(no subject)
Jan. 28th, 2020 05:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anghrainetitle: The Jedi and the Sith Lord (7/?)
verse: Lucy Skywalker: my f!Luke AU, following from The Adventures of Lucy Skywalker and The Imperial Menace
characters: Luke/Lucy Skywalker, Anakin Skywalker; Tuvié (F-2VA)
stuff that happens: Vader contemplates the future, Lucy regains her eyesight, and Vader explains himself more fully.
previous sections: one, two, three, four, five, six
CHAPTER SEVEN
Darth Vader knew the truth, even without the helpful prompting of the Force.
Jerjerrod was plotting against him. Probably Varti, too—they were friends from their Academy days and had always operated in tandem. But Varti could cover up his emotions; Jerjerrod exuded schemes.
The Force did not, however, tell him the form that the schemes would take. Vader could stay on guard, but he always did that. Otherwise, he could see no way to prepare, except preemptive action. And Jerjerrod was a favourite of the Emperor. Vader could hardly just walk in and choke him or slide his head off, despite the temptation.
His jaw, one of the few parts of his body in good condition, tightened.
On top of that, Lucy had proven completely intractable. He had not seen the flaw in his plan to convert her to the Dark Side until too late.
He had no idea what to say to her.
Certainly, he’d tried to explain some part of the necessity to her, but he didn’t sound convincing even to himself. In retrospect, he’d recalled that it had taken Palpatine—sly, smooth-talking Palpatine—over ten years to turn him. At her age, he’d have seen no more clearly than Lucy. But he knew perfectly well that, in this respect, he didn’t possess Palpatine’s abilities. And he didn’t have ten years. Palpatine would insist on her death long before then, even if (when) they crushed the Rebellion.
And Vader needed her strength to help defeat him and finally, finally bring true order to the galaxy. Anything else was intolerable. Yet he could see no way forward.
At least her eyesight was returning, however slowly; she didn’t need it, least of all with the Force as her ally, but he doubted she could accept that. And he’d felt her grasp at the Force. Not the Dark Side—she’d blazed like the suns—but at least she’d listened on that occasion. It was a step forward.
It had to be.
Meanwhile, there was the matter of Padmé. He rarely thought of her in his conscious hours; he couldn’t afford to. Even in death, she was his vulnerability. But it was natural that Lucy would think of her.
For a fractional moment, he’d thought of telling her something—nothing that would expose his weakness, but something. The Larses hadn’t known her. Obi-Wan had, apparently, disclosed nothing; Lucy hadn’t even known that Padmé was her mother.
Familiar fury stirred in him. Obi-Wan had filled her head with lies about the Jedi and the frail Light Side, placed Vader’s lightsaber in her hands, but couldn’t spare a word for Padmé?
Vader supposed Obi-Wan couldn’t have known how delighted Padmé had been with the pregnancy, how much she’d looked forward to Lucy, ignorant of the fact that her daughter would never know her. But he had called himself her friend.
Of course, Vader knew how little Obi-Wan’s friendship was worth. Still, he’d been surprised. But perhaps he shouldn’t have been. A daughter should know something of her mother, but no doubt Obi-Wan considered that dangerous attachment, as the Jedi had thought of Shmi. Or maybe Padmé’s memory simply hadn’t suited the end he hoped to use her for.
It hardly suited Vader’s, either; he was honest enough with himself to know that Padmé would have been even more horrified at Lucy turning to the Dark Side than she’d been when Vader did it. But Padmé hadn’t understood. She was too blinded by the Republic and Obi-Wan’s lies—or duplicity, anyway. If she’d lived, she would have come to see the truth. They could have ruled the galaxy as a family.
Well, they would, even if it was only him and Lucy. They would overthrow the Emperor and cleanse his corruption and wasteful displays of power. They would rule as father and daughter.
They would.
-
Lucy didn’t encounter Vader for three days after she’d asked about her mother. It turned out that he’d left again on some Imperial business. Tuvié thought it had to do with some power struggle he was enmeshed in, but Lucy couldn’t help fearing it spelled some new disaster for the Rebellion. For all the dread and aggravation of his presence, it at least meant he was here and not up to trouble out there.
But she could hardly do anything about when and where he chose to take himself. The understanding should have brought her more acceptance than it did, but she felt more and more restless. She was here on the inside, and seemed relatively secure from harm. She should be doing something. Leia would come up with something. Han would at least get up to trouble instead of playing nice. It felt almost like a betrayal of those who’d died or suffered at the Empire’s hands to trot around without protest, eating fine meals and draped in fine clothes.
Keep your eyes and ears open. Find out everything you can. Be ready.
Lucy calmed a little. All right. All right. She had to think of it as—as an undercover mission, of sorts. She’d never done anything like that; it wasn’t exactly in her skill set. But she had an idea of what they were like. Her job was to maintain her cover. She could do that. Leia would understand.
Force, she missed her. She missed Han, too, and her squadron, and her friends, and in a different way, Yoda. But Leia most of all—Leia’s sharp tongue and stealth gentleness and unflagging strength and decisiveness.
I can be strong, like you, she imagined saying. What would Leia tell her?
You’d better be.
Lucy smiled and opened her eyes to the second day without Vader. She blinked rapidly; the shadows had resolved into colours and shapes, if blurry ones. The walls were a sleek white, and almost everything else bright silver-grey. It looked a bit sterile, but at least not actively menacing; she’d rather expected Imperial colours.
Lucy let her gaze travel across the room. The wardrobe was even bigger than she’d realized—but then, it probably had to be, to contain all of Padmé’s clothes. But actually, everything was bigger than she expected, including the room itself. There was a long table lining the wall by the fresher, a round one on the opposite side of the room, and both left large amounts of space around them. Lucy stared up at the arching ceiling. What was the point of all this? Was it really just some hamfisted attempt of Vader’s to lure her over?
“Good morning!”
Lucy looked over at Tuvié, curious to actually see her, even with fuzzy edges. She almost matched the room—Lucy could make out a steely grey frame, deep blue plating, and where visible, pale prosthetics. She looked rather like a protocol droid, a replica droid, and a medical unit fused into one.
Lucy squinted. Tuvié had something odd about her waist. A belt? And two longish, narrow objects hung from it on either side. They seemed to have handles. Were those knives?
“Uh,” said Lucy. “Good morning. How are you?”
She winced as soon as she’d said it.
“How nice of you to ask! All my processes are operating at optimum capacity, Miss Lucy. You needn’t concern yourself with any dangers, if there were any here! Which there are not!”
“Right. Thanks,” said Lucy. More brightly than she felt, she said, “I can see! Not perfectly, but things are just a bit blurry.”
“Your processes are almost optimal as well? Wonderful!” Tuvié said promptly, with no sign of the dismay that had touched her earlier. “You must be very happy.”
“Well, um.” Lucy didn’t like lying, even to Vader’s droid. “It’s a big relief.”
She prowled about the castle that day, calculating distances between halls and rooms, taking in the mingled stone and metal grey of the walls and floors and high ceilings. It looked like … well, a fortress, much more than her bedroom or the blandly decorated dining hall. The practice room she’d visited was, she now realized, further away than she’d guessed, and very much bigger, with even higher ceilings than her bedroom and a long stretch of empty space. At the back, however, platforms hung at varying heights in the air, presumably suspended by something. Maybe for some kind of climbing exercise, though she could also make out something that looked like rungs along the walls.
Lucy strode over to peer at the equipment case, her nose almost touching the glass—if it was glass. Padded armour and various mechanical devices, but nothing more helpful than that. They seemed even blurrier than everything else, though. Cautiously, she ran a finger along the edge of the case; the finger came away dirty. The floor felt dusty, too. Whatever its purpose had once been, it appeared that nobody had used this place in a long time.
The next day, her vision had completely sharpened. Tuvié definitely carried knives, and a blaster, and Lucy suspected she knew very well how to use them. Did she do double time as an assassin, or simply a guard? The former was very difficult to envision, of course, but—well, either way, Lucy suspected Threepio would be horrified at this sort of stepsister droid. Lucy herself couldn’t help feeling a little impressed.
As soon as she told Tuvié that she was fully recovered, the droid in question all but dragged her off to see Tisix—a standard medical droid—who poked and prodded at Lucy’s face and even took a blood sample. Lucy didn’t like the idea of the last, but couldn’t see any way to refuse, and from their comments when she’d first woken, suspected they already had a sample anyway.
“You seem to have fully recovered your sensory capacities,” Tisix reported. “Your test results are within normal ranges for a female humanoid adult.”
Lucy hesitated, remembering Tuvié’s strange insistence.
“What do you mean by humanoid?” she asked. “I mean, what species does the bloodwork turn up, if I’m not fully human?”
Tisix gave a thoughtful clack. “None on my records. But the divergence is quite slight—”
“Right, right.” Lucy paused. “So Senator Amidala was … some unknown species?”
Tisix turned its head to stare at Tuvié.
“Nobody said I couldn’t tell her,” she said.
“Hmph. Well, all reports list Senator Amidala as fully human. The most likely explanation is that your other genetic contributor is the responsible party.”
Anakin? But he was Alsarai. Wouldn’t Beru have said something, if they weren’t human? In fact, Lucy was pretty sure Beru had described them as human. Had she just not known? But maybe Anakin’s father, or what went for a father in his situation, had been some near-human. Lucy didn’t know anything about her grandfather, though she didn’t have the impression that he’d been Alsarai.
She supposed it didn’t really matter. At least, it didn’t change anything about her situation here or in the Rebellion. Lucy nodded at Tisix, and after a few more questions about her tests (she still didn’t know what the hell midichlorians were, except that she had a lot of them), let Tuvié lead her away.
There was still plenty more of the fortress to explore, but Lucy thought she’d seen the most relevant locations. She frowned to herself as they walked; she couldn’t just wander aimlessly around forever.
“Did my mother leave anything, um, maneuverable?” she asked. “Clothes-wise?”
Tuvié looked at her. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“It’s hard to move around quickly in these,” Lucy said, gesturing at the stiff blue skirts of the current work of art she wore. “Or to do much of anything other than walk. Did she ever wear anything ordinary?”
“Hm,” said Tuvié. “I don’t know about ordinary, but we’ll see what I can find.”
There wasn’t much, but in the back of the wardrobe, Tuvié dredged up a high-collared tunic and soft pants. Both were very pretty and the material still seemed alarmingly fine, but Lucy suspected it was the best she was going to get. She changed her clothes, aided by a muttering Tuvié, and headed out to the practice room.
Now she could see that the place was, indeed, all but abandoned, with a thick layer of dust over virtually everything. Dirt and indistinct clutter had formed into small piles throughout. But the place would at least give her the chance for some exercise. Especially those platforms, if they didn’t collapse right under her. Lucy ran the length of the room and clambered up the rungs along the side of the wall, then leapt from the wall to the nearest platform. It wasn’t that far, but she almost missed the jump. She’d definitely gotten out of shape.
“Oh, Miss Lucy, be careful!” called Tuvié. “I don’t know what Lord Vader would say if you fell!”
Good riddance, probably. But Lucy suspected Tuvié was quite capable of following her anywhere she chose to go. She reached for the filaments of the Force she could manage and took a running leap back towards the wall, climbing down.
“I think I need to spend more time here,” she said, a little breathless.
“Well, all right, but—”
Lucy tripped. Looking down, she saw that she’d walked right into one of the piles. She shook her feet out of the dirt, a long, narrow stick flying a short distance away.
Tilting her head, she examined the stick. Maybe—
She walked over and picked it up. It was about the weight of her lightsaber, if distributed a little differently. Swishing the stick in the air, she smiled, then stabbed it forwards. This should work just fine.
“Miss Lucy?” said Tuvié, hurrying over. “What are you doing? Someone really should clean up this place, but it’s been so long—you shouldn’t do it, anyway—”
“I’m not,” Lucy said. “I just need to practice.”
Tuvié’s optics flickered as she contemplated the stick. “I do not see how this item enables you to practice anything.”
“It’s a bit like my lightsaber,” said Lucy.
She settled into the first stance Obi-Wan had taught her and moved forwards into the next, swinging the stick up as if she could parry an attack without it. Nearly tripping again, this time over her feet, she frowned. She still wasn’t doing it right.
“Your … lightsaber,” Tuvié said blankly.
It occurred to Lucy that she probably shouldn’t have mentioned that to Vader’s droid. She had no idea how much information he chose to share with Tuvié, but it certainly didn’t seem too extensive. Apparently, she hadn’t known this much.
Well, there was nothing to be done about it now.
“I used to have one,” Lucy replied, and tried to shift stances again. That time, at least, she avoided fumbling, even if it wasn’t perfectly seamless.
“I don’t understand,” said Tuvié. “Aren’t those the weapons of Jedi traitors?”
Lucy’s grip on the stick tightened.
“Vader has one,” she said. “He’s a Jedi.”
“Well, yes, but … that’s different.”
“How?” said Lucy, trying to dart forwards with a wide sweep. Her feet fell into place, but she nearly dropped the stick.
“He’s not like the others,” Tuvié said, sounding genuinely troubled. “The Jedi were corrupt and faithless. He had to help root them out to keep them from sabotaging the security of the Empire. He believes in their—oh, I forget the word. All this Force business. But he would never betray the Empire!”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t,” said Lucy. “It’s just—”
She didn’t know where to begin. Especially considering Tuvié’s knives.
“My lightsaber was my father’s,” she said at last. “It was—it was all I had of him. He died when I was a baby, like my mother.”
Tuvié gave a soft whirr. “Oh. I see. It was a … oh, I’m wretched with word retrieval today. A sentimental object you inherited?”
“Yes,” said Lucy, not feeling the need to tell her that she’d gladly used it on any number of occasions in the fight against the Empire. “It was painful to lose it, so I’d rather not talk about it. I’m going to run some more. That all right with you?”
“Of course, if it makes you happy!” said Tuvié, thankfully restored to her usual tones. “I shall observe! And make sure there are no unauthorized observers!”
Lucy exhaled, forcing herself back into something dimly like Jedi calm. “Thanks, Tuvié.”
-
She kept practicing, feeling more human—ha!—than she had since her arrival. Maybe even before. Dagobah had been wild; this room was carefully designed for its purpose, if faded and grimy by neglect. Still, she replicated her exercises as well as she could under Tuvié’s fretful eye, stretching, exercising, taking off her boots to run over decaying mats and somersault into the air, and clambering up any surface that allowed it. She thought she was getting a little better at the lightsaber exercises, too, though of course it was hard to tell with just a stick. Tuvié found those ones particularly baffling, though Lucy managed to avoid explaining herself.
When she felt particularly strong-willed, she settled down and tried to commune with the Force, ignoring Tuvié as well as she could. Sometimes it slipped away from her all over again, but now and then it came readily to her grasp, feeling almost comfortable, like sitting with a good friend. Lucy even laid down on the dirty floor sometimes, sending a quiet apology to her mother’s undoubtedly well-dressed spirit as she let the Force flow quietly through her, her eyes fixed on the ceiling or the windowed platform near the top of the room.
You are never alone in the Force.
It always came as a relief and something of a comfort, though it wasn’t the same as someone she could talk to. There was Tuvié, but she always had to be so careful of what she said, and—she wished Obi-Wan would appear, or the monk, or someone who could guide her. Sure, she was old enough to stand on her own feet, but she was also a prisoner of Darth Vader. She wished she could trust someone, anyone.
But at least she had the Force with her now to strengthen her reflexes and her resolve.
Sometimes.
On the fourth day from Vader’s latest departure, Lucy was standing on her hands, eyes closed as she strained to see anything through the Force, when she felt a familiar sharpness in the Dark Side. Well, she wasn’t going to interrupt herself just because he’d shown up somewhere in the castle. It was his castle; he might be anywhere in it at any time, and with or without him, she had to keep practicing in any way she could.
She was proud that she managed to maintain her position when the door slid open, even with the sudden menace of his breathing. Yoda would be proud, too. Maybe.
“There you are,” Vader said.
Lucy opened her eyes. He didn’t look nearly so intimidating upside-down.
“Here I am,” she replied, and launched herself to her feet, flipping her braid back. “Is it Dark Side o’clock?”
She suspected his next breath might have been a sigh.
“What are you doing here?”
“You’re going to have to answer that one,” Lucy said, bending down to pull her boots on.
“In this room,” he clarified.
She shrugged. “Exercising. It’s pretty good for that.”
In her ears, her voice sounded almost conciliatory. Ugh.
“I have not used it in many years,” Vader told her.
“I noticed,” said Lucy.
Before he could reply, if he meant to, Tuvié clattered over. “My lord! Excellent news!”
Vader’s mask turned towards the droid. “Yes?”
“Miss Lucy’s optical abilities have entirely returned! I took her to Tisix and Tisix’s tests all came back positive!”
“Excellent,” Vader said.
Lucy nearly shivered.
“Also—if I may—I have a request, sir,” said Tuvié, sounding deferential but not really intimidated. “May I have the use of a contingent of cleaning droids? I am not at all suited to the task.”
“What task?” Lucy and Vader both said.
Lucy scowled.
“Why, this room!” Tuvié said, looking from one to the other. “If Miss Lucy means to keep using it, and all information suggests that she does, I do think it should be hygienic. It wouldn’t do for her to damage herself in some way!”
Lucy glanced at a nearby pile of debris.
“I don’t think dirt is a major risk to my life,” she said.
“Do as you wish, F-2VA,” said Vader indifferently. “And stay here. Lucy, you will come with me.”
She really didn’t like following orders from Vader, and certainly without protest. But she also didn’t want to risk herself over something stupid, either. Her scowl deepening, she followed Vader out of the room.
“Your connection to the Force is stronger,” he said, slowing his stride. “Good.”
No thanks to you, she thought.
“To the Light Side,” she told him.
“Yes,” said Vader. “That would be difficult here. It is a credit to your strength, if not to your sense.”
Lucy’s jaw clenched.
“Once you see the necessity of turning to the Dark Side, you will make an impressive Jedi,” he went on.
She tilted her head back to stare up at him.
“Are you trying to flatter me into turning?” she said. “It won’t work.”
“I am explaining the situation,” said Vader shortly. “If you were not so blinded by Obi-Wan’s false teachings, you would see the truth—and your value—more clearly.”
Lucy wasn’t about to tell him about Yoda. Instead, she replied,
“I know my value.”
Vader turned down a familiar hall—the one that led into the room where he customarily received her. Now, his steps quickened, and she had to nearly run to keep up.
“I think not,” he said. “Not to its full extent.”
She decided there wasn’t any point in arguing with him. It wasn’t like she’d ever get through to him, anyway. Or like there was anything to get to, at this point. She withdrew into sullen silence until he turned into the main room, and the door shut behind her.
Lucy glanced around the room, now that she could see it. It was large and extremely stark, with metallic grey walls, a handful of metal chairs, and a small metal table dwarfed by the rest of the room. It also had a barred window that let in a shaft of faintly greenish sunlight. If anything looked unhygienic, that was it.
Vader gestured vaguely at one of the chairs as he strode over to the window, his armour gleaming and his gloved hands locked behind his back. Lucy, determined to avoid obeying every command, folded her arms and remained standing.
“Let me be clear with you,” he said. “I told you when you first woke up—”
“—first got captured—”
“—that we have a common enemy,” said Vader tightly. “This remains true. Surely you, of all people, understand that the Emperor must be overthrown.”
Lucy’s eyes widened. She’d wondered if he meant that, but—
He would never betray the Empire.
“Somehow I think I understand it a little differently than you,” she said. “You were on the Death Star!”
“I was commanded to be,” said Vader. “It was Krennic’s and Tarkin’s project—a waste of resources that pretended to power that only the Force possesses. This is why the Force guided your destruction of it.”
Her jaw nearly dropped. What?
She wiped her bewilderment off her face just in time. Vader turned around, the mask directly facing her.
“They, however, were only tools of the Emperor’s vision,” he said. “That is the kind of waste, of useless and destructive displays of power, that he indulges himself in. The galaxy needs real leaders to take command. To resolve this conflict and bring peace and order.”
Lucy felt like she’d just entered some alternate reality, everything twisted just that bit from what she thought she knew. This must be a trick, though she felt no deception in the Force. Maybe it was what he told himself. Or … it wasn’t wrong, exactly, but not … he couldn’t understand, not really.
“And you think that leader should be you?” she asked skeptically.
“I said leaders,” said Vader. “Regardless, the Emperor’s strength in the Force is such that I cannot defeat him alone, and neither can you. Even together, we will never be strong enough unless you turn to the Dark Side. It is stronger—”
“No, it’s not!” she protested. “It’s just easier—”
“Have you touched it?” said Vader. “No. You only know the Light Side. Palpatine only knows the Dark. I, alone, know both, and I know the Dark is stronger. You will never defeat the Emperor without it. The good of the galaxy rests on your choice.”
Lucy swallowed.
“The longer you cling to this foolishness, the more the galaxy suffers,” he added.
Her heart ticked in her ears. He’s wrong, she told herself. Yoda had explained it. He had to be right. Vader didn’t understand.
At least, she hoped he didn’t.
“Maybe some of all that is right,” she told him. “Some. The Emperor has to be brought down, sure. But the Dark Side is evil. You can say what you want about the good of the galaxy and all that. Good can’t come from evil.”
He said, “You yourself are proof of the contrary.”
More troubled than she’d admit, Lucy shook her head wildly.
“Me? No, I’m—I don’t care what you think you know about me. You don’t know anything!”
For a long moment, he just stood there, the mask appearing to consider her. Then he moved forward.
Her skin prickled; she had nothing and no one to protect her, no weapon, no anything. Lucy rocked back on her heels, every instinct telling her to run, or at least to back away. It took all her self-command to root herself where she was, as a Jedi should.
“I think,” said Vader, “that you have forgotten what you come from, kavashti.”
Lucy had been startled and overjoyed to hear Alsaraic from Threepio. Now, she could feel only horror. Had Tuvié—but she hadn’t told her that word, she—how—had he known an Alsara, like Threepio must have? But he wouldn’t be old enough—and why would they—unless—unless he was Alsarai himself. But that wasn’t possible, surely. They were gone, she’d always been told that, they—
In the turmoil of her feelings, a familiar sense of quiet affirmation grew. She wasn’t the last of her people. There was another, living still.
Darth Vader.
verse: Lucy Skywalker: my f!Luke AU, following from The Adventures of Lucy Skywalker and The Imperial Menace
characters: Luke/Lucy Skywalker, Anakin Skywalker; Tuvié (F-2VA)
stuff that happens: Vader contemplates the future, Lucy regains her eyesight, and Vader explains himself more fully.
previous sections: one, two, three, four, five, six
CHAPTER SEVEN
Darth Vader knew the truth, even without the helpful prompting of the Force.
Jerjerrod was plotting against him. Probably Varti, too—they were friends from their Academy days and had always operated in tandem. But Varti could cover up his emotions; Jerjerrod exuded schemes.
The Force did not, however, tell him the form that the schemes would take. Vader could stay on guard, but he always did that. Otherwise, he could see no way to prepare, except preemptive action. And Jerjerrod was a favourite of the Emperor. Vader could hardly just walk in and choke him or slide his head off, despite the temptation.
His jaw, one of the few parts of his body in good condition, tightened.
On top of that, Lucy had proven completely intractable. He had not seen the flaw in his plan to convert her to the Dark Side until too late.
He had no idea what to say to her.
Certainly, he’d tried to explain some part of the necessity to her, but he didn’t sound convincing even to himself. In retrospect, he’d recalled that it had taken Palpatine—sly, smooth-talking Palpatine—over ten years to turn him. At her age, he’d have seen no more clearly than Lucy. But he knew perfectly well that, in this respect, he didn’t possess Palpatine’s abilities. And he didn’t have ten years. Palpatine would insist on her death long before then, even if (when) they crushed the Rebellion.
And Vader needed her strength to help defeat him and finally, finally bring true order to the galaxy. Anything else was intolerable. Yet he could see no way forward.
At least her eyesight was returning, however slowly; she didn’t need it, least of all with the Force as her ally, but he doubted she could accept that. And he’d felt her grasp at the Force. Not the Dark Side—she’d blazed like the suns—but at least she’d listened on that occasion. It was a step forward.
It had to be.
Meanwhile, there was the matter of Padmé. He rarely thought of her in his conscious hours; he couldn’t afford to. Even in death, she was his vulnerability. But it was natural that Lucy would think of her.
For a fractional moment, he’d thought of telling her something—nothing that would expose his weakness, but something. The Larses hadn’t known her. Obi-Wan had, apparently, disclosed nothing; Lucy hadn’t even known that Padmé was her mother.
Familiar fury stirred in him. Obi-Wan had filled her head with lies about the Jedi and the frail Light Side, placed Vader’s lightsaber in her hands, but couldn’t spare a word for Padmé?
Vader supposed Obi-Wan couldn’t have known how delighted Padmé had been with the pregnancy, how much she’d looked forward to Lucy, ignorant of the fact that her daughter would never know her. But he had called himself her friend.
Of course, Vader knew how little Obi-Wan’s friendship was worth. Still, he’d been surprised. But perhaps he shouldn’t have been. A daughter should know something of her mother, but no doubt Obi-Wan considered that dangerous attachment, as the Jedi had thought of Shmi. Or maybe Padmé’s memory simply hadn’t suited the end he hoped to use her for.
It hardly suited Vader’s, either; he was honest enough with himself to know that Padmé would have been even more horrified at Lucy turning to the Dark Side than she’d been when Vader did it. But Padmé hadn’t understood. She was too blinded by the Republic and Obi-Wan’s lies—or duplicity, anyway. If she’d lived, she would have come to see the truth. They could have ruled the galaxy as a family.
Well, they would, even if it was only him and Lucy. They would overthrow the Emperor and cleanse his corruption and wasteful displays of power. They would rule as father and daughter.
They would.
-
Lucy didn’t encounter Vader for three days after she’d asked about her mother. It turned out that he’d left again on some Imperial business. Tuvié thought it had to do with some power struggle he was enmeshed in, but Lucy couldn’t help fearing it spelled some new disaster for the Rebellion. For all the dread and aggravation of his presence, it at least meant he was here and not up to trouble out there.
But she could hardly do anything about when and where he chose to take himself. The understanding should have brought her more acceptance than it did, but she felt more and more restless. She was here on the inside, and seemed relatively secure from harm. She should be doing something. Leia would come up with something. Han would at least get up to trouble instead of playing nice. It felt almost like a betrayal of those who’d died or suffered at the Empire’s hands to trot around without protest, eating fine meals and draped in fine clothes.
Keep your eyes and ears open. Find out everything you can. Be ready.
Lucy calmed a little. All right. All right. She had to think of it as—as an undercover mission, of sorts. She’d never done anything like that; it wasn’t exactly in her skill set. But she had an idea of what they were like. Her job was to maintain her cover. She could do that. Leia would understand.
Force, she missed her. She missed Han, too, and her squadron, and her friends, and in a different way, Yoda. But Leia most of all—Leia’s sharp tongue and stealth gentleness and unflagging strength and decisiveness.
I can be strong, like you, she imagined saying. What would Leia tell her?
You’d better be.
Lucy smiled and opened her eyes to the second day without Vader. She blinked rapidly; the shadows had resolved into colours and shapes, if blurry ones. The walls were a sleek white, and almost everything else bright silver-grey. It looked a bit sterile, but at least not actively menacing; she’d rather expected Imperial colours.
Lucy let her gaze travel across the room. The wardrobe was even bigger than she’d realized—but then, it probably had to be, to contain all of Padmé’s clothes. But actually, everything was bigger than she expected, including the room itself. There was a long table lining the wall by the fresher, a round one on the opposite side of the room, and both left large amounts of space around them. Lucy stared up at the arching ceiling. What was the point of all this? Was it really just some hamfisted attempt of Vader’s to lure her over?
“Good morning!”
Lucy looked over at Tuvié, curious to actually see her, even with fuzzy edges. She almost matched the room—Lucy could make out a steely grey frame, deep blue plating, and where visible, pale prosthetics. She looked rather like a protocol droid, a replica droid, and a medical unit fused into one.
Lucy squinted. Tuvié had something odd about her waist. A belt? And two longish, narrow objects hung from it on either side. They seemed to have handles. Were those knives?
“Uh,” said Lucy. “Good morning. How are you?”
She winced as soon as she’d said it.
“How nice of you to ask! All my processes are operating at optimum capacity, Miss Lucy. You needn’t concern yourself with any dangers, if there were any here! Which there are not!”
“Right. Thanks,” said Lucy. More brightly than she felt, she said, “I can see! Not perfectly, but things are just a bit blurry.”
“Your processes are almost optimal as well? Wonderful!” Tuvié said promptly, with no sign of the dismay that had touched her earlier. “You must be very happy.”
“Well, um.” Lucy didn’t like lying, even to Vader’s droid. “It’s a big relief.”
She prowled about the castle that day, calculating distances between halls and rooms, taking in the mingled stone and metal grey of the walls and floors and high ceilings. It looked like … well, a fortress, much more than her bedroom or the blandly decorated dining hall. The practice room she’d visited was, she now realized, further away than she’d guessed, and very much bigger, with even higher ceilings than her bedroom and a long stretch of empty space. At the back, however, platforms hung at varying heights in the air, presumably suspended by something. Maybe for some kind of climbing exercise, though she could also make out something that looked like rungs along the walls.
Lucy strode over to peer at the equipment case, her nose almost touching the glass—if it was glass. Padded armour and various mechanical devices, but nothing more helpful than that. They seemed even blurrier than everything else, though. Cautiously, she ran a finger along the edge of the case; the finger came away dirty. The floor felt dusty, too. Whatever its purpose had once been, it appeared that nobody had used this place in a long time.
The next day, her vision had completely sharpened. Tuvié definitely carried knives, and a blaster, and Lucy suspected she knew very well how to use them. Did she do double time as an assassin, or simply a guard? The former was very difficult to envision, of course, but—well, either way, Lucy suspected Threepio would be horrified at this sort of stepsister droid. Lucy herself couldn’t help feeling a little impressed.
As soon as she told Tuvié that she was fully recovered, the droid in question all but dragged her off to see Tisix—a standard medical droid—who poked and prodded at Lucy’s face and even took a blood sample. Lucy didn’t like the idea of the last, but couldn’t see any way to refuse, and from their comments when she’d first woken, suspected they already had a sample anyway.
“You seem to have fully recovered your sensory capacities,” Tisix reported. “Your test results are within normal ranges for a female humanoid adult.”
Lucy hesitated, remembering Tuvié’s strange insistence.
“What do you mean by humanoid?” she asked. “I mean, what species does the bloodwork turn up, if I’m not fully human?”
Tisix gave a thoughtful clack. “None on my records. But the divergence is quite slight—”
“Right, right.” Lucy paused. “So Senator Amidala was … some unknown species?”
Tisix turned its head to stare at Tuvié.
“Nobody said I couldn’t tell her,” she said.
“Hmph. Well, all reports list Senator Amidala as fully human. The most likely explanation is that your other genetic contributor is the responsible party.”
Anakin? But he was Alsarai. Wouldn’t Beru have said something, if they weren’t human? In fact, Lucy was pretty sure Beru had described them as human. Had she just not known? But maybe Anakin’s father, or what went for a father in his situation, had been some near-human. Lucy didn’t know anything about her grandfather, though she didn’t have the impression that he’d been Alsarai.
She supposed it didn’t really matter. At least, it didn’t change anything about her situation here or in the Rebellion. Lucy nodded at Tisix, and after a few more questions about her tests (she still didn’t know what the hell midichlorians were, except that she had a lot of them), let Tuvié lead her away.
There was still plenty more of the fortress to explore, but Lucy thought she’d seen the most relevant locations. She frowned to herself as they walked; she couldn’t just wander aimlessly around forever.
“Did my mother leave anything, um, maneuverable?” she asked. “Clothes-wise?”
Tuvié looked at her. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“It’s hard to move around quickly in these,” Lucy said, gesturing at the stiff blue skirts of the current work of art she wore. “Or to do much of anything other than walk. Did she ever wear anything ordinary?”
“Hm,” said Tuvié. “I don’t know about ordinary, but we’ll see what I can find.”
There wasn’t much, but in the back of the wardrobe, Tuvié dredged up a high-collared tunic and soft pants. Both were very pretty and the material still seemed alarmingly fine, but Lucy suspected it was the best she was going to get. She changed her clothes, aided by a muttering Tuvié, and headed out to the practice room.
Now she could see that the place was, indeed, all but abandoned, with a thick layer of dust over virtually everything. Dirt and indistinct clutter had formed into small piles throughout. But the place would at least give her the chance for some exercise. Especially those platforms, if they didn’t collapse right under her. Lucy ran the length of the room and clambered up the rungs along the side of the wall, then leapt from the wall to the nearest platform. It wasn’t that far, but she almost missed the jump. She’d definitely gotten out of shape.
“Oh, Miss Lucy, be careful!” called Tuvié. “I don’t know what Lord Vader would say if you fell!”
Good riddance, probably. But Lucy suspected Tuvié was quite capable of following her anywhere she chose to go. She reached for the filaments of the Force she could manage and took a running leap back towards the wall, climbing down.
“I think I need to spend more time here,” she said, a little breathless.
“Well, all right, but—”
Lucy tripped. Looking down, she saw that she’d walked right into one of the piles. She shook her feet out of the dirt, a long, narrow stick flying a short distance away.
Tilting her head, she examined the stick. Maybe—
She walked over and picked it up. It was about the weight of her lightsaber, if distributed a little differently. Swishing the stick in the air, she smiled, then stabbed it forwards. This should work just fine.
“Miss Lucy?” said Tuvié, hurrying over. “What are you doing? Someone really should clean up this place, but it’s been so long—you shouldn’t do it, anyway—”
“I’m not,” Lucy said. “I just need to practice.”
Tuvié’s optics flickered as she contemplated the stick. “I do not see how this item enables you to practice anything.”
“It’s a bit like my lightsaber,” said Lucy.
She settled into the first stance Obi-Wan had taught her and moved forwards into the next, swinging the stick up as if she could parry an attack without it. Nearly tripping again, this time over her feet, she frowned. She still wasn’t doing it right.
“Your … lightsaber,” Tuvié said blankly.
It occurred to Lucy that she probably shouldn’t have mentioned that to Vader’s droid. She had no idea how much information he chose to share with Tuvié, but it certainly didn’t seem too extensive. Apparently, she hadn’t known this much.
Well, there was nothing to be done about it now.
“I used to have one,” Lucy replied, and tried to shift stances again. That time, at least, she avoided fumbling, even if it wasn’t perfectly seamless.
“I don’t understand,” said Tuvié. “Aren’t those the weapons of Jedi traitors?”
Lucy’s grip on the stick tightened.
“Vader has one,” she said. “He’s a Jedi.”
“Well, yes, but … that’s different.”
“How?” said Lucy, trying to dart forwards with a wide sweep. Her feet fell into place, but she nearly dropped the stick.
“He’s not like the others,” Tuvié said, sounding genuinely troubled. “The Jedi were corrupt and faithless. He had to help root them out to keep them from sabotaging the security of the Empire. He believes in their—oh, I forget the word. All this Force business. But he would never betray the Empire!”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t,” said Lucy. “It’s just—”
She didn’t know where to begin. Especially considering Tuvié’s knives.
“My lightsaber was my father’s,” she said at last. “It was—it was all I had of him. He died when I was a baby, like my mother.”
Tuvié gave a soft whirr. “Oh. I see. It was a … oh, I’m wretched with word retrieval today. A sentimental object you inherited?”
“Yes,” said Lucy, not feeling the need to tell her that she’d gladly used it on any number of occasions in the fight against the Empire. “It was painful to lose it, so I’d rather not talk about it. I’m going to run some more. That all right with you?”
“Of course, if it makes you happy!” said Tuvié, thankfully restored to her usual tones. “I shall observe! And make sure there are no unauthorized observers!”
Lucy exhaled, forcing herself back into something dimly like Jedi calm. “Thanks, Tuvié.”
-
She kept practicing, feeling more human—ha!—than she had since her arrival. Maybe even before. Dagobah had been wild; this room was carefully designed for its purpose, if faded and grimy by neglect. Still, she replicated her exercises as well as she could under Tuvié’s fretful eye, stretching, exercising, taking off her boots to run over decaying mats and somersault into the air, and clambering up any surface that allowed it. She thought she was getting a little better at the lightsaber exercises, too, though of course it was hard to tell with just a stick. Tuvié found those ones particularly baffling, though Lucy managed to avoid explaining herself.
When she felt particularly strong-willed, she settled down and tried to commune with the Force, ignoring Tuvié as well as she could. Sometimes it slipped away from her all over again, but now and then it came readily to her grasp, feeling almost comfortable, like sitting with a good friend. Lucy even laid down on the dirty floor sometimes, sending a quiet apology to her mother’s undoubtedly well-dressed spirit as she let the Force flow quietly through her, her eyes fixed on the ceiling or the windowed platform near the top of the room.
You are never alone in the Force.
It always came as a relief and something of a comfort, though it wasn’t the same as someone she could talk to. There was Tuvié, but she always had to be so careful of what she said, and—she wished Obi-Wan would appear, or the monk, or someone who could guide her. Sure, she was old enough to stand on her own feet, but she was also a prisoner of Darth Vader. She wished she could trust someone, anyone.
But at least she had the Force with her now to strengthen her reflexes and her resolve.
Sometimes.
On the fourth day from Vader’s latest departure, Lucy was standing on her hands, eyes closed as she strained to see anything through the Force, when she felt a familiar sharpness in the Dark Side. Well, she wasn’t going to interrupt herself just because he’d shown up somewhere in the castle. It was his castle; he might be anywhere in it at any time, and with or without him, she had to keep practicing in any way she could.
She was proud that she managed to maintain her position when the door slid open, even with the sudden menace of his breathing. Yoda would be proud, too. Maybe.
“There you are,” Vader said.
Lucy opened her eyes. He didn’t look nearly so intimidating upside-down.
“Here I am,” she replied, and launched herself to her feet, flipping her braid back. “Is it Dark Side o’clock?”
She suspected his next breath might have been a sigh.
“What are you doing here?”
“You’re going to have to answer that one,” Lucy said, bending down to pull her boots on.
“In this room,” he clarified.
She shrugged. “Exercising. It’s pretty good for that.”
In her ears, her voice sounded almost conciliatory. Ugh.
“I have not used it in many years,” Vader told her.
“I noticed,” said Lucy.
Before he could reply, if he meant to, Tuvié clattered over. “My lord! Excellent news!”
Vader’s mask turned towards the droid. “Yes?”
“Miss Lucy’s optical abilities have entirely returned! I took her to Tisix and Tisix’s tests all came back positive!”
“Excellent,” Vader said.
Lucy nearly shivered.
“Also—if I may—I have a request, sir,” said Tuvié, sounding deferential but not really intimidated. “May I have the use of a contingent of cleaning droids? I am not at all suited to the task.”
“What task?” Lucy and Vader both said.
Lucy scowled.
“Why, this room!” Tuvié said, looking from one to the other. “If Miss Lucy means to keep using it, and all information suggests that she does, I do think it should be hygienic. It wouldn’t do for her to damage herself in some way!”
Lucy glanced at a nearby pile of debris.
“I don’t think dirt is a major risk to my life,” she said.
“Do as you wish, F-2VA,” said Vader indifferently. “And stay here. Lucy, you will come with me.”
She really didn’t like following orders from Vader, and certainly without protest. But she also didn’t want to risk herself over something stupid, either. Her scowl deepening, she followed Vader out of the room.
“Your connection to the Force is stronger,” he said, slowing his stride. “Good.”
No thanks to you, she thought.
“To the Light Side,” she told him.
“Yes,” said Vader. “That would be difficult here. It is a credit to your strength, if not to your sense.”
Lucy’s jaw clenched.
“Once you see the necessity of turning to the Dark Side, you will make an impressive Jedi,” he went on.
She tilted her head back to stare up at him.
“Are you trying to flatter me into turning?” she said. “It won’t work.”
“I am explaining the situation,” said Vader shortly. “If you were not so blinded by Obi-Wan’s false teachings, you would see the truth—and your value—more clearly.”
Lucy wasn’t about to tell him about Yoda. Instead, she replied,
“I know my value.”
Vader turned down a familiar hall—the one that led into the room where he customarily received her. Now, his steps quickened, and she had to nearly run to keep up.
“I think not,” he said. “Not to its full extent.”
She decided there wasn’t any point in arguing with him. It wasn’t like she’d ever get through to him, anyway. Or like there was anything to get to, at this point. She withdrew into sullen silence until he turned into the main room, and the door shut behind her.
Lucy glanced around the room, now that she could see it. It was large and extremely stark, with metallic grey walls, a handful of metal chairs, and a small metal table dwarfed by the rest of the room. It also had a barred window that let in a shaft of faintly greenish sunlight. If anything looked unhygienic, that was it.
Vader gestured vaguely at one of the chairs as he strode over to the window, his armour gleaming and his gloved hands locked behind his back. Lucy, determined to avoid obeying every command, folded her arms and remained standing.
“Let me be clear with you,” he said. “I told you when you first woke up—”
“—first got captured—”
“—that we have a common enemy,” said Vader tightly. “This remains true. Surely you, of all people, understand that the Emperor must be overthrown.”
Lucy’s eyes widened. She’d wondered if he meant that, but—
He would never betray the Empire.
“Somehow I think I understand it a little differently than you,” she said. “You were on the Death Star!”
“I was commanded to be,” said Vader. “It was Krennic’s and Tarkin’s project—a waste of resources that pretended to power that only the Force possesses. This is why the Force guided your destruction of it.”
Her jaw nearly dropped. What?
She wiped her bewilderment off her face just in time. Vader turned around, the mask directly facing her.
“They, however, were only tools of the Emperor’s vision,” he said. “That is the kind of waste, of useless and destructive displays of power, that he indulges himself in. The galaxy needs real leaders to take command. To resolve this conflict and bring peace and order.”
Lucy felt like she’d just entered some alternate reality, everything twisted just that bit from what she thought she knew. This must be a trick, though she felt no deception in the Force. Maybe it was what he told himself. Or … it wasn’t wrong, exactly, but not … he couldn’t understand, not really.
“And you think that leader should be you?” she asked skeptically.
“I said leaders,” said Vader. “Regardless, the Emperor’s strength in the Force is such that I cannot defeat him alone, and neither can you. Even together, we will never be strong enough unless you turn to the Dark Side. It is stronger—”
“No, it’s not!” she protested. “It’s just easier—”
“Have you touched it?” said Vader. “No. You only know the Light Side. Palpatine only knows the Dark. I, alone, know both, and I know the Dark is stronger. You will never defeat the Emperor without it. The good of the galaxy rests on your choice.”
Lucy swallowed.
“The longer you cling to this foolishness, the more the galaxy suffers,” he added.
Her heart ticked in her ears. He’s wrong, she told herself. Yoda had explained it. He had to be right. Vader didn’t understand.
At least, she hoped he didn’t.
“Maybe some of all that is right,” she told him. “Some. The Emperor has to be brought down, sure. But the Dark Side is evil. You can say what you want about the good of the galaxy and all that. Good can’t come from evil.”
He said, “You yourself are proof of the contrary.”
More troubled than she’d admit, Lucy shook her head wildly.
“Me? No, I’m—I don’t care what you think you know about me. You don’t know anything!”
For a long moment, he just stood there, the mask appearing to consider her. Then he moved forward.
Her skin prickled; she had nothing and no one to protect her, no weapon, no anything. Lucy rocked back on her heels, every instinct telling her to run, or at least to back away. It took all her self-command to root herself where she was, as a Jedi should.
“I think,” said Vader, “that you have forgotten what you come from, kavashti.”
Lucy had been startled and overjoyed to hear Alsaraic from Threepio. Now, she could feel only horror. Had Tuvié—but she hadn’t told her that word, she—how—had he known an Alsara, like Threepio must have? But he wouldn’t be old enough—and why would they—unless—unless he was Alsarai himself. But that wasn’t possible, surely. They were gone, she’d always been told that, they—
In the turmoil of her feelings, a familiar sense of quiet affirmation grew. She wasn’t the last of her people. There was another, living still.
Darth Vader.