Malad checked the sensors on his stolen ship, eagerly anticipating his arrival to Tageris. He couldn't believe how easy it had been to fool the rebels. He had programmed the sensors to pinpoint his location in his quarters, then called the duty officer to report the onset of an illness. His whereabouts thus established, he had easily slipped into the hangar undetected and waited for the security system to go down. His ship left the remote hangar without ever appearing on any tech screen, and the officers assigned to shadow him were greeted by the sound of his voice when they checked his quarters. His hard work completed, Malad soon would be collecting his well-earned reward.

He had honestly expected more of a challenge from the Alliance—after all, they had managed to destroy the Death Star. Then again, those bleeding hearts were too busy worrying over their lost heroes to pay attention to a technical glitch. I'll have to send Skywalker and Solo a thank you note for making my escape so easy, he thought, laughing at his own cleverness. Maybe they can read it at the funeral.

His glee was short lived, however. As his ship came out of hyperspace, Malad looked in horror at the Imperial warships massed before him. "What are they doing here?" he said aloud. "All my intelligence had the Imperials located the Valshira system." Malad began to panic…his ship was a model often used by the Alliance, and he had not thought to draw up phony papers in case of capture. As options spun through his head, his comm crackled to life. "Unidentified vessel, hold your present course and prepare to be boarded."

Malad smiled wryly to himself. He found it strangely ironic that the incompetence Solo had accused him of had come back to haunt him in the end. Well, he still had one card to play…he knew where the rebels were hidden.

Admiral Ozzel was just about to launch the boarding party when Lord Vader swept into the room. All of the men on the bridge immediately snapped to attention at Vader's entrance, their senses heightened by a strong undercurrent of fear. They knew all too well what might happen as the result of even the smallest mistake.

"What is going on, Admiral?" Lord Vader inquired.

"We have a wayward vessel, my lord," Ozzel replied. "I'm preparing to send a boarding party to check for rebel activity."

Lord Vader surveyed the ship through the view screen, reaching out to its occupant through the Force. That he sensed fear was no surprise to him, but there was something else…something about this man that aroused his anger.

"I will deal with this myself, Admiral."

"Of course, my lord," Ozzel said to Vader's retreating form. "Lieutenant, cancel the boarding party's departure and make sure that Lord Vader's ship is prepared for flight."

"Yes, sir," the lieutenant replied, sending a priority alert message to hangar bay three.

Both the hangar and the bridge were abuzz with activity and anticipation. Despite the pressure of meeting Vader's ship maintenance standards, most of the Imperials looked forward to those rare live target practice sessions. It was fascinating to watch Vader stalk his prey, toying with the psyche of his victim and squeezing every last ounce of hope from his soul before closing in for the kill.

Vader's flying skills were ingenious, often poetic, as he swooped and dipped in complete communion with his ship. Sometimes he opted for surgical precision, disabling systems one by one until he was ready to deliver the final blow. On other occasions, he purposefully missed his target, lulling his victim into a sense of security before destroying the ship with a single devastating shot. No matter which method he employed, however, Lord Vader always managed to extract vital information before ending his own private war game.

Yes, today had all the makings of a great day for the Imperial cause. Their lord would finally learn the location of the rebel base and, armed with that advantage, they would soon crush the insurgents once and for all.

Clearing the hangar bay, Vader was pleased to finally be free of the obsequious vermin infesting the Imperial ship. He couldn't really blame them, of course…his quest for perfection had effectively weeded out anyone with the foolishness or the courage to oppose him. Still, he longed for a worthy opponent, a challenge to keep his interest. Perhaps that was why he had investigated the backgrounds of the two pilots from that fateful Death Star battle.

The intelligence hadn't been too hard to procure, as the names of the rebel "heroes" were known by virtually every captured enemy soldier. Luke Skywalker--Had Padme given him a son? His search for information on the Force-strong young man had been exhaustive, almost obsessive. He learned that young Skywalker had been raised on Tatooine by Beru and Owen Lars, his own stepbrother. Was this some sort of elaborate ruse? Why would Obi Wan have hidden his son in plain sight and allowed him to keep the surname of his father? Had Obi Wan known of his personal vow never to return to Tatooine or had he hoped to lure his former padawan back to that miserable planet to be turned or killed, using Luke as the bait?

Then there was the question Luke's true parentage. He could make out many of his own features in the holograph salvaged from the ruins of the Lars house. Genetic evidence would prove the connection between them, but he needed no further proof than a search of his own feelings. Their brief encounter over the Death Star had told him everything he needed to know--Luke was his son.

He saw so much of himself in the young man—confidence, recklessness, impatience. Young Skywalker was a gifted pilot, unusually strong in the Force. Yet as much as he saw his own traits in the young man, he was most convinced by what he saw of her. Though he had not recognized it in the heat of battle, he realized in hindsight that Luke had her spirit, her sense of loyalty, her naïve belief in others. He felt her lightness radiating from his being, sensed her desire to improve the conditions of people throughout the universe. Many of her attributes would have to be crushed if Luke were to be turned. However, with their combined power, they could overthrow the emperor and remake the universe into the society Padme had envisioned.

Han Solo was another matter entirely. An ex-Imperial officer, smuggler, and pirate, Solo would have generally fallen beneath his contempt. However, not only had he proven to be a worthy adversary, but Solo had also prevented him from destroying his own son. Solo would have to be dealt with, but perhaps not eliminated. He might even prove to be useful in the long run.

Vader's musings were cut short as he approached the rebel vessel. The pilot was attempting to open a comm channel, but the Sith lord was much more interested in probing his thoughts than in hearing his words. He felt a surge of panic emanating from the other vessel, and he watched his prey feebly attempt to outmaneuver him. He swooped in closer, applying more pressure on his opponent. Experience had taught him that the more he kept his target occupied with physical demands, the easier it was to read his thoughts.

After a series of complex acrobatic moves and a couple of well-placed "missed" shots, Vader entered the mind of Malad Eleisove. He experienced an immediate dislike of the man, bristling at the arrogance and cowardice he felt. He saw images of the princess of Alderaan, the brave young senator who had withstood the worst of his torture on the Death Star.

Hatred began to rise unbidden as he sensed Malad's lust for the young woman. You are not fit to look at her, much less touch her, he thought, surprised at his strong reaction. His hatred grew in intensity as he witnessed Malad's malevolent delight at the princess' injuries and his plan to use an untested medical procedure to extract information. Not even Vader had gone that far in his interrogation—his admiration of the young princess had been too strong.

The motivation for Malad's actions—jealousy—upset the Sith lord further. Han Solo had apparently become the princess' champion as well, defending her against Malad's advances and voluntarily undergoing interrogation rather than risking her health. Malad hated Solo, hated the fact that the princess responded to the mercenary, desired him. Vader couldn't believe that the young princess would take up with the smuggler, but he was surprisingly relieved that Han Solo had offered her protection. Yes, Solo might prove very useful, indeed.

Becoming impatient, however, Vader probed further for information about his son. Anger was already coursing through his veins, causing him to become more careless with his shots. He had already taken out a couple of non-essential systems on the fleeing ship when he found out that his son and Solo were lost in a cold wilderness.

The revelation that his son might die, coupled with Malad's evident glee at their situation caused Vader to lose control completely. He locked on target, pouring out his rage in a torrent of laser fire. Realizing what he had done, Vader probed Malad's mind quickly for a clue to his son's whereabouts. An image flashed briefly through his mind, and then his connection to the despicable creature ended with a thunderous explosion.

Vader stood on the bridge of his ship, looking out into the vastness of space. No one had dared to approach him, as all on board had sensed his black mood. They had never seen him lose control like that, to savagely attack the enemy, completely obliterating him from existence.

The Imperials were well aware of Vader's power, and they had lost more than their share of commanders to his displeasure. However, he had always killed with a purpose, deaths at his hand occurring in a clean and precise manner. A controlled Darth Vader was intimidating enough, but seeing the force of his rage firsthand was too terrifying to contemplate.

Vader, meanwhile, was too lost in thought to notice the change in mood aboard his ship. He berated himself for his rampage, for losing the chance to find more specific information that would lead him to his son. His power had grown as he had learned to harness anger for his own purposes, but he had always sensed its presence lurking in the shadows. Was he really controlling the darkness or was the darkness controlling him?

Padme had tried to warn him of the danger, but he had been too proud, too arrogant. Ultimately, his rage had consumed their love, twisted it with jealousy and destruction until he had lost her as well. His son would be his redemption, his chance to harness the power completely, to bend the universe to his will. Hold on, my son. I will find you.

Pieces of a conversation suddenly intruded on his consciousness as he heard his officers discussing a possible lead on the rebels' whereabouts. Turning from the window, he strode toward them quickly, eager for any lead. As usual, Admiral Ozzel was dismissing the arguments of a junior officer. His pride will be his undoing.

"You found something?" Vader asked Piett.

"Yes, my lord," Piett replied, indicating the console screen.

Once glance at the screen told him everything he needed to know—the image matched the final memory he pulled from the mind of Malad Eleisove.

"That's it," he said with unmistakable certainty. "The Rebels are there."

Oblivious to the finality of Vader's statement, Admiral Ozzel attempted to be the voice of reason in the situation. "My lord, there are so many uncharted settlements. It could be smugglers, it could be..."

Vader never let him finish, however. "That is the system. And I'm sure Skywalker is with them. Set your course for the Hoth system. General Veers, prepare your men."

Vader returned to the vast window of the bridge, staring intently as the stars blurred around him. Soon, my son, you will meet your destiny.