Part XII -- Deadly Intentions
Liberty sighed wistfully as she stared out the window, watching the raindrops spatter and flow across the glass. Why was it that the day you planned an outdoor activity, the weather refused to cooperate?
"So much for the barbecue," grumped Liz.
"Hey, we can play mud volleyball!" suggested Amethyst.
The foul weather had definitely canceled the barbecue plans, but that didn't prevent the gang from getting together anyway. Austin had brought his Playstation, and everyone took turns playing "Jedi Starfighter," "Super Bombad Racing," and "Podracer" on the Osmond's big-screen TV. Others brought Star Wars oriented board games -- Life, Monopoly, Stratego, Battleship, Trivial Pursuit, even a chess set Liberty had made years ago during her brief sculptor's phase. Patrick and Jason fried hamburgers on the stove and kept the mob appeased with plenty of chips, potato salad, and soda.
"Not a bad alternative gig," Sparky mused as he sat down to a game of chess with Liberty. "Everyone's happy."
"For a change," Liberty replied. "Except whoever's losing 'Racer Revenge' against Vader."
Sparky laughed. "Rebel or Imperial?"
"Imperial," she answered, spinning the board accordingly. With this chess set, white pieces were Rebel and black were Imperial, and different characters from the movies represented different ranks (Pawns -- stormtroopers/Rogue pilots, Rooks -- Stardestroyers/X-wings, Knights -- dewback-mounted sandtroopers/tauntaun-mounted Echo scouts, Bishops -- royal guards/protocol droids, Queens -- Darth Vader/Luke Skywalker, and Kings -- Emperor Palpatine/Princess Leia). Liberty had sculpted the set in her art class her junior year of high school, and she brought it to every convention to engage in a game with the more artsy among the Stargeeks.
"Haven't talked to you in awhile, Liberty," Sparky said, nudging a pawn forward. "What have you been up to? Store going well?" Liberty owned a science-fiction-fantasy bookstore named The Dragon Stone, an inheritance from a late aunt.
"The store's been a bit slow, but things may speed up for Eye of the Storm," she replied. "I'm not holding my breath, though. Ever since the new Barnes and Noble opened all us small-time book peddlers have been struggling financially. The Deerstalker Cap had to close last week."
"The mystery bookstore?" Sparky's eyebrows arched high in surprise. "I loved that shop! They had that big mannequin in Sherlock Holmes getup in the window..."
"Sherlock's gone now," Liberty said sadly, moving a bishop out to capture a wayward pawn. "Along with the romance novel store, Heat of the Night, and the second-hand bookshop, Junkyard Dog. The guy who runs Just Classics has vowed to stay open come hell or high water, but it won't be too long now before B and N moves in for the kill, I'm afraid."
"The curse of corporations," Sparky mused as he pounced on the bishop with a knight. "Chain stores are crowding out the little guys."
"Hey, we're out of Cheetohs!" bellowed Zack.
"Luke, wanna run an errand for us?" asked Jason.
Luke glanced up from pondering a selection of cheeseburger patties. "Oh, sure. What?"
Jason pointed to the ceiling. "On the second floor is our pantry. Run up there and snag a bag of these." He gave Luke the empty chip bag for reference. "If you can't find any, get the next best thing."
"All right." He gave a mock salute, smiling broadly, before disappearing upstairs.
Liberty turned her attention back to their game. "Maybe I should diversify The Dragon Stone -- add some other genres. Keep up with the big guys. A little historical fiction, maybe some legal fiction..."
"Now you listen here, Liberty," Sparky admonished, waggling his queen at her like a teacher's yardstick. "Don't think that if you can't beat 'em, you have to join 'em. Part of what makes your store so endearing is the fact that it has a theme, that people can go in knowing what to expect. You don't go to a store named The Dragon Stone to buy encyclopedias or cookbooks."
"Actually, I do carry cookbooks," she shot back with a grin. "Two Star Wars cookbooks have come out, as well as a number of fantasy-themed..."
"You know what I mean," Sparky retorted with a wink. "Your customers like your specialty shop. Don't follow the crowd."
"I'm normally not one to follow the crowd. Check."
His smile faded. "That's not check."
"Yes it is." Something thumped directly over her head, and the two of them stared a moment at the ceiling. "Cody, quit banging around up there!" she shouted.
"Noisy bugger," Sparky snorted. "What does he do up there, jump on a pogo stick?"
"Wouldn't doubt it. Boy's nuttier than a Payday bar. But anyway, I still think I need to diversify a bit. I might condense the horror section and add some children's books."
"Now there's some smart investments," Sparky smiled, advancing a rook.
"Hey, I gotta do something to up sales," she replied. "Business hasn't been this bad since the local churches boycotted The Dragon Stone for carrying Dungeons and Dragons equipment. I had to pull them off the shelves to save my business."
"Eh, you can't please everyone," Sparky said. "That's the problem with chain stores. They try to please everyone and end up getting too big for their own britches." Another loud bang from upstairs, this time over the TV set, caught his attention. "Hope Luke didn't drop something on his foot."
"Cody, quit banging around!" Jason ordered.
"I'm not!" Cody protested, looking up from the table where he, Fett, Steve, Conrad, and Darcy were playing Monopoly. "Why's everyone blaming me?"
"'Cause usually when there's banging around upstairs, you're the culprit," Jason retorted. He glared at the ceiling, then at his comrades. "Hey, where's Vader?"
"Dunno," Conrad replied. "I wasn't assigned to keep track of him."
"I won!" shouted Trapper, thrusting both fists in the air. "I beat Amethyst at 'Racer Revenge!' I beat her!" He stood on the couch and began hooting with pride like a howler monkey.
"Trapper, don't stand on the furniture!" scolded Austin.
Another thud from upstairs, a scuffle, a weird hum... and a crimson shaft of light pierced the ceiling right over Trapper's head.
Everyone froze in place.
Liberty's heart pounded its way up her throat. She knew, now, where Vader had gone and why.
***
One thing that could be said in the Osmonds' defense was that, despite their quirky personalities and abysmal housekeeping skills, they would never go hungry during a crisis. While the lower story of the house was reserved for day-to-day living, the upper level was rarely accessed and so served as a stockpile for non-perishable edibles. "Pile" being the key word there -- the horde had no organization to it whatsoever. Bags, cans, boxes, and containers had simply been stacked, dumped, or scattered wherever.
Luke shook his head in wonder as he attempted to locate the snacks he had been sent to find. He'd just finished pawing through the bathtub, where he'd found Doritos, Slim Jims, peanut butter, Froot Loops, and a half-empty box of Instant Quaker Oatmeal, but no Cheetohs. Now he faced the daunting mountain of packaged food that inhabited a spare bedroom. Most likely whichever brother went grocery shopping simply picked up two of everything that wouldn't spoil and threw the extras upstairs for quick grabs later -- much later, for the expiration dates on some packages dated back to as early as 1995.
He found what he was looking for on top of the spare bed, next to a dust-coated summer sausage and two bags of Oreo cookies. Brushing off the ragged jeans and Scooby-Doo T-shirt Cody had loaned him, he turned back toward the stairs.
Vader blocked his path. Luke was wondering what sort of snack item Vader had been sent to fetch when the Dark Lord's hand moved to his lightsaber.
"This ends now, Luke," Vader snarled.
"What ends now?" Luke asked, trying to keep a calm demeanor.
"You cannot avoid it any longer, Luke. You must face your destiny. If you will not turn, you will be destroyed."
Luke glanced at Vader's belt, where his own weapon dangled. He would have time to retrieve it before Vader attacked... but first he had to try to reason with his father.
"Father, you can't do this," he said. "You had the opportunity to kill me before and couldn't. I don't believe you can kill me now."
"I'll be the judge of that," Vader hissed, igniting his lightsaber and swinging it upward in a single graceful motion. "In this, I may be doing you a kindness, Skywalker. If the Emperor cannot turn you, he will kill you. If you will not join him, you may as well die now."
Luke threw out his arm, drawing his lightsaber to him on a current of the Force. The handle smacked against his hand, and he thumbed the blade on and assumed a battle stance.
"I'll never join the dark side!"
"Then," Vader intoned, his voice hard and resonant as if coming from the depths of Hell itself, "you will meet your destiny."
The crimson blade sheared toward him. He parried the blow and tried to duck to the side, but a strike toward his midsection prevented him from making an escape. He barely blocked the slash in time.
Scarlet and emerald light strobed through the second floor of the house as sabers clashed furiously. Vader forced Luke back a step, then another, then lunged. Luke sprang to the side as the Dark Lord's blade ripped through a pile of Ruffles bags. Smoke snaked out of the heap where the plasmatic blade came in contact with plastic and chips. With a snarl Vader turned back toward Luke.
The young Jedi backed slowly toward the stairs, knowing if he could reach the first level Vader probably wouldn't press the fight. Yet he also knew he'd never make it down there before the Sith Lord caught up with him.
/I may be doing you a kindness./ What kind of justification was that for murdering his own son? Then he realized, with a terrible chill, that his father was trying, in some sick way, to show him some mercy. He had openly admitted to Luke that the dark side had made him its slave, and he was ensuring that his son would never know such bondage. By killing Luke, he was sparing him from the horrors of the dark.
"Father!" Luke cried as their sabers collided, grinding against each other. "Don't do this! There's another way!"
His weapon screamed as the energy matrix threatened to overload. Gritting his teeth, Luke pushed against Vader with the Force, thrusting them apart.
"Come with me," Luke offered hopefully, almost pleadingly. "Back to the Fleet. You can secede from the Empire and join the Alliance. The Emperor can't manipulate you there."
Vader sprang, closing the gap between them. Luke barely had time to dodge before the deadly blow could be dealt. The ruby blade punched through the floor, leaving a C-shaped rip when Vader withdrew his weapon.
"How many times must I tell you?" Vader growled. "I'm not worth saving. There's nothing left to save." He slashed again, but Luke shielded himself from the blow. "The Rebellion -- what a joke. They'll never accept me within their ranks. I'll be executed on the spot."
"They may kill Darth Vader," Luke countered, "but not Anakin Skywalker, my father."
Shafts of emerald and ruby crossed before his face. He strained to push Vader's blade away, but the Dark Lord was too strong.
"That name," Vader rumbled savagely, "no longer has any meaning for me."
"It's the name... of your true self," Luke grunted, exerting all his strength to keep the red saber from cutting him apart. "You've... only forgotten."
The saber inched dangerously closer despite Luke's efforts to stay its progress. Vader's mask filled his vision, green and red light eerily highlighting the fearsome visage; the deadly thrum of lightsabers buzzed through his ears; his nostrils burned with the smell of static and ozone, of scorched plastic and potato chips, of burned carpeting, of sweat drenching his shirt... the sweat of exertion and fear.
Muscles in Vader's arms tensed for the final, fatal thrust. Luke shut his eyes and relaxed his grip on the weapon. He would enter into the Force in peace.
/I'm sorry Ben, Yoda. I failed you both. I failed the galaxy. Leia... Leia, my sister, I love you.../
"BREAK IT UP!!!"
The screamed order was punctuated by a single crack of blaster fire, which Vader whirled to deflect. Luke gasped in relief. He'd never been so happy to hear a blaster shot before.
Liz stood at the top of the stairs, hands on her hips, a glower worthy of Uncle Owen in her eyes. Boba Fett was beside her, keeping his weapon trained on Vader. For that stunt the hunter had probably just lost all future employment offers with Vader, but he didn't look repentant in the least.
"What are you two doing up here?!" Liz shouted, marching toward them. "This isn't Cloud City -- this is Earth! And on our planet we don't appreciate people trying to chop each other to pieces over our heads! Turn those things off before someone loses a hand!"
Too stunned by her boldness to protest, Vader and Luke complied.
"And keep 'em off! No more duels in the house! Sounded like an army of AT-AT walkers up here! And you scared Trapper half to death when that blade almost hit him..."
"Trapper!" Luke cried, running down the stairs.
When he reached the bottom, several people stared at him suspiciously while others just gave questioning glances. Austin sat in a chair with Trapper on his lap, murmuring comfortingly to him. Over the sofa, the lightsaber scar was plainly visible on the ceiling, still glowing at the edges.
"Trapper, are you okay?" Luke asked.
He nodded against his father's chest.
"Startled, not hurt," Steve replied. "Vader's lightsaber came within a foot of his head. I think he's calmed down now."
"Last time he stands on the furniture," Emily quipped, trying to be funny. No one laughed.
"What happened?" asked Patrick, eyes fixed on the gash in the ceiling.
"I found the Cheetohs and was coming back down," Luke explained, glossing over the fact that he'd left the chips upstairs during the melee. "Vader met me at the top of the stairs and told me he was going to... uh... kill me to keep me from joining the dark side."
Conrad burst out laughing. "Now there's a death-defying leap in logic."
Liz stomped down the stairs, pulling Vader after her by the corner of his helmet like a schoolteacher hauling away an errant schoolboy by the ear. Everyone chuckled, even Luke and Trapper.
"First blasters, now lightsabers!" shrieked Liz. "What's next, a proton torpedo in the middle of the Nova-Con crowd?!"
"Kindly let go of me," Vader ordered, still hunched over.
She released him but never let up on her rant. "Why do you three insist on disrupting any event we participate in?! Every time we leave you unsupervised one of you's getting into a fistfight or saber duel! What are you, a bunch of overgrown twelve-year-olds?!"
"Ease up a little, Liz," Austin ordered.
"Ease up?! EASE UP?! Your son could've been killed!"
"He wasn't, and that's the important thing," Austin replied. "But we need to ensure that this doesn't happen again." He glanced meaningfully at Luke and Vader. "Would you two consent to one of us safeguarding your lightsabers?"
Vader glowered at Austin, and Luke saw him raise his right hand slightly. "You do not need to confiscate our weapons."
Austin's eyes glazed over. "We do not need to confiscate..."
"Dad, he's doing a mind trick on you!" shouted Trapper, slapping him on the cheeks. He shook his head to clear his brain.
"Please," Sparky said sternly. "Whether or not you two intend to fight again, accidents happen. I don't think you need to surrender your lightsabers, but at least use some caution. If you have issues to work out, do it in the woods where no one will see you or get hurt."
"Last thing we need is someone showing up at the emergency room with some unexplainable injury," Liberty added, moving a game piece forward on the board where she and Sparky were playing. "Checkmate."
Sparky's forehead bunched in a frown. "How'd you do that so quick?"
Vader stalked outside. Luke just shook his head before taking a plate and grabbing some lunch. Had that incident been a sign of improvement, or just proof that he was fighting a losing battle?
Liberty sighed wistfully as she stared out the window, watching the raindrops spatter and flow across the glass. Why was it that the day you planned an outdoor activity, the weather refused to cooperate?
"So much for the barbecue," grumped Liz.
"Hey, we can play mud volleyball!" suggested Amethyst.
The foul weather had definitely canceled the barbecue plans, but that didn't prevent the gang from getting together anyway. Austin had brought his Playstation, and everyone took turns playing "Jedi Starfighter," "Super Bombad Racing," and "Podracer" on the Osmond's big-screen TV. Others brought Star Wars oriented board games -- Life, Monopoly, Stratego, Battleship, Trivial Pursuit, even a chess set Liberty had made years ago during her brief sculptor's phase. Patrick and Jason fried hamburgers on the stove and kept the mob appeased with plenty of chips, potato salad, and soda.
"Not a bad alternative gig," Sparky mused as he sat down to a game of chess with Liberty. "Everyone's happy."
"For a change," Liberty replied. "Except whoever's losing 'Racer Revenge' against Vader."
Sparky laughed. "Rebel or Imperial?"
"Imperial," she answered, spinning the board accordingly. With this chess set, white pieces were Rebel and black were Imperial, and different characters from the movies represented different ranks (Pawns -- stormtroopers/Rogue pilots, Rooks -- Stardestroyers/X-wings, Knights -- dewback-mounted sandtroopers/tauntaun-mounted Echo scouts, Bishops -- royal guards/protocol droids, Queens -- Darth Vader/Luke Skywalker, and Kings -- Emperor Palpatine/Princess Leia). Liberty had sculpted the set in her art class her junior year of high school, and she brought it to every convention to engage in a game with the more artsy among the Stargeeks.
"Haven't talked to you in awhile, Liberty," Sparky said, nudging a pawn forward. "What have you been up to? Store going well?" Liberty owned a science-fiction-fantasy bookstore named The Dragon Stone, an inheritance from a late aunt.
"The store's been a bit slow, but things may speed up for Eye of the Storm," she replied. "I'm not holding my breath, though. Ever since the new Barnes and Noble opened all us small-time book peddlers have been struggling financially. The Deerstalker Cap had to close last week."
"The mystery bookstore?" Sparky's eyebrows arched high in surprise. "I loved that shop! They had that big mannequin in Sherlock Holmes getup in the window..."
"Sherlock's gone now," Liberty said sadly, moving a bishop out to capture a wayward pawn. "Along with the romance novel store, Heat of the Night, and the second-hand bookshop, Junkyard Dog. The guy who runs Just Classics has vowed to stay open come hell or high water, but it won't be too long now before B and N moves in for the kill, I'm afraid."
"The curse of corporations," Sparky mused as he pounced on the bishop with a knight. "Chain stores are crowding out the little guys."
"Hey, we're out of Cheetohs!" bellowed Zack.
"Luke, wanna run an errand for us?" asked Jason.
Luke glanced up from pondering a selection of cheeseburger patties. "Oh, sure. What?"
Jason pointed to the ceiling. "On the second floor is our pantry. Run up there and snag a bag of these." He gave Luke the empty chip bag for reference. "If you can't find any, get the next best thing."
"All right." He gave a mock salute, smiling broadly, before disappearing upstairs.
Liberty turned her attention back to their game. "Maybe I should diversify The Dragon Stone -- add some other genres. Keep up with the big guys. A little historical fiction, maybe some legal fiction..."
"Now you listen here, Liberty," Sparky admonished, waggling his queen at her like a teacher's yardstick. "Don't think that if you can't beat 'em, you have to join 'em. Part of what makes your store so endearing is the fact that it has a theme, that people can go in knowing what to expect. You don't go to a store named The Dragon Stone to buy encyclopedias or cookbooks."
"Actually, I do carry cookbooks," she shot back with a grin. "Two Star Wars cookbooks have come out, as well as a number of fantasy-themed..."
"You know what I mean," Sparky retorted with a wink. "Your customers like your specialty shop. Don't follow the crowd."
"I'm normally not one to follow the crowd. Check."
His smile faded. "That's not check."
"Yes it is." Something thumped directly over her head, and the two of them stared a moment at the ceiling. "Cody, quit banging around up there!" she shouted.
"Noisy bugger," Sparky snorted. "What does he do up there, jump on a pogo stick?"
"Wouldn't doubt it. Boy's nuttier than a Payday bar. But anyway, I still think I need to diversify a bit. I might condense the horror section and add some children's books."
"Now there's some smart investments," Sparky smiled, advancing a rook.
"Hey, I gotta do something to up sales," she replied. "Business hasn't been this bad since the local churches boycotted The Dragon Stone for carrying Dungeons and Dragons equipment. I had to pull them off the shelves to save my business."
"Eh, you can't please everyone," Sparky said. "That's the problem with chain stores. They try to please everyone and end up getting too big for their own britches." Another loud bang from upstairs, this time over the TV set, caught his attention. "Hope Luke didn't drop something on his foot."
"Cody, quit banging around!" Jason ordered.
"I'm not!" Cody protested, looking up from the table where he, Fett, Steve, Conrad, and Darcy were playing Monopoly. "Why's everyone blaming me?"
"'Cause usually when there's banging around upstairs, you're the culprit," Jason retorted. He glared at the ceiling, then at his comrades. "Hey, where's Vader?"
"Dunno," Conrad replied. "I wasn't assigned to keep track of him."
"I won!" shouted Trapper, thrusting both fists in the air. "I beat Amethyst at 'Racer Revenge!' I beat her!" He stood on the couch and began hooting with pride like a howler monkey.
"Trapper, don't stand on the furniture!" scolded Austin.
Another thud from upstairs, a scuffle, a weird hum... and a crimson shaft of light pierced the ceiling right over Trapper's head.
Everyone froze in place.
Liberty's heart pounded its way up her throat. She knew, now, where Vader had gone and why.
***
One thing that could be said in the Osmonds' defense was that, despite their quirky personalities and abysmal housekeeping skills, they would never go hungry during a crisis. While the lower story of the house was reserved for day-to-day living, the upper level was rarely accessed and so served as a stockpile for non-perishable edibles. "Pile" being the key word there -- the horde had no organization to it whatsoever. Bags, cans, boxes, and containers had simply been stacked, dumped, or scattered wherever.
Luke shook his head in wonder as he attempted to locate the snacks he had been sent to find. He'd just finished pawing through the bathtub, where he'd found Doritos, Slim Jims, peanut butter, Froot Loops, and a half-empty box of Instant Quaker Oatmeal, but no Cheetohs. Now he faced the daunting mountain of packaged food that inhabited a spare bedroom. Most likely whichever brother went grocery shopping simply picked up two of everything that wouldn't spoil and threw the extras upstairs for quick grabs later -- much later, for the expiration dates on some packages dated back to as early as 1995.
He found what he was looking for on top of the spare bed, next to a dust-coated summer sausage and two bags of Oreo cookies. Brushing off the ragged jeans and Scooby-Doo T-shirt Cody had loaned him, he turned back toward the stairs.
Vader blocked his path. Luke was wondering what sort of snack item Vader had been sent to fetch when the Dark Lord's hand moved to his lightsaber.
"This ends now, Luke," Vader snarled.
"What ends now?" Luke asked, trying to keep a calm demeanor.
"You cannot avoid it any longer, Luke. You must face your destiny. If you will not turn, you will be destroyed."
Luke glanced at Vader's belt, where his own weapon dangled. He would have time to retrieve it before Vader attacked... but first he had to try to reason with his father.
"Father, you can't do this," he said. "You had the opportunity to kill me before and couldn't. I don't believe you can kill me now."
"I'll be the judge of that," Vader hissed, igniting his lightsaber and swinging it upward in a single graceful motion. "In this, I may be doing you a kindness, Skywalker. If the Emperor cannot turn you, he will kill you. If you will not join him, you may as well die now."
Luke threw out his arm, drawing his lightsaber to him on a current of the Force. The handle smacked against his hand, and he thumbed the blade on and assumed a battle stance.
"I'll never join the dark side!"
"Then," Vader intoned, his voice hard and resonant as if coming from the depths of Hell itself, "you will meet your destiny."
The crimson blade sheared toward him. He parried the blow and tried to duck to the side, but a strike toward his midsection prevented him from making an escape. He barely blocked the slash in time.
Scarlet and emerald light strobed through the second floor of the house as sabers clashed furiously. Vader forced Luke back a step, then another, then lunged. Luke sprang to the side as the Dark Lord's blade ripped through a pile of Ruffles bags. Smoke snaked out of the heap where the plasmatic blade came in contact with plastic and chips. With a snarl Vader turned back toward Luke.
The young Jedi backed slowly toward the stairs, knowing if he could reach the first level Vader probably wouldn't press the fight. Yet he also knew he'd never make it down there before the Sith Lord caught up with him.
/I may be doing you a kindness./ What kind of justification was that for murdering his own son? Then he realized, with a terrible chill, that his father was trying, in some sick way, to show him some mercy. He had openly admitted to Luke that the dark side had made him its slave, and he was ensuring that his son would never know such bondage. By killing Luke, he was sparing him from the horrors of the dark.
"Father!" Luke cried as their sabers collided, grinding against each other. "Don't do this! There's another way!"
His weapon screamed as the energy matrix threatened to overload. Gritting his teeth, Luke pushed against Vader with the Force, thrusting them apart.
"Come with me," Luke offered hopefully, almost pleadingly. "Back to the Fleet. You can secede from the Empire and join the Alliance. The Emperor can't manipulate you there."
Vader sprang, closing the gap between them. Luke barely had time to dodge before the deadly blow could be dealt. The ruby blade punched through the floor, leaving a C-shaped rip when Vader withdrew his weapon.
"How many times must I tell you?" Vader growled. "I'm not worth saving. There's nothing left to save." He slashed again, but Luke shielded himself from the blow. "The Rebellion -- what a joke. They'll never accept me within their ranks. I'll be executed on the spot."
"They may kill Darth Vader," Luke countered, "but not Anakin Skywalker, my father."
Shafts of emerald and ruby crossed before his face. He strained to push Vader's blade away, but the Dark Lord was too strong.
"That name," Vader rumbled savagely, "no longer has any meaning for me."
"It's the name... of your true self," Luke grunted, exerting all his strength to keep the red saber from cutting him apart. "You've... only forgotten."
The saber inched dangerously closer despite Luke's efforts to stay its progress. Vader's mask filled his vision, green and red light eerily highlighting the fearsome visage; the deadly thrum of lightsabers buzzed through his ears; his nostrils burned with the smell of static and ozone, of scorched plastic and potato chips, of burned carpeting, of sweat drenching his shirt... the sweat of exertion and fear.
Muscles in Vader's arms tensed for the final, fatal thrust. Luke shut his eyes and relaxed his grip on the weapon. He would enter into the Force in peace.
/I'm sorry Ben, Yoda. I failed you both. I failed the galaxy. Leia... Leia, my sister, I love you.../
"BREAK IT UP!!!"
The screamed order was punctuated by a single crack of blaster fire, which Vader whirled to deflect. Luke gasped in relief. He'd never been so happy to hear a blaster shot before.
Liz stood at the top of the stairs, hands on her hips, a glower worthy of Uncle Owen in her eyes. Boba Fett was beside her, keeping his weapon trained on Vader. For that stunt the hunter had probably just lost all future employment offers with Vader, but he didn't look repentant in the least.
"What are you two doing up here?!" Liz shouted, marching toward them. "This isn't Cloud City -- this is Earth! And on our planet we don't appreciate people trying to chop each other to pieces over our heads! Turn those things off before someone loses a hand!"
Too stunned by her boldness to protest, Vader and Luke complied.
"And keep 'em off! No more duels in the house! Sounded like an army of AT-AT walkers up here! And you scared Trapper half to death when that blade almost hit him..."
"Trapper!" Luke cried, running down the stairs.
When he reached the bottom, several people stared at him suspiciously while others just gave questioning glances. Austin sat in a chair with Trapper on his lap, murmuring comfortingly to him. Over the sofa, the lightsaber scar was plainly visible on the ceiling, still glowing at the edges.
"Trapper, are you okay?" Luke asked.
He nodded against his father's chest.
"Startled, not hurt," Steve replied. "Vader's lightsaber came within a foot of his head. I think he's calmed down now."
"Last time he stands on the furniture," Emily quipped, trying to be funny. No one laughed.
"What happened?" asked Patrick, eyes fixed on the gash in the ceiling.
"I found the Cheetohs and was coming back down," Luke explained, glossing over the fact that he'd left the chips upstairs during the melee. "Vader met me at the top of the stairs and told me he was going to... uh... kill me to keep me from joining the dark side."
Conrad burst out laughing. "Now there's a death-defying leap in logic."
Liz stomped down the stairs, pulling Vader after her by the corner of his helmet like a schoolteacher hauling away an errant schoolboy by the ear. Everyone chuckled, even Luke and Trapper.
"First blasters, now lightsabers!" shrieked Liz. "What's next, a proton torpedo in the middle of the Nova-Con crowd?!"
"Kindly let go of me," Vader ordered, still hunched over.
She released him but never let up on her rant. "Why do you three insist on disrupting any event we participate in?! Every time we leave you unsupervised one of you's getting into a fistfight or saber duel! What are you, a bunch of overgrown twelve-year-olds?!"
"Ease up a little, Liz," Austin ordered.
"Ease up?! EASE UP?! Your son could've been killed!"
"He wasn't, and that's the important thing," Austin replied. "But we need to ensure that this doesn't happen again." He glanced meaningfully at Luke and Vader. "Would you two consent to one of us safeguarding your lightsabers?"
Vader glowered at Austin, and Luke saw him raise his right hand slightly. "You do not need to confiscate our weapons."
Austin's eyes glazed over. "We do not need to confiscate..."
"Dad, he's doing a mind trick on you!" shouted Trapper, slapping him on the cheeks. He shook his head to clear his brain.
"Please," Sparky said sternly. "Whether or not you two intend to fight again, accidents happen. I don't think you need to surrender your lightsabers, but at least use some caution. If you have issues to work out, do it in the woods where no one will see you or get hurt."
"Last thing we need is someone showing up at the emergency room with some unexplainable injury," Liberty added, moving a game piece forward on the board where she and Sparky were playing. "Checkmate."
Sparky's forehead bunched in a frown. "How'd you do that so quick?"
Vader stalked outside. Luke just shook his head before taking a plate and grabbing some lunch. Had that incident been a sign of improvement, or just proof that he was fighting a losing battle?