Chapter 8
The tree just behind Han exploded in a shower of flaming splinters. He hit the mossy ground instinctively as blaster fire whined through the air. A white-armored body fell heavily beside him, unmoving, and screams and running footsteps filled his ears.
The ruckus lasted a good thirty seconds, then Chewie's paws clamped around Han and hoisted him to his feet.
"Your courage is inspiring, General Solo," Leia remarked.
"Thanks, Princess," he replied sarcastically.
She chuckled. "Some things never change, do they?"
He grinned. "Stang right."
The Imperial ambush had inflicted little damage to the small party of Rebel demolitionists, thanks to their quick actions and accompanying Gungan warrior allies. One Rebel had suffered a flesh wound to the thigh and two Gungans were being treated for minor burns by their accompanying medic, but that was the extent of the damage.
"Too bad Forenze isn't here," Leia said.
Han snorted. "She'd be whining about being bored or something, I'm sure. Far as I'm concerned, Lando and the Fleet can have her. How far to the shield generator?"
"Southeast five kilometers," she replied.
The party moved on. The Gungans took the lead, spears and blasters ready, their broad feet padding almost soundlessly through the undergrowth. The hard-soled boots of the Rebels created more noise, thunking against rocks and snapping twigs and fallen evergreen needles. By far, though, the worst noisemaker was Threepio, who never let up in his monologue of complaint.
"I seem to be made to suffer," he grumbled. "It's my lot in life. Miserable planet anyhow…"
"Shut up, Goldenrod," Han snapped. "You asked to come."
"Of all the indignities," Threepio sniffed. "I do wonder what Artoo is up to. No good, I'm sure, he's always getting himself into trouble…"
A braided-vine rope pulled taut around the droid's ankles, hauling him off his feet and suspending him upside-down from the limbs of a giant tree like some huge metallic fruit. Screaming and flailing his arms, he cried for help.
"Oh, brother," Han mumbled.
"Somebody cut him down!" Leia ordered.
"Mesa say wesa just leave de whining meccanik," Captain Tarpals muttered.
"Don't leave me here!" Threepio pleaded. "There could be mynocks on this wretched moon!"
"Hold still," Han advised, taking careful aim. "I'm going to shoot you down."
"Shoot me down!" exclaimed Threepio. "Isn't there another way?"
"Got any suggestions?" Han demanded. When none were forthcoming, he aligned his sights with the thick rope. "Okay, on three. One… two…"
But Threepio crashed to the ground without Han's aid.
"Look," breathed a Gungan warrior. "Up dere."
Han followed the alien's gaze. Sitting on the limb from which Threepio had been hanging seconds ago, kicking its stubby legs and gazing at the Rebel party with shining brown eyes, was a tiny furry being in an orange leather hood. In one hand it carried a stone knife, in the other a spear, but somehow these made it look more ridiculous than ferocious. Upon noting it was being watched it chattered in some odd language and cocked its head curiously.
"Whaddaya know, we meet the natives," Han murmured.
"I think it's an Ewok," a Rebel volunteered. "I studied them in an alien science course at school."
"Cute little fellow," Leia noted.
The Ewok jabbered a little longer, then grabbed a vine and swung to the ground, landing near the fallen, moaning Threepio. It stared up at Chewie, awed, then spotted Tarpals and gave a yelp of surprise. Brandishing its spear, it growled threateningly.
That was too much for the Rebels – everyone but Threepio and Tarpals started laughing.
"It's never seen a Gungan before," Leia chuckled. "I don't think he likes you, Captain."
"Mesa shaking," Tarpals huffed sarcastically.
"Somebody tell the little hairball to put the stick down before it pokes somebody's eye out," Han remarked.
At that moment, Threepio sat up. "Oh, my head…"
The Ewok whirled with a cry. It stared at Threepio, gave a wondering murmur, and bowed reverently. Threepio spoke a little to the creature before turning to the others.
"I may be mistaken; he's using a rather primitive dialect," he explained. "But I do believe he sees me as some sort of god."
That only encouraged the laughter.
"Well then, your Worshipfulness," Han snickered, "why don't you use your divine influence to tell him to leave us alone?"
"But sir, it's against my programming to impersonate a deity!" Threepio protested.
The Ewok got to his feet and motioned for the party to follow him. Puzzled but curious, they complied.
Break…
Leia watched the Rebels settle down for the night in the Ewok village, confident that they would have the natives' aid in fighting the Empire. Apparently they had suffered enough at the Empire's hand to harbor no sympathy toward the uninvited guests to their moon. Their precious trees had been scorched and razed to make room for paths and the shield generator bunker, their main food sources had either been trampled by stormtroopers and AT-STs or scared away by their activities, and their people and domestic animals were frequently used for target practice. When Threepio had explained the Rebellion's purpose for being on Endor's moon, the Ewoks had been more than happy to offer aid.
Leia leaned against the fence of a small corral, where Endor ponies munched lazily on dried grass and berries. She scratched a young mare's neck absently, all the while thinking of Luke and Vader.
She had known all along, she realized. Deep down she'd always felt a bond between her and Luke. He'd been a source of brotherly wisdom and companionship, always willing to cheer her up or joke with her. And Vader… she couldn't hate him anymore. He had proven himself to the Rebellion as a worthy ally and comrade. He had, in her eyes, redeemed himself of all the crimes he had committed against her and her people. She was ready to call him Father.
/I sure hope they're okay/ she thought, staring into the night sky.
"Leia?"
She turned to see Han coming down the path, the moonlight shading his features.
"You all right?"
She nodded, though she knew the tears forming in her eyes said otherwise. "I just hope… Luke and Vader are okay."
Han embraced her comfortingly, his lips brushing her forehead. "Those two have been through a lot, Leia, and they've come through all right. They're tougher than you think."
She buried her head in his shoulder. "But Kain's defeated Luke before."
"Luke's grown a lot stronger since then," Han assured her. "And he has Vader on his side. They can take him."
She stayed awhile in his arms, not wanting to leave the comfort of his presence. He held her a long time as they enjoyed the last moment of peace they would know for awhile.
Break…
Luke and Vader reached the third floor of the fortress without any further mishap. Their encounter with the stronghold's illusions had instilled a good deal of caution in them, serving as a reminder that, for all their strength in the Force, they were still in enemy territory.
"Where to now?" asked Luke.
"The Archives are in the center of the fortress," Vader replied. "They are well protected, and there will be many traps along the way. Follow my lead."
He complied, letting his father show the way. They continued a short way down the hall before Vader came to a halt.
"The first obstacle," he noted. "Stay where you are, Luke."
"Why?" asked Luke. "I don't sense anything dangerous." He didn't see danger either; all he could see were basalt walls and a shining black marble floor shot through with gray and gold.
"Danger is not always visible to the senses," Vader replied, going back to the stairway and igniting his saber. He sliced off a section of the wooden stair rail and brought it back, lowering it to the floor. It sank into the marble without leaving a mark.
"The floor's holographic," Luke realized. "There must be a pit underneath…"
The rail bucked in Vader's hand, and a hideous snarling and crackling ensued. He lifted the now-mangled rail and showed it to Luke.
"Worse," Vader replied. "One of Palpatine's pets. I've never seen it with my own eyes, and frankly, I don't care to. Our one stroke of good fortune is that, whatever it is, it cannot escape and attack us as long as we're up here." He tossed the broken rail, and it landed some four meters away on solid floor.
"Thanks for the heads-up," said Luke with a wince.
"Not a problem. Think you can jump that far?"
"Sure." He took a few steps back, then sprinted forward and leaped, drawing on the Force to aid him. He felt the strange sensation of hands supporting his body, then he landed on the far side.
"Why'd you do that?" Luke demanded, turning. "I could have done it by myself."
"Perhaps," Vader replied. "But I'm your father. I'm paranoid by nature when it regards my son."
"Then don't complain when I return the favor," Luke retorted.
Vader laughed and sprang, executing a somersault in midair and landing smartly beside Luke.
"Showoff," Luke complained.
They walked on. The hallway now forked in two directions, one leading deeper into the bowels of the Sith fortress, the other veering toward the outer wall. To Luke's surprise, Vader took the path leading away from the center of the fortress.
"What are you doing?" asked Luke.
"This corridor doubles back and goes toward the Archives," Vader replied. "The other one dead-ends into a chamber that locks and fills with poison gas once someone enters it."
Luke whistled. "The Sith Funhouse."
"Palpatine definitely has a twisted sense of fun," Vader replied.
The corridor they traversed was lined with strange symbols formed from blood-red stone laid into the wall. Luke shivered. He felt as if he was trespassing on the lair of some sinister beast, and that it was watching him all the way, awaiting a moment to strike.
/You're not far off, Luke./ For some reason his father's voice seemed dimmer, fainter.
/It's the fortress/ Vader explained. /It deadens our perceptions and reduces our ability to draw on the light side. If we're separated, we might not be able to communicate./
/All the more reason to not get separated/ Luke replied.
They emerged in a chamber lined with huge obsidian statues, effigies of past Sith warriors and fearsome beasts from some twisted sculptor's imagination. Vader halted and tensed.
"Get ready to run," he ordered. "One of the ancient Sith master's installed lasers in this chamber. The only way to avoid them is to hurry."
"Okay."
"One… two… three!"
They broke into a Force-boosted run. The eyes of each image glowed red as they passed, and wicked hisses and snaps sounded behind them as the beams narrowly missed their marks. Smoke filled Luke's lungs, burning the already oxygen-starved tissues. He felt himself weakening; it was becoming harder to draw on the Force…
He collapsed to his knees in a gap between two lasers, gasping for air.
"Luke!" Vader, who had reached the end of the chamber, slid to a halt and turned back to help him.
"Watch out!" Luke gasped.
A twenty-meter-tall statue of a Nikto Sith toppled forward, and Vader barely moved in time before the enormous sculpture smashed against the floor, blocking the exit.
"Father!" Luke got to his feet and pounded the statue. "Can you hear me?"
"Sithspawn!" Vader hissed. "I can't get around, Luke!"
"Can you get over?"
"No, it's completely blocking the doorway. Hold tight, I'll try to cut through!"
"It's too thick," Luke replied. "Maybe we can lift it?"
Together they focused, struggling with all their might to shift the statue. But even their combined Force powers weren't enough. The influence of the Sith fortress seemed to be sapping his strength faster than it could be replenished.
"Go back to the stairway," Vader advised at last, acknowledging defeat. "Go to the second floor and take the first passage to your right. It should lead you to the training chambers. There's a lift there, take it. It will take you straight to the Archives. I'll meet you there."
"All right," Luke replied. "Father… you be careful."
"You do the same, Son."
Reluctantly he turned and ran the gauntlet again, though by the time he'd exited the chamber he was exhausted. He leaned against the doorway, panting, trying to ignore the growing sense of dread that filled his chest. Never had he felt so alone.
Break…
Vader prayed Luke would be all right as he continued down the corridor. He'd counted on being at the boy's side all the way. He hadn't counted on the machinations of the Sith to split them up. Now Luke was left utterly guideless. Vader could only hope he would keep his wits about him and not attempt anything stupid.
He navigated the maze of corridors carefully, relying on memory to know which paths led to certain death and which led to his goal. All the while he kept his hand near his lightsaber, listening, watching, waiting. He'd be a fool to assume the Sith would leave him unmolested on his way to the Archives.
/Wait a minute/ he thought, coming upon an unfamiliar chamber. /This isn't supposed to be here./
The chamber was less a chamber than it was a widened section of corridor, its ceiling hanging low and polished mirror-smooth. The floor, too, gleamed smoothly. The walls were a different matter – they were covered with wicked spikes of varying lengths and neat round holes of varying depths. A new obstacle? Or just more Sithly interior design?
He took a cautious step into the chamber – and retreated as the walls began sliding inward. They ground to a halt the instant he withdrew, then returned to their original places.
/Well, this is a new one/ he mused.
Removing a glove, he tossed it into the chamber. The walls closed in, and he now saw that each spike fit into a corresponding hole on the other wall. He had to marvel at the brilliant insanity of the Emperor's mind. He swiftly retrieved the glove before the walls could close fully.
/Now how to get past it./ He supposed he could run the gauntlet – he could probably make it to the other side before the walls collided. But somehow he got the feeling that that was what Palpatine wanted him to do. Then again, he could see no way to jam the mechanism or halt the walls' progress once they got going.
/Unless I used the Force…/
He delved into his power, feeling for the machinery that controlled this trap. To his surprise, he encountered a switch, hidden from view but accessible by the Force. So this chamber was designed to trap those Force-blinds brave enough – or naïve enough – to chance a journey into the Sith bastion. He tripped the switch and entered the room, pleased to note that the walls were mercifully still.
"Vader."
He whirled, saber drawn but not yet ignited.
A child stood at the chamber's entrance… a Tusken child. Had the dark side sparked another illusion? Or had he accidentally triggered a hologram of some kind?
The child lifted a hand, pointing at him. In a soft, oddly menacing voice she breathed "Shil-baka."
Shil-baka. Tusken for "slaughterer." One of the highest insults one could speak in the Sandpeople's tongue, it referred to one who had shed innocent blood. According to the Tusken laws, one could be put to death at the mere accusation of shil-baka. Vader knew, without a doubt, that this could only be one of the Sith's illusions.
"Shil-baka," the Tusken girl repeated.
"I am redeemed of that crime," he replied in the Tusken language. "I have repaid my debt to your people by destroying Jabba. I am no more shil-baka than you are."
"Who says it is only her people you have wronged?" came an older, rougher voice.
A Fosh woman entered the room, wearing a deep green robe and with dark amber eyes that contained an unfathomable sadness. He was struck by how much she resembled Forenze. The woman stepped behind the Tusken child and placed clawed hands on the girl's shoulders, regarding Vader somberly.
"Siyax Vergere," Vader realized. "You're Forenze's mother."
She nodded. "So you remember me."
He closed his eyes and thrust the memory of the alien uprising – and the subsequent massacre he had spearheaded – from his mind. "Your daughter has forgiven me of that crime…"
The grief in her eyes deepened. "Who says that she speaks for her parents, Vader? Who says that any of the living can speak for the dead? You cannot beg forgiveness from one you have slaughtered with your own hands."
"Siyax, not a day goes by that I don't regret my past. I admit to taking hundreds upon hundreds of lives while I served the dark side. But I will do all I can to repay the damage I have wrought, even if it takes the rest of my life."
She shook her head. "You can never repay, Vader, not in a thousand lifetimes. You are a murderer, a destroyer, a harbinger of death, and there is no hope for you."
"Shil-baka," the Tusken repeated in a softer whisper, her voice now sounding like the hiss of a serpent. "Murderer. Destroyer. Sith. Servant of darkness. Shil-baka."
Vader turned and strode out of the chamber, away from the ghosts of his past, trying to block out their voices. But their condemning murmurs followed him like some twisted melody, replaying over and over in his mind, drowning out all other thought. Sith… murderer… destroyer… shil-baka… servant of darkness… no hope… no hope…
"Enough!" he bellowed. "I'm not a murderer!"
/Are you so sure/ the wicked cackle of Palpatine's Force-touch sneered. /Are you so sure that you're free from the dark side, my young apprentice/
He shuddered at the Emperor's contact. /Leave me alone/
/Ah, but I can't, can I? You're intruding on our territory, Vader, which can only mean one of two things. Either you have some destructive purpose in mind and are a threat to be crushed… or you've changed your mind and seek to rejoin me./
/I'll never join you! I die first/
/That, my friend, can easily be arranged./
Break…
By the time Luke reached the broken rail marking the edge of the pit, he was drained. The atmosphere of this fortress was leaching his strength like a parasite. The four meters of holographic floor that he'd crossed so easily before now seemed four kilometers.
/Well, I can't stay here, can I/ he thought, and he braced himself for the jump. /One… two… three/
He made it three-quarters of the way across. The false floor swallowed him up, and he struck a damp stone wall before tumbling roughly to the hard floor of the pit. Dazed, it took him a moment to regain his senses.
The chamber he'd just landed in was pitch-black and smelled like a slaughterhouse. The floor beneath him was covered with dried, splintered bones, some of them snapping and crunching with age beneath him as he scrambled to his feet. Somewhere in the darkness, a deep wheezing and growling could be heard as whatever-it-was snuffed around, trying to seek its prey. Taking no chances, he ignited his saber.
The blue light illuminated the visage of a thing from Luke's worst nightmare. The beast's blunt-muzzled head was a fanged nightmare, huge nostrils quivering to catch his scent, sightless white eyes rolling blankly in deep narrow sockets. Its pale gray, hairless skin hung limply from its bones, with seemingly no flesh to pad its skeleton. Its paws bore scythe-like claws as long as Luke was tall, and a forest of spines covered its shoulders and trailed down its spine, ending in a tail covered with wicked barbs. Its primitive thoughts struck his mind like a blow from a decayed hand – it was starving, gripped by agonizing hunger pangs that overwhelmed reason.
The monster's head darted forward with a high rasping scream. Luke fell and rolled to escape its lunge. Shrieking at being denied food, it whirled and slashed with a taloned forepaw. He returned the slash, severing three of the enormous claws. Screams of pain now accompanied the screams of hunger.
In an odd way, Luke felt sorry for the creature. It was another victim of Palpatine, kept on the fringes of starvation to ensure its ferocity and doubtless beaten and tormented to drive it closer to madness. As he had done with Vader and Kain, he was using the beast's pain to further his own devious ends.
As the monster thrust its head down for the kill, Luke ran his weapon through its blinded eye, giving it the mercy of a quick death. The creature rasped once and collapsed.
He extinguished the blade. Now to find a way out of here.
"Well done, Skywalker. Well done."
He turned.
The azure light of his saber illuminated a woman – a woman he'd long thought dead.
"Bekme?"
She smiled and nodded. Her chestnut hair was done up in a carefully tended coif, and she wore the white uniform of Grand Admiral, which had been tailored to fit her graceful curves. Gold epaulets on her shoulders glinted in the dim light.
"That's not how I want to remember you, Bekme," he told her.
"But it is who I am," she replied. "Madam Grand Admiral Olie."
He shook his head. "You'll always be Bekme to me."
In the time it took to blink, her clothing shifted to a worn orange jumpsuit, and her hair fell to her shoulders in a more relaxed style. "Better?"
"Why am I seeing you now?" he asked. "You died four years ago. Why are you here now?"
"Why are you here now, Luke? Answer that."
"To face Darth Kain…"
"You mean to kill him," she replied, her expression going cold. "You killed me and now you seek to kill Kain as well. Is there no end to your bloodthirstiness?"
"I didn't kill…"
"You did, Luke. You shot my fighter down, allowing Kain to kill me. You killed me in anger, Luke. I loved you, but you hated me for merely obeying my Emperor's orders and took out that anger by killing me. And now you will exact revenge upon Kain for defeating you on Bespin by murdering him as well." She gave a grim smile. "Like father, like son, I suppose."
Anger boiled inside him. "Don't you dare say that. My father's not a killer!"
She gave an icy laugh. "Your father has murdered thousands, Luke. And you will follow in his footsteps. You're not that far from turning Sith yourself."
He backed away, suddenly fearing her more than he'd feared Palpatine's monster. "I am not a murderer, Bekme. I shot you down hoping the Alliance would capture you. How was I supposed to know Kain was going to blow your ship up? And I seek to fight Kain in order to defeat the Sith Order and restore justice to the galaxy, not to gain vengeance."
"Really, Skywalker?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow. "Is that really the answer?"
She faded away with an ominous laugh.
Luke shivered. This fortress was really starting to get to him.
To the left of where Bekme's specter had been standing, he spotted an ancient door whose hinges were rusted completely shut. He seared through the hinges with his saber and kicked the door open, entering another corridor. Time to find a lift and get to the Archives before another ghost paid an unwelcome visit.