#post-anh

But the inertia of the moon’s gravity began to sink the X-wing down into the atmosphere, causing the damaged ship to zoom straight down by the nose. Guess we’re doing this, Luke thought to himself, licking his lips as he tried to maneuver the ship upwards to the best of his ability.

“I know, Artoo! I know! Let me concentrate!”

Luke braced for impact as he saw the chalky grey texture of the wasteland below, hoping that he could save the two of them from an imminent explosion. Keep pulling up; pull up! Don’t let the nose go straight down! Just as the ship began to recover, the damaged wing struck the side of a large rock formation, separating it from the cockpit, and spinning it horizontally instead of vertically.

The force of the impact was so great that Luke’s head slammed into the side panel of the cockpit; the helmet took the brunt of the hit, shattering the glass of his vizor, slightly cutting into the area below his eye. Luke’s vision glazed as he rocked back, a loud white noise filling his ears as he uselessly watched the X-wing dwindle down to the surface, unable to react as the other wing was soon torn to shreds – if it weren’t for the constant ringing in his ears, Luke would have noticed the loud wind that he was now exposed to as the hull began to shutter, as well as the exasperated cries of Artoo.

Images of his own death flashed before his eyes, his blue eyes staring straight ahead in a stupor, blinking autonomously. This was it; this was how Luke Skywalker, the last of the Jedi, would end. As he took one last breath, he found himself ejected from the cockpit, tearing into a dislodged panel, and flying out into open air. A stabilizing pack strapped to his uniform allowed him to avoid death, looking up as Artoo flew into the air himself; the droid must have saved them both.

As Luke raised his hand to his friend, looking on with a smile at their miraculous survival, his head crashed into the side of a rock, where everything soon went dark.

Beep.

Oh, his head.

Beep, boop-boop. Beep?

What… where was he? What happened? Luke grimaced as his eyes opened, looking up at his companion right at his side, rocking back and forth in jubilation. “I’m alright, Artoo,” he said, wiping off some dried blood from where the glass met his face earlier. “I think so, anyways.”

Everything around him felt so blurred, almost unreal. Cold and warm, equally, as his vision slowly came back to him. “I feel like I’m not even here,” he said to the droid, though almost as much to himself. The smoke of his former ship rose in the atmosphere, the husk of it’s remains ablaze across the ashen wasteland. “Good thing it was a spare and not our usual one, huh, buddy?”

Artoo whistled as Luke sat up.

“You alright? Yeah? That’s good. Next time, let’s try something other than landing on a moon,” Luke said with a sarcastic edge, though obviously thankful at his small friend for saving their lives. He nodded to Artoo, putting a hand on his chassis, as he used the weight to hoist himself up and—

“Aah!”

A blinding pain in his leg shot out from nowhere, sending him falling back down and bumping his head against the same rock. His friend worriedly beeped and whistled at his response, shaking over to his side. Biting down on his lip, Luke looked down at his leg: kriff, was all he could muster inside that head of his.

A piece of the panel had cut through the orange flightsuit and into the upper part of his thigh. The tanned pink of his skin and the white fabric of his underclothes were stained with a crimson red, adorned by a narrow line of a wound that made it difficult to walk. “I didn’t even notice,” Luke said, exasperated as that mixture of warm and cold seemed to seep all around him. “I don’t think I can stand.”

The wounded Jedi unzipped the top of his flight suit, taking out a small knife from one of the pouches of his belt. He sliced through it and tore a few strands off the sleeve, wrapping them in a circle over the wound. “That’ll help,” Luke winced, his heartbeat erratic and all over the place. “Did they get our message, Artoo? When we got hit? Did they see us coming down?”

The droid comfortingly let out a low chirp, easing his fears, before going as close to Luke’s side as he could. Luke’s hand clung to him, an incredulous smile on his face. Another X-wing began to form through the clouds of the moon’s atmosphere, causing Luke to let out an exhale of relief.

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.

Luke arrived at the base only a few hours prior, blaster in hand, walking around the abandoned facility. He wasn’t sure if it once belonged to the Jedi or if it was some kind of memorial, a study, perhaps? The architecture was cold, brutal and uninspiring, which made the few tapestries and statues stand out. It was only when he reached the sublevel of the base, approaching the holocron that sat in the center of a podium, that it all went wrong; the holocron burst into static (a fake!) and caught Luke off guard, as a cuff flew out from the edge of the podium, wrapping around his left wrist and then to his right as he struggled to free himself, with a hand from behind taking his lightsaber.

When he was unable to use the Force to free himself or summon his lightsaber, the lowly mercs laughed and thought him to be a Jedi wannabe. They didn’t need to be concerned about what he would do; the capture was the priority, and now as a prisoner, he was secondary, as they left to bring the rest of their company. It was definitely a bruise to his ego, and one he would not forget. Likewise, the bruise over his left temple from an incapacitating strike still pulsed, though it had gotten better with the passing hours. Enough for him to finally concentrate in this dark cell.  

Breathe. Just.. breathe.

It was always so hard for Luke to find himself at one with the Force; so many questions left unanswered, doubts that reverberated down to his soul, a mind never at peace as it continually searched for more. Desperation was all that seemed to work in his favor. Luke’s eyes rolled back in his head, as he tried to sense the mechanical lock in the binds. Just a snap and a turn, right? He could do it, now that he had the time to himself, free of distraction.

But his mind kept going to his lightsaber, which dangled uselessly on the other side of the cell. The only time that Luke kept that weapon away, the only connection he had to his father and the legend of the Jedi, was at night when it was time for bed. He needed it. The absence of it frightened him; what if he never got it back? What use would Luke Skywalker be without a lightsaber? Who would Luke Skywalker be without it? The echo of his father’s legacy was his primary calling.

Luke tried to call for the weapon – come to me, please.

It tilted and shifted briefly in the air, before slumping back down, rattling against the walls of the cell. Too loud. What if his captors had returned and heard? The lightsaber was too much of a gamble, his skill wasn’t there yet. The lock, Luke, he reminded himself. Why did he always have to make things harder?

His eyebrows furrowed, biting the inside of his lips as he sought the image of the bind in his head, gritting his teeth as it came to fruition. It was almost there.. almost. His neck tilted as he saw the delicate mechanism before him, crystal clear, waiting for a phantom hand to grasp it. Just touch it… touch it..

Click.

The binds unclasped themselves from his wrists, dropping down to the floor. Luke pulled down the gag from his lips, letting out an audible gasp for air. “You’re mine again, pal,” Luke said, leaping to his feet as he collected the lightsaber, holding it reliably in his right hand. “Time to get out of here.”

The cyan light of his weapon shot into the air, giving him a sense of power after hours of uselessness. He charged forward through the abandoned halls, haphazardly slashing through panels and pipes; the mercs would not be pleased with what their wannabe Jedi did to their communications system and air filtration. He smirked to himself as he collected his breath, racing toward the discrete place he landed. At least he was smart enough for no one to detect the ship.

“Artoo, we’re getting out of here!” Luke commanded as he jumped into the cockpit, ignoring the frantic cues and whistles from his little friend. He was thankful the droid listened to him for once and didn’t go on ahead scouting, as he was prone to do. “I know, I know! I’m sure you were worried but I have no time to explain. We’re going to be expecting company.”

The ship began to prime for takeoff, Luke flipping through switches as he pinged a comm to the rebellion. Artoo beeped back at Luke as they lifted into the air, causing him to look down and read his response. “My forehead? Oh,” the young Jedi-in-training said, his hand brushing against the purple dusting over his left eye. It caused him to wince, grimacing at the youth. “Just a little gift from some friends. Don’t worry, I plan on returning the favor.”