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Summary of last chapter:
Luke lies in his cell, mustering his courage. Troopers come in and lead him to a shuttle to be transferred to Imperial Centre. Luke tries to talk to Vader, who ignores him. The shock of the revelation wearing out, Vader feels conflicted and betrayed by Luke's secrets. The Emperor asks him to interrogate Luke, but Vader is uncomfortable. He stalls and tries to buy time, but the Emperor calls him out on it. He belittles him, calls him weak, and fans his anger against Luke. On impulse, Vader heads to the detention centre, where ISB officers are questioning Luke. Vader hesitates. The Emperor arrives and corners him, humiliates him in front of the other officers, then compares Luke to Obi-Wan and Padmé. Now furious and unhinged, Vader enters Luke's cell and tortures him, deaf to the young man's desperate claims of innocence.
Hours had passed when Vader came out of the cell.
"Bring me a medic now," he ordered the young and lone officer still in the control room.
He sounded more tired than angry, but the man bolted to seize a commlink anyway. Vader had to refrain from leaning against the wall, knowing it would bring him no respite. His stomach was queasy and heavy lead was weighing in his chest. He closed his eyes, tried not to think about the unconscious youth behind the durasteel door.
Finally the medic arrived. He came into the cell, and Vader lingered there for moment, looking everywhere but at the boy lying face down on the cold floor, where Vader had left him after he passed out. He was too small and pale, blood trickling from gashes on his lip, his arm and his thigh left by Vader's lack of control.
The medic performed a first assessment, then carefully put him on the stretcher. Vader knew he had brought all needed medical supplies with him, and would only move the boy to the medbay if he was in critical condition. They were used to such situations.
"Will he live?" he asked the medic. He didn't know how far he went... he had been too out of it to be careful.
The man looked at the scanner before answering Vader.
"Yes, my lord," he said, taking the boy's shirt off to reveal a torso covered in burns and bruises before working at putting an IV inside his arm.
The cold and distanced answer reassured him of Luke's survival. Suddenly he could no longer remain in here. He needed to be away from the despair and the pain reeking from this place, away from the screams and the bodies writhing behind these walls.
He let the medic work and fled.
Regaining the upper levels was like a breath of fresh air. Here there was natural light coming from the sky. People in the city went about their businesses, carefree, innocent. Vader watched them for a long time, trying to find relief in the continuous bustle of the dense traffic.
He no longer even knew if the boy had confessed. He retained but few memories of these long hours, flashing in haunting images, foreign and ear-rending echoes.
These hours were like a gap in his life, and he was now out of sync with the rest of the world. The bloody sun was falling, inflaming the sky and drawing long shadows behind it in the stillness of the Palace's corridors. His empty breath resonated in the space, too loud and too regular. He had lived with it for nineteen years, but now he found himself unable to ignore it: it was pounding on his ears like a tolling bell, the wheezing of a machine, devoid of life, devoid of conscience.
His son lived. The child he had thought lost with his mother had been just there, so close to him, and yet so far. Hidden from him, hiding from him, a pilot in his own squad, a Rebel sympathiser.
He reached out and set his hand on the transparisteel of the window. His gloves were stained with his son's blood, for in his madness he had been unable to restrain himself. He could still feel Luke's wrists under his hands, his struggle against his Force-made restraints, his flesh yielding to his fists and boots. Vader's joints were hurting, all artificial that they were, and there was a scathing burn in the pit of his stomach.
The boy was just another prisoner. His master was right: he was weak.
If only Luke had been more reasonable. He had brought this on his head, in his delusions, in his stubborn refusal to admit his crimes and to confess how much he had wronged the Empire... how much he had wronged Vader.
Didn't he realise what this was doing to him? Did he have any idea how deeply this situation hurt him, how much he wished things were different? He hadn't wanted to do it. He hadn't wanted any of this, and now his mind recoiled from the hated memories of the ordeal. But he had needed to. The boy had forced his hand.
The hand closed into a fist, leather creaking, the transparisteel behind crackling around it. How much anger was there still in him? Hadn't his son borne all of it already? Maybe it was better this way: had the depth of Vader's helpless rage hit him fully, it would have killed him thrice over...
Suddenly Vader found himself drowning, asphyxiated despite the oxygen running in his mechanised lungs. He needed more. He needed to leave this place, the eerie atmosphere of the sunset, which only worsened the violence of his thoughts. He needed familiarity, a drive or a purpose, anything to forget, even for a moment.
Luke was his son.
He should report to his Master. But not now, not when his turmoil was still so great, not when the memories were still lacerating his chest and stopping his heart every few beats.
But he hadn't checked in with Devastator in more than a day. He should go, see how his captain was faring. The change of scenery was exactly what he needed: a return to normalcy, to mundane day-to-day tasks. It would hopefully dull the pain raging inside him.
He didn't bother to check in with anyone as he flew his personal shuttle himself, on his own. He didn't want to wait for a pilot to be put to his service. He wanted to leave now, and he was as competent as anyone else to do something as easy as fly such a short distance, protocol be damned.
There was nobody waiting for him at the landing pad, for he hadn't notified anyone of his arrival. The officer monitoring movements was frantic when he realised who was approaching the Star Destroyer, but Vader quieted him down with a curt comment.
He landed with an ease borne of long practice. The hangar was deserted, save for a few mechanics. This close to Imperial Centre, even regular pilot duties had been put on hold. He felt like a spectre, walking in this big and empty space on his own.
In spite of himself, he couldn't help recalling the same space a few days prior, full of soldiers for Empire Day. He saw the Emperor descend from his shuttle... stand in front of them, start speaking...
He walked faster, fleeing from the memories.
The corridors were grey and uniform, just like they always had been. Mouse droids were sliding on the polished floor, stormtroopers patrolling around. Everything about the ship was familiar, untouched; but instead of the comfort it should have been, it just felt strange, out of place. He was the one out of place, maybe. He was standing out, like a stranger walking in his own skin, and the world oblivious to the change.
He reached the bridge at last. Officers were surprised to see him, and Captain Wermis hurried to approach him.
"I apologise, my lord, we weren't notified..."
"By design, Captain," Vader waved carelessly at him. "Report."
The captain shot at attention, rigid, and started talking. Things of little importance, things of trivia; things that distracted him and let him focus on them without much brainpower. The ship was running smoothly, as he had expected from his men. These were soldiers of honour and discipline, or perhaps their fear of him motivated them to do their job well even in his absence.
"Good work," he said when the report was finished. To his satisfaction and dismay, there was not much else to say. "I trust you will continue on this path."
Captain Wermis did his best not to look too relieved, or pleased with himself.
"Thank you, my lord," he said. He hesitated before going on. "Do you know how long we will still remain here before departure?"
Vader pinched his lips, not knowing what to respond. Now that the Emperor had obtained what he wanted of him, would he send him away? Could he ask for authorisation to depart, perhaps? There were still so many Rebels to hunt, and he could finally leave this wretched place...
And leave Luke behind, at the mercy of the court-martial, without even witnessing his trial.
What was even happening to him right now? Was the interrogation over, had he broken at last, or was he still suffering in his little cell, repeating his story over and over...
"I do not know, Captain. That depends on the goodwill of the Emperor," he said.
Again he felt as if a vice was compressing his lungs. He couldn't breathe, he didn't have enough air, but his respirator didn't seem to accelerate... he needed to move...
With a last nod at his saluting captain, he exited the bridge as quickly as he could. He needed to go to his hyperbaric chamber. There, at least, he could breathe on his own, without depending on machinery, at his own rhythm.
He walked as quickly as he could through the corridors, nearly running, his cape billowing behind him. He barely even saw the soldiers attending to their businesses, saluting at his passing.
As he travelled the familiar path, he went past no less familiar doors, and his step faltered. These were the pilots' quarters, that the simulators room in which he had spent so much time lately...
Had it really only been ten days since the last time he had been there? It felt like much longer... Would the room feel different, or would it have remained the same, like the rest of the ship, unaware of the shattering change that had overwhelmed his life?
He knew it would only bring him suffering. He entered the room anyway.
Like he had expected, he found the space all too similar to his memories. The machines were running, their quiet buzzing filling the air. Pilots were practising, unlike during his lessons to the boy, when he had made sure to forbid access to anyone but them, loath to disclose the secrets of the Force to any bystander's ears...
And yet, deprived of the boy's bright presence, the room felt empty, dark, and mourning.
In a haze of unexpected emotions, he took a step forward, and set a hand on an empty simulator. This was where he had sat most often; the Force was still resonating with his exclamations of joyful surprise at his new discoveries, with his questions, with his frustrated protests when things didn't go like he wanted...
He only realised his hands had closed into fists when he was distracted from his thoughts by a soft trill.
Vader looked down on the astromech he had seen accompany Luke from time to time. A wave of powerful emotion overcame him, and he set a hand on the droid's dome. The astromech beeped again, a questioning tone, an inquiry Vader found himself unable to answer.
A whisper distracted his attention.
"... I can't believe it. It must be a mistake."
Without turning to face the pilots, he enhanced his hearing and trained it on them, eager to hear their conversation. They were pilots from his squad; he recognised their voices, and the topic of their conversation.
"ISB doesn't make mistakes," a deep bass voice said, no louder. "You know that."
"I just can't see it," the first voice said, in its distinct Corellian accent. "Shooting Star? A traitor? Enthusiast as he always was? No way."
"Precisely. None of us saw it coming. It was a perfect cover."
"Come on, Boomer," the Corellian retorted. "I know the Rebels are sneaky liars, but nobody can be that good. He was eighteen! He'd just gotten out of the Academy!"
Vader's heart missed a painful beat upon hearing him refer to the boy in the past tense. As if there was no hope left for him.
"I heard they recruit them even before training sometimes," Boomer answered. "You know Qorl always had his doubts about him."
An exasperated noise.
"Yes, but Qorl is... Qorl," the Corellian said, sounding more aggravated by the second, his voice rising. "He was just a kid. We were all frightened to go into battle at the beginning."
"Please calm down, guys," a third voice said, quieter and more controlled. "For what we heard of the charges against him, this could just be a youthful mistake he grew out of. But the law is the law. No matter what change of heart he had, if he committed crimes, he should be punished."
"Unless ISB was wrong," his fellow pilot pushed. "Shooting Star can't be a traitor. I can't believe it."
"You're not thinking logically," the quiet voice replied. "We all liked him. We're all feeling betrayed and hurt. But ISB is never wrong. Never. In all their existence, there wasn't a single case where the convicted was declared innocent."
"You know these things aren't the same, right?" the Corellian challenged, aggression in his voice.
There was an uncomfortable silence. Vader could nearly see the uneasy gazes exchanged.
"You're not thinking clearly," the deeper voice repeated. "Maybe none of us are. I had never expected... one of ours..."
They fell silent again, a charged silence, full of grief and disbelief. Vader couldn't bear it. He walked away from the astromech with a vengeance and exited the room.
He retained no memories of his walk to his quarters. Rage had taken hold of his heart again; it was lucky no soldier had crossed his path in the short distance he had taken to reach his rooms. He wanted to tear, to destroy, to murder.
The boy was a traitor. He had let everyone down, in the cruellest way, he –
His thoughts were interrupted by his room's commlink beeping.
"Yes," he said impatiently after waving the door open for the officer behind to enter.
"My lord, I come to report on your assignment about the pilot –"
Without even looking at him, Vader lifted a hand, and the spy uttered a desperate gurgling sound.
"My lord – another – the Emperor –"
The spy's neck broke, and he fell lifeless on the ground.
Vader came closer and bent to pick up the datapad the man had been holding, which the Emperor had wanted him to have.
He opened the datapad. As he had known, it was about the boy. There had been no confession from him, he discovered with a knot in his guts, except for being the son of a Jedi and for his father's name, which he had given up in the first hours of his detainment. He had protested his innocence on everything else, and they hadn't managed to tear of him even the slightest expression of guilt.
Behind the coldness of the words, Vader heard all too clearly his anguished screams, his difficultly articulated denials, his raw cries of injustice and pained defiance. He saw again with painful clarity the trembling jumps of his body, the sobs racking his shoulders even as his face was turned away from him...
His blood froze when he reached the end of the document.
A date had been set for his trial. Despite the interrogation's lack of success, they deemed the evidence against him sufficient to prosecute him, and had launched the court-martial. All too soon, his fate would be decided.
Vader should have been relieved. The whole thing would be over soon. But he knew the sentence reserved for those who committed the crimes attributed to the boy. He felt it turn in his mind like a curse.
He didn't want to lose him.
No. No. He didn't care. Luke had betrayed him. He had lost him long ago already: when his mother had died, when he had first thought of helping Rebels in their endeavours and made himself a criminal. It was too late.
He threw the datapad across the room.
He leant on his unused office desk and closed his eyes, his fists clenched, the room shaking around him. How cruel was the Force, to dangle the life of his son in front of him like a miracle, then to take it from him just as soon! Was it so fond of his suffering, did it so want to rip apart the wretched and wounded heart he still possessed?
Luke was going to die. If he had known it before, never had it hit him as fully as it did now.
He straightened, started to pace around the room. He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't stand by and wait for his child to die. He couldn't bear it.
He exited his quarters and rushed to the hangar again, then took his shuttle and left as brusquely as he had arrived, setting course for Imperial Centre again.
While soliciting an audience with the Emperor, some of his urgency had fallen, and he was starting to have second thoughts. It was his weakness talking again. It was vain to try; better to forget him, and stop his influence on his life.
When the Emperor admitted him, he fell on both his knees in front of his throne, his head bent, his heart drumming, waiting for him to speak.
"I feel that you have something to ask, Lord Vader," he said. "What is it?"
Vader swallowed, thinking of all the rebukes his master could address him – had already addressed him. Would he never learn of his mistakes?
You are paralysed by the control you gave him with all the soft-heartedness of a fool. He has grown on you like a leech. What power he has over you...
"The life of my son, master," he quietly said.
The Emperor didn't immediately answer. He rose up, came closer. Vader didn't dare move.
"Lord Vader..."
"Give him to me," Vader rose up and said, hating the desperation in his voice, but needing to say the words nevertheless. "I will turn him. I will make him loyal to us. I know I can do it."
"And what if you fail, my friend? What if he turns against you yet again?"
"Then I shall strike him down myself," he answered, barely thinking the words. "He will join us or die. But let me at least try."
"And I should believe that, when interrogating him was nearly too hard a task for you?" the Emperor rebuked softly.
Vader fell quiet. As always, his master's words had the precision of an arrow planting itself in his heart. He was ashamed by this sentiment, by the despair and the need to at least try and save that boy, ashamed by his former weakness, when he balked at his duty.
The Emperor came closer and put a hand on his arm. He had been doing that more often of late, trying to convey compassion; it only made Vader feel trapped.
"I do not blame you," he said. "I know how hard this must be for you. But that is exactly why I think it unwise for me to yield to this enquiry. He will notice and use this softness you hold for him, and that will play in our disadvantage. No matter how inhuman it must seem, I must refuse this to you."
Vader opened his mouth to answer without quite knowing what to say, hating how much sense the Emperor's arguments made.
"I remember the first days after your wife's passing," Palpatine continued, softer. "I witnessed your grief at her betrayal, helpless to alleviate it. I saw you throw yourself into your work, devastated by the thought that she died at your hand..."
"You told me I had killed her," Vader cut him off, overwhelmed by a sudden realisation. "But she couldn't have... she couldn't have given birth if I had..."
"I was deceived just as you were," the Emperor answered, and he seemed sincere, even though Vader didn't dare trust him. "I thought, like you, that she had died with her child, overwhelmed by your fury."
Vader wanted to protest again, but the Emperor's next words froze him.
"But tell me, Lord Vader – if killing your wife sent you in such despair, what would killing your child do to you?"
Vader looked away. He wanted to say nothing, he would do it without a second thought. But he still saw Luke writhing under his hands, he saw him panting on the ground after he had strangled him, and he knew the act would haunt him for as long as he lived.
"That is why I cannot grant you what you ask," Palpatine answered his wordless reply. "I am older than you; I have seen many people in my life, and I know human nature better than you do. He will betray you again, like your wife, like your friend. And when you are forced to end his life, you will either fail to do so, or be destroyed by the deed. I do not want to see you in this kind of pain again. It will be kinder and cleaner for him to die now, rather than burden you with this dreadful dilemma."
Coldness had taken hold of Vader again. So this was it. There was nothing he could do, no hope to be had.
"So Luke..."
The words escaped his lips unwillingly, and the Emperor's stretched in a sad smile.
"I am truly sorry. But there is no other way. The boy must die."
There was nothing to be answered to that. With such despair he thought he was the one passing away, Vader bowed to the Emperor, unable to force the "yes, Master" out of his vocoder.