Summary:
An accident reveals an old deception, and Darth Vader must make a decision that will change not only his life.
Chapter 8
The closer he came to his old quarters, the more Darth Vader slowed his steps. The Sith Lord felt strangely torn. He wanted to move on, to embrace his new life as a healthy human being, and he was well aware that the first step toward this goal was to face the conditions he had had to live under for the past twenty-something years for one last time. And yet, he dreaded even this tiny first step.
His old cabin, a converted store room, was filled with the machinery his body had needed to survive until recently. Filled with the stuff Darth Vader's nightmares were made of. At least, some of them. Once, the circular meditation chamber in the center of the cavernous room had been his retreat, his sanctuary. Now it seemed like a trap to him.
He found himself standing in front of the door sooner than he expected, sooner than he wished. Taking deep breaths to calm the sudden fluttering of his heart, Vader palmed open the door and entered. Darkness greeted him. Darkness, and a deep, echoing silence. He hesitantly stepped over the threshold; overhead lights came to life automatically as the door slid close behind him, bathing every surface in a cold light. His steps seemed unnaturally loud in the silence. He had left only a few days ago, why did it feel as if no living soul had ever been here?
Because I did not truly live then, Vader answered his own unspoken question. He had merely existed, day after day, trapped in a life support suit that cut him off from real life. Sterile, dead, just like this cabin.
Darth tried to chase the morbid thoughts from his mind; it was only a room, after all. Nothing was going to jump at him from the shadows. He would just pick up his tools, and his few personal belongings, and leave.
Resolutely he strode over to the work area. It was as neat as he had always kept it; tools to the left of the long work table, clean and ready for use. His current project, a better sensor array for probe droids, in the middle, parts laid out in the order they needed to be assembled in. The right hand corner was occupied by a computer terminal and a handful of data disks.
Picking up the toolbox he kept under the worktable, Vader stored the tools and sensor parts in it. The data disks he put into a pocket of his uniform.
Next he moved to his bedchamber. If the anteroom had seemed impersonal and sterile, this room felt like a morgue. Cold. Dead. White sheets on the hospital bed opposite the door, medical equipment surrounding it. No, not like a morgue. It didn't look too unlike the ICU he had woken up in a few days ago. His personal 2-1B unit stood silent vigil in one corner. The machine was still in standby mode, as he had preferred to keep it when he was not in his quarters. He never cared much for it. It had about as much personality as a speeder. So unlike C-3PO. But then again, the 2-1B had not been constructed to be an individual. Only an efficient surgeon. He would send it to sickbay later. He had no use for it anymore, and there it could continue to perform its primary function.
Vader opened the small closet built into the wall. A spare suit, a few pairs of shorts, a pair of boots, socks, a small box at the back of the closet. Barely enough to fill a medium-sized suitcase. But his life had never been dictated by material things. Oh, he knew he was considered rich. His service to the Emperor had brought him wealth, if nothing else. But he had never allowed that wealth to rule his personal life. In fact, he wasn't quite sure how much money had accumulated in his accounts over the years, and he couldn't care less if it would all suddenly evaporate. Money simply was of no importance to Darth Vader. In his heart, he had never understood the need to accumulate wealth that drove other sentient beings. His own needs were very different. As a child, he wanted to see, to learn, to understand. Even then, he had not understood greed, although he grew up surrounded by it.
He folded his few clothes, including the life support suit, and placed them in a pile on the bed. The suits doubled as flight suits, and somehow he doubted quartermaster's stocked those in his size. Pilots were not supposed to be two meters tall.
Last, he took the small box out of the closet, idly wondering what it contained. He didn't even remember putting it there. Well, he probably hadn't. His belongings had been brought here for him, when he assumed command of the fleet. Somebody must have put it in the closet then, together with his other things, and it had set there ever since. He never looked into the closet himself; the 2-1B usually laid out his clothes for him.
Curious, he sat down on the bed and opened the box. It did not contain much. A holo cube. A few letters, written on thick paper yellowed with age.
With trembling hands, Darth Vader took the letters out, unfolding them carefully in order not to break the brittle material. Tears stung his eyes as he recognized the handwriting he had not seen in years. It was his wife's. Padmé. Queen Amidala of the Naboo, but he preferred to think of her as Padmé, the young peasant girl who had walked into Watto's shop so many years ago looking for spare parts. He had fallen in love with her the moment he saw her, although she was half again his age.
"Are you an angel?"
"You're a funny little boy."
Vader folded the letters again. He did not need to read them again. Although he had not read them in years, he still knew them by heart. They were the letters Padmé had written to him during his Jedi training on Coruscant. Why had he kept them? Somehow, they had been with him through all the years since then, even though they were at the back of the closet, in an old box. But they were there. They were still there. Somehow, it was comforting. It was as if a part of Padmé was still with him.
Beneath the letters, there was another item wrapped in a piece of cloth. Small, easy to overlook. Vader took it from the box, his hands shaking worse than ever. He unfolded the cloth and found what he dreaded to find inside. The japor snippet he had carved for Padmé. His first gift to her. It, too, was darkened with age. A sob escaped his throat as he remembered the last time he had seen it, shortly after the fateful duel with Kenobi. He was still in the care of the healers then, the suit was being constructed for him.
"I have sad news for you, my servant. Your wife, the Queen Amidala of Naboo, was killed today."
Numb... he didn't feel. Not like he should.
"How? What happened?" His voice was as flat as his emotions.
"I should not... you need your rest, my friend." So concerned about him... if he was so concerned, why did Palpatine bring him the news in the first place?
"I need to know!" Agony... now he was feeling something, and he wanted it to stop. He wanted it to never stop. Padmé, his angel, gone. He would never see her again, never hold her again.
"Your teacher... your former master, Obi-Wan Kenobi. I am afraid he has gone quite mad..."
Now Vader wondered if that, too, had been a lie. Back then, he had believed Palpatine. He had believed that Obi-Wan had murdered his wife, and in retaliation, had helped Palpatine wipe out the Jedi. His hatred had made him the perfect weapon for the Emperor.
He fought back more tears, his fingers closing over the japor snippet. Another lie. He could sense the truth now. Obi-Wan could not have harmed Padmé anymore than he himself could. No, her death came by one of Palpatine's agents. Another tie to his past life severed, another obstacle removed on his way to the Dark Side.
Slowly, Vader opened his hand again. The leather strap was dry and brittle, but it would keep until he could replace it. He tied the japor snippet around his neck, picked up his clothes and the toolbox and left. There was nothing else here for him.
He didn't notice the 2-1B unit activate when he left.
Wrenga Jixton was bored nearly to tears. Hanging around in dingy bars was about the only thing he could do between jobs without attracting too much attention. That, and honing his skills in private. Unfortunately, his employer had not needed his special talents in several weeks now, and Jix was starting to wonder if the Dark Lord had forgotten about their little arrangement. He was also running low on cash. Vader had always paid him well in the past, but Jixton did not believe in saving accounts.
Maybe I should call and ask him what's up, Jix thought. Yeah, and, by the way, Uncle Dee, your favorite nephew could use a little pocket money. That would go over well, thank you very much.
No, he needed a better approach. But it certainly would not hurt to have a look at Vader's new security system before he came back from off-planet. Just to keep in practice, of course. And he could get a lot of practice from Vader's palace. After all, Vader kept the security system state of the art ever since Jixton had managed to get past it for the first time. It had developed into a game between them; no matter how hard Jixton tried, he could never sneak up on Vader himself. And no matter how tight security was in the palace, Vader could never keep Jixton out.
He would go tomorrow, Jixton decided and ordered another drink, his second of the evening. He was not the kind of man to drink heavily or regularly, or he would not survive long in his line of business. And he liked to be completely sober before he tackled Darth Vader's palace. No use in risking his perfect record.
To be continued