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Chapter 8 – Personal Day

A stack of 500 Republica data discs sat untouched near Vader's multimedia station. Their reflective surfaces scattered the incoming sunlight until well past noon. From one hour to the next, they kept watch over the immobile figure who was supposed to be viewing them, not staring at a blank corner of the room.

Vader, obstinate to the last, refused to rise from his Grael wood chair until he'd exhausted every mental avenue. One of them was bound to lead him somewhere sane, rational… simple and polished, like the deep crimson armrests on which his fists rested. Yet three hours of rigorous concentration had taken him nowhere. To his anger and exasperation, all paths converged on the same maddening point.

No! That couldn't be it. Logic would soon prevail, and he'd dismiss all this nonsense with laughter. Palpatine would never have to know that, for an embarrassing number of hours, Vader had wrestled with the prospect of Ainar being his… his…

He couldn't bring himself to think it, much less say it. It was the only thing more outrageous than the picture he held.

If he gazed long enough, losing himself in the faded edges of her face, she almost came alive. Her gentle eyes blinked back at him, mercifully blind to the face staring at her. Was it his imagination, or did those eyes appear happier than he remembered? Did the corners of her mouth form a more contented smile, even if only slightly?

Either time had corrupted Vader's memories, or this photo was taken at a time in Shmi's life he never witnessed. Try as he may, he couldn't recall seeing her eyes glisten with half as much joy as they did here. Force knew she'd tried valiantly to elevate their hearts above their slavery, always wearing a mask of strength and optimism. Only after his childhood passed had he come to fully appreciate her efforts.

There was no visible effort in this photo. No mask. It was his mother at her best – as he'd never known her.

That meant the photo was as old as its frayed border suggested. It predated his conscious memory, the better part of his childhood, and possibly…

Even his birth.

Vader's brain retched at the concept.

Like it or not, the evidence was steadily mounting, and this was one situation that couldn't be resolved with strangulation or a well-placed lightsaber.

No, that wasn't entirely true. Nothing prevented him from pulling the trigger on Ainar. Perhaps he was over-thinking it all, and the simplest solution was to kill the man, burn this picture, and walk away without a backwards glance.

Although, how well had that strategy served him with Padmé?

Not well. Not well at all. Because paper incinerated far more easily than one's conscience.

But was it his conscience that thwarted clear thinking now? What did his guilt over Shmi's death have to do with deciding whether or not to believe Ainar was once her…

Husband?

Lover?

Molester?

Slamming his fist, Vader shook his head with a guttural growl. No. Not the last one. I can only accept so many possibilities, and that one exceeds my tolerance.

Yet of the three, it was the scenario most likely to impel a woman to lie about her child's conception.

Vader growled again, wanting to pound his chair into splinters. Wait… a molester would not carry a photo like this for decades. He cherishes it. Not in a possessive, psychopathic way, but with genuine affection. Hope instantly returned to Vader's breast.

And so did uneasiness. Why? If the odds favored the husband/lover hypothesis, what was still feeding this agitation?

The answer lay embedded in the photo. The uncommon joy filling his mother's eyes had a source – a secret he'd grown into manhood never knowing. A gaping piece of his identity withheld. Something that would've been infinitely more healing than a lifetime of forced smiles and brave masks. Why, then, had she only ever offered him the latter?

Clarity at last. Vader wasn't in denial of Ainar's identity because he detested the idea of having a father. It was the impugning of Shmi's character that tormented him. The minute he acknowledged Ainar, every pristine memory of his mother would shatter. And even if he reassembled the pieces, the vision would never look the same.

Who lied to their only child? Their sole companion in slavery?

Beneath a veil of black metal, a tear stung Vader's eye. Half of him wanted to believe her motivations must have been noble. The other half felt like it was re-engulfed in Mustafar's flames.

Half of him wanted answers, and half didn't. Ainar could die today and summarily end this dilemma. Vader was acutely aware of that option. But even the second-most powerful Sith lord in the galaxy didn't feel qualified to judge whether less information was preferable to more in this context. But the real question was what he, Darth Vader, stood to benefit from revisiting that detention cell.

The answer: absolutely nothing.

Blame it on five years of carrying an increasingly calloused heart, but that's how Vader felt. No doubt he'd feel differently if it were Anakin mulling this over. Anakin, the good son. The one Ainar expected to find. Not this monstrous caricature of evil that had blithely sentenced him to death.

Almost. Almost sentenced him. He'd as good as retracted that now, though Ainar wasn't yet aware. Vader should probably deliver the news in person and relieve the man's anxiety. And then what? Deactivate the force field, turn on his heel, and leave his baffled father to spend the rest of his years searching in vain?

That had to be more humane than the alternative. Ainar would never know the horror he'd been spared, but Vader would. He could imagine no worthier sacrifice.

There. The matter was clear-cut and settled. Vader wished the same could be said for the photograph. Weighing the impact of keeping it, he let the image envelop him once more. Through the dense layers of his suit, the warmth of her embrace soothed him. Blessed moments of relief like this were so rare…

Anakin.

Her voice resonated like an angel's. Vader offered no resistance, letting her presence materialize in his soul.

You are troubled, my son. Be at peace.

Vader shivered, overcome. He spoke into the hollow room. "How are you speaking to me?"

Through love. The Force is not all that threads the universe.

"Why did you wait?' he sobbed. "All this time… I needed you!"

You needed something I alone could not give – something you're about to throw away.

"Please, mother, don't talk in riddles!"

You know to what I refer.

He felt his heart spasm.

Do not spurn what fate has generously given you.

"What good can come of it? He'll reject me!"

I know what you are, yet I choose not to reject you.

Vader found it difficult to draw a full breath. "A kindness I do not deserve."

Yet it is mine to give. And I know he will give the same.

A full minute lapsed while Vader fought to restrain his emotions.

"You speak as someone who knew him well."

I did. I still do.

"What was he to you?"

My soul's companion. My hope in darkest despair. A gift more precious than my own life.

"You mean..."

He was my spouse of five years, Anakin.

That was the bullet that shot straight through her portrait in Vader's heart. And from her own mouth, no less.

"Why… why did you lie to me?" he gasped.

I never lied to you, dearest son.

"I don't understand!"

Seek him, and you will.

Vader lowered his head into his gloved hands, wheezing in defeat.

"I cannot!"

It is your choice. But know this: if you turn your back on him… you do the same to me.

"NO!" he sprang up, as if standing would keep her from retreating. She was fading from his senses all too soon.

He and I are of the same soul, Anakin. We cannot be cleaved in half.

Her voice grew more distant, pulling away.

"No, don't leave!" he shouted feverishly. "Mom, please!"

In death, I at last found restoration. May you also find it by dying to yourself… just this once…

When the last word echoed into oblivion, Vader found himself kneeling on the marble floor, too distraught to summon tears.

This day would surely be his undoing. Not since Padmé's death had his nervous system threatened to overload as it did now. Discovering his father, communing with his deceased mother, and being told the only way to reconcile these two impossible events was to perform a third.

Replaying her words only added to his confusion. She'd called him Anakin. Despite knowing who & what he was, she'd deliberately chosen not to call him Vader.

"Vader?"

If she knows as much as she claims, then she should know it's too late for me. It's hopeless…

"Vader!"

But her ultimatum… I couldn't live without ever hearing her voice again…

"VADER! Are you even in that suit, or did you shed it and crawl under a rock somewhere?"

Jolting out of his thoughts, Vader wheeled toward the sound. There on his desktop comlink stood a miniature version of a very irritated-looking Xizor.

"Sorry to interrupt your Sith séance, but it's time to come back to the living. We had an appointment at 1300 hours, if you'll recall."

Vader's mind reeled as he looked to the nearest chrono display. It was a quarter past 1300. Ironically enough, it was all too easy to lose track of time when pondering one's past, present, and future.

"I'll be there in five minutes," Vader grunted as he rose to his feet. His joints ached as much as his head, but he couldn't let Xizor sense these weaknesses. It would take all his mental and physical energy to obscure his present suffering from the Prince.

Xizor folded his arms. "That's all? No apology?"

"Don't push your luck, Xizor," Vader warned.

"The Emperor and I have been doing a lot of waiting these days, thanks to you."

And I keep getting contacted at the most ungainly moments, thanks to the two of you, Vader gritted his teeth. "Faulty chronos have been known to lose minutes, Prince."

"Then I'd invest in a finer model if I were you," Xizor said smoothly. "Surely you can afford one."

"With all these banal meetings and hoop-jumping, I haven't time for shopping. Perhaps you'd be kind enough to pick one up for me on your next spendthrift excursion."

Xizor never looked more reptilian than when he smiled. "If you get your asthmatic body to my palace before I need a nap, I'll consider doing that favor."

The comlink connection sputtered away before Vader could retort. Enjoy having the last word while you can, Xizor. Soon, I predict, the Emperor will tire of you, and when that day comes…

Sadly, today was not that day. Today should have been something akin to a personal day, or as close to one as a Sith career afforded. Time off, paid or unpaid, was an elusive concept for those in Palpatine's service. Like it or not, Vader had signed off on the employee handbook five years ago… and he'd signed it with his blood and Padmé's.

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"And this is the projected interest on the loan over the next fifteen years," Xizor pointed to a figure on his datapad. "We could, of course, abbreviate it by paying extra toward the principal."

Vader nodded, wanting to be anywhere but in the middle of a one-on-one financial brainstorming session with his nemesis. Correction – not just anywhere. The detention center was only one block from Xizor's palace…

"…have any capital to accelerate repayment?"

Having only caught the latter half of Xizor's question, Vader tried to maintain his poise.

"You'll need to repeat that."

Pursing his lips sourly, Xizor shifted his body language, clearly fed up.

"Twice now you've drifted off! Something on your mind?"

"My only distraction is your odor," Vader purred maliciously. "Aren't Falleen known for their sweet-smelling pheromones? Your diet may need adjusting."

Xizor sneered. "The target audience is female and, preferably, able to smell with their own nostrils."

"With a face like yours, I'd be surprised if you attracted any females with nostrils."

"My my, you are strong in the Force. You just predicted my next insult, word for word."

Vader felt his gloves go taut across his knuckles as he clenched them. If I killed him now, would anyone notice? Palpatine might, but I'm one insult away from not caring. Insults and Vader rarely mixed well, and jokes whose punch line involved females were least appreciated.

"This bickering gets us nowhere with the budget," Vader squeezed his anger out with each breath.

"Finally, we're on the same page," Xizor commended with subtle contempt.

"Skip the minutiae and get to bottom line. What do you need to hear?"

The prince met Vader's black eyes dead on. "That you're willing to make certain sacrifices for the sake of the Empire, just as I am."

"What sort of sacrifices?"

"Financial ones," Xizor paused. "You own multiple pieces of real estate, do you not?"

"A few," Vader narrowed his eyes, though the Falleen couldn't see it. "I'm sure they amount to pocket change compared to your vast holdings."

"Don't be so modest, Vader. That lakeside retreat of yours in the Manarai Mountains would fetch quite a nice sum."

"So what if it would?"

Tapping the datapad, Xizor cocked his head. "The Emperor is counting on us help defray the Death Star's cost. I've already liquidated several of my assets. The question is, what are you willing to do for the cause?"

This didn't seem right. Vader smelled a conniving – albeit clever – rat.

"Palpatine knows the depth of my loyalty, Xizor. If he were to ask me to relinquish my possessions, I would do so without a moment's hesitation."

The prince caught Vader's meaning and smirked. "Good. You may be called upon soon."

"Noted," Vader twisted his neck with spite. "Are we finished?"

"For today."

Vader was out of the room in four strides, too aggravated to care that Xizor's eyes bore into his back.

Your loyalty had better run deeper than the Great Western Sea, Vader. Because if it doesn't, I vow to be the first to know – and the first to tell Palpatine.

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Mid-afternoon sun baked the concrete of the detention center's front façade, making it blindingly bright. Yet Vader stood fifty yards from its doors, staring at it without blinking. He didn't care if his eyes watered. He didn't care how many times the two guards at the entrance exchanged uneasy glances. He'd stand there as long as it took to gather the courage to make his prosthetic legs move.

"If you turn your back on him… you do the same to me."

"He and I are of the same soul, Anakin. We cannot be cleaved in half."

Was that the only way this could happen? Through emotional extortion? What a sad testament to the inner workings of his heart these days. Not that he, or anyone else, was surprised by it.

Ainar, however, would be surprised to see him again. At least, he would be once Vader curtailed his heart attack and explained his true reasons for returning.

If there was a Book of Galactic Records published annually, this would definitely win "Most Awkward Father-Son Reunion." Suddenly Vader wasn't sure if staying under Xizor's roof for the afternoon was half bad…

One foot in front of the other. Do it for Mom. She needs it as much as I do.

And he did need it. He needed answers. Ignorance was not befitting a man of his stature. That stature was likely to be brought low in a few short minutes, but regardless…

The Force itself seemed to levitate him into the building, over the terrace and through the corridors, past anxious stormtroopers whose greetings were muted. They were like wraiths to him, lacking the substance that, as far as he as concerned, only one currently possessed.

Vader found him almost exactly where he'd left him – crumpled on the cell floor, lost in unfathomable thoughts. His eyes were shut, but he was unmistakably awake. This was proven when they opened within seconds of Vader's shadow falling over them.

"They say first impressions aren't always accurate. If you'd allow me to start over, I'd be most grateful."

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