Revenge of the Jedi (13/17)
Sep. 25th, 2011 08:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anghraineI was an hour late getting back home today, and to quote the Republicans, it's all Obama's fault.
No, really. The president flew into the Seattle airport just as our train arrived, and the Secret Service spent an hour going over it to make sure of ... something. I'm not sure how a train leaving the area could be construed as a threat to him, but whatever.
Also, I reallllly hate lj's new rich text editor, so I'm doing everything in dreamwidth and hoping it works. *crossing fingers*
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Title: Revenge of the Jedi (13/17)
Fanverse: Revenge of the Jedi
Blurb: Luke makes arrangements with his father, and meets yet another quasi-ally.
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Chapter Thirteen
Luke and Leia returned to the others, chattering as they walked. He could hardly believe she was here -- not a remote presence in his mind, but Leia herself, standing right next to him. He could see her face, expressions, gestures, hear her voice. Even his sense of her in the Force was powerful and immediate, her potential wrapped around her in bright tangled threads.
He didn’t know how he’d teach her. Just the idea of him telling Leia what to do seemed ludicrous. Well, he still didn’t know what she’d decide. Maybe she’d turn up the offer, or the Alderaanians would reject a Jedi queen, or -- something.
And maybe his father would take an oath of pacifism and retire to a moisture farm.
Luke sighed. He’d just have to figure out when the time came. In about two days. And then -- he couldn’t help smiling. Six weeks, and they’d have Han back, and they’d all be together again. If they didn’t get killed.
He put the thought out of his mind and ducked into the hut, where he and Leia found Yoda considerably more alert. He insisted on offering stew to Leia, who gamely swallowed it all -- Luke supposed that it was no great task to a woman who had, after all, sat down to dinners with far more dissimilar species than whatever Yoda was.
To Luke’s relief, she didn’t even seem to mind being interrogated while she ate, answering Yoda’s exhaustive questions with unusual patience. It didn’t seem quite so impossible that she’d once been an Imperial ambassador and senator.
It was mid-afternoon by the time Yoda dismissed them, and they walked around to meet up with the others -- who, an hour and a half later, were still cheerfully quarrelling. Luke and Leia joined them, and all five talked and laughed until Leia’s return could be no longer delayed. With visible reluctance, she announced that they had to return to the ship, and get to the base as soon as possible.
Chewie gave Luke another crushing hug, Artoo beeped sadly at Threepio, and Leia stood on tiptoe to kiss Luke’s cheek.
“May the Force be with you,” she said, her smile wry, and then she was leading Chewbacca and Threepio back through the undergrowth. Within a few minutes, they had gone.
Artoo, tottering at Luke’s side, gave a depressed whirr.
“Don’t worry,” said Luke, resting his hand on the droid’s dome. “I think he’ll be back soon.”
Yoda had gone to sleep again, so Luke wandered back into the mossy wood, trailed by Artoo. There wasn’t any point in procrastinating further -- or time for it. He perched in the air, folding his legs, crossing his arms, and steeling his nerves, and reached out.
“Father?”
He suppressed a shiver as his father’s presence flooded his mind. It was nothing like Leia’s -- crisp and overwhelming, though not as chilling as he remembered, either. Perhaps Vader wasn’t enraged at anyone, just at the moment. Still, Luke felt a moment of panic before he reminded himself that Vader was incapable of killing him, and evidently disinclined to harm him. This was his father: and he almost laughed that it had become a relief to remember that.
“Luke,” said Vader. “You passed your trials, then.”
“One of them. I -- ” Luke realized he’d been on the point of complaining to Darth Vader, and cut himself off. “I have one more.”
“Unusual,” Vader commented. Luke had an impression of a polished, white bubble, suffocatingly close, and tried not to think about it. “Have you finally made your decision?”
He bit back an apology. He had to draw a line somewhere. “I’ve seen a bit of their base of operations, and I think I know where it is,” he said instead. “What do you need me to do?”
Luke expected that his acquiescence would be met with satisfaction or triumph. Instead, he only caught a hint of the relief he himself felt.
“You will need more than that -- including the data we have already managed to gather.”
“Probably,” Luke agreed, “but there’s a bounty on my head, remember?”
“I had not forgotten,” said Vader, in a tone which made it evident that this had done nothing to discourage his betrayal of the Emperor. “Fortunately -- in this case -- only a few people outside your Rebellion are capable of recognizing you, and none of them are aboard the Executor at the moment.”
Luke swallowed. After years spent evading Imperial starships, voluntarily boarding the prize of the Empire was more than a little daunting. He couldn’t sense any plot beyond those he already knew about, but -- well, he’d made his choice. Super Star Destroyer or no Super Star Destroyer.
“All right,” he said. They quickly agreed upon a neutral location where they could meet, and then Vader’s voice and presence vanished. Luke dropped to the ground, rubbing his forehead.
Artoo gave a concerned beep.
“Looks like we’re going to have a bit of an adventure,” he told the droid. “Well, I’m sure you’ve always wanted to add a Super Star Destroyer to your databanks.”
Artoo squeaked, rolling backwards, then halted and made a small, intrigued sound. Luke laughed.
They returned to the hut, Artoo beeping a long line of incomprehensible questions at him, and found Yoda still asleep. Luke hesitated, then closed his eyes to see.
. . . Yoda, grumbling to himself, stirred a pot of stew with enough force to send a few droplets flying through Obi-Wan . . . Yoda hobbled outside, peering at the sky with an enigmatic expression . . . Obi-Wan spread his hands, saying, “If it’s that important to him, perhaps he should -- ” while Yoda stared into the fire . . . Yoda hopping, with surprising nimbleness, into his bed, pulling a thin blanket over himself . . .
Yoda wasn’t going to die in the next few days, at any rate. Luke sighed, hushed the droid, and packed as quietly as he could. Grabbing his datapad, he glanced back at the snoring Jedi Master, and dug out a flimsi sheet, scribbling out a vague explanation. Then he led Artoo out to the X-Wing.
It was only then that he remembered the panicked ghost who’d appeared on his last return. Luke, in the middle of hoisting Artoo into the ship, froze.
The droid teetered and gave a shriek of alarm.
“Sorry,” said Luke, settling Artoo in his compartment and throwing his thoughts into the empty air. “Grandmother? Can you hear me? Um -- Yoda will be able to tell you what I’m doing -- though he could have told you last time, too, so I don’t . . . I’m not sure how to leave a message for a ghost.”
“Talking to us is usually acceptable,” said Shmi, just as he felt her behind him. Luke started, almost tumbling off the ramp, and jumped down.
“Oh, good. I just wanted you to know, I’m going to be around Father again, so -- ”
Shmi looked at him steadily. “Anakin? What are you two doing now?”
Luke flushed and dropped his eyes, explaining in a few awkward and stumbling words. He half-wondered if he could make any plan sound ridiculously stupid, or just this one.
“I -- I know it’s not the wisest thing I’ve ever done,” he stammered, “but -- ”
Luke glanced up at his grandmother. She was smiling.
“Oh, I think it might be,” said Shmi. “Just remember all that you’ve learned.”
“Of course.”
Her tranquil gaze turned intense. “Everything you’ve learned.”
“I will,” said Luke, understanding -- though no less anxious, for that. He fought the urge to rub his wrist. “Grandmother, um, is there anything I can . . . ?”
“You can tell him hello,” Shmi said tartly.
Luke laughed. “All right.”
He sprang into the X-Wing, and settled into his chair, buckling his helmet on and starting the engine. He’d just reached down to close the door when she called out again.
“Luke, wait!”
In a blur of not-quite-motion, she was just under the door, her fingers closing on his wrist like a cold breeze. “Tell your father I love him,” she said.
Well, that won’t be awkward, he thought, but smiled reassuringly at her.
“I’ll tell him,” he said.
Thirty hours later, Luke stood in an abandoned base that had been in ruins since, apparently, the Republic’s last war. His eyes were fixed on the colossal starship flying overhead. Artoo, with a whirr that more nearly approximated a moan, tottered closer to him.
He felt the shuttle approaching before he saw it, touching down just opposite Luke’s X-Wing. Artoo screeched.
“It’s all right. It’s just Father,” Luke said, and fought off a hysterical giggle.
The shuttle’s ramp lowered and Vader strode down, looking -- well, like Vader. Any urge to laugh evaporated. Artoo backed behind his legs.
“Luke,” Vader said shortly. His masked head turned this way and that in apparent bewilderment, which Luke -- as he generally did around his father -- fully shared. “Where are your belongings?”
Burned by stormtroopers two and a half years ago, Luke thought.
“I don’t have any,” he said. “Except this droid.”
Artoo wobbled forward, his sensors spinning. Man and droid considered one another for a moment.
“He’s a little unwieldy, but I’m not going anywhere without him,” Luke added. “He’s not an ordinary astrodroid -- without him, I’d probably have died years ago.”
Vader continued to gaze at Artoo. “I am . . . aware of this droid’s capabilities,” he said finally, and lifted his mask to stare at his son. “How did you find him?”
Luke hesitated, then shrugged. He didn’t suppose it mattered any more. “Uncle Owen bought him from some Jawas, and he turned out to be carrying the Death Star plans.”
“He what?”
“Leia smuggled him out. But you already know that,” Luke said, perplexed.
Artoo rolled a cautious foot forward, whirring up at Vader, who clasped his hands behind his back.
“I did not know it was this particular droid.”
Every conversation with Vader was a bizarre conversation, Luke thought, but this one might be the oddest yet. “You’ve . . . ah, met him before?”
“Of course I’ve met him,” Vader said impatiently. “I made him.”
Luke’s mouth dropped open. The droid burst into a beeping, grinding, whirring, screeching cacophony of sound that might have meant anything, but Luke felt certain would be best translated as What?! His own mind was furiously cycling between how and but and why until it settled on a complete thought: well, that explains a lot.
“You -- but then, how did Leia . . . oh.” He suspected it’d be unwise to mention the murdered best friend whose assassination had provoked Anakin Skywalker’s final step to becoming Darth Vader.
“Bring him with you,” said Vader, and turned on his heel, gesturing for them to follow him. Somehow, Artoo managed to look torn, his sensors swivelling between his former and present masters.
Luke resolved the little droid’s conflict by hurrying after his father, lifting Artoo over the last of the debris and into the shuttle. Once he’d buckled himself into the seat beside his father’s, the door slammed closed with a soft whoosh. Luke tried not to read it as a portent of doom.
Vader steered the shuttle without a moment’s error or hesitation, the Executor only growing more impossibly daunting as they drew nearer. Luke tore his awestruck gaze away from the miles and miles of starship, forcing himself to think about anything else, look at anything else. His eyes fell on the control panel of the shuttle, which seemed very much like any other control panel, on the wheel under his father’s gloved hands.
He could tell both hands were prosthetics, though it didn’t seem to have impaired Vader’s abilities any. It had taken Luke hours just to hold a stylus again.
Did Mother fly like this, or did I just get it from you? he thought. He couldn’t imagine mentioning his mother to Vader. There was something oddly taboo about Arissa and Amidala, who had once been Mama and Aunt Padmé to him, just as there was about Obi-Wan. It was as if Anakin’s fall had been so monumental that it had absorbed not only himself, but everyone he loved, warping their very existences -- Arissa’s, Amidala’s, Obi-Wan’s, Luke’s -- around the shell he’d left behind.
He’s just a person, Luke told himself. Everybody forgets that. But he’s not really anything more. Or less.
Vaguely, he wondered if the hands even looked normal under the gloves. Maybe; should Luke be wearing a glove over his? Was there some kind of cyborg protocol?
He couldn’t imagine asking about that, either.
Luke suppressed a sigh and returned his eyes to the Executor. He couldn’t help clenching his fists as it swallowed up the viewscreen, and then the entire shuttle, its tractor beam dragging them to a standstill in one of the undoubtedly numerous docking bays.
He and Artoo followed Vader off the shuttle and out of the bay, the droid emitting a nonstop string of worried beeps, and Luke trying not to itch his shoulders. If somebody did think of attacking him, he reminded himself, he’d sense it before it happened -- and besides, Vader would kill anyone who harmed him.
It wasn’t much comfort. He kept his eyes on his father, anyway, and tried not to act as if Rebel were emblazoned across his chest in huge blinking letters.
A very long walk, seven elevators, and no explanations later, Vader led Luke and Artoo into a dark, quiet room full of blinking screens and flickering holograms. It was empty except for one young man, who peered up at one of the screens and tapped something into his datapad.
The doors shut behind them, almost silently, and the man started before Luke could.
“Lord Vader, I didn’t -- ” he began, blinked once at Luke and Artoo, then returned his attention to Vader -- “have any success on Alzhei, so I decided I’d be of more use here and returned a few days earlier than you suggested.”
The man struck Luke as -- not familiar, exactly. He didn’t know him. But it seemed strange that he should be here. It also seemed strange that he should be alive, if he had a habit of defying Vader’s suggestions.
“There’s no need for subterfuge,” said Vader. “Luke, this is Daine Jir. He will be cooperating with you. I need to speak to my admirals.”
He swept out, and Jir extended his hand to Luke.
“Commander Skywalker. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”
Luke hesitated, then shook it. “Just Skywalker. I’ve resigned my commission.”
“Oh, I hadn’t heard that,” said Jir. “But it’s almost impossible to get good reports out of the Rebellion. Your people are very closed-mouth, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” Luke said, and glanced around the room. “What exactly do you do?”
“Whatever your father tells me to do,” Jir said cheerfully. “A bit of everything, really. I used to be a commander myself -- in the Starfleet, of course -- but once everybody assumed I’d been killed when you blew up the Death Star, it became useful for me to handle more delicate matters.”
“You’re a spy,” said Luke.
Jir laughed. “Among other things. So, I’m guessing Lord Vader’s brought you up-to-date, if we wants me helping you?”
“He’s told me about the Sun Crusher, if that’s what you mean. Is that what all this is about?” He waved his hand at the computers and holograms.
“We don’t know. The Emperor keeps most of his projects quiet, even the harmless ones, and anything on this scale is going to catch someone’s attention unless the components are constructed separately. So at this point, our information is . . . less than clear. It can be difficult to tell whether we’re looking at schematics for part of a star-destroying superweapon or plans for the Interplanetary Flower Festival.”
Luke walked over to the line of computers, examining the charts laid out on the screens. Most of them looked and felt unfamiliar, though he studied them anyway, ignoring Jir’s curious gaze. Halfway down the line, he stopped. “This one. What is it?”
“We’re not sure,” said Jir. “It’s still in the early stages. Some kind of base getting built out in the Alcar IV system -- you might not have heard of it, but -- ”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“Oh. Well, normally it’d be too minor to bother Lord Vader with, but the size of the shield projector is ridiculous for a base of that size. And hardly anyone’s talking, even by the usual standards. All I’ve heard is that there’ve been some problems with the construction of the base.”
“I’ve seen it before. I . . . what have they done about the Wookiees?”
“The natives?” Jir shrugged. “As far as I’ve heard, they’re friendly enough. Stay out of the way. A few of the higher-ups tried to blame them, but -- ”
“They’re going to build part of the Sun Crusher there,” Luke told him. “I’ll need to know everything about it.”
Jir briefly raised his eyebrows, but seemed less surprised than intrigued. Of course, years of service to Darth Vader probably would wear away the usual skepticism.
For the next twenty minutes, Luke stood with his fingers tapping against his arm, listening attentively to the spy. He had little concrete information -- just rumour and conjecture, and these rough plans. Even these were better than the next-to-nothing he’d had before, but Luke knew he’d need more. Perhaps he could use the data, however haphazard it might be, to guide his meditation. It’d only turned up a little, so far.
The doors slid open and Luke turned, in some relief, to face his father.
“My lord,” said Jir, unrelentingly chipper, “Co -- ah, Jedi Skywalker has determined that the Endor project is a construction site for the Sun Crusher.”
“Endor,” Vader repeated. He glanced at Luke, who gave a small nod. “Very well. You are dismissed, Jir.”
Jir bowed and marched out without the slightest attempt at unobtrusiveness. He was either a very bad spy, Luke thought, or a very good one. Given that he personally served Darth Vader and seemed in good health, the latter seemed rather more probable.
“I’ve seen hardly anything else,” Luke said immediately. “A few of the corridors, some of the engineers complaining. That’s all. I’ll try again with this, but -- ”
“We both will,” said Vader.
“Now?” Luke suppressed a cringe and gestured at the blinking machines. “I mean, here?”
“I have a room set apart for meditation. Follow me.”
At least this wasn’t especially menacing, as his father’s plans for him went. Also thankfully, the meditation chamber adjoined this room; Luke had half expected to spend another hour wandering about the ship.
The chamber was dominated by a pod -- hyperbaric, Luke assumed, and briefly wondered about the extent of his father’s injuries before adding it to the list of things he wouldn’t ask about under any circumstances.
Vader ignored the pod and strode towards a large window, which took up most of its wall and, at the moment, showed only the blackness of space. A thick mat, nearly as long as the window, had been placed in front of it.
Vader knelt on the mat and after a moment’s vacillation, Luke did the same thing. It was more comfortable than the swamp, anyway, he told himself, and tried not to consider what it might mean, sharing his legacy from his father with his father. Luke closed his eyes, forced himself to release his anxiety, and let go of conscious thought.
The Force nearly consumed him. Not even the Dark Side. The Living Force itself, clearer, more expansive, more powerful, just more, than he’d felt even at his most uncontrolled. But it wasn’t uncontrolled at all. Everything was sharp and crisp: less the vastness of a desert than of all its grains of sand, distinct and uncountable.
Luke’s eyes flew open, wide and unseeing, and he gasped for air, clinging to the Force even while he tried to keep himself from being absorbed into it. He was himself; he could feel Vader, separate-but-connected, here, even his command faltering a little before the onslaught, and then firming.
He focused his attention on the Sun Crusher -- or Vader did -- or they both did. It wasn’t important. Worlds spun before his eyes, and he found himself pulling the relevant out from the trivial with an alarmingly small exertion of effort; it was almost as if they were separating themselves out. For the first time, Luke felt not as if he were surrendering himself to the Force, struggling to guide its control over him, but directing it, commanding it.
He saw a system in the Middle Rim, a single star -- yellow dwarf -- four planets -- two gas giants, two terrestrial -- one an inhospitable red, one blue -- masses of water, enough to drown Tatooine -- a bright, refurbished facility of some kind.
Five more systems, five more suspicious bases, and then a small, forest-covered moon revolving around a massive planet -- Wookiees watching as Imperial cruisers flew overhead -- “distance may be too much,” said an officer to a number of others, who seemed to be subservient to him --
if he’s the commander, we’ll need to know --
The same officer sighed as a group of chief engineers talked about a near-explosion, adding, “Commander Llang, this location is almost impossible” -- stormtroopers glancing nervously over their shoulders -- an engineer in a baggy, crinkling suit putting a heavy helmet over his head, saying, “I’ll check for leaks here, here, and here,” jabbing his finger at a large, detailed schematic --
The low light of the meditation chamber washed over Luke’s vision. He blinked, taking a deep breath -- and realized that neither his nor his father’s had sped up at all. Their bodies didn’t seem to have registered the strain; they weren’t even tired. They could do it again, track down anything else they wanted, and they probably wouldn’t be tired then either. They could do --
Anything?
Join me, Vader had once said, and together, we can rule the galaxy as father and son.
He was right, if not in the way he’d meant. They could.
No, really. The president flew into the Seattle airport just as our train arrived, and the Secret Service spent an hour going over it to make sure of ... something. I'm not sure how a train leaving the area could be construed as a threat to him, but whatever.
Also, I reallllly hate lj's new rich text editor, so I'm doing everything in dreamwidth and hoping it works. *crossing fingers*
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Title: Revenge of the Jedi (13/17)
Fanverse: Revenge of the Jedi
Blurb: Luke makes arrangements with his father, and meets yet another quasi-ally.
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Luke and Leia returned to the others, chattering as they walked. He could hardly believe she was here -- not a remote presence in his mind, but Leia herself, standing right next to him. He could see her face, expressions, gestures, hear her voice. Even his sense of her in the Force was powerful and immediate, her potential wrapped around her in bright tangled threads.
He didn’t know how he’d teach her. Just the idea of him telling Leia what to do seemed ludicrous. Well, he still didn’t know what she’d decide. Maybe she’d turn up the offer, or the Alderaanians would reject a Jedi queen, or -- something.
And maybe his father would take an oath of pacifism and retire to a moisture farm.
Luke sighed. He’d just have to figure out when the time came. In about two days. And then -- he couldn’t help smiling. Six weeks, and they’d have Han back, and they’d all be together again. If they didn’t get killed.
He put the thought out of his mind and ducked into the hut, where he and Leia found Yoda considerably more alert. He insisted on offering stew to Leia, who gamely swallowed it all -- Luke supposed that it was no great task to a woman who had, after all, sat down to dinners with far more dissimilar species than whatever Yoda was.
To Luke’s relief, she didn’t even seem to mind being interrogated while she ate, answering Yoda’s exhaustive questions with unusual patience. It didn’t seem quite so impossible that she’d once been an Imperial ambassador and senator.
It was mid-afternoon by the time Yoda dismissed them, and they walked around to meet up with the others -- who, an hour and a half later, were still cheerfully quarrelling. Luke and Leia joined them, and all five talked and laughed until Leia’s return could be no longer delayed. With visible reluctance, she announced that they had to return to the ship, and get to the base as soon as possible.
Chewie gave Luke another crushing hug, Artoo beeped sadly at Threepio, and Leia stood on tiptoe to kiss Luke’s cheek.
“May the Force be with you,” she said, her smile wry, and then she was leading Chewbacca and Threepio back through the undergrowth. Within a few minutes, they had gone.
Artoo, tottering at Luke’s side, gave a depressed whirr.
“Don’t worry,” said Luke, resting his hand on the droid’s dome. “I think he’ll be back soon.”
Yoda had gone to sleep again, so Luke wandered back into the mossy wood, trailed by Artoo. There wasn’t any point in procrastinating further -- or time for it. He perched in the air, folding his legs, crossing his arms, and steeling his nerves, and reached out.
“Father?”
He suppressed a shiver as his father’s presence flooded his mind. It was nothing like Leia’s -- crisp and overwhelming, though not as chilling as he remembered, either. Perhaps Vader wasn’t enraged at anyone, just at the moment. Still, Luke felt a moment of panic before he reminded himself that Vader was incapable of killing him, and evidently disinclined to harm him. This was his father: and he almost laughed that it had become a relief to remember that.
“Luke,” said Vader. “You passed your trials, then.”
“One of them. I -- ” Luke realized he’d been on the point of complaining to Darth Vader, and cut himself off. “I have one more.”
“Unusual,” Vader commented. Luke had an impression of a polished, white bubble, suffocatingly close, and tried not to think about it. “Have you finally made your decision?”
He bit back an apology. He had to draw a line somewhere. “I’ve seen a bit of their base of operations, and I think I know where it is,” he said instead. “What do you need me to do?”
Luke expected that his acquiescence would be met with satisfaction or triumph. Instead, he only caught a hint of the relief he himself felt.
“You will need more than that -- including the data we have already managed to gather.”
“Probably,” Luke agreed, “but there’s a bounty on my head, remember?”
“I had not forgotten,” said Vader, in a tone which made it evident that this had done nothing to discourage his betrayal of the Emperor. “Fortunately -- in this case -- only a few people outside your Rebellion are capable of recognizing you, and none of them are aboard the Executor at the moment.”
Luke swallowed. After years spent evading Imperial starships, voluntarily boarding the prize of the Empire was more than a little daunting. He couldn’t sense any plot beyond those he already knew about, but -- well, he’d made his choice. Super Star Destroyer or no Super Star Destroyer.
“All right,” he said. They quickly agreed upon a neutral location where they could meet, and then Vader’s voice and presence vanished. Luke dropped to the ground, rubbing his forehead.
Artoo gave a concerned beep.
“Looks like we’re going to have a bit of an adventure,” he told the droid. “Well, I’m sure you’ve always wanted to add a Super Star Destroyer to your databanks.”
Artoo squeaked, rolling backwards, then halted and made a small, intrigued sound. Luke laughed.
They returned to the hut, Artoo beeping a long line of incomprehensible questions at him, and found Yoda still asleep. Luke hesitated, then closed his eyes to see.
. . . Yoda, grumbling to himself, stirred a pot of stew with enough force to send a few droplets flying through Obi-Wan . . . Yoda hobbled outside, peering at the sky with an enigmatic expression . . . Obi-Wan spread his hands, saying, “If it’s that important to him, perhaps he should -- ” while Yoda stared into the fire . . . Yoda hopping, with surprising nimbleness, into his bed, pulling a thin blanket over himself . . .
Yoda wasn’t going to die in the next few days, at any rate. Luke sighed, hushed the droid, and packed as quietly as he could. Grabbing his datapad, he glanced back at the snoring Jedi Master, and dug out a flimsi sheet, scribbling out a vague explanation. Then he led Artoo out to the X-Wing.
It was only then that he remembered the panicked ghost who’d appeared on his last return. Luke, in the middle of hoisting Artoo into the ship, froze.
The droid teetered and gave a shriek of alarm.
“Sorry,” said Luke, settling Artoo in his compartment and throwing his thoughts into the empty air. “Grandmother? Can you hear me? Um -- Yoda will be able to tell you what I’m doing -- though he could have told you last time, too, so I don’t . . . I’m not sure how to leave a message for a ghost.”
“Talking to us is usually acceptable,” said Shmi, just as he felt her behind him. Luke started, almost tumbling off the ramp, and jumped down.
“Oh, good. I just wanted you to know, I’m going to be around Father again, so -- ”
Shmi looked at him steadily. “Anakin? What are you two doing now?”
Luke flushed and dropped his eyes, explaining in a few awkward and stumbling words. He half-wondered if he could make any plan sound ridiculously stupid, or just this one.
“I -- I know it’s not the wisest thing I’ve ever done,” he stammered, “but -- ”
Luke glanced up at his grandmother. She was smiling.
“Oh, I think it might be,” said Shmi. “Just remember all that you’ve learned.”
“Of course.”
Her tranquil gaze turned intense. “Everything you’ve learned.”
“I will,” said Luke, understanding -- though no less anxious, for that. He fought the urge to rub his wrist. “Grandmother, um, is there anything I can . . . ?”
“You can tell him hello,” Shmi said tartly.
Luke laughed. “All right.”
He sprang into the X-Wing, and settled into his chair, buckling his helmet on and starting the engine. He’d just reached down to close the door when she called out again.
“Luke, wait!”
In a blur of not-quite-motion, she was just under the door, her fingers closing on his wrist like a cold breeze. “Tell your father I love him,” she said.
Well, that won’t be awkward, he thought, but smiled reassuringly at her.
“I’ll tell him,” he said.
Thirty hours later, Luke stood in an abandoned base that had been in ruins since, apparently, the Republic’s last war. His eyes were fixed on the colossal starship flying overhead. Artoo, with a whirr that more nearly approximated a moan, tottered closer to him.
He felt the shuttle approaching before he saw it, touching down just opposite Luke’s X-Wing. Artoo screeched.
“It’s all right. It’s just Father,” Luke said, and fought off a hysterical giggle.
The shuttle’s ramp lowered and Vader strode down, looking -- well, like Vader. Any urge to laugh evaporated. Artoo backed behind his legs.
“Luke,” Vader said shortly. His masked head turned this way and that in apparent bewilderment, which Luke -- as he generally did around his father -- fully shared. “Where are your belongings?”
Burned by stormtroopers two and a half years ago, Luke thought.
“I don’t have any,” he said. “Except this droid.”
Artoo wobbled forward, his sensors spinning. Man and droid considered one another for a moment.
“He’s a little unwieldy, but I’m not going anywhere without him,” Luke added. “He’s not an ordinary astrodroid -- without him, I’d probably have died years ago.”
Vader continued to gaze at Artoo. “I am . . . aware of this droid’s capabilities,” he said finally, and lifted his mask to stare at his son. “How did you find him?”
Luke hesitated, then shrugged. He didn’t suppose it mattered any more. “Uncle Owen bought him from some Jawas, and he turned out to be carrying the Death Star plans.”
“He what?”
“Leia smuggled him out. But you already know that,” Luke said, perplexed.
Artoo rolled a cautious foot forward, whirring up at Vader, who clasped his hands behind his back.
“I did not know it was this particular droid.”
Every conversation with Vader was a bizarre conversation, Luke thought, but this one might be the oddest yet. “You’ve . . . ah, met him before?”
“Of course I’ve met him,” Vader said impatiently. “I made him.”
Luke’s mouth dropped open. The droid burst into a beeping, grinding, whirring, screeching cacophony of sound that might have meant anything, but Luke felt certain would be best translated as What?! His own mind was furiously cycling between how and but and why until it settled on a complete thought: well, that explains a lot.
“You -- but then, how did Leia . . . oh.” He suspected it’d be unwise to mention the murdered best friend whose assassination had provoked Anakin Skywalker’s final step to becoming Darth Vader.
“Bring him with you,” said Vader, and turned on his heel, gesturing for them to follow him. Somehow, Artoo managed to look torn, his sensors swivelling between his former and present masters.
Luke resolved the little droid’s conflict by hurrying after his father, lifting Artoo over the last of the debris and into the shuttle. Once he’d buckled himself into the seat beside his father’s, the door slammed closed with a soft whoosh. Luke tried not to read it as a portent of doom.
Vader steered the shuttle without a moment’s error or hesitation, the Executor only growing more impossibly daunting as they drew nearer. Luke tore his awestruck gaze away from the miles and miles of starship, forcing himself to think about anything else, look at anything else. His eyes fell on the control panel of the shuttle, which seemed very much like any other control panel, on the wheel under his father’s gloved hands.
He could tell both hands were prosthetics, though it didn’t seem to have impaired Vader’s abilities any. It had taken Luke hours just to hold a stylus again.
Did Mother fly like this, or did I just get it from you? he thought. He couldn’t imagine mentioning his mother to Vader. There was something oddly taboo about Arissa and Amidala, who had once been Mama and Aunt Padmé to him, just as there was about Obi-Wan. It was as if Anakin’s fall had been so monumental that it had absorbed not only himself, but everyone he loved, warping their very existences -- Arissa’s, Amidala’s, Obi-Wan’s, Luke’s -- around the shell he’d left behind.
He’s just a person, Luke told himself. Everybody forgets that. But he’s not really anything more. Or less.
Vaguely, he wondered if the hands even looked normal under the gloves. Maybe; should Luke be wearing a glove over his? Was there some kind of cyborg protocol?
He couldn’t imagine asking about that, either.
Luke suppressed a sigh and returned his eyes to the Executor. He couldn’t help clenching his fists as it swallowed up the viewscreen, and then the entire shuttle, its tractor beam dragging them to a standstill in one of the undoubtedly numerous docking bays.
He and Artoo followed Vader off the shuttle and out of the bay, the droid emitting a nonstop string of worried beeps, and Luke trying not to itch his shoulders. If somebody did think of attacking him, he reminded himself, he’d sense it before it happened -- and besides, Vader would kill anyone who harmed him.
It wasn’t much comfort. He kept his eyes on his father, anyway, and tried not to act as if Rebel were emblazoned across his chest in huge blinking letters.
A very long walk, seven elevators, and no explanations later, Vader led Luke and Artoo into a dark, quiet room full of blinking screens and flickering holograms. It was empty except for one young man, who peered up at one of the screens and tapped something into his datapad.
The doors shut behind them, almost silently, and the man started before Luke could.
“Lord Vader, I didn’t -- ” he began, blinked once at Luke and Artoo, then returned his attention to Vader -- “have any success on Alzhei, so I decided I’d be of more use here and returned a few days earlier than you suggested.”
The man struck Luke as -- not familiar, exactly. He didn’t know him. But it seemed strange that he should be here. It also seemed strange that he should be alive, if he had a habit of defying Vader’s suggestions.
“There’s no need for subterfuge,” said Vader. “Luke, this is Daine Jir. He will be cooperating with you. I need to speak to my admirals.”
He swept out, and Jir extended his hand to Luke.
“Commander Skywalker. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”
Luke hesitated, then shook it. “Just Skywalker. I’ve resigned my commission.”
“Oh, I hadn’t heard that,” said Jir. “But it’s almost impossible to get good reports out of the Rebellion. Your people are very closed-mouth, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” Luke said, and glanced around the room. “What exactly do you do?”
“Whatever your father tells me to do,” Jir said cheerfully. “A bit of everything, really. I used to be a commander myself -- in the Starfleet, of course -- but once everybody assumed I’d been killed when you blew up the Death Star, it became useful for me to handle more delicate matters.”
“You’re a spy,” said Luke.
Jir laughed. “Among other things. So, I’m guessing Lord Vader’s brought you up-to-date, if we wants me helping you?”
“He’s told me about the Sun Crusher, if that’s what you mean. Is that what all this is about?” He waved his hand at the computers and holograms.
“We don’t know. The Emperor keeps most of his projects quiet, even the harmless ones, and anything on this scale is going to catch someone’s attention unless the components are constructed separately. So at this point, our information is . . . less than clear. It can be difficult to tell whether we’re looking at schematics for part of a star-destroying superweapon or plans for the Interplanetary Flower Festival.”
Luke walked over to the line of computers, examining the charts laid out on the screens. Most of them looked and felt unfamiliar, though he studied them anyway, ignoring Jir’s curious gaze. Halfway down the line, he stopped. “This one. What is it?”
“We’re not sure,” said Jir. “It’s still in the early stages. Some kind of base getting built out in the Alcar IV system -- you might not have heard of it, but -- ”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“Oh. Well, normally it’d be too minor to bother Lord Vader with, but the size of the shield projector is ridiculous for a base of that size. And hardly anyone’s talking, even by the usual standards. All I’ve heard is that there’ve been some problems with the construction of the base.”
“I’ve seen it before. I . . . what have they done about the Wookiees?”
“The natives?” Jir shrugged. “As far as I’ve heard, they’re friendly enough. Stay out of the way. A few of the higher-ups tried to blame them, but -- ”
“They’re going to build part of the Sun Crusher there,” Luke told him. “I’ll need to know everything about it.”
Jir briefly raised his eyebrows, but seemed less surprised than intrigued. Of course, years of service to Darth Vader probably would wear away the usual skepticism.
For the next twenty minutes, Luke stood with his fingers tapping against his arm, listening attentively to the spy. He had little concrete information -- just rumour and conjecture, and these rough plans. Even these were better than the next-to-nothing he’d had before, but Luke knew he’d need more. Perhaps he could use the data, however haphazard it might be, to guide his meditation. It’d only turned up a little, so far.
The doors slid open and Luke turned, in some relief, to face his father.
“My lord,” said Jir, unrelentingly chipper, “Co -- ah, Jedi Skywalker has determined that the Endor project is a construction site for the Sun Crusher.”
“Endor,” Vader repeated. He glanced at Luke, who gave a small nod. “Very well. You are dismissed, Jir.”
Jir bowed and marched out without the slightest attempt at unobtrusiveness. He was either a very bad spy, Luke thought, or a very good one. Given that he personally served Darth Vader and seemed in good health, the latter seemed rather more probable.
“I’ve seen hardly anything else,” Luke said immediately. “A few of the corridors, some of the engineers complaining. That’s all. I’ll try again with this, but -- ”
“We both will,” said Vader.
“Now?” Luke suppressed a cringe and gestured at the blinking machines. “I mean, here?”
“I have a room set apart for meditation. Follow me.”
At least this wasn’t especially menacing, as his father’s plans for him went. Also thankfully, the meditation chamber adjoined this room; Luke had half expected to spend another hour wandering about the ship.
The chamber was dominated by a pod -- hyperbaric, Luke assumed, and briefly wondered about the extent of his father’s injuries before adding it to the list of things he wouldn’t ask about under any circumstances.
Vader ignored the pod and strode towards a large window, which took up most of its wall and, at the moment, showed only the blackness of space. A thick mat, nearly as long as the window, had been placed in front of it.
Vader knelt on the mat and after a moment’s vacillation, Luke did the same thing. It was more comfortable than the swamp, anyway, he told himself, and tried not to consider what it might mean, sharing his legacy from his father with his father. Luke closed his eyes, forced himself to release his anxiety, and let go of conscious thought.
The Force nearly consumed him. Not even the Dark Side. The Living Force itself, clearer, more expansive, more powerful, just more, than he’d felt even at his most uncontrolled. But it wasn’t uncontrolled at all. Everything was sharp and crisp: less the vastness of a desert than of all its grains of sand, distinct and uncountable.
Luke’s eyes flew open, wide and unseeing, and he gasped for air, clinging to the Force even while he tried to keep himself from being absorbed into it. He was himself; he could feel Vader, separate-but-connected, here, even his command faltering a little before the onslaught, and then firming.
He focused his attention on the Sun Crusher -- or Vader did -- or they both did. It wasn’t important. Worlds spun before his eyes, and he found himself pulling the relevant out from the trivial with an alarmingly small exertion of effort; it was almost as if they were separating themselves out. For the first time, Luke felt not as if he were surrendering himself to the Force, struggling to guide its control over him, but directing it, commanding it.
He saw a system in the Middle Rim, a single star -- yellow dwarf -- four planets -- two gas giants, two terrestrial -- one an inhospitable red, one blue -- masses of water, enough to drown Tatooine -- a bright, refurbished facility of some kind.
Five more systems, five more suspicious bases, and then a small, forest-covered moon revolving around a massive planet -- Wookiees watching as Imperial cruisers flew overhead -- “distance may be too much,” said an officer to a number of others, who seemed to be subservient to him --
if he’s the commander, we’ll need to know --
The same officer sighed as a group of chief engineers talked about a near-explosion, adding, “Commander Llang, this location is almost impossible” -- stormtroopers glancing nervously over their shoulders -- an engineer in a baggy, crinkling suit putting a heavy helmet over his head, saying, “I’ll check for leaks here, here, and here,” jabbing his finger at a large, detailed schematic --
The low light of the meditation chamber washed over Luke’s vision. He blinked, taking a deep breath -- and realized that neither his nor his father’s had sped up at all. Their bodies didn’t seem to have registered the strain; they weren’t even tired. They could do it again, track down anything else they wanted, and they probably wouldn’t be tired then either. They could do --
Anything?
Join me, Vader had once said, and together, we can rule the galaxy as father and son.
He was right, if not in the way he’d meant. They could.