Chapter VIII

The shuttle Amalthea emerged from hyperspace and prepared to dock aboard the Stardestroyer Apocalypse, flanked by a dozen TIE fighters and gleaming eerily in the light of Tatooine's dual suns. The TIEs swooped away like birds scattering before a bird of prey as the Amalthea was swallowed up by the larger ship. It folded its wings like a reclining dragon and settled with unexpected grace upon the glossy hangar floor.

Grand Moff Tarkin strode down the landing ramp before it had even finished lowering. He had reasons for his haste. He had lost two Death Squads in the quest to ensure Vader and the Emperor were out of the picture. The first had met some nameless doom on the planet's surface; the second had been incinerated in space before they had even touched the planet. Someone or something of import was here, and he hated it with a passion.

He strode briskly toward the bridge, intent on his goal – that of finding the highest-ranking officer aboard the Apocalypse and ordering him to prepare a battalion of troops. Whatever was going on here, be it the Emperor's insanity, Vader's coup, or a fledgling Rebellion, he intended to nip it in the bud immediately. And if it took every soldier in the Imperial Army and every ship in the Starfleet, so be it.

He would not be thwarted now, in his moment of glory.

Break…

Had the saber cut a centimeter deeper, it would have easily seared heart tissue and quite possibly killed Luke instantly. As it was, he was in grave danger. Flesh, skin, sternum, and ribs had been burned and blackened by the accidental strike, and at its deepest point the slash had penetrated the protective cage of the ribs and burned lung tissue. It was a relatively small burn, granted, but enough to hamper his breathing and add yet another complication to his already serious condition.

Vader never left his son's side, keeping a desperate vigil by his side, afraid that if he left for a moment he would lose him. He held Luke's hand, stroked his hair, murmured comfort and pleaded forgiveness, and wept unseen tears behind his mask. Had it been in his power, he would have exchanged places with Luke in a heartbeat. The blade had been meant for him, not for his son. He should have suffered, not Luke. Luke had no part in who his father had become…

Luke moaned in fevered sleep and turned his head from side to side, sweat standing out on his creased forehead. The pain… Vader could feel his pain, like a thousand ragged knives tearing at his chest every time he inhaled…

"Can you not do something for the pain?" he demanded.

The doctor shook her head, her blue-skinned face weary with concern. "I've already given him as much painkiller as I dare. It takes time to work…" A trickle of anger leaked into her expression. "If I had known this was how they would use my information, to hurt an innocent child, I would never have helped Mothma's harebrained resistance."

He looked up, shocked. "You HELPED with this?"

"I certainly didn't wield a blaster last night," she replied quietly, "but I good as well handed them a map with your location emblazoned on it. When you and Luke first came in, both injured in a similar manner, I had my suspicions. When I did routine blood tests, I decided to allay my suspicion by running a DNA analysis. And when I cross-checked the results, it confirmed what I had suspected." She gazed at Luke's sleeping face, half-covered by a respiration mask and screwed up in pain. "Zevul Lodestar's always been a close friend of mine. And when he asked me to let him know if I heard anything that might be of use to the resistance, I agreed. I owed him… and so I told him."

Vader turned back to Luke, cradling his fragile-boned hand in both of his steel, black-gloved hands. "I should hate you for that. I should be angry. But I can't be angry. I've spent so many years simply hating, raging, exacting vengeance for my pain. No more." The last came out a grieved moan. "No more."

"If you need anything, let me know," she offered. "Even if it's just someone to talk to." And she was gone.

Vader was still for a long moment, lost in his own thoughts. How many years ago had he held his mother as the life had bled out of her? How many years ago had he screamed his wrath and agony upon learning of Padme's death? Was the Force bound and determined to see him torn cruelly from all he loved? Was this the will of the Force, having its revenge for his betrayal?

/Whatever you have to do to me, take it out on me/ he thought bitterly. /Don't hurt my son. Don't make him pay for my crimes. He is innocent. No blood stains his hands. If you must have blood in payment for blood shed, take my own heart's blood. Don't take my son./

"This was not the will of the Force."

Anger began to bubble to the surface at the tone of Obi-wan's voice. "And is this my fault as well, Master? Did I practically run a saber through my own son's chest? Do I deserve this as much as I deserve everything else?"

"I have never said you deserved your pain, nor will you ever hear me say that," Obi-wan replied forcefully. "And while I will not acquit you of all wrongdoing, nor will I place the entire blame on you. Everyone had a hand in this madness save the children."

The anger died instantly. "I'm sorry, Master," he choked. "I'm so sorry. I just…"

Obi-wan sat down beside Vader and placed an arm around him. "My Padawan, you have suffered far more than any of the Jedi of the Order could even begin to understand. Of course your emotions are running high right now."

"No," Vader replied, shaking his head. "You're right. I have done this to myself. If I had simply agreed to let you train Luke, Yoda would never have resorted to these measures… and Luke would not lie here in pain…"

"I will say again, Anakin, that this is not entirely your fault. On the contrary, if Yoda and I had simply been a little more lenient and not wished to see you separated from Luke, this never would have happened."

He fell into his Master's arms, sobbing, a child again wanting to be assured that everything would be all right. Obi-wan was still a moment, stunned, then embraced his apprentice.

"Anakin," he said quietly, "I am so sorry… for everything…"

"I can't lose him, Obi-wan," Vader said in a tight voice. "Part of me died with Padme. If Luke dies as well… it will kill me."

"You cannot let that happen, my Padawan," Obi-wan replied. "The bond you and Luke share is strong, yes, and if he does indeed die, I cannot say how it will affect you. But you cannot let it kill you. For you have a daughter… and she needs you."

Vader gave a bitter laugh. "She doesn't need me. She has a father already – one who doesn't constantly land her in the hospital. What need does she have of a man she hates?"

"She may hate you, Vader, but that does not mean she doesn't need you." He released Vader and gently pushed him away to look into the lenses of his mask. "I know this ordeal has hurt you as much as it has hurt Luke, but you will heal, believe me. It may take time, but these wounds will close. You have a family now, and they will help you. Trust them. Let them help you."

Vader was silent for a long minute. "This is a change in tune," he said at last. "I thought the Jedi had no use for family and attachments."

Obi-wan smiled. "The Jedi are also not above teaching… or at least they shouldn't be."

The doctor returned, accompanied by the Lars… and Leia.

"How is he?" Owen inquired, his normally gruff voice softened by worry.

"Stable," she replied. "The wound is fairly deep, however. We can treat it with bacta now, but somewhere down the road he's going to need reconstructive surgery on the damaged bones. Right now the immediate danger is infection, especially in his burned lung, so as soon as his father gives approval, I want him in a bacta tank."

"I'll give it," Vader said quickly. "If it will help Luke, I will agree to anything."

"Very well." She turned to Owen and Beru. "I'll give you five minutes to see him. Then I must ask you to leave."

Owen nodded in mute agreement, and the doctor, satisfied, left to ready the bacta tank.

Leia sat down on the side of the bed opposite Vader, concern for her brother etched into every line of her features. "What happened to him? Who did this? And why?" Her gaze moved guiltily toward Vader.

"Bail never told you?" asked Owen, surprised.

"No. He just said Luke had been hurt while trying to escape with… with his dad."

"True, but short of the full facts," Obi-wan replied. "And contrary to what I think you are assuming, it was not Vader's saber that dealt this wound."

She gasped. "Yoda? Yoda hurt him?"

"It was an accident," Obi-wan replied.

"All the same, it could have been avoided," Owen said curtly. "I don't know what in blazes Yoda thought he was trying to accomplish – he KNEW Luke would sooner give up piloting than let anything come between him and his father! He KNEW Luke would do anything to protect him, even throw himself into the path of a lightsaber…"

"Enough!" barked Vader. "We know what happened. And I would rather not revisit it."

Leia took Luke's hand in hers, gazing down at it as if determined to memorize every crease and callous and scar. "I heard Yoda wanted Luke to be a Jedi… but I didn't think he'd go as far as trying to kill his father to do it."

"He is your father as well, Leia," Obi-wan corrected.

She stiffened at that comment.

"Leia, I know it is difficult to accept right now," Obi-wan told her gently. "But you, Luke, and Anakin are a family now. And you need each other – perhaps more than you know."

She met Vader's gaze, unsure.

"I know I have done nothing worthy of the title of 'father,'" Vader told her softly. "But I am willing to try. I understand your hatred, and Force knows I am deserving of it. I only ask that you give me a trial run."

Her eyes lowered. "I won't live with you. I'm not ready for that. But I guess I can give you a chance. I can't call you Dad… not yet… but I'll try not to hate you."

He could have wept with relief. Perhaps his daughter was not yet lost to him.

"What happens now?" asked Beru. "The Rebels are watching the hospital. The minute Vader tries to leave, he'll be ambushed."

"At the moment, we do nothing," Obi-wan replied. "Luke needs a great deal of care yet. Once he is well enough to leave the hospital… we'll handle that nest of gundarks when we come to it." He stood. "For now, I must have words with Master Yoda. He has much to answer for."

Break…

Outside the medical center, a verbal free-for-all had erupted between Mon Mothma, Bail Organa, and Zevul Lodestar, with Fett, Han, and Chewie looking on as a reluctant audience.

"For the last time, Captain, I had no idea this was going to happen!" Mothma snapped, her stores of patience tapped out. "I knew he might attempt to run, but I never thought he'd take the boy with him…"

"And why wouldn't he?" retorted Zevul, shaking a fist at Mothma. "Stang it all, Mothma, you can be cool and logical about this, but you don't have children! I know if some religious fanatic wanted to take one of MY boys away from me, I'd be screaming bloody murder! And yeah, I'd probably have taken off with my kids too!" He pointed accusingly at a nearby speeder, where Master Yoda had retired, presumably to meditate. "I warned you that the creature had his own itinerary, didn't I? And I was right, wasn't I?"

"I had no idea Yoda wanted Vader' son! I thought he only wanted to aid our cause against the Empire…"

"If the Jedi had wanted to aid our cause against the Empire, they would have stepped out of hiding years ago. The only reason they came forward now was because they had a chance to recruit a naïve Force-strong kid into their Order… and if they could get a little sweet revenge on Lord Vader at the same time, so much the better."

"Don't you dare demonize the Order," Bail said fiercely. "They have been to the depths of Hell and back. They have suffered more at Vader's hand than anyone else in the galaxy. Do you blame them for wanting some justice? Or for trying to expand their ranks?"

Zevul inhaled deeply, and when his voice resumed it had lost much of its volume but none of its intensity. "No, I don't blame them for wanting… justice, as you call it. I don't blame anyone for wanting anything, be it credits, power, property, or even vengeance. In fact, I would think the Order mad for not wanting some measure of revenge. It's when it goes beyond the wanting revenge and progresses to actually obtaining it that I have a problem."

Bail sighed. "It's too late for I-told-you-sos," he said resignedly. "All we can do now is salvage what we can of the situation."

Mothma nodded. "Boba Fett, you have ascertained that the Emperor is indeed dead, correct?"

"Yes," he rasped.

"And an Imperial Death Squad ambushed you, correct?"

"Yes."

She nodded again. "We, too, ran afoul of an Imperial arrival during our journey here. It is obvious to me that someone wants to ensure that the Emperor and Vader do not return."

"Yeah, real obvious." Han rolled his eyes sarcastically.

Chewie growled and gently cuffed the boy, who shot him a dirty look.

"What do we do?" asked Zevul. "Our men are already pretty shaken from witnessing the duel last night. I doubt they can take on whatever forces the Moffs plan to send."

"We wait," Mothma replied simply.

"Wait for what, the Imps to fry us?" demanded Han.

"For things to progress on their own," she clarified. "The Imperials want Vader for the same reason we do – to ensure he does not rise to power again. Our men failed to apprehend him, but that does not mean our mission here must be a complete failure. If we lay low and let events run their course, our situation may resolve itself."

Bail stared at her, open-mouthed. "You want the Empire to eliminate him."

She did not reply.

"You scare me, Mothma," Zevul said in a deadly quiet tone. "Quite frankly, you scare the hell out of me…"

"Zevul," she interrupted, "I despise what we must do, believe me. But it is the only way. Vader is a dangerous man, father or not. You saw it last night – he would have killed all of us, Yoda included, without a second thought in order to accomplish his goal. Such a man is only a danger to the galaxy. I am afraid there is no recourse but to have the threat he represents neutralized."

Fett snorted as if choking back laughter. In a voice so low only Han and Chewie could hear, he remarked "And she calls me soulless."

Before the conversation could progress, Obi-wan exited the med center, looking exhausted and several years older.

"How is the boy?" asked Mothma.

"Luke is in stable condition," he reported. "They were preparing to treat him with bacta when I left. He should recover." His gaze glided over the gathered Rebels, and the slight frown tugging at the corners of his mouth indicated he sensed the tension, but he said nothing of it. "I must speak with Master Yoda."

"I am here." The dwarven Jedi had climbed out of the speeder and was making his way toward Obi-wan, pausing only to nod at Chewie in greeting. "Luke will recover?"

"He will, given time," Obi-wan replied in a guarded tone.

"Good." Yoda paused, considering. "And Vader?"

Obi-wan was silent, seeking words that would speak the truth but not stir anger. "Hurt. He is not taking this well."

Yoda closed his eyes and shook his head gravely. "A tragedy, this is. Suffered much Luke has because of his father…"

That caught Obi-wan completely off guard. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Yoda opened his eyes and regarded Obi-wan matter-of-factly. "If agreed to the training he had, dueled we would have not. And injured Luke would not be."

Obi-wan was too stunned to reply for a few seconds, but he managed to regain his voice. "Wait a moment, Master. It takes two people to engage in a duel. And as I recall, you initiated the fight…"

"For the good of Luke it was. Trained he must be at all costs…"

"For the good of Luke? What good does it do a boy to see his own father cut down before his very eyes? What good does it do to drag him away from those he loves and force him to fulfill a destiny he doesn't want?"

"Warned you the same about Anakin I did, and look what he has wrought…"

"Why is everything Anakin's fault? I won't lie and say he is innocent, but he does not bear the entire blame! What about us? What about all the times we dismissed his visions of his mother in pain as mere nightmares? What about all the times we hushed him when he expressed homesickness, our only words of comfort for him that threadbare adage 'a Jedi shall not know attachment?' What about all the times he came forward pleading for help, and we only pushed him aside?"

Yoda opened his mouth to reply, but Obi-wan cut him off – the first time in living memory that anyone had dared so. "If we had only relented, Master – accommodated to him somehow – he would never have turned to the Emperor for help. If we had only listened to him when he wanted help, we would have sensed something wrong." He pointed at the med center. "And if we had only tried to understand his bond with his son, rather than attempt to break it, Luke would never have been injured.

"But now it's too late. The difficult apprentice we pushed aside too many times has turned against us, I fear permanently. The Order that thought itself above and beyond reproach is all but destroyed. And Luke Skywalker, the one who would have helped us restore the Order, will never join us now, not after being struck down by the very one who would have taught him the ways of the Jedi. You sentenced us to extinction, Master. I hope you're happy."

Yoda only stared at the younger Master. "Finished are you?"

"For the moment," Obi-wan replied, though there was much more he wanted to say.

"Good." He jabbed his cane into the sand. "Right you are that mistakes the Order has made. But deal with that later we must. Arisen an emergency has."

"What emergency?" demanded Zevul suspiciously.

Yoda raised a clawed finger skyward. "Arrived Grand Moff Tarkin has. Preparing to land his troops are, to finish what Mothma started." He met Obi-wan's gaze, his stare intense. "Decide which side you are on you must, Obi-wan."