Chapter
One
My son.
Darth Vader
felt
the boy's screams, more than he heard them. He felt, more than saw, the
jagged
blue energy bolts of the Emperor's attack as they seared through Luke
Skywalker's body and mind.
He is
dying, Vader thought.
Another attack
wrenched a twisting howl from Skywalker's lips, and Vader almost
stumbled from
the impact. He forced himself to focus on the visual, on the scene
presented to
him by the viewing screens inside his mask. He tried to be calm and
analytical,
to feel only critical interest as he watched the pattern of Emperor
Palpatine's
lightning bolts, dancing around and through Skywalker's writhing form.
Luke's howls
formed
into words. Struggling to sit up, and reaching toward Vader, he
screamed, "Father!
Please!"
More lightning
seared into Luke, and he fell back again. The Emperor paused in his
attack, and
for a moment the only sounds in the throne room were Vader's mechanised
breathing, and Luke's tortured gasps.
Vader stared
down
at his son.
Luke's face was
reddened with anguish, his eyes squeezed shut. He was huddled into a
foetal
position, and the sight hit Vader with an unexpected surge of guilt.
I have
never
been there for him, Vader
thought. Never. He hadn't
even been there
when Luke and Leia's mother was pregnant with them. He hadn't even
known.
It
wasn't my
fault, he insisted stubbornly.
No, it wasn't
his
fault. But still --
Still. He
couldn't
get away from it. If he'd never been there for Luke before, he had to
stand by
him now.
The Emperor
said,
in a cold, emotionless tone, "now, young Skywalker, you will die."
Blue lightning
soared out of Palpatine's hands. Luke screamed, and Vader felt his
son's life
burning away.
As Vader took
one
step toward the Emperor and Luke, his mind seemed totally unconnected
to his
actions. He started to reach for the Emperor, to drag him away from
Luke. But
before he could grab hold of Palpatine, Luke twisted violently on the
floor by
Vader's feet, and one of Luke's legs brushed against Vader's right boot.
The contact
sent
Vader staggering back. He sucked in a breath, chills rushing through
him as he
realised what had happened.
When he and
Luke
had touched, an edge of Palpatine's attack had passed into him through
Luke.
Every nerve in Vader's body still tingled from the blast.
If I
touch
Palpatine, Vader thought, his attack would go
into me. It could kill me. Then
I'll be no use to Luke at all.
Suddenly he
knew
what to do.
He raised his
right
arm, from which the hand had been sliced in his own duel with Luke,
moments
before. He did not need the hand. His whole body seemed irrelevant. He
was only
the power surging through him -- a power stronger than he had ever felt
it
before.
Luke, he thought.
A bolt of
crimson
lightning sprang from the stump of Vader's wrist. It was followed by
others,
that leapt from Vader's form and for an instant swirled around him. The
power
coalesced into a vast wave of red light, and swept from Vader toward
the
Emperor.
The red wave
shattered against the Emperor's lightning. Tendrils of red twined
themselves
around the blue. They pulled the blue lightning upward, away from Luke
Skywalker's
body.
The Emperor
turned
to face Vader.
Master and
follower
gazed at each other, through the pulsing wall of red and blue light.
There was no
surprise on the Emperor's face. Surprise would have been too human. His
yellow
eyes, immense and unblinking, seemed to pierce through the light,
through
Vader's mask, into Vader himself.
Slowly, the
Emperor
smiled.
My
friend. The Emperor's
voice, heavy with mockery, writhed through Vader's mind. Vader felt
Palpatine's
presence squirm through him, twisting its way into each thought. It
felt as
though skeletal fingers, each burning with icy fire, were closing
around his
soul.
My
friend. You've lost
your way. Come with me. I can show you. I can help you find it again.
The fingers
were
closing tighter.
Come
with me. You
don't yet understand the power you can have, with me. Only with me.
Come ...
The light
shuddered
and started to buckle. The Emperor's blue light pressed the red back,
toward
Vader.
It rushed at
him.
He flung up his arm again, and the light stopped, only inches away.
Power?
Vader thought back.
No, my Master. I've wasted my life for your power. I will
waste it no more.
He seized at
the
presence inside him. Mentally, he pried at those fingers, at each
tendril of
thought, wrenching them away.
The light
sprang
back at the Emperor. A few isolated bolts of red broke loose from their
blue
opponents and swept into Palpatine's body. The Emperor stumbled
backward and
fell.
Vader gasped,
falling to one knee. He stared at Emperor Palpatine. They were both
weakening, Vader
knew. The Emperor's voice in his mind was only a whisper now. But the
power
that surged through Vader, striking through him at Palpatine, was
burning him
from within. He wondered if he could incinerate his Master before he
himself
was a pile of ashes.
The battle of
light
still raged closer to Palpatine than to him. Occasional red flashes
continued
to break past the blue, striking at the Emperor. But their number was
decreasing. Slowly, the blue side of the wall was growing stronger.
Behind him and
to his
right, Vader heard a groan and the sounds of Luke Skywalker struggling
up to
his hands and knees.
Luke, Vader
thought. Luke,
help me.
Palpatine had
regained his feet. He held out both his hands, and the blue grew
darker, until
his form was almost invisible behind it. A tremor ran through the
scarlet
light, and then, slowly, the red started to fade.
Luke!
I need
you!
Vader did not
see
Luke move to stand beside him. But he felt it as another wave of power
rose at
his side, flowing into the battle and joining its strength with Vader's
own.
He felt the
boy's
emotions as well. Wonder, amazement at the power he was wielding. Pain
too, and
fear, and anger, but all of them subsumed by the startled joy Luke felt
in
fighting at his father's side.
White light now
gleamed alongside the red. The blue, in its turn, began to pale.
The Emperor
took a
step backward. Then another.
The blue light
wavered.
Vader felt the
heat
of Palpatine's thoughts. You are mine, came
Palpatine's voice,
spiralling through all the pathways of Vader's mind.
You
are no
longer my Master, Vader replied.
One final
tremor
surged through the light, of all colours. Then the last of the blue
light
vanished.
The Emperor
vanished with it.
Slowly, the red
glow and the white faded from sight.
Vader drew in a
breath, shakily rising to his feet. The power that had raged through
him was
slipping away. It was succeeded by exhaustion -- and by a weirdly
unfamiliar
feeling that at first he couldn't identify.
Fear? he wondered.
Why?
Why be
afraid now, when I wasn't before?
Suddenly he saw
the
answer to that question. With a jolt of wonder as strong as the wonder
he had
felt from Luke, he realised that ahead of him lay no certainties at all.
He was going to
have to live his own life. "Yes, my Master" just wouldn't cut it any
more.
Beside him,
Vader
heard Luke's strained, panting breaths. He turned his head and saw the
young
man doubled over in pain, arms clutched around his sides. "Luke?"
Vader began, startled by the hesitancy in his own voice.
Luke was
staring at
the place where the Emperor had stood. There was nothing there. No sign
of the
robe Palpatine had worn; nothing.
"Is he
dead?" Luke gasped out.
If he were,
Vader
felt sure he would have known it. This was not like that other time,
when he
had struck down Obi Wan Kenobi and had felt both the man and his
essence slip
into some realm that Vader could not reach.
Strange, Vader thought.
I
always seem to be striking down my Masters. There is a certain lack of
imagination in my life pattern. He realised
that he had not yet answered Luke's
question.
"No." He
sighed. "It won't be that easy for us. But he will need time to
recover.
We may have some time without him."
Painfully, Luke
pulled himself upright. "Do you know where he is?" he asked.
Vader turned
his
feelings inward, to the echoes of the Emperor's presence. He tried to
follow
them, but the paths were very faint, swiftly fading into nothing. He
shook his
head.
"Far from
here," he said. "Not on the Death Star. Unless he's shielding himself
... but I don't think he could. Not so soon."
"Father ...
" Luke began.
His words were
cut
off, as eight men ran into the room. They were crimson from head to
foot,
masked, wearing full-length red robes. The Emperor's personal guard.
The men
brandished their blaster rifles at Luke and Darth Vader, but Vader
could feel
the confusion welling out of them. He could almost see it. Their beings
pulsated with loss and fear.
The Emperor,
Vader
realised, must have held their minds in his grasp. His sudden flight
had torn
him from them.
Why had he not
called for them during the battle? Was he simply too proud to accept
that he
might need mere human help?
One of the
guards,
levelling his rifle at Vader, demanded, "where is the Emperor?" His
voice shook.
"He has
fled," Vader said mercilessly. "He has betrayed you. He has betrayed
us all."
The guards
hesitated. "No," their leader said truculently. "You are lying,
Dark Lord." His finger closed on the trigger.
Vader's
thoughts
tore the rifle from the man's grasp. It clattered to rest at the far
end of the
throne room. There was a chorus of yells from the guards. Three others
moved to
fire.
Three more
rifles
soared from their owners' hands, one spiralling down off the bridge of
the Emperor's
throne room into the Death Star's distant power core.
The four
remaining
blaster rifles were sliced from the guards' clutches in a green swathe
of
light. When the first guard started to fire, Luke must have used the
Force to
regain his lightsaber, which had been lying near the steps to
Palpatine's
throne. Now Luke leaped into the midst of the guards, annihilating
their rifles
with one swing of his saber before the men had time to even flinch
back. Luke
stepped away from them, deactivating his lightsaber and calmly
standing,
watching them.
Vader smiled
internally. Showy, but effective. He could appreciate showiness himself.
The guards
wavered
uncertainly. Vader put a little gentle pressure on their throats, just
enough
to hold them there. He turned, strode to the nearest com panel and
opened a
channel to the Death Star's chief security officer. Moments later, the
young
Captain whom Vader had summoned appeared in the doorway, the white
forms of six
stormtroopers ranked behind him.
"Captain
Faren," Vader greeted him pleasantly, "I commend your promptness. You
are to place these officers under arrest."
Captain Faren
gasped. "Under arrest, My Lord? The Emperor's guard?"
"The Emperor
has fled. I am in command here, Captain. Do you understand?"
Captain Faren's
swift review of his priorities was clearly readable on his face. "Yes,
My
Lord!" he said emphatically.
"Good. I am
holding you personally responsible for these men, Captain."
"Yes, My
Lord!"
The shocked
guards
made little protest as Faren and his stormtroopers herded them away.
Vader almost
relaxed. He turned toward Luke, about to speak, when a sudden jolt
shook the
room around them. Luke stumbled and caught himself on one of the
railings of
the bridge.
Vader cursed
under
his breath. You never get a breeze without a sandstorm, he thought. That
was
no blow from the Force. It was the more mundane threat of a space
station under
attack.
Of
course, he reminded
himself, we're about to be destroyed. Again. I'd forgotten
about that.
"Luke,"
he said wearily. "We have to stop the attack."
Luke stared at
him
in confusion. "Stop the attack?" he echoed.
Vader crossed
to
Luke, reaching out his one remaining hand and gripping his son's
shoulder with
perhaps more strength than he should have used. "Stop the
attack," he
repeated, more harshly than he had intended. "Before your friends
destroy
this station."
Luke blinked,
and
seemed to come halfway back to reality. "Maybe we can escape -- before
they destroy it -- "
"Escape?" Vader's
voice vibrated with scorn. He was suddenly furious, as he had not been
in his
battle with the Emperor. He had felt no anger then, only a blind
determination
not to give in. Now, he wanted to fling his son through a wall.
"Yes, Luke, we could escape.
And
what of the other thousands of lives on this station?" He let go of
Luke's
arm, only barely managing to restrain himself from hurling the boy away
from
him like so much garbage. "You are the good
one in the
family, aren't you, son? You belong to the
Light Side of the Force, you never hate.
And
you don't care if thousands of beings perish!" He gave a short, dark
chuckle. "How many have you killed,
boy? All the lives of the Jedi,
for all the lives on two Death Stars? It makes a father's heart proud
to see
his son follow in his footsteps."
Luke stared at
him,
blue eyes growing wide in something approaching horror.
And
while I give
my son a lecture, Vader thought, this station is going
to be annihilated. He turned
suddenly and swept back to the com panel, punching the buttons which
opened an
emergency, general broadcasting channel. He would be heard throughout
the Death
Star, over-riding all other signals. He would be heard in every ship of
the
fleet and in every Rebel ship as well, his visage appearing on every
view
screen.
"This is Lord
Darth Vader, Commander of the Imperial Fleet." His voice was as
powerful
and authoritative as usual. "Cease firing. I repeat, cease firing. This
station and all Imperial vessels, you are to power down your weapons
and cease
hostilities. Rebel fleet," he went on, "stop your attack. This
station surrenders. We wish to negotiate a truce."
The panel
before
him suddenly lit up with a barrage of incoming signals. The audio
inputs burst
into chaotic life, with several hundred messages arriving
simultaneously.
Vader looked
away
from the panel, to see Luke walking toward him. There was a wary look
on the
young man's face as neared his father, but he stepped resolutely into
the
transmission area, Vader moving aside to allow him to enter it.
"This is
Commander Luke Skywalker," Luke said, in as firm a voice as his
father's.
"Rebel fleet, call off the attack. Admiral Ackbar, Lando, cease firing.
Fall back. You must. The Death
Star has surrendered."
Luke switched
off
the communication, turning to Vader with a quizzical expression. "I
don't
know if they'll go with this," he said. "They're not going to trust
you. They'll think you're controlling me. What about the Imperials?
Will they
listen to you?"
"They will if
they wish to continue breathing." He studied the identification codes
of the
incoming signals, and opened a channel to the transmission of the
Admiral
commanding the Imperial forces.
On the screen,
Admiral Piett appeared white-faced and staring, standing on the deck of
his
Star Destroyer. Officers were milling behind him like short-circuiting
droids.
"Lord Vader," the Admiral croaked. "What -- Will you repeat your
transmission?"
"I should not
need to," Vader purred. "Admiral Piett, you have received an
order."
"Yes, Lord,
but -- but I don't understand -- "
"Cease fire,
Admiral," continued Vader, with beautiful patience. "Break off
hostilities, and withdraw to a safe distance from the Rebel Fleet."
The Admiral
hesitated, clearly aware that he should not keep protesting, yet just
as aware
that in this case it was his duty to protest. "What has happened, My
Lord?" he asked uneasily.
"The Emperor
has fled. I am now in command, and I will put an end to
this useless
conflict." Frank disbelief broke through the fear on the Admiral's
face,
and Vader wryly reflected that he could not blame the man. Darth Vader,
the
champion of peace! It did not, on the whole, sound very likely.
"But My Lord,
the Rebels are still firing -- "
"Then show our
good faith by breaking off combat first, Admiral," and Vader cut off
the
transmission. He switched over to the transmission of Commander
Jerjerrod, the
officer nominally in command of the Death Star. The channel opened to
reveal
Jerjerrod in mid-scream, apparently demanding some explanation from a
pale
young junior officer who had his gaze fixed beyond Jerjerrod's shoulder
and
clearly longed desperately to be somewhere else.
"Forgive me
for interrupting, Commander," said Vader.
Jerjerrod
whirled
to face the screen. "Lord Vader!" he gulped. The fear that Vader
inspired in every sane officer momentarily wiped the fury from
Jerjerrod's
face. But he was clearly too outraged at Vader's actions to listen to
his fear.
"What does
this mean?" Jerjerrod demanded. "What are you doing? What gives you
the right -- "
Jerjerrod
was an idiot. Vader had thought so since the first day the Commander
had
intruded on his consciousness. This was going to be a pleasure. Ever so
slowly,
he took a mental grip on Jerjerrod's throat, watching with appreciation
as his
face reddened and his eyes started to bulge.
"You question
my
right, Commander?" Vader asked mildly. "I believe I still out-rank
you. It is my command that this station surrender. Have you any
objections?"
Jerjerrod gave
a
gurgling choke.
"Father."
Luke's voice came quiet and urgent from Vader's side. "Father. Stop it.
Please."
Damn, Vader thought.
Of
course. My sensitive little son thinks I'm Good again.
Reluctantly, he
began to loosen his hold on Jerjerrod's windpipe. "The Death Star
surrenders," Vader said calmly. He let go, and Jerjerrod lurched
backward,
sprawling on the metal floor. "Is that quite clear, Commander?" He
noted Jerjerrod's jerky nod and hoarse gasp of acknowledgement, but
could still
read resistance in his eyes. Vader thought, if I'm going to
make this work,
I'll have to strangle the entire Fleet. When
Luke isn't looking,
of course.
Vader turned
toward
his son. "Your turn," he said.
With a sudden,
surprised grin, Luke opened a channel to the Admiral of his own fleet.
The Mon
Calamari Admiral Ackbar appeared amidst a scene of uproar as great as
on the
Imperial Star Destroyer. The tentacles at the Admiral's chin quivered
in his
agitation. "Commander Skywalker!" he gasped out. " What is
happening -- "
"It's all
right, Admiral," Luke said, trying to sound calming. "It's true. The
Emperor has been overthrown by Darth Vader. Vader wants a truce. He
means it,
Admiral --" Stress was starting to creep into Luke's voice, as he
realised
how ridiculous he was sounding. Darth Vader wants a truce. Yes,
and it's
snowing on Tatooine and the Hutts have started a weight-loss program. "He means
it. Withdraw out of range, but stop firing. Call off the
attack on the
Death Star."
Vader stepped
into
the viewing range of the transmission. "Admiral Ackbar," he greeted
the enemy commander, who jumped with shock at being addressed by Darth
Vader.
"You have my word. Once combat has ceased, all personnel will be
evacuated
from this station, and you may continue your destruction of this Death
Star
without interference. If you would trust me to do as I say, I myself
would initiate
the station's self destruct program. The Death Star is the dream of a
madman.
It has no place in a government which hopes for any peace with its
people."
Admiral Ackbar
gaped at the screen, his already prominent eyes seeming ready to leap
off his
the sides of his head. Then from behind him, a Rebel officer ran up,
gesturing
excitedly at the ship's viewports. "Admiral Ackbar! The Imperials are
falling back! They're falling back!"
From offscreen,
another voice shouted "I don't believe it! The Death Star's weapons are
powering down!"
Vader allowed a
moment for the upsurge of chaos, then he said dryly, "Admiral, I would
like to arrange a meeting with the representatives of the Alliance. I
will
contact you again when the separation of our fleets is complete." He
cut
the transmission.
Luke was
staring at
him, with an expression wavering between hope, fear, and hero-worship.
"I
can't believe this," he whispered in awe. "I just can't believe this
... "
Neither
can I, thought Darth
Vader. He sighed heavily, looking at the boy.
I have
a son, he thought. I
have a son and a daughter. And
both of them have very good reasons to hate
me. And
I'm trying to initiate a reconciliation process and bring peace to the
galaxy
-- peace! As if peace can ever
exist when living beings are involved! -- and
no one, no one is going to trust me.
Wherever
he is, Vader thought, Obi
Wan Kenobi is getting a very big kick out of this.
Nothing in his life had been
simple. Nothing, despite all of Obi Wan's preaching about the Dark Side
being
the easier path.
Nothing had
been
easy. But this, he realised, looking into the wide blue eyes of his
son, was
going to be the most difficult of all.
The clearing
was
filled with sullen stormtroopers. They were seated on the ground, most
of them
slumped, some with their chins on their hands, their gleaming white
armour
looking ludicrously out of place amid the vibrant green ferns. Some had
removed
their helmets, revealing faces that must seem, to their Rebel captors,
surprisingly young, ill-nourished and miserable. Most were sweating
profusely,
and one kept up a quiet, steady litany of curses as he tried to slap
away the
insects that insisted on buzzing around his head. Nearby, their
officer, in a
grey-green Imperial uniform, stood leaning against one of this moon's
enormous
trees, scowling at his men and at life in general.
The soldiers
had
all been disarmed. They were being guarded by a handful of Rebel
commandos and,
far more embarrassingly, by several of those loathsome fuzzy creatures
that had
assisted the Rebels in their takeover. The Imperial officer glowered at
the
nearest of the pudgy little vermin, and longed to kick it across the
clearing.
It was chattering at him smugly, waving its tiny hand-made spear at his
kneecap. The officer sighed and closed his eyes. If he did kick the
damned
beast, one of the Rebel guards would probably blast him. It really
wasn't worth
it. Almost, though, he thought
wistfully. Almost. He could just
hear
the crunch the creature would make as it catapulted into a tree trunk.
At that moment
the
comlink on his wrist sputtered into life. From the sudden jumps of
several of
the stormtroopers, the same message was coming through the links in
their
helmets. The officer looked intently at his wrist comlink, ignoring a
Rebel
guard who raised his blaster and pointed it at him. According to the
identification code flashing on the comlink's screen, the message
coming
through was a general emergency broadcast.
Then the
officer
jumped as well, and felt a cold, creeping sensation wriggle down his
spine. The
voice that spoke out of his comlink, even though made small and
metallic
through the link, was the unmistakable dark tone of Darth Vader, Lord
of the
Sith.
"This is Lord
Darth Vader, Commander of the Imperial Fleet. Cease firing. I repeat,
cease
firing. This station and all Imperial vessels, you are to power down
your
weapons and cease hostilities. Rebel fleet, stop your attack. This
station
surrenders. We wish to negotiate a truce."
Imperial
officer
and Rebel commando stared at each other, both wearing identical looks
of
flabbergasted amazement. The clearing erupted in a jumble of startled
conversation, everyone speaking at once, with most comments beginning
along the
lines of "what the hell?" One of the Rebels yelled, "shut up!
There's more!" The officer put his comlink up to his ear, and sure
enough,
there was another voice, repeating a similar message. One of the Rebel
leaders,
it sounded like. He looked around the clearing, watching the
distinctions
between prisoners and guards temporarily evaporate as stormtroopers and
Rebels
yelled the same useless questions at each other.
More of the
Rebels
were running into the clearing, blasters in hand. At their head was the
pretty,
brown-haired Princess in her camouflage outfit, closely followed by the
tall,
scruffy man who seemed to be her sidekick. The Princess strode up to
the
Imperial officer. He noticed that she'd taken a blaster-shot in her
left arm
during the battle, but it didn't seem too serious. She raised her
blaster
toward his face. "What's going on?" she demanded.
"Do I know,
Princess?" he asked sourly. "Not all members of the Imperial army are
psychic, you know."
"Do you know
anything about that message? Was it planned?"
"Princess,
Darth Vader isn't in the habit of discussing his plans with me!"
She scowled
impatiently and turned away from him. "We've got to hear the message
again," she said to her companions. "Was anyone recording it ...
?"
The Princess
was
answered by blank, helpless looks from the others. Feeling awkward for
having
snapped at her, the Imperial officer said tentatively, "uh, Princess
...
one of our Walkers is still intact, isn't it? The message will have
come
through on its link, and the Walker's computer records all messages
automatically."
She turned back
toward him, looking surprised. "Oh -- thanks. What's
your
name?" she asked.
"Arin Pellar,
Your Highness." Officially, Commander Arin Pellar, but it looked like
he
wasn't going to be commanding much of anything for the foreseeable
future.
She favoured
him
with a very small smile. "All right, Arin," she said, gesturing with
her blaster, "let's you and me go visit your Walker. Han," she added
to her sidekick, "get on the com to Admiral Ackbar. Find out what the
hell's going on." Pellar and the Princess set out, several of the other
Rebels falling into step behind them.
The two-legged
AT-ST Walker was parked beside the smouldering ruins of what had until
ten
minutes ago been an Imperial bunker. As the Princess' group approached,
the
hatch at the top of the Walker opened, and a huge, hairy Wookiee
emerged,
waving wildly at the Princess and giving vent to a series of barks and
howls.
Pellar wasn't sure, but he thought the Wookiee sounded confused. Join
the
club, he thought.
"Chewie,"
the Princess called. "You heard the message?"
The Wookiee
nodded,
with several more barking noises. "Lower the Walker, Chewie," said
the Princess. "We should be able to get the message to replay."
The Wookiee
disappeared back down the hatch, and almost immediately the Walker's
legs
folded inward on themselves, bringing the cabin of the Walker down
almost to
ground level. Pellar helped boost the Princess up to the hatch, a
process
complicated by her trying not to put any weight on her injured arm. As
Pellar
scrambled into the hatch after the princess, with one of the Rebels
following
him, he tried not to let his thoughts dwell on the fact that his hands
had
briefly been in contact with the Princess' breasts. What a
claim to fame, he thought. I've
touched the breasts of Princess Leia Organa. That ought to keep me warm
through
all the long winter nights of my life.
Pellar swiftly
located the message, then was elbowed aside as Princess, Wookiee and
Rebel
commando huddled over the Walker's view-screen, replaying the message
over and
over again. Catching a sight of the screen over Princess Leia's
shoulder,
Pellar was interested to note how young this Commander Luke Skywalker
appeared.
That's the guy who blew up the first Death Star? he wondered. Holy
shit.
Why the hell did we go and build another one, when any kid can blow it
into
smithereens?
The Princess
sighed. She froze the message on a frame showing Skywalker's young,
earnest
features, and turned away from the screen, trying to shove some wisps
of hair
out of her face. "I don't know," she said wearily. "It looks and
sounds like Luke, but I suppose with the transmission as distant as it
is, we
wouldn't be able to tell if the image had been tampered with. And Vader
could
be controlling him ... damn it, what's
going on?"
Her friend Han
appeared at the open hatch, dropping into the cockpit to join them.
Pellar
plastered himself back against a wall just in time to avoid Han
stepping on his
foot. Han handed the Princess a larger portable com-unit. "Here," he
said, sounding just as irritable and confused as everyone else. "I
finally
got Ackbar for you."
She briefly
smiled
her thanks, then opened the transmission. "Admiral! Do you have any
idea
what's happening?"
A gruff voice
emerged from the com-unit, but Pellar couldn't see the view-screen.
"I'm
sorry, Princess Leia," said the voice, "your guess is as good as
ours. Vader's been in contact with us. He wants to meet to arrange a
truce. So
he says."
"A
truce!" Leia almost screamed. "Admiral, you can't trust him! You know
what the Empire's like, what sort of tactics they use. It's obviously a
trap,
you've got to continue the attack before it's too late -- "
"I know, Your
Highness. That's what we all thought. But the Death Star has powered
down its
weapons, and the Imperial Fleet has withdrawn to the other side of the
moon.
There's some talk that the Emperor has been overthrown, or killed. I
can't see
that we have a choice. If there's a chance we can end this without
further loss
of life ... we're negotiating with Vader on where the meeting should
be, who
should be there. You'll be included, of course. For now, I believe it's
safest
if you remain on the moon, on guard, till we know more of the
situation."
A look of deep
pain
touched the Princess' face. "Admiral," she said quietly, "we've
lost a lot of good people trying to win this battle. If we lose now
through
letting Vader trick us, their spirits will never forgive us."
"I know, Your
Highness," the voice sighed. "Be patient. We're doing everything we
can." And the link was cut.
Princess Leia
put down
the com-unit, then she threw herself into the arms of Han. Lucky
bastard, Pellar thought, maybe
I should have joined the Rebellion. Only I guess there aren't enough
Princesses
to go around.
"Oh,
Han," the Princess murmured, "I can't stand it. Where's Luke? What's
he doing? Why doesn't he contact us?"
"I don't
know," Han said softly. "Look, Leia, let's get out of here. We'll get
your arm tended to." This time Han was the one who helped Leia through
the
hatch, and Pellar remained forlornly in the background, wondering if
anyone was
going to notice him again. Someone did, eventually; the Wookiee prodded
Pellar
with a bowcaster and gestured for Pellar to precede him out of the
Walker.
Pellar sighed and obeyed.
Outside,
twilight
was beginning to fall. As he joined his men back in the clearing -- he
sat down
this time, no longer bothering to assert his officer status by
remaining
standing -- Pellar saw the glint of the Death Star in the purpling sky.
What
is happening up there? he wondered.
His men, praise all the Powers, were
nervously avoiding him; he didn't think he could take much more of
people
asking him what was going on.
The fuzzy
natives
of the moon were scurrying about, setting up large torches around the
edges of
the clearing so that the prisoners could be guarded through the night.
When it
was almost fully dark, purple sky blending inevitably into black, a
larger
contingent of the furry animals arrived, bearing two large cauldrons
suspended
from poles. They delivered one to the side of the clearing where Leia
and her
followers were sitting, and more grudgingly deposited the other next to
the
cluster of stormtroopers. Piles of wooden bowls were left beside the
gently
steaming cauldron.
"Sir,"
began one of the stormtroopers hesitantly, nodding toward the cauldron,
"is it all right if we ... "
Pellar nodded.
"Go ahead," he said flatly. He himself was not hungry. He had heard
rumours that these furry beasts ate humans, and he really didn't fancy
any
stormtrooper stew.
Across the
clearing, Han Solo was gingerly dipping a ladle into the other
cauldron, and
eyeing the ladle's contents with almost equal trepidation. It looked
like
vegetables, anyway. He devoutly hoped it was. Having come close to
being dinner
last night, he had his own doubts about Ewok cookery. "I guess it's
safe," he muttered, ladling stew into a bowl and handing it to Leia.
"Thanks."
Her voice was very quiet. Han reluctantly served some stew for himself,
then
passed the ladle to the man sitting next to him. Han settled back
against a
tree trunk beside Leia, being sure to avoid bumping against her injured
arm. He
took a tentative slurp of the stew, decided that yes, it probably was
vegetables, and looked over at Leia. Her face looked wan, almost
ghostly in the
flickering torchlight.
"Hey,"
said Han, trying to sound cheerful. "Come on, this stew ain't that
bad."
"I know,
Han," she sighed, turning a faint smile on him. Her eyes were huge and
dark, filled with concern. "Han," she whispered, "I'm so worried
about Luke. If he's all right, he should have contacted us by now. What
if
Vader's gotten to him, forced him to send that message? He could be a
prisoner,
now, or -- "
"Hey, take it
easy," urged Han, bending down to kiss Leia's forehead. "Luke's okay.
He can take care of himself." Which was something Han firmly didn't
believe, but it was what had to be said.
"Maybe,"
said Leia. She rested her head on Han's shoulder, the bowl of stew
lying
forgotten in her hand. Han tried rather awkwardly to stroke Leia's
hair, again
without brushing against her wounded arm. I really should be
sitting on the
other side of her, he thought,
but it would kind of take the
spontaneity out of things if he got up to sit on her other side.
The problem
suddenly decreased in importance, as they heard a call from a guard at
the
other side of the clearing. "Princess Leia! General Solo! Someone
approaching!" Leia stood up, as did Han, who barely avoided spilling
stew
over himself. Beyond the torches, they could see a human-sized figure
walking
toward them, surrounded by Ewoks who ran along on either side, chirping
excitedly. The figure and its entourage stepped into the clearing and
the
light, and Leia cried out delightedly, "Lando!"
The figure
called,
"Leia! Han!" and waved at them, pausing as he almost tripped over an
Ewok.
Leia hurried
toward
Lando. Han followed, almost not jealous as
he watched Leia clasp Lando
Calrissian's hand, and Lando bend down and kiss Leia on both cheeks.
Calrissian
looked as spruce as ever, and Han wondered how his old friend managed
to emerge
from every crisis looking like a gentlemen's clothing advertisement.
"Hey, old
buddy," greeted Han, punching Lando's shoulder. "Still with us, hunh?
My ship still in one piece?"
"Mostly,"
Lando said a little shamefacedly. He stroked his moustache, trying to
regain his
usual suave air.
"Mostly?" Han
squawked.
Lando found a
diversion. Looking in distaste at the Ewoks that were still milling
around his
legs, he asked, "what are these things?"
Leia smiled
tolerantly at the disgust in Lando's voice. "They're Ewoks, Lando,"
she said. "They live here."
"They do,
hunh? Sooner them than me."
Leia took
Lando's
arm. "Come on," she said, "come sit down. Have some stew."
At the mention of stew, Han cast an eloquent look at Lando over Leia's
head.
"Scenic
Endor," Han muttered, "culinary centre of the galaxy. You don't wanna
know how close we came to being this stew last
night."
"I can't wait
to try it," Lando said warily.
When they were
all
seated, and Lando was supplied with his own bowl of stew, Leia said,
"Lando,
we have almost no idea what's going on up there. I can't get a straight
answer
out of anyone. Do you know anything? Have you seen Admiral Ackbar?"
"Yeah, I've
seen him," Lando answered. "I couldn't really get much sense out of
him either. It's a circus up there, Leia. No one knows what to think;
you never
saw so many rumours grow so quickly. The Emperor's dead, no, he's not,
he's
just fled, Darth Vader's taken control, Luke's taken control, Vader's
controlling Luke, Luke's controlling Vader, the Emperor's controlling
everybody
... " he shook his head, staring disconsolately into his stew. "We
were that close," he murmured.
"That close. We were gonna
win, you could sense it, we had that damn
Death Star. We were already in the
shaft, we'd gotten past you-don't-want-to-know-how-many defences, we'd
been
shooting down TIE fighters left, right and centre ... Another ten
seconds --
well, maybe twenty -- okay, thirty, maybe, but no more than that. And
then
there's Ackbar ordering us to withdraw. Withdraw! Damn it, Han, we had the bastards!
The
Death Star would have been space dust!"
"So would
Luke," Leia reminded him.
"Yeah,"
groaned Lando. He turned to Leia. "Ackbar's talked with him personally,
apparently, but I haven't. Have you -- "
Both Leia and
Han
gloomily shook their heads. "Damn," Lando sighed. "I just don't
get it. How the hell could Luke and Vader work together
... ?"
Leia said, in a
tense, quiet voice, "it is possible."
Both men looked
at
her questioningly. Almost pleadingly, Leia gazed up at Han.
"I should have
told you before, Han," she began. "But -- I couldn't. I'd only just
found out myself, and --"
"Hey, Leia,
it's okay. You tell us when you want to."
She stared down
at
her hands. "When Luke left here last night, he said he was going to try
and -- bring Vader back to the Light Side."
"What! Luke's
crazy! He couldn't bring an Ewok to the Light Side, never mind the Dark
Lord of
the fucking Sith!"
She shook her
head.
"There was a chance. He -- you see --" she looked up at them again.
"Han, Lando, this is going to sound very strange. Just
be calm, okay?
Don't explode on me. Let me finish before you start shouting."
Wordlessly,
they
nodded. Han reached out and clasped Leia's right hand.
"Luke,"
Leia said, "is Darth Vader's son."
The two men
made
inarticulate sounds, which they both managed to cut off before the
sounds
turned into words.
"Vader used to
be Anakin Skywalker. He was a Jedi, a pupil of Obi Wan Kenobi before
the
Emperor turned Anakin to the Dark Side. Luke thought there was a chance
to
bring him back. He said he'd felt goodness in Vader -- conflict -- he
thought
that Anakin wasn't really lost to us ... "
Her voice faded
out. Han gripped her hand more tightly.
"There's
more," Leia continued. "Luke told all of this to me because --
because we're family. Luke is my twin brother."
Han stared at
her.
"Your brother ... " he whispered.
"But -- wait a
minute," breathed Lando. "That means -- doesn't it -- "
Princess Leia
looked solemnly at them. "Yes," she said. "Darth Vader is my
father."
On the Super
Star
Destroyer Executor, Admiral Piett
had been pacing along the same three
metres of deck for the past twenty minutes. Four steps in one
direction, turn
on his heel, four steps back again, another turn, over and over ad
nauseam. His hands were
clasped tightly behind his back; he supposed he really ought to unclasp
them,
as he was going to lose circulation in them if he didn't. In the last
three
minutes, his pacing had gotten somewhat faster, as had his heartbeat
and,
though he was trying very hard to regulate it, his breathing. Three
minutes was
how long it had been since one of his officers informed him that Darth
Vader
had been in contact with them, and was going to pay Piett a visit.
Piett's world
was
rapidly disintegrating around him, but really, he supposed, that wasn't
much of
a loss. He'd already lived several months longer than he'd expected to
when he
was promoted to Admiral. That kind of promotion, with Lord Vader
around, was
pretty much equal to a death sentence. You might, if you were lucky,
avoid the
Dark Lord's wrath for a few days, maybe for weeks or months, but sooner
or
later something would go wrong, you'd be the one with responsibility,
and
crunch, the bones in your neck would start snapping and your windpipe
would
start closing in on itself, and if Vader was really trying to make
a
point, he'd fling you across the room into a bulkhead rather than
simply
strangling you on the spot.
Piett had
spoken
once, years ago, with an officer who'd been strangled by Vader and had
survived
due to a timely distraction. The man's account still haunted Piett. He
had a
vivid imagination, and he wished that he did not. He could already hear
all his
bones breaking, one by one, could visualise his veins bursting, his
eyes
bulging from their sockets ... Oh, Gods. What was he doing here? Why
hadn't he
stayed at home and taken over the store like Dad had wanted him to? You
might
get bored running a trading post in a star system most people had never
heard
of, but at least you seldom had Jedi lords dropping by to choke you to
death.
"Sir?"
came the voice of Lieutenant Morn. "Lord Vader's shuttle has just
arrived
in the Docking Bay."
Stop
pacing,
unclasp your hands, and try to breathe steadily. After all, this is
probably
the last chance you'll have to breathe at all.
Admiral Piett
was
standing at attention when Vader swept onto the Star Destroyer's main
bridge,
the Dark Lord's cape billowing out impressively behind him as he
strode. At the
corner of his vision, Piett could see his officers trying to make
themselves as
unobtrusive as possible. Bastards, he thought
glumly. Just
you wait. Once he's strangled me, one of you is next in the queue.
In front of
Piett,
Vader stopped, black-gloved hands resting on his belt, and said,
"Admiral
Piett. Might I speak with you in private?"
Piett's innards
lurched. Private? Usually Vader liked an audience for his killings, so
he could
make an example of them. Surely there wasn't any form of killing so
gruesome
that Vader didn't like being watched at it? Then again, who knew how
Vader
thought?
"Of course, My
Lord," Piett said, glad to hear that his voice wasn't emerging as a
squeak. "Come into my office."
In the office,
Piett offered Vader a seat, which the Dark Lord politely declined.
Piett
thought, maybe he doesn't think he looks intimidating enough
sitting down.
Though Hell, I'd certainly still be intimidated. Piett couldn't
possibly offer
his guest a drink, either, not without sounding insulting. So, though
his own
throat was parched, Piett tried to ignore it. He stood awkwardly and
waited for
Vader to say something.
"Admiral,"
Vader said, "I believe I owe you an explanation."
Now Piett did
squeak. "Explanation, My Lord?"
The rumble of
Vader's voice seemed to hold amusement, though it was possible that
Piett was
imagining it. "I realise I do not frequently explain myself. You are
thinking that I am more likely to strangle an officer than explain
anything to
him. And you would be right, in normal circumstances. These
circumstances are
no longer normal."
Piett
swallowed,
not trusting his voice to come up with anything intelligible.
"Admiral
Piett," Vader went on, "what are your ambitions?"
Oh,
no. If
that's not a Darth Vader trick question, I don't know what is.
Well, he decided,
I
might as well tell the truth. Don't have much to lose. Piett
swallowed
again, then said, "to serve the Empire faithfully, and to stay
alive."
Vader inclined
his
head slightly. "Very laudable goals." This time Piett was sure that
the Dark Lord was amused. "I share the second of your goals, but I am
experiencing
doubts about the first."
Doubts? Darth
Vader? Doubts about serving the Empire? Piett wished that he could sit
down.
"Please have a
seat, Admiral," Vader urged him, and Piett numbly obeyed, shakily
propelling himself into his desk chair. Vader sat down casually on the
edge of
Piett's desk, and Piett wondered if he might be hallucinating all of
this.
Vader said, "I
would like to emerge from the present conflict reasonably successful,
and
alive. I am no longer convinced that either is possible if I remain
with the
Empire." He appeared to be looking more closely at Piett, although of
course with that mask it was hard to tell. "You may calm yourself,
Admiral. I have no intention of strangling you today."
Calm was not a very
accurate description of Piett at that moment, but at least he was
starting to
emerge from his terror. Lord Vader continued. "Have you ever thought,
Admiral Piett, of what serving the Empire means? It is not, of course,
part of
the job description for a soldier to think. But I suspect that you, at
least,
do think upon occasion."
Where was all
this
leading? What was Vader trying to trick him into?
"You must have
noticed, Admiral, that we are not in fact serving the Empire. We are
serving
the Emperor, and they are not the same. The Empire includes the
millions of
worlds forced into poverty to pay for our Emperor's military expansion.
It also
includes the under-trained, conscripted stormtroopers that we throw
into battle
daily, to be massacred in their thousands by a Rebellion that has
little money,
but at least takes the time to train its soldiers, and that sees them
as living
creatures rather than meaningless laser-fodder."
Piett noticed
that
his mouth had fallen open, and hastily closed it. Darth
Vader, social crusader. Yes, he really
must be hallucinating.
"With all
this," Vader went on, "the Empire could still survive, were our
Emperor of sound judgement. This he no longer is. Think of it, Admiral
Piett.
Four years ago, what was the great hope of the Empire? The Death Star,
of
course. The all-powerful, dreaded Death Star, which was to make the
galaxy
tremble. The Death Star for which taxes across the galaxy were
quadrupled.
Then, on its maiden mission, this great hope is annihilated by one
schoolboy
and a smuggler. So, very well. Not a wise use of money and lives,
perhaps, but
what can one do except move on from failure and learn by it? Only our
Emperor
has not learned. Outside this ship, Admiral, sits Death Star II. And a
few
hours ago, it was almost destroyed in precisely the same way
as the
first."
Piett gulped,
and
asked, very quietly, "Lord Vader, where is the Emperor?"
Vader said
calmly,
"he and I had a disagreement. We fought, and the Emperor fled. He will
return, no doubt, but I do not intend to be waiting for him to take his
revenge. I intend to throw in my lot with the Rebellion."
Piett choked
without the aid of Vader's mental strangling. "My Lord?"
"The Rebels
are idealistic and foolish, but at base, they are right. They are right
to
protest our Emperor's insane arms race that succeeds only in creating
more
enemies. Right to object to the reign of terror of which we are a part."
Before he could
stop it, the thought shot through Piett's mind, that's pretty
rich coming
from the man who's spearheaded this reign of terror. The thought
was immediately
succeeded by the realisation that Vader had almost certainly heard him
think
that.
Lord Vader
regarded
him for a moment, with no sound except for the Dark Lord's wheezing
breath, and
Piett fought the urge to wipe a trail of sweat from his forehead.
Finally Vader
said, in a startlingly mild tone, "one's beliefs and goals can change
over
time. Don't you agree, Admiral?"
Relief swamped
Piett. "Yes, My Lord," he said, "of course."
Vader went on,
"you
must know as well as I that the Empire is disintegrating. I have
searched, but
I cannot see any means of saving it, or ourselves, while Palpatine
still rules.
Our Emperor is mad, Piett. If we continue to serve him, we are mad as
well."
If
things ever
get back to the point where politicians have to run for office again, Piett thought,
Vader's
got himself a ready-made career. The trouble
was, of course, that Piett agreed
with him. It might be only rhetoric on Vader's part, but it was also
true. Not
that Piett would have dared to ever say such a thing, if Darth Vader
hadn't
said it first.
"Lord
Vader," he asked, his voice firmer than it had been since the beginning
of
this interview, "what do you require of me?"
Vader said, "I
would like you to join
me. I intend to offer my services to the Rebellion, and if
they accept, I hope to bring most or all of our troops with me. I have
no doubt
that all of us will benefit from such an arrangement. Our assistance
could cut
in half the amount of time needed for this rebellion to triumph.
Bloodshed will
be decreased, for there will be many in the Imperial forces who would
much
rather join us than fight. And we will have a chance of surviving, in
reasonable prosperity, rather than fighting on to the last pathetic,
under-paid
stormtrooper in the service of a Master who despises us as much as he
despises
the Rebels."
Oh
well, thought Piett, I
suppose everyone's got to take a stand sometime. What can it hurt? I've
been
expecting to die every day, anyway.
"My
Lord," he said, getting up from his chair, "I will join you."
Vader stood as
well. Now this, Piett thought,
is probably where he strangles me
...
"No,
Admiral," came the amused, deep voice, "it is not where I strangle
you. You may breathe easily. I am arranging a meeting of our Command
Staff here
on the Executor at 2000 hours,
and I am to meet with the Rebel
leaders on their flagship at 0900 tomorrow. I trust I may count on your
support
on both occasions?"
"Of course, My
Lord."
"Good evening,
then, Admiral. Welcome to the Rebellion."
Luke had slept
badly. More accurately, he had not slept at all.
His father had
arranged quarters for him on the Star Destroyer the evening before,
after a
meeting with the assembled captains of the Imperial Fleet, and then had
retired
to his "meditation chamber", whatever that was. Luke had hoped they
might have a chance to talk, since there had been little time for that
with
Vader spending the day in negotiations with a mind-numbing array of
officers.
Luke was acutely conscious that the tentative peace holding the two
fleets
apart was due to his father alone. Vader's powers -- of persuasion, at
least;
Luke did not want to think of what other powers his father might be
using --
were solely responsible for stopping thousands of beings from murdering
each other.
But it would take only one of those beings, he knew, to break the
peace, and
send them all into disaster.
And Luke could
not
stop thinking of the way this impossible day had started. His muscles
still
ached from the Emperor's assault, and from the immense power that had
somehow
-- he still could hardly believe that it had happened -- attacked the
Emperor
through him. Alone in his borrowed quarters, Luke tried to feel that
power
again. He tried to call it back, and bring the energy once more surging
out of
his hands as it had done when he stood at his father's side. But there
was no
response.
He felt uneasy.
The
fear was lurking in Luke's mind that it had been the Dark Side working
through
him. He did not truly feel that it was; how could it have been,
when
all he felt as he fought had been love for his father, and a burning
desire to
help him?
All he felt? Well,
no,
all right, he was lying to himself. He had felt hatred for the Emperor,
and
fury at the Emperor's destructiveness and manipulations. But was that
wrong?
Had it been evil of him to feel that? Cold dread crept through him.
Ben, he thought. Yoda. Help
me. Have I
failed you? Have I done wrong? Guide me! But he got no
answer.
And his father.
What of him? Had he really changed? Luke's heart pounded faster at the
thought.
He wanted so much to speak with him! To -- just to spend time with him,
to
somehow make up for all the time they had never had. But he was still
afraid.
Darth Vader belonged to the Dark Side. Perhaps this time he had fought
for the
Light. Or perhaps, Luke thought,
he showed me how to fight for the
Dark, without my even realising it.
With such
thoughts
to keep him company, Luke had spent the night writhing uncomfortably on
the
cabin's bunk, although it was in fact the most comfortable bed he had
been in
for months, if not years.
He was standing
beside the viewing port, staring down at the retracted lightsaber he
held in
his hands, when the door's entry bell chimed. Luke had already made use
of the
sonic shower, and had also discovered that Imperial-issue razors made
for a
damn sight smoother shave than most razors the Rebels encountered.
Well,
Imperial-issue officers' razors, he
suspected. This cabin was obviously in the
officers' quarters, and had all the appropriate amenities. He sincerely
doubted
stormtroopers' razors were so effective.
Luke fastened
the
lightsaber back to his belt and crossed to the door. He pressed one of
the
buttons on the door's control panel, activating a viewscreen which was
linked
to the cabin's security camera. Darth Vader appeared on the screen,
standing
motionless in the corridor. Luke fought down an instinctive jolt of
fear. Remember,
Luke, he thought, this is someone you're
supposed to be happy to see. He pressed
another
button, and the door slid open.
"Luke,"
Vader greeted him. He did not ask whether Luke had slept well.
Probably,
considering the dark puffy blotches under Luke's eyes, there was no
point.
"Have you had breakfast yet?" he asked instead.
"Uh --
no."
"There is an
officers' dining room near the main bridge. I'll take you there."
Luke hurried
along
beside his father, having to take two steps for each of Vader's. He
tried to
ignore the surprised or hostile stares he received from the few
crewmembers
they passed in the corridors. No one dared to actually confront him, of
course,
not with Darth Vader striding along at his side. Luke wondered how many
of
these men knew who he was. All of them, probably, after the emergency
broadcast
of yesterday. Hello, everybody, he thought.
I'm the man who
destroyed the first Death Star. Nice to meet you. Oh, shit, I really do
not
want to be here.
Vader did not
speak
again until they were seated at a gleaming metal dining table, and Luke
was
starting in on a vast plate of colourful fruit most of which he didn't
recognise, but which made him suddenly realise he was famished. There
were a
few officers at another table, whose conversation had broken off
abruptly when
Vader and his son entered the room. The men quickly began speaking
again,
attempting somehow both to not look at the Dark Lord and his companion,
and to
not look like they
weren't looking.
Vader said
quietly,
"it doesn't require the Force, Luke, to see that you are troubled. Is
there any way I can put you at ease?"
That was such a
civil, and human, question,
that Luke was taken aback. He thought, he
really is my father. Not just my enemy. Luke asked,
hesitantly,
"I was wondering about the fight yesterday. That power -- how did we do
that? Or, how did you do it, I
guess."
Vader shook his
head. "It was not just my doing. I don't believe I would have survived
the
fight if you hadn't joined me."
Surprised
pleasure
washed over Luke at that statement. "But, it was so much stronger than
anything I'd believed possible. I tried, last night," he added, with
some
embarrassment. "I couldn't make it happen again."
"I'm not
surprised," said Vader, a hint of laughter in his voice. "I have
never wielded power of that magnitude before, and I have been in this
business
somewhat longer than you have."
Luke blushed
and
looked quickly down at the plate of fruit. His father told him, "it
must
have been our need that made such power possible. Certainly it will not
be at
our command -- not at least without a great deal more training, and
perhaps not
even then. Now," he went on, "tell me of your friends. No, don't look
so worried. I'm not asking you to betray them. I merely think it would
be
useful if I knew something of the people I'm about to meet."
"Well ...
" Luke began. "Ackbar and Mon Mothma, they've been the soul of this
fight. They care for their people very strongly. They'll be willing to
listen
to you, if you can convince them this will really save lives -- and
make those
lives worth living. Madine, I don't know him that well, but I think
he'll at least
respect your military accomplishments. General Dodonna won't trust you
very
easily, but he's not here, so you'll have time to win the others over
before
you have to face him. He's half-way retired, anyway. Rieekan's not here
either,
but I guess he'll probably go with the consensus, whatever that is. I
don't
think Han Solo and Lando Calrissian are very likely to take to you ... "
"I imagine
not," Vader agreed. "And what of your sister?"
Luke stopped
with a
piece of purple fruit halfway to his mouth. Leia. No, Leia was
not going to be
happy about this.
"Does she know
about me?" Vader asked.
"Yes. But
she's only just found out. I told her just before I left to find you.
This
isn't going to be easy for her."
Or for
any of
us, son, thought Vader. "I hope you've tried to
reassure her as to my
intentions," he said, "difficult though that must no doubt have
been."
"I -- "
and suddenly Luke felt horribly guilty. "I haven't spoken with her
since
this started."
Vader was
silent.
One of his hands, resting on the table, slowly closed into a fist.
Luke realised,
watching this, "you've got both your hands."
"Naturally. I
wasn't going to remain lopsided, it detracted from my dignity. Don't
change the
subject, Luke. Why haven't you talked with her?"
"I -- I don't
know," he said helplessly. "I -- guess I was afraid. That she
wouldn't agree with me, that she wouldn't trust you."
Vader sighed.
"You should have called her. She must be sick with worry." And then
he thought, what am I saying? This is disgusting. I've turned
into a typical
parent already. Any minute now, and I'll be giving him a curfew and
scolding
him for flying his x-wing too fast.
That is certainly enough parental chiding for now. "Then we must both face the wrath of Leia this morning," he said. "Eat up, Luke. We have a peace conference to get to."