Chapter 3
Darth Kain watched the young man work, silent but thoughtful. He was out of the custodian's line of sight; to tell the truth, he doubted the janitor would have seen him if he'd been standing right in front of him. He was oblivious to the universe in general, singing a lively Modal Nodes tune and whirling the ultrasound cleaner around as if it were a microphone. One of the Executor's civilian drones, among the many who tended to mundane but necessary chores aboard the ship such as laundry, housekeeping, machinery repairs, meal preparation, and general maintenance.
This particular drone had a lousy track record, habitually shirking his tasks and mouthing off to his superiors. And lately he'd been growing more impudent, eavesdropping on important conversations and interjecting with snide comments of his own, typically until he got thrown out. If Kain were to dismiss or even kill the janitor, his absence would hardly affect the conditions of the Executor.
But he had other plans for him.
He stepped forward. The young man didn't see him right away, still engrossed in his song. Kain now caught a glimpse of the gaudy armbands and rock-band-logo shirt that identified him as a teenage punk. All the better – punks came a credit a dozen, and they went missing often. No one would question this one's disappearance.
The custodian still hadn't seen him. Perhaps a little flattery would get his attention.
"Doing a good job there, sir."
The effect was astonishing. The janitor stopped singing in mid-measure, straightened his back, and snapped a salute. "Yes sir!"
From that action, Kain was able to make an impression of what this man was truly like. He didn't particularly like what he saw – a lazy delinquent with aspirations for greatness, but lacking either talent or drive to accomplish them. The janitor had taken a simple job aboard this ship in hopes of bootlicking his way toward a promotion to the rank of officer without going through the trouble of actually enlisting and enduring boot camp and combat training. Kain had little patience or use for these types. But this one…
"Your name."
"Ridge Devarra, sir!" he barked.
"At ease, Devarra," he ordered, allowing the slightest trickle of amusement to enter his voice. With a flick of the Force, he sent the ultrasound cleaner flying into a wall, shattering it. "It's clear this job is… unsuited to your talents, Devarra. This calls for a transfer."
The custodian grinned despite himself. He had obviously been hoping for a break like this.
"Go to the medical bay and await my arrival," he ordered. "I have a special assignment for you that will greatly aid our next mission."
"Yes sir!" Devarra nearly tripped over the broken cleaner running for the medbay.
Kain allowed himself a sly smile. He'd had a look at Devarra's medical files before actually tracking the punk down. And his required blood sample revealed both an unusually high midichlorian count and a blood type that matched Kain's exactly. Devarra was about to serve the Empire in a capacity he could never have dreamed of.
He stalked toward the bridge. While the medical droids had their way with Devarra, he would see if the probe droids had dug up anything of worth.
Captain Piett would never have believed it possible, but he missed Darth Vader.
He hated Darth Kain. Not for the same reason Admiral Ozzel did – his past as a bounty hunter – but because of his unpredictable nature. With Vader, you always knew where you stood. You knew that he expected no less than perfection and that you accepted death as the punishment if you erred, though on occasion he would merely give an exceptionally painful warning if he deemed the mistake trivial enough. Kain, however, could go from almost amiable to violent in a matter of minutes. The Admiral who had served before Ozzel, for example, had maintained his post for three months solid despite several major tactical blunders, his mistakes ignored by Kain each time. Then, without warning, he had been brutally executed for insubordination – reportedly for merely rolling his eyes at a questionable order.
Idly Piett wondered what had happened to Lord Vader. The official explanation was that he'd died in combat at the Battle of Yavin. But rumors to the contrary abounded, ranging from the likely (that he'd deserted and was now planning a coup) to the completely outlandish (he had renounced the war entirely and now played redball organ for a seedy dive on Tatooine). Piett personally, favored the story the stormtroopers were circulating among themselves – that Vader had switched sides and was now working for the Rebel Alliance.
At any rate, Vader was beyond the Empire's reach, and they had the volatile Kain to deal with.
The atmosphere on the bridge seemed to grow twice as heavy as the Sith Lord entered, his steps quick and his gaze demanding, almost hungry, as he scanned the area. Piett tried to hide his nervousness by occupying himself with a computer screen.
And noticed a recently received transmission.
"Admiral, I think you should see this."
Admiral Ozzel, who was berating a technician nearby, hardly glanced at the screen. "What now, Captain?"
Piett suppressed the urge to sigh. If Kain was the man Piett hated most, Ozzel wasn't much farther down the list. Arrogant and overconfident, he had made it perfectly clear that he thought himself superior to all aboard this ship – even Darth Kain himself.
"We've a report from a probe droid in the Hoth System, sir."
Ozzel gave him a look that hovered somewhere between incredulous and scornful, then bent over the image the probe droid had sent – the image of a shield generator, half-buried in snow and ice, with some sort of gun turret nearby.
"Rubbish," Ozzel dismissed immediately. "There are so many uncharted settlements out there that it would be a waste of time to investigate them all. It's either smugglers or prospectors."
"There have been no reports of smuggling in this sector before," Piett countered, not in the mood to be blown off today. "And there are no valuable minerals in any quantity to interest prospectors. And finally, why would smugglers or prospectors have a weapon that large parked next to their camp? Admit it, this is the best lead we've had…"
"We have thousands of probe droids searching every backwater pothole in this galaxy!" Ozzel snapped. "I want proof, not leads! I don't intend to go endlessly chasing around…"
The end of that retort snagged in his throat. His eyes widened, then rolled back in his head. His legs folded beneath him as he collapsed at Darth Kain's feet.
"You found something, Admiral Piett?" the Sith asked casually but with emphasis on Piett's new title, completely ignoring the corpse.
It took all of Piett's strength to keep his terror locked down. "Yes, my lord," he said quickly, stepping back to let him look at the screen.
Like Ozzel, Kain only took the briefest of glances at the screen. Unlike the dead Admiral, he seemed to have gathered a wealth of information from that one look.
"That's it," he announced. "Set our course for the Hoth System, full speed."
Piett had learned over the years to never, ever question a Sith Lord, no matter how ludicrous his order or claim. "Yes, my lord."
Kain turned to the officer who had just stepped onto the bridge. "General Veers, prepare your men!"
Personnel began dragging Ozzel's body away. One of them muttered just loud enough for Piett to hear "Two weeks – that's gotta be a new record for shortest time served. Good luck, Piett."
Piett couldn't reply – his fear seemed to have glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He couldn't help but feel that he'd just stepped up to the butcher's block, the next nerf to be slaughtered at its capricious master's whim.
He was really beginning to miss Lord Vader now. At least under Vader you knew in advance before you actually met your doom.
When Wedge entered the hangar with a ration tray, he found Leia sitting on a supply crate, head buried in her hands.
"Hey Princess," he offered. "I brought some dinner in case you were hungry."
She shook her head, lips tight.
Awkward silence reigned for a few minutes. At last Wedge ventured, "Any idea where Forenze went?"
"Medbay," Leia replied. "Last I heard, she was screaming at the droids. She's on the verge of hysteria."
Wedge sat down next to her. "I feel a little hysterical myself. Luke's been so lucky up until now, I always thought of him as… I dunno… invincible."
She stared at the Falcon, eyes misting. "There's not much hope of him pulling through this one."
"Hey, the kid might surprise you," Wedge replied. "I've met men from Tatooine, and they're a tough breed there." He thought a moment, then added "It's tough to kill off a Corellian too."
A weary but welcome smile appeared. "Is it that obvious?"
"Hey, us Rogues enjoy your spats. And the girls seem to see right through them, being the romance experts they are. They've been saying it's only a matter of time before something serious blooms."
Leia stared at the shield doors, as if trying to see through the heavy steel and the blinding snows outside to seek out her friends.
"Princess," he said gently, laying a hand on her arm, "I promise the Rogues will find them. I can't believe a simple snowstorm could take them out."
She only nodded.
Wedge bid her a quiet goodbye, then took the food tray aboard the Falcon. Judging from the knocking and banging echoing through the ship, someone was attempting some repairs. It wasn't the Wookie, though – when he peeked into Chewbacca's cabin, he saw the Falcon's first mate was fast asleep. For a moment he wondered how he could stand to take a nap when his friend was in peril, but a bottle of some foul-smelling tranquilizing medication near his bunk told the whole story. He figured Forenze was foisting the stuff on everyone close to Han or Luke to keep them from wearing themselves out with worry.
He turned a corner and found Vader yanking savagely at a power coupling, grunting with the exertion.
"Hey, pick on a sublight engine your own size," he advised, trying to lighten the mood.
Vader gave a final jerk and wrenched the coupling free. "Depolarized," he said shortly by way of explanation.
"I see. Uh… don't know if you eat through that mask… but I brought you something…"
Vader shook his head.
"Ah. Okay, I'm sure Hobbie'll polish it off." He turned to go. "Vader?"
"Hmm?" grunted Vader.
"I know you're worried sick over Han and Luke. We all are. But we can't do anything about it until morning. So I suggest you get some rest so you can join the search parties tomorrow, okay?"
No reply. Wedge gave a sigh and trudged out. If he didn't want to be comforted, that was his problem.
Behind him, Vader threw the old coupling into the discard bin. Retreating to either the Millennium Falcon or the Desert Angel had become his chief means of coping with stress. Life always seemed so much easier when he was fixing things. But tonight even that wasn't helping. If anything, being aboard Han's ship only made him miss the pirate's company even more.
Closing his eyes, he thrust any thought of Han or Luke out of his mind. They couldn't be dead. Somehow, deep down in his bones, he felt their presences, which was some comfort. They had taken shelter, or were on their way back to the base. They would survive.
But a deeper fear gnawed at him – the fear of that horrible power that he had somehow awakened back at the wampa's cave. Why had it arisen so suddenly, without warning? Nothing of the sort had ever happened to him before, had it…
…"It's all Obi-wan's fault!" he screamed, hurling the spanner across the rundown garage. "He's jealous! He's holding me back!" His voice broke on that final word.
"Anakin, you're not all-powerful," the young woman chided, setting her tray down.
"Well, I should be!" he blurted, his throat so tight it was a wonder it didn't snap under the strain. "Someday, I will be the most powerful Jedi ever! I will even learn to keep people from dying!"
"Anakin, what's wrong?" she pleaded.
He didn't reply – how could he? Just thinking about it made his guts turn over. Letting it go, allowing that filth to spew forth, that horrible story to emerge… she'd think him a monster! And that alone was a far worse punishment than any the Order could levy upon him.
But if contained any longer, the nightmarish events from last night would poison him fatally. He had to release his anger, his pain, his agony… even if it meant losing her.
"I… killed them."
She stared at him, not comprehending.
"They're dead," he grated, striving for her to understand. "All of them. Every single one of them!"
Her expression became one of horror. But he was beyond stopping himself now. His rage built with every sentence.
"And not just the men!" A vein throbbed painfully in his temple. "But the women! And the children!"
Scalding tears clouded his vision. He no longer saw her face, no longer cared. His hatred clawed in his chest like some wild animal, raging to be set free.
"They're like animals! And I slaughtered them like animals!" His voice had reached a fevered pitch, as ragged and hard as broken stone. "I hate them!" he bit out, the words hot and fierce on his tongue…
This time he didn't scream – he choked. Bitter bile churned up the back of his throat and drove him, gagging and retching, to his knees. His head spun, water streamed from his eyes… the anger was returning, searing, burning… no! A hideous and powerful lust was straining against its bonds, crying for release… no, no, no!
He staggered blindly from the Falcon and ran, not caring who he startled or bumped into, getting himself thoroughly lost in the tunnels of the base. He ran as if to escape some invisible, deadly enemy, as real as any predator…
A futile run, for how could he outrun himself?
A yelp of pain mercifully pierced his terror.
"Ouch! Watch where you're going, you great bantha!"
He grunted a half-hearted apology and tried to get around Forenze, but she grabbed his arm to stay him.
"What the hell are you running from? We aren't under attack are we?" She peered behind him. "Thought not. Sit down, chill a moment, not literally… ach, you've reopened your wampa cuts. Lucky I always carry some supplies with me… won't you sit down!"
Still too stunned to resist, he allowed her to shove him down on a ledge and wrench his sleeve up. Fresh blood had soaked through the bacta wraps, and these she stripped off with a practiced ease.
While she tended to his wounds he looked around. His flight had taken him to a cavern he'd never seen before, one as yet untouched by the base. Its walls were a shimmering pale blue, the floor a darker azure like sapphire, with lights winking and shining in its depths like stars. Trace amounts of heat had sculpted columns and waves of ice more magnificent than any manmade carving, and the mirror-smooth floor duplicated the chamber's wonders. For a moment Vader lost himself, and his turmoil, in marveling at the natural beauty here.
"Lovely, isn't it?" Forenze asked, giving the fresh bandage a final adjustment. "General Riekkan calls it the Sky Cave. He says no one's to use it for anything except a viewing room."
"It would be a shame to see it damaged," Vader replied softly.
"Now suppose you tell me what's wrong?" she asked, sitting down beside him.
"Nothing," he replied bluntly.
"Liar," she shot back. "Then why were you tearing down that hall like you had half the Imperial army on your tail? That wampa come back to finish you?"
That remark only reminded him of his encounter in the cave – and the mental wounds it had torn. Reluctantly at first, he began to relate what had happened and the horrific memories it had triggered. As he talked the words seemed to flow more easily, until at last he had opened up to her entirely, even revealing the second surge of memory aboard the Falcon.
When he'd finished speaking he watched her for the expected reaction of horror and disgust. To his surprise, and Forenze's credit, he saw only profound sympathy.
"I'm sorry, Vader, that you had to go through that."
"How can you be sorry?" He buried his mask in his hands. "I almost killed that wampa with the dark side. I've worked so hard to have the Alliance accept me! If I ever fall back to my old ways…" He couldn't finish.
Forenze finished for him. "You'd scratch all trust the Alliance placed in you."
He nodded grimly.
"Sounds like what just happened really shook you. Sorry, but I majored in medicine, not psychiatrics. Not much I can do but prescribe a sedative."
"I'm scared, Forenze. What if the next person I hurt when I lose my temper is Luke or Han? How could I live with myself after that?"
She didn't have an answer for that.
For an age they sat there, lost in their thoughts and the wonder of the Sky Cave, silent save Vader's metallic breathing.
"I like to come here," Forenze said at last. "When I'm feeling down. It calms me."
"It's a refuge of peace," Vader admitted. "I wish I'd known it existed earlier."
"Should've asked Mela, she found it." Forenze sighed. "Lucky fate drew you here tonight. Maybe getting that load off your chest will help you a bit. Its easier to carry a memory if it's shared."
"Thank you, Forenze, for sharing my burden."
"No problem. Anything for a friend." She sighed. "You know, I met my husband in an ice cavern like this one."
"Oh?"
"Glacier Galactic Park on Chandrila. He was studying abroad to be a gemologist. I was working on my internship. He was there to collect mineral samples, I on a dare. When I first saw him, I knew." She smiled. "We had three happy years together, before…" An uncharacteristically morose expression dulled her orange eyes.
Vader nodded, not asking. He knew already – Forenze's family had joined the alien resistance against the New Order, seeking rights for non-humans. And the Empire had responded by sending stormtroopers to crush them. Her parents and husband had died, and she had barely escaped with her life – and an eternal hatred toward the Empire.
"Whoever led that attack on your family, Forenze, I hope he gets his just reward someday," he vowed.
"Don't say that," she snapped.
"Why not…" he began, then froze. "Forenze…"
She shook her head furiously, tears in her eyes. "Don't you dare say you're sorry," she ordered huskily. "A Sith killed my parents. Not a Rogue pilot. There's a difference."
There was so much he wanted to say, so much he SHOULD say. But the words wouldn't come. How could he apologize for depriving her of the ones she loved? And stars, she'd had the opportunity to kill him many times! A slip of her scalpel or a slight overdose of anesthesia during the upgrade operations, or even when he had first entered the base, injured and helpless…
"Why?" In that word he managed to say everything.
"When you came into the med center three years ago, so badly wounded and weak, I thought the Force had given me the perfect opportunity to exact revenge for my family. No one would have to know, and no one would care. But my medical professionalism won out. I couldn't let any patient in my care, even you, die when it was in my power to save them." She fixed him with a steady gaze. "If I had given in to my hate, I would have lost a dear friend without even realizing it."
He opened his mouth, not sure whether to comfort her, thank her, or apologize. But he realized that all three were futile. She wasn't the type to allow anyone to comfort her, she blew off any attempt at thanks, and she had already forgiven his actions.
"I'm honored to call you friend," he said at last.
She smiled faintly. "And I'm honored to call you friend, Vader."
There was a long silence that spoke volumes. Then Vader took the medical officer into his arms in a gentle embrace.
"They're here!"
Dack, the newest member of Rogue Squadron, came running into the hangar, a huge grin on his boyish face. The pilots glanced up, startled, from their work at getting the speeders flight-ready.
"Who's here?" asked Dekham.
"Han and Luke! Just came in! They're alive!"
Vader was the first to act. He leaped down from the canopy of his speeder and bolted for the shield doors. Wedge was close behind.
Soldiers were already clustered around the open doors, guiding a frost-crusted body on a repulsor-stretcher toward the waiting med center. Vader's heart lurched when he saw the unhealthy blue pallor and wicked claw marks on Luke's face, but relaxed once he was sure the injuries weren't serious.
Han was trying to wrestle his way past a hysterically happy Chewie and answer Leia's questions at the same time.
"…found him lying in a snow drift – get off, hairball! – all clawed up and mumbling nonsense. Managed to get a shelter pulled up, and we waited out the worst of the storm before I dragged him back. Too bad the cold finished my tauntaun, or we'd've been back here a lot sooner."
Vader began to go to Han, but a viselike grip on his wrist stopped him.
"Vader…" It was Luke's voice, weak but urgent.
"What is it?" he asked, bending down to listen.
"Obi-wan… says… we need to go… to Dagobah… meet Yoda…"
That was all he managed to say before he was whisked away to the med center.
Vader stood a moment, dumbfounded. Yoda! Another familiar name. But where the stang was Dagobah? And what was Obi-wan doing in the middle of all this mess?
Darth Kain watched the young man work, silent but thoughtful. He was out of the custodian's line of sight; to tell the truth, he doubted the janitor would have seen him if he'd been standing right in front of him. He was oblivious to the universe in general, singing a lively Modal Nodes tune and whirling the ultrasound cleaner around as if it were a microphone. One of the Executor's civilian drones, among the many who tended to mundane but necessary chores aboard the ship such as laundry, housekeeping, machinery repairs, meal preparation, and general maintenance.
This particular drone had a lousy track record, habitually shirking his tasks and mouthing off to his superiors. And lately he'd been growing more impudent, eavesdropping on important conversations and interjecting with snide comments of his own, typically until he got thrown out. If Kain were to dismiss or even kill the janitor, his absence would hardly affect the conditions of the Executor.
But he had other plans for him.
He stepped forward. The young man didn't see him right away, still engrossed in his song. Kain now caught a glimpse of the gaudy armbands and rock-band-logo shirt that identified him as a teenage punk. All the better – punks came a credit a dozen, and they went missing often. No one would question this one's disappearance.
The custodian still hadn't seen him. Perhaps a little flattery would get his attention.
"Doing a good job there, sir."
The effect was astonishing. The janitor stopped singing in mid-measure, straightened his back, and snapped a salute. "Yes sir!"
From that action, Kain was able to make an impression of what this man was truly like. He didn't particularly like what he saw – a lazy delinquent with aspirations for greatness, but lacking either talent or drive to accomplish them. The janitor had taken a simple job aboard this ship in hopes of bootlicking his way toward a promotion to the rank of officer without going through the trouble of actually enlisting and enduring boot camp and combat training. Kain had little patience or use for these types. But this one…
"Your name."
"Ridge Devarra, sir!" he barked.
"At ease, Devarra," he ordered, allowing the slightest trickle of amusement to enter his voice. With a flick of the Force, he sent the ultrasound cleaner flying into a wall, shattering it. "It's clear this job is… unsuited to your talents, Devarra. This calls for a transfer."
The custodian grinned despite himself. He had obviously been hoping for a break like this.
"Go to the medical bay and await my arrival," he ordered. "I have a special assignment for you that will greatly aid our next mission."
"Yes sir!" Devarra nearly tripped over the broken cleaner running for the medbay.
Kain allowed himself a sly smile. He'd had a look at Devarra's medical files before actually tracking the punk down. And his required blood sample revealed both an unusually high midichlorian count and a blood type that matched Kain's exactly. Devarra was about to serve the Empire in a capacity he could never have dreamed of.
He stalked toward the bridge. While the medical droids had their way with Devarra, he would see if the probe droids had dug up anything of worth.
Captain Piett would never have believed it possible, but he missed Darth Vader.
He hated Darth Kain. Not for the same reason Admiral Ozzel did – his past as a bounty hunter – but because of his unpredictable nature. With Vader, you always knew where you stood. You knew that he expected no less than perfection and that you accepted death as the punishment if you erred, though on occasion he would merely give an exceptionally painful warning if he deemed the mistake trivial enough. Kain, however, could go from almost amiable to violent in a matter of minutes. The Admiral who had served before Ozzel, for example, had maintained his post for three months solid despite several major tactical blunders, his mistakes ignored by Kain each time. Then, without warning, he had been brutally executed for insubordination – reportedly for merely rolling his eyes at a questionable order.
Idly Piett wondered what had happened to Lord Vader. The official explanation was that he'd died in combat at the Battle of Yavin. But rumors to the contrary abounded, ranging from the likely (that he'd deserted and was now planning a coup) to the completely outlandish (he had renounced the war entirely and now played redball organ for a seedy dive on Tatooine). Piett personally, favored the story the stormtroopers were circulating among themselves – that Vader had switched sides and was now working for the Rebel Alliance.
At any rate, Vader was beyond the Empire's reach, and they had the volatile Kain to deal with.
The atmosphere on the bridge seemed to grow twice as heavy as the Sith Lord entered, his steps quick and his gaze demanding, almost hungry, as he scanned the area. Piett tried to hide his nervousness by occupying himself with a computer screen.
And noticed a recently received transmission.
"Admiral, I think you should see this."
Admiral Ozzel, who was berating a technician nearby, hardly glanced at the screen. "What now, Captain?"
Piett suppressed the urge to sigh. If Kain was the man Piett hated most, Ozzel wasn't much farther down the list. Arrogant and overconfident, he had made it perfectly clear that he thought himself superior to all aboard this ship – even Darth Kain himself.
"We've a report from a probe droid in the Hoth System, sir."
Ozzel gave him a look that hovered somewhere between incredulous and scornful, then bent over the image the probe droid had sent – the image of a shield generator, half-buried in snow and ice, with some sort of gun turret nearby.
"Rubbish," Ozzel dismissed immediately. "There are so many uncharted settlements out there that it would be a waste of time to investigate them all. It's either smugglers or prospectors."
"There have been no reports of smuggling in this sector before," Piett countered, not in the mood to be blown off today. "And there are no valuable minerals in any quantity to interest prospectors. And finally, why would smugglers or prospectors have a weapon that large parked next to their camp? Admit it, this is the best lead we've had…"
"We have thousands of probe droids searching every backwater pothole in this galaxy!" Ozzel snapped. "I want proof, not leads! I don't intend to go endlessly chasing around…"
The end of that retort snagged in his throat. His eyes widened, then rolled back in his head. His legs folded beneath him as he collapsed at Darth Kain's feet.
"You found something, Admiral Piett?" the Sith asked casually but with emphasis on Piett's new title, completely ignoring the corpse.
It took all of Piett's strength to keep his terror locked down. "Yes, my lord," he said quickly, stepping back to let him look at the screen.
Like Ozzel, Kain only took the briefest of glances at the screen. Unlike the dead Admiral, he seemed to have gathered a wealth of information from that one look.
"That's it," he announced. "Set our course for the Hoth System, full speed."
Piett had learned over the years to never, ever question a Sith Lord, no matter how ludicrous his order or claim. "Yes, my lord."
Kain turned to the officer who had just stepped onto the bridge. "General Veers, prepare your men!"
Personnel began dragging Ozzel's body away. One of them muttered just loud enough for Piett to hear "Two weeks – that's gotta be a new record for shortest time served. Good luck, Piett."
Piett couldn't reply – his fear seemed to have glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He couldn't help but feel that he'd just stepped up to the butcher's block, the next nerf to be slaughtered at its capricious master's whim.
He was really beginning to miss Lord Vader now. At least under Vader you knew in advance before you actually met your doom.
When Wedge entered the hangar with a ration tray, he found Leia sitting on a supply crate, head buried in her hands.
"Hey Princess," he offered. "I brought some dinner in case you were hungry."
She shook her head, lips tight.
Awkward silence reigned for a few minutes. At last Wedge ventured, "Any idea where Forenze went?"
"Medbay," Leia replied. "Last I heard, she was screaming at the droids. She's on the verge of hysteria."
Wedge sat down next to her. "I feel a little hysterical myself. Luke's been so lucky up until now, I always thought of him as… I dunno… invincible."
She stared at the Falcon, eyes misting. "There's not much hope of him pulling through this one."
"Hey, the kid might surprise you," Wedge replied. "I've met men from Tatooine, and they're a tough breed there." He thought a moment, then added "It's tough to kill off a Corellian too."
A weary but welcome smile appeared. "Is it that obvious?"
"Hey, us Rogues enjoy your spats. And the girls seem to see right through them, being the romance experts they are. They've been saying it's only a matter of time before something serious blooms."
Leia stared at the shield doors, as if trying to see through the heavy steel and the blinding snows outside to seek out her friends.
"Princess," he said gently, laying a hand on her arm, "I promise the Rogues will find them. I can't believe a simple snowstorm could take them out."
She only nodded.
Wedge bid her a quiet goodbye, then took the food tray aboard the Falcon. Judging from the knocking and banging echoing through the ship, someone was attempting some repairs. It wasn't the Wookie, though – when he peeked into Chewbacca's cabin, he saw the Falcon's first mate was fast asleep. For a moment he wondered how he could stand to take a nap when his friend was in peril, but a bottle of some foul-smelling tranquilizing medication near his bunk told the whole story. He figured Forenze was foisting the stuff on everyone close to Han or Luke to keep them from wearing themselves out with worry.
He turned a corner and found Vader yanking savagely at a power coupling, grunting with the exertion.
"Hey, pick on a sublight engine your own size," he advised, trying to lighten the mood.
Vader gave a final jerk and wrenched the coupling free. "Depolarized," he said shortly by way of explanation.
"I see. Uh… don't know if you eat through that mask… but I brought you something…"
Vader shook his head.
"Ah. Okay, I'm sure Hobbie'll polish it off." He turned to go. "Vader?"
"Hmm?" grunted Vader.
"I know you're worried sick over Han and Luke. We all are. But we can't do anything about it until morning. So I suggest you get some rest so you can join the search parties tomorrow, okay?"
No reply. Wedge gave a sigh and trudged out. If he didn't want to be comforted, that was his problem.
Behind him, Vader threw the old coupling into the discard bin. Retreating to either the Millennium Falcon or the Desert Angel had become his chief means of coping with stress. Life always seemed so much easier when he was fixing things. But tonight even that wasn't helping. If anything, being aboard Han's ship only made him miss the pirate's company even more.
Closing his eyes, he thrust any thought of Han or Luke out of his mind. They couldn't be dead. Somehow, deep down in his bones, he felt their presences, which was some comfort. They had taken shelter, or were on their way back to the base. They would survive.
But a deeper fear gnawed at him – the fear of that horrible power that he had somehow awakened back at the wampa's cave. Why had it arisen so suddenly, without warning? Nothing of the sort had ever happened to him before, had it…
…"It's all Obi-wan's fault!" he screamed, hurling the spanner across the rundown garage. "He's jealous! He's holding me back!" His voice broke on that final word.
"Anakin, you're not all-powerful," the young woman chided, setting her tray down.
"Well, I should be!" he blurted, his throat so tight it was a wonder it didn't snap under the strain. "Someday, I will be the most powerful Jedi ever! I will even learn to keep people from dying!"
"Anakin, what's wrong?" she pleaded.
He didn't reply – how could he? Just thinking about it made his guts turn over. Letting it go, allowing that filth to spew forth, that horrible story to emerge… she'd think him a monster! And that alone was a far worse punishment than any the Order could levy upon him.
But if contained any longer, the nightmarish events from last night would poison him fatally. He had to release his anger, his pain, his agony… even if it meant losing her.
"I… killed them."
She stared at him, not comprehending.
"They're dead," he grated, striving for her to understand. "All of them. Every single one of them!"
Her expression became one of horror. But he was beyond stopping himself now. His rage built with every sentence.
"And not just the men!" A vein throbbed painfully in his temple. "But the women! And the children!"
Scalding tears clouded his vision. He no longer saw her face, no longer cared. His hatred clawed in his chest like some wild animal, raging to be set free.
"They're like animals! And I slaughtered them like animals!" His voice had reached a fevered pitch, as ragged and hard as broken stone. "I hate them!" he bit out, the words hot and fierce on his tongue…
This time he didn't scream – he choked. Bitter bile churned up the back of his throat and drove him, gagging and retching, to his knees. His head spun, water streamed from his eyes… the anger was returning, searing, burning… no! A hideous and powerful lust was straining against its bonds, crying for release… no, no, no!
He staggered blindly from the Falcon and ran, not caring who he startled or bumped into, getting himself thoroughly lost in the tunnels of the base. He ran as if to escape some invisible, deadly enemy, as real as any predator…
A futile run, for how could he outrun himself?
A yelp of pain mercifully pierced his terror.
"Ouch! Watch where you're going, you great bantha!"
He grunted a half-hearted apology and tried to get around Forenze, but she grabbed his arm to stay him.
"What the hell are you running from? We aren't under attack are we?" She peered behind him. "Thought not. Sit down, chill a moment, not literally… ach, you've reopened your wampa cuts. Lucky I always carry some supplies with me… won't you sit down!"
Still too stunned to resist, he allowed her to shove him down on a ledge and wrench his sleeve up. Fresh blood had soaked through the bacta wraps, and these she stripped off with a practiced ease.
While she tended to his wounds he looked around. His flight had taken him to a cavern he'd never seen before, one as yet untouched by the base. Its walls were a shimmering pale blue, the floor a darker azure like sapphire, with lights winking and shining in its depths like stars. Trace amounts of heat had sculpted columns and waves of ice more magnificent than any manmade carving, and the mirror-smooth floor duplicated the chamber's wonders. For a moment Vader lost himself, and his turmoil, in marveling at the natural beauty here.
"Lovely, isn't it?" Forenze asked, giving the fresh bandage a final adjustment. "General Riekkan calls it the Sky Cave. He says no one's to use it for anything except a viewing room."
"It would be a shame to see it damaged," Vader replied softly.
"Now suppose you tell me what's wrong?" she asked, sitting down beside him.
"Nothing," he replied bluntly.
"Liar," she shot back. "Then why were you tearing down that hall like you had half the Imperial army on your tail? That wampa come back to finish you?"
That remark only reminded him of his encounter in the cave – and the mental wounds it had torn. Reluctantly at first, he began to relate what had happened and the horrific memories it had triggered. As he talked the words seemed to flow more easily, until at last he had opened up to her entirely, even revealing the second surge of memory aboard the Falcon.
When he'd finished speaking he watched her for the expected reaction of horror and disgust. To his surprise, and Forenze's credit, he saw only profound sympathy.
"I'm sorry, Vader, that you had to go through that."
"How can you be sorry?" He buried his mask in his hands. "I almost killed that wampa with the dark side. I've worked so hard to have the Alliance accept me! If I ever fall back to my old ways…" He couldn't finish.
Forenze finished for him. "You'd scratch all trust the Alliance placed in you."
He nodded grimly.
"Sounds like what just happened really shook you. Sorry, but I majored in medicine, not psychiatrics. Not much I can do but prescribe a sedative."
"I'm scared, Forenze. What if the next person I hurt when I lose my temper is Luke or Han? How could I live with myself after that?"
She didn't have an answer for that.
For an age they sat there, lost in their thoughts and the wonder of the Sky Cave, silent save Vader's metallic breathing.
"I like to come here," Forenze said at last. "When I'm feeling down. It calms me."
"It's a refuge of peace," Vader admitted. "I wish I'd known it existed earlier."
"Should've asked Mela, she found it." Forenze sighed. "Lucky fate drew you here tonight. Maybe getting that load off your chest will help you a bit. Its easier to carry a memory if it's shared."
"Thank you, Forenze, for sharing my burden."
"No problem. Anything for a friend." She sighed. "You know, I met my husband in an ice cavern like this one."
"Oh?"
"Glacier Galactic Park on Chandrila. He was studying abroad to be a gemologist. I was working on my internship. He was there to collect mineral samples, I on a dare. When I first saw him, I knew." She smiled. "We had three happy years together, before…" An uncharacteristically morose expression dulled her orange eyes.
Vader nodded, not asking. He knew already – Forenze's family had joined the alien resistance against the New Order, seeking rights for non-humans. And the Empire had responded by sending stormtroopers to crush them. Her parents and husband had died, and she had barely escaped with her life – and an eternal hatred toward the Empire.
"Whoever led that attack on your family, Forenze, I hope he gets his just reward someday," he vowed.
"Don't say that," she snapped.
"Why not…" he began, then froze. "Forenze…"
She shook her head furiously, tears in her eyes. "Don't you dare say you're sorry," she ordered huskily. "A Sith killed my parents. Not a Rogue pilot. There's a difference."
There was so much he wanted to say, so much he SHOULD say. But the words wouldn't come. How could he apologize for depriving her of the ones she loved? And stars, she'd had the opportunity to kill him many times! A slip of her scalpel or a slight overdose of anesthesia during the upgrade operations, or even when he had first entered the base, injured and helpless…
"Why?" In that word he managed to say everything.
"When you came into the med center three years ago, so badly wounded and weak, I thought the Force had given me the perfect opportunity to exact revenge for my family. No one would have to know, and no one would care. But my medical professionalism won out. I couldn't let any patient in my care, even you, die when it was in my power to save them." She fixed him with a steady gaze. "If I had given in to my hate, I would have lost a dear friend without even realizing it."
He opened his mouth, not sure whether to comfort her, thank her, or apologize. But he realized that all three were futile. She wasn't the type to allow anyone to comfort her, she blew off any attempt at thanks, and she had already forgiven his actions.
"I'm honored to call you friend," he said at last.
She smiled faintly. "And I'm honored to call you friend, Vader."
There was a long silence that spoke volumes. Then Vader took the medical officer into his arms in a gentle embrace.
"They're here!"
Dack, the newest member of Rogue Squadron, came running into the hangar, a huge grin on his boyish face. The pilots glanced up, startled, from their work at getting the speeders flight-ready.
"Who's here?" asked Dekham.
"Han and Luke! Just came in! They're alive!"
Vader was the first to act. He leaped down from the canopy of his speeder and bolted for the shield doors. Wedge was close behind.
Soldiers were already clustered around the open doors, guiding a frost-crusted body on a repulsor-stretcher toward the waiting med center. Vader's heart lurched when he saw the unhealthy blue pallor and wicked claw marks on Luke's face, but relaxed once he was sure the injuries weren't serious.
Han was trying to wrestle his way past a hysterically happy Chewie and answer Leia's questions at the same time.
"…found him lying in a snow drift – get off, hairball! – all clawed up and mumbling nonsense. Managed to get a shelter pulled up, and we waited out the worst of the storm before I dragged him back. Too bad the cold finished my tauntaun, or we'd've been back here a lot sooner."
Vader began to go to Han, but a viselike grip on his wrist stopped him.
"Vader…" It was Luke's voice, weak but urgent.
"What is it?" he asked, bending down to listen.
"Obi-wan… says… we need to go… to Dagobah… meet Yoda…"
That was all he managed to say before he was whisked away to the med center.
Vader stood a moment, dumbfounded. Yoda! Another familiar name. But where the stang was Dagobah? And what was Obi-wan doing in the middle of all this mess?