Author's Note: This is the introductory-part-type-thing to Part I. Depending on what I decide later, there will be two or three parts, and god only knows what next. Don't worry, the great majority of the first part won't be nearly as weird as this and the previous prologue. (About the last section in this: yes, I've changed the ROTJ timeline slightly. Luke visits Yoda, and finds out that Leia is his sister, before going to Tatooine.)
Does anybody know a good way to make breaks between parts without having to resort to line breaks? I hate those things but FFN always deletes anything else. I had to upload the prologue about five or ten times to figure out the formatting.
Thanks to Lieutenant K. Colwell, Tanydwr, and FireChildSlytherin5 for reviewing!
Dreamflood
Part One Prologue
Would you coerce it to some slavery?
It hisses, sputters, when it's held in bounds.
The torch is flickering. The world—will be ablaze.
- Albrecht Haushofer, "XXVI: Vision of the Torch"
4 ABY, Middle Core.
Space.
Faint winking stars deepset into an ebony face with no features and a million million eyes. The absence of organic molecules, nothingness paralyzed by unseen radiation, black and cold and still. Devoid of sound or life, the void stares back at you if you stare into it for too long. Whichever way you face, you're always falling down.
The Lady Executor slices through the empty black curtain of space in silence, great engines glowing hellfire crimson. In the interstellar void she drives toward her destiny, a massive arrowhead cast at her commander's enemies.
Inside the Executor, her commander kneels to his own master.
"There is a disturbance in the Force," he tells Darth Sidious.
He angles his mask up, stretching black plexisteel springs and leather padding, watching the flickering blue avatar of his master's sunken withered face. The dark Force roils within him, curving around his elemental dried-up heart in a demonic comforting manner, stretching his senses and permeating his bones with power.
This moment is important, for he needs advice, and though they have grown apart his master is still the one he turns to in his weakness, as it has always been.
"Yes. I have felt it also," says Sidious. "Young Skywalker is in despair. He treads the edge of the dark side recklessly." He falls silent for a moment, contemplating. "This may be the opportunity we seek, my friend."
"I agree. We should act now, while he is weak."
"Yet his weakness disturbs you, does it not?" Sidious's powerful gaze penetrates the opaque eye-guards of his mask, even through the innumerable light-years that separate them from each other, locking eyes with Vader. "I can taste your fear."
Such a statement twenty-three years ago or more would have sent a cold frightened snake scratching up his spine, word-tail coiling around his heart in a tangible display of Sidious's immense power. But after twenty-three years, even though their conversations are marked by the scent of Vader's respect and awe for his master, he is no longer afraid of Sidious. He is intimately familiar with Sidious's power now, he has spent twenty-three years entangled with it, learning its use and devouring its spirit. It's not Sidious he's afraid of. His own manifestation of the power crashes through him now, feeding his hatred and his rage: he did not wish to have his furious terror laid open and exposed to the cold void like this.
The silent nameless fear sliding along his bones does not belong in Vader, it should not be there for Sidious to pick out like a slick metal sliver underneath an adamantine fingernail. The hot taste of anger scalds his tongue and heats his scarred flesh.
"Yes, my master," he bites out.
Sidious smiles cold and hard.
"You will go to him and bring him to me. Only together can we turn him to the dark side."
"He is on Tatooine," protests Vader before he can confine the words, further evidence of his debilitating fear.
Wrinkled lips curl, expressing the disgust of the one controlling all the strings.
"I see," he says softly, "you have learned little from me. Let this be a lesson, then. Go to Skywalker's homeworld, my apprentice, and conquer your fear. Harness it--it is as powerful as your rage and hatred. Anchor it in the dark side."
"Yes, my master," snarls Vader.
"Let your own lesson be a lesson for the boy as well," his dark master continues. "Only when you have mastered yourself will you be able to expose the darkness in his heart."
Once there was a time when he had welcomed Sidious's teachings, touched the live wire of the dark power to his own false nerve endings and absorbed the lessons whole. He chafes under them now, for there is little left he can learn from Sidious; in tacit silence they have separated, drifted physically and emotionally into the physical and spiritual distance.
"What of the Death Star?" he asks, for a distraction from the lesson. These little verbal games they play, distractions and misdirections and pretended misunderstandings, keep them from going too far apart. He has the feeling that they will be struggling in one of these games very soon, perhaps over the son of Skywalker. To win Vader must needs master himself first—as, of course, his master now advises. Perhaps Sidious has already won the first round.
"I will meet you and the boy there and together we will oversee the final stages of construction." For a moment smug victory is etched in the lines of Sidious's face, visible only to Vader, who knows him well; then he settles deeper into the black cowl. "Everything is going according to my plan. Once we have young Skywalker, we will crush the Rebellion and then we shall have peace."
A cold wellspring slithers up Vader's spine: he last heard those words twenty-three years ago, as a portent of great change. What destiny lies ahead, at Tatooine?
He swallows the fear rising in his gorge and bows his head to his master's fading avatar.
Sometimes he can see the future, in dreams and visions. But as he draws on the dark Force now, kneeling still in the empty chamber, it is cold and silent, turning away from him.
Gritting his teeth against his welling emotions Vader rises, strides into his chambers. He has work to do now, work that will set in motion the destiny of the galaxy.
Flicking on the private, portable holocomm in his hand, he waits a long moment for the response, reflecting on the necessity of his personal involvement with the business on Tatooine. It does not seem wise to visit his homeworld a third time, but his son is there on the Force-forsaken dustball, paralyzed by pain and despair. Vader senses the boy's need for a father and though he is reluctant to return to Tatooine, he cannot resist his son's call. His duty as a father and as a Sith take precedence over his fear.
His dark master is, as always, right.
"Hi, Uncle Dee," his agent's voice interrupts from the comm nestled in his black-gloved palm. "What's up?"
"There has been a change of plans," he tells the flickering blue avatar. "I will be joining you. Capture the smuggler to use as leverage and draw the Rebels away from the Hutts, into the desert."
"Do you want me to unfreeze the smuggler?"
"I leave that to your discretion. Keep the Rebels isolated and occupied until I arrive."
Sidious will have an agent on Tatooine as well, he knows, for it is one of the things they do not speak of, they plot and pit their agents against one another when they have different means or ends in mind. He must go to Tatooine and capture his son, that much is certain, but there is momentous change riding the Force-winds and Vader must be prepared for anything. "Do not let the Emperor's Hand interfere," he adds.
"I've got my work cut out for me, then," dryly.
Vader ignores the man's remark; he is not in the mood for banter. "Make sure the Rebels go unharmed, especially Skywalker. Your life depends upon it," he threatens.
"Understood," his agent says.
"Very well. Do not fail me."
He ends the call and opens a new channel; he has one last order to give.
"Admiral Piett," he requests.
"Yes, sir," comes the immediate response.
"Set best speed for the Arkanis Sector."
"Immediately, my lord."
He drops the holocomm onto the table and turns to the viewscreen to meditate.
Staring unseeing into the black void outside, all Vader can perceive is his son's face, lined with deep shadow, his penetrating blue eyes like brilliant twin suns burning in the dark.
Vader has lost far too much in his lifetime not to answer his son's unconscious call.
4 ABY, Imperial Palace, Coruscant.
Darth Sidious despises Tatooine.
Influence of the Hutts aside, it is politically and economically worthless, prone to producing individual wild cards and unexpected situations. But in the Force the planet is infinitely valuable: it has given him two apprentices, one for his present and the other for his future. They are his two most precious assets, the Skywalkers, and the ones he trusts the least out of all the sentients in the galaxy. One is growing resentful and wary after twenty long years, likely on the verge of betrayal, while the other seems given to surprising him. He doesn't like to be surprised.
Their home planet is as dangerous as it is useful. Sidious is able to influence its inhabitants easily enough through money and power, if not through the Force directly, but certain hidden aspects of the planet's Force-presence, of its place in the invisible galactic ley lines that he exploits, resist his manipulation. And because of the two powerful tools it has given him, Tatooine is too important to remain a mystery.
Therefore he will wring every last offering out of it and discard what is left.
"We must time this precisely," he tells his Hand. "I will arrive in a standard tenday. You have until then to capture Skywalker, disable Vader's agent and any Rebels or natives that may pursue you, and get offworld. Avoid injury or insult to the Hutts," he adds. "It would not do to estrange our economic allies."
"Yes, Master," she responds. "I understand."
"Good." He curves his hand around the cool metal of his throne, presses down lightly. He could destroy it with a thought, but sometimes a delicate touch is needed. Times like now. He has already begun to seduce the son of Skywalker; it will not be long before he can do away with the waiting game and come down with the full overwhelming force of his power. The future of the galaxy awaits him.
He savors the thought, and gives voice to it: "Soon I will reign unopposed."
"Yes, Master," his Hand agrees, anticipation vibrating in her voice.
"Do not let Lord Vader's agent know of my role in this game," Sidious continues, "although you may find it useful to recruit him in capturing the boy. But Vader must not know that I am going to Tatooine."
"Yes, my Master. It will be done."
"Then carry out my orders, my Hand," Sidious commands.
The holotransmission ended, he sits back and sinks deeper into the Force, extending himself into its swirling blackness. The plan is under way, but his preparations are not yet finished.
Glutted with the dark side, intoxicated with his own power, Sidious reaches across space and time to the mind of the son of the son of the suns. The boy is in effect his spiritual grandchild, his new apprentice and replacement for the father. Skywalker has already begun to walk the path of Darkness, but Sidious must solidify his footing before he can continue.
The boy is dreaming right now, which makes it all the easier. Subtly he twists the dream, just like last time and the time before that, tweaks it until the boy desires his own nightmare. Just like his father does.
Sidious reaches out to the stars and smiles as he feels the galactic lines of power quail before him.
4 ABY, Arkanis Sector.
In the chill of the black interstellar night, Luke Skywalker drowns in his dreams.
His father is screaming.
"Father, where are you?" he cries, whirling around to catch his bearings. It's not easy, for the sky and flat arid desert stretching out monotonous in all directions are tilting and blurring, and the ground is trembling, throwing him continuously off balance. He feels dizzy-sick, salt tears stinging his eyes from the wind hazing past him.
Desperate for some relief, he turns away and keeps turning, searching for his father, tears his gaze away from the colorless indefinite horizon only to find more of it everywhere he looks; he can't seem to lift his feet. "Father!" he yelps again.
The scream doesn't stop, goes on and on and on, bouncing off the walls of his skull until he claps his hands to his ears to stop the vast pain. It feels as if the immense pressure has shattered his eardrums and he expects at any moment to feel hot blood coating his fingers. But his action only serves to magnify the distorted scream flaying his father's throat. Frantic now, he attempts unsuccessfully to stumble forward, trying to find his father.
The nightmarish scream seems to be coming from all around him, though, echoing stereophonic through the blurry tilting landscape. He trips over rough and rocky ground, blinded by the gritty wind searing his eyes. His helplessness sends cold shards of terror stabbing through his heart; tortured by the sound of his father's agony, he cries again: "Father! Where are you? Let me help you!"
As Luke shifts his balance the ground roils beneath him, almost throwing him off. He looks down.
He is standing on his father, trampling the components of the life-support suit into agonized flesh.
"Father!" he exclaims once more, this time in relief. He smiles, half hysterical, hands shaking; crouches down to stroke the sharp blade of his father's cheek. "I'm here, Father. I won't leave you. I'm going to help you."
Looking at his father relieves him of some of the dizziness induced in him by the blurred rushing landscape, so he concentrates on the man beneath him, thinks about how to ease his father's pain. He's still in some pain himself, but there's nowhere else to stand and the bloody wind is still blowing. Then the solution comes to him; of course he thinks with relief. The Force caresses him, singing Use me use me sink deeper into me and Luke accepts its invitation. It's obvious that this is the best way.
The blade of his lightsaber hums out, sharpening the shadows, tingeing the world blue. He doesn't sense agreement from his father, so keeping his hand on his father's face he reassures his suffering sire. "I'm going to help you, Father. It's all right, don't worry."
He breathes in Darkness, swings, and abruptly the blurred, tilted world resolves into a sharp endless wasteland.
And it is easy, easier than anything he has ever done. Father's head turns to one side as if, even in death, to thank him. His footing is steady once more and
he wakes up swallowing his tears and gasping for air.
This is not the first time he has had this dream. The details are never the same, but its essence is clear and it feels as certain as the inevitable future he sensed waiting for him on Bespin. Luke Skywalker is going to commit patricide.
"Ben," he moans in despair, "Yoda, is it true?"
Only the eerie silence of hyperspace responds. His teachers are dead; no one can help him now but himself.
"Father," Luke whispers.