It was late the following morning when Anakin was finally allowed to go outside for the first time. Spark had lowered him into the bacta tank for another session after breakfast, Rowan and Chrysanthemum had visited to check him over and discuss how his physical rehabilitation was going, and Konstantine had wrapped him in one of Severus's robes and slathered his head and neck thoroughly with sunscreen before Spark lifted him into a hover-chair. After a couple of days in his new home, Anakin's eyes had adjusted to the level of light in the bedroom, but he was relieved to have dark glasses on now to protect him from the glare of the bright sun outside.
What the sunglasses wouldn't do, unfortunately, was hide his identity. Everyone on the Rock who had heard of him – and who wasn't expecting to see a huge, terrifying figure clad in black armour – would guess who the bald, pallid, limbless man with a scar across his scalp was. It was absurd. He was physically healthier than he had been for over two decades, yet he looked more pathetic than ever.
At least the robe hid the urine-bag strapped to one leg-stump. Spark was perfectly willing to help him get to the 'fresher at Hephaestus's workshop, but he was still out of practice in having any control over what his body did, and it was best to take precautions. He might as well be a baby. Perhaps reverting to infant-form wasn't quite as bad as being transformed into a cat – but even in animal form, Severus had worked out how to jump up onto the seat and balance on it to position his rear end over the bowl, in preference to using an earth tray any longer. Perhaps last night's dream had helped him start to remember that he had been a human.
If he did remember, though, he didn't show any other sign of it, or of recognising Anakin as the mysterious friend from his dream. Still, he seemed happier and more relaxed this morning, and didn't object to accompanying Anakin, Konstantine and Spark on the walk to the workshop. Theoretically, the only reason they were all going over there was that Konstantine needed to talk to Hephaestus about getting a small sheet of metal to make a cat-flap, but in practice it was obvious that he wasn't going to accept letting Anakin out of his sight until he had seen that his charge was safely settled in. After all, Armsmen, unlike Jedi, weren't forbidden from having attachments.
The Rock seemed to be made up of grassy hills and valleys, mainly in gentle slopes except where they were cut into terraces for farming or for playing a game that needed a level pitch. Anakin could hear the emotions of hundreds of beings on it, in various states of bewilderment, sadness, frustration, anger, compassion, affection, realisation, and hope. But beneath them, he could feel the mood of the land itself, gentle and reassuring. This was a place of refuge and healing, where many troubled people came to stay, and where nothing very terrible could be allowed to happen to them. The island itself somehow saw to that. The people who worked there, even Cheiron, were simply fulfilling the island's purpose.
Did he know that it was an island? Yes, he could sense it in the Force. With his physical senses, he could hear waves crashing against a shore, and smell salt water and dying seaweed, but that could simply have meant that he was near the coast of somewhere, perhaps a large continent. But he knew that it wasn't.
He wanted to see more.
The hover chair was of a different design to any Anakin had seen in his home universe, but it used similar antigravity technology to carry its occupant approximately half a metre above the ground. It had a control panel on the armrest – which was all very well if its occupant had arms – which could be set to Forward, Reverse, or Neutral. At the moment, it was purring gently forward at approximately one meter per second, with Konstantine walking beside it on the right, Spark on the left, and Severus padding ahead.
It wasn't designed to fly.
If he still had hands, Anakin could have built something properly aerodynamic and streamlined. But he had also had decades of practice in telekinesis, and in the mental effort that can effect telekinesis even when you don't have limbs to gesture to the object you want to lift. Levitating an object was always easier than levitating yourself…
The hover-chair soared into the air. From above, Anakin could see the green lozenge-shape of the Rock, surrounded by sea which from this height looked like a piece of wrinkled blue silk with patches of foam crawling up its ridges and down into its furrows. He could see the strip of shallower water lying over a causeway leading to a beach on the far shore, and the forested mainland, stretching as far away as he could see.
Far down below, he could feel Konstantine's anxiety for him, and Severus's disdain. He didn't care. He was flying, and flying was the only sensation of pure freedom that he had ever known. He spun in circles experimentally a few times, checking that he could make the chair go fast enough to loop-the-loop without tipping him out, and triumphantly did that. He circled lower over the island again, seeking Hephaestus's presence – ah, over there. He could hear singing, too, first a deep masculine voice:
'He bows and he offers his trotter to hers
To join in the elephants' ball.
But she turns up her snout
With a furious pout.
Is she grateful and pleased? Not at all.
His confidence fades to a husk
As she raps with one hoof on his tusk:'
And then a droid's voice, neutral enough to equate to that of a high-voiced man or a low-voiced woman:
'Your manner's rather boorish for a warthog.
That's a problem, you must confess.
You saw that others shun me as a warthog,
So you approached me by insulting my dress.
If you really think that's how
You'll ever win a sow,
You'd better find a stone to crawl beneath.
But stop hamming up my flaws
And I'll forgive you yours,
For you're a warthog;
I'm a warthog;
We're both warthogs
Underneath.'
'How very operatic,' sneered the first voice.
'Oh, right, I forgot,' said the second sarcastically. 'You don't love opera, you loathe and despise opera; that's why you built an opera house, lived in its cellar, reserved a box for your exclusive use, blackmailed the managers into giving your favourite singers and dancers the star roles, and wrote an opera.'
'That was different,' retorted the first voice. 'My opera was above the common level of such things. Admittedly, it was not my finest work. I still think my masterpieces were the wedding march and requiem mass I wrote for the woman I loved, in the events of her agreeing or refusing to marry me.'
Anakin banked into a steep dive, only to realise too late that he had forgotten to concentrate on not crashing, and his momentum in diving had overtaken the chair's natural programming to hover. He managed to slam telekinetic brakes on just in time to avoid serious injury, but not enough to prevent the chair from crashing into the ground with an expensive-sounding crunch. Still, a landing that you could walk away from – or that you would be able to walk away from if you had legs – was a good landing, surely?
From the amusement he could sense from one of his two observers, they thought otherwise.
One of the beings in front of him was a gold-plated droid looking similar to Spark, though with a less feminine body shape. The other was - a gigantic figure in black armour, with a skull-like helmet, and a cloak billowing out behind it.
The words 'I find your lack of grace disturbing,' sounded from the black helmet – but Anakin sensed that the golden figure was the one who had actually spoken them.
'Greetings, Erik,' he said to the golden figure. 'I imagine you are Wonder?' he added to the black-armoured figure, the one from which he could sense no Force signature of an organic being.
The black figure removed its helmet, revealing the golden head of a droid. 'I told you he wouldn't be fooled,' it told its companion.
The golden figure took off its golden droid-mask, revealing a human – well, probably human – head wearing a white mask. 'It was worth a try,' he said cheerfully, no longer bothering to disguise his voice now that he was no longer projecting it to emerge from the grille of the black helmet. His natural voice sounded pleasantly musical. His appearance, as he removed the rest of his droid costume, was unattractive, from the little that Anakin could see of it behind a white mask and a black robe. His long, emaciated fingers, barely covered in sallow skin, looked like something reaching up from a grave.
What was more repellent than his physical shape, however, was the shape of his mind. Even to a Sith lord, it was a creepily unhinged and feral mind. It was the shape that Konstantine's mind might take if he wasn't continually striving to be as sane and responsible and dutiful as he could manage to be. Although Erik's sunken eyes were hard to see within the recesses of his mask, Anakin was fairly sure that they were yellow, like Konstantine's. How many yellow-eyed people were there here, for Force's sake?
And yet, at the same time, Anakin could recognise the same love-obsession-grief-guilt-remorse that he knew always haunted the background of his own soul, and the souls of Konstantine and Severus. Whatever Erik was, he was someone who was trying to atone for his past crimes.
Hephaestus stomped out of his workshop, to take in the scene in front of him. 'Good morning, Anakin,' he said. 'How are you feeling?'
'Better than for a long time.'
'Good, I'm glad to hear it. It looks as though your chair isn't, though – ribbit! – I was planning to show you some of the designs of prostheses – ribbit, ribbit! – but I think my first job today should probably be fixing your chair – ribbit! – after all, you may be able to use magic to fly it, but the next user will probably need it to have a working motor – ribbit, ribbit, I've got more ribbit than a forest of Pacific tree frog…'
The interruption was interrupted as Erik found himself dangling half a metre of the ground, one long skinny hand clutching ineffectually at the invisible grip around his throat.
'Anakin! Stop that!' roared Hephaestus. 'Don't strangle my assistant!'
Anakin let go, allowing Erik to drop in a crumpled heap on the grass. 'He must learn respect,' he said sternly.
'Respect is not the same thing as fear,' said Hephaestus, after casting a quick glance at Erik to check that he wasn't injured. 'When my stepfather threatens to hit my mother for catching him out in a lie, I'm frightened enough to urge her not to antagonise him, and to try to distract both of them from quarrelling. If my stepfather was capable of behaving with dignity and integrity and didn't need to lie, I would respect him.'
Erik, however, was gazing at Anakin with tangible awe. 'How did you do that?' he asked, hoarsely but with delighted curiosity in his voice. 'I couldn't find the rope even when it was throttling me!'
'There was no rope. There is only the Force.' (Erik, listening, craned his head forward, fascinated.) 'It is a form of telekinesis, like levitating the hover-chair,' Anakin continued. 'I simply commanded all the air molecules around you to press in closely. That was a very gentle demonstration. If I chose, you would never sing – or ventriloquise – again.'
Wonder flashed the lights of their optical sensors, the way a human might roll their eyes. 'Face it, Hephaestus,' they said, 'with Erik, violence is the way to get respect. He's a bully, and he looks up to people who are better at bullying than he is.'
'Maybe, but I don't,' said Hephaestus. 'Anakin, I'd be glad to have you spend time here, and even come to work here, but one rule that everyone has to respect is that we don't hurt people. Jokes are fine, as long as they don't cause harm. Erik playing around with ventriloquism isn't a problem – as long as you don't use it to cause trouble for someone or ruin their career,' he added to Erik, 'but no-one is to strangle anyone. Understood?'
'Yes, Hephaestus,' chorused Erik and Anakin – in fact, Anakin only just managed to stop himself from saying, 'Yes, Master.' I am not a slave now, he reminded himself firmly. But nevertheless, he had to admit, Hephaestus was someone he actually could respect and not fear.
'Good. Now, Wonder, please could you find Anakin somewhere else to sit, and make him a drink, while Erik and I check how much damage he's done to this gadget?'
By the time Konstantine, Severus and Spark arrived, Anakin was comfortably seated in a padded armchair in the shade (which was just as well, as he was somewhat bruised from the crash-landing, though he didn't intend to admit this to anyone), levitating a mug of caf to his lips.
'Is General Skywalker all right?' Konstantine asked. Severus twitched his tail irritably.
'Yes, I think he's decidedly all right,' said Hephaestus. 'I think he's enjoyed having the opportunity to be mobile again. And he certainly seems to fit in well with this place.'
Author's note: I hope you enjoyed the filk of 'The Warthog' by Flanders and Swann.
By the way, I haven't yet decided what to do about providing prosthetic limbs for Anakin. As far as I know, in real life, prosthetic limbs generally aren't meant to be worn 24 hours a day, and aren't usually worn for things like swimming or having a bath, so I imagine that until he can have actual flesh limbs grafted on, Anakin is probably still going to need someone to help him in the bath, and can't actually swim - though I'm sure his friends wouldn't mind supporting him in the sea if he wants to go for a dip. But when we're talking about high-tech robotic limbs made by the literal god of engineering, perhaps they would actually wire into Anakin's body and be intended to be worn full-time. What do readers - especially readers who have prosthetic limbs, or have friends or family with prosthetic limbs, in real life, and readers who are knowledgeable about prosthetics in the Star Wars universe - think?
