Chapter 20 – After the End
Everything was spinning.
The cockpit rocked and rolled, causing her stomach to churn and her head to pound. Leia groaned, hands grasping out to grab hold of something. She found the control sticks. Giving them a tug, she managed to get the ship under control.
She blinked her eyes into focus. The visor of her helmet was cracked. It was also caked with some sort of substance, further obscuring her vision. Belatedly, she realized it was dried blood.
Her mind felt slow. Why was there blood on her visor? Was she hurt? She didn't feel hurt. With some effort, she managed to pull the helmet off of her head. Her left temple was sticky. Tentatively, she touched the area, palpating the wound. Now she felt the pain, but it was dull and distant, as if it was merely the echo of some past injury.
She remembered bits and pieces. Bright lights, blaster fire, orange explosions. The battle was over. But Leia could hardly recall what they had been fighting for.
The proton torpedoes, the targeting computer, the thermal exhaust port…
The mysterious voice in her ear.
Let go.
It came back to her now. The Death Star. It was destroyed. She had succeeded. But at what cost? She looked out her viewport. There was nothing. Complete darkness. No stars could be seen on account to a dense fog which clouded everything. Interspersed throughout the ubiquitous haze were small chunks of debris, metal wrought and charred beyond recognition. Was this all that remained of the Death Star? Was this all that remained of the battle?
There could have been no survivors. They had either perished in the fight or been engulfed by the ensuing explosion. Leia's own survival seemed nothing short of a miracle. But it was hardly one worth celebrating. There was no relief to be found from her defiance of death, nor was their elation in her impossible triumph. Instead, she felt empty.
Once again, she was left alone. Once again, there were ashes in her wake.
Biggs was dead. He had died protecting her. This was what he had wanted. He had practically told her as much. The cause was more important than any one person. The cause was all that mattered.
Leia hated the cause.
It was the cause which had driven her to leave Alderaan for the stars. And it was the cause which had landed her here, floating in empty space, directionless, hopeless.
There was no winning. No justice. Only death and destruction. Anarchy. Needless violence.
The universe had no meaning, and Leia had no cause.
She punched the control panel and screamed. She punched it again, and again, and again, ignoring the pain in her fist.
"I hate you!" she yelled, to no one in particular. Or perhaps to everyone. Everyone that ever was, and everyone that could no longer be. Because of the cause, because of the war, because of her.
She yelled again. "I hate you!" To herself this time. "I hate you!"
The navcom flickered to life. Leia, not expecting it, faltered. The virulent energy coursing through her seemed to dissipate all at once when she read the name of the system on the screen.
Dagobah.
What good would it do? Receive training, Bail Organa had said. Learn to protect yourself. To what end?
Leia had resisted, viciously. Why? For the cause, of course! She had to fight, she had to be useful!
Stupid.
But going to Dagobah was just as stupid. It wouldn't resolve anything, it wouldn't change the fact that Biggs was dead, that Val was dead, that countless others were dead, because of her.
Leia closed her eyes and sighed. Nothing could change that. It was in the past.
She felt a sturdiness in this determination. She could punch the control panel as much as she wanted, she could scream as loud as she could, but it would accomplish nothing. All she could do was look forward, through the suffocating fog of the Death Star debris, and see her next steps.
To Dagobah. For better or worse.
Δ Δ Δ
The Emperor stood in front of the viewport, scowling at the Coruscant skyline. A great bustle of people, interminable energy, all of them subordinate, all of them at his fingertips.
Unlimited power at his disposal, and yet he had been thwarted.
He had sensed it hours before the official report had come. The Death Star, that megalomaniacal project of Tarkin and Krennic, had been destroyed. Palpatine had always known that the project was a massive misuse of resources. He had known that a static power such as that, hyperspace capabilities notwithstanding, was tactically disastrous for a vast and disparate galaxy. Thrawn's TIE defender project would have been far more functional, had Palpatine elected to throw his support behind the enigmatic Chiss admiral, yet he had decided to play politics, maneuvering Tarkin, Krennic, and Thrawn like Dejarik pieces to get what he wanted out of all of them. Surely nothing could go wrong.
Fool.
His scowl deepened. Palpatine considered his reflection in the viewport. The face of evil. Evil, which reigned supreme. Evil, which trounced compunction and compassion, those horrible debilitations which afflicted the Jedi Order.
The Jedi had the last laugh, at least for the moment. Palpatine could sense it. The influence of Kenobi. Vader had thought Kenobi was dead, but Palpatine knew better. That old hermit's presence was still felt, acting through the girl Appenza.
Ultimately, the girl would be irrelevant, and Kenobi's death would be final. Because Palpatine had the more powerful tool at his disposal. He had to sharpen it, and that would be no easy task, but Darth Sidious had never failed.
Luke Skywalker would finish what his errant father had started and been too weak to complete.
Behind him, Palpatine heard the door to his office slide open. Through the reflection, he saw the subject of his musings step into the room. Not under his own volition, of course. He was accompanied by an Imperial Guard on either flank, each brandishing a charged electric staff. The crackling sound of the purple energy filled the room.
"My apprentice," Palpatine said, grinning as he turned. "You look well."
The compliment was facetious. Young Skywalker looked dreadful. His skin was pallid and his face gaunt. The boy had for whatever reason been holding to a strict hunger strike. What that could possibly accomplish was entirely beyond the Emperor, in all his wisdom. Ineffectual though it may be, the boy's obduracy was annoying, although admirable.
Thin face twisted with malice, the boy said "I'm not your apprentice."
"You will be soon enough," Palpatine elected to say. He glanced at the two guards, dismissing them. Once the door had sealed behind them, Palpatine felt himself decompress ever so slightly, the façade of the Emperor replaced by the reality of the Sith Lord. That identity was always paramount, yet it was so often concealed. Not in full, as it had been during the days before the Empire, but still, Sheev Palpatine remained in part an act, the flesh suit which clung loosely to the Sith that was Darth Sidious.
Whereas before Palpatine had needed to cajole and inveigle Anakin Skywalker to the dark side, Sidious had no such intention with the second installment. Luke Skywalker did not have to trust Sidious in the way Anakin Skywalker trusted Palpatine. The boy's loyalty to the Jedi Order was flimsy, there was no need to break it down, to sow dissent or doubt in the way he had done with his father. All he had to do was show him the true meaning of power, and to prove to him who the true enemy was.
"Skywalker," he said, drawing out the name, his bitter voice evincing both disdain and hunger. "The Force is strong with you. Much like your father."
Luke squared his jaw. He said nothing. The revelation that Darth Vader was his father no doubt was still a shock to him.
"Kenobi did not tell you much about him, I expect," Palpatine continued. "He kept many secrets from you."
The boy opened his mouth, presumably to offer a retort, but no words came. Perhaps he was realizing the truth of that statement.
"I don't care," Luke finally said.
Palpatine's face hardened. "What is more important than the truth?" he asked. "He who knows the truth has power. He who knows everything is invincible." Palpatine studied the boy closely as he absorbed this. "Unlike Kenobi, I will give you power," the Emperor continued. "Unlike Kenobi, I will give you the truth."
"I don't believe you."
A small smile touched Sidious' sinister lips. "Come," he said, passing Luke by and heading toward the door. The boy hesitated, but no doubt realizing he had no choice in the matter, followed suit.
They strolled down the vast, cacophonous halls of the Imperial Palace. Shadows crept from the corners, closing around them, like spreading pools of inky black blood. When Palpatine closed his eyes, he could see the Jedi meeting their ignominious end, felled by the very soldiers which had once been their servile tools. When he inhaled, he smelled an acrid stench, burnt flesh from blaster fire. In this Palace, he was imbued with triumph. There was no greater pleasure.
"Your father," Palpatine said, walking quite slowly. The boy was a half-step behind, yet was clearly in no rush to catch up. Insolence, surely, but nothing that would be rectified with time and discipline. "He once walked these halls, like you and I. As my apprentice, yes, but also as a Jedi."
"I don't understand," the boy said.
Palpatine glanced back at him. "You do not know?"
Luke shook his head.
"This was once the great temple of the Jedi Order." Palpatine smirked at the surprise on the boy's face. "You say Kenobi trained you as a Jedi yet he told you nothing of this place?"
Luke shook his head.
"Hmm," Palpatine said. "I will tell you everything, of course. I have nothing to hide from you. What do you wish to know? About the Jedi? About your father?"
"I… don't know."
"Too many questions?"
"I guess."
They took a turn. The hallway narrowed. The shadows grew closer.
"I met Anakin Skywalker when he was just nine years old," Palpatine said, his voice contemplative. Luke said nothing, but he was obviously hanging on to every word. Palpatine could sense it. His hunger for knowledge, unfulfilled by years of Kenobi's deflections and empty words. "He was precocious in every sense of the word. He had a knack for machines. Assembling them, fixing them… destroying them." Palpatine smiled wryly. "In equal measures, I suppose, he was adept at construction and destruction. He was, of course, perfectly suited to become a powerful Jedi. And an even more powerful Sith."
Still no comment from the boy.
"Kenobi and his own master Qui-Gon Jinn discovered your father on Tatooine and, recognizing his great potential, brought him to Coruscant. Yet the Jedi Order refused to take him into their ranks. They were afraid, you see, of his raw power. They knew what he could become, the greatness for which he was destined, and elected to stamp out that flame before it could spread."
"Maybe they were right," Luke said, surprising Palpatine who had assumed the boy had taken up strike against words as well as food.
"Is that so?" the Emperor said.
"Fire has to be contained. If it burns too bright, it will bring nothing but destruction."
"Spoken like a true Jedi," Palpatine said. Glancing at the boy, and seeing the pride on his face, he amended. "You are a fool. Do you really believe that aphoristic nonsense?"
"I do."
"This is the failure of the Jedi. They think too narrowly, too romantically."
"It's not romantic, it's logical."
"Logic?" The Emperor scoffed. "Logic is romantic. Logic is foolish. There is no such thing as logic, boy. The universe cares not for your logic. It is defined by nothing but physical laws. Physical laws which bend only to power, and those ruthless enough to use it."
"You're wrong."
"If I were wrong, I would not be emperor of this galaxy and the Jedi Order would not be dead."
Luke was stumped by this. They came to a stop at the end of the hall where a glowing blue door awaited them. Palpatine gave the boy a sharp look.
"Fire is a powerful tool. Destruction is a necessary outcome. I was the one who doused the galaxy in gasoline, your father was the one to strike the flame."
"You destroyed everything," Luke said.
"I did," the Emperor said, "so that it could be built into something better. You will be the one to do this, my apprentice. You are the final piece. I need you."
The boy's eyes narrowed. "I don't believe you," he said. "You don't need anyone. You killed Vader the second he became expendable to you."
"Is that what you think?"
"It's what I know."
Palpatine looked to the glowing door. Luke followed his gaze, perhaps only now wondering what they were doing here.
"You don't trust me because of what I did to your father," Palpatine said.
"You corrupted him," Luke said. "I won't let you do the same to me."
"It was not I who failed him," Palpatine said. "Kenobi was his master before me. It was Kenobi who pushed him to the dark side. I was only there to welcome him with open arms."
"That's not true."
"How do you think your father became Darth Vader? Do you think I was the one who maimed him? Was it by my doing that he was crippled?"
"Was it?"
"No."
"Then who?"
"Kenobi."
Luke tensed.
"Why do you think your old master was so reticent when you asked questions? Why did he hide so much about your father when he knew you wanted nothing else but to learn about him?"
Bathed in cold blue, the boy's face was awash with conflict.
"You know what I say is true," Palpatine pressed.
"So what?" Luke said. "It doesn't matter. You're the one who killed him."
Palpatine shook his head. "Oh no," he said, and with a wave of his hand the blue door slid open. "You are mistaken, my apprentice. You are very much mistaken." The Emperor stepped over a ledge and into the dark room beyond the door. Luke, no doubt bewildered, followed.
"The Jedi wronged your father," Palpatine said, his voice sounding louder in the room. It was quite spacious, but one could only know that on account of the acoustics. It was far too dark to see the walls or the ceiling. The only lights were ahead, dim white fixtures on the floor which surrounded a large, cylindrical tank. It was full of a pale green liquid which bubbled violently. Palpatine admired the scene, coming to a stop in front of the tank, eyes glowing at the creature within. His body was mangled, limbless. Translucent skin, pockmarked with all sorts of scars, was stretched over snaking veins and strained sinews. This tortured being could hardly be considered a man.
"The Jedi wronged your father," Sidious said again, the boy coming to a stop by his master's side, staring in awe at the tank where Darth Vader was suspended, in both time and space, perhaps never to wake again. "They contorted him. His body, his mind, and his spirit. They destroyed him."
"And so, my boy, we must destroy them. Only then can we rebuild. Only then, will this war be won."
