stored in the Jedi Temple.

Up until tonight he'd been convinced it was true.

That was, until he'd projected himself as the young Jedi during their conversation. It was at that very moment, seeing the still whole figure of Skywalker knelt submissively before him, that he realised he would need to change his tactics. Instead of going in on the offence; berating and scolding him into obedience like he normally did, he would need to be more subtle and supportive using the Force to try and seduce him into submission.

It was deeply troubling to know that the man inside the suit was waking from his supposedly permanent slumber. If he didnt act quickly he ran the risk of losing him completely. Not to the light side of the Force, there had been no indication of such deviation present in his mind. But that he could suddenly decide to try and break free from his commitment and run away with his wife and their unborn child. Or the even more unthinkable, that he could subscribe to the notion that he could challenge him for Mastery and try and move to overthrow him.

He had to get back to the palace. Preparations needed to be made. His apprentice had reluctantly agreed to return to his side and he had to make sure that he stayed put this time. Not physically, but mentally and emotionally. He would not let him leave this planet until he knew for certain that he had his unwavering obedience and loyalty. And if he tried ... his beloved Padmè would become his new chains.

He turned to face his desk when a blast of Force energy belted him like an almighty battering ram from across their bond. He grappled for his chair, holding onto the back and collapsed over it gasping for breath. He cackled. Apparently, his apprentice did not appreciate his being manhandled so forcefully. Shaking off the disturbance he righted himself and pressed the holo-link on his desk. A red and white armoured trooper rezzed into view.

"Commander Fox, prepare my personal shuttle. I wish to return to the palace ... immediately."

"It will be done, your majesty."

DROMUND KAAS: KAAS CITY

"You really ought to reconsider his offer to escort you, Padmè," Obi-wan said, watching from the glass doors as she paced across the chamber. "His only intention was to protect you."

"That is always his intention, Obi-wan," she retorted, folding her arms and spinning on her heel to glare at him. "But I will not back down on this. I need to be sure that he means what he says. I need to know that he can trust me."

He shook his head and looked back to the city. They were both as stubborn as each other. Honestly, it was a miracle their marriage had lasted this long, even after everything that had happened. He sighed and stroked his beard.

"I suppose you believe, that by your denying him the opportunity to safeguard you on your journey, he is somehow going to prove that?" he asked.

"If he respects my wishes. Then, yes; it would help to."

"And what if something does happen, Padmè?" he pressed, turning around. "Would him suddenly appearing to rescue you like your knight in shining armour then prove his devotion to you and your children? Even when he pulls out his lightsaber and starts hacking your would-be attackers to pieces?"

Padmè went silent. His point had hit its intended mark. She seemed to be forgetting the fact that her husband was now a tyrannical Sith Lord hell bent on destroying anything or anyone that stood in his way. He was no longer bound by the practices and ideals of the Jedi. Not that Anakin religiously kept within the rules of the code, quite the opposite in-fact. But back then he at least acknowledged their existence and recognised when he had overstepped said boundaries.

Now, nothing would stop him. Especially not if some poor hapless half-wit was foolish enough to inadvertently or intentionally threaten his family.

"Like I told him," she said, standing firm, "I am perfectly capable of looking out for myself. Pregnant or not. Now if you are quite done with your lectures, I must excuse myself. I left the twins with Sabè this morning and I am curious to see how she is getting on. Now they can walk, I'm afraid they have become quite the handful."

He went to respond when the Force suddenly slammed into him, shoving him from his feet and launching him across the room. He smashed into the Sith's desk, his head cracking on the solid obsidian countertop and knocking him out cold.

"Obi-wan! Obi-wan!"

He woke up to Padmè shaking his shoulders, her panicked hazel eyes boring down on him. With a groan he rubbed his head and tried to sit up. Feeling the bump, he closed his eyes and groaned again. "Oh ... that can't be good," he grunted, dropping his head forward.

"What happened?" she asked, supporting his back. "You were suddenly thrown across the room out of nowhere!"

"How ... How long was I out for?"

"Ten — maybe fifteen minutes. I've been trying to wake you."

Pushing to his feet, he swayed in place and tried to think. The Force was turbulent urging him into action. "I ... I think something is wrong, Padmè," he whispered, rubbing his head again. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

Before she could respond the redheaded doctor came bursting into the room with her bag swinging in the air. She skidded to a stop and stared at the two of them.

"I don't suppose you felt that as well?" Obi-wan asked her, seeing the worried look on her face.

She looked to her wrist-com and tapped on the controls.

"I have no idea what you are referring to," Aleria answered, still furiously tapping away. "But I've just been beeped by Lord Vader. He only contacts me when — Oh, you stupid thing! Why aren't you working?" She looked up at the wall in confusion then back to her com-unit. "I urgently need to get to him and this confounded contraption is kriffing malfunctioning!"

"What are you trying to do with it?" Obi-wan asked, walking over to see if he could help.

"It's a GPS tracker. When he remotely activates it, it is supposed totrace the tracking beacon built into his suit's onboard computer."

"Right... so where is it telling you to go? Maybe I can help."

She tapped at it again. "Through that kriffing wall!" she cried pointing at the secret passage.

"You mean this wall?" He waved his hand and opened the secret entrance with the Force. Not waiting for a reaction, he took off down the stairs and left the bemused doctor behind.

Unlike Aleria, he didn't need some fancy device to find Vader — he had the Force. Not that he needed its guidance this time. The Sith was making such a ruckus that tracking him down was easy. Quickening his pace, he followed the strange barking and thumping noises as they echoed up the passage. Rounding the bend, he stopped dead in his tracks.

He was right, this definitely didn't look good. Vader was staggering toward him, using the wall for support and barking like some strangled robotic dog. His breathing was all wrong too; the respirator clicking and screeching with each mutilated rasp.

"What happened to you?" Obi-wan asked, propping his hands on his hips.

Vader barked again, lifted his mask then dropped it back down. "Move," he grunted, pushing past.

"He won't let me help him!" his new apprentice cried out, pausing to catch her breath. "I said I was sorry. I didn't mean to hurt him! He – he just made me so angry."

"I am sure you didn't hurt him," Obi-wan offered, moving to follow the struggling Sith.

Pushing away from the wall, Vader crossed the corridor and barged into the comm-room like a drunken krayt dragon trying to navigate a minefield. Coughing as he went, he staggered left; then right; shoved past a chair; narrowly missed the command desk; and made for the restraining bench at the far end of the chamber.

Then he tripped; his boot clipping the corrugated power cable that ran to the holo-projector. Cape flowing, he flung his hand out and grabbed hold of the bench. But he was too heavy for it. With a creak it toppled over and pinned him to the floor.

For a moment, all Obi-wan could do was stare. The whole scenario had seemed remarkably comical. It wasn't until Padmè and Aleria had hurried in that he finally came to his senses.

"Help me get this thing off him!" Padmè yelled, grabbing the solid durasteel bed and trying to shift it.

Let him do it himself, was the first thought that came to mind ... but he knew she wouldn't appreciate it. Then he felt a slight pang in his chest – what if he actually couldn't? Vader had made no attempt to shift the no doubt heavy table-bed-bench — whatever it was — from atop him. In fact, he'd barely moved at all. If it wasn't for the uneven screech, clunk and hiss of the respirator suggesting otherwise; he'd have assumed he was unconscious.

That was a good question; would it stop if he was?

"Obi-wan ... please," Padmè begged.

Oh, for goodness sakes. Anakin, you'd better not make me regret this. Why I should do anything for you right now is beyond me. He rolled his eyes and sighed, making his way over. Using the Force, he lifted the restraining bench into the air and placed it back down where it came from. Then he stepped back and folded his arms.

Aleria was by his left-side in a blink, connecting her datapad to his suit's control panel. Padmè took hold of his hand and squeezed it tight.

"I need to roll him onto his side," Aleria said to Padmè as she opened her bag and pulled out her gear.

She nodded and grabbed his opposing shoulder, tears trickling down her cheeks.

The two women were fussing over him like he was some poor defenceless child. But he wasn't. He was a Sith Lord. A Jedi murderer with a kriffing-great chip on his shoulder. So, why did he still care? Why was he suddenly concerned about whether he was alright or not?

With a heavy sigh he took one last look at what was left of the man he used to call brother and turned to leave. The com-room was far too crowded for his liking anyway.

"Master Kenobi?"

He stopped and met the redhead doctor's questioning stare. "Yes, Aleria?"

She threw her com-unit to him.

"Can you please contact Commander Appo and have him send the shuttle back to the ship? I need some equipment brought back from the med-center. I'll relay the list to the team so they know what to pack."

She needed more equipment? Just how bad was it? He didn't want to ask what was wrong. He didn't want to ... want to know. So, he just nodded and again went to leave. He passed Jaina, who was now nervously fidgeting in the chair by the command desk and paused in the doorway.

"Doctor...?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

She smiled and nodded back. "He will be fine, Master Kenobi. He was overdue for his check-up and maintenance session anyway. Once I have the things on that list, I can get him out of the suit and conduct a more thorough examination."

"Right..." he said with a nod, then turned to his apprentice. "Come along, Jaina." He motioned to the door. "I'm sure he wouldn't want you sitting around doing nothing. Why don't you join me and we can discuss what really happened."

She rose from her seat, looked to Vader and then back to him. "I no longer go by that name, Master Kenobi," she said.

He sighed and shook his head. "Of course you don't," he grumbled not attempting to disguise the sarcasm in his tone. "Fine. Tell me what it is then."

"It's Syrennè now. Darth Syrennè."

Perhaps he could get Commander Appo to bring some whiskey back with him too. He was going to need a stiff drink before the day was out ... he could already feel it. "Well then, Syrennè... I'm waiting."

She started forward. "It's Darth—"

"—Don't push it," he interrupted, ascending the stairs.