Chapter 2
Dr. Forenze did get angry, though not for the reason Luke was thinking. She took one glance at the comatose cyborg being lugged into the med center and flew into a spitting rage.
"Great gods of all the worlds! Don't you idiots know anything? You never move an accident victim without setting broken bones first!"
"Calm down, Dr. Forenze," Dodonna ordered as the soldiers transferred him to a medical bed. "There are no bones broken that we can see. Some damage to his cybernetic components..."
"Cybernetic components," grumbled the Fosh, taking the Sith's right arm to check for a pulse and discovering it was a prosthetic. "What am I, a friggin' mechanic? Get an astromech to take care of him."
"Doctor..." Dodonna said sternly. He was the only one in the base with any control over the doctor's temper.
"All right, all right," she snapped, and set to work hooking Vader up to various monitors. "Things I do for you, General."
Dodonna nodded at Luke. "We'd best get to Mothma, Skywalker. She'll need to hear your report."
"Can I... uh... stay just one minute?" Luke asked.
The grizzled general nodded once. "One minute. Meet me in the council room." He departed.
"Everyone out!" Dr. Forenze shrieked as Rebel soldiers crowded in for a good look. "This is a hospital, not a zoo!"
"Stang, he seemed so much bigger on the holobroadcasts," the Zabrak muttered as he and his comrades slunk out.
"Wait'll the boys down in Hangar Four hear about this," his compatriot replied eagerly.
Luke remained behind.
"That goes for you too," Forenze told him.
"I want to get a good look at him," Luke replied.
She glanced up from her work. "You rescued the man. You got a look at him already."
"Man?" Luke repeated, arcing an eyebrow. "You call him a man?"
She smirked. "Then again, we never know, do we? Could be a woman with a voice synthesizer under this armor..."
"That's not what I meant." He looked away. "He's a monster. A murderer."
She didn't reply, only set back to her work, grumbling to herself.
Now that he had an opportunity to look at the Dark Lord up close, in some decent lighting, he realized his injuries weren't quite as severe as he first thought. It was hard to tell through the armor, of course, but he had a feeling Vader wouldn't be out of action long. A sickening fear balled up in his gut. Had he brought danger upon the Alliance by dragging him into the Massassi base?
But what else could he have done? Left him to die? Imperials did that all the time once they were done attacking a target. That wasn't the way of the Alliance, however. They stopped to retrieve all the wounded after a battle, even those of the enemy. He suddenly realized that, had the Empire happened upon Vader's crash site before Luke, they quite probably would have abandoned the Dark Lord. The Emperor showed no compassion toward his troops, even those of high rank.
/Even his own right-hand man./
/Ben? Why do I still hear you?/
/There is no death, Luke. Only the Force. And don't fret over this. You did as you should. You acted like a Jedi./
/Thanks, Ben./
"Are you going to stand there all day?" demanded Forenze.
"Sorry. Just having second thoughts about rescuing him."
She shrugged. "You did what someone decent would do. Playing nurse to an Imp isn't on my list of favorite things to do either, but I'm a doctor. I'm sworn to do all in my power to aid anyone, Imp or Reb. And don't think I'm going to let any patient of mine go homicidal."
"I believe that," Luke muttered.
"I heard that! Now off with you!"
"Yes, oh mighty Dictator of the Meds."
She threw a roll of bandages at him to shoo him on his way.
***
Mothma pressed her fingers to her temples to ease an oncoming headache. Heading an organized Rebellion against the Empire was a monumental task, and of late things were getting far more complicated. An incoming supply freighter had miscalculated their hyperspace trajectory and crashed into another set of ruins nearby, destroying half their cargo and putting four men in the bacta tanks. New recruits were flooding into the base following the destruction of the Death Star, and they were hard-pressed to provide for and register everyone. Several drunken technicians had gone into the forest to celebrate and hadn't been seen in hours, though search parties had managed to find their comlinks.
And to top all the madness off, their most promising pilot had just captured the Alliance's most dangerous enemy. Never mind that Vader was badly injured and still unconscious -- she still felt as if they were housing a crazed rancor.
Skywalker, who had just completed his report, sat at the conference table before the Alliance High Command -- Mon Mothma, head of the Rebellion; Admiral Ackbar, commander of the Fleet; General Madine, commander of personnel; General Dodonna, commander of Massassi Base; and Borsk Fey'la, head of the Bothan Spynet. Luke seemed rather uncomfortable with the entire ordeal, and Mothma didn't blame him.
"Now the question remains," she said at last. "What is to be done with Lord Darth Vader?"
"I believe he should be put on trial," Ackbar suggested. "We've done that before with high-ranking prisoners. And goodness knows we have enough evidence to convict him."
Fey'la snorted. "Why not forego the trial and execute him outright? The entire galaxy knows he's guilty of a list of crimes as long as my arm. Any trial would be a simple ceremony before we pull the trigger."
"No, Fey'la," Mothma told him. "The Alliance does not sink to the Empire's level. No executions are dealt without a proper trial."
"In my opinion," Dodonna put in, "Vader's worth more to us alive."
Madine looked at him as if he were insane.
"Think about it," Dodonna pressed. "Who knows more about the dealings of the Empire than anyone else, the Emperor aside? Vader. He knows if the Empire had a backup plan in case the Death Star failed, he knows the locations of Imperial military outposts and command ships, and he knows what possible weaknesses exist in the Empire's armies and fleets. He's a wealth of valuable information if we can only get him to talk."
"IF we can get him to talk," Madine reminded him. "Which I highly doubt he will without heavy persuasion."
"Not the type of persuasion you're referring to, General," Ackbar said sternly. "We refuse to use torture or commit executions without trial."
Mothma glanced at Luke and suppressed the urge to laugh. He was half asleep.
"Also, how do you propose to keep him under control?" asked Fey'la. "If the stories regarding the Sith are true, he can use the Force to kill with a gesture, shoot lightning from his hands, activate locking mechanisms from a distance, and manipulate minds, among other things. Ordinary restraints won't contain him."
"According to Skywalker, he was badly injured in the crash of his fighter," Dodonna replied. "I'm not sure if that will affect his ability to use the Force, but it does give us an excuse to keep him sedated."
"Back in the days of the Republic," Ackbar suggested, "there used to be artifacts that could restrict a Jedi's ability to use the Force. The Jedi Council used them to subdue a Jedi who had become rebellious or suffered a psychotic episode. If we can locate one..."
"Good luck there," Madine interrupted. "The Empire destroyed all the Jedi artifacts along with the Temple and the Order."
/Do these men ever quit arguing?/ wondered Mothma as Luke's head fell to the table.
Aloud she said, "A few of those artifacts may still exist, General Madine. And we will tell our supply runners to keep an eye out for them. But for now, sedation will be used to keep him under control."
"Then Vader stays?" asked Fey'la.
"Yes, Fey'la, he stays," Mothma replied. "The information he has is that important."
"Another matter we must discuss, Skywalker," said Ackbar. "Skywalker?"
Luke was unresponsive. Apparently they'd found the most effective sedation method -- fifteen minutes in a High Command meeting.
"Skywalker!" barked Dodonna.
"Huh? Uh -- sorry."
"We lost most of our pilots during the Death Star offensive," Ackbar went on. "This shows our desperate need for a more highly trained fighter squadron, which we will be organizing shortly. We would like you to serve as Second Commander."
Luke gaped. "You mean it?"
"We do," Mothma replied with a smile at the boy's genuine excitement. It was refreshing to see someone so eager, someone not yet jaded into cynicism by the Galactic Civil War, someone still brimming with hopes and dreams.
"Thank you!" Luke grinned. "I mean... it's a pleasure... just curious, who's First Commander? Wedge?"
"Antilles declined the offer," Mothma replied. "Your First Commander will be Commander Ghede Ironmoon."
The smile vanished. "You're kidding."
"No, Skywalker, we are not," Ackbar replied firmly. "And you will show proper respect toward your superior. Am I clear?"
Luke mumbled assent. Mothma didn't blame him for his sour attitude toward Commander Ironmoon. She didn't particularly like the man herself. In fact, few soldiers had a favorable opinion of the brooding, iron-fisted Chiss. But he was an experienced pilot and had an impressive record. Luke was popular among the soldiers and talented beyond his years, but he hadn't Ghede's experience.
Besides, Ghede wouldn't serve as Starfighter Commander long. He was working his way up the ranks fast, and some predicted that he would soon replace Ackbar as commander of the Fleet. Mothma rued the day.
"This concludes our meeting," Mothma announced. "Meeting adjourned."
Two scouts, a male Mon Calamari and a female human, tried to enter the room at the same time and ended up getting stuck in the doorway. Luke stood and helped them extract themselves.
"You have something to report?" asked Dodonna.
"We found our missing technicians," the Mon Calamari replied, trying hard not to smile but failing. "They had been chased up a tree by a pack of some sort of carnivorous rodents."
"No injuries among them, but the experience sobered them up fast," the woman added.
"Thank you," Dodonna told them. "Skywalker? You're dismissed."
***
He was aware first of the pain in his head, a dull ache that gnawed at his temples and forehead. As he roused more fully, he noticed pain in other areas as well -- his ribs, his chest, and his left shoulder. His right arm felt fine, but for some reason he couldn't move the fingers on that hand. Nor was their any sensation in his legs, though he was able to move them a bit.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself looking up at a cracked stone ceiling. He rolled his head to one side to see a medical cot beside him, empty. Another sat on his other side. He was in some sort of hospital.
For a long time he simply lay there, taking in his surroundings. The blips and whirrs of medical machinery filtered through an odd, rhythmic hissing sound that dominated his hearing. It took him a few minutes to realize it was his breathing, for he was wearing some sort of mask containing a respiration unit. An IV drip had been placed in his left arm, which was bare to the elbow, the exposed skin an unnaturally light shade.
/Odd/ he thought. /I don't remember any accident or illness./
He couldn't help feeling a vague sense of wrongness, as if he wasn't supposed to be here. But he could see no reason for that. He decided it was simply the shock of being someplace unfamiliar.
At last he tried to sit up but was brought up short. Metallic bands across his chest, waist, elbows, wrists, knees, and ankles secured him firmly to the spot. Alarmed, he looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of someone. What was going on? Was he a prisoner? Of whom?
"Look who's up bright and early this morning!" someone exclaimed, voice dripping with sarcasm.
An alien strode briskly up to him. Apparently female, she wore a white medic's coat over a black shirt and dark brown pants with gold piping. Her four-fingered hands were a deep blue and somewhat resembled claws. Her neck and oddly bird-like face were snowy white, her eyes a burnt orange color, and a brilliant crest of blue and fuschia feathers extended over half a meter from the back of her head.
"About time you came back from the dead," she grumbled, checking his IV. "You've been out for almost twenty-four hours."
"What the stang hit me?" he asked.
"You did." She pulled a lightpen out of her pocket and began making notes on a datapad. "On your fighter's console. You're lucky to be alive, sir. As it was, you were in sorry shape when Skywalker hauled you out of your wrecked TIE. But seeing as you made it through the night, I expect you'll be okay."
Skywalker... again that name. Why did he have the feeling that he should know this Skywalker very well? He'd never seen the young man before his rescue... had he?
"How badly am I hurt?" he asked.
"Broken ribs, skull fracture, bruised heart and lungs, dislocated shoulder, internal bleeding resulting from a ruptured spleen, various lacerations and external bruises, and damages to assorted cybernetic components," she rattled off as if reciting a menu. "And that's just the recent injuries. Stars, who was your doctor? You should have fired him long ago, seeing as he obviously hasn't upgraded your life-support systems since the Clone Wars! You have the most antiquated systems I've ever come across!"
"Life support?"
"That's what I said." She took his left hand. "Let's re-check that pulse. I don't like the fact that it's a bit irregular. Pacemaker must be an old model too."
While she was occupied with his left arm, he examined his right. It was still covered by a black gauntlet and leather sleeve. He attempted to flex his fingers, but the hand only responded with a twitch and a strange grinding sound.
"Ma'am..."
"Dr. Forenze is the name."
"Dr. Forenze, my other arm..."
"Will be seen to by a medical droid," she replied shortly. "I don't deal with cybernetic prosthetics."
So he had a mechanical arm. That explained the lack of feeling. His legs must be false too, he decided.
"All right, I'm going to have to ask you all the usual nosy questions, since we don't have your medical records handy." She picked up the datapad. "Any heart disease in your family?"
His family? He strained to remember. Faces flickered briefly to life -- an older woman, a round-faced teenager, a stunningly beautiful lady -- but he couldn't put names to any of them. "I don't know."
"What do you mean 'I don't know?'" she demanded, glaring at him over the datapad.
"I - don't - know," he repeated firmly, getting a bit frustrated.
Her eyes went wide with nervousness, and she returned her gaze to the datapad, subdued. "Unknown then. Any history of cancer?"
"I don't know."
"Arthritis, diabetes, stroke, glaucoma, food or drug allergies?"
"I don't know."
She looked up again. "Don't be difficult, Lord Vader..."
"Lord who?"
"Lord..." Her voice trailed off as her dark orange eyes went wide. "Oh, fwup."
"What is it?"
She set the datapad down and knelt beside the bed, bringing herself to his eye level. Her expression was no longer brusquely casual, but genuinely concerned.
"What's the last thing you remember?" she asked softly.
"Pain," he replied. "A great deal of it. A young man -- he called himself Luke Skywalker -- cut me out of the pilot seat of some sort of starcraft. Then I blacked out."
She frowned. "Before that."
He closed his eyes and sought out a memory, any memory. All he encountered were fragments -- faces without names, images without explanations, a wide spectrum of emotions from passion to terror to fury. It was as if his life had been a glass painting -- and was now shattered.
/Nothing. There is nothing. I can't even recall my own name! My past is gone. I am no one./ A crushing depression settled in at that moment. How could he go on with no purpose, no identity, nothing to build upon?
"Before that, there is nothing," he told her gloomily.
She nodded, face grim. "I was afraid of that. I'll add it to your record -- trauma-induced total amnesia."
He stared at the ceiling. "What is to become of me?"
She sighed as she jotted something down. "That's not for me to decide. That's up to the Alliance High Command."
"Alliance?"
"You're in the Massassi Base of the Rebel Alliance, an organization that is seeking to overthrow the corrupt Galactic Empire. That ring any bells?"
"No."
"Oh well." She tucked the pad under her arm. "I have to report this to High Command. Is there anything I can do for you before I leave you?"
"My head is killing me."
"I'll give you a painkiller and a sedative before I go. You can sleep the shock of this off. If you need me, tell the droids. They'll know where to find me."
"Thank you, Dr. Forenze. I'm grateful to you."
She gave an unexpected smile. "And here they were telling me horror stories about you. But I'll be blasted if you aren't the politest gentleman I've ever met, Vader."
"Vader?"
"Yes. That's your name. Darth Vader."
"Darth Vader," he repeated. That name seemed so harsh in his mouth. But for now, it was the only piece of his past he had.
He didn't resist the injections she administered, nor did he resist the relief of sleep that came over him.
Dr. Forenze did get angry, though not for the reason Luke was thinking. She took one glance at the comatose cyborg being lugged into the med center and flew into a spitting rage.
"Great gods of all the worlds! Don't you idiots know anything? You never move an accident victim without setting broken bones first!"
"Calm down, Dr. Forenze," Dodonna ordered as the soldiers transferred him to a medical bed. "There are no bones broken that we can see. Some damage to his cybernetic components..."
"Cybernetic components," grumbled the Fosh, taking the Sith's right arm to check for a pulse and discovering it was a prosthetic. "What am I, a friggin' mechanic? Get an astromech to take care of him."
"Doctor..." Dodonna said sternly. He was the only one in the base with any control over the doctor's temper.
"All right, all right," she snapped, and set to work hooking Vader up to various monitors. "Things I do for you, General."
Dodonna nodded at Luke. "We'd best get to Mothma, Skywalker. She'll need to hear your report."
"Can I... uh... stay just one minute?" Luke asked.
The grizzled general nodded once. "One minute. Meet me in the council room." He departed.
"Everyone out!" Dr. Forenze shrieked as Rebel soldiers crowded in for a good look. "This is a hospital, not a zoo!"
"Stang, he seemed so much bigger on the holobroadcasts," the Zabrak muttered as he and his comrades slunk out.
"Wait'll the boys down in Hangar Four hear about this," his compatriot replied eagerly.
Luke remained behind.
"That goes for you too," Forenze told him.
"I want to get a good look at him," Luke replied.
She glanced up from her work. "You rescued the man. You got a look at him already."
"Man?" Luke repeated, arcing an eyebrow. "You call him a man?"
She smirked. "Then again, we never know, do we? Could be a woman with a voice synthesizer under this armor..."
"That's not what I meant." He looked away. "He's a monster. A murderer."
She didn't reply, only set back to her work, grumbling to herself.
Now that he had an opportunity to look at the Dark Lord up close, in some decent lighting, he realized his injuries weren't quite as severe as he first thought. It was hard to tell through the armor, of course, but he had a feeling Vader wouldn't be out of action long. A sickening fear balled up in his gut. Had he brought danger upon the Alliance by dragging him into the Massassi base?
But what else could he have done? Left him to die? Imperials did that all the time once they were done attacking a target. That wasn't the way of the Alliance, however. They stopped to retrieve all the wounded after a battle, even those of the enemy. He suddenly realized that, had the Empire happened upon Vader's crash site before Luke, they quite probably would have abandoned the Dark Lord. The Emperor showed no compassion toward his troops, even those of high rank.
/Even his own right-hand man./
/Ben? Why do I still hear you?/
/There is no death, Luke. Only the Force. And don't fret over this. You did as you should. You acted like a Jedi./
/Thanks, Ben./
"Are you going to stand there all day?" demanded Forenze.
"Sorry. Just having second thoughts about rescuing him."
She shrugged. "You did what someone decent would do. Playing nurse to an Imp isn't on my list of favorite things to do either, but I'm a doctor. I'm sworn to do all in my power to aid anyone, Imp or Reb. And don't think I'm going to let any patient of mine go homicidal."
"I believe that," Luke muttered.
"I heard that! Now off with you!"
"Yes, oh mighty Dictator of the Meds."
She threw a roll of bandages at him to shoo him on his way.
***
Mothma pressed her fingers to her temples to ease an oncoming headache. Heading an organized Rebellion against the Empire was a monumental task, and of late things were getting far more complicated. An incoming supply freighter had miscalculated their hyperspace trajectory and crashed into another set of ruins nearby, destroying half their cargo and putting four men in the bacta tanks. New recruits were flooding into the base following the destruction of the Death Star, and they were hard-pressed to provide for and register everyone. Several drunken technicians had gone into the forest to celebrate and hadn't been seen in hours, though search parties had managed to find their comlinks.
And to top all the madness off, their most promising pilot had just captured the Alliance's most dangerous enemy. Never mind that Vader was badly injured and still unconscious -- she still felt as if they were housing a crazed rancor.
Skywalker, who had just completed his report, sat at the conference table before the Alliance High Command -- Mon Mothma, head of the Rebellion; Admiral Ackbar, commander of the Fleet; General Madine, commander of personnel; General Dodonna, commander of Massassi Base; and Borsk Fey'la, head of the Bothan Spynet. Luke seemed rather uncomfortable with the entire ordeal, and Mothma didn't blame him.
"Now the question remains," she said at last. "What is to be done with Lord Darth Vader?"
"I believe he should be put on trial," Ackbar suggested. "We've done that before with high-ranking prisoners. And goodness knows we have enough evidence to convict him."
Fey'la snorted. "Why not forego the trial and execute him outright? The entire galaxy knows he's guilty of a list of crimes as long as my arm. Any trial would be a simple ceremony before we pull the trigger."
"No, Fey'la," Mothma told him. "The Alliance does not sink to the Empire's level. No executions are dealt without a proper trial."
"In my opinion," Dodonna put in, "Vader's worth more to us alive."
Madine looked at him as if he were insane.
"Think about it," Dodonna pressed. "Who knows more about the dealings of the Empire than anyone else, the Emperor aside? Vader. He knows if the Empire had a backup plan in case the Death Star failed, he knows the locations of Imperial military outposts and command ships, and he knows what possible weaknesses exist in the Empire's armies and fleets. He's a wealth of valuable information if we can only get him to talk."
"IF we can get him to talk," Madine reminded him. "Which I highly doubt he will without heavy persuasion."
"Not the type of persuasion you're referring to, General," Ackbar said sternly. "We refuse to use torture or commit executions without trial."
Mothma glanced at Luke and suppressed the urge to laugh. He was half asleep.
"Also, how do you propose to keep him under control?" asked Fey'la. "If the stories regarding the Sith are true, he can use the Force to kill with a gesture, shoot lightning from his hands, activate locking mechanisms from a distance, and manipulate minds, among other things. Ordinary restraints won't contain him."
"According to Skywalker, he was badly injured in the crash of his fighter," Dodonna replied. "I'm not sure if that will affect his ability to use the Force, but it does give us an excuse to keep him sedated."
"Back in the days of the Republic," Ackbar suggested, "there used to be artifacts that could restrict a Jedi's ability to use the Force. The Jedi Council used them to subdue a Jedi who had become rebellious or suffered a psychotic episode. If we can locate one..."
"Good luck there," Madine interrupted. "The Empire destroyed all the Jedi artifacts along with the Temple and the Order."
/Do these men ever quit arguing?/ wondered Mothma as Luke's head fell to the table.
Aloud she said, "A few of those artifacts may still exist, General Madine. And we will tell our supply runners to keep an eye out for them. But for now, sedation will be used to keep him under control."
"Then Vader stays?" asked Fey'la.
"Yes, Fey'la, he stays," Mothma replied. "The information he has is that important."
"Another matter we must discuss, Skywalker," said Ackbar. "Skywalker?"
Luke was unresponsive. Apparently they'd found the most effective sedation method -- fifteen minutes in a High Command meeting.
"Skywalker!" barked Dodonna.
"Huh? Uh -- sorry."
"We lost most of our pilots during the Death Star offensive," Ackbar went on. "This shows our desperate need for a more highly trained fighter squadron, which we will be organizing shortly. We would like you to serve as Second Commander."
Luke gaped. "You mean it?"
"We do," Mothma replied with a smile at the boy's genuine excitement. It was refreshing to see someone so eager, someone not yet jaded into cynicism by the Galactic Civil War, someone still brimming with hopes and dreams.
"Thank you!" Luke grinned. "I mean... it's a pleasure... just curious, who's First Commander? Wedge?"
"Antilles declined the offer," Mothma replied. "Your First Commander will be Commander Ghede Ironmoon."
The smile vanished. "You're kidding."
"No, Skywalker, we are not," Ackbar replied firmly. "And you will show proper respect toward your superior. Am I clear?"
Luke mumbled assent. Mothma didn't blame him for his sour attitude toward Commander Ironmoon. She didn't particularly like the man herself. In fact, few soldiers had a favorable opinion of the brooding, iron-fisted Chiss. But he was an experienced pilot and had an impressive record. Luke was popular among the soldiers and talented beyond his years, but he hadn't Ghede's experience.
Besides, Ghede wouldn't serve as Starfighter Commander long. He was working his way up the ranks fast, and some predicted that he would soon replace Ackbar as commander of the Fleet. Mothma rued the day.
"This concludes our meeting," Mothma announced. "Meeting adjourned."
Two scouts, a male Mon Calamari and a female human, tried to enter the room at the same time and ended up getting stuck in the doorway. Luke stood and helped them extract themselves.
"You have something to report?" asked Dodonna.
"We found our missing technicians," the Mon Calamari replied, trying hard not to smile but failing. "They had been chased up a tree by a pack of some sort of carnivorous rodents."
"No injuries among them, but the experience sobered them up fast," the woman added.
"Thank you," Dodonna told them. "Skywalker? You're dismissed."
***
He was aware first of the pain in his head, a dull ache that gnawed at his temples and forehead. As he roused more fully, he noticed pain in other areas as well -- his ribs, his chest, and his left shoulder. His right arm felt fine, but for some reason he couldn't move the fingers on that hand. Nor was their any sensation in his legs, though he was able to move them a bit.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself looking up at a cracked stone ceiling. He rolled his head to one side to see a medical cot beside him, empty. Another sat on his other side. He was in some sort of hospital.
For a long time he simply lay there, taking in his surroundings. The blips and whirrs of medical machinery filtered through an odd, rhythmic hissing sound that dominated his hearing. It took him a few minutes to realize it was his breathing, for he was wearing some sort of mask containing a respiration unit. An IV drip had been placed in his left arm, which was bare to the elbow, the exposed skin an unnaturally light shade.
/Odd/ he thought. /I don't remember any accident or illness./
He couldn't help feeling a vague sense of wrongness, as if he wasn't supposed to be here. But he could see no reason for that. He decided it was simply the shock of being someplace unfamiliar.
At last he tried to sit up but was brought up short. Metallic bands across his chest, waist, elbows, wrists, knees, and ankles secured him firmly to the spot. Alarmed, he looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of someone. What was going on? Was he a prisoner? Of whom?
"Look who's up bright and early this morning!" someone exclaimed, voice dripping with sarcasm.
An alien strode briskly up to him. Apparently female, she wore a white medic's coat over a black shirt and dark brown pants with gold piping. Her four-fingered hands were a deep blue and somewhat resembled claws. Her neck and oddly bird-like face were snowy white, her eyes a burnt orange color, and a brilliant crest of blue and fuschia feathers extended over half a meter from the back of her head.
"About time you came back from the dead," she grumbled, checking his IV. "You've been out for almost twenty-four hours."
"What the stang hit me?" he asked.
"You did." She pulled a lightpen out of her pocket and began making notes on a datapad. "On your fighter's console. You're lucky to be alive, sir. As it was, you were in sorry shape when Skywalker hauled you out of your wrecked TIE. But seeing as you made it through the night, I expect you'll be okay."
Skywalker... again that name. Why did he have the feeling that he should know this Skywalker very well? He'd never seen the young man before his rescue... had he?
"How badly am I hurt?" he asked.
"Broken ribs, skull fracture, bruised heart and lungs, dislocated shoulder, internal bleeding resulting from a ruptured spleen, various lacerations and external bruises, and damages to assorted cybernetic components," she rattled off as if reciting a menu. "And that's just the recent injuries. Stars, who was your doctor? You should have fired him long ago, seeing as he obviously hasn't upgraded your life-support systems since the Clone Wars! You have the most antiquated systems I've ever come across!"
"Life support?"
"That's what I said." She took his left hand. "Let's re-check that pulse. I don't like the fact that it's a bit irregular. Pacemaker must be an old model too."
While she was occupied with his left arm, he examined his right. It was still covered by a black gauntlet and leather sleeve. He attempted to flex his fingers, but the hand only responded with a twitch and a strange grinding sound.
"Ma'am..."
"Dr. Forenze is the name."
"Dr. Forenze, my other arm..."
"Will be seen to by a medical droid," she replied shortly. "I don't deal with cybernetic prosthetics."
So he had a mechanical arm. That explained the lack of feeling. His legs must be false too, he decided.
"All right, I'm going to have to ask you all the usual nosy questions, since we don't have your medical records handy." She picked up the datapad. "Any heart disease in your family?"
His family? He strained to remember. Faces flickered briefly to life -- an older woman, a round-faced teenager, a stunningly beautiful lady -- but he couldn't put names to any of them. "I don't know."
"What do you mean 'I don't know?'" she demanded, glaring at him over the datapad.
"I - don't - know," he repeated firmly, getting a bit frustrated.
Her eyes went wide with nervousness, and she returned her gaze to the datapad, subdued. "Unknown then. Any history of cancer?"
"I don't know."
"Arthritis, diabetes, stroke, glaucoma, food or drug allergies?"
"I don't know."
She looked up again. "Don't be difficult, Lord Vader..."
"Lord who?"
"Lord..." Her voice trailed off as her dark orange eyes went wide. "Oh, fwup."
"What is it?"
She set the datapad down and knelt beside the bed, bringing herself to his eye level. Her expression was no longer brusquely casual, but genuinely concerned.
"What's the last thing you remember?" she asked softly.
"Pain," he replied. "A great deal of it. A young man -- he called himself Luke Skywalker -- cut me out of the pilot seat of some sort of starcraft. Then I blacked out."
She frowned. "Before that."
He closed his eyes and sought out a memory, any memory. All he encountered were fragments -- faces without names, images without explanations, a wide spectrum of emotions from passion to terror to fury. It was as if his life had been a glass painting -- and was now shattered.
/Nothing. There is nothing. I can't even recall my own name! My past is gone. I am no one./ A crushing depression settled in at that moment. How could he go on with no purpose, no identity, nothing to build upon?
"Before that, there is nothing," he told her gloomily.
She nodded, face grim. "I was afraid of that. I'll add it to your record -- trauma-induced total amnesia."
He stared at the ceiling. "What is to become of me?"
She sighed as she jotted something down. "That's not for me to decide. That's up to the Alliance High Command."
"Alliance?"
"You're in the Massassi Base of the Rebel Alliance, an organization that is seeking to overthrow the corrupt Galactic Empire. That ring any bells?"
"No."
"Oh well." She tucked the pad under her arm. "I have to report this to High Command. Is there anything I can do for you before I leave you?"
"My head is killing me."
"I'll give you a painkiller and a sedative before I go. You can sleep the shock of this off. If you need me, tell the droids. They'll know where to find me."
"Thank you, Dr. Forenze. I'm grateful to you."
She gave an unexpected smile. "And here they were telling me horror stories about you. But I'll be blasted if you aren't the politest gentleman I've ever met, Vader."
"Vader?"
"Yes. That's your name. Darth Vader."
"Darth Vader," he repeated. That name seemed so harsh in his mouth. But for now, it was the only piece of his past he had.
He didn't resist the injections she administered, nor did he resist the relief of sleep that came over him.