A junior officer approaches, nervous, as are all the personnel of this ship when forced to deal with me. I swivel my chair around to face him.
"Sir, the latest spy reports have arrived."
"Good. Send them to my computer." I swivel back to continue my inspection of my newly installed personal chamber. Thus far I am pleased with its design. It is equipped with all my exacting requirements. Positioned here aboard the Imperial Star Destroyer Executor, it will allow me the privacy and facilities I need while permitting me flexibility to move about the galaxy as required.
"Sir." The officer peers between the crenellated teeth of the circular shell that surrounds me. "I believe that one report contains new information on the subject of your particular interest."
I snap around to look at him. The Rebel who destroyed the Death Star. The young officer quails before me.
"Excellent. You are dismissed." I turn immediately to my computer display, calling up the pertinent reports. It has not taken long, after all, for my spies to produce the information I seek. His name must have spread halfway across the galaxy by now, on the lips of the disaffected and traitorous.
The columns of text scroll across the screen, and I skim them intently, looking for the desired name. There.
My indrawn breath rasps in my ears, then is still.
Skywalker.
It cannot be. The child died. My Master showed me the holos of the funeral on Naboo. Padmé's belly was still swollen with her pregnancy, an island rising from a sea of flowers.
I close my eyes, and swallow. My blackest shame. I have struggled to expel it from my mind, called on the Force to bury it beneath walls of iron and stone, yet still it whispers to me. I killed her, and the child. I.
I inhale, fighting for equilibrium. Skywalker is a common name. Surely this is nothing but coincidence. Surely that bright, Force-gifted presence has no connection to me. At most, perhaps one of my mother's relations, a distant cousin of some sort. Not, most emphatically not, that lost child, the news of whose existence lit Padmé's eyes and leapt in my heart, and set off the nightmarish chain of events that cost me all I once held dear.
I force myself to scroll back to the beginning of the report and read, absorbing the details with fanatic intensity. Luke, he is called. From – my breath grows ragged – Tatooine. My home world. I blink away visions of sand and sunsglare. Since the Death Star, he has established himself as the leader of the Rebel's Rogue Squadron, a unit that has done much damage to the Empire. His closest associates are a former smuggler from Corellia known as Captain Han Solo, and - here my eyes widen in surprise again – Princess, former Senator, Leia Organa, of Alderaan.
Included in the file is a hologram. My hands shake as I call it up on the display. Crude and grainy, taken from a great distance and enlarged, still I recognize him. The boy who was there at my final battle with Obi-wan, who cried out in grief at his death, who fled with the Princess and the stolen plans. Suddenly, a great deal makes sense. Obi-wan must have found him, and trained him. A new Jedi, to aid the Rebellion's cause against the Empire.
I search the distorted blue image, turning it from every angle, searching for any resemblance to Padmé or my own half remembered face. Perhaps….
Did you steal my son from me too, Obi-wan? My eyes burn with unsheddable tears. There is only one way to find out.
I press the comlink control. "Admiral Ozzel." With gratifying alacrity he presents himself before me.
"Yes, my lord?"
"Admiral, I want probes. Blanket the galaxy. These Rebels have eluded us long enough. Send a probe to every star system from here to the Outer Rim, until they are found."
"But, but, my lord, it would take thousands!" Ozzel's eyes bug out unpleasantly as he stammers. "The cost… Are you sure the Emperor…"
"Admiral Ozzel, the Emperor has put me in charge of locating and destroying the Rebellion. I lose patience with these slow methods. Deploy the probe droids, immediately!" The admiral bobs his head, and nearly stumbles in his haste to retreat from me.
I call up the holo once more, and stare at it. With the probes, the Rebels' latest hideout will soon be discovered, and he will be captured and brought to me.
When he stands before me, and I look into his eyes, I will know.
I gaze out at a sea of stars. I remember when I was a child I looked up into Tatooine's sky and dreamed of visiting every star I could see. Now I know those stars were only a tiny fraction of all the stars in the Galaxy, and though I have seen many, I will never see them all. I remember the look Qui-Gon gave me, when I told him, indulging the foolish dream of a child. You were as much a fool as I, Qui-Gon, for have not all our dreams proved as empty and impossible as that one?
Behind me a hushed babble of voices rise from the monitoring station. I listen, and catch a few words. "…the Hoth system is supposed to be devoid of human lifeforms…."
Hoth….
I approach the cluster of officers. "You found something?"
"Yes, m'lord." Admiral Ozzel squirms. He knows I know he was about to dismiss the new information as worthless. He gestures to the screen, where a holo transmission from one of the probe droids is displayed. Four curved structures rise out of a field of snow, the cooling towers of an underground power generator much larger than any legitimate settlement should require.
A profound certainty I know can come only from the Force fills me. "That's it. The Rebels are there."
Admiral Ozzel, trying to cover up his nearly disastrous error, blurts, "My Lord, there are so many uncharted settlements. It could be smugglers, it could be –"
"That is the system." Ozzel is becoming an increasingly obnoxious irritation to me. How a man of his obvious lack of talent has managed to rise through the ranks of the Imperial military is a mystery. Another of his stupid errors and I will be forced to take matters into my own hands and deal with him directly. "And I'm sure Skywalker is with them. Set your course for the Hoth system." I turn my back on him. "General Veers." Veers at least is reasonably capable. His ground troops will be vital in the assault on the Rebel base. "Prepare your men."
I retreat to my chamber, settle into my chair, and press the button to close and seal my shell around me. One sort of tension, that of the constant need to project to the world an aura of cold ruthless power, drops away, only to be replaced by another. I tap out the sequence that will begin my maintenance cycle. Only here, shut safely away from prying eyes, can my bodily needs be attended to. My authority would be destroyed if any of my subordinates were to become aware of the humiliations to which I must daily submit.
My chair reclines, and droid hands emerge all around me. I have cultivated the image of inhuman perfection so well I know those around me wonder if in fact I am a droid myself, but I know all too well that within my imposing black armor frail human flesh remains. With perfect impersonality, the mechanical hands strip away my protective coverings and begin their varied tasks of tending me. Nutrient solution is pumped through a tube directly to my stomach, bypassing my scarred and useless esophagus. Bodily wastes are removed from their reservoirs, which are cleaned and disinfected. Each of my prostheses is carefully checked to ensure all connections are intact and functioning properly, and any small repairs necessary are made. My skin is bathed, deodorized, and depilated. As helpless as an infant I lie, eyes closed, enduring their ministrations.
At last comes the moment I dread most. I draw a deep breath to fortify myself, but still as my mask is removed I experience a sensation of smothering. I pant, but my body slowly starves of oxygen in the few minutes it takes for my face and mouth to cleansed, and all the biomechanical connections to be maintained. My lids are closed, but still the unfiltered light hurts my overly sensitive eyes. Finally the mask descends again, and I gasp, the loud rasp of my air filter a welcome accompaniment to the ability to breathe again. My suit is sealed once more around me, and I am returned to a vertical position. Last of all my helmet slides into place to protect the back of my head, and once again I am whole, invulnerable.
I call up the latest reports on my terminal to study. In only a few hours I feel the subtle shift in the vibration of the ship's engines as we transition from hyperspace back into normal space. I touch the controls of my chamber, and it opens. Moments later, General Veers approaches.
"What is it, General?"
"My lord, the fleet has moved out of lightspeed. ComScan has detected an energy field protecting an area of the sixth planet of the Hoth system. The field is strong enough to deflect any bombardment."
Anger flares up within me at Admiral Ozzel's stupidity. Has the man no grasp of basic military strategy? How could the Rebels possibly miss us, springing into existence on their very doorstep? We should have slipped into normal space several systems away, approached the planet on an indirect route, taken advantage of the cover of planet, sun and moons, and been upon them before they even knew we were within a thousand parsecs. Now they are shielded against us, and our task has been made twice as difficult. I should not have to explain this to the Admiral, as if he were a first-year student at the Academy.
This is the last time. I will not tolerate his incompetence any longer. He has put my capture of young Skywalker in jeopardy. He will pay the price.
"The Rebels are alerted to our presence. Admiral Ozzel came out of lightspeed too close to the system."
Veers hears the resolve in my voice, and feels compelled to defend his fellow officer, though he shrinks back in fear of me. "He…he felt surprise was wiser – "
I do not let him finish. "He is as clumsy as he is stupid. General, prepare your troops for a surface attack." If we must do this the hard way, let us set about it immediately.
"Yes, my lord." Veers nods, and departs.
I swivel around in my chair and call up a viewscreen. On the bridge, Ozzel, unsuspecting, turns to face my image. "Lord Vader. The fleet has moved out of lightspeed and we're preparing to-"
I reach out through the Force and grip his throat, crushing it closed. His eyes bug out farther than ever and he reaches to claw the invisible hands from around his neck. Satisfaction fills me.
"You have failed me for the last time, Admiral. Captain Piett."
The captain snaps to attention. "Yes, my lord." I take pleasure in his distress, his eyes sliding sideways to take in the form of the slowly strangling Ozzel.
"Make ready to land our troops beyond their energy field and deploy the fleet so that nothing gets off the system. You are in command now, Admiral Piett."
Beside Piett, Ozzel slumps dead to the ground. Piett's eyes are full of apprehension as he replies, "Thank you, Lord Vader." His eyes flick to Ozzel's dead form; then he gestures to others to take the body away.
You are right to fear me, Piett. If you fail me, you will share his fate.
I feel strong and good, the Dark Side of the Force full and satisfied within me. I call up an image of the planet beneath us, and reach my senses out toward it. He is there; I feel him. Soon he will be mine.
I stalk the corridors of the Rebels' base, senses straining, questing for my prey. There, a familiar touch in the Force, concealed, but not well enough, aboard that freighter. It is the last of their ships left on the planet; all the others have managed to escape, blasting up past that cursed shield and vanishing into hyperspace. But he was not aboard any of them, nor the fighters that escorted them, so he must still be here, somewhere.
I hurry toward the freighter, studying the subtle Force signature. I am increasingly sure it is not his; yet I know it. The engines whine as I approach, and before I can reach it the ship lifts upward, pivots, and rockets toward space.
Dismissing it, I throw my search wider. Nothing, nothing… Ah, I have found him. Even as I turn to make my way toward him, I am scrutinizing my awareness of him. Bright and strong, just as I remember. I search for any hint of the truth of his identity. Are you the one I think you may be? Do I hope you are, or fear it…?
No! His presence launches upward, streaks overhead, then is gone. I stand, fists clenched at my side, consumed by frustrated rage. This assault is a complete fiasco. All the Rebels have escaped, and now Skywalker, too, is gone.
I storm back to my shuttle, spitting out the order to launch. By the time we arrive back at the Executor, I have mastered my anger. Most of the commotion of battle has died down, but on the bridge a cluster of officers still gather around the command center. Piett straightens up and approaches me, grim resolve almost concealing his terror.
"My lord, all but one of the Rebel vessels has escaped into hyperspace."
Startled, I focus on him. "One remains?" Piett, I may let you live after all…
"Yes, my lord. One Rebel ship is still in the system, although so far its evasive maneuvers have allowed it to evade capture. Intelligence indicates that it is the Millennium Falcon, under Captain Han Solo. We surmise that its hyperdrive may be malfunctioning. With it confined to normal space, we expect to capture it shortly." Piett swallows nervously.
I look at the tactical display. An image of a freighter hovers there. I recognize it. The last ship to take off from Hoth, the same freighter captured on the Death Star. Captain Han Solo, young Skywalker's friend. And now, my mind making connections in a cascade of revelations, I recognize the subtle Force signature I felt aboard the ship. The Princess, her mind familiar to me from my attempts to probe her on the Death Star.
Skywalker's two closest friends are aboard that freighter.
"Admiral Piett, I will be in my chamber. Report to me any further news of the Millennium Falcon."
Sealed within my chamber, I open my mind to a memory long suppressed. My mother's face, twisted with agony, crying out. Her pain an irresistible summons, calling me across the galaxy to her side.
Soon Skywalker's friends will be in my power. He will feel their pain, like a wound in the Force. Wherever he has fled he will sense it. If he is truly my son, if he has inherited anything from me at all, he will not be able to resist coming to their aid. Even if he suspects it is a trap, the bait will be too much for him to withstand, and he will come.
I will be waiting for him.
My maintenance cycle whirrs to a close. When I open my eyes, I notice my shell has opened prematurely. I frown as my helmet is lowered over my head. I will have to examine the circuitry and locate the malfunction.
Swiveling my chair around, I see Piett, standing at patient attention. Momentarily, I freeze. What has he seen? But his face is schooled into an expression of perfect indifference, and I am eager for the news he bears, so I choose to ignore the mishap.
"Yes, Admiral?"
"Our ships have sighted the Millennium Falcon, lord, but it has entered an asteroid field, and we cannot risk –"
An asteroid field? This Captain Solo is bold. But if they die, their ship crushed by hurtling chunks of rock, they will not serve my purpose, and Skywalker will be lost to me.
"Asteroids do not concern me, Admiral. I want that ship, not excuses."
"Yes, lord."
I slam my fist down on the control and my chamber closes. They must be taken alive. I reach out in the Force, not hoping to feel much over this distance, but I sense her, faint but definitely there. The Force latent within her must be stronger than I had realized. I fix her presence in my mind, alert to any change.
I call up the spy reports I studied earlier on my terminal. I remember something in the dossier on Captain Solo. Yes, here it is. In his career as a smuggler, before joining the Rebellion, Captain Solo had a falling out with an employer, Jabba the Hutt. The dispute escalated, and resulted in the Hutt placing a spectacularly large price on his head. My eyes widen when I see the figure. For that sum, every bounty hunter in the galaxy must know Solo's name.
I am well familiar with the Hutt from my childhood on Tatooine. They do not forgive nor forget. If I want Solo, I had better find him quickly, before some bounty hunter beats me to my prey.
An idea glimmers. I call up the charts of our position. Yes, we are fairly close to the Bompa System, no more than a few hours at lightspeed. There is a city there, on its fifth planet, which is well known for its Underworld district. All sorts of lowlife characters hang out there, smugglers, drug runners, assassins… bounty hunters.
My own men have proven ineffectual in their pursuit of this Rebel criminal. Though what the bounty hunters do is only quasi-legal, their skill is legendary. With a tip from me as to Solo's recent presence here, one of them may well be able to accomplish what Imperial troops cannot.
I quickly compose an invitation, and dispatch it to the Imperial outpost on Bompa. They will disseminate it through the appropriate local channels, and with any luck it will receive a quick response. I send word to the docking bay official to welcome the bounty hunters' ships as they appear, and to make our guests comfortable until I am ready to call upon their services. Somewhat mollified, I close down my terminal and leave my chamber for the bridge.
Tiny shudders wrack the fabric of the ship as asteroids bombard it. Large as it is, each individual strike can do only minimal harm, but if we stay long within the field the damage will accumulate enough to become significant. The vibrations travel up through my booted soles, stimulating the nerve receptors in my prostheses into an unpleasant jangling buzz, throwing my sense of balance into disequilibrium.
At the bridge, I move to the main holoscreen and order the captains of the fleet to make their reports. Their images appear, crackling with static from the field's interference. Captain Needa, of the Avenger, takes the lead. "A number of my fighters have been destroyed pursuing the Millennium Falcon. We tracked it as it flew close to a large asteroid, but then lost the signal. And that, Lord Vader, was the last time they appeared in any of our scopes." Beside him another Captain's image flickers and disappears, as the transmitter on his ship is knocked offline. "Considering the amount of damage we've sustained, they must have been destroyed." His face does not betray his anxiety, but I know he must be desperate to take his ship out of the asteroid field, feeling each strike like a blow to his own body.
Her presence is still there in my mind. "No, Captain, they're alive. I want every ship available to sweep the asteroid field until they are found." They incline their heads to me and I cut off the screen.
Piett approaches me. "Lord Vader."
His voice is tense. I wonder impatiently what new difficulty has arisen. "Yes, Admiral, what is it?"
"The Emperor commands you to make contact with him."
Cold like deep space floods me. What can my Master want with me? This sort of command is nearly unprecedented. Still, obedience must be immediate and perfect. "Move the ship out of the asteroid field so that we can send a clear transmission." I turn away, barely aware of his acknowledgement of my order.
This must concern young Skywalker. I have allowed my personal interest in him to overwhelm my responsibility to the Empire, and distract me from my core purpose of defeating the Rebellion. I did not report my suspicions immediately to my Master, but instead concealed them from him. I have spent the Empire's resources profligately in his pursuit.
If he is my son, if Obi-Wan trained him as a Jedi, then he is a threat to the Empire, and to the Emperor. My Master will want him eliminated. My breath rasps in my ears.
My child, and Padmé's. Alive, when I thought him lost all these years.
Dare I set my will against my lord and Master?
Mind in turmoil, I step onto the transmission circle, sink to one knee, and bow my head. The air above me shimmers, and his image sharpens into existence. It looms above me. I look upward into his face. Once I trusted and respected this man, and believed he cared for me. But over the years I have grown to realize that any concern for me was only a sham. It has been long since there ceased to be anything between us but power and submission. "What is thy bidding, my Master?"
His voice is cool, impersonal. "There is a great disturbance in the Force."
It is as I feared. "I have felt it." I gather the Force around me as a shield, lest he read the secret rebellion in my heart.
"We have a new enemy… the young Rebel who destroyed the Death Star." His eyes bore into me, studying my reaction to his words. "I have no doubt this boy is the offspring of Anakin Skywalker."
Though a part of me has known since first I saw his name, this confirms it beyond any doubt. He is. He is my son. Though my master maintains the fiction between us that Anakin Skywalker was some other man, a man long dead, I know his words are meant as daggers to wound me. But how can he be so certain? Suspicion flares. Can he have known all along my son lived, and kept the knowledge from me?
My voice trembles, try as I might to control it. I must feign surprise. "How is that possible?"
"Search your feelings, Lord Vader. You will know it to be true." Yes, I know it to be true. I remember the feel of her round belly under my hand, the child within dancing against my palm. "He could destroy us."
He fears my son. He fears me. He fears I feel some loyalty to my son, that my bond to him might prove stronger than my oath to Master and Emperor.
He is right to fear me.
Perhaps I can persuade him my son is no threat. "He's just a boy. Obi-wan can no longer help him."
But my Master knows better. "The Force is strong with him. The son of Skywalker must not become a Jedi." He watches me, implacable.
My mind races. There is another tack I might try, a desperate gamble. My own life will lie in hazard on the table, forfeit if the game goes against me.
I phrase my words carefully. "If he could be turned, he would become a powerful ally."
I know there can be only two Sith. I am not my Master's first apprentice. He does not hesitate to sacrifice one, if another of more utility to him presents himself. I remember Dooku's look of shocked betrayal as Palpatine ordered me to kill him. This is what I am offering. If my son turns to the Dark Side of the Force, only one of us can remain to serve my Master.
Unless, of course, we join forces, and overthrow him. Then I could train him as my apprentice, teach him all the ways of the Force, keep him forever by my side. The galaxy could be ours. Are you willing to take the wager? A chance for a young, strong apprentice, against a possibility of betrayal and defeat?
He eyes me, speculatively. "Yes…. " It amuses him that I have revealed my feelings and intentions so completely. He does not consider me a serious threat, even in league with my son. He feels he has nothing to lose. A smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. "He would be a great asset. Can it be done?"
Can it? Obi-Wan will have indoctrinated him thoroughly into the Jedi mythos, with its taboo against any dealings with the Dark Side. He will be reluctant to accept my revelation of it as a legitimate road to power. He will fight me; he will bend all his young power in the Force to my defeat. He will hate me.
But it is the only way I can see that he can live.
"He will join us or die, Master."
Don't make me kill you, my son.
My son. My son.
These bounty hunters are a disreputable bunch, a motley assortment of seedy humans and aliens of every variety. They blot the pristine order of the Executor's deck. Viewing their ranks, I am reminded forcibly of the streets of Mos Espa. I feel the grit of sand, smell the stink of Bantha dung. I thought I had long escaped having to deal with this kind of scum.
I walk among them as I give my instructions. "There will be a substantial reward for the one who finds the Millennium Falcon. You are free to use any methods necessary, but I want them alive." One shifts at these words. I look at him closely. He understands as well as I the usefulness of a mask to conceal thoughts and emotions, but the pitch of his shoulders and tilt of his head betray his dissatisfaction. I fix him with my stare. "No disintegrations."
He nods insolently. "As you wish." But I know he will obey. Payment is his only goal, which will be forfeit if he ignores my instructions.
Piett appears behind me, radiating relief and excitement beneath his thin veneer of military discipline. "Lord Vader. My Lord, we have them."
I follow him to the main tactical display, dismissing the now extraneous bounty hunters from my thoughts. There is the tiny blip that marks the Millennium Falcon, swooping dangerously close to the Avenger. I hold my breath as they twist and tumble, terrified lest the pilot miscalculate and crash or my men forget their orders and fire. But no, now their image has vanished into the bulky form of the Avenger. Needa must have caught them with a tractor beam and drawn them into the docking bay.
I have them. Now all that remains is to prepare to carry out my plan. How might it best be done, to make the signal of their pain clear and sharp, yet not damage them unduly in case I must continue longer than I anticipate? I sort through the myriad of methods at my disposal. And how best to lay the trap for Skywalker, so that when he comes, he finds not his friends, but me?
Captain Needa sends word he will come to the Executor in his shuttle, to make his report in person. I wait, eager to receive the captives he will undoubtedly bring with him. Needa is a good and reliable officer, excellent both at following my orders and using his own initiative to carry out independent actions. I will be sure he is suitably rewarded for this success. Perhaps I should consider him for promotion if the opportunity arises.
Needa approaches me where I stand on the bridge. He is alone. A chill of foreboding washes over me. He faces me forthrightly, eyes meeting mine with level steadiness, but there is some trace of terror within his resolve, and suddenly I dread his words. "Captain Needa, your report."
He swallows. "Lord Vader, I accept full responsibility for my failure. The Millennium Falcon has again evaded capture. We were on top of them, moments from locking our tractor beam on them, when they… vanished. I have no explanation or excuse. I sincerely apologize that I have failed y…"
I scarcely hear his words, so deluged am I by crashing waves of rage. Skywalker's friends were within my grasp, and he has let them slip away again! I slam my mind into the depths of the Force, seize killing power, and jerk a tight knot of it about Needa's throat. I take pleasure in watching him gasp out his last remnants of life. So shall end all who fail me.
"Apology accepted, Captain Needa." I signal, and underlings come to haul the body away.
I glower around the bridge, and everyone bends with a show of intense concentration to their assigned tasks. Already I feel a pang of regret for my impetuous action. The fleet will be weaker without Needa's experienced hand at the helm of the Avenger. Again I have allowed my personal feelings to cloud my judgment and distract me from my responsibility. My anger at myself and at the universe radiates from me, and my subordinates cower from my dangerous unpredictability.
I stalk over to where Piett is receiving reports. He straightens to attention. "Lord Vader, our ships have completed their scan of the area and found nothing. If the Millennium Falcon went into light speed, it will be on the other side of the galaxy by now."
That must be what happened. They must have repaired their hyperdrive during their hours in hiding. Realistically, our chances of finding them now are almost zero. But I refuse to show my despair. "Alert all commands. Calculate every possible destination along their last known trajectory." He knows and I know this is a useless exercise. The most basic of evasive maneuvers, no more than dropping briefly back into normal space and changing direction, and they can evade this search.
But Piett is not about to contradict me. "Yes, my lord. We'll find them."
His groveling annoys me. Yet how can I expect aught but craven submissiveness, if I deal out death as a reward for courage? But this is the gambit I have chosen, and I must play it out to the end. Any hesitation will be interpreted as weakness. I fix Piett with my stare. "Don't fail me again, Admiral." I draw out his title, emphasizing it just enough to remind him of the circumstances of his promotion to that rank. He swallows, understanding me perfectly.
My chamber is a welcome refuge. As the shell closes around me I slump forward, propping my head on my hands. The stresses of the day have left me drained and exhausted. The dull background of pain that is my constant companion has sharpened until I can scarcely focus my attention on anything else. Even my anger, which would give me an easy path into the Force to calm and center myself, has deserted me, leaving nothing but a sluggish depression. Tiredly, I begin the first steps of the most basic meditation ritual. Perhaps if I can manage to sleep for a few hours, I will be able to face the prospect of beginning the whole process of search and pursuit over again with some sort of energy and enthusiasm. But for now I long for a space of oblivion, where I need not think or feel.
As my heart rate and breathing slow, I feel the tiny vibrations of the ship preparing for the transition to lightspeed, then the indefinable pulling sensation as we cross the boundary into hyperspace. I recline my chair to my sleeping position and dim the lights. If only the nightmares will stay away long enough for me to rest just a little.
I am drifting slowly into unconsciousness, nearly asleep, when an insistent beeping rouses me. I open my eyes and see a light flashing on my comconsole. Cursing, I reach over and slap the controls, activating voice transmission only. "What is it?"
"Lord Vader, one of the bounty hunters has made contact with us. He insists he will speak only to you. Should I put the transmission through to you now, or inform him you will contact him at your convenience?"
I am already uprighting my chair. "Put it through now." I almost forgot the bounty hunters. Could one of them have come through for me after all?
His voice is scratchy with the characteristic distortion of a transmission from normal space to hyperspace, but I recognize it. The masked one. "Lord Vader, this is Boba Fett. I've found Solo's ship. He's still in normal space, not far from where you lost him. I've tracked him for a while now, and I believe his destination is the Bespin system. Do you want me to apprehend him now, or continue tracking him?"
I call up a star chart. Bespin is located fairly close, but in almost the opposite direction we are currently heading. "Just keep following them. Don't do anything to let them know you're there. I will take the fleet to Bespin. How long do you estimate it will take them to get there?"
"If they continue in normal space, a few days."
"At lightspeed we can be there well before they arrive. Maintain your pursuit and notify me at once if they change course or go to lightspeed."
"Acknowledged."
Before he even finishes the word, I cut off his signal, and open a channel to the bridge. "Admiral Piett, reverse course immediately. Take us to the Bespin system."
All weariness has fallen away. My quarry is again within my sight.
I stand on the viewing deck of my shuttle, watching out the wide portal as we descend into Bespin's atmosphere. Swirling masses of cloud spread out beneath us. The slanting rays of Bespin's sun tint the spun sugar billows in myriad shades of rose and gold. Then, through a break in the clouds, I glimpse the city that is our goal, a silver disk floating almost weightlessly in the sky, supported by no more than a single slender spire.
I catch my breath at the exquisiteness of the skyscape before me. How long has it been since I noticed beauty, or appreciated it? Unbidden, a thought steals into my consciousness. Padmé would have loved it.
Recklessly I allow her image to form in my imagination, standing beside me, gazing out the portal. I can envision the quirk of her smile, the light in her eyes, can hear the delight in her voice. Ani, it's so beautiful… I can see the silken ropes of her hair, twining about the alabaster column of her neck…
I can feel her throat caught in the vise of my fist, crushing the breath from her lungs, can feel my rage thrusting through the Force, violating her body, searching out every last spark of life to extinguish it… I stagger, shaken, and fight to suppress the memory, to force it back down behind the barriers I have built, to slam the door again on the anguish of my guilt. This is why I must never think of her, must blot out even the tiniest recollection of my beloved whom I destroyed.
"Lord Vader?" The shuttle pilot's voice is hesitant, and I think he must have already repeated my name several times.
I turn, as calmly as I can, and force the rasp of my breath to slow. "What is it?"
"My lord, we will be landing momentarily. The administrator of the city will be there to meet with you upon our arrival, as you ordered."
"Good." My steps are heavy as I return to my seat. If my plan works, soon I will be meeting her son, somewhere down there. Will he seek revenge for his mother's murder? I might be compelled to take his throat too in my hand, and choke out breath and life. I do not know if I am strong enough to face that eventuality.
I must call upon my anger, use my rage, fill myself with all the power the Dark Side of the Force can give me. Only then will I be able to do what I must.
"Lord Vader, we are honored to welcome such a distinguished representative of the Empire." The administrator of Cloud City offers an elaborate bow. "My name is Lando Calrissian. I offer you the full hospitality of my city for as long as you may wish to stay with us."
He does an excellent job of dissembling, but I can detect an undercurrent of apprehension. Well should he be afraid. During our journey here I studied the Empire's records concerning Bespin and Cloud City. The gas mining operation that is the reason for this city's existence derives most of its income from illegal trade. By keeping the business fairly small and paying well-placed bribes, Calrissian has managed to avoid making himself enough of a problem for us to bother shutting him down. But I have enormous leverage in dealing with him. He will agree to whatever I demand.
He ushers us in to a luxuriously appointed receiving room, and offers us refreshment. I signal my retinue that they may partake, and wait, impassive, while food and drink is served and consumed. I have participated in many official functions of this sort, and have inured myself to watching others enjoy pleasures lost to me. The sensation of cool water flowing over my lips and down my throat. The crunch of crisp vegetables between my teeth. The rich heady scent of wine. The warmth of spices on my tongue. Gone, all gone beyond any hope of recovery.
As soon as formality permits, I turn to Calrissian. "The Empire has taken an interest in your enterprise here, Calrissian. Your business appears to be quite successful. However, certain irregularities have come to my attention."
Under his dark complexion, Calrissian goes pale. "My lord, I assure you everything is perfectly in order. If you wish, I can show you extensive documentation of all our dealings, all completely approved by the Empire through the proper channels…"
"Save your breath, Calrissian. I have no wish to shut your operation down. The Empire is quite willing to overlook any minor transgressions you may have committed. All we require is your willing service in a small matter that has arisen."
Still rebellious, but resigned, Calrissian nods. "What do you ask of us, Lord Vader?"
"As we speak, a ship is approaching your planet. When they arrive, you will welcome all aboard into the city, and then escort them to where I am waiting. This room will do nicely. You will turn them over to me. You will allow me the use of all your facilities for as long as I may require them."
He is willing, but wary. "What ship is this? Who's aboard her? And why do you want them?"
"The ship is the Millennium Falcon. She is piloted by Captain Han Solo, and I believe with him is Princess Leia Organa. As to why I want them, that is none of your concern."
"The Millennium Falcon?" Surprise lights his face. "But that was my… And Han…" He snaps his mouth shut. For a long moment he considers. Finally, he turns back to me. "Han Solo is an old friend of mine. I am very reluctant to betray him."
"May I remind you that the Imperial Fleet is orbiting the planet as we speak. If you are not willing to cooperate, I will have to proceed without your cooperation. I do not think you or your city would find that an appealing prospect. In any case, I will only require Captain Solo's services for a short time."
"After that, you will release him to my custody? And the others?"
"That may be possible."
"And in return, the Empire will leave Cloud City alone from now on? No interference in our affairs at all?"
I incline my head. "Do we have a deal?"
I can tell he still doesn't trust me, but he nods. "It's a deal."
"Good. Then I wish to be given a tour of all your facilities immediately."
I walk behind the guide Calrissian has assigned me, mostly ignoring his tourist propaganda spiel, eyes busily assessing each space as he leads me through the city. The public areas are unsuitable for my plans, but I grow more interested as we enter the industrial section. We ride a lift up to a large, round, multilevel room, and I sweep it with my glance. A carbon freezing facility. This could well serve, and solve a problem that has been troubling me at the same time.
My master expects me to bring my son to him. I will attempt to deal with him myself, but he will not turn lightly or easily, and I have no experience in these matters. I may well need my master's aid. The journey to Coruscant will not take long, no more than a few days, but my son is gifted with the Force, and it will be no small task to keep him captive until we arrive. The risk of escape would be great. But if he were to be placed in deep hibernation, encased in carbonite, he would be powerless to act.
I leave my guide in the midst of a speech extolling the virtues of Cloud City's technology, and approach the operator of the machinery as he works the controls. "Could this chamber be modified to place a human in carbon hibernation?"
He tilts his head to the side, considering. "Well, the technology is essentially the same, although we've never used it for anything of that nature. Still, it wouldn't take too much effort. Could be dangerous, though; this equipment wasn't manufactured with nearly the quality they use in the hibernation facilities."
My decision is made. "You will do so. I will provide any men and equipment you might need. It must be completed by tomorrow. I will return to inspect the modifications then."
All is as ready as I can make it. I prowl around the chamber for a while, studying the layout and footing, that I may have the advantage of familiarity with the ground when we come to combat. Soon I am informed that the Millennium Falcon has landed, and Calrissian is holding Solo and the Princess until I am ready.
I go to the reception room. Fett is there before me. I owe him much. "You have done well. I will have the agreed upon payment transferred to your account."
"And Solo?"
"You may have him once I have finished my business with him." I gesture for him to conceal himself out of view from the entrance. The table has been spread with all the trappings of a formal reception. Appreciating the irony, I seat myself at the head, the welcoming host.
Soon I hear footsteps and voices outside the room. The doors slide open. I rise to greet my guests.
The princess I know well, from her time as prisoner aboard the Death Star, and before that from the Senate. The man with her must be Captain Solo. They have a Wookiee with them as well – that must be Solo's partner and copilot. He makes one of those unintelligible Wookiee noises. Solo, seeing me, draws a blaster and fires. But I have anticipated him, and am prepared. I send Force flowing through my prosthetic hands, and shatter the blaster bolts into fountains of harmless sparks. A quick reach through the Force, and the blaster flies to my hand. The three Rebels look bewildered, and afraid. I gesture to the seats around the long table. "We would be honored if you would join us." Behind them, my Stormtroopers step into view from where they have waited concealed. Boba Fett steps from the shadows and stands beside me, weapon ready.
Calrissian flinches back from the outraged glare Solo aims at him. "I had no choice." His eyes plead for sympathy. "They arrived right before you did. I'm sorry." I must watch him carefully. He has entirely too much interest in my captives.
Solo and the princess look at each other, then back at Calrissian. Solo speaks for them both. "I'm sorry, too." But there is no trace of sorrow in his voice, only resigned anger. The Wookiee bleats more gibberish. As Solo and the princess step reluctantly across the threshold, eyes fixed on me, his hand reaches out to meet hers, reaching for him, and they twine their fingers together, each taking comfort from the other's strength.
I stare at those clasped hands, at the way they stand just a little closer together than mere companionship would dictate. I reach out to sense the emotional current between them, and am almost burned by the intensity of the sparks crackling from one to the other. They are lovers! New and as yet unconsummated, their sexual tension flames so bright it scarcely takes the Force to sense it. For a moment I smile at the thought of the gleeful malice with which the scandalmongers and gossips of Coruscant society would greet this development. Then I realize how I can use this in my plan. Emotional pain will focus and magnify the physical pain, for what one experiences, the other will feel doubly and triply.
The princess looks up at me with her usual insolent defiance. She turns her head to Solo, though her eyes stay locked on me. "Your friend Lando should hire an exterminator. His city seems to have become infested with Gredularoidian cockroaches."
"I am pleased to see you have lost none of your acid wit, Princess." I probe her, looking for the Force signature I sensed during the pursuit. Yes, there it is, subtle and easily overlooked, but distinct. I wonder how I missed feeling it when I held her captive before. Could her association with my son have strengthened her latent Force abilities? But there is no indication she has any conscious awareness of their presence, or any hint of how to make use of them.
"You should know by now, Vader, that you'll get nothing of any value from me." The shield of her bravado is nearly perfect. Only a tiny trace of her fear leaks through.
"On the contrary, Princess, you will provide me with exactly what I need." I turn to the stormtroopers beside me. "Take the Princess to –"
"Now wait a minute." Solo shoulders his way in front of the Princess. "Listen, Vader, you don't need to mess with her." He flashes me an ingratiating grin. "I know everything she does. Let's keep this between the men." The princess glares at him, outraged at his interference. His grin fades, but his earnest eyes never leave mine. "Just take me, alright? Leave her alone."
I hold myself very still, lest I betray how deeply his words have touched me. I know too well what it is like, to love a woman enough to sell my life for hers.
"So be it." She will still suffer, if she truly loves him.
My orders are carried out swiftly. The princess is taken to one room that has been converted to a holding cell, the Wookiee to another. On the off chance my son has formed emotional ties to the Wookiee as well, I arrange to intermittently pipe high pitched sound into his room. It should be intolerable to a Wookiee's sensitive hearing.
Solo's torture I supervise personally. I have decided to use certain drugs, which increase the subject's sensitivity to pain a hundredfold. Once he has been injected, it is a simple matter of subjecting him to various small hurts, not enough to cause any permanent damage, but magnified in his perception beyond the suffering of the most brutal bodily injuries.
His face twists into a grimace of endurance as the torture proceeds. He is brave, but his terror bubbles just below the surface. Suddenly I find I cannot watch any longer. I feel no satisfaction at his pain, only a faint sickness. I wonder, for the first time, what my son will think of my actions. He will hate me, of course. But that is good. The greater his hate, the easier it will be to turn him to the Dark Side. And once he turns, he will realize it was necessary. His loyalty will be to me, then, not to these friends of his.
Perhaps I will order him to kill them, to seal his bond to the Dark. Was that not how my Master initiated me? He set me first to a task I would previously have found repugnant, a task I must drown myself deeply in the Dark Side to be able to bear. To be able to see the necessity, regrettable perhaps, but inevitable. The Jedi Order had become corrupt, had betrayed their loyalty to the Republic, and all who were touched by their taint must be eliminated. It was not my Master's fault or mine that they chose to take in children, to begin their training when they were no more than infants in their cradles. Their deaths were quick and merciful. And if their wide, terrified eyes still haunt my nightmares, it is only evidence that I have not yet succeeded in excising the last traces of my early conditioning. But my Master knew that such a deed would bind my oath as mere words never could. For from the moment I carried out his orders, my path was irrevocably set, and there was no turning back.
Behind me, Solo's screams ring out. I call on the Force to deafen my ears and harden my heart.
Fett is anxious for the bounty on Solo from the Hutt, and Calrissian has quibbles about the deal we have made. I deal with their petty complaints automatically, my mind focused on my goal.
The hours drag with agonizing slowness. I return to my chamber aboard the Executor for my maintenance cycle and a few hours of restless sleep. Then I return to the city, ordering the fleet to conceal themselves well away from the planet.
I go again to the carbon freezing facility. The modifications have been completed on schedule. They are crude, but should be adequate. As I inspect it, one of my officers approaches me. "Lord Vader, ship approaching, X-wing class."
So soon! My heart races, but I discipline my voice to calmness. "Good. Monitor Skywalker and allow him to land."
My plan has worked. He will be here within the hour. I stare into the central pit, panic gripping me. What if it malfunctions, and my son dies?
Calrissian comes up beside me and speaks, as if giving voice to my fear. "Lord Vader, we only use this facility for carbon freezing. You put him in there, it might kill him."
There is no time for extensive testing, but… I snap to a decision. "I do not want the Emperor's prize damaged." I am rationalizing. It is my own desire that he not be harmed that motivates me. But it is better if only I know that. "We will test it on Captain Solo."
The prisoners are brought swiftly. Somewhere the Wookiee has acquired a partially disassembled protocol droid, strapped in pieces to his back. Did they have a droid with them before? I don't remember, but I might very well not have noticed if they had. Although I probably would have noticed a protocol droid, for every time I see one I remember scrounging through the trash heaps of Mos Espa for circuits and wires to salvage, and long hours spent piecing together my finds into a complete creation. This one's damaged state irritates me. Give me a few minutes with my tools and I'd soon have him put back together properly. But the droid is essentially irrelevant, so I dismiss him from my thoughts.
Boba Fett is furious about my plans for Solo, though he conceals it well. "What if he doesn't survive? He's worth a lot to me."
I will be glad to be rid of this obnoxious bounty hunter, constantly hovering at my shoulder to make sure his prize is not in jeopardy. I wave his concern away. "The Empire will compensate you if he dies." With the vast size of the bounty the Hutt have promised, I am far beyond my authority to make this assurance, but I will worry about that only if the need arises. I gesture to the guards. "Put him in."
As they seize Solo, the Wookiee cries out, and flails his long arms wildly. Several stormtroopers are knocked sprawling. The guards struggle to contain him. Beside me, Fett raises his weapon. Idiot, don't shoot him. I may have need of him yet. I shove the blaster down.
Solo moves to the Wookiee, and speaks calming words to him. I turn to watch their interaction, but my gaze is caught by the Princess. She is looking, not at her lover, but at me, and her eyes smolder with fury. I feel a sluggish stirring in the Force around me. I stare at her in surprise. She is reaching out, clumsily and perhaps unconsciously, to strike me, and it is not the Light she is calling upon. No, in her untrained, awkward way, she is seeking to use the Dark Side of the Force, though I doubt she realizes it. With the strength of her hatred for me, she might well succeed, given enough time to work unopposed.
I block her efforts easily, and she shrinks back, cowed, from my superior strength and skill. The Wookiee has calmed down again. The Princess turns to Solo, he bends toward her, and they kiss, hard and passionate. I close my eyes. Their feelings should mean nothing to me. When I open them again, my stormtroopers have dragged Solo away and positioned him in the center of the carbon freezing chamber. The Princess, staring at him, blurts out, "I love you."
His words are light, but his voice and eyes are deadly earnest. "I know."
I know I should not, must not, but the temptation is too great, and I open myself to sense the current of passion flowing between them. Their eyes stay locked together as Solo is slowly lowered into the pit, and the touch of their emotion is exquisite agony to me. The Wookiee cries out mournfully, and I wrench myself away, ashamed and angry at my weakness. I look at the operator, and he throws the switch to begin the process.
Steam billows up around us as carbonite pours into the chamber. The process takes only an instant. Then mechanical claws clamp around the new-made block, and lift it to our level. It crashes to the floor. Solo's face and hands form a bas-relief sculpture in the surface of the block, as if an artist labored for a lifetime to capture the essence of a captive soul yearning for freedom. Calrissian kneels beside it, and checks the readings on the control panel that has been incorporated into the carbonite.
"Well, Calrissian, did he survive?" Good, my voice is impassive, betraying nothing of my anxiety.
Calrissian nods. "Yes, he's alive… and in perfect hibernation."
My plan will work. This time it is relief I struggle to keep from my voice. "He's all yours, bounty hunter. Reset the chamber for Skywalker."
One of my officers enters the room and approaches me. "Skywalker has just landed, my lord."
My heart beats faster. The moment is almost upon me. "Good. See to it that he finds his way in here."
I gesture for the chamber to be emptied. Calrissian moves to take the Princess's arm to escort her out. I stop him with a glance. "Calrissian, take the Princess and the Wookiee to my ship." I am greatly intrigued by the Princess's little display. A Rebel leader, flirting with the Dark Side. I think I have found her vulnerability at last, and with it a potential that may yet be made to serve the Empire.
Calrissian protests, outraged. "You said they'd be left in the city under my supervision."
I am impatient with anything that delays the coming confrontation. "I am altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it any further." I storm across the room, calling for my officers to clear everyone away from the chamber.
Finally it is empty. As my last officer leaves, I give strict orders that Skywalker and I are not to be disturbed for any reason. He rides the lift down, and leaves it lowered, ready for my son to find it.
I am alone. All is silent save for the rasp and hiss of my breath. I pace through the room, searching for the best place to wait for him. Here, on the upper level. I send a flicker of Force to the switch that controls the lights, and the room goes dim. I will conceal myself in the shadows. I choose my position and make sure my lightsaber is ready to my hand. My preparations are complete. Now there is nothing to do but to wait.
Try as I might to be calm, adrenaline courses through my system. My guts twist in knots, sending waves of nausea into my stomach. My heart hammers in my chest, and my pulse pounds loud in my ears. My skin is clammy with sweat. I feel the same mix of anticipation and terror as when I used to wait in my pod, hands on the controls, ears straining for the sound of the starting gong. I felt this way riding up the turbolift to meet Padmé again after a decade apart. I felt this way on our wedding night, as she led me for the first time to her bed.
I school my mind to meditation, working through the familiar steps of the Sith ritual. But it does nothing for me; I am in as much turmoil as ever. Desperate for calm, I cast my mind back and call up my memory of the Jedi ritual. This is somewhat more successful, my jumbled thoughts stilling and centering. But still I jump at the sound of the lift hissing upward.
He is here. I feel him, cautious and alert, senses scanning the darkened room. I can see his shadowy form as he slowly returns his blaster to his belt.
I can bear to wait no longer. I flick the controls, and light floods the chamber. I look upon him, finally, as I speak the words I have prepared. "The Force is with you, young Skywalker." It shines around him, bright as ever. "But you are not a Jedi yet."
He is slender, but his body holds a wiry strength. He is wary, guarded. Hearing my voice, he starts, and then approaches me. Momentarily, the way the light falls on his features and the angle of his head are shockingly familiar to me. I have prepared myself to see echoes of Padmé in his face, or my own younger self, but not this. For an instant my mother looks back at me.
Then he shifts, and I can see that the resemblance to his grandmother is not really that great, though present. But I am shaken, and I struggle to regain my composure.
He climbs the stairs to the upper level and stands before me. Our eyes lock and we study each other.
He cannot know. His eyes meet mine with forthright enmity. There is no trace of questioning, searching, yearning… none of the emotions I feel as I gaze at him. To him I am nothing but a foe. I have killed his mentor, hurt his friends, I am a servant of the Empire he fights against, and he faces me with a simple resolve to defeat me or die.
He draws a lightsaber from his belt and ignites it. As the blue beam flames to life, I stare transfixed at the hilt. Every lightsaber is unique, and this one is intimately familiar to me. I remember hours spent bent over it in intricate labor, plying tools and Force in partnership as only a Jedi can, building a weapon I would wield with pride, all through the Clone Wars. Obi-Wan took it from me, as I lay dying on the sands of Mustafar, stripping away my membership in the Jedi Order. Now it burns in the hand of my son.
I raise my own lightsaber in answer to his challenge. This one too I built, but according to Sith principles, the synthetic red crystal at its heart lending its color to the glowing blade. We stand, opposed, each waiting for the other to make the first move.
He strikes the first blow. Ah, he has not yet learned patience. I parry it, allowing him to show me his skill. He fights well, though not with the polish only years of practice can give. But he knows the essential skill of allowing the Force to flow through his body and weapon, and from that all else can come.
I move more aggressively against him, testing his strength. I force him backwards, and he falls back into a crouch. I do not press my advantage. He scrambles to his feet and moves against me again. He is courageous enough, certainly. We fight, saber meeting saber in a deadly rhythm of crackles and thrums.
A pause comes in the tempo of our battle, and we both catch our breath. I have the measure of his ability now. Well on the road to becoming an excellent swordsman, but not nearly up to my level, yet. I can defeat him without killing him, if I keep my wits about me.
"You have learned much, young one." I am honest in my praise. I remember the long hours of drill under Obi-Wan's tutelage. Here and there in his technique I recognize a move Obi-Wan taught me.
"You'll find I'm full of surprises." His voice is strained. I can hear the inflections of Tatooine in his accent.
Again our sabers meet. This time I fight with more purpose. Soon my chance comes. A twist of my wrist, and his saber flies from his hand, clattering down to land on the chamber's lower level. I press towards him and he retreats, tumbling down the stairs. You will have to correct that error in your form, my son. You must learn to be aware of what's behind you. I gauge the distance carefully, then tap into the Force and leap. Now he is trapped between me and the chamber's central pit.
He scrambles back. Then, when I do not pursue, he warily climbs to his feet.
"Your destiny lies with me, Skywalker." Your inheritance, your birthright. "Obi-Wan knew this to be true." He must have known you were my son. How did he dare train you, after his experience with me? He must have known that someday our paths would cross, and I would call you to join me on the Dark Side. It must have been his greatest fear.
His eyes shift to the side, seeking an escape, but there is none. He looks back at me. "No." He is defiant, but there is fear in his voice also. My son, there is nothing to fear. The Dark Side is not so terrible. It is just another path. Will you walk beside me on it?
He is right on the rim of the pit, now. I know his weakness. I edge forward, and, his eyes locked on mine, he edges back. With a shout he falls backwards into the pit.
"All too easy." Almost I am disappointed. Our time alone together is over. After this, my Master will be present with us. I had hoped for more of a connection, more words, more… something. I haven't even told him the truth yet.
I reach out through the Force and throw the switch. Carbonite pours into the chamber and steam billows up. I gaze down to where his body is being flash-frozen into hibernation. "Perhaps you're not as strong as the Emperor thought." As I thought. As I hoped. I wish things could have been different, my-
Is it a sound or a quiver in the Force that draws my attention upward? I'm not sure. But there he is, clinging to the tubes that festoon the ceiling like tropical vines. He must have leapt upward before the carbonite could touch him. He is skilled in the Force. An irrational pleasure fills me. "Impressive." Though my task of capturing him is now that much harder, still I am pleased. I slash with my saber, attempting to sever the tube he hangs from, but instead only manage to cut the one next to it. He climbs hand over hand upwards, Force and body working in perfect synchronization. "Most impressive." Am I foolish to feel so gratified at this display of my son's talent?
Without warning he casts loose from the ceiling and flips gracefully to the floor. He seizes the severed end of the tube I cut and steam shoots forth, blasting into my face. Protected as I am by my mask it cannot hurt me, but I cry out, startled. Momentarily I am blinded, and the water droplets clog my air filter, impeding my oxygen supply. In the time I am distracted he calls his fallen lightsaber back to his hand, and by the time I clear my mask and move again against him, he is ready, and meets my saber with his.
Our sabers sputter their antagonism. "Obi-Wan has taught you well." I should not be surprised. He was always an excellent teacher. I free my saber from his. "You have controlled your fear." I must begin now to provoke the emotions that will open his mind to the influence of the Dark Side. "Now, release your anger. Only your hatred can destroy me." I attack with renewed ferocity, intent on inflaming his wrath against me.
He leaps and flips, avoiding my blade. He is angry now, his blows striking with ever increasing power. He advances and I give ground, stepping slowly back toward the edge of the platform.
Suddenly there is nothing beneath my foot, and I fall back and down, crying out in my surprise. I land hard on my back, and the breath is knocked out of me. I struggle to breathe again, cursing my own arrogance and stupidity. I fell victim to the very carelessness I used against him!
I climb to my feet and slip away into the shadows. I must have a few moments to recover before we fight again. I hear his footsteps above, seeking a way down to where I am. From my earlier explorations, I am familiar with this area, and I move down a corridor into a control room where a round, segmented window looks out into Cloud City's central open space. He must find his way here soon enough, whichever path he takes. I wait, my breathing still labored. I have tested his skill with a saber, and have a good feel now for his capabilities. Next, I will explore his ability with more direct applications of the Force.
There he is, lightsaber again ready for me. I bring mine up, but instead of moving to engage him, I turn my attention to an assembly of pipes attached to the wall behind him. Sinking more deeply into the Force, I reach out with my mind, rip it loose and cast it toward him. He turns to block it with his saber, then moves once more against me, and our sabers clash and parry. I cast about for anything I might move, and find some loose boxes to throw against him. He does not have the idea yet to deflect them with the Force, and tries again to knock them aside with his saber. Several get past his guard and strike him. Perhaps I can knock him unconscious. I rip loose another pipe fitting, and fling it toward his head. But this time as he shrinks aside to avoid it, he manages to nudge it just slightly with the Force. It misses him and sails beyond, slamming through the round window behind him with a crash of shattering glass.
The air in the room is sucked out into the vast central space in a howling wind that drags both of us toward the gaping hole. I manage to grab hold of a projection in the wall beside me. He too clings to the wall, but the wind tears at him, and I watch, helpless, as he loses his grip and is flung into the abyss.
Luke! Careless of my own safety I release my grasp and move toward the window. The wind dies as the pressure equalizes, and I am able to stand on the brink and look down. He clings by his fingertips to a catwalk no more than a few meters down, body suspended over a bottomless pit. Should I reach out in the Force and lift him up? No, he is pulling himself up, slowly and painfully. He lies for a moment, panting, and we both gaze down in horrified fascination into the chasm that nearly claimed him.
I draw back as he looks up. Then he sets off down the catwalk, along the outside of the huge sail shaped structure that houses the carbon freezing chamber. I move in the same direction down the long, narrow control room. When I come in sight of the open doorway at the room's end, I conceal myself in an alcove and wait.
This battle has gone on long enough. I am tiring; Luke is young and has more stamina. The longer we continue, the more chance some other accident might occur, fatally this time. I must ignite his rage and anger and drive him into the waiting arms of the Dark Side now, if ever.
His silhouette is framed in the bright opening. He walks down the room's central corridor, senses alert and questing. As he reaches me, I slice down at him with my saber and he ducks away. I am serious now, slamming blows at him that he is barely able to block, forcing him backwards down the corridor. I let the Dark Force flow through me, narrowing my awareness down to the singular need to defeat him. I swing with such power that as he twists away my occasional missed strike slams into walls and doorframe, sending red sparks showering.
He backs away, out onto a narrow walkway that juts out over the abyss. I follow, pressing him mercilessly until he stumbles and falls backward. In an instant the point of my lightsaber is at his throat. "You are beaten." He shrinks away from my saber, crawling back as I press it closer. "It is useless to resist. Don't let yourself be destroyed as Obi-Wan did." A fleeting memory teases me, of the calm tranquility on Obi-Wan's face in the moment I struck. But Luke's face is taut with fear, and Obi-Wan's name has the effect I intended, rousing his anger against me. He knocks my saber away with a sudden blow, then rolls away and scrambles to his feet. His attack has new power, and for a moment my defense falters. His saber flashes in and strikes me, high on my right shoulder.
The far too familiar searing pain of lightsaber blade slicing into my flesh clouds my mind with rage. I am fiercely jealous of what little of my body I have left, and he has cut me a full handspan above the place where metal is bonded to the stump left by Dooku's blade. For the first time I attack him with the desire to hurt and to kill. My wild strikes shear off a portion of the railing beside us in a shower of sparks. Back my saber hammers at him, blocking his blow and twisting around his blade in a vicious riposte, throwing his arm wide. My saber flashes down, then up through his wrist, and his hand, lightsaber hilt still clutched in its grasp, flies out and down in a graceful arc, tumbling into the chasm.
He screams and clutches the cauterized stump of his arm, falling heavily backward. I stand, lightsaber down and still, feeling his agony, knowing with him the utter sickening wrongness of having a part of your self cut away.
What have I done?
He clings to the railing, helpless now. He has nowhere to go, no way anymore to fight back. He is in my power. I edge closer to him. "There is no escape. Don't make me destroy you." Please, Luke, listen to me. He backs away from me, onto the last narrow strut at the end of the walkway. I close my eyes momentarily at the sight of the vast yawning emptiness framing his body. I must make him understand.
"Luke, you do not yet realize your importance." Your importance to the Empire. To me. "You have only begun to discover your power." I think you are as strong as I ever was. But through the Dark Side you could be so much more. "Join me, and I will complete your training. With our combined strength, we can end this destructive conflict and bring order to the galaxy." My clenched fist opens and in my cupped hand I can almost see the spiral arms of the galaxy shining, a galaxy at peace, where justice flows out from the heart of the Empire and all beings joyfully embrace it. It is what I have always dreamed of, and for a moment it seems so possible, for with my son at my side can I not achieve anything I desire?
He has backed all the way to the end of the strut, and clings there one-handed. His face is twisted with mingled pain, terror, and defiance. "I'll never join you!"
"If you only knew the power of the Dark Side." My hand clenches again into a fist, then falls. It is time. I must tell him. "Obi-wan never told you what happened to your father."
His hatred is naked on his face. "He told me enough." He swings awkwardly down to a lower part of the structure, still retreating as much as he can from me. "He told me you killed him." His voice is hoarse and ragged.
So that is the lie you told him, Obi-Wan. If you believed Anakin to be dead, would it not be more truthful to say that you killed him? But I did not die that day, and my son shall know the truth.
"No." The words are harder to say than I expected. Once I pronounce them aloud, the universe will change, and they can never be unsaid. But I look into his eyes, and say them. "I am your father."
He stares at me, eyes wide first with shock, then with horrified denial. "No." He shakes his head, trying to refuse to believe, even as the knowledge sinks into his heart. "No. That's not true." His face contorts with the effort of his rejection. "That's impossible!"
His horror is no surprise to me, but still it hurts. What kind of monster am I in his eyes, to inspire such loathing?
"Search your feelings." The Force will tell you. "You know it to be true." He knows. If he did not believe me, he would not be wracked so with the intensity of his reaction.
"No!" he screams, as if his denial can alter reality. I screamed that way, when my Master told me Padmé was dead by my hand. Not all the power of the Force, dark or light, can change what is, my son. "No!"
What can I tell him that will help him accept my words? I cast about for an idea, and then I understand. He is a Rebel. He hates the Empire.
"Luke, you can destroy the Emperor." For a moment my words catch him and hold him spellbound. "He has foreseen this. It is your destiny." I know it is possible. I look at him, and I want this as badly as I have ever wanted anything in my life. As much as I wanted my freedom from slavery. As much as I wanted to be a Jedi. As much as I wanted to hold Padmé's sweet body against mine. As much as I wanted to save her from death. As I have wanted nothing, in the years since, except to forget. "Join me, and together we can rule the galaxy as father and son." I extend my hand to him. All he needs to do is reach out and take it.
He looks down, into the bottomless chasm. Then he looks up at me and gazes into my eyes. My heart clenches with longing. "Come with me." Give me the chance to love you, my son. "It is the only way."
He looks down again, leaning out over the void. His gaze returns to mine, and horror grips me, for in his eyes is the same calm acceptance that shone in Obi-Wan's face as my saber whistled toward his neck. Too late I understand what he intends to do.
His hand opens, and he gives himself to the abyss. I reach out in the Force to seize him, but he slips from my grasp, and tumbles through the swirling winds, down, down, endlessly down.
I clutch the railing and watch until I can see him no longer. Then I close my eyes, and the universe stops as I wait to feel his bright flame snuffed out. As I wait to feel my son die.
I wait. And wait. And though the dead emptiness that was my heart dares admit no hope, still his presence remains, terrified, in pain, but alive. I hear him call out through the Force. Ben, please. Ben. Then stronger. Leia.
My eyes snap open. Luke lives. He calls out for rescue. I am in motion before I make any conscious decision, striding back along the catwalk, breaking into a run as I reach the main structure.
It is a long, long way back, through corridors empty at my command, to the main part of the city. My heart pounds out of rhythm with my thudding feet, and I focus all my energy on sucking in enough oxygen through my mask to fuel my flight.
There, ahead of me at last, people, racing in chaotic frenzy through the halls of the city. I slow again to a walk. Dignity. Power. I stride with intent purpose toward the rooms where we have established our headquarters.
I spy an Imperial officer, trying vainly to calm the milling citizens, to order them back to their homes. He turns to me, and I snap out my orders. "Contact the Executor at once. Tell them to send fighters to the base of the city. Never mind why, just do it!" He fumbles with his comlink, stretching his steps long to keep up with me as I alter my course toward the landing bay where my shuttle waits.
Others of my officers join us, the babble of their voices informing me of the events that have been taking place while Luke and I fought. "Fett took Solo…"
"But the other captives have escaped, my Lord…"
"…fought their way to the Millennium Falcon, and took off…"
"Calrissian went with them, he made an announcement to the whole city to evacuate, it's been chaos…"
"You're wounded, my Lord."
I had forgotten. I look down at my right shoulder. The material of my suit flaps open. Lightsaber wounds bleed little, but I can glimpse raw burned flesh in a long, shallow gash.
"It is nothing." I twitch a fold of my cape forward to cover it. I will have a medical droid tend it once everything is over.
Here is my shuttle. The pilot is already at the controls, listening intently to the chatter coming over the communicator. "What's going on?" I snap.
"Lord Vader, the fighters have reported encountering a ship at the base of the city. It was hovering there as they approached, but fled as they got closer. It's the Millennium Falcon, my Lord." He looks at me nervously, but I am far too preoccupied to care. They must have gotten there first, and found him. They would not have left had he still been in danger. "The fighters are pursuing them now."
"Relay my orders to the Executor. The fighters are not, I repeat, not, to attempt to destroy the Falcon. Drive them close enough to the Executor that Piett can capture them with a tractor beam."
"Yes, sir."
The rest of the flight takes place in strained silence. My thoughts buzz in agitated circles. He is aboard the Falcon. We will capture them, and I will have him again in my power. I will talk to him, reason with him, make him understand. I must persuade him to turn, for if I take him to my Master unconverted, my Master will destroy him. Surely I can reach something in him, some trace of feeling for me hidden deep in his heart.
I close my eyes and clench my fists in despair. He feels nothing for me but hatred. He chose death over me. He has rejected me utterly. I will not be able to save him from my Master's wrath.
I am still in turmoil as we reach the Executor. I brush aside the insistent voices of my officers as I stride toward the bridge, and make my way with intent purpose to the viewport. The ocean of stars spreads out before me. One of those stars loops and turns, diving closer to me, pursued by a shimmer of smaller stars. As it approaches it resolves into the familiar shape of the Falcon.
Beside me, Piett follows my gaze. "They'll be in range of our tractor beam in moments, lord." His voice is confident, but I cannot ignore the dread in my heart. This ship has escaped us so often before.
"Did your men deactivate the hyperdrive on the Millennium Falcon?" Calrissian's men repaired the damage that kept them trapped in normal space previously, but I took the precaution of ordering the system taken offline, access sealed behind an encryption of my own devising. It is a code I first developed when upgrading the programming of my old R2 unit, and have continued to improve since. R2 could have made short work of the seal, but I doubt anything else in the galaxy could break through it with less than a month's hard work. There had seemed to be no need, with the ship safely in our possession, but I am glad now for my paranoia.
"Yes, my lord." There is no way they can evade us again. Their capture is certain. So why does my heart pound and my breath quicken, while my eyes track them fixedly, afraid to blink lest they vanish from my sight?
"Good. Prepare the boarding party and set your weapons for 'stun.'" I have a wild urge to examine each of the stormtroopers' weapons personally, to assure myself they are set properly. My troops are obedient, and will not willfully disobey me, but what good would all the punishment I could mete out do, if a careless blaster bolt has already done its work?
"Yes, my lord." He turns to give the orders that will set the plan in motion.
Their ship continues its evasive maneuvers, sweeping closer to the viewport. He is there; I feel him. I know it is still too far, that there is no way he can hear me, so I am free to hold nothing back. I reach out through the Force, pouring all my longing, all my passion, all my desire into my call. Luke…
And he answers.
Father?
For a moment our minds touch. I see into his heart, all his hopes and fears, his struggles to do what is right, so like and unlike myself, and I know he sees with equal clarity into mine. My eyes burn as my ruined tear ducts struggle uselessly to weep. This is the fulfillment of all I have wanted. Now he will listen. Son, come with me.
The bond between us rips into jagged tatters as he tears himself away. I hear anguish in his mind as great as my own as he casts his thoughts away from me, into the darkness. Ben. Why didn't you tell me?
Who is this Ben he calls to? Then I understand.
It is his name for Obi-Wan.
I try to summon anger, but I have none left, only an awful helpless grief. Don't take him from me again, Obi-Wan. For the sake of the love we once bore each other, let me have my son's heart.
I reach out again, desperate, to where his mind is turning away, resisting our bond, striving to break it. Luke, it is your destiny. It is my destiny. It is our destiny.
For a long, long moment he listens, mind teetering between response and rejection, and I hold my breath, waiting for his choice.
Plaintively, he cries out. Ben, why didn't you tell me?
And our bond breaks.
I stare at their ship as we bear down upon them, but I no longer care whether we capture it or not. Nothing can touch the ashes inside me, not even surprise when the Millennium Falcon activates its somehow functional hyperdrive and streaks away forever beyond my reach. Only my last faint awareness of his presence vanishing burns, like the last spark of a dying fire flaming into nothingness.
For a long time I stare out into space. I turn to leave, then look back once more into the sea of stars. Empty and impossible dreams.
Piett stands at attention beside me. His face is white, his eyes locked on me. I notice him as if from far away. He expects to die. He thinks I will reach out in the Force and strangle him, for his failure. My breath rasps in my ears. I should. He deserves to die.
But I have no anger, no hate, no rage to channel my mind into the Dark Side of the Force. Only emptiness. Live to serve the Empire better another day, Piett. I do not even look at him as I pass.
I am going back to my chamber. I will close it around me and run my maintenance cycle. Metal hands will tend my wound and repair the breach in my armor. Then I will shut out the lights, and when all is dark, and silent save for the sound of my breath, I will sleep.
If the nightmares will let me.
