Penpals 16: Darth Vader
Author's Note: Sorry it has been so long since I updated my SW stories. But as some of you know, my cat was sick. It seemed for a while she was getting better but then she worsened. She ended up on an IV bag and several different medications, both of which I had to give her twice a day. I also had to feed her, as she was too ill to eat on her own. I was pretty much staying up around the clock caring for her the last week and after she died I didn't feel much like writing. She died holding onto my wrist with her paw. But I'm going to continue my stories now. This chapter may not be as good as the others as I need to get back into the groove of the story….
Darth Vader stood in his favorite spot on the bridge of Executor, the tall windows with their magnificent views of deep space before him. As he watched, dozens of tiny shooting stars receded from the ship until the vanished into the utter cold and blackness of space.
"The probe droids are on their way." One of the bridge crew informed him.
Yes, the probe droids. With any luck they'd find the hidden Rebel base and the pitiful Rebellion would end. The Empire would attack with their superior weapons and troops. Most likely the Walkers would be used, their enormous metal feet crushing everything underneath them to dust. The Rebels wouldn't stand a chance.
/Except Luke is there now, safely tucked away in some cavern of snow and an Imperial attack could kill him. Yet it's my duty to find the Rebel base and attempt to wipe them out. Yet I can't kill my own son now that I found him./
Conflicting orders and emotions swirled violently inside the Sith Lord. He could imagine all too clearly his naïve young son dying a horrible death under the foot of an Imperial Walker. The ground would quake from the impact tremors of the AT-ATs
Gigantic feet. Luke would loose his balance and slip on the ice. Then the sky above would darken as an immense metal foot hovered above him for a few seconds as it descended towards him. Panic and fear would fill his last moments. Perhaps he would try and scramble away, but the slick snow would impede his progress. Only a red smear on the white snow would mark his passing.
/And it would be my fault./
It would be yet another death on his hands. Of course, he would land in his shuttle to rescue the boy, but knowing his luck he would be too late.
/I'm always too late./
He had been too late to save his mother from dying at the hands of the Tuscans, too late to save Jedi Master Yaddle on the planet Mawan. What good was having the Force if it couldn't help save the ones he loved? Being the Chosen One was more of a curse than anything else.
/Yet it's my responsibility to put a stop to the Rebels./
He would just have to trust Luke to stay alive long enough in the upcoming chaos, whenever that would be. No doubt his son's friend would be there to help and keep Farmboy alive and hopefully in one piece. Solo could be both a curse and a blessing; so much of what Luke did depended on the smuggler. And what exactly did Solo know?
Vader stood perfectly still, a black silhouette against the blackness of space as he pondered the ethics of using information from Luke's letter to find the hidden base. He very much wanted to have his son safely on board Executor but the time wasn't right yet. He had yet to reveal his identity to the boy, something he was very much putting off and avoiding. Their budding relationship could so easily wither and die like a delicate blossom in Tatooine's heat. The problem was, he had no idea how Luke would take the news. People could react in so many different ways and although he felt he knew the boy somewhat, in truth he had never actually met him. He just had a vague memory of a shaggy-haired youth in light-colored clothing in the Death Star's hangar bay.
/If only I had known he was my son!/
The anguish in Luke's voice as he killed Kenobi still echoed in his ears.
/Darn Kenobi!/
Vader sighed as much as his mechanical breathing unit would allow. His former Master had always been creating enormous blunders and leaving them for him to clean up. A ghost of a smile crept across his lips as he remembered the time Obi-Wan had fallen into the nest of Gundarks. The vile and ravenous creatures had outnumbered his poor Master, surrounding him on all sides. And then he had dropped into the pit and rescued Obi-Wan. If he hadn't been there, only bits of gnawed bone would mark the Jedi's grave. Still, this situation with Luke was different than any other he had ever been in. Kenobi had grown manipulative in his old age and had arranged this mess on purpose. The old Jedi had waited just long enough for Luke to show up and see his death. Of course, the boy would see it as outright murder.
/It's hopeless./
Yes, that's what it was: a hopeless mess!
Renewed anger at Kenobi burned within him and he felt the Dark Side flow through what remained of his flesh and blood body. This relationship with his son was making him foolishly sentimental. Why, had he actually been smiling while thinking of Kenobi? That was utter idiocy!
/I must remember to be angry at Kenobi./
The boy was powerful with the Force indeed to bring about these changes in him. Someday he would make a fine apprentice, but he mustn't rush him. Yet the probes were on their assigned missions and all too soon reports would be coming in. Then he would be forced to make a decision about the privileged information he possessed. Time was running out.
Without a word to anyone, Darth Vader left the bridge and headed to his quarters, the desire for another letter burning within his chest. More and more these days his thoughts centered on Luke. His emotions were getting away from him again and if he weren't careful Palpatine would pick up on it and grow suspicious. The last thing he wanted was for his current Master to know that Luke existed.
/I wonder what he thought of the photograph I sent him?/
That thought more than anything burned within his mind as he passed through the doorway into his personal quarters, his black cape flowing behind him. And what would he do if his son wanted a more up-to-date picture? At the thought, a nameless dread started to grow within him. First it poked at his stomach crudely like an icy spear and his guts made loud protesting gurgling sounds. Then a tremor raced down his spine. He felt like he was going to be sick!
/By the Force, would I actually have to look at myself after all these years?/
The simple act of looking at himself in the mirror, something that he hadn't done since that terrible day, was terrifying. Vader knew he looked horrible. That much he had more or less accepted. But as to how horrible he really didn't know. Had the ugly marks and scars faded with age or had they grown worse? Did he look like a monster? He had grown so used to the protection the mask provided that he had presumed no one would ever see him without it. Well, of course his private physician did, but that was different.
/Perhaps he won't ask for a photo./
But he knew in his heart that the boy would. Solo would make him ask for a photo, that and his all-consuming thirst to know his father.
/Would I be able to face myself in a mirror?/
One would think that a Sith Lord would find terror and dread immensely enjoyable and normally he did, but this was different. In fact, he wasn't enjoying this at all. Not only were his guts still making their odd sounds, now a drop of sweat ran down his brow and fell into his left eye. His eye stung from the salt content and he blinked rapidly to ease the sensation. And where in the galaxy would he get a modern photo of himself?
/Don't ask for a photo, please…/
The Dark Lord paused before his computer and stared at it through the eyeholes in his mask. It was both his enemy and his salvation. His enemy because it forced him to face things about himself that he didn't want to think about and his salvation because it was his only link to his son. He reached out and stabbed a button on the computer's console rapidly as if it would burn him, then yanked his hand away. Vader attempted to clear his mind of all thoughts while the computer went through its warm-up cycles but he was unsuccessful. The matter of a photograph continued to plague both his mind and his stomach.
/I am a nervous wreck. And if I'm not more careful, I'll end up spending lots of time in the bathroom./
The whole idea was actually ridiculous. Yes, he had been vain about his appearance in his youth but that was long gone. He knew he was grotesque, so why was it so hard to look in a mirror? He had accepted it, hadn't he? He had almost everything anyone could want: money, power, fame. Yet what he had truly desired had slipped through his grasp like grains of sand. The tighter he had tried to hang onto those he had loved, the quicker they were to leave him. And for years the Dark Side had been his sole companion and he had basked in its power. Then Farmboy had come along and had changed everything.
The computer beeped its readiness.
/Luke will be appalled at my true appearance./
Vader clearly remembered his utter horror the first time he had seen how he looked after his accident.
/Accident? Like being pushed is an accident!/
He had thought the physical pain was the worst part of his injury, but it didn't come even close to the sheer anguish he felt when they had finally brought him a mirror. Of course, they hadn't wanted to. But the more the medical professionals kept refusing his request the more anxious he became. He knew his wounds had been severe; one normally didn't loose half of one's body and survive. His skull had been cracked, his hair burned off and he had suffered wounds to his face, yet he had wanted to see what he looked like. One retrospect, he probably should have listened to the advice of the doctors but patience was never one of his things. He hated just lying around in bed doing nothing so he had used a Mind Trick on some poor nurse.
Perhaps it was because he foolishly thought himself more or less healed. At least most of the mechanical parts didn't hurt. It was later that he learned of the more serious breathing problem and the constant need for a respirator.
He had killed the nurse that had brought him the mirror.
/And then I destroyed most of the medical section with the Force./
Of course, the mirror had been smashed as he hurled it against the wall. As his badly damaged face twisted in anger, lightly healed wounds opened and began to bleed. This new rush of pain only fueled his fury until he had collapsed from sheer exhaustion.
/If I can't face my own ugliness, how can Luke?/
Realizing he couldn't postpone any longer, Darth Vader signed onto the galaticweb and soon found an email from Luke. With trepidation, he opened it and began to read. As he should have expected, the old photograph of him standing with Obi-Wan had opened a Gundarks' nest of problems. Not only had his inquisitive son figured out who Kenobi was but now he was asking him questions about him!
/How do I feel about killing Kenobi? How the Force am I to answer that?!/