Disclaimer: I don't own jack of this, except the idea and the original characters that pop up.


If Jerin Millet was nervous, he didn't show it. Instead he turned partly away from staring at the dark lord's broad back to look over the shoulder of the ensign, reading what the screen flashed at him, and nodded, patting the man's shoulder. Walking with slow, but firm steps, he stopped behind and slightly to the side of Vader, not turning to look at the Sith, who seemed unnaturally calm.

Millet knew that kind of behavior. He was more observant than most gave him credit for, which made him dangerous, so he'd always seen to it to keep his ambitions modest, but not too modest, lest someone take notice and get suspicious. But back to the Emperor's right hand man. He may be unreadable due to the helmet and a smooth rock face kind of facade, but that didn't matter. Millet knew the man was brimming over with impatience, even if Vader himself didn't know it... maybe didn't let himself know it. There was more buried here than was visible even to Millet, and he caught himself hoping they'd find whoever it was Vader was hunting. For some unfathomable reason, it seemed to do the man some good. He seemed to... loosen up, was the closest Millet could come to call it. There was definitely something below the surface, and it was due to whatever they were hunting.

"Milord? We're closing in on Ord Ibanna. We'll arrive within the hour." Vader didn't answer him, but the helmet tilted almost imperceptibly, and Millet relaxed just a notch, his bland, eternally tired-looking face keeping it's stern, watchful expression, not revealing anything. Not that Vader was fooled. And they both knew that.


Clearing the turn-and-drop with a stomach-curling hairsbreadth, Luke was vaguely aware that something like that would normally have made him feel like his heart was in his mouth.

But there was no time for that.

No time for fear, just reacting, doing. One slip and he'd be sailing-falling serenely, and at a break-neck speed, down into the gasses that Ord Ibanna consisted of, and that the "race-track", simple pipes, gangways and floating platforms, where floating above. And that was not a possibility he looked forward to.

Of course, Luke was also doing his best at avoiding that possibility, pressing his new-found skill and all his luck and gut-feeling to the limit. Another drop, and suddenly one of the other podracers was up close, trying to push him off the skyway, but Luke would have none of it, and pushed the accelerator briefly to brush past the larger 'racer with a screech of metal. The pilot lost control of his 'racer, since he was still pushing at something that wasn't there any more, and continued off the skyway in a fashion much like the pilot had wanted Luke to do.

Blue eyes didn't even have the time to flicker back, since he had to keep his concentration on the race, and the other (still alive, his mind whispered) podracers. Luke could have sworn he'd heard the pilot cry out as he hurtled towards his death, but that wasn't possible. He didn't have that good hearing. Muttering a soft curse to himself, Luke shook his head, deftly avoiding another podracer, and passed the starting line.

One lap left, and for some reason this time the racetrack seemed to stretch out into infinity, every turn and drop more heart-stopping than the last, even if he knew where they were by now, even if he'd done this two times before. It was just as if the end moved further and further away, the closer he came. Of course, that was just his fear talking...

Eyes widening, Luke realized he'd let himself get distracted, and gotten off wrong at the drop. He was now tearing through the air at the wrong angle, and would miss the platform by a meter. Heart hammering in his ears, but not hearing the sound of his blood rushing, Luke gripped the stick with his left hand, keeping his right one its handle, and turned the control stick, turning the podracer half onto its own side with it, and then accelerating, turning as much as he could and hoping. it. would. be. enough. With a soft scrape he landed on the platform, feeling the heavier draft of air from the gap to his right. He'd righted his 'racer just before he landed, with nothing more than maybe a hand span's leave between him and the platforms edge.

That had been close.

The pipeline filled his whole vision, the speeds they were going at seemingly not to matter at all as he could maneuver and move with ease, even at what should have been too narrow, and too fast to react at turns and drops. That last narrow escape had hammered home how important it was he concentrate on what he was doing, to not give in to the fear thrumming though his body for him to survive this.

He may feel his fear burn in his veins, skittering along his nerves, but he couldn't acknowledge it, since that would be his doom. Literally. The finish was coming up, and for the first time Luke could feel the stirrings of hope. That he may actually survive this, that maybe he'd get home to Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen, and Uncle Owen would scold him for going away without permission... he hadn't really lost his focus, but one of the podracers in front of him suddenly braked, and he had to brake in turn not to crash into the other, and then it was simply too late.

The other podracer came up beside him and pushed, and since he'd already been jostled by the earlier brake, he was too close to the edge. The fall was instant, as did his heart. Except that he and the 'racer fell downwards, while it felt like his heart hurtled upwards, being left somewhere in the air above him.

Oh.

It wouldn't be alright anyway.

Father!

And then it all stopped.


The heavy stomping of many boots on metal may have been what made the spectators turn around in curiosity, but the squadron of stormtroopers were probably not what made them all quickly flee out of the way to let the imposing group pass.

Darth Vader towered above the stormtroopers, his cloak swirling in the slight breeze that played along the floating platforms and skyways of Ord Ibanna. No one wanted to stand in the way of the determined stride of the Empire's second in command. The race had already begun, and for some reason, Vader felt as if a chance had slipped between his fingers before he even had the possibility to examine and maybe use it.

Shaking his head mentally, he gripped the railing and stretched out, easily finding the bright flame he'd been hunting these past two weeks. He'd felt it the moment they'd dropped out of hyperspace, but he hadn't tried to reach out yet, and he didn't establish contact just yet. Podracing was not easy, even with the Force, and he couldn't risk the child loosing concentration if he touched the child's mind at the wrong moment.

A whisper of a thought said that if he did, and the child lost control and crashed he wouldn't have to deal with the possibility of finding out if it indeed was his... if it was Padmé's child or not. It couldn't be, he knew that, but he wouldn't have to torture himself with the possibility any more. But even so, he couldn't take the risk of startling the child and maybe send him to his death, because what if it was Padmé's child? Then he would have killed it, and her, twice. That couldn't be allowed. He was standing so he had a clear view of the last stretch before the finishing/starting line, and so saw the smaller craft being tag-teamed by the two other leading podracers, and it's subsequent fall. Well, podracing was a hazardous sport, after all.

Father! The cry echoed in his head with all the panicked strength of a thundering dewback and Vader almost staggered under it. Years of training and his own pride kept that from happening. He wasn't even aware he'd caught the falling 'racer with the Force and stopped its decent before he was fighting against gravity, who wanted to keep its prize.

That wasn't going to happen.

He'd lost his wife once, and the child with it, and now that he could do something about it, he wouldn't loose the child again. Realizing what he was thinking, the railing dented below his white-knuckled grip. If he would have dared to split his concentration, he would have strangled one of the stormtroopers standing nervously at attention around him. He knew he could do it, but that would be totally unprovoked, and that was simply unnecessary.

While killing them just because he still had trouble keeping Anakin and Darth Vader separate might have been satisfying, it didn't have any use, and wouldn't fill any practical need. He had some restraint. Walking slowly down to the pits, since that were the closest place to put down the blue-and-silver podracer, Vader wondered what he'd see when the pilot jumped out.

The podracer settled with a thump and slight scrape of metal, the whine of the engines dying down to nothing. Crossing his arms, Vader stared impatiently at the silent 'racer and its helmeted pilot sitting still within. He could feel waves of relief and astonishment flowing from the child, almost shouting the feelings through the Force.

Then the boy finally jumped out, revealing himself to be wearing slightly too-large and dirty tatooinian clothing, and then the helmet came off, and time slowed to a crawl as the straps caught on something, refusing to let go for a moment. Then the helmet was thrown to the ground, and wild, sweaty dark-blond hair gleamed in the muted sunlight, so familiar it hurt, even darkened by sweat as it was. The goggles were pushed up high on the boy's forehead, blue eyes wide and almost glazed with giddy relief, and he was staring at himself from several decades back, with only slight differences.

The nose was slightly different... more like hers, and maybe something more, but otherwise... all him. How could he have missed it! Vader wasn't sure what it was he was supposed to have missed... Padmé not dying on Mustafar, but surviving to at least give birth to their child, Padmé dying some time after that, the child surviving and thriving somewhere in the galaxy... He couldn't have noticed, he knew, but somehow it felt as if he should have. He was the strongest in the Force after all, so how could he have missed his own son, even hidden away on Tatooine?

"I thought I was dead!" The bright, out-of-breath exclamation rudely brought Vader back to the here and now, discarding the old thought of "I should be all-powerful" for now. How had he forgotten it in the first place?


The words tumbled out, unstoppable like a sandstorm, but as the dark helmet looked down on him, Luke wondered of it had been so smart to just blurt them out. The gaze he could feel behind that inscrutable mask was intense, and slightly scary. Then he frowned, and straightened. He wasn't going to show that he was afraid! For some reason, it felt like this amused the dark giant. But how could he know what Luke was feeling? And how had the man stopped his fall and floated him over here? He was fairly burning with questions, but didn't dare ask them. Not yet.

"Who are you?" Came out anyway, slipping past his initial hesitation, gaining strength at the end. Luke thought he did have the right to ask that at the least. Of course, there was the nagging feeling he should know who this man was... both from his gut-feeling and from something more mundane, a thought back in his mind squalling for attention. The dark man was silent for a few moments, his cool cloak lapping softly at his heels in the wind, swirling like sand in the wind.

"Darth Vader." Came after a while, the demanding voice deep and resonating, but also somehow slightly softer behind the vocoder. How Luke could tell, or if it had even been there for real, and not something he'd imagined, he wasn't sure.

Then it slammed into his brain.

The Sith Lord, the Emperor's right hand man had saved him!

Was on this planet for... him? And then there was that dark and cold/warm thing in the back of his mind, alive and close. So close in fact... father? That was just a normal thought however, but Luke shifted his weight nervously and stared up at Vader. Was it possible? But how...? Luke may be naive, but that didn't mean he didn't have some self-perseverance, and it kicked in now.

"What are you doing here... sir?" Suspicion made his voice sharp, but he managed to tack on the sir without anything more than a slight pause. He didn't want to seem impolite... Vader'd probably not like that. Vader's helmet tipped slightly to the side, and one foot slid further away to rest more of the weight there, and Luke got the distinct feeling the Sith lord wasn't happy.

"I am not here to answer your questions, child. Come now." There was a definite warning in that voice, but Luke ignored it, crossing his own arms.

"To home? Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen must be worried by now..." He trailed off softly, but his blue eyes were narrowed.

"No. Not "home". And it was not a request, young one. How else would you get off the planet?" Luke was about to sharply retort that he indeed had someone that would take him home, and that the Sith lord had been kind but could now frankly toddle off if he wouldn't take Luke back to Tatooine. Even if something in Luke shied from the thought of separating from this dark, imposing giant. But Vader had apparently grown tired of waiting for Luke, and took one large step forward, grabbing his upper arm.

"Did you hear "please" somewhere in there, child? I am not a patient man." Vader rumbled, his amplified voice making the words even sharper. Luke flinched, then jerked angrily in the Sith lord's grip.

"Let go! I can get home on my own! Thanks for saving me, but you don't have any right to tell me where to go!"

The grip on his arm suddenly tightened to the point of pain, and he was shaken, not roughly, but his teeth did rattle uncomfortably.

"Again, there was no option in there for you, young one. And don't you want to know how you can know things before others... reacting quicker than should be possible..?" Freezing, Luke looked up into the helmet which was tilted just slightly down in his direction.

The last had been said softly, surprisingly so with a thought to that the vocoder didn't seem to support much in the way of vocal diversity, and Luke nodded slowly. He was curious, and if Vader had stopped his fall and floated him back to the pits, then he should be able to tell him, right?

"Okay." Luke wasn't sure what he'd just agreed to, or what was going to happen now, but the probability of him getting home in the near future suddenly seemed astronomical. In the background, in the shadow of the grandstands, several armed-to-the-teeth bodyguards herded a Rodian after a purple-skinned Twi'lek woman.