I am aware of voices in the room, though I am unable to determine what they are saying. I feel the presence of my son; it comforts me, much like that of his mother had once done. I struggle to open my eyes, but I am too weak; the drugs that are filling my bloodstream are too strong and keep me a prisoner still. I try to reach out to Luke, but even that is a challenge. Somehow he hears me, and in an instant he is at my side. I feel him take my hand, hear his voice, the comforting tones; yet it is his thoughts that speak to me.
You made it! He tells me, the relief and happiness clear.
So far...I tell him, not wishing to get his hopes up.
The first hurdle, he tells me, and the hardest. You can do this, father...I know you can.
I try to smile at my son's blind optimism. Perhaps..is my only reply, before I drift off again.
I didn't learn to swim until I was almost 10 years old- somehow being immersed in water always seemed so unnatural and more than a little frightening to me. Yet it was a necessary part of my Jedi training, and so I was required to learn. I remember one occasion before I had mastered the skill when I had nearly drowned. The sensation of struggling to reach the surface of the water is one I shall never forget, nor the amused expression on my master's face when I finally made it to the surface, gasping for air and sputtering. He always seemed to take a grim pleasure in my failures, probably because it made him feel superior.
I am reminded of that day now, for the disturbing feeling of semi-consciousness has me struggling just as I did on that day so long ago. I hear voices of others around me, both human and droid. Something I am cognizant of even in my highly sedated state is the changes in my body. The mask is gone...the breathing apparatus that sustained my life for more than two decades is gone. How is this possible? Sidious assured me that the only way I could live at all was with complete artificial support, the injuries I incurred on Mustafar being far too serious to be repaired. Another lie…there seems to be no end to his treachery. No doubt having me half machine served his dark purposes far more effectively than if I had remained intact...and fully human.
Attuned to my every thought, Luke is at my side now.
"Can you hear me, Father?" he asks.
I try to open my eyes, to see my son for the first time with my own eyes, but it is too difficult. I turn my head to face him, to let him know that I do hear him, though I'm certain he already knows.
"I know you are trying, Father," he tells me, taking my hand. "In time you have the strength to open your eyes, to talk to us, even to walk out of this room."
I want to believe what he is telling me, but it all seems too good to be true. How is it that after more than twenty years living I am able to live without the confines of my artificial life support? I summon my strength to ask him a question, and manage but one word.
"How?" I ask him.
"The miracle of medical science," replies Luke. "The same technology that creates clones is being used to regenerate human cells, organs and limbs that have been damaged beyond repair; like yours."
But the technology to clone humans has existed for more than 20 years…the Imperial army is living proof of that. Does that mean that 20 years ago it was possible to regenerate human tissue the way that my son is describing? And if so, why wasn't that treatment made available to me? I think I know the answer to that, and it sickens me to consider it.
I focus my strength, allowing the power of the Force to flow through me. No longer fuelled by hatred, by anger and fear, its power is soothing, calming, like a balm on my shattered body and soul. I feel it fill me, and I am overwhelmed, as though being reunited with a long lost love. I open my eyes, and look up at Luke, as though seeing him for the first time. He smiles at me, tears shrouding his own eyes, which are so much like mine, like my mother's.
"That is..." I stop, unsure even of what word to use. "That is incredible," I say, my voice barely audible. Luke nods.
"It is," he agrees.
I lift my hands to examine them, astonished to see once again human hands instead of robotic appendages. I turn them over; flex my fingers, as though trying to prove to myself that this is really happening. I had lived so long with prosthetics; I almost forget what it feels like to have human hands. Even on my wedding day, one of my hands was artificial; yet she was not repulsed by it or its touch upon her silken skin.
Slowly I bring my hands to my face, half hopeful, half dreading what I will find. It has been more than twenty years since I have been able to look at my face without horror; the ravages of Mustafar having left it something less than human. I had once been a handsome man, in my youth; that all changed when the fires of Mustafar consumed me. Expecting to feel nothing but disfigurement, I am shocked to feel the smoothness of new skin. I look up at Luke in amazement.
"You no longer bear the scars of your accident, Father," he tells me. "In time you will even grow back your hair."
"I can't believe it..." I whisper, afraid that I will wake up to find this all a dream. "This is …beyond belief."
Luke nods, immensely pleased with my recovery. "You are …so young, Father," he comments. "So much younger than I had expected. How old are you?"
I think for a moment. "I'm …44," I reply. "Yes, it's been 22 years since Mustafar, and I was 22 when it happened."
"Is Mustafar where you and Obi-Wan fought?" he asks.
I look up at him, knowing that he is bursting with questions. No doubt he had been told many lies about his parentage.
I nod. "Yes," I reply. "He told you about that, did he?" I ask, watching my son's reaction.
Luke nods in reply. He wants to ask me something, but I can sense his hesitation, and it makes me wonder what it was that the old man told him. He had told Luke that I in fact killed his father; I have to wonder what other falsehoods he has filled my son's head with.
"Yes he did," Luke replies at last. "But only after I had confronted him about why he lied about you, why he hadn't told me the truth about my father."
"And what reason did he give?" I ask.
"He said that from his point of view you, that is Vader, did kill Anakin Skywalker," replies Luke.
I sigh, frowning at his answer. Kenobi always did have a way of twisting things around to suit his own purposes.
"I see," I reply. "Anything else?"
Luke averts his eyes, obviously uncomfortable with what is on his mind.
"What else did he tell you, son?" I ask.
Luke looks at me, his eyes troubled. "He told me that…that you killed my mother."
His words hit me hard, sapping me of my strength. I close my eyes, wishing I knew what to say to my son at this point.
"Tell me that too is a lie," Luke implores. "Tell me you didn't do it, Father!"
I open my eyes and look up at my son. "There is so much you have to understand Luke," I tell him patiently. "So much more than Kenobi has told you. I didn't kill her; but I know she died because of me."
Luke frowns, puzzled and distressed by my statement. "I don't understand," he says slowly. "If she died because of you, then you must have ..."
He is interrupted by the appearance of the medical droid who has come to check on me.
"Commander Skywalker," it admonishes, "You must leave your father alone for now. He needs his rest."
Luke is disappointed that he is being put off, but nods his understanding.
"I will be back later," he tells me. "And you can tell me everything then."
I nod. "Bring your sister," I tell him. "She will need to hear this as well."
"I will," he tells me. "Rest now, Father."
I watch Luke leave the room as the medical droid starts its examination of me. Its bedside manner leaves something to be desired; but I suppose I can't expect much warmth from a droid. Not many droids have a personality, in fact I have only known two in my life that have had one; a protocol droid I built myself, C3P0, and the little astromech R2-D2 who saved my life more than once during the Clone Wars.
"Sleep will do you good," pronounces the droid as it finishes its examination. "I suggest you get some."
I nod my understanding, knowing that sleep will no doubt evade me now. Luke's question has left me shaken, the fact that Kenobi is the one who put the idea in his head troubles me even more. Has he spent the last 20 years turning my son against me? Filling his head with falsehoods and his 'version' of the truth? I feel the anger rise within me, and it troubles me that the thought of my old master can still affect me this way. There was so much I wanted to say to him, but our last encounter was rather short, for I was too anxious to repay him for what he did to me at Mustafar. I must let go of the anger...must let go of the resentment…that is what destroyed me in the past…it is not so easy, though, and I begin to wonder if it would have been easier for all if I had not survived Sideous' assault at all…
