Luke held the battered woman in his arms, tears clouding his vision. "Ani," she gasped, her voice laced with pain. "I love…"
Unspeakable pain wrenched through Luke's breath as she slipped away. Those creatures! They had killed her, his beloved mother! He set the limp figure gently on the floor of the hut and stood, gripping his lightsaber with white-knuckled hands. THEY killed her! THEY took his mother from him!
Rage flowed through him as he stepped out of the hut, igniting his lightsaber and swinging it in an arc, decapitating two hooded creatures. As his arms swung the blade, Luke could only feel mild surprise. Tusken Raiders? He felt disgust roll through him as he killed a small child, and then…
He lay on an operating table, every square inch of his body in agony. He looked away from the blinding fluorescent light above him and caught a glimpse of his charred body—the remains of his left arm. He screamed, the pain and the horror overcoming his vocal cords that had been ravaged by the fumes. He felt himself start to slip away from lack of oxygen, and he stopped screaming to gasp and choke for breath.
And then came a new pain.
They were cutting away what was left of his legs, cutting deep into the scorched flesh. Another inhuman howl tore itself from his lungs as a dark figure leaned down to whisper in what was left of his ears, "Revel in the pain, my young apprentice. Enjoy it! This is what the Jedi have done to you, their hero!"
It was mindless, searing agony. He gasped, "Sedative… please… master…"
The man laughed, a sound that Like recognized from his brief encounter with the Emperor. He recoiled, but his body didn't move because he was chained to the table, the metal cutting into his destroyed flesh. "Oh no, my lord Vader. This is an experience that I want you to remember." He felt a hand on his chest, pressing into the blackened, seared skin. Luke cried out again as his master's hand left his chest and brushed off the crumbling bits of skin that had clung to it.
Luke screamed as he felt a sudden drilling in his thigh bones. "Master… please… please…" he begged, the sound choked and full of pain. He felt the darkness at his temples, calling him to unconsciousness, but suddenly he was jerked alert by a Dark tendril of the Force, the sensations even more clear. He screamed again, a gutteral, primal sound that made his master laugh again. Burning rage almost blinded the pain from him. Why did his master not let him die? Why did his master refuse to dull the pain?
"Look at your new body, my young apprentice," the sickening voice whispered into Luke's ear, and the table on which he lay began to move vertically. "You are indestructible, stronger than any foe you will come across. A perfect blend of man and machine."
Luke obeyed and he almost retched in revulsion. Gone were his legs, his arms—in their places were metal replacements. What was he? What kind of monster was he, a sick crime against nature, a man that was mostly droid?
And then he saw the suit being carried towards him by two droids. He watched, unseeingly, as he was clothed in the leather prison. As the last seal was made on the suit, he was once again lowered horizontally and he looked up as a black mask was lowered over his face. What was happening? He tried to open his mouth, but the lack of oxygen rendered him incapable of speech. What was wrong with his lungs? Why couldn't he breathe?
There was the hiss of seals as the mask became part of the suit and he saw his surroundings through two opaque lenses for the first time. He felt the sound of another attachment click into place and after a second more of oxygen deprivation, he felt the rush of air force past his mouth and into his lungs and then it was sucked back out with a "hush."
"Can you hear me, Lord Vader?"
"Yes, master."
Luke's eyes flew open and without thinking he rushed to his 'fresher and threw up, the vestigial pains shooting through his body. He forgot his legs and collapsed to the floor of the room, breathing raggedly. He looked at himself in the mirror and saw his pale, sweaty reflection. With a moan he slid back to the floor. He hadn't had a dream like that since his father had told him how to stop them. What had sparked it?
And suddenly Luke was filled with rage. The Emperor! The Emperor had forced his father to live through the operations without any pain medication! It was almost as bad as what Obi-Wan did in the first place!
Why did Vader serve the Emperor? How could he, when the cursed man had made him endure that unspeakable pain? Luke shuddered and clapped a hand over his mouth to prevent himself from retching again. He remembered very clearly the pain of the Mustafar, but that had been different. On the operating table, they had been purposefully cutting away his flesh, attaching the prosthetic limbs, and he was perfectly conscious, not blinded by the pain of betrayal and fear.
How could that seemingly benevolent man that he had met on Coruscant be the same creature that had laughed as his father was in agony? That had told him to enjoy the pain? Luke shut his eyes, trying to forget the horrible image of the mask over his face, the forced breathing… That was what his father lived with, every single day of his life!
Slowly the pain of Luke's healing leg brought him to the present and he stood up and limped back to his bed, deciding to reach out to the Force to help him sleep dreamlessly. He sent a mind probe to his father, and found him at peace. Good. Luke didn't want his father to know that he had just lived through yet another horrible memory of his.
The next morning Luke's leg was completely healed. He took a shower—reveling in the water, as always—and dressed quickly. He left his chambers and sent a quick probe to try and find his father.
He was in the training room, so Luke swallowed his apprehensions and entered the roo,. Vader was standing at a low-slung ledge that served as a sort of table. One of the droids was dismantled upon it and Vader was carefully rewiring a circuit board. "Father?" Luke asked nervously, the memory of the room rushing back to him.
Vader turned and Luke froze, remembering the mask and the forced breathing and the pain—
He closed his eyes briefly and turned away, walking towards the droids that his father had already fixed. "Yes?" The bass echoed around the room and Luke recalled the sound from within and tried to block his mind from it.
"I was just coming to see what you were doing," Luke mumbled.
"Would you care to fence?" Vader questioned.
Luke forgot the sensations of the suit and mask for a moment and looked up, grinning. "Absolutely!"
The Sith stood and unclipped Luke's lightsaber from his belt and Luke called it over to him, enjoying the feel of the weapon in his hands. His father activated his own blade and stepped back. Luke glanced up and savagely repressed the memories of his dream. He couldn't let his father know that he had dreamed more of his memories—he already didn't want to share the experience of Mustafar, and Luke knew that the operating table was just as bad. He bit his lip and attempted to concentrate as Vader lunged. He blocked and swung out in a rudimentary swing that his father parried easily.
Luke caught another glimpse of the mask and faltered, and in that second, his father disarmed him. "You are not focused," Vader observed. He furrowed his brow behind the mask. His son seemed unusually jittery. Was it the close proximity to the powered down battle droids?
"Sorry," Luke mumbled, resuming his stance with the lightsaber. He didn't look at his father.
"What is the problem?" asked the Sith wearily, deactivating his own lightsaber and hooking it to his waist. He attempted to reach and test his son's mind, but he was pushed back rather forcefully. He cocked his head. "What has happened?"
"Nothing," Luke muttered. As hard as he tried, he couldn't look at his father without remembering the dream. It was not just the pain that he recalled—it was the horrible feeling of being completely isolated from his surroundings, imprisoned behind a mask. Luke shivered despite himself.
"Do not insult me by lying," Vader said stiffly. "Tell me what is the problem."
"I don't have to tell you everything!" Luke burst out, his words echoing throughout the chamber. He hung his head. "I'm sorry."
Vader was surprised. What could have happened to his son? He had had no contact with anyone except himself and the few droids. Even after his accident, he had not acted this way. "Do not make me interrogate you, my son."
"It's nothing!" Luke protested. "Just leave me alone. Let's have another go, all right?" He ignited his lightsaber and waited for Vader to do the same. Behind his mask, Vader raised an eyebrow and lifted his hand, calling the weapon to his palm. Luke scowled and then looked away, as though he couldn't stand the sight of his father.
Was that it? Had Luke been so disgusted by his appearance that he could not longer look at him, despite the mask? But that didn't make sense, Vader realized, because the boy had said himself that it hadn't been as bad as he had thought it would be. Then what was the problem? He reached forward a second time, and found a chink in his son's shields. He dipped inside, and then recoiled at what he saw.
The operating table.
The pain.
Palpatine, standing at his ear, whispering to him to revel in the pain, to crave it…
"Look at your new body, my young apprentice."
How could he have found out? How did his son know of those things? He swayed on his feet slightly, unaware of his surroundings, until he felt Luke rush to him. "Father, sit down!" Luke cried out, obviously concerned for him. He stumbled back and leaned against the mirror that was the wall.
"Luke…" he began, his mind racing. "How…?"
"I'm sorry," Luke said, his eyes filling with tears. "I had a dream, like the one of Mustafar."
Vader flinched. One bad memory was quite enough, thank you. "How long have you been having these dreams?" he said after he found his voice.
"It was the first one since you showed me how to stop them," Luke mumbled as he wiped his eyes, acutely embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to tell you, it's just…" He looked up. "I know how it feels."
"How what feels, exactly?" Vader asked, slightly confused.
Luke flushed. "The suit. The mask. Everything."
Vader froze. "I am accustomed to it," he said finally. He reached out and touched a hand to Luke's chin. The boy looked up. "Don't think about it," he said. "Try and forget."
He nodded and then released a sigh. "I'm sorry for not telling you."
"It is of no account."
Luke grinned wryly, a pathetic imitation of his normal one. "Of course it isn't." His expression darkened, and Vader caught a hint of his thoughts, of his begging for relief from the pain. He flinched again. "Why didn't he…?"
"I don't know," said Vader abruptly. "I suppose he was trying to make me stronger."
Luke's lip curled in disgust, and Vader felt a wave of anger flow off of him. He opened his mouth to say something, but Vader placed a black-gloved finger over it. "Get some food," he commanded. "And relax. We will resume this when you are ready."
Luke considered objecting but thought better of it. He nodded and turned to leave. "Father," he said slowly. "I am sorry."
Vader tensed. "Thank you," he managed finally. With a nod, Luke disappeared into the corridor, and Vader was left to his own thoughts, which strayed towards a question that he had never ceased to ask.
Why? Why had Palpatine done that? He knew now that more could have been done to heal him, or at least he suspected it was so, but what reason did his master have to prevent his apprentice from regaining full capacity strength?
Probably because all he would have to do is threaten a little spark of Force-lightning, and you wouldn't think twice about anything, a small voice in the back of Vader's mind whispered. Can't very well protest when a little shock will completely destroy everything that keeps you alive.
Vader clenched his fists, the voice in the back of his head whispering monster. Palpatine deserved to die.
The thought didn't belong to Darth Vader. It belonged to a voice that he had silenced, long ago, and Vader shuddered. That thought had no place in his head, he said firmly. Gritting his teeth, he ignited his saber and stalked towards the repaired droids, activating them with a touch of the Force.
Luke went to the meditation room after he had done as what Vader had told him and found that the room was unlike any he had seen in his life. It was a far cry from the stark, uniform surroundings of the Executor and from the black, minimalist route that his father took. The walls were expertly painted to depict a beautiful planet that reminded Luke of Alderaan somewhat. The difference was the enormous mountains and the wild way the flowers grew, rather than the ordered gardens of Alderaan.
The beauty of the place took his breath away. Not only had Luke never seen so many plants, but the painting was so realistic that Luke imagined that he could almost feel the warmth of the sun on his back. After a few minutes, he cleared his head. This was not something that he had expected from his father, to be sure. What planet was this place, anyway? Why did his father use it as the meditation room?
Luke examined it closer and found he vaguely remembered a section of valley by an enormous lake. He pored his memory for it and then, with a jolt, remembered the first time that his father had ever entered his dream. He grinned. He would have to ask just where this place was.
After a few moments, he sat down on one the peculiar meditation platforms and opened himself to the Force. However, instead of the normal calm, Luke seemed to fade into a vision. He saw himself sitting at a table across from an old man that he felt he should recognize. The old man handed him a lightsaber, saying, "This was your father's weapon, Luke. This was his most prized possession." The man looked at his hands as Luke felt himself speak. "Do not take your father's path, Luke. It is only a road to despair and slavery. You alone can defeat the darkness. You must search for the Light."
Luke opened his eyes and checked the chronometer on his wrist. His eyes widened. He had been meditating in that strange dream for three standard hours! He sat up and stretched. What had he seen? Was it a vision of the future? He groaned. First visions of the past in his dreams, now the future when he was awake. The Force was obviously trying to tell him something.
He sighed. There was nothing that he could do about it now. He jumped as the door to the meditation room slid open and his father walked inside. "Are you sufficiently relaxed, my son?" he inquired.
Luke nodded and turned to the fantastic mural that was the walls. "Where is this place?" he inquired eagerly, standing up.
His father stiffened almost imperceptibly. "Naboo," he said shortly.
"My mother's homeworld?"
"Yes."
"Wow. It's more beautiful than Alderaan," said Luke, peering in to take note of the detail. "Who painted it?"
"I don't recall," said Vader. In reality, he had made sure that the painter had suffered an accidental death upon his return journey. He hadn't wanted anyone to find out about the Dark Lord of the Sith's love for Padmé's world. It would be viewed as a strange weakness and window to his past that Vader wanted to remain shut forever.
"Oh," said Luke. He turned to his father. "I'm sorry about…"
"Do not worry yourself. It was a perfectly natural reaction," Vader interrupted him. He cringed inwardly. How many times had he stood in front of the mirror in disbelief that the leather-clad, masked giant was himself? It had taken him years to accept it, to grow used to the respirator and the weight of his body. He almost snorted in derision. His master had called it a 'perfect blend,' which was a ridiculous statement. It was only because he had the Force that he was able to move at all—over the years, his remaining flesh had grown extremely strong simply through walking and lifting the prosthetics. Even now, when he visited a planet with particularly high gravity, it was extraordinarily difficult to maintain his normal speed and stride. A perfect blend? His master had certainly never attempted to walk on legs that weighed eighty pounds apiece while carrying arms that were forty and thirty-five pounds respectively.
Luke waited for a second and then nodded. He turned and left the room, leaving his father standing in the place that he had created for Padmé. Naboo. He remembered so clearly that blissful time that he had spent with her there. The wind through his hair, the feel of the soft earth beneath his feet… The light touch of the grasses against his hands. The feel of her skin against his. He shut his eyes. He would never feel any of that again. She was dead, like his body was dead, barely kept alive in a disgusting twist of nature.
Obi-Wan Kenobi.
The name was enough to light the smoldering fire that always lay in his breast. He had taken everything from him—he had taken his wife, his child, his body. Vader looked in disgust at himself and strode out of the room. He didn't belong in there among Naboo anymore than death itself.
Soon Luke and his father eased into a comfortable routine. After the turbulent first days, their vacation of sorts actually became relaxing. They met every morning in the training room and would spend the afternoon working on the finer points of the Force mastery. Then, Vader would retreat to his rooms, where he would get a chance to remove the armor and mask, and Luke would go back to his own room.
Soon three standard weeks passed and one morning Vader announced to Luke that they would be leaving Bain soon to return to the Executor. Apparently, various reports showed that the Hutts on Tatooine had been using smugglers to send various goods to worlds that were reportedly anti-Imperial. The Emperor had contacted Vader and told him to go there and take care of it himself, despite the fact that both the Sith and his son hated the planet with a passion.
"Why did he want you to go?" Luke asked as he helped his father repair one of the droids. His fingers were much more nimble than his father's, so Vader had allowed him to do the more delicate work rather than entrusting it to another droid. "There are plenty of star destroyers that are near there, right? Isn't there two on the next system?"
"Yes," said Vader as he carefully welded two pieces together. "But apparently the presence of myself and my ship would create more loose tongues than an ordinary ship."
"I don't want to leave," said Luke suddenly. "I like it here."
"It is not likely that we will return soon," said Vader, slightly amused. "The last time that I visited was over a standard year ago."
"But now that you have me we can come back more often, right?" Luke asked hopefully as he handed a number 2 hydrospanner to his father, who accepted it without a word.
"I doubt it. My duties remain the same regardless of my progeny," said Vader, and Luke rolled his eyes.
"Did you know that it's my birthday a week from today?" Luke asked excitedly. "I'm going to be fourteen."
"Is fourteen any less inquisitive than thirteen?" Vader questioned wryly. "If not, I don't think it matters."
"But I'll be a year older," said Luke. "When can I fly in battles?"
"Why the sudden urge to get yourself killed?" Vader retorted. "I haven't seen you fly enough to trust you."
"But if I got a TIE fighter like yours, one with shields, I'd be safer, right?" Luke persisted. "And plus, don't you remember Kessel? I can totally handle a battle."
"As soon as the roots of this Rebellion are destroyed, there shall be no need for you to pilot," said Vader. "And I intend to crush this Mon Mothma myself."
"I heard that Leia won as Senator," said Luke, the name reminding him of a report that he had read back on the Executor.
"Who?"
"Princess Leia Organa," said Luke. "Don't you remember?"
"Of course. I was not aware that you were on first-name basis with her," said Vader, sounding amused. "If that is the case, she is heading towards the same demise as her father. I doubt that her allegiances will have changed since Organa's death."
"Maybe if you hadn't killed him"—Luke began hotly, but stopped when his father raised a hand.
"Do not criticize my judgment," said Vader darkly. "I will not tolerate it."
"I wasn't criticizing you, per se," said Luke. "But"—
"That's enough."
Luke glared at the control panel he was modifying. "Fine," he said at last, the tension palpable between them.
Vader groaned mentally. The boy had a way of making him feel guilty just through his body language. "I have told you before, my son, that I do not idly kill people. Organa was a Rebel, and he was helping their cause tremendously under the guise of Alderaani pacifism. Other worlds were beginning to follow in his footsteps. I did what was necessary."
"I understand, it's just…" Luke trailed off. "Couldn't you have sent him to prison instead? I mean… It's like he's a martyr now."
"There is no time for trials," said Vader. "And the information incriminating him was classified. So, you see, my son, that there was no other option."
Luke said nothing for a few moments. "Is this one done?" he asked finally, lifting up the control panel.
Luke was grateful when they returned to Coruscant that he did not have to see the Emperor. After what he had learned about the Sith's treatment of his father, he wasn't sure if he could be as subservient as a meeting would require. The mere memory of the dream was enough to make him want to murder the man with his bare hands. They stopped in the gigantic city only to drop off the ship that they had used to get to Bain, which was Vader's personal property.
They had taken a shuttle to the Executor, where Vader had immediately left to be informed of the goings-on since he had gone to Bain, and Luke was left to his own devices. Things had gone back to normal.
"You are distracted tonight," Vader observed as he disarmed his son of his lightsaber as they trained a week after their return from Bain.
"Just tired," Luke muttered, calling his weapon to his hand easily. That was one element of the Force that he had completely grasped—he barely had to concentrate any more.
Vader extinguished his own blade. "What is the problem?"
Luke sighed, knowing it was pointless to evade the truth after his dream. "We're orbiting Tatooine."
"As commander of the ship, I was aware of that," said Vader, somewhat wryly. "That is the reason we left Bain, if you recall."
"I don't know why it bothers me," said Luke, looking at the floor. "It just does."
Vader felt a twinge of guilt that he brushed away quickly. He said nothing for a few moments. "Tomorrow you will become to construct your lightsaber," he said finally, noting the way Luke's eyes lit up. "For your birthday."
"Really?" Luke asked excitedly.
"Yes," said Vader, hoping that the change of pace would do some good for his son. "We are done for now. Dismissed."
Luke was distracted still when he returned to his room. Over the time that he had spent there, he had personalized it somewhat. He had taken his father's suggestions about the mouse droid, but hadn't had a reason to use it, considering that he could speak to his father telepathically. The lack of communication with people besides his father frustrated him. He sighed and changed his sweatsoaked clothes, wishing that he already had built his lightsaber so that he could hook it to his belt.
He ran his hands through his hair—which had grown uncomfortably long—and decided to go to the mess hall. He left his room, his presence creating a wide berth around him. Since the Kessel incident, any remaining doubters as to his identity had been converted. However, every single crewmember on the ship had been forbidden to tell anyone not on the ship of Luke's existence.
Many people regarded Luke with almost the same fear and apprehension as they did his father, which pleased him on a perverse level but disgusted him on the next. He felt as though he was completely isolated, despite the fact that he lived on a ship with thousands of sentient beings.
Once he entered the mess hall, he spotted a few boys around his age wearing Pilot trainee uniforms and walked over there, hoping that his former squad was on duty.
"Hey! Skywalker!"
He whipped around to see Jisk grinning from ear to ear. They were the only ones on the entire ship to treat him normally. "Hey," he said, pleased for interaction. He considered it a welcome change from meditation.
"Descending from on high to see the commoners?" Darmic joked, moving over so that Luke could sit down.
"Something like that," said Luke with his first smile in since Bain. Once they had returned to the Executor, the closeness he had felt with his father had somewhat lessened because of Vader's duties. For Luke, it was the same monotony every day.
"We never see you anymore, Skywalker," said Vaskall quietly. "How are you?"
"Fine," said Luke. "Busy."
"Hey, I forgot to ask you," said Darmic as he swallowed some water down with his food, "What did that princess look like?"
Luke raised his eyebrows. "Senator Organa?"
"Yeah, her," Darmic confirmed with a grin.
"She's out of your league," said Luke with a laugh.
"How is your training?" Lang asked, speaking for the first time.
Luke looked over sharply. It was definitely not his business. "Fine," he said shortly, just as a black-haired boy sat across from him at the end of the table.
"Back from father/son bonding?"
Luke looked up to see Dase smirking at the fresh burn on his neck. He hardly noticed anymore. The few times he had come down to eat with the boys Dase hadn't been present—this was the first time he had seen him since before Kessel.
"My father almost got killed because of you," Dase snarled, angry that Luke had said nothing. The chatter stopped around them as the other boys gaped at Dase for daring to speak that way to Luke. "Because of that stupid prank you pulled with the shuttle."
"Your father almost got killed because he was an idiot," said Luke calmly, his dislike of the boy rising up.
"He got demoted, too!" Dase said angrily. "And it's your fault!"
Luke looked at him coolly. "Sit down or go away."
"What are you going to do?" Dase spat, standing up. With a sigh, Luke stood up as well, wishing that the boy would just leave. "Are you going to cut off my hand? Or is that something only families do?" Dase asked, clearly attempting to provoke Luke who had thus far been unresponsive.
Luke's eyes blazed. So the boy's father had told him that little detail. "Shut your mouth," he spat, both his hands clenching.
The talk quieted all throughout the mess hall.
"Are you going to go tell big, bad Vader on me, Skywalker?" Dase asked, grinning at the response he had gotten from the boy. "Are you going to run to the cyborg?"
The buried memories of the night on Tatooine—already close to the surface—rushed back to Luke. He narrowed his eyes. "Leave."
"You can't tell me what to do," Dase spat. "I'm not scared of you. If your father can't even protect himself enough to stay off a respirator for the rest of his life, I don't see how his son's a huge threat."
It didn't matter that Dase was just saying big words.
It didn't matter that Dase was inconsequential.
It didn't matter that Dase had no idea what he was talking about.
Luke lost his control. How dare he talk about his father? He certainly hadn't lived through the fire, through the operating table! He had no idea what it was like to view the world from behind a mask, encased in a suit that prohibited any human contact whatsoever! His anger and rage boiled up stronger than he had ever felt it before. He felt the Force surge through him, the power course through his fingers, blind him. The sheer power exhilarated him, he felt as though he was capable of anything—
And then there was nothing.
It was completely silent in the mess hall.
Luke looked down and his anger melted away and thought he was going to be sick.
Dase lay sprawled on the floor, blue from lack of oxygen and very, very dead.
Dead.
Panic overtook him and he sprinted away, as far away from the body as he could go. He raced down halls and corridors, glad that everyone avoided him.
And they had good cause.
Someone had died because of him.
No, he had killed someone.
And Dase wasn't even a threat to him! He wasn't a Jedi, or a Rebel, or a criminal! He wasn't anything to Luke! He was worse than Vader—Vader killed when necessary, not over petty name-calling!
But Luke had killed someone, just for provoking his anger.
He had KILLED him.
Luke was nauseated. He found himself in the main hangar, which was almost completely abandoned. He threw up his mental shields, not wanting anything to do with his father or the Force. He stood there, breathing heavily for a few moments, trying to comprehend his actions.
Dase was not Bail Organa, and Luke had hated that his father had killed him.
Dase was not Mon Mothma, whom his father had pledged to kill.
Dase was not Obi-Wan Kenobi, the man who had destroyed his father's life.
Dase was just a pilot trainee. Annoying, certainly, but had he deserved to die because of it?
Not knowing quite what he was doing, Luke climbed into a TIE fighter and readied it for takeoff as if in a daze. All he knew was that he had to get as far away from the Executor as possible. The irony was not lost on him. The Executor. He was the executor.
"Skywalker, wait!"
Luke turned to see Lang running towards him, face pale. "Skywalker, what do you think you're doing?" Lang asked, panting.
"I'm going home," Luke said, trying desperately to keep tears of shame spilling down his cheeks.
"Listen, Skywalker, you can't just leave!"
"Yes, I can," Luke mumbled, flipping switches and checking the fuel gauge. He looked up. "Go away, Captain," he said, using some of the Force to make Lang leave.
It didn't matter that he was right over the last place he wanted to be—Tatooine. Nothing mattered. All that did was the fact that he was now a murderer. A murderer.
Luke used the Force to open the hatch, not knowing how he found the focus and the power to perform such a huge task. Once it was open, his ship zoomed out of the hangar, Luke controlling it almost without thinking.
He didn't want to be a Sith. He didn't want to build a lightsaber. He didn't want to be a fighter pilot. All he wanted was to return to his Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru, to stay on Tatooine if he had to.
But they were dead. Vader killed them. Luke he had killed Dase, out of anger.
Luke shuddered. The Jedi were evil, but weren't the Sith evil, too, if they killed people? Was there no good? Was there only evil?
Despite the small size of his ship, Luke piloted it into the atmosphere of the dry planet. He used the ship's positioning system to locate Anchorhead and powered his thrusters, moving towards the small town as quickly as he was able.
The former General Bixel Dase was furious.
His son was dead, killed by Darth Vader's supposed offspring. He doubted that the man was human, much less capable of procreating.
"See to it that Skywalker is found," he told his aide, his voice shaking with anger.
"Yes, Captain," said the man, and the holo vanished. The man stared at his desk blankly. How dare that boy kill his son? One of the eye-witnesses had said that his son had provoked him, but what could the boy have said to make murder justified?
He curled his lip. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, apparently. He clenched his fists just as Vader stepped inside his office.
Dase's high ideas of telling Vader off evaporated very, very quickly.
"Captain Dase," Vader said darkly, using the Force to make the man more terrified than he'd ever been in his life. "I trust that you have learned of the situation."
"My lord," the man began. "I apologize for any agitation"—
"My son is missing." Vader was furious. He had felt the disturbance of the Force, the bright burst of power, and had touched upon his son's horror and self-loathing until the boy had thrown up desperate shields. Now, even he could not find him.
"And mine is dead," said Dase, his indignation overcoming his fear for a brief second.
Vader lifted a hand, using the Force to push the man into the air. "Are you implying that your boy was not to blame?" he said dangerously. "I have tolerated your presence on my ship long enough," he said finally. "And the antics of your progeny have, quite truthfully, annoyed me. As have yours."
"My lord, please," said Dase, aware that his outburst may have just cost him his life, "I apologize for my rudeness, I am under emotional duress"—His eyes suddenly bulged and he clawed at his throat. He gasped out, "Please, Lord Vader"—
A second later his body dropped to the floor. Vader stared at it for a few moments, hands clenched, before storming out of the room.
His son would be found. If necessary, every man on the ship would look for him.