Heritage
Vader (typing furiously: clickety-click, clickety-clickety-click.)
Jix (watching Death Star security tapes): "So... this... you say is the reported son of yours. Would never have guessed."
Vader (clickety-clickety): "Shut up, Jix. I'm trying to write a report."
Jix: "No, really. Anything like you? Let me guess. Great shot, apparently, if the Death Star was an indication. Got that from you, I s'pose."
Vader: (clickety-cli-) "Damn." (backspace-click-click.) "His mother."
Jix: "And the appearance, I guess, is from mother too. Small, slight. No black capes, no masks..."
Vader: "You may thank your good fortune for that."
Jix: "Made Commander, I hear. Now that is certainly your natural flair for commanding. Can't have just learned that, with that sort of background."
Vader: (clickety-) "Wrong again." (click, click, click.) "His mother again."
Jix: "Really? Must have been one helluva mum then. Hmm. So what's yours? The sort of rebellious streak, coupled with political idealism? You know, the Emp's comment about how you can still be an idealist and all that stuff."
Vader (stops the furious clicking, looks up from the keyboard): "You know, Jix, I rue the day I sent you on an errand from this Death Star. Otherwise you would be comfortably out of my hair. If I still had hair, that is."
Jix (looks hurt): "Uncle Dee! You don't mean that!"
Vader: "I'm beginning to doubt. But, no, once again this is something typically Mrs Skywalker."
Jix: "Oh. I was sorta expecting someone like you. You know, sort of like my adopted cousin. Big, strong, sulky, great fun. And what do I get? A little blue-eyed farmboy. Of Tatooine of all the possible armpits of the Galaxy. Tatooine, can you imagine that? I bet it was also Mrs Skywalker who gave him that particular provenance."
Vader (sighs): "No, Jixton. That was me."
F-