Internal Notions

So, with a sigh of defeat, he slowly lifted himself from the thin mattress, careful not to disturb the small woman sleeping next to him. Perhaps more so than everyone else, the Princess deserved her rest.

A cursory glance around revealed little else of interest, until his eyes came to rest on the empty cot next to the entrance. His brows furrowed with a dawning concern. It seemed he wasn't the only one having problems finding sleep that night.

Noiselessly, he stepped out of the hut and paused for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. His feet took him toward a larger, more open area at the edge of the settlement. Just distant enough to afford both a certain level of privacy as well as clear view of the sky above Endor. The very same space which had, until very recently, been occupied by the Empire's Second Death Star. And there, hunched over and dwarfed by the open space, sat the small figure of the other insomniac. Tousled dark-blond bangs covered his face; in his hands - one exposed, the other clad in its customary black glove - he cradled a long, metallic tube, almost longingly, reverently.

"Can't get a wink of sleep in those stuffy huts either, huh?"

The other man started, his eyes jerking to the new arrival.

"Oh, Han." he acknowledged simply before continuing. "Yeah, something like that."

Although bothered by the remnants of a strangely haunted look in the boy's eyes, Han decided to ignore the nagging worry and instead leaned casually against the wooden railing. A feat impossible for all but those immune to vertigo. He glanced up at the stars, the ghost of the battle station's silhouette casting an imaginary but palpable shadow.

"You're a hero, you know? You of all people deserve some rest."

The reply came quiet, barely audible.

"I'm no hero." Luke's words were laced with an emotion Han felt hard to place. "I…"

The smuggler turned to face his companion and raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

"Are you kidding me? You defeated Vader andthe Emperor. You more or less singlehandedly brought down the Empire!"

Han would have expected bashfulness, modesty - stars, even joy - but not the obvious twinge of pain contorting Luke's features. And even less he would have expected the confession accompanying them.

"I didn't, though."

There was a moment of confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't defeat the Emperor, Han." The small voice returned. For the briefest of moments, their eyes met, and Han was sure that, had the contact lasted longer, he would not have been able to bear its intensity. There was a pain in those blue eyes - now glassy and haunted by crimson shadows at their edges - a sadness so profound it seemed beyond consolation, beyond restoration. Han could only speculate at the source of such emotions, and the subsequent images constricted his throat, lending his voice the raspiness of the debilitated.

"What are you saying?"

The blue eyes avoided his this time, but the answer came nevertheless.

"It wasn't me, Han." There was a moment of quiet, even the creatures of the forest seemed to wait with bated breath, aware of the importance of the revelation ahead. "It was my father."

"Your father?" Han couldn't help but blurt out before the words even properly registered in his brain. "You just lost me, kid. Care to explain?"

If it was at all possible, Luke's already small frame collapsed even further, becoming almost too slight to support the shaking head.

"I don't know if I should." he muttered hesitantly. "Stars, I don't even know if I can…"

There was fear in those words, Han recognized. A fear that, once the truth was spoken, there would be no going back. That things would forever be changed between them.

Han adjusted his position, giving Luke more space while making sure not to distance himself further.

"Come on, Luke. We're basically family. Brothers. You're like a broody, awkward - need I mention slightly less handsome? - cousin twice removed." When nothing else did, that small jab earned him a smile. The tiniest, saddest of smiles, but a smile nonetheless. "Whatever you say, it won't change what I think of you."

Luke's eyes sought his for a moment, testing the veracity of his claim.

"I'll remind you of that…" Both voice and eyes seemed to say, even though there was less certainty in the latter.

Again, there was silence when Luke began to gather himself and the courage needed to say what must be said. When he spoke, his voice was low but calm and steady. The voice of someone far beyond the young Jedi's years, of one accustomed to hardship and suffering.

"When I first went to face Vader, I… I thought I could turn him. Bring out the good I felt in him."

"Good? In Darth Vader?"Again, Han found it hard to control himself, his disbelief bypassing his mind-to-speech filter.

"Please, Han…" Luke pleaded, asking to be allowed to finish before he lost the courage to do so. Raising his hands in apology, Han conceded. It was a while before Luke continued.

"I thought I could, but it wasn't– Iwasn't enough. I guess it started sinking in when Vader brought me to the Emperor. That was it. That’s when I finally realized there was no way I was walking out of that alive. But it didn't matter. It was the will of the Force, and I knew what I had to do."

Hearing how lightly the boy spoke of sacrificing himself, it took all of Han's self-control to keep from berating him then and there. To remind him of just how important he was to all of them, and just what he thought of a shoddy, ancient religious cult that sent its members on obvious suicide missions.

If Luke had picked up on any of those thoughts, he didn't show it and eventually continued.

"I might have learned since Bespin, but Vader was strong, and we fought relentlessly. My anger spurred me on… and my fear, knowing that all of you were walking into a trap down here. It gave me strength and… I injured him. I brought him to his knees in my rage."

A sigh escaped from the young man's lips, but it brought no relief. Only made way for that which was still to come.

"I almost fell, Han." He pressed out against an audible lump in his throat, fear reducing his voice to little more than a whisper. "I almost fell to the dark side."

"But you didn't." Han felt the need to point out, unsure of how else to reassure his friend. Helpless in the face of such powers at work.

"No. I couldn't." Luke conceded, although taking no pride in the achievement. "Not knowing what I would become. Having it right in front of me. Needless to say, the Emperor wasn't pleased…" A miniscule tremor overcame his hands as he likely recalled - relived- the moment. "Have you ever been electrocuted? It kind of feels like someone is liquifying your bones, and your muscles, your tendons…"

The shivers intensified, spread to his arms, torso and legs. An involuntary movement he likely never even noticed, so far removed from the moment was he, so caught up in reliving the events of the past days. Although in other moments he would be loath to admit it, Han felt the almost instinctive need to embrace his friend. To show him that he was there, that Luke was safe now, that no more harm would come to him. Never again. Not as long as Han had any say in it. But he restrained himself. He knew there was more that needed to be said. That all he had to do was listen. And so he did.

Before long, Luke continued.

"I pleaded with Vader. I begged him to help me. I never thought he would turn against his master; not really. But he did. Injured as he was, knowingthe Force lightning would kill him, he took hold of the Emperor and… 'disposed' of him.”

Han had been following the words attentively, but felt he was no closer to the revelation he had been led to expect.

“But didn't you say your father–”

“Vader is– wasmy father.” Luke interrupted in the smallest of voices cracking terribly halfway through the sentence, stunning Han into a momentary silence. The boy couldn't be serious about this, could he? The smuggler tried to catch a look at his companion's face, but found it hidden behind his tousled hair, steeped in shadows, unreadable.

“To be fair, the man who becameDarth Vader - Anakin Skywalker - was my father.” He clarified, his voice becoming less steady with every syllable, every fateful name. Every fresh, raw wound disturbed anew, an impossibly long way from healing.

Anakin Skywalker. Kenobi. The Hero With No Fear. Remnants of old memories long forgotten welled up in Han's mind, filling the gaps in half-formed theories and suspicions he had never consciously entertained. Not until now. And it actually made sense.

"Holy S–" A curse died in his throat as the implications caught up with him, his mind evaluating the new information against the background of all he had been told in the past few minutes. And there truly was no going back, he had to admit, as his heart both broke and grew for the boy at the same time.

"He was redeemed in the end, you know?" The small voice pulled him from his thoughts. "In his last moments, I got to see him. Truly see him for the first time. Without the helmet and mask. Not as Vader, but as myfather. He– I…” A small sob, the first of many, ravaged the boy, momentarily stole his words. “I couldn't save him, Han. I was so close. So close… He died in my arms…”

Han wasn't entirely sure if the sob escaped from his throat or that of the boy - or perhaps even both - but found he did not care. He hardly recognized his own voice anyway and welcomed the anonymity. Slowly, carefully, he sat down next to the young Jedi and placed a steadying hand on his shaking one.

“Luke…”

But there was more yet. More weight to add to a burden already so heavy it seemed far too weighty for any one man to bear.

“I took him with me. Down here, to Endor. Burned what was left of him.”

Han gave the boy's arm a comforting squeeze, feeling more inadequate than ever before in all his tumultuous life. In the back of his mind, he vaguely registered the fact of the Princess' involvement, the parentage of which she was likely still ignorant. To his own surprise, he found he wasn't bothered at all. How valid were his concerns, his suffering, when his friend had to endure so much more? How could he feel anything but compassion and the need to alleviate his sorrow?

“You said he was redeemed.” Han ventured, working the words around the lump in his own throat. “You saved the galaxy – and your father.”

A clipped, desperate laugh escaped Luke.

“Stars, I know!” As his voice gained in volume, it cracked even further, thick with tears and heavy with desolation. “I know he became one with the Force, but… I never got to know him. There's so much I wanted to ask; so much only he could have taught me. If only we'd had a little more time. Just a littlemore… I never even told him–“

Another sob racked his body and his gloved right hand flew to his eyes, shielding them as if the mere act could push back at the tears and return them to their origin.

Han forced himself to breathe and brought his arm around Luke's shoulders. How small they were, he realized with a sting of pain in his chest, how slight. How could they even hope to carry the burden placed upon them? Before his inner eye danced images from years ago, ages it seemed, of an innocent, sunburnt farmboy with wide eyes hungry for the wonders of the galaxy, a heart wide enough to hold compassion for all of its beings. How much of that had been lost, he wondered as he looked down first at the child at his side and then swept his gaze back up to the stars.

“If I know anything about the Force,” he ventured tentatively, “then your old man understands. Wherever he is now.”

Had Han not been listening closely, he likely would have missed the next words, small as they were, their immense weight keeping them from ringing far.

“I know… I just really miss him…”

A sad smile tugged at the corners of Han's lips as he turned slightly and opened his arms. Luke finally accepted the unspoken offer, his hands clutching at the smuggler's jacket in desperate need for support, for any sort of hold in a galaxy that seemed bent on toppling him.

And so they sat, not speaking another word, merely seeking and lending strength, comfort. Once nothing but strangers. Now far more.

Cousins. Brothers.

Closing his eyes in spite of the darkness, Darth Vader calmly exhaled into the super-oxygenated atmosphere of the hyperbaric chamber. Slowly, almost tentatively, he opened his mind to the force, bracing himself against the chaos his concussion had introduced into its fabric. While the strength of its effects was finally diminishing, they were still far from gone. Yet there was no reason for him to seek medical assistance - this was nothing he could not handle himself; he had - in fact - done so many times before.

All was calm, orderly, perfectly coordinated without any sense of urgency or even time itself. He willed the force to do his bidding while he himself fulfilled its wishes. In this perfect, natural symbiosis, a wider, more profound universe revealed itself to him - one that had always been so close, and yet just out of reach, like a word hanging on the tip of his tongue but never quite grasped, never correctly spoken. His mind had deepened, extended by the other, boundaries eradicated, walls torn down. Images welled up in the periphery of his perception, memories of days long past but hardly forgotten - crimson rivers of fire, their tongues licking at his flesh, cascades of silken curls dancing around delicately angled jawbones. Fleeting impressions of another life. His own? He was unsure. For a moment he considered seeking them out, reliving them, yet somehow he knew there would be pain, a reopening of wounds barely closed and he decided against it. Instead, he sent his crimson blade out once more, focused his intent on the whirling blur. The weapon soared and returned, again and again. The air hung heavy with dust.

From the far edges of the mind, a new sound intruded, rising in volume and urgency until it could no longer be ignored.

“Sir!”

And all at once, it was over. As the force withdrew and reinstated the material world, Luke roughly crashed to his knees, wheezing, panting heavily. His right side was afire, its flames stoked with every hungry breath he took. Gasping, he watched as his father’s sable figure rushed past him toward the generator’s entrance. Following the long strides with his eyes, his mind finally went back to work, trying to make sense of the situation. What in the worlds was happening? What had happened? He had been one with the force, suddenly, so much deeper than ever before, and… his father had been with him, hadn’t he? He vaguely recalled the sensation of a mind joining his, melding with it.

His reveries were brought to an immediate end when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Glancing up, he recognized Chatter, his white armor plating streaked with new signs of battle, his face, unprotected, covered in grime.

“You okay?” It was only then that he noticed the concerned look.

For his guardian’s sake, Luke tried at a grin that he was sure was coming out much more like a grimace.

“I think so," he ventured, “At least no worse than before… whatever that was.”

Chatter gave a short laugh. “Be damned if I know, but it sure was impressive!”

A profound silence fell over the duo as Luke glanced around himself, taking in the multitude of dead bodies around them - bodies that had evidently fallen to a lightsaber, his, as likely as not. His stomach lurched at the carnage, and still he hardly remembered committing it.

“We should get going. Can you get up?”

Luke tore his eyes from the violent sight and, giving a quick nod, instead stared at his hands. The cool, smooth handle of his blade was still clutched in his left.

“Sir!”

The sound of that simple word he had heard so often before returned his mind to him at once. It reinstated mental boundaries previously eradicated, brought back a sense of the material world with breathtaking suddenness.

Vader’s mind reeled, almost overwhelmed by what had come to pass so unexpectedly.

A battle meld, no doubt. Something he had not experienced in decades, not since…

He banished the unbidden thoughts from his mind. Thoughts of his former mentor, of the war. Of camaraderie. Of a previous existence he had deemed past and forgotten, yet which seemed to have made a habit of returning to haunt him with increasing frequency.

No, this was different. It had been far deeper, far more complete than anything he had known before. Not once had he come even close to the utter loss of a sense of self which had overcome him just moments ago. Not once had his mind become so completely merged with that of another.

Briefly his gaze strayed to the boy.

There was no doubt that their relationship as father and son, their bond, had a part to play in this. How else could someone as untrained as his son, no matter how immense his potential, accomplish such a feat?

A strange sensation overcame him, constricting his throat and forcing his iron lung to heave in effort. Quickly, he averted his gaze from the small form of the boy to calm his breathing.

In a meld so complete, so limitless… what had he experienced? What had the boy seen? There had certainly been nothing to stop him from discovering even the most well protected secrets of the Dark Lord’s mind, those most deeply buried.

Had he truly become so weak as to be unable to protect even his own mind? Had the boy gained such sway over him?

Absentmindedly, Vader balled his hands into fists, grimed leather screeching in protest. He could not be weak, not now. Not when he was so close. Not when so much was at stake. Control. He needed to regain control.

“Sir, we’re in!”

Without venturing another glance at his son, Vader set into motion and made his way to the bunker, his path littered with countless fallen bodies. Cauterized stumps and wounds stood out clearly to him, but he decided to pay them no mind. To not ponder their implications.

As he arrived at the structure, the Dark Lord instinctively glanced around his troops in inspection. While most sported blaster burns and other minor injuries, none seemed to be incapacitated or otherwise seriously inconvenienced.

Good. Very good.

Hurriedly, he made his way inside, joining his Commander and Captain at the controls. The latter was already busying himself with attempting to splice the console, apparently with little luck.

“Blast! They’ve got some first rate encryption here.”

“Why don’t we just use charges? That should take care of it.” Luke suggested, still panting, wheezing even - the boy must have hurried in after him.

Vader briefly regarded him, noticed how he leaned heavily on the trooper - the Lieutenant-Commander - supporting him. It was little surprise that the boy should be exhausted, yet the audible laboriousness of his breathing and the grayness spreading across his face caused a wave of concern in the father. His son clearly needed medical treatment, and Vader would make sure that he would soon receive it. It was only a matter of moments now.

“We will certainly not blow up this building," he answered finally, “It would be a senseless act of destruction; we need yet to investigate the origin of such unreported technology on this planet.”

Had there been more blood left in the boy’s face, he might have blushed at the comment, but with things as they were, he simply emitted a brief “Oh, right”.

Vader returned his attention to the Captain.

“What are our chances of successfully bypassing the encryption within in the next few minutes?”

The trooper took only the briefest of moments to answer.

“Close to nil, I’m afraid. Without assistance from the flagship or at least an astromech, hacking through the different layers would take a couple of hours, minimum.”

The Dark Lord emitted a sound of annoyance. A couple of hours… time they did not have, he pondered with a sideways glance across the ashen face of his son. The boy might not be in any immediate danger - or so he hoped at least - but he needed medical treatment nevertheless. Every minute he had to spend in an active war zone in a condition like that was one too many. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Step away from the console, Captain," he commanded, his right hand slipping to the hilt of the weapon fastened to his belt. Within a few strides, he had reached the alcove containing an access point to the power core and opened the hatch. The small room instantly filled with a cerulean pulsation lending everything an almost calm air.

Just as unhurriedly, Vader thumbed the activation switch on his lightsaber’s handle to bring forth the blood-red blade with a deep hiss. From his periphery, he heard a faint, hesitant “But, father…” as he brought the weapon up and then rapidly pushed it down, forcing it past shielding, wiring and into the power core itself. Tendrils of energy licked upward and into the handle, the blade’s vibrations growing arrhythmic, chaotic until eventually, it extinguished, alongside the penetrated core.

Around the small group, the bunker was plunged into a sudden darkness.

“Any news on the planetary shields, Lieutenant?’ Piett enquired, stepping onto the bridge, his voice betraying his impatience.

“Nothing, Sir," came the swift reply.

“What about long-range communications?”

“Modulating against the shield frequencies is proving more difficult than anticipated.”

“Any timeframe?”

“Hard to say. A couple of hours at least.”

Piett swore under his breath. He was simply tired of hearing nothing but one negative report after the other for hours on end. If there were many more, if there was no viable progress soon… Shaking his head, he dispelled images of plunging the very Executor itself through those blasted planetary shields. As commanding officer, he needed to remain calm and in control if there was to be any hope of salvaging the current situation. And his life, for that matter.

The Admiral’s eyes wandered to one of the tactical displays outlining various bits of key information regarding the current operation. It had been almost 72 hours since Lord Vader’s shuttle had crash-landed, close to 24 since the rescue team had made contact. And in all that time, there had been no information except for the signal flares. A lot of time for something to happen, for something to go wrong. Of course, Piett was confident in Vader’s ability to handle any difficult situation thrown at them - his commander was more than simply capable - and yet he could not help a growing sense of unease. There were wounded among their party, and for all he knew Lord Vader’s son, still suffering from previously inflicted and barely healed injuries, might be one of them. And although it was a thought fearsome enough in itself, it was not only that he had to except and weather Lord Vader’s wrath if something were to happen to the boy. The Emperor himself had made quite clear that he was to retrieve him and return him to Imperial Center - preferably without any permanent damage.

In a different situation, Piett might have taken a moment to stop and marvel in awe at how far he had come, how close to the very heart of the Empire he was. Yet presently, such thoughts elicited only a dry, cynical chuckle. Promotions be damned. Patrol duty on Tatooine did not sound all that bad right now.

“Sir, we’re detecting an anomaly in the planetary shields!”

The announcement immediately tore him from his thoughts and sent him rushing over to the Lieutenant-Commander who was hurriedly checking and rechecking the readouts of the Executor’s scanners.

“What is it, Lieutenant-Commander?”

“A section of the shields is dimming," he answered without looking up from his screen, “The structural integrity is being compromised. We should be able to get through.”

Not wasting a moment, his mind instantly working in overdrive, Piett turned from the screen.

“Notify all troops on standby. Have them ready for deployment on my order.”

“Yessir!”

“Lieutenant, open a channel to Lord Vader’s party.”

“Channel open, Sir.”

Piett took a deep breath to steady his voice before finally initiating contact.

“Executor to shuttle crew, do you read me? I repeat: Executor to shuttle crew, do you read me?”

It took a moment for the reply to come, but when it finally did, Piett felt almost relieved. But only almost.

“Shuttle crew here, reading you loud and clear, Executor.”

An exhale.

“Give me a status report. What’s your situation?”

“Under control. We took down one of those shield generators, but we could use some reinforcements.” There was a rustling in the connection, muffled voices. “Passing the comm to Lord Vader.”

Piett swallowed involuntarily.

“Lord Vader-”

Yet he was cut short by the mechanical rasping crossing the connection.

“No time for formalities, Admiral. Deploy reinforcements immediately. Our intel was regrettably lacking; the Clawdite faction has weaponry that is far more sophisticated than we anticipated.”

“Understood, Mylord.”

“And send sufficient medical supplies. We have several injured among the original crew, my son among them. I want him to transported back to the flagship for treatment immediately. I will transmit our coordinates for a pickup.”

With a click, the connection closed, making the sudden quiet of the bridge even more obvious. A quiet that needed but a few words to be readily transformed into a hectic bustle of activity.

“You heard your commander. Get our troops ready - let’s give them a show, shall we?”

“Alright, course for Tatooine… set.” Han announced, accentuating the final word with a flick of the autopilot’s activation switch. Leaning back in his chair, he was intent enjoying this first - and easiest - part of their journey before things would undoubtedly become more complicated - after all, Mos Eisley was still under strict Imperial scrutiny. Yet as so often, things did not go quite as planned.

“May I repeat, Captain Solo, that I have strong misgivings about returning to Tatooine. While I certainly share your eagerness to be reunited with Master Luke, I simply cannot forget the trouble we faced on our most recent visit.” The tinny voice of C-3PO droned on and on as the golden droid gesticulated wildly to underline his displeasure.

Han sighed.

“Princess, remind me again why we brought him?”

Leia briefly glanced up from the datapad she had been studying since takeoff - and even before.

“He insisted," she responded, earning a nod as well as verbal agreement from the protocol droid.

“Of course I insisted. I am very worried for Master Luke. The Maker only knows what trouble that stubby little bucket of screws has gotten him into this time!”

This strange appraisal of the situation earned him a loud guffaw from the Wookiee.

“Gotta agree with you on that, buddy," Han smirked in response without enlightening the rest of the company on the true content of Chewbacca’s comment. “Right now, though, Tatooine’s our best bet. It’s the last place we know for sure the kid has been, and has some sort of connection to. Well, save for the core, that is," and after receiving an unreadable scowl from the Princess, added, “but let’s not revisit that avenue, shall we?”

With a sigh, Leia put down the datapad, giving up all attempts of pretence at being able to concentrate on its contents.

“This would be so much easier if we knew more about Luke and his past, his family. Anything. But I didn’t even bother to ask him.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Princess," Han tried to stifle her attempts at self rebuke. “Was hardly any time for that anyway. I vaguely remember you being busy running a tiny operation called… What was it again? The ‘Rebellion’?!”

Leia shot him one of her customary looks, raising a single eyebrow at him.

“You’re not as funny as you think yourself to be, you know?”

“Hey, we all have our talents," Han shrugged, accompanied by Chewie’s amused throaty chuckle, “and I happen to know many women who consider me very funny.”

The Princess’ glare made yet another appearance before Leia decided to return to more serious and pressing matters.

“Hidden… talents aside… are we sure we’re not overlooking anything? Forgetting anything?”

“Can’t think of anything I haven’t told you,” Han replied. “All I know are the few scraps the kid dropped every now and then. Didn’t talk too much about his aunt and uncle; I guess the loss was still too fresh.” Han threw a glance at Leia, aware that she was in a similar situation, had not only lost her family but her whole home planet, had been forced to witness the entire event firsthand. But at least she’d had a place, somewhere she belonged and could find support - not that she would admit to needing it, of course. Even now she put on a strong face, so he continued, albeit hesitantly. “Luke would mostly go on about his father, how he was a great pilot, a noble Jedi Knight. He once told me that, when he was little, he kept imagining that his dad would show up some day and just take him away on his ship.”

Leia hummed in thought.

“Understandable. Even if a little innocent.”

Han gave a dry chuckle.

“Yeah, just like Luke. Of course that was way before Kenobi told him all about Vader. Wasn’t easy for him, learning that the father he’d put on a pedestal for so long was dead. I’m not sure he was ever really able to let go of that fantasy of his. But he’d swear he’d get revenge on Vader. Never seen him more serious than when he talked about that.”

The Princess’ face darkened, her own confrontations with the Dark Lord still fresh in mind.

“And now that monster is exploiting Luke’s ache for a family to delude him, to use him for his own purposes… We must put an end to that.”

“Couldn’t agree with you more, Princess,” Han nodded, his face equally grim, devoid of his customary smirk. “And we’ll take our first steps toward that on Tatooine. It’s not the biggest, most densely inhabited planet around. People know each other in those places. Even if the Imps have wiped the registries, somebody’s bound to know something.”

Within moments of cutting communication lines with the Executor, Darth Vader witnessed the skies above Zolan darken with the shapes of a multitude of Imperial ships, their engines laboring, emitting thunderous roars filling the entire atmosphere. The electric blue of thrusters, afterburners and compensators harshly cut through the haze of civil war and illuminated battleground after battleground. Bodies lay upon bodies, some half-emerging from the craters of bombs dropped with little precision but greater impact. War was never kind, yet had decided to show one of its uglier faces here.

Well, there would not be war for much longer, Vader mused while observing the steady influx of ships, their angled bodies dispersing over the vicinity. Apparently, Piett had decided to make a show of force, a decision the Dark Lord approved of greatly. He would make sure to properly thank the Admiral later.

Whirling up the blood-stained dust around the small group surrounding Lord Vader, a dropship lowered itself to the ground and, before even touching down, expelled a wave of soldiers in gleaming armor yet untouched by fighting and struggle. One of the Stormtroopers hurried over to Darth Vader while others immediately went to check on the remaining shuttle crew, carefully eyeing injuries and dispensing bacta patches and painkillers.

The Commander addressing Vader gave a brisk salute.

“Sir, IDT Delta-621 at your service.”

“Very good,” Vader responded, “Your arrival was much anticipated. What’s the situation?”

“The Clawdites’ advance was slowed by local pockets of bad weather, but invasion of the capital eventually took place at 0300 local time. The fighting is not letting up, civilians are getting involved. Still the leaders refuse to meet for any form of negotiation.”

An annoyed rumble escaped Vader’s throat. Then it was as bad as he had expected. It seemed his work on this planet was not quite over yet.

“Get me transport to the capital, Commander. Perhaps my presence can expedite matters.” But before the trooper could make to fulfil his order, a gloved hand rose to halt him in his tracks. Vader turned around to where his son was receiving medical treatment for his injuries and called over the trooper keeping close watch next to him - Chatter, the one with whom the boy had quickly formed a bond of natural, uncomplicated companionship.

“Lord Vader.”

“Lieutenant-Commander, I want you to accompany my son back to the flagship and see that he receives adequate medical care. I task you with his safety until I return from the capital. You are not to leave his side.”

Chatter glanced over at Luke for a moment but quickly nodded.

“Of course, Sir. He’s in no state to remain planetside. I will take him right away.”

Watching the trooper return to his son’s side, Vader prepared himself for the argument he knew would come as soon as the young one learned that he would have to leave his father’s side. The boy was, after all, prone to disapproving of his decisions, regardless of how sensible and well-founded they were. Defiance was one of a Skywalker’s strongest traits, almost impossible to suppress - especially when, in the boy, it had been even further enriched by her iron will.

All that in mind, he was even more surprised to see his son listen to his companion and simply nod in reply. Nod. Agreement. No agitation, no strong words, no accusing glare at his father. Just a nod. This simple fact bothered the Dark Lord even more deeply than the obvious laboriousness with which his son proceeded to stand up and lean on Chatter. Something was clearly amiss when he acted so out of character, and somehow Vader suspected that it had little to do with his physical state.

Don’t act so innocent, you know what’s happening, the darkness whispered inside his mind, once again taunting him, returning in a moment when easy answers were not to be had, and more difficult ones not wanted. He just doesn’t want to be near you.

Vader tried to silence the insidious voices, focussed on his son’s hobbling procession, but the dark was not so easily dispelled.

Have you forgotten that he’s been inside your mind? What do you think he witnessed there? I’m sure you have asked yourself that question.

Of course he had, the Dark Lord had to admit grudgingly, almost as soon as the mind meld had been over. He had feared the reality of what had happened to his son’s consciousness during their connection, still feared the possibility that he might have delved into memories to which he should never have become witness.

How could he not? The darkness whispered, a breath more than a voice but still clearly understood. A mind so innocent as his, so untainted. There is so much it does not yet comprehend. And what we cannot understand we fear, we loathe.

Unable to smother the whispers, Darth Vader simply stood quietly, watching the boy and his guardian walk past and step onto the boarding ramp of the dropship to eventually vanish inside its gray shell. Not a word was spoken between father and son, no glance exchanged. As the ship lifted itself from the ground and quickly accelerated out of view, his iron lung rasped, sinking deeper and deeper into a chest no longer able to bear the weight and accommodate the device. In its place it left nothing, a black hole tugging at the seams of the battered form, trying to finally unravel it fully, irreparably.

It was not for a few moments that he was able to free himself from his dark musings and return his body to normal operation. Yet even as he joined the Commander and entered his own transport headed for the capital, the sinister voices stayed with him, harassed the tortured mind in the broken body.

And what we cannot understand

we fear

we loathe.

As the shuttle made contact with the durasteel floor upon setting down inside the Executor’s main hangar, Luke emitted an involuntary groan. The rocking motion made his left hand fly to gently cover his injured ribs. Despite all the painkillers he had been given before boarding, the stinging wouldn’t stop, forcing his breath into a hectic rhythm of shallow in- and exhales.

Maybe he was just getting so used to medication that he had started developing a resistance, Luke feared half-heartedly. If that was the case then he’d have to seriously rethink his approach to life - and that was something he wasn’t willing to do until he was much, much older.

A gentle touch on his shoulder brought him back from this thoughts, and he glanced up into the worried face of Chatter.

“You okay, Luke?” he asked, honestly concerned.

The boy nodded.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Chatter almost grinned at the flawed evaluation of his charge’s physical state.

“Sure you are. In any case, we should be getting off.”

Once more leaning heavily against the trooper, Luke heaved himself out of the chair and pulled himself into a slightly hunched standing position, beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead from the exertion.

“Sure, you’re fine,” he heard Chatter mutter under his breath as the two of them slowly made their way to the back of the shuttle and down the lowered boarding ramp.

At its foot they were greeted by Admiral Piett, a pair of Stormtroopers and a medical officer pushing a hover chair. They saluted almost simultaneously, making Luke feel surprisingly exposed and well out of place.

“It is good to see you return without any further complications, Master Luke,” the Admiral commented genuinely, mustering the flicker of a relieved smile before noticing Luke’s strange posture and ashen color. With the wave of a hand, he ordered the medical officer to come forward. “I will have you brought to the medbay this instance. Please,” he added, motioning toward the chair.

Despite all his discomfort, Luke managed a disapproving scowl, looking back and forth between the hover chair, the Admiral and Chatter.

“Is that really necessary? I can just walk.”

While Chatter simply awarded him a disbelieving snort and shake of the head, Piett put his objection into words.

“I must insist, I’m afraid,” he stated, and in explanation, added, “Your father has given clear instructions to take no further risk of aggravating your injuries.”

With a sigh, Luke resigned himself to his fate.

“Guess the old man wins this one,” he muttered as he carefully sank down into the cushions of the hover chair and, with about as much indifference as he could muster, bore the indignity of being carted off to the medbay.

A dull thud echoed through the small makeshift interrogation room as Darth Vader’s gloved fist slammed onto the top of the metallic table.

“I am not satisfied with your answer,” his voice thundered, infinitely too loud for the small space, and the eardrums of the scowling Clawdite sitting in cuffs. “I demand to know why you attacked my son and took his form. Who gave the order?”

If the Clawdite was impressed or even fearing for his life, he was quite adept at not showing it. His face remained neutral, unmoved.

“I already said I don’t know anything about that.”

Vader’s right hand curled into a fist.

“And I know you are lying,” he roared furiously as the other man’s hands flew to his collar to grasp at an unseen assailant. “You will answer me now, or never talk again.”

Finally realizing that his life was truly at stake as stars began to dance before his eyes from the lack of oxygen, the Clawdite emitted a raspy “Alright, alright.”

Almost in disgust at the man’s meekness, Vader eased his grip and saw the other slump in his chair.

“Speak,” he commanded, allowing no argument.

After a few gasps, the voice returned, albeit raspy.

“The order came from off-planet. Our people were to observe the boy, make contact with him and eventually detain him. The priority was to keep him alive so he could be used to bargain with you.”

“That is obviously not how I remember it.”

“Things went wrong,” the Clawdite added hastily after Vader’s interjection. “There was a fight, plans had to be changed.”

“Please do elaborate,” Vader insisted, once more raising his right hand to let the detainee know what fate awaited him if he decided not to cooperate.

Apparently, though, the man possessed at least some sense of self preservation.

“When our men tried to detain him, the boy and his troopers became suspicious and opened fire. They were much more of a challenge than we anticipated, and only one of our men made it out alive. He called in to report and then went to meet up with you.”

The mere mention of that confrontation which had taken place only hours ago served to further incite the Dark Lord. Never would he forget his own helplessness against the monstrosity which had the audacity to wear his son’s face. Never would he fail to recall the bottomless fear spreading in his chest at the realization of how much sway the boy held over him. The boy who now likely rejoiced in their separation.

And what we cannot understand, we fear, we loathe.

Vader shook off the thought, muted the echo in his mind.

“I am well aware of the outcome of the situation,” he commented instead, and once more tried to steer the discussion in a more productive, informative direction. “How did you get the information necessary for impersonating the boy?”

The Clawdite shrugged, the cuffs around his wrists scraping against the tabletop.

“It came with the order.  A whole package. Pictures, vids, holos. Anything we needed.”

Vader would have growled had the vocabulator been able to translate such a sound.

“I hate to repeat myself: Who gave you the package? Who gave the order?”

“I swear, all I know is that it came from off-planet. No-one ever met the contractor; it was all anonymous.”

Inside his mask, Vader gritted his teeth. Off-planet, anonymous… It was all they harped about. This was getting him nowhere.

“Please, I…”

With an impatient flick of the wrist, the Sith extinguished the man’s consciousness and watched in disgust as the form slumped into a boneless heap.

‘Anonymous’, ‘off-planet’, ‘I don’t know’… Vader was getting increasingly annoyed at the situation. No matter how many detainees he interrogated, the answers remained the same: hollow, senseless. Be it on the topic of the planetary shields and weaponry which should not exist or regarding the assault on his son, he was unable to learn anything beyond the fact that some off-world contractor was involved. Money seemed to have been no obstacle and had easily enticed the already excitable Clawdites into moving against their Zolander cousins. Money and war always went hand in hand. War was, after all, a most profitable business.

And still it made no sense to him. The basics of the conflict were easy enough to understand: a ‘defective’ race, suppressed for ages, finally saw its chance of revenge against their ‘superior’ oppressors, fighting to reclaim the position they believed to deserve. It was a plot which played itself out on many worlds each day.

Yet the particulars of this variation of the story set it off from the rest. And while his men were now working with Zolander and Clawdite authorities to rectify the situation and reinstate some form of order, Vader himself had pursued answers to those questions. Questions which, if his intuition had not betrayed him, were of far greater importance than the mere struggle between two related species.

Steadying himself against the table, he fought off a sudden onset of vertigo, undoubtedly a remnant of the concussion which still refused to leave him be. Immediately, his own injuries reminded him of those plaguing his son, and his thoughts traveled to the boy. He had not yet tried to make contact through the force, simply could not bring himself to do so while unsure of the boy’s feelings toward him. If he had truly spied something through their bond, invading his mind would be a most inadvisable route to take.

And yet he could not simply ignore his son. Curiosity and, yes, even fear regarding his physical condition had been nagging at him ever since their separation. Feelings that demanded to be satisfied. And best to do so in person, Vader decided.

His interrogators could take over now. He was sick and tired of hearing the same talk of an anonymous, off-planet contractor anyway, he mused as he walked past the Clawdite’s lifeless body.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t be getting your wrist treated first?” Luke asked from where he was sitting on the bed, shooting his companion a worried look.

But Chatter easily dismissed his question with a wave from his healthy hand.

“Naw, it can wait until you’re properly settled in here. Plus, your father would kill me if I let out of my sight and something happened.”

Luke was about to give a reply along the lines that he would never let that happen when 2-1B returned, scanner in ‘hand’, ready to finally begin the examination. While running the device up and down the boy’s body, he addressed him in that strangely familiar voice.

“Sir, please reiterate the events which lead to your current physical condition.”

“Well…,” Luke started, the act of focussing and remembering the events being much more of an effort than he would have liked, “First, there was the shuttle crash. I guess I hit something when we went down. And then some time later, we had to fight some Clawdites. One of them kicked me right in the ribs.”

2-1B barely looked up as he addressed Chatter.

“Was there any loss of consciousness?”

The trooper nodded.

“He was out cold for a while right after that.”

“I see,” the droid commented and turned back to his patient. “Would you please describe your symptoms?”

Luke hesitated. Listing all of his issues made him feel like he was complaining, and Uncle Owen had instilled in him such a strong sense of boys and men having to be strong that he had not been able to shake it since his childhood.

“Well, go on,” Chatter urged him.

“Let’s see… There’s the pain from the bruise, of course, but that could be worse. There’s also stinging from the ribs and breathing isn’t getting easier either. I’m out of breath pretty quickly.”

“Tightness of the chest?”

Luke nodded. “Yeah, especially if I move too much.”

Intently studying the portable scanner, the droid ran the device over the right side of Luke’s ribcage once again.

“What is it? Anything wrong?” the latter inquired.

“I am afraid you are suffering from an advanced case of traumatic pneumothorax.” 2-1B stated calmly.

“Which means…?”

“A collapsed lung due to some form of trauma,” Chatter provided helpfully, his face lined with worry.

“Quite so,” the medical droid commented and launched into a more detailed explanation. “The kick you mentioned broke your previously injured ribs and shifted them, causing a fragment to puncture your right lung. This caused the air to escape from the lung and enter the space between the organ and the chest wall, at the same time preventing it from re-inflating.”

Still processing the information, Luke let out a thoughtful “Huh” as he glanced from his exposed chest to the scanner and back. “That doesn’t sound so good.”

From Chatter, a muttered “Understatement of the year” filled the small gap of silence before Luke continued. “So what do we do? Let me guess, full bacta immersion?” he finished with a scowl.

“Eventually, yes,” 2-1B supplied. “But first the air needs to be removed from your chest cavity so the lung can re-expand. In a case as advanced as this, employing a chest tube would be advisable.”

Not familiar with the finer details of medical procedures beyond stitching wounds and setting bones, Luke was at a loss. It definitely didn’t sound like something he’d appreciate though.

“So what’s gonna happen?”

“In a first step, I will perform surgery to put the chest tube in place. First, I will administer an anesthetic. Once it has taken effect, I will make a small incision between your ribs and through it insert the tube into the pleural space. The tube will then be attached to a small vacuum pump which will facilitate the removal of air, eventually allowing the re-expansion of the lung.”

“So… in and out in an hour?” Luke tried. The medbay was hardly one of his favorite places, and in the past weeks he had already spent much more time in here than he would have liked.

“I am afraid not, Sir. The process of removing the air and inflating the lung will take several days, during which the tube will need to remain in place. Constant medical observation is required throughout the course of the treatment to avoid infection and other complications. Once the lung has regained close to full functionality, we will begin the bacta immersion. Overall, I project a duration of five to seven days, assuming there will be no complications.”

Luke groaned. Five to seven days! A whole week! Another week he’d have to spend stuck in medbay. Another week lost - he’d never get anywhere like this, not with his training, and certainly not with his father. Quite the opposite: he was sure Vader would be mad at him, just like he always was when Luke managed to get himself injured - whether it was his fault or not. And this time, he would most likely be even more furious, considering Luke had snuck onto the shuttle and gotten himself into the whole mess in the first place. And then there was also the whole mind meld business. He could practically see the gloved finger pointing at him already.

As if he were reading Luke’s thoughts, Chatter suddenly chimed in.

“We should notify Lord Vader.”

Luke’s head immediately shot up, earning him a ballet of stars in his vision.

“No, not now. He’s too busy. I’m sure he has more important things on his mind right now.”

Chatter frowned.

“Are you sure? I’m pretty certain your father would want to know what’s happening.”

“Yeah, I’m sure, wouldn’t want to bother him. He’s needed down on the planet. Besides, there’s nothing he could do anyway.” Having made up his mind, Luke turned from the trooper to 2-1B. “Let’s just get this over with. The sooner we start, the sooner I can get out of here.”

Clutching the datapad in his left hand, Darth Vader strode through the corridors of the Executor. Bad news always brought company, he had learned. And that knowledge had been reaffirmed when, upon his return to the flagship, Admiral Piett had taken him aside to inform him of a new development. One that, granted, he had expected, but which could not have come at a more inopportune time.

Shoving the unpleasant thought aside, Vader decided to focus on more immediate matters, more important ones. It was time to finally check on his son.

Soon, he reached the medbay where, he had been informed, the boy was currently being treated for his injuries. Still wary of how he would react to his presence, Vader stalled for a moment before finally crossing the threshold and entering the medical facility. For a short time, he felt a sense of disorientation and confusion at the absence of both a medical droid and the trooper he had tasked with watching over the boy. Anger began to well up inside of him until he finally noticed the small form lying in a bed beyond a pane of transparisteel, and all of his breath was knocked out of him, all traces of rage at once eradicated.

That was undoubtedly his son - there was no way he would ever mistake him for anyone else - but… it couldn’t be.

The Dark Lord stood, unmoving, his eyes fixated on the figure in the bed. His body uncovered above the waist, the exposed torso was a topographic map of abuse with hardly an inch of skin betraying its original color. From the right side of the ribcage, a kind of catheter emerged and fed an unfamiliar device mounted near the head of the bed. The tube was joined by another, smaller one attached to the boy’s nose, providing him oxygen.

Although the urge to turn around and flee, to forget what he had seen and ignore the truth, was mounting, Vader took a step closer to his son, still unable to take his eyes off him, no matter how much he longed to.

It does look familiar, doesn’t it? The dark whispers chimed in once more, mocking, again drawing attention to details the Dark Lord would rather overlook. He’s turning out to be quite like you. Your very image.

No. Vader balled his hands into fists, the servos in the artificial limbs protesting against the pressure. His son might be like him in many ways, might share many of his skills and traits, but in that way, the boy would never be like him. Would never become like him. He would do everything in his power to spare his son such a fate.

You speak as if you still have a choice, the whispers sneered. Look closely… Can you not see it? He is like his father, and he will fall like his father.

“No.” Vader growled, hardly able to suppress his dread, to contain his rage.

“Sir?”

The voice caused the Sith Lord’s head to snap into its direction. Without him noticing, his son’s guardian had returned, his broken wrist covered in a fresh splint. But Vader barely noticed.

“What is the meaning of this?” he hissed venomously, gesturing toward his son’s unconscious form.

Chatter threw a quick glance at the boy before returning his attention to his superior officer.

“Your son suffered a collapsed lung, Sir. He just underwent surgery to have a chest tube put in place to fix the problem.”

His lung…

See? Just like his father.

“Why was I not informed?”

“Luke decided that he did not want to trouble you.” Chatter replied truthfully.

The Dark Lord returned his attention to the unmoving form of his son. Trouble him? His son should know better than to think he would bother him. He did know better. Another small detail which seemed only to confirm his earlier suspicions. The boy had to have seen something. There could be no other explanation.

What we cannot understand, we fear. We loathe, the whispers echoed once more, their breathy murmurings taunting, almost gleeful. And now for him to turn into that which he has come to loathe. It’s tragic, isn’t it? Such an innocent child, so easily ruined…

“Luke should wake up soon. I’m sure he’d appreciate seeing his father when he does.” The trooper’s voice mingled with the hum of the dark side, unable to penetrate it, and was ultimately drowned.

If only you had been stronger. You might just have protected him, saved him. But then again, you were never able to do that, were you? You never could save the ones you loved.

Without any further explanation, the Dark Lord turned on his heel and fled the medbay, hoping he might flee from the voices as well. Although he had come to know better.