Chapter Eight

Darel Karac had worked his way up in the Imperial ranks at a very young age and, at twenty-five, he was the youngest Imperial shuttle captain ever. But to be called to command Lord Vader's private shuttle, the Archimedean, and the Dark Lord himself from his private residence was an honor beyond anything he had ever imagined. To be assigned to this mission and to have Admiral Piett on board also was a treat, if one considered anything a treat in the Imperial Navy. So it was with supreme satisfaction that he formally accepted this assignment. When his peers found out, they were sure to be resentful. He didn't care. It wasn't like you got ahead in the Imperial Navy by making friends. In fact, one of the only ways, if not the only way for a pilot to obtain a certifiable position was to pass through Lord Vader's ranks.

To have served under the Dark Lord not only garnered admiration for persistence and courage, but also for sheer skill and talent. The man himself was a legendary pilot and could take any dogfighter the Empire or Alliance had to offer head to head. There was a reason he survived the first Death Star disaster, Darel thought wryly.

After announcing his arrival to Lord Vader's personal administrator, he returned to the shuttle to inform Admiral Piett of Lord Vader's arrival. He then prepared his men for Lord Vader's inspection and sent for the rest of Lord Vader's items.

Darel walked down the boarding ramp of the shuttle and waited with Admiral Piett for Lord Vader's arrival. When the hangar entry opened, Darel's breath caught in his throat. He had known that Darth Vader was extremely tall, but up close he towered over those next to him. The cape swirled at Vader's booted ankles as he walked across the landing platform.

Darel had always heard that his presence could take one's breath away, literally, he thought to himself. Nothing had prepared him for meeting the Dark Lord in person. His presence was more than intimidating. It was big, but not just in the physical sense. Darel realized that the Sith Lord completely filled whatever space he occupied with his presence. He couldn't wait to get back to the base to tell the guys about this one. Everyone knew of the Dark Lord, but very few had been close enough to touch him. Even fewer were ever addressed by him.

He waited for Admiral Piett's cue and moved forward to stand at attention in front of the immense dark figure. Both men bowed and Admiral Piett took a step forward.

"Lord Vader, it is a pleasure to have you back," he said with a bow.

"Thank you, Admiral," the baritone voice boomed from the vocoder in the mask. "You may stand at ease, Admiral...Captain," he nodded to the two men. Piett stepped back beside his subordinate.

Vader offered a small black case to Darel and for a moment, Darel forgot himself. It was easy to see why so many were intimidated by the mere mention of Lord Vader. Darel was standing at full height in his military boots, which added four inches to his height, and he still looked Lord Vader directly in the chest box. Darel saluted, swallowed and took the case. The three men then boarded the shuttle.

Stars expanded into lines of infinity as the Archimedean launched into hyperspace. Darth Vader secured himself in the passenger seat with an inward sigh and sat back for the long ride back to the Executor. He had always hated flying when he was not the piloting the craft. His Star Destroyer was stationed off the forest moon of Endor in preparation for the Emperor's inspection of the battle station. He closed his eyes in beneath the mask and reached furtively for a meditative calm. Infuriatingly, it eluded him, dancing to the edge of his awareness then pulling away, leaving him with a feeling of anxiety he had not felt since his younger, more impetuous days.

What was Luke doing now? He reached out with the Force and felt...nothing. He drew a heavy breath through the mask; the thoughts of his son were with him constantly now, even to the detriment of the stability of his feelings around his Master. Darth Vader had learned more of shielding his mind in the past year than he had in the entire time of his marriage to Luke's mother. He groped mentally for the Force, unable to get his bearings. Wasn't something missing?

Padmé.

Ah. There it was. The thought of her came unbidden to his mind again. He was reminded of the dream he had night after night now - her vigil outside the gate. How easy it was to conjure her image these days, when it had been so impossible for the past twenty years. He could not recall the last time he had seen Padmé's face outside of dreams. The details of her fate or his son's birth were unknown to him. Added to his list of most horrible transgressions... He had not attended his wife's funeral.

Their fates had been intertwined even in death, his fiery committal and subsequent interment side by side with hers. What would have happened if his wife had lived? Would he have been able to live as the Jedi Anakin Skywalker, then? Would he have given up his fate? Would he have given up his destiny? The truth settled his spirit, cold and heavy. Far away and dark.

If only...

He would have given her the galaxy. He would have given their children the galaxy. It was their birthright. It was Luke's birthright. His son's solemn blue eyes stared out of his mother's face and then she was there before him. Padmé's face swam before his as he drifted to near meditation, her likeness to their son wrapping itself around his cold heart.

She stood at the gate again, her fingers absently fingering a handmade trinket from another time. He could never get close enough to see the details of her face. Was she crying, or laughing? What did she wait for? The winds whipped her skirt about her legs as tendrils of her hair danced at her elfin cheeks.

He was close enough to see her now and his heart beat a staccato in his chest. He held out his hand to her and was terrified to see the black glove still there, mocking him. He jerked it back to him and stood, terrified – yet he could not move. His breath would not come and he was taken back to the lava, the horrible feeling of not being able to draw breath, of wishing that death would come quickly. Anything to end the sheer torture of not being able to breathe.

Suddenly she dropped the trinket back to her chest and looked at him, then closed her eyes and held out her arms.

The birds came from everywhere...

Darth Vader jerked himself from his meditation. This was to be his punishment, to be able to come close to the warmth of the light, but never to touch it again. Of that much he was certain. He wondered if the men who served under him or any of his unfortunate victims understood anything about his former religion, the religion of his old Masters, Qui-Gon Jinn, Yoda and Obi-Wan. The Jedi believed that in death, you were brought back into the Force and into the fold of your loved ones.

The light surrounds us, binds us, make us whole.

There is no death; there is only the Force...

His life as their executioner was like the chef serving the most delectable meal...without being out being able to partake of it himself. How many times had he wished that they would be the victors? How many times did he surreptitiously wish that they would send him into the abyss so that it would all be over? He wondered how many truly knew that death was not punishment, but life.

The Jedi claimed they did not fear death, they embraced it. Vader knew differently. He had seen it on their faces. If they only knew what true demise entailed. Life without those you love, your possessions thrown to the wind of fate, destiny and prophecy...

The comm sounded, alerting Vader to Admiral Piett's presence at the entry to the private passenger compartment. Piett entered and saluted. Vader put his hand up to signal to Piett to continue.

"What is it, Admiral?"

"We are making our approach, Lord Vader."

"Alert command of our intent to orbit Endor," Vader said

Piett bowed crisply and made to move away. The young pilot stood at attention a few feet behind him.

Vader turned to look at the pilot and signaled him forward with his right hand. "What is your name, Captain?"

The young man stepped hesitantly forward, clearly shaken by Vader's attention.

"D-Darel Karac, s-sir. Captain Darel K-Karac," Darel managed to get out.

"How long have you been at your post, Captain?" he asked.

"This is m-my first shuttle assignment, Lord Vader."

There was a pause as Vader sat, unmoving. Darel swallowed nervously. Had he done something wrong? His mind worked furiously at remembering the last set of instructions given to him by Piett.

"You will stay on board the Executor, Admiral Piett," Vader said as he looked to his trusted subordinate.

"As you wish, my Lord," Piett said without pause.

Vader motioned to Darel, "You will act as shuttle Captain for the duration of my stay on the Executor, Captain."

"Yes sir!" Darel snapped a salute. He couldn't believe he was actually being commissioned by Lord Vader himself. He fought to contain himself. Remember, Karac, he's still the scariest guy in the galaxy. He admonished himself. But I am his private shuttle pilot for this assignment! He thought with restrained glee.

"You are both free to prepare for landing," Vader finished.

Both men saluted and turned to leave.

Vader leaned back in his seat. His blood stirred in him again as it always did when there was work to be done. It was time to live in the present. He would get this infernal abomination under some kind of schedule so that he may leave it and go on to the more important task of finding his son. The Death Star was proving nothing more than an unwanted diversion and he loathed it with every fiber of his being. Jerjerrod had better have things back on schedule quickly or he would not be responsible for his actions, he thought irritably.

He had no patience for Imperial enlisted men who could not carry out the simplest of assignments. He was not a man to waste time holding the hand of over-privileged Officers even in his daily routine, he certainly did not intend to tarry past the time he had allotted to complete this obligation. He had many more important things that warranted his attention. He and his son had other things to do.

A slow smile spread on his face as he gave himself over to the feelings that his son's name stirred in him. Yes, he would soon find Luke and the Emperor would rue the day he had ever uttered the name "Skywalker".

To be continued…