Summary:
An accident reveals an old deception, and Darth Vader must make a decision that will change not only his life.
Force of Destiny - Chapter 5
Luke Skywalker swung his newly constructed lightsaber in a wide arc, deflecting another bolt from the remote. Having run its program, the remote settled on the floor and shut itself off.
Luke regarded the brilliant green blade for a moment before he switched it off with a satisfied nod and hooked the hilt to his belt. His new saber handled even better then the old one, his father's - Vader's? - which had been lost at Bespin. This was Luke's weapon, in the true sense of the word. He had designed and constructed it, following ancient Jedi tradition, and such it was a reflection of his own being. In a fight, it would be like a natural extension of his arm.
Luke summoned the remote to him with the Force to put it away when the door to the training room swished open to admit Leia Organa.
"Luke, I've been looking for you. Lando and Chewie have prepared the Falcon. We'll be leaving for Tattooine in an hour", she said.
Unsure of what to say, Luke smiled at her. "Leia", he greeted her.
"What is it, Luke?"
He walked closer to her, taking her small hand into his own. Ever since his vision a few nights ago, he had felt uneasy. He knew he must address what the Force was showing him, yet he did not want to abandon Han and hurt Leia's feelings.
"There is something I need to talk to you about", he began. "I will not be coming with you."
"What?" Leia was appalled. "Luke, why? You cannot just back out now and leave Han to the hutts!"
"I won't", he said, giving Leia's hand a reassuring squeeze. "I merely need to talk to an old friend first. I'll catch up with you later."
Leia regarded him with a frown. His duel with Vader on Bespin had changed Luke. Gone was the naive farmboy, replaced by a seasoned warrior. The young man had lost more than his right hand during that fight; he had lost the innocence of his soul.
"I had a vision, a few nights ago", Luke continued. "I'm not completely certain what it means, but I feel it's important."
"A vision, Luke? Are you sure it was not just a nightmare?"
Luke had been having nightmares for weeks after their return from Bespin; he still had them occasionally.
"I'm certain, Leia." He released her hand to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead. "I must go to Dagobah and ask Master Yoda about it. Maybe he knows what to make of it." Luke smiled reassuringly at Leia. "I promise to meet you on Tattooine, Princess. I will not fail you, or Han", he said, unconsciously repeating the same words he had tried to allay Yoda's and Ben's fears with when he left Dagobah all those months ago.
Leia wrapped her arms around herself tightly. "I know", she whispered. She knew she could trust Luke to keep his promise. She trusted him with her life, and the lives of those closest to her. Why, then, did she feel like Luke was going to betray her trust?
"Gone? What do you mean, he's gone?" Piett stared unbelieving at Hanley.
"He left. He's not in his room. Is that simple enough for you, Admiral?" Hanley snapped back.
Piett bristled at the man's hostility as well as his obvious incompetence; after all, what did it take to lose a two meter tall Sithlord in a room barely three by four meters? Fortunately for Hanley, Veers put a restraining hand on his friend's shoulder.
"Gentlemen, this bickering is pointless. Lord Vader has left sickbay, but he cannot have left the ship. I suggest we take a look at his room and try to find out where he went", Veers offered calmly.
Piett pressed his lips into a thin line and gave a single nod of his head. "Lead the way, Doctor", he ordered. Hanley glared at him, but complied.
The three entered the small room assigned to Lord Vader. Veers gestured to Piett and Hanley to wait at the door while he started looking around. The bed had been slept in, of course. Veers checked the nightstand. It was empty. He slowly turned; not a single personal item spoke of the room's latest inhabitant. Satisfied that he would gain no knowledge here, he moved on to the fresher unit. What he saw made him smile. He picked up the hospital shirt and the still slightly damp towel and threw them to Piett, who caught them and looked at them, slightly puzzled. If the shirt was here, what was Vader wearing? Piett had a sudden flash of a stark naked Lord Vader roaming the executor's hallways. Nah...
"Told you he'd bounce back", Veers beamed. "He's a survivor."
"What makes you think that?" Piett inquired.
"Elementary, my dear Tomas. He took a shower and shaved. He hasn't done that since the accident. It means he's starting to take care of himself again", Veers elaborated.
"But where is he?"
"Let's take this one step at the time. He must have gotten some clothes. If he left without, we would know. A naked man in the hallways would be kind of hard to miss. Since even Lord Vader cannot materialize a suit out of thin air, he called someone to bring him clothes. You're following me so far?"
Piett nodded. Hanley crossed his arms in front of his chest.
"So, we simply use the redial on this comm unit, and see who he called last. I bet my boots it's quartermaster's" With a smug grin, Veers stabbed his finger on the redial button. After a few seconds, a fresh young face appeared on the screen.
"Quartermasters, Ensign Lewis", the young man answered the call.
"General Veers here. Ensign, has Lord Vader called this morning?"
Lewis snapped to attention. "Yes, General. He ordered a full mechanic's outfit to be delivered to sickbay, Sir."
"Thank you, Ensign. That will be all", Veers said, satisfied, and moved to break the connection.
"Uh, General, may I inquire where we shall send his other stuff?" Lewis asked quickly.
"Other stuff?" Piett moved into the range of the comm unit; he and Veers exchanged a glance.
"Yes, Sir. We have several new uniforms for Lord Vader. Shall I have them sent to sickbay, or to his quarters?" Lewis continued.
"His quarters", Piett answered without thinking, and stopped short. "No, wait." After all he'd been through the last days, would Lord Vader want to return to his meditation chamber? It would only remind him of the more than twenty years he spent as a cripple, dependent on medical help every moment of his life. A slow smile spread on Piett's face as an alternative presented itself. "There is a VIP apartment just below the bridge level."
"The one with the view?" Lewis inquired.
"Yes, that is the one." Indeed the quarters Piett had been thinking about were equipped with a large viewport that allowed a beautiful forward view of the stars over the Executor's bow. "Have it prepared for Lord Vader."
"Yes, Admiral. Shall we move his personal belongings from his old quarters as well?"
"No, I believe he will do that himself. Dismissed, Ensign." Piett cut the connection. On Veer's curious stare, Piett cocked his head and asked: "Would you like to sleep in an operating theatre if you didn't have to?"
Veers chuckled. "You are right, of course", he granted.
"Yes, but we still don't know where he is", Piett sighed. "This is a big ship, and I would hate to call a search."
"We won't need to", Veers declared. "Think about it: Lord Vader was nearly killed in an explosion on a ship that he designed. If I were him, I would be hell bent to find out what caused it. So, the most likely place he is would be..."
"...the main hangar!" Piett exclaimed. "You sly dog, you knew it all along."
"Of course, Tomas." Veers grinned. "But I didn't want you to think I had suddenly picked up Lord Vader's talents and become clairvoyant."
The two officers hurried out, leaving a very frustrated Dr. Hanley behind.
Jay, working on top of the Avenger, looked up when the hangar doors opened and lost his grip on the hydrospanner. The tool clattered down past the solar panel and disappeared in the shadows under the Avenger's belly.
"Ouww!" Anakin's deep voice boomed from below. "Watch what you're doing up there! I'm not wearing a helmet!"
"Uh... sorry, Anakin", Jay called down. Damn, he had almost forgotten who he was working with. At least he could apologize for his clumsiness; there was a chance Lord Vader would let him live. A slim chance. "Are you alright?"
Piett and Veers exchanged a glance. Anakin? Veers mouthed silently. Piett shrugged. There was no-one on Garin's team by that name.
Vader emerged from under the Avenger's belly, rubbing his head. "I'll live", he growled. Looking up, he noticed Admiral Piett and General Veers approaching. So, that was what had caused Jay to drop a spanner on him. Not the nicest way to get his attention, but on the other hand, the kid was still trying to get over the fact that he was working with Darth Vader. Having the team call him by his old name had worked to a certain degree, but they were still a bit jumpy. All except Zev, who was used to being around the empire's most powerful. Vader decided not to make an issue of it, and wondered fleetingly if he was growing soft in his old age. Sithspit, when did he get so understanding and forgiving? Oh, yes, being a father did that to you, or so he had heard. Although slashing your firstborn's hand off probably didn't rank among the top ten parenting skills. Now, where had that come from? He pushed the thought aside and addressed the two officers: "Admiral Piett, General Veers. What brings you here, gentlemen?"
Veers looked down at Vader sitting calmly on the floor. "We were a bit concerned, Mylord", he answered. "You went AWOL from sickbay."
Vader rolled his eyes in annoyance. "I am perfectly alright. And if the two of you stop scaring the team into dropping tools on me, I will likely stay that way, too."
He slid back under the Avenger. Piett squatted down next to him. "I wanted to remind you of the weekly officer's meeting this afternoon, Mylord."
What? That was today? Damn, he really had lost track of time in sickbay! "17:00 hours, isn't it, Piett?" Vader asked aloud, remembering the schedule just in time. He craned his neck to glance at the clock mounted on the far wall; it was barely past noon.
"Yes, Mylord."
"Well, then you are a couple hours early. But since you're here, you can make yourself useful and hand me the No. 12 spanner." He pointed at the toolbox that sat next to his knee. Piett peered into the box, did not recognize any of the items in there, and finally chose one at random to hand it to Lord Vader. Vader took the tool and noticed immediately that it was the wrong one. With a sigh, he slid out from under the fighter again.
"Piett, this is a screw driver. That is a spanner", he explained, pointing the correct tool out to Piett. "Don't they teach you anything at the academy?" he asked in an exasperated tone.
"Not that, Mylord. At least not in the courses I took", Piett replied.
"A shame. Well, since you obviously cannot help here, you may as well return to the bridge. Dismissed", Vader told him. So he was being deliberately cruel. But Force forbid he should have the admiral hovering over him like some mother hen the whole afternoon! Come to think of it, Piett and Veers had both displayed an awkward tendency toward that kind of behavior during the past days. Vader found it annoying, distracting, and strangely compelling. It had been so many years since someone had honestly cared for him, he simply didn't know how to feel about it. Or what to do with it. He almost regretted his words when he saw the slow blush that crept into Piett's cheeks. Almost.
The admiral picked himself up from his kneeling position and cleared his throat. "Yes, Mylord", he confirmed, keeping his back ramrod straight and his shoulders squared, trying not to show his embarrassment. He had overstepped the lines, and Vader put him back in his place. Executing a precise about turn, Piett left, Veers close on his heels.
Zev stared at Darth Vader for a long moment, but said nothing. It was the Sithlord who finally broke the silence. "What?" he growled, fixing the other members of the team with a cold stare.
"N-nothing, Mylord", Kenny whispered. Zev stepped protectively in front of the youth. Vader frowned; Sith, he'd done it again! He scared the people around him without even trying. Sighing deeply, he put his head in his hands. "I'm 42 years old, I don't need anyone to mother me", he muttered. "It's embarrassing."
A small smile tugged at Zev's lips. "I guess I know how you feel. My mother used to do it to me all the time. Of course, I was only a kid back then."
Vader threw him a glance. "Well, I'm not a kid anymore. And Piett doesn't even remotely look like my mother." The whole team laughed at that. Good, he had managed to disperse the image of the fearsome Sithlord again. "We still have a lot of work to do."
Luke climbed into his X-wing and strapped in. R2-D2 was already mounted in the socket behind the cockpit; the little droid beeped at him, excited that they were finally on their way.
Luke read the translation on the small screen in front of him. "No, we're not going directly to Tattooine, Artoo. We're making a stop at Dagobah first." The little astromech droid beeped another inquiry. "No, Artoo, the others will be taking the direct route. That is why we're using two ships", Luke replied patiently and fired up the engines. He took the X-wing out of the Freedom's hangar. The Millenium Falcon followed close behind him. Luke switched on his commlink. "I'll see you on Tattooine."
"Take care of yourself, Luke", Lando answered.
"You too. Don't go up against Jabba without me." Luke cut the connection and pulled the X-wing in a sharp left turn, gaining speed as he did so. He punched in the coordinates for Dagobah and activated the hyperspace engines. The stars turned into streaks of light, and he was finally on his way.
Hours had passed since Piett had found him in the hangar, and Darth Vader was starting to feel the strain of a full work shift mostly spent in positions the human body was not designed for. His head was pounding again, and he felt slightly dizzy every time he moved too fast. But he would be damned if he caved in before the rest of the team! He was a fully trained Jedi after all, and that meant he was supposed to be more resilient than the average human, among other things.
Still, he found himself wishing for a break. His stomach rumbled... again. When was the last time he had eaten anything? Definitely not today. He vaguely remembered breakfast being something that turned his stomach by merely looking at it, so he had not touched it. And they had skipped lunch in favor of disassembling the fighter's engines. Some merciful soul provided them with coffee, but Vader felt he could not run on caffeine alone. It seemed to help his headache a little, but after the third or fourth cup he started to feel a little queasy. Must be the fact that the stuff had been simmering for hours. Made it taste like burnt engine grease, too.
Torb looked up just in time to see Vader sway slightly on his feet. The Sithlord was white as a sheet. Damn, how could he forget that Anakin was injured? He was clearly not up to working any more today, and the admiral would have Torb's head if he allowed the Sithlord to collapse. Torb looked at the other team members; they, too, were exhausted. He had driven his men hard during the last three days, working long hours every night. He had not spared himself either, being a firm believer in the theory of leading by example. Well, at least they had almost finished disassembling the craft; Torb felt it safe to call a halt without making Vader feel like he was receiving a special treatment.
"Okay, boys, that's it for today", he announced loudly. "Let's hit the mess hall before the rush sets in."
Too tired to cheer, his men put their tools away and stretched, groaning when cramped muscles protested.
"He's finally come to his senses. I don't think I could work a minute longer", Zev moaned. Darth nodded. He slowly straightened to his considerable height and rolled his shoulders, trying to work the kinks out of his back.
"I don't know about you, but I could eat a whole bantha", Zev continued. Vader grunted. The thought of bantha, with or without a side dish of tusken raiders, seemed quite appealing. He silently trudged behind the others to the nearby mess hall and lined up with them at the counter, picking up trays and cutlery on the way. They were lucky; they had beaten the daily rush into the mess hall and were the first ones there.
After twenty-two years of breathing air that was filtered beyond recognition, the various aromas in the mess hall assaulted Darth Vader's sense of smell and nearly overwhelmed him. The whole place smelled... delicious! Darth felt his mouth water. Force, how long had it been since his last meal? Forget the last meal, when did he have anything that even remotely smelled and tasted like real food?
"Hey, Torb, you're driving your men too hard", the man behind the counter called in good-natured banter. He was wearing an apron over his uniform. "Made them skip lunch again, huh? That big guy looks like he's about to faint with hunger."
Torb turned around to face Vader and was shocked; the man was practically drooling! "Anakin, when was the last time you ate something?" he asked, and could have kicked himself the next moment when he remembered Vader's reaction to Piett's mothering him.
But Vader only blinked. "Not sure", he mumbled. "Yesterday, I think." Control, a little voice at the back of his mind admonished. You're staring at the stew like a starved Jawa. And you're looking like a complete idiot, too. With difficulty, Vader tore his gaze away from the food display. Wordlessly, Zev grabbed his arm and shoved him to the front of their short line.
"Give him a plate, Josh, before he starts eating his boots", he ordered.
Josh laughed. "I'm sure the boots would taste better than this", he replied, filling a plate with bantha stew and some sort of gruel.
"What's wrong with bantha stew?" Vader asked, slightly puzzled.
Josh grimaced. "You must be a rimworlder, boy. Those filthy beasts aren't fit for eating, if you ask me. But out here, in the outer rim, it's near impossible to get decent meat." He handed the plate to Vader. "At least it'll fill your stomach", he concluded, giving Vader a second, smaller plate with a small, syrup filled cake.
The team chose seats at one of the long tables and started eating. Vader tried to eat slowly, savoring every bite. It took almost all of his control not to shovel the food in, but he told himself that it certainly wouldn't do to shock his empty stomach by eating to fast and be sick in front of the crew. He started to feel better after the first few mouthfuls, though. The queasy feeling subsided, as did his headache. And despite Josh's misgivings about the source of the meat, Vader found he liked it. Small wonder, since bantha had been among his favorites during his childhood. His mother had not been able to afford meat very often, so a dish of bantha stew had marked special occasions like birthdays and holidays.
Having finished his portion, Vader got up to get a second helping. The room was quickly filling up with more crew members arriving for dinner; it must be shift change, Vader mused. He briefly considered cutting to the head of the line, but decided he did not want to risk his anonymity just yet. He had begun to pick up some of the conversations among the crew, and a surprising number of them had him as the subject. He would never get a better opportunity to eavesdrop on his crew and learn what they thought of him.
"A second helping?" Josh's eyebrows threatened to disappear into his hairline. "You either are a rimworlder, or you're still growing", he commented, shaking his head. "But you have a core world accent, so I guess you must still be growing, and at your age, too. You can't get that horrid country pumpkin accent out of them, you know."
Vader shrugged and returned to his table. If he only knew... it had taken him years to cultivate the proper Coruscant accent with its rolled r's and clipped vowels, and he still slipped back into his native Tattooine accent when under stress.
In the meantime, a good number of other crew members had joined the team at the table, and a lively conversation was going on during the meal. Vader saw Kenny shift uneasily in his seat, while Torb was putting on a stony face and Zev tried hard not to grin. He immediately knew who was the subject of conversation. Pretending not to notice, he reclaimed his seat.
"I tell you, he's gone totally nuts", one man seated opposite him and slightly to the left stated. "He cracked. Completely wacko. Fit to be admitted."
"Who told you that?" another wanted to know.
"I overheard two of the doctors talking. He destroyed half the sickbay. Attacked the CMO, too. There's talk they're going to send him to the funny farm."
Interesting, Vader thought. I knew they think I'm a sadist, but my reputation seems to have reached a new level.
"You new here?" the crewman opposite him asked. Vader nodded an affirmative. "What is your name?" the man continued. Vader swallowed a mouthful of the bland gruel before answering.
"Anakin", he said.
"Well, welcome aboard, Anakin. I'm Terence." He shook Vader's hand. "So, where are you from?"
"Tattooine", Vader mumbled, straining his ears to hear more of the conversation he had been listening to.
"Oh, wonderful, yet another rimworlder", a man in a pilot's uniform cut in sarcastically. Vader gave him a slow, calculating glance.
"Don't like rimworlders, do you?" he drawled. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zev throw him a bewildered look.
The pilot leaned back in his chair, and arrogant sneer on his face. "Well, I guess you are doing the best you can, but still, you rimworlders leave a lot to be desired. Education, for one thing."
Vader nodded slowly. "Yeah, you're right. Speaking four or five alien languages ain't education."
"Pah", the other snorted in disgust. "Let them learn Basic. If they can. Half of those non-humans cannot even wrap their tongues around it. Take Wookies, for example. Those beasts only growl and howl, and they call that a language."
Vader's expression darkened. "Wookies are an honorable people", he stated. "I've known a few."
"Next thing you tell me it's wrong to keep them as slaves. You rimworlders sure have funny ideas."
Vader felt very much like strangling this supremacist idiot on the spot. What did this fool know of slavery?
"You better keep your mouth shut. Lord Vader doesn't share your ideas about slavery, you know", Terence warned the pilot. Vader looked at him, surprised. Sure, he had actively opposed slavery throughout his career both as a Jedi and later under Palpatine, but to his chagrin, he had never seemed to make much of a difference.
"And we don't either", Zev added.
"Than you are as insane as he is. Tell me, why do slaves never try to escape? If they didn't want it, why don't they simply fight for their freedom?"
"Because slaves are implanted with a transmitter equipped with an explosive device", Vader told him quietly. "Try to run, try to fight your owner, and boom, no more slave", he added in an almost whisper, mimicking an explosion. Several of the men at the looked like they were going to be sick.
"How do you know...?" Terence began, suddenly realizing just how Anakin knew. "Oh, shit, man, I'm sorry."
Vader shrugged. "It's been a long time since then."
"Come on, guys, let's change the subject", Zev suggested. Learning that Darth Vader had once been a slave made him feel uneasy. No wonder he's been pushing anti-slavery laws, he thought. No wonder he killed the head of the slave trader's ring on Kashyyk with his bare hands.
"Yes", the pilot said. "When will you clowns finally let us fly the new ships?"
Uh-oh, Torb thought. This guy sure has a talent for getting into trouble. "When we think they're safe", he answered. "One already exploded during tests, and I'm not risking another pilot's life by ignoring that."
The annoying pilot leaned closer. "I happen to know that it was a pilot's error. Siena Fleet Systems have tested the Avenger thoroughly. They wouldn't deliver a faulty craft."
"You've never flown with Lord Vader, have you?" Kenny piped in. "He's the best pilot in the fleet. He doesn't make mistakes."
Ah, hero worship. So that's why Kenny is so nervous around me, Vader thought. Wonder when he'll ask me for an autograph.
"You people make me sick!" the pilot announced. He got up abruptly, leaving his untouched tray on the table.
"Hey, aren't you eating this anymore?" Vader called after him. The man certainly was a sore loser. With a shrug, Vader pulled the plate towards him and started to polish it off. He noticed the others stare at him.
"What?" he asked, exasperated.
"That's your third helping. I've never seen anyone pack away that much", Terence said.
"I'm hungry. And it's not like the fleet can't afford to feed me", he declared.
Suddenly, Terence jumped to his feet, hissing "The admiral" under his breath. Everybody followed suit; chairs were pushed back, men stood, and backbones snapped erect all over the mess hall as Admiral Piett entered and looked around. Everybody except Darth Vader, who calmly stayed seated and kept eating.
"At ease", Piett called to the room at large. The crew members resumed their seats and continued their meal.
"Piett", Vader greeted him, gesturing with his spoon to the empty chair opposite him. "Go get some and join us. It's delicious."
"I am certain of that, Lord Vader, however, I have already eaten", Piett answered smoothly. "But if I may join you for a cup of coffee..."
"Coffee sounds good. Get one for me too, will you? Black, with sugar."
"Certainly, Mylord." Piett bowed to him and went to get the coffee.
Several men at the table had paled visibly when Piett had greeted Vader; the one who had declared Vader a nutcase and insisted he was 'completely wacko' got up in a hurry and rushed toward the bathroom, looking quite green.
Vader leaned back in his chair and sighed. It had been an excellent meal until now. For the first time in many years, he had been able to share a meal with others, and in relative anonymity as well. Well, he knew the latter part could not last. Sooner or later, the men under his command would know his face as well as the mask he used to wear. He simply had to deal with it.
To be continued.