Title: Vader's Quest Chronicles

Summary: Darth Vader learns that he has a son, and the search begins

Chapter 1

Timeframe: Beginning between ROTS and ANH

Disclaimer: Star Wars is the property of George Lucas. No disrespect is intended with this story.

The Galactic Empire was purportedly at peace. Very few pockets of resistance appeared to remain. With those that did, simple intimidation tended to convince compliance. With little need for his lightsaber skills, Darth Vader had gotten fat and out of shape. The 'Vader suit' served nicely to hide his increased girth, while the mask respirator disguised his asthmatic wheezing.

There had been far too much feasting on the spoils of war -- luscious seafood from the water world of Ceruleanus, exotic fruits and vegetables, delicious delicacies from a thousand distant systems. The corpulent excuse for humanity whom he called 'Master' liked to eat and had commanded Vader to be his official taster. And after all, Vader reasoned, if one were going to die from eating something that tasted good, one might as well eat enough to make it a worthwhile experience!

While not into death sticks or hallucinogens, he had helped 'liberate' this really great vintage wine from Gonzos IV. He opened another bottle from his dwindling supply and drank deeply.

The inevitable extra weight exacerbated his asthma; he'd begun to suffer from attacks of that after breathing too many of the noxious fumes during his ordeal on Mustafar -- left lying on the ground, he'd inhaled them at their most concentrated. Just the memory could bring on an attack. Feeling himself start to choke up, Vader attempted to forestall things with another few gulps from the bottle of wine.

Bionic prosthetics were all very well, but exercising them didn't burn off all the extra food that he consumed. His midsection was becoming enormous -- he would have to order another still larger suit of his black body armor; he ruefully surveyed the seven already in his closet, each one successively larger than the last. And the helmet was also getting uncomfortably tight. Why, even the Emperor noticed and had called him 'Fathead' and then gloried in Vader's squirming discomfort. Really, the man was becoming insufferable!

At least the face mask still fit! The filters did help the asthma somewhat. And although the respirator function made his voice sound strange, he sometimes secretly liked the mysterious effect, which could greatly enhance intimidation.

Attempts to use the Sith lightning -- which burned up an incredible amount of calories -- were an abject failure as it tended to short out his bionics. After several expensive replacements, his Master forbade his exercising that power. So now he couldn't count on that either. He would just have to cut down... Another generous swig of wine followed.

And therein lay Vader's problem. If he cut down too much, old Palpy would notice and decide that Vader knew something was bad about the food and... Well, he would just have to figure out a solution.

Though he wasn't so good at that, either, he recalled with regret. Trying to figure out how to juggle marriage and being a Jedi without getting into trouble had really been, he must admit, a spectacular failure. Just look where that business had gotten him -- no longer a Jedi and no wife, either! Self-pity drove him to have still another hearty swallow from the bottle of that great Gonzan wine. He emptied the bottle.

Vader finally judged himself numb enough to endure yet another interminable evening at Palpatine's overwhelming board of fare, eating -- and drinking-- himself into oblivion. Ugh! he thought as he unsteadily stood. I am really getting out of shape! What to do? What to do? Disgusted with himself, Vader groaned at the evening's prospect and somewhat drunkenly went to perform his duties as official Imperial taster, dropping his empty bottle into the trash compactor as he passed.

"Vader, my friend, you're drunk!"

"No, no," Vader denied, then, enunciating carefully, he added, "Just had a little wine to prepare my palate."

Tarkin rolled his eyes in disbelief. "Right. And this satellite is being built for exploration. Tell me another! Palpatine is sure to notice soon, Vader. This is the third night this week that you've shown up, well, unsteady on your feet. How can, you actually taste anything when you are in this condition?"

Vader shrugged. "Doesn't matter -- couldn't taste poison anyway. As for sensing it, Old Palpy can do that far better than I can!" He gave a mirthless laugh. "I'll be all right, Tarkin. Soon as I get some food into me, I'll use the Force to clear my head. This will be another night of feasting and gluttony, washed down with too much potent wine. He'll soon be drunk himself!" And Vader seated himself at the Emperor's table, ready to begin.

Hours later, he retired to his quarters. Though he knew himself to be drunk, thanks to the Force, his head felt clear, so he considered his situation. Tarkin was right, Palpatine had looked at him oddly tonight. He had to have known Vader was, yes, he admitted to himself, that he was intoxicated. Old Palpatine was always bragging how he could 'sense' things. Surely he'd sensed that blurred awareness in Vader tonight. Vader had to concede that the bottle of Gonzan wine before the feast was not a particularly wise decision, especially with the knowledge that Palpatine also liked his wine. And tonight's vintage had been a potent one. He relaxed his control, let the effects of the wine overcome his senses, and lapsed into unconsciousness.

Vader unwillingly stirred into consciousness. His comlink was chirping mercilessly, jarring the throb of his head with each chirp. Moving carefully, he crossed to the holopad and knelt. Oh! his head, that must have been a really potent vintage last night! "Yes, my Master."

Palpatine's image appeared and immediately began to berate Vader for his tardiness in answering the link. Vader agreed that he had been dilatory, then asked the reason this early transmission.

"I will be returning to Coruscant. I see no reason for you to accompany me at this time. Remain here and supervise construction.. And Lord Vader -- cut back on your consumption of alcohol!" His image winked out.

Vader rose. Uh-oh! Palpatine knew about the excess drinking. Well, it certainly wouldn't be necessary in Palpy's absence. No feasting meant he could cut back on both food and drink. This could be a fresh beginning for him, get a head start on losing weight, getting fit. But did his head ever ache, maybe just a little bit...No! Vader stopped that thought at its inception. Using his powers, he cleared the ache in his head and went for a sorely needed session of lightsaber practice.

One of the few places he ever let himself miss Obi-Wan was at lightsaber practice. His droid sparring partner was programmed to match him in skill, but was so predictable. No human could even begin to match his skill, as no one had ever learned except the now extinct Jedi Order. And, of course, his Sith Master. Since Darth Sidious was also the corpulent Emperor, he might as well wish for the return of the Jedi -- never happen!

He reprogrammed the droid at a higher skill level and began sparring. Finding a great level of satisfaction in the exercise, he let the Force guide his movements, remembering long ago instructions to 'feel the Force.' Abruptly he stopped, then had to avoid a final thrust from the droid's saber. Sidestepping that, he commanded the droid to power down and ended the session. He did not like where memories were taking him. If he followed that path, he'd soon be opening another bottle and breaking his resolve.

Amazed at how much time had actually passed while he practiced, Vader stopped in his quarters before going to inspect progress on the satellite. While there, he carefully avoided looking at the closet which housed his private wine cellar. He needed a clear head for what he intended to do once he had finished his official errands of the day.

Piloting was something he could lose himself in, the more skill needed the better. And a nearby asteroid field was just the place. Thoughts of the anticipated activity filled him with pleasure. He felt himself relax as he settled into his small Tie fighter and took off.

Hours later, he navigated among the last few asteroids and emerged unscathed from the field. Pride in personal accomplishment -- that was real intoxication -- and it didn't leave a hangover. This was pleasant, no chirping comlink, no distractions, just him, his ship, and open space. At that moment, the despised comlink chirped. Curse it! Wonder what Palpy wants now? He activated the mobile holopad and responded. "I await your bidding, Master."

Palpatine was merely issuing more last minute directives concerning the Death Star -- and with such a name he claims that it's for peaceful purposes? Vader allowed the idle thought to surface once Palpatine had signed off. However, his pleasure had been erased by contact with the Emperor. He sighed and returned to base.

After a light repast and a visit with Tarkin, Vader ended his evening. In his quarters, he prepared for meditation. He could do this. It was easy without Palpatine's continual demands upon him... Force give his the strength to continue once his Master returned... or commanded his attendance on Coruscant. But he was Darth Vader, Sith Lord, Powerful in the Force. He could do it ... one day at a time. And Vader allowed himself to drift into the oblivion of sleep.

"You, Tarkin?' Vader was spending an evening in the Grand Moff's quarters, having been invited for a light supper and quiet conversation. "You were an alcoholic?"

Tarkin nodded. "Yes, my friend. Even as you, I felt service to our demanding superior required an anesthetic to dull my senses. One day I looked at myself and was not pleased. I realized that I had lost control and was on the road to the ruin of all I had worked for. I have never looked back. "

Vader could easily imagine abstemious Tarkin exercising such ironclad control over his impulses. He ate very little and drank less. How did he manage to do so without irritating Palpatine?

Tarkin laughed dryly. "Early on I informed the Chancellor -- which he then was -- that the med-droids had concluded that I was developing a severe allergy to many food products, and had to eliminate them from my diet. Naturally, the allergy never developed so the conclusion was that I had avoided a health problem that could sink my career." He shook his head at the memory. Not often could anyone deceive Palpatine.

Vader considered the possibilities of his own such deception. Did Tarkin have any suggestions? Tarkin did.

"If you can, keep the actual med-droids out of it -- Palpatine will check the records. You might suggest that you have noticed a great improvement in your asthma when you do not drink wine or eat certain foods. Your bionics are an expensive investment, my friend. Your continued health is a great priority to him, even more so than the parasitic pleasure he derives from your discomfort."

Vader nodded and then changed the subject.

Weeks and then months passed, and the Emperor remained on Coruscant. Vader's presence in the capital was not necessary. Periodic transmissions from Palpatine sent his apprentice on missions of intimidation. Occasionally, the merest threat of Vader's arrival cowed the planet into submission, and he did not even need to leave the Death Star. It was a peaceful interlude.

Vader spent his days much as he pleased. After a daily inspection tour of progress, he was free to practice his lightsaber or fly his ship, maneuvering through the continually changing asteroid field until he felt he could do so without conscious volition. As the young Anakin Skywalker, he had been the best pilot in the Jedi Order. He flew on instinct, an unconscious use of something of the Force yet not of it either. If Vader let go and allowed his inner self to pilot, he was still the best in the Galaxy, But far too often, he could not. Out here among the asteroids, he let go and just flew, drawing enjoyment and peace from the activity.

Evenings were often spent with Tarkin. He followed his friend's example in dining -- small but tasty meals, mineral water for beverage; Vader had become quite a connoisseur of mineral water from far-flung planets.

His regimen was producing results. The fluid, twisting movements of lightsaber practice, often for hours at a time, were toning his midsection. Coupled with the smaller food intake, his steadily decreasing girth pleased Vader immensely. Already two of his larger suits of body armor had been dropped into the trash compactor, with the third soon to follow. Best of all, his asthma attacks did occur less frequently and with lessened severity.

Without constantly dancing attendance on old Palpy, the urge to imbibe lay dormant. But Vader had no illusions about the future. He would need every shred of his Sith powers to remain sober and not try to strangle the old pile of Bantha fodder!

Vader's private stock of Gonzan wine had long since been consigned to the trash compactor, something that took tremendous resolve on his part. The presence of Tarkin at the time helped, but Vader had personally dropped each of the remaining bottles into the chute. Then, with a brief nod of 1h,mks, Vader strode to the hangar level and ordered his fighter prepared for flight. He flew for hours, aimless, mindless, letting his subconscious take control.

Back on the Death Star, he sought his quarters. There he dropped into a sleep of sheer mental exhaustion -- exorcising demons was fatiguing.

Apparently; the Rebellion had merely gone underground and were surreptitiously building their forces along the Outer Rim. Rumors of the secret Rebel base reached Palpatine on Coruscant.

Vader strode toward the Command Center of the Death Star. He hated that comlink! He hated Sidious! He hated everyone and everything about this existence! And now he suddenly wanted a drink! He needed one! Just one, to dull his discontent and rage at Palpatine. Calling him an 'incompetent fathead' just because progress on this damned satellite was not proceeding at what he deemed a suitable pace! What was he, Vader, supposed to do? Stand behind the construction droids with a whip? Vader chose a loose machinery housing and slammed it against the wall. It felt so very satisfying that he threw another, and then another, and another, ripping them loose from their moorings to do so. Aaaah! That helped!

He suddenly noticed that the storm troopers supervising the area were eyeing him warily. He nodded at them. "Carry on". And, temper appeased, he smiled mirthlessly to himself and continued toward the scheduled briefing.

After relaying the Emperor's orders -- move the Death Star closer to the suspected Rebel base, continue construction at a faster pace, and Vader was to bring his Star Destroyer, The Executor, to Coruscant to meet Palpatine and escort his Master back for a personal inspection of the nearly completed satellite -- Vader strode to Tarkin's side.

"A moment of your time, Tarkin?"

Tarkin regarded his friend quizzically. "Can it wait, Vader? As you know, preparing to move this galactic behemoth will be a lengthy --"

Vader interrupted impatiently. "No, it cannot! My Master commands my presence and I must go. But I want a drink! You know I do not find it easy to ask for assistance, but I do need it now! If I give in and take a drink, I will be totally inebriated long before I reach Coruscant ... and right back where I was six months ago! Do you have any suggestions?"

Tarkin gave him a tightlipped smile. "I used meditation to overcome the urges... gave my thoughts to the Powers that be. Use that antiquated religion that you cling to -- use the Force, Dark Side, Light Side, any side that helps. You claim to be powerful with the Force. What good is power if you don't use it? Call on that much-vaunted power, and let it guide you." He turned away. "Now excuse me, I must begin my preparations." He looked back over his shoulder. "And good luck, my friend." He began to quickly and efficiently issue orders to the command crew.

Aboard the Executor and enroute to Coruscant, Vader restlessly paced. His crew remained out of his way, fearful that his touchy temper would explode. Deck to deck, hangar bay to command center, up and down, around and around, he circumnavigated the Star Destroyer's interior. Finally, he retired to his quarters to rest, feeling that meditation might at least ease his tension somewhat. The urge to drink something was so strong that he grabbed a mineral water at random and downed it without really tasting it. Suddenly the foul taste hit him. What--?

He read the label. "Sulfurous effervescent medicinal waters, from Threa in the Solarianus system, good for asthma," and other assorted ills, no doubt. A harsh laugh burst from him. Leave it to Tarkin, for he had to have been behind the presence here of the bottle --- He looked into the cabinet -- correction, Bottles. He laughed even harder as he saw row after row of the vile liquid. The immediate urge to drink had, for the moment, disappeared. If he drank this stuff every time he wanted a drink, he'd soon either grow accustomed to the taste, or lose the desire to drink anything at all! He suspected the latter. Vader began his meditation with a mental message of thanks to his friend.

Expertly navigating his speeder among the manmade canyons of Coruscant, Vader flew toward the ruins of the Jedi Temple. A spark of curiosity, coupled with a desire to briefly escape the Emperor's stifling presence, had prompted this trip. Palpy had been in fine form, demanding, condescending, egotistical-- his usual self, only more so. After a week of him, Vader had invented a lengthy errand and excused himself. At least the towering skyscrapers of the capital hampered a clear comlink signal if he kept to the lower levels and flew a twisting circuitous route -- an old Anakin maneuver. Vader let his mind wander.

This had not been a pleasant few days -- Oops! He flipped the speeder sidewise, then upright again as he narrowly avoided an air taxi -- Apparently old Palpy had decided to dry out himself, as there had been no marathon wine-fests. Or perhaps he thought he was torturing Vader by not giving him a chance to drink copiously. Now that, mused Vader, would be in keeping with his usual tactics. PaIpy has no idea that my abstinence is by choice, not chance. Force be he remain in ignorance as long as possible! Not having to invent excuses meant not having to consume the vile sulfurous beverage that Tarkin had so generously provided. He must find a way to reciprocate the gesture ... perhaps a case of preserved loquats or dried smoked eels -- both heartily despised by Tarkin. The thought amused Vader; he would not, of course; his thanks would be appropriate to the intentions of his friend. If nothing else, he had learned proper manners from Obi-Wan, sorely trying that man's patience in the process.

Obi-Wan... Avoiding thoughts of him, Vader viciously swept into a steep downward maneuver requiring his full concentration in order to pull up before striking the pavement below. He leveled off and then repeated the movement in reverse, soaring sharply upward, spiraling dizzily again and again... death defying aeronautical acrobatics, suicidally dangerous in the crowded airways of Coruscant, but much beloved by Anakin as exhilarating. Abruptly, reason prevailed. He pulled up and assumed a slightly more circumspect flight pattern, slowing as he neared his goal.

He approached the massive mound of the ruined Jedi Temple. The towers and upper levels had collapsed. However, some lower portions remained intact, inhabited by vagrants, no doubt. Did I really cause the destruction of all this? He circled again, then once more, surveying what he had wrought. I may not personally have done the structural devastation, he thought, but I began the process. I am responsible. Knowing what I do now, would I do it again? Perhaps. But regrets are futile and wallowing in memory accomplishes nothing of value. A final circuit of the ruins and Vader swiftly ascended the airways to return to his quarters aboard The Executor.

Vader threw the comlink across the room. Curse the man! What was his agenda now? Prepare to embark for the Death Star immediately, but, oh yes, visit the med facility on the surface for a full physical first. True to his self-imposed regimen of actual physical activity, he bent to retrieve the comlink unit. Then, as ordered, Vader proceeded to the med facility.

"Ah, Lord Vader. Come in; you are expected. The Emperor has ordered a Priority One exam for you. If you will follow me?" Vader followed the droid. Perhaps he could turn this to his own advantage, no matter what Palpy's agenda. He thought furiously. One thing about an exam from a droid -- small talk wasn't required, just answer the questions, do as requested, move this, bend that, breathe, cough. Finally back to the office for results.

"Lord Vader, you are still somewhat overweight, but you have made excellent improvement in that. And you are now in otherwise excellent health; much improved. Your bionics are also functioning well for the present. And the asthma? Breathing easier, I see. Whatever you have been doing, I recommend that you continue."

Vader explained his lightsaber drills and his lowered food intake, mentioning the mineral water, but glossing over his previous use of alcoholic intoxicants.

"Hmmmmmm, yes. Well, the Emperor will receive a full report and my recommendations for your continued improved health. The use of mineral water as a beverage is best for the present. It flushes out toxins from the system. Maintain the lowered caloric intake along with the exercise. Very good choices, Lord Vader. Good day." And with that, Vader was dismissed.

Palpatine was enraged. While Vader's improved health was welcome news, the med-droid's prescription for his continued improvement would deprive Sidious of a favorite form of entertainment -- the amusement he derived from the discomfort of his apprentice. Watching Lord Vader mimic sobriety had been infinitely amusing. He emitted an evil chuckle as he recalled some more memorable moments that Vader would no doubt wish to forget -- if he could even remember them at all! He would just have to devise some other way to torment his apprentice. The rage abated as he began to think. What would torment Lord Vader, produce enough anger, discomfort and hate to feed the insatiable parasitic appetite of the Sith Master? Perhaps something from Vader's past ... aaahh, yes... And Darth Sidious smiled. On his face, it was anything but pleasant.
"Yes, in your anger, you did kill your wife. But I have learned that there was a child, given to be raised in obscurity, unaware of his true parentage." As usual, the Emperor glossed over minor details that he deemed irrelevant.

Shock at first kept him silent. 'His parentage'-- a son, then. I have a son? The thought stunned Vader, then grew until it threatened to engulf him in emotions long suppressed. A son! "Where, Master?" Was his whereabouts known? How? And how long had Palpatine possessed this knowledge?

Hiding a smirk of triumph, Palpatine acknowledged that the information was a recent acquisition. "I recently felt a great disturbance, a presence new to the Force. Not yet developed, but with great, very great, potential for power, such power as could only come from a child of your fathering. He could perhaps become even more powerful than his father..." A sidelong glance at Vader showed him that he had struck fertile ground. "And if he could be turned to the Dark Side from the beginning..." He let the thought trail off, leaving Vader to follow where it led.

"Yes, Master. Father and son, we could serve you well." Fat chance, you old tyrant. With two of us we could easily overthrow you and rule the Galaxy in your place! Just let me find him... My son... And Vader left the room, new purpose to his life -- he had a son to locate!

Behind him, Sidious smiled. This would be extremely amusing. How could he best manipulate Vader? Make the game last before tiring of it? For he would tire of it, he knew. Vader had lasted far longer than any other apprentice, but Sidious required continually escalating emotional upheaval to fuel the insatiable hunger of his Sith powers. Someday, even Vader would cease to provide enough fuel. The Sith Master intended to have a new, younger apprentice at hand when that occurred. And the son of Skywalker was ideal... The Emperor laughed in anticipation, a laugh born of pure evil. Already, he could feel the power of that moment. Ah, yessss...

At first euphoric with the news, Vader strode swiftly back to his quarters. There he allowed his niggling suspicions to surface. Just what was Palpatine up to? There had been rumors along the Outer Rim for years. Never before had old Palpy given credence to any of them. And now suddenly he senses a new presence in the Force? Who was he trying to fool? If there were a child alive that had sprung from Darth Vader's loins, chances were that the Emperor had known about it from the day of that child's birth. And when in blazes could that have happened? There certainly hadn't been any hanky-panky since Mustafar! Even if Vader had been so inclined, his present physical limitations precluded the possibility. And, while cloning produced superior troops, he did not condone its use for procreation. Vader shuddered and earnestly prayed that there wasn't an identical copy of his younger self running around the Galaxy -- he would not wish that on anyone. He smiled in retrospect. It was a wonder that Obi-Wan hadn't strangled him as a teenager. As Obi-Wan's Padawan, he had certainly been a handful, always on the verge of rebellion and dare deviltry. And then there was the tragic affair with Padmé...

Vader paused and pondered. Padmé...she had been pregnant, true, but he had killed both her and the babe -- hadn't he? Palpatine had said that was truth, but then Palpy had been known to lie -frequently. Vader resumed his pacing as he cast his mind reluctantly back to Mustafar. Carefully sifting down through the overlaid veneers of forgetfulness, Vader excavated to the crucial moment when... there! He saw again her eyes, pleading and fearful, saw her collapse... yes, she breathed still. He had heard her breathe, at first raggedly, then more evenly. The ever-faithful droids had both been there also...

And while the heartless Obi-Wan could leave Anakin to die, Vader felt certain that he would not have left Padmé and her unborn child helpless on that sulfurous hellhole of a planet. Yes, that child must be alive somewhere in the Galaxy. So what was Palpatine's game? Obviously, he had some nefarious scheme in mind, most likely one in which Vader would figure prominently. Why else dangle the possible existence of his progeny before him? A son!

Vader's head had begun to ache, building to an incessant throbbing that rivaled his worst hangover. Curse the man! Pinwheels of coruscating color flashed in synch with the throb, growing, glowing, brighter, brighter, obscuring visionVader reached his bunk before the migraine felled him. He hit the switch to dim the lights, closed his eyes and tried to make his mind relax. Using Jedi techniques, he attempted to balance the tension inside his head, to ease the throb, reducing it slowly, surely, until... At last, he slept.

Waking, he was at first disoriented. He normally did not sleep in darkness -- bright lights kept the nightmares at bay. Then he recalled the migraine... it had been the first in many years. Why now? he wondered. Cautiously rising, Vader smiled ruefully to himself. Despite his reputation as Scourge of the Galaxy, he certainly was a mess! Recovering alcoholic, asthmatic, overweight, and now his migraines were returning. Perhaps a chat with Tarkin would help him shed some light on the reasons. Meanwhile, some much needed lightsaber training would work off a few of these personal demons. He had neglected his practice while dancing attendance to the Emperor on Coruscant. Picking up his lightsaber, he left his quarters.