Title: Vader's Quest Chronicles
Summary: Darth Vader learns that he has a son and the search begins.
Timeframe: Beginning between ROTS and ANH
Disclaimer: Star Wars is the property of George Lucas. No disrespect is intended with this story.
Notes: Feedback is greatly appreciated.
"Nothing, not a cursed thing, Tarkin! My men searched out and followed up on every rumor, every story. Tatooine is as barren and desolate as it ever was. Hutts, Jawas, and Tuskens, a handful of humans, a hermit or two, assorted lawless aliens seeking to avoid authority... Nothing to warrant further attention. Pod racing is no longer the gamblers' delight, but the local youths race their speeders and pot shot the womp-rats; one boy is rumored to be pretty accurate at hitting them, nothing spectacularly outstanding. It was a total waste of our time!" Vader paused a moment, then continued, restlessly pacing as he spoke. "Old Palpy must be slipping -- the only use of the Force in this sector is by me! And I was sure he could sense that! What was the reasoning behind this abortive exercise?" Vader at last ceased speaking, but continued his pacing.
Tarkin had remained silent, watching as Vader paced, listening patiently to his diatribe. Now he spoke. "You are certain that your men were thorough? Yes, of course you are." He waved away Vader's unvoiced protest. "And you are probably right, it was your own powers that he sensed. However, it's not like Palpatine to be mistaken. Do not underestimate him, my friend; others who did have not lived to regret their mistaken beliefs. I always presume that he is correct -- I find it is safer that way." He uttered a harsh bark of humorless laughter. "At least, I am still alive and in a position of some importance! Now Vader, cease this infernal pacing and come sit before I become vertiginous from watching you."
Vader sat, but could not remain still for long. He repeatedly clenched his hands, he tapped his fingers on the table, a hundred small movements, constant motion, a display of restless energy unusual even for him. "I feel I have missed something, Tarkin. Some small clue that Palpatine tossed my way, something I failed to recognize as important. I have reexamined every word that man has said to me lately, and I don't see how..." He paused, then rose and resumed pacing.
Tarkin closed his eyes, rested his face against his hands and shook his head in disbelief. Vader continued to reiterate. his frustrations escalating until, suddenly, one after another in rapid succession, all of the bottles of mineral water on the table exploded, sending water and shards of glass everywhere.
Dodging the resultant mess, a suddenly sodden Tarkin at last lost his own temper. "Enough Vader! This is as useless as you claim your mission to have been. Now calm yourself and call someone to clean up this mess! I am going to retire!" He stalked angrily from the room.
Vader ruefully surveyed the damage. Now that he had vented his temper, he felt better, but he had managed to irritate his only friend. A peace gesture was clearly in order. But first to get the room cleaned up.
He idly watched the janitorial droid carefully remove the widely scattered slivers of glass, then mop the floor and wipe down the table.
"Is there anything else, sir." The droid paused at the door way. "If not, I will return to my other duties now."
Vader absently dismissed him, his mind on choosing a suitable apology to Tarkin. A final glance around and he followed the droid from the room. One of the seemingly ever-present mouse droids scurried across the deserted corridor. Infernal creatures, thought Vader. Like sand, they get everywhere! If I didn't know better, I'd think they were spies for Old Palpy... He stopped and gazed after this one. Could it be? Then he smiled at his own foolishness and sought his own quarters.
The Emperor's holographic image wavered slightly; reception was erratic; interference from the flaring sun of a nearby system, no doubt. Vader's bionic knees creaked this morning -- they assuredly needed maintenance. If only old Palpy would get to the point; he'd been kneeling here forever and the man still maundered on. Hidden by the face mask, Vader yawned. Get to the point, curse it!
"And so, Lord Vader, you are to grbhm grbl --" The hazy reception garbled Palpatine's words into gibberish, then failed altogether. The image disappeared. Thankfully rising from his position, Vader knew he'd received only a brief reprieve. He would have to find a position with better reception and reestablish contact. In the meantime, he planned to join Tarkin for breakfast and apologize for his foul temper on the previous evening.
He found Tarkin consuming his only apparent vice -- a large cup of the strong caffeine laced beverage that he favored each morning. Above the rim of his cup, Tarkin warily regarded Vader -- a bath of the hot liquid would be infinitely more uncomfortable than last night's shower of mineral water.
"Be at ease, my friend. My most abject apologies. My temper is restored this morning, and bed reception has freed me temporarily from Palpatine's beck and call. I'll have to correct the situation before he has an apoplectic fit, but first, I intend to enjoy my morning's repast in peace."
Tarkin visibly relaxed and resumed eating as Vader selected his own food. Breakfast had become his chief meal of the day, so he usually indulged and ate heartily. Today was no exception. His plate well-filled, he sat across from Tarkin and began to eat.
Tarkin swallowed a final bite and pushed away his own plate. Looking up, Vader noticed a cut above his friend's eyes. "Is that --?"
Wincing slightly, Tarkin nodded.
"I am truly so sorry! Sometimes I just cannot contain it any longer, and I have to vent... I didn't think. Glass usually makes the most satisfying... Do forgive me, my friend! What can I do to make up for this?" Words tumbled from him in a rush.
Tarkin motioned Vader to silence and finally spoke. "All right, all right; apology accepted. Just eat and then find out what Palpatine wanted. He will not wait long; his supposed Sith patience grows shorter until it begins to resemble that of an ordinary human." He smiled at his own feeble joke, and continued to make desultory conversation while he sipped from his cup and watched Vader eat. Where does he put it all? he wondered, although he knew his friend would eat very little throughout the day. Long gone were the continual eating orgies and drinking binges. The formerly fat Sith lord was now in enviably excellent physical condition. Vader seemed so in control there; if only he would curb that explosive temper!
Vader chose his Tie fighter as the fastest route to better reception for his Master's message. Besides, he wouldn't have to kneel. That continual act of obeisance was, like Palpatine, getting really old. He had never had to kneel before the Jedi Council, a simple respectful attitude had been sufficient. And, Force knew, he had respected most of them far more than this self-inflated old tyrant whom he now called Master. Someday things would change, and then...! He felt a small rush as the thought triggered a surge of power within him. Oops! Palpy is going to sense that. However, he activated the holoprojector.
"I await your bidding, Master."
Palpatine's image appeared -- he was obviously angry with Vader -- no surprise there; he hated to be kept waiting, his minions for him, not the reverse. "Well, it is about time, Lord Vader! As my apprentice, you are to remain at my disposal, whether I --" He continued on in this vein for several minutes, while Vader waited and let his mind wander.
Curse it, Master, come to the point. Despite what you seem to think, I haven't all day to hover here in space, waiting for you to run down. He finally threw caution aside and interrupted the verbal torrent.
"Yes, Master, I apologize. However, the reception was poor on the Death Star. So I am now in a Tie fighter with limited," and he stressed the word, "holo capability. Just what is thy bidding?"
:Oh. I am dissatisfied with your report on Tatooine. It is not your powers that I sense. Someone in your sector is drawing erratically on the Force, an untrained talent. And rumors support that..."
Vader interrupted. "Master, those rumors seem to have originated with my own pod racing a generation ago! On such a backwater planet, rumors are long-lived. But why would my son be on Tatooine? There can certainly be nothing there for me any longer."
Palpatine appeared only slightly appeased. "If, Lord Vader, I find that you are withholding information...! Continue to monitor the sector. And have Tarkin move the Death Star closer to Alderaan -- there seems to be an increase in Rebel activity in that sector. Do not fail me again!"
Vader stared at the empty holopad. No, failure was never an option with him, was it? Oh well, guess it's time to follow up on a few more of these ridiculous rumors. And Vader turned his Tie fighter back to the Death Star.
Relaxing in his quarters, Vader was studying an advertisement. 'Integrated bionic prosthetics,' Vader read, 'encased in Realskin, a synthetic covering which is nearly indistinguishable from real human skin.' These sounded good! He tried to keep abreast of all advances in human prosthetic development, ever in search of their looking and functioning more like his original limbs. While what he had now were pretty good, far removed from that first mechanical hand, he wanted...more. Of course, wanting more is how he ultimately ended up needing the prosthetics in the first place, but that was beside the point. Now he just wanted to be all the Sith he could be.
If he never had to track down another child with rumored Jedi talents, it would be too soon. Most of them were far too young; a few were the right approximate age, but were the wrong species or sex -- or both! The only positive aspect that Vader could see was that he was eliminating worlds from Palpy's list of those suspected of harboring the Rebel base. Vader sighed as he piloted his Tie fighter into the shuttle bay of the Star Destroyer. He was getting so very tired of the apparent futility of his search.
The last fw days had been particularly long and trying and he wanted a shower and clean clothes, his dinner and sleep...preferably in that order, but he would take them in any order he could get them. This last planet had been hot, wet, windy, and muddy -- it was their rainy season, but that only appeared to differ from the dry season by the number of showers in any given day. Even through his respirator filters, he could smell the moldy, mildewy tropical stench of the place. To top it off, the child was not only far too young -- by about fifteen years -- but the wrong species and a female!
Galactic Standard was not a commonly used language on the planet, either, making matters even more difficult; luckily, the Hutts had a presence there, so his knowledge of Huttese helped -- though he was sorely rusty in its use. Consolation for his frustrations came with the knowledge that the Hutts were no more friendly to Rebel than to Empire and would not have sanctioned Rebel bases on any planet where they had a controlling influence.
Leaving his fighter in the care of his men and the droids, he wearily headed for his quarters. By the Force, he was tired! Maybe a short nap before a shower and dinner... No, he conceded, as his movements caused a whiff of residual tropical miasma to reach his olfactory senses, make that a shower first... and then this cloak and everything but my helmet and respirator are going into the garbage chute. They will never be rid of this stench! And the respirator will need fresh filters. Force! How did they stand it on that planet? Even his sulfurous Thraean mineral water smelled wonderful compared to that place. He could taste the stench! How could he ever be rid of that horrible taste? There's no use my wishing for a drink, nothing's available except... Oh well, sulfur taste is better than rot, mold and mildew. Bottom's up! He opened a bottle of the Thraean mineral water and drank it down, following it with regular mineral water. Somewhat refreshed, he stepped into the shower.
With the hot, stinging spray of the shower playing on his head and down his back, Vader began to revive. He liked feeling clean! He enjoyed the luxury of hot water. Deeply inhaling the resultant steamy air, he felt his airways expand and allow unrestricted air flow. He closed his eyes, emptied his mind, and just let the moment take him.
At last, he reluctantly forced himself to return to reality and completed his ablutions. Suddenly conscious of a sharp sense of hunger -- breakfast had been scant and many hours before, and he hadn't eaten since -- he went in search of food. Stopping to instruct a droid on disposal of his clothes, (for there was no way he would touch thema gain) he reflected on his own actions.
Back in his Jedi days, things had at times gotten just a bit, well, ripe. Out along the Outer Rim during the Clone War, bathing facilities were scarce, laundry a luxury, and the multiple layers of Jedi attire could absorb an incredible amount of sweaty body odor. He had learned to ignore it while necessary, but his first actions upon return to civilization had usually featured copious amounts of soap and water. Obi-Wan had laughed, but he also had tended to bathe immediately upon their return from any lengthy mission. Though burning his clothes had seemed an extreme solution, it was occasionally a tempting choice over mere laundering. However, Jedi wardrobes were not that extensive and laundering the offending garment usually had to suffice. But now -- he was Darth Vader, Sith Lord, and able to command a new wardrobe whenever necessary -- like now!
He watched as the droid dropped the discarded garments into the garbage chute. Vader smiled to himself and turned to continue his quest for dinner.
Later, replete with a substantial meal, Vader at last retired. With bright lights to keep the nightmares away, he dropped into a deep and dreamless sleep, secure in the knowledge that his crew could certainly get them back to the Death Star without incident.