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Title: Another Route
Author: Ar-Zimraphel (KellenER@aol.com)
Rating: PG-13
Category: AU, Drama, Adventure
Characters: Vader, Luke

Disclaimer: Hey, all! This is George Lucas writing an alternate reality to Star Wars. Enjoy!

Summary: Word of a supposed Jedi calling himself Anakin Skywalker travels to the ears of Darth Vader, the most feared being in the Galaxy. He races to Tatooine, where the Jedi was last rumored, and finds much more than he expected. A Luke/Vader challenge fic.


Another Route


“Luke, stop messing around with the droids and come here,” Owen Lars snapped at his adopted son, who was peering into the casing of their latest purchase.

“Uncle Owen—I’m pretty sure this circuitry can be altered to program it how to fix the vaporators”—said Luke, oblivious to his uncle.

“Sith, Luke! I said to get over here!” Owen said more harshly, causing the thirteen-year-old’s blond head to whip around. He got up reluctantly.

“What?” he asked, his excited mood vanishing.

Owen sighed. “Go into Anchorhead. We need a new hydrospanner.”

“But can’t you send”—

“No. Go,” said Owen tersely. “And don’t crash the speeder. And don’t dawdle! I need your help and I can’t have you getting abducted by Jawas once dark falls.” He glanced up at Tatooine’s twin suns. “You’ve not got much time.”

“Fine,” Luke grumbled, his youthful face clearly expressing that he’d rather be trying to rewire the droid. “I’ll need credits.”

“I gave you one hundred last week, didn’t I?” Owen said.

“Those are for school datapads, Uncle Owen!” Luke protested.

Owen waved his hand. “Use them for the hydrospanner. You can get datapads any time.”

“If I put it off any more I won’t get to go to school,” Luke persisted.

“I don’t want to hear anything else about it,” said Owen.

Luke stared at him for a few moments until he finally growled darkly, “Fine. Just keep doing your absolute best to make me miserable. Forget that I don’t want to waste my life on this stupid rock like you.”

Owen’s expression clouded over. “Shut your mouth, boy,” he said coldly. “Go and do as I say.”

“If my father was here, he’d let me train as a pilot,” Luke continued, more loudly. “He wouldn’t be selfish and force me to stay on Tatooine to be a farmer”—

“Then we had better be glad he isn’t!” Owen shouted back. “GO!”

Luke finally obeyed and walked out into the sunlight towards the beat-up speeder. Owen watched his retreat—pained and fearful at the same time. Could a simple upbringing not prevent that boy’s genes from manifesting themselves? Was he to be a replica of his father? Owen shivered in fear despite the overwhelming heat. He hoped not. For all their sakes, he hoped not.

Luke parked the speeder angrily and jumped out at Anchorhead’s leading tool shop. He walked in, expecting the shop to be vacant as it would normally be at this hour, but to his surprise he saw a man in a dark brown robe conversing animatedly with Mawin, the shop’s slightly disreputable owner.

“Look, I know you have the parts, but I need somebody to repair it! It’s only a rental, for Sith’s sake, how am I expected to know what to do?”

“Shouldna flown it den,” said Mawin, scratching his three days’ growth of beard.

“Surely you know someone who knows how to repair ships?” the man asked exasperated.

“’pends on how much incentive I got,” said Mawin, giving the man a snaggle-toothed grin.

“I’m a Jedi!” The man suddenly said quietly. “Don’t force me to do anything.”

Luke, unnoticed, continued listening intently. This man was a Jedi? The Empire was supposed to have killed them all. If he had survived, he must truly be powerful…”

“No you ain’t,” said Mawin. “Them Jedis been all done rid of.”

Suddenly, the man whipped out a cylindrical tube of metal and pressed a button. A green, flickering laser suddenly appeared and Mawin went pale. “’mpossible,” he said.

“Get me some help,” the man threatened.

Luke was entranced. He’d heard the stories of the laser swords that Jedis had supposedly carried, but he had never seen one before…

Mawin finally noticed him and raised a shaking finger to point at him. “That one,” he said quickly. “He got a goo’ ‘ead for them ships.”

The man turned around. “You, boy?” he said roughly. “Come with me, then.”

Luke felt a strange misgiving. “Sorry, I’m a customer,” he said uneasily.

“Don’t you see this?” the man said, indicating the green laser sword.

Luke had never stepped on a spaceship before, much less seen the intricate innerworkings of it. It would be interesting… But weren’t the Jedis supposed to have been protectors? This man was threatening!

Suddenly, Luke realized that maybe if he figured out some way to help the man, he would let him go with him! This was his chance to finally get off Tatooine, to finally become a pilot! “I’ll do it,” he said suddenly. “I’ll help you.”

The man grinned. “Good. Come with me,” he said, the laser sword disappearing. He turned to Mawin. “And next time you hear the name of Anakin Skywalker, do as he says. I won’t give you a warning next time,” he said warningly to Mawin, who nodded hastily.

Luke stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”

“Come on, kid, it’s not like I’ve got much time”—said the man—Anakin Skywalker—impatiently.

Luke just stared at the man. “You’re Skywalker? That’s your last name?”

“Yes,” said the man suspiciously.

Luke couldn’t trust his voice. “I’m Luke Skywalker,” he mumbled as the older man dragged in into the street.

“You are?” he seemed surprised. “I came here to look for you!” he said. “Luke, I’m your father!”

Luke could hardly believe his ears. Was this true? Had all his childhood dreams finally come to pass? If so—his aunt and uncle had lied to him! His father had been no mere navigator, but a Jedi! Did that mean that he could be a Jedi too? “You mean it?” he asked weakly. “I really am?”

Anakin beamed. “Yes, I would never lie to you, son. You were hidden from me for so long… It’s only now that I finally found you.”

Luke allowed the man to embrace him. His father.

In Mos Eisley, the Imperial Base received a strange call. “You got t’come, quick!” said the raspy whisper of Mawin. As soon as the Jedi and the boy had left, Mawin had decided that he needed to Comm the Imps as soon as possible—they would take care of this Jedi and he would be left in peace.

“Sir, state your name and emergency, please,” said the bored, mechanical voice of a receptionist droid.

“My name is Mawin—I own a store in Anchorhead, and a Jedi just came in!”

“There are no Jedi left, sir,” replied the droid.

“He ‘ad a laser sword, though! An’ he called ‘imself a Jedi!” said Mawin desperately. “Lemme talk to somebody there, droid!”

“Did he give you his name, sir?” the droid responded emotionlessly.

“Yeh, yeh—‘e said ‘is name was Anakin Skywalker!” said Mawin. “He was wearin’ a brown robe-type thing.”

There was silence while the droid looked up the name. Finally, it replied, “Sir, Imperial Stormtroopers will be arriving at your store as soon as possible. I advise you remain within your store.”

Mawin breathed a sigh of relief.

“Who do you live with, son?” asked Anakin as he and Luke walked together.

“Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru,” said Luke eagerly. “Come on, you should meet them—if you were there, then Uncle Owen would have no choice but to let me go! We can fix your ship, and then get off this planet!”

Anakin seemed to hesitate. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, absolutely! They always told me you were dead—I can’t believe they lied! And you’re a Jedi!”

Anakin relented. “Very well. Let us go, then.”

He mostly just listened as Luke talked excitedly as they drove to a seemingly deserted farmhouse, wondering if this Owen had ever met the REAL Anakin Skywalker…

Darth Vader was mediating in his hyperbolic chamber when he sensed the presence of a nervous captain on the other side of his door. His temper rising at being interrupted, he had the droids replace the mask and helmet and he walked towards the door, using the Force to open it. As he expected, it was the newest, youngest captain. When there was important news to deliver, the other ranking officials sent the newest one. Vader’s notoriously short temper was infamous for being the cause of the high fatality rate under his command.

The captain was sweating and he attempted a salute, terrified at the sight of the imposing man far taller than himself. “My lord,” he mumbled.

Vader remained silent for a few excruciating moments. “Why is it that you have interrupted me, Captain Santen?”

The man winced. “Sir, we’ve received a message from our base on Tatooine—you know, the desert planet on the outer rim”—

“I believe I know Tatooine,” said Vader softly, dangerously.

“Yes, well, they reported a Jedi sighting. Supposedly a man named Anakin Skywalker threatened a storeowner with a—erm—“ the man glanced down at the cylindrical metal tube that hung at Vader’s waist. “One of those laser swords. Like yours, my lord,” said the captain.

Vader said nothing. Why would this so-called Jedi dare to reveal himself, even on a planet on the Outer Rim? Why that name? His presence on Tatooine indicated that he knew something of Vader’s past, but if he was truly a Jedi, how could he have escaped the Purge? If he was not a Jedi, how could he know Vader’s old identity? Making his mind up quickly, Vader focused his attention of the man practically enveloped by fear. “Set a course for Tatooine immediately. I want to be on that planet with that Jedi’s body at my feet in less than five hours.”

The man saluted again. “Yes, my lord,” he stammered, backing out of the way. “Immediately, sir.”

He practically ran away from Vader’s presence. Smiling behind his mask, the one in question retreated to his room. Why that name? Why Tatooine?

The man was suspicious, Anakin realized. Did he know who the true Anakin Skywalker was? And this boy—he was so trusting. Could he possibly be Skywalker’s son? He sat silent as the short teenager outlined plans to his aunt and uncle how he and Anakin were going to travel the galaxy, making up for lost time. Naïve boy.

He was grateful that he hadn’t completely blown his cover when the boy had first told him his name. This guise was dangerous enough without blowing it right away. Maybe he could even use the boy. Maybe he could be trained. If he truly was his father’s son, he’d have to be fairly powerful, wouldn’t he? Maybe he’d be powerful enough to even defeat them.

Anakin suddenly recognized that all three members were staring at him expectantly. “Sorry,” he apologized. “Could you repeat yourself?”

“I would like to know just how you came to be here,” said the man—Owen—stiffly. “It seems very unlikely, considering what we thought we knew of Luke’s father.”

Anakin was getting tired of answering this man’s questions—they had been there nearly four hours, and his patience was wearing thin. “I’ve been hiding from the Empire on Outer Rim planets for the past thirteen years,” he said, which was the truth, at least. He was grateful he wasn’t powerful enough to cause much of a disturbance in the Force. If he hadn’t been as weak, he wouldn’t have survived. He had been in the temple that night, when the true Anakin Skywalker had entered, and murdered the younglings. He’d only been eight at the time, and had hidden deep within the chambers, uncomprehending why the great Jedi Knight was there. “The Imperials had almost caught on to me the planet I was at last,” he explained. “I came here. Of course, I would have come here much sooner had I known Luke was here.”

“You look a little young,” said Beru finally.

“And you don’t look like you did when we last saw you,” said Owen.

“The Force keeps me young,” said Anakin quickly. “And I had my appearance changed so that I would not stand out as much.”

The whole family went silent, and Anakin could tell that Owen did not believe him.

“We’ve got to close down the farm for the night, Beru,” he said to his wife as clearly an invitation to speak privately.

She nodded and stood, casting a wary glance at Anakin. No, she did not trust him either.

“He isn’t Anakin,” said Owen immediately, his eyes worried and tense.

“I know,” said Beru. “He cannot be. Obi-Wan would not have lied to us over such a matter.”

“What can we do?” Owen said. “We cannot tell Luke who his true father is, and not this imposter either,” he said, touching his forehead with a callused hand.

“Owen… If—if—he finds out…”Beru began slowly, trailing off.

Owen needed no explanation to know of whom his wife spoke in such terrified tones.

“If the stories are true, he will kill us. And the imposter,” said Owen. He paused. “And Luke.”

“He wouldn’t,” said Beru, horrified. “How could he kill us, when we’ve known him? And surely he would not kill his own flesh and blood, Owen, that’s unthinkable!”

“Obi-Wan says that not much is left of his own flesh,” said Owen. “He told me once, that he left him barely alive, and had no idea how he lived except for mechanics.”

“But his heart, Owen!” Beru persisted. “You remember his love for his mother… Surely he cannot have completely lost that passionate heart?”

“You know what he has become, Beru,” said Owen. “I think that we must fear the worst, if Obi-Wan is to be believed.”

“What can we do?” Beru moaned. “The boy clearly believes this imposter, there is nothing you can say—other than the truth, of course, that will convince him otherwise”—

“He must not leave Tatooine,” said Owen firmly. “Obi-Wan says that—he—keeps well enough away not to sense Luke’s presence, whatever way he would be able to. But if Luke enters some of the more well-known worlds, the core worlds—his father will find him.”

Both their gazes turned to the two figures approaching them. Luke was clutching a small bag and Anakin’s expression was unreadable.

“I thought we should leave as soon as possible, so I get out of your hair,” said Luke excitedly. “You don’t have to worry about me, my father will protect me.”

“Of course, Luke will have to fix the ship first,” said Anakin, looking towards the boy’s adoptive parents for approval.

“Luke? Luke has never even seen a ship before,” said Beru, forgetting the boy’s words in favor of surprise.

“What?” Anakin was unpleasantly surprised. So he was stranded on this forsaken planet? He turned to Luke. “You mean you can’t even fix it?”

“I didn’t say I could!” Luke protested, seeming hurt. “It was the storeowner that did!”

Anakin swore. “Well, what can you do?” He seemed oblivious to Luke’s injured feelings.

“I don’t think I appreciate you talking to him that way,” said Owen, stepping him, his eyes narrowed.

“Are you his father?” Anakin returned nastily.

“More than you,” said Owen tersely. He turned to Luke. “This—man—is not your father, Luke. He is some imposter, trying to gain your trust for a twisted reason I don’t care to understand.”

“Shut up!” Luke said angrily. “You’re lying!”

“I would never lie about something like this to you, Luke,” said Owen wearily.

“If he isn’t my father, then who is, Uncle Owen?” Luke demanded, trying to mask his wounded heart with bravado. “A spice smuggler?”

Owen didn’t reply. “Luke…”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Luke suddenly screamed. “You’ve been lying to me my entire life!”

“Luke, you don’t understand”—Owen began desperately, sensing that he was losing the boy.

“No, I think I do! You just need the help on this Sith-forsaken farm, so you made up some lie about my father being a good-for-nothing, dead smuggler! Well, he’s a Jedi Knight, and I’ll be one too! And I’ll come back here and prove it to you!” Luke cried out.

Beru let out a pained cry. “Luke, please listen to us!” she pleaded.

“Maybe you should stay, Luke,” Anakin interjected, hoping to lose the responsibility of the supposed son now that he was of no use to him.

“What?” Luke turned on him, aghast. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I live a dangerous life, Luke,” Anakin said uncomfortably. “Maybe I should return when you’re older, and then we can travel together”—

“How could you say that? We’ve been apart for thirteen years, and you want to wait some more?” Luke was clearly hurt.

Anakin fell silent as Owen and Beru looked on.

As his shuttle set down in the sands that he had hoped never to see again, Vader steeled himself. The memories—of his childhood, and his mother—rushed back, but he beat them down, as he always did. Those memories had no place in him, except for the anger he felt at his mother’s death. The Stormtroopers looked at him expectantly. “I will go alone,” he told him. “Stay until I return.”

The captain saluted and Vader stood as the harsh winds of the desert made his cloak billow out. He stepped down into the sand as the twin suns disappeared beyond the horizon. He could feel the Force-sensitive person—he was strong, that much Vader could tell. There seemed another, smaller presence—perhaps another—

No, Vader said. If there was any remnant of the Force here, then it was as a result of his own actions that night, when he had slaughtered the camp.

They had not set down far from the supposed Jedi, but far enough so that he would not be immediately alerted to their presence, and have the opportunity to run. Though, Vader admitted, hiding in a farm such a distance from Anchorhead was bizarre in and of itself. There was danger in Mos Eisley, to be sure, and Anchorhead was most likely crawling with Stormtroopers, but the Jedi’s chance of escape was greater in a place with a ship, at least.

He came upon the farm sooner than expected, and shielded the people’s minds from his telltale breathing mask. He wished to observe his prey for a few moments before the strike. It was strange to him why the Jedi was speaking to the two older people—and the boy too, he realized. Surely the Jedi realized the dangers of associating with people? It would be far more intelligent to simply hide from them and use their facility as a brief harbor.

The people were on good enough terms, it seemed—they would have to be killed, of course, for harboring Imperial enemies. They would have most like heard their local report of a reported Jedi.

Unless, of course, Vader thought, Tatooine had remained as unbelievably primitive as it had been during his own youth. He enhanced his hearing just enough to hear the Jedi say, “Maybe I should return when you’re older, and then we can travel together”—

Vader felt a surprisingly strong wave of pain from the boy, who replied, in anguish, “How could you say that? We’ve been apart for thirteen years, and you want to wait some more?” Vader sensed ripples in the Force, and suddenly realized that it was not the Jedi who was powerful, it was the boy. Did that mean that the imposter was attempting to recruit the boy for training? In that case, or in any case, they would both be killed. But how had he come upon the Force-sensitive boy to begin with? If he were as unremarkable as he seemed, he would not have been able to sense the boy, even from a nearby planet.

The four people remained in awkward silence until Owen opened his mouth to say something, but words were robbed from his mouth and they all froze.

Quite suddenly, they all heard the terrifying hiss of a respirator and saw the enormously tall figure clothed completely in black walk to them from the darkness.

Beru let out a shrill scream and clutched her husband in terror. Owen gasped and reached out for Luke’s arm, but the boy jerked it away. Anakin’s face was pale. He was dead—Vader would kill him, not only for being a Jedi, but for using his name—there was no hope for survival—he turned around, preparing to run, however futile.

“I would think that the true Anakin Skywalker would stand and fight,” said Vader, his voice amplified and aided by the apparatus of the mask. Anakin stopped dead—Vader had used the Force to stop him in his tracks. Slowly, he turned to face the dreaded figure.

Other than the woman’s scream, there was only silence and the sound of his cursed respirator. The imposter was clearly terrified out of his wits, Vader could easily tell. He looked no more than twenty-five—he would have been a Padawan at the time of the Purge. How had he missed him? Vader remembered clearly the night he had led the Stormtroopers through the Jedi Temple, and did not recall the Force-pulse of another alive.

The Jedi fumbled and turned on his lightsaber, the laser humming to life, but the bright green light flickered slightly.

Realizing why, Vader let out a slow, ominous laugh completely devoid of mirth. “You think to duel me with the practice lightsaber of a Padawan, Jedi? I had hoped for the semblance of a contest when I felt the presence of someone strong in the force here.”

‘Anakin’ was visibly trembling and sweaty, and did not seem to be able to find any words to say, when Luke tugged on his robe. “Do something!” Luke cried. “You’re a Jedi, you’re the only one of us that can defeat him!”

“Listen to the child, Jedi,” said Vader, calling his own lightsaber to his hand and allowing the scarlet light to come into being. He held it, poised. “Do something. Will you not seek to destroy me, as all of your precious Masters have died doing so?”

“You—you’re evil!” ‘Anakin’ gasped, his fear consuming him.

The woman let out another cry and rushed towards the boy, who was staring with disappointment towards the Jedi. “Luke, please, get away from him! Please, child! Run!”

“He’s my father,” said the boy quietly, though he sounded less than convinced. “I can’t abandon him…”

Vader admitted confusion. This boy thought that the Jedi was his father? A horrible thought crept into his mind, as he recalled that the Jedi had called himself Anakin Skywalker. No… Impossible…

He was forced to react as the Jedi suddenly found strength enough to swing his lightsaber around in a rudimentary move that Vader blocked easily. He flicked his own lightsaber and the Jedi’s weapon flew out of his grasp, landing in the sand. He held his own blade in front of the Jedi’s neck. “At least die with an attempt of honor,” he spat, as the imposter didn’t move.

When he did nothing except surrender to fear, Vader sighed mentally and brought his lightsaber around in a vicious chop, decapitating the weak imposter.

The boy let out a cry and stared at Vader. “You killed him!” he shouted. “You killed my father!”

With almost inhuman speed, he rushed to the dropped lightsaber and ignited it, running towards Vader with blind fury. Vader acted on instinct. He stepped aside and brought his weapon down, shearing through the boy’s wrist on the arm that held the weapon.

He let out a scream of pain, as did the woman, who rushed to him. She collapsed by the boy and looked up at Vader as she cradled the child, tears in her eyes. “How could you, Anakin?” she whispered, her face a mask of pain. “He’s your”—

Vader’s rage at his being called by his former—weak—name caused him to raise his blade and bring it down harshly upon the woman, killing her as easily as he had the imposter. Who was that woman to know his former identity? More, how dare she call him by that name—that hated name? Vader’s wrath did not diminish as he turned his attention to the man, who had collapsed to his knees, staring in disbelief at the scene before him.

“What is your name?” he growled, advancing upon him. “Who are you?”

The man showed no signs of acknowledgement as he looked unblinkingly at his fallen wife and at the Jedi who was supposed to have protected them. He suddenly seemed to shake himself out of his reverie. He looked at Vader. “She did nothing,” he mumbled uncomprehendingly. “She did nothing wrong. She was innocent.”

“She was going to take in a Jedi,” Vader growled. “And has harbored a Force-sensitive child in her home. Those were her crimes. And yours are the same, and you will receive the same punishment.”

“Anakin, please”—the man begged him. “Please do not harm Luke. I met you once! Do you not remember? I am Owen Lars.”

Vader registered mild surprise despite the fury that encompassed him once more. He raised his lightsaber as if to strike him down. “I am Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith! Anakin Skywalker is dead, and his name shall never be uttered again!” he thundered, but the man—Owen Lars, the child of his mother’s union with the older Lars—did not falter. He seemed resigned to his imminent death.

“Do not harm Luke, Anakin. He is your son,” said Owen, just as Vader’s blade whipped down to kill him like it had all the rest.

It couldn’t be. Padmé had died, and the child within her must have as well. Vader looked down at the scene before him—the teenager cradling the stump of his hand, tears wetting his cheeks. She had died, his Master had told him so—he had killed her—the child could not have survived—it was impossible.

And yet the child’s strength of the Force… He was untrained, but Vader could still feel the potential power that lurked there…

No, he rushed to counter. This boy—this Luke—he was not his son. It was not possible. He was Darth Vader, and Padmé was dead, and so was the child—they were both dead, just like Anakin Skywalker—

The boy stared up at him, fear and hatred and pain evident both on his face and through his presence in the Force.

Padmé’s eyes.

No, no, he told himself. It couldn’t be. But this time the words were hollow. His son.

Their son.

The Stormtroopers all stared at Vader as he carried the boy to the shuttle and laid him down in one of the empty seats. Vader sensed their surprise and bewilderment—and also their burning desire to ask—but he was in no mood to assuage them. He did not know why he took the boy—he told himself that it was because his Master would want to know of the boy, but Vader knew that the reason was shallow.

“My lord?” the captain asked tentatively. Vader did not respond. “The boy…”

“Upon our return to the Executor you are to see personally that this boy is placed in the Medical Wing and given the proper treatment,” said Vader. “He is to be secured with binders and placed under a forced sleep. No word of his existence is to be mentioned to anyone on board the ship. If this order is breached, I will see to it that each of you receives a very public, very painful death. Am I understood?”

All the clones immediately replied, “Yes, my lord.”

Vader said nothing for the remainder of the journey back to the super star destroyer. Luke was his name, he remembered. Was that the name that Padmé had chosen? He remembered that he had wanted to name the child Qui-Gon, after the Jedi that had saved him from enslavement. Vader glanced at the boy. She had been right, he thought. Luke was a better name.

Vader sat in his meditation chamber, trying to focus, but his thoughts were in turmoil over his newly discovered son. Who had hidden the boy from him? Unbidden, an image of Obi-Wan popped into his head, and Vader clenched his fists. Of course—Obi-Wan. He had taken everything else from him; undoubtedly, he would be the one to hide the child.

The vivid memory of the fire, the molten lava sliding up his back—Vader repressed the memories with a mental shudder, only to open his eyes and see his ravaged body, revealed once the armor was removed. The mechanical legs, arms—the contraptions hooked to him that kept the feared, so-called invincible Darth Vader alive. Fury boiled up in him. Obi-Wan had done this—Obi-Wan had left him to die, helpless as the fire consumed him, as the fumes destroyed his lungs, rendered him dependent on the mask, the hated mask—Vader’s prosthetic hands clenched. That Jedi, that man who had called Vader his brother--he would pay for doing this to him, for turning Padmé against him, for hiding his son—he vowed that Obi-Wan would die by his hand, and no other.

Once his anger subsided temporarily, Vader clad himself in the life-support suit once more, realizing that he would not be able to meditate in this state. He might as well go to see if the boy was recuperating, he reasoned. Perhaps he was awake.

Luke woke, wishing that his horrible nightmare had come to an end—that he was on the farm, that he had never heard the words Anakin Skywalker, that he had never laid eyes on the most feared man in the Galaxy. He opened his eyes and saw the unfamiliar white ceiling above him and disappointment and sorrow flooded his heart.

It had happened.

His nightmare had been real.

He sat up slowly and then looked to his right hand in horror. His right hand was gone, and was replaced by a multitude of wires and metal. He stared at it unbelievingly at it, and did not notice a droid entered the room. When it spoke, he looked up sharply. “Your new skin will be arriving shortly, Master Patient 9221. I apologize for the inconvenience. I assure you that the skin will not belie that the limb is artificial.”

The droid’s words did not register in Luke’s mind.

He did not have a hand.

His hand was gone.

In its place was a mechanic fake, an imposter, a pretend hand.

Luke felt nauseated and looked away before glancing down again at the mess of wires and metal that was in the place of his hand.

“My hand is gone,” he whispered to himself.

“I know the feeling,” replied the deep voice that had haunted his dreams. Luke turned sharply to see Darth Vader standing at the entrance of his room, his arms crossed. Luke froze in terror and hatred. He was the one to do it all—he had killed Aunt Beru, and Uncle Owen, and—whoever that Jedi was. He had cut off Luke’s hand.

Vader watched Luke stare at him, wide-eyed and obviously petrified with fear. The only sound was that off his mechanized breathing. “It is unfortunate that you lost the hand at so young an age. As you grow, it will have to be replaced to fit with the rest of your body.” He did not know why he said that. The fear that he caused—which he normally enjoyed—was making the situation awkward.

“You’re not going to kill me?” the boy asked bitterly, his emotions overwhelming the fear for a brief second.

“I don’t think so,” said Vader, impassive.

Luke turned his head away, a gesture that stirred in Vader the memory of Padmé—his Padmé—doing the same thing. “Why did you do it?” he asked desperately, his voice full of pain. “Why did you have to kill them?

Vader didn’t know quite what to say. “They were harboring a Jedi,” he said finally, unsure of why he was even answering the boy.

“But they didn’t do anything to you!” he burst out. “Aunt Beru was never mean to anyone, and Uncle Owen cared for me! The only reason my father was there was because I wanted to say goodbye to them before we left!”

“You believe that the Jedi was your father?” asked Vader with mild interest.

“That’s not the point!” Luke shouted. “They never did anything bad to anyone! They didn't deserve to die!” He seemed to have forgotten his fear.

“Many die who do not deserve to do so,” said Vader in as a strangely distant tone as his mostly mechanical voice could portray.

“But they didn’t just ‘die!’” Luke said, tears spilling from his eyes that he wiped away hastily. “You killed them!”

“How did you meet the Jedi?” Vader said, not sure how to respond to the boy’s overly emotional state.

“In a store,” said Luke. “He thought I could repair his ship ‘cause he didn’t know how.”

“That should have told you immediately that he was not the true Anakin Skywalker,” said Vader sharply.

“What?”

“What did your aunt and uncle tell you of your father?” Vader asked, slightly surprised. He thought that they would have told him basic facts at least, if not that his father was Darth Vader.

“They told me he was a navigator for a spice smuggler,” said Luke quietly, refusing to look at Vader.

“That is obviously not the case,” he said, not without some derision. “Anakin Skywalker had remarkable skill with mechanics. In fact, that was his best skill before becoming a Jedi.”

“Then why couldn’t he repair his ship?” Luke asked, confused.

“That was not Anakin Skywalker,” said Vader. The traumatic events of two days earlier must have somehow altered his memories of them. “Before I became a Sith, that was my name. I am your father.”

Vader could tell from both the boy’s expression and gentle probing of his mind that he remembered his uncle’s words. I Do not harm Luke, Anakin. He is your son .

After a few minutes of silence, Luke stared at the expressionless mask. “No. I don’t believe you.”

Vader had not expected that. He said nothing.

“You’re lying!” Luke suddenly shouted, throwing back his covers on the bed and trying to stand before his other wrist was caught on the binders keeping him locked to the bed. He pulled at it, attempting desperately to get as far away from Vader as the room would allow. He looked at the man in black wildly. “You’re wrong! My father died! He died! He’s dead! My father wouldn’t kill innocent people, he wouldn’t cut off my hand—you’re lying! You’re lying to me!”

To Vader, the boy’s fear, confusion, and pain were as tangible as the suit he wore. “I do not lie.”

The boy said nothing as he breathed heavily after his exertion. “No,” he said weakly. “No,” he repeated. “No, I don’t believe you.” The words were empty, and Vader knew that the boy realized the truth.

“Lord Vader… Uh… What do you wish us to do with the child?” asked one of Vader’s captains nervously.

“I don’t see how he is of any importance to you, Captain,” said Vader smoothly.

“Lord Vader,” the Captain continued hurriedly. “It’s just… the men are starting to talk. They’re confused. They want to know why the boy is on the ship.”

“Will this prevent the men from doing their jobs, Captain?”

“Well, no, it shouldn’t”—the Captain said awkwardly.

“It won’t, or you will pay. Do I make myself clear?” said Vader.

The Captain nodded furiously. “Yes, sir—Of course, sir.”

The Captain left the room and Vader sat down in his chair. Truthfully, he didn’t know what he would do with the boy. He had completely recovered, and the sensitive ‘skin’ had been applied to his prosthetic. He refused to speak except in absolutely necessary sentences—something for which Vader was grateful. The boy’s questions had become a nuisance.

But still, something needed to be done. He got his Comm device and called the Medical Wing.

Twenty minutes later, a squad of six Stormtroopers escorted Luke inside Vader’s office. The boy avoided looking at his father, and Vader noticed that his prosthetic hand was hidden within the folds of the overlarge shirt with which he had been provided. He was short, for thirteen—he had blond hair, and blue eyes. Vader supposed that Luke looked like he had, only the shape of his eyes and his mannerisms were completely reminiscent of Padmé.

He looked up to the Stormtroopers. “Return to your duty,” he told them, and they obeyed immediately. At their departure, the boy seemed to shrink further within himself. He still refused to make eye contact—or the equivalent of eye contact—with Vader. Vader said nothing. He knew that eventually the boy would speak.

They listened to several mechanized inhalations and exhalations. Finally the boy looked up. "What did you mean when you said you knew what it felt like to lose a hand?”

That was not the question Vader expected.

He thought a moment. “When I was still a Jedi, my mentor and best friend dueled with me, believing that I was trying to prevent the Jedi from gaining power of the Galaxy.” He chose his words carefully. “We fought on a volcanic planet named Mustafar. It was there that my arms and legs were cut off.” It was not completely true—Count Dooku had first cut off his right hand in that ill-fated duel when he was still a Padawan.

Luke was properly horrified. “But why would he fight you if you were best friends?”

“I suppose that he was so overcome with fear that the Jedi would lose power that our relationship meant nothing to him,” said Vader, anger bubbling up to the surface as it always did when he thought about Obi-Wan.

Luke said nothing for a few seconds. “Why do you wear that mask?” he asked finally, almost fearfully.

Vader’s fists clenched. “He left me to die on the banks of a lava flow. The fumes that the lava produced—as well as the fire—destroyed my lungs and most of my other organs. The mask is part of a body-wide respiration system.” Vader detested speaking about his medical situation and no one other than the Emperor, his droids, and the doctor to whom he occasionally went knew of the extent of his injuries. But, he reasoned, if he was to win the boy’s trust, it was best not to lie. No doubt, the truth would make him a more human character than the mask and suit allowed.

Luke looked horrified. “But—weren’t the Jedi supposed to be good?”

“They pretended to be,” said Vader.

Vader smiled behind the mask as he sensed that the boy’s opinion of him was softening.

They sat in silence for a few moments until Luke had fully absorbed the information. He turned and sat down in the chair as kind of a gesture of truce. “You’re really my father?” he asked after a few moments.

“Yes.”

Luke looked at his prosthetic hand. “Why did you have to kill them?” he whispered bitterly.

“The Jedi are my sworn enemies,” said Vader. “In both personal and official respects. It is part of my duty to remove Jedi, or those who show their lack of loyalty to the empire, from the galaxy.”

Vader could tell that the boy was evaluating his response. He was probably recalling what Vader had told him of Obi-Wan. He looked up at the fearsome mask. “But… Aunt Beru…”

“You will be provided with a room close to my own,” said Vader, interrupting him. “You will be protected by a squadron of Stormtroopers at all times. If anyone speaks to you, tell me and they will be punished.”

Vader saw the memory of Beru’s dead body flash through Luke’s mind. “Not fatally,” he added, though it was probably a lie. Though, he thought to himself, none of the Stormtroopers would dare to disobey his orders. There would be no reason for them to die.

“You were my brother, Anakin!” said the man, clearly pained as he stared at Luke from the ridge. “I loved you!”

Luke screamed as he felt his legs—or what was left of his legs—catch fire, as he slid helplessly down the ridge. The pain was unbearable—the flames licked the flesh, searing it, cutting deep into the wounds already inflicted.

He felt the words tear themselves from his damaged throat—the fumes already beginning to do their work. “I HATE YOU!” He screamed, terror and helplessness and betrayal seeping through his body.

The man lowered his eyes and stared at him, his eyes reflecting Luke as he slid perilously close to the lava. Sorrowfully, he pocketed the metal cylinder and Luke felt a rush of anger as his lightsaber—the blade over which he had labored for so long—was taken from him. The man walked away and Luke’s anger was soon forgotten as his body touched the lava.

He screamed in unadulterated agony as the fire consumed him, as it ate away his flesh, permeated his bones. He struggled to breathe, the toxic fumes suffocating him. With his remaining hand—his mechanical hand, he realized, he clutched the earth and attempted to pull his destroyed, burning body from the lava. Hatred flowing through him, he swore that he would survive this, that he would kill Obi-Wan. Fresh pain coursed through him and he let out another scream…

Luke realized he was screaming when he woke up. He jerked up and ripped back the covers on his new bed to check to make sure his legs were still there, to see if his body was scarred from lava burns. He jumped out of his bed, staring in horror as his eyes showed him mechanical limbs, as he saw twisted, disfigured skin. Luke let out a yell and shut his eyes, stumbling to the ground. He breathed heavily for several minutes, his head spinning. No—it wasn’t possible—

He opened his eyes and nearly cried in relief when his own body stared back at him. Just a dream.

Luke.

Luke jerked around, searching for the voice. Who is that?

This is your father, Luke.

Luke couldn’t muster the energy to respond—he was terrified to tell Vader what he had seen. Was that what he had lived through? Had Luke just experienced the results of the duel on Mustafar? He shuddered and clutched his knees to his chest, burying his face. He moaned as a cold sweat came over him.

I will be there shortly.

Luke tried to breathe normally but he was half-paralyzed by hyperventilation and his fears that he had, in fact, breathed in the toxic fumes and could not breathe, that his lungs couldn’t function…

Luke gasped for air and slid to the floor, welcoming the coolness of the concrete, especially after... He cleared his head, trying desperately to forget the sensations of his dream. He slowly began to calm down and managed to prevent full-on hyperventilation.

Suddenly the door slid open and the man Luke least wanted to see stepped through, clad as ever in the suit. He moaned a second time and shut his eyes tight, the memories of his struggles to breathe wracking him. His brief repose from the act of desperation over, he gasped for air.

Suddenly, he felt himself begin to calm. It was as if something invisible was cooling him, was reassuring him. Some unseen force began to help him to breathe, and he felt his mind clearing, ridding itself of the agony and the fear—temporarily at least.

He felt himself being lifted and set on the bed. He opened his eyes to stare at Vader, whose mechanical breathing and Luke’s own mingled now. Luke shuddered as he remembered the reason for the respirator and almost succumbed to his dream once more but for a gentle presence in his mind that had retrieved him.

“You saw Mustafar “ Vader stated, more than a little disturbed.

Luke did nothing, his face blank.

Vader said nothing. The images from the boy’s dream were so vivid that they projected themselves into Vader’s mind, not that he needed any aid remembering. He recognized that he needed to say something to Luke, who was still staring at him, pale and breathing raggedly. He almost shuddered himself as the boy emanated the pain he had felt in the dream. Guarding his mind was something Vader would need to teach himself as soon as possible. “His name was Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he said finally, stepping in front of Luke and clasping his fists together behind his back. Luke looked at him, obviously not trusting himself to speak. “I am going to show you how to meditate,” said Vader at last. That, at least, would help the boy calm himself.

“To what?” Luke finally asked, his voice hoarse and weak.

Vader mentally winced at the similarity between it and his own, when unaided by the respirator. “Meditate. It will help you relax, using the Force.”

Luke stared at him blankly. “The what?”

Vader felt the fury build in him quickly. They had not even told the boy of the Force, his birthright? “You mean you do not know of the Force?” he said finally.

Luke did not need to shake his head for Vader to realize his honesty.

“It is the energy field that surrounds us and is part of everything,” said Vader, unconsciously reciting what he had been told throughout his training as a Jedi. “It binds the universe together. There are some that feel it, and can bind it to their will. I can, and you can as well. I will teach you to use it, and you will be my apprentice.”

“Apprentice?”

“Yes,” said Vader, and Luke detected a small change in the voice—satisfaction, perhaps? “But first, you must learn to meditate.”

Luke nodded slowly, and Vader sensed that he was ready. “Close your eyes,” said the Sith. “And control your breathing. Recall the pain and fear, and reach for the Force,” he told his son, who did as he was told. “Good,” said Vader as a calm seemed to come over the boy. He turned to leave and walked out the door, casting one last look at Luke, whose posture seemed serene as he sat on the bed.

Looking away, Vader strode down the hallway, perturbed. He had instinctively used the Light Side of the Force to calm the boy, and had hardly realized it. His mood darkened. That must not happen again, he commanded himself. The boy would become a Sith. He did not need Vader using the Light Side to help him recover from nightmares.

Vader sighed inwardly. Even those nightmares.

Obi-Wan Kenobi jerked awake at the movements of the Force. He stood and grabbed his lightsaber, not sure why he had woken. Was something wrong with Luke? He sensed ripples in the Force that indicated someone’s death nearby. He cast the Force over the area, trying in vain to sense Luke and his guardians. When he felt nothing, cold fear settled in his breast and spread to his body. Fearing the worst, he took his speeder to the farm just as the first of the suns—Tatoo I—was rising.

The scene was worse than he had imagined. The decapitated forms of Beru, Owen, and a younger man whom he had never seen before lay on the sand. Swallowing, he knelt down to inspect the gruesome wounds. He shuddered as he realized that that the cause of their deaths was as he feared—a lightsaber. And there was only one lightsaber left that would do so much damage, which meant…

He looked around the farm, calling with the Force to try and find Luke. But the boy’s strong presence was no where to be found, except for…

Obi-Wan let out a short cry as he saw a Padawan’s lightsaber on the ground, the hand of a boy still clutching it. He fell to his knees, stunned and horrified at the same time. “Oh, Anakin—what have you done? Have I failed again?” Was Luke in the hands of his father, the monster that he himself had created?

With a violent tremor of guilt, Obi-Wan recalled that night thirteen years earlier as he had stared at his horribly crippled protégé, his brother, his best friend, crying out in agony and hate. Repressing the painful memories, he stood and steeled himself. It was time to contact Yoda—no doubt he would have felt the distress. Bail Organa would also have to be notified. Leia was now their only hope—Luke was sure to be killed. He had failed him just as he had failed Anakin.

“To the hands of Darth Vader Luke has gone,” said Yoda once Obi-Wan stepped inside the Jedi Master’s humble home.

“Master… It is my fault,” said Obi-Wan sorrowfully. “I should have kept closer watch! I should have just told Luke about his father—I should have trained him!”

“Change the past dwelling will not,” said Yoda heavily. “In both of us the responsibility is,” said Yoda. “But find him Vader would have still if the boy was trained.”

“What can we do?” Obi-Wan asked desperately. “Luke could be killed—or worse, trained as a Sith!”

“Only hope that there is still some Anakin left in Darth Vader, we can,” said Yoda as he poured a miniature, rough-cut drinking vessel full of water.

“You did not see the Lars’ home, Master,” Obi-Wan said as he accepted the water from Yoda. “It was a slaughter. I cannot believe that Darth Vader is anything other than a monster. There is no Anakin left in him. And it is my fault.”

“Caught by Darth Sidious, Anakin was,” said Yoda quietly. “Blamed you are not to be.”

Obi-Wan held his head in his arms and massaged his temples. “I wish that I had killed him, more than ever,” he said softly. “Released him from his torment, to join Padmé.”

“Torturing yourself you are,” said Yoda gently. “Focus we must on Leia. Lost is Luke to us.”

Obi-Wan nodded silently. “Yes, Master,” he said softly, though his heart still ached for those that had been lost—good, noble Anakin—kind Padmé—and now, he realized, Luke. Luke, in his innocence, was lost forever.

“Return you must to Tatooine,” Yoda urged. “Erase your life there you must.”

“What news have you to report, Lord Vader?” the sinister voice of the Emperor croaked. The Darkness emanated even from the holo in front of which Vader knelt.

“The rumors of a Jedi calling himself Anakin Skywalker were true, Master,” said Vader, choosing his words carefully. The Emperor would learn of Luke’s existence soon enough—there was no point in hiding the boy from him. “He was nothing but a Padawan during the Purge, and too weak for me to feel him.”

“It is good that he is disposed of, Lord Vader,” said the Emperor.

“Master… There was the presence of another Force-sensitive person on Tatooine,” said Vader. “I think that the Jedi was attempting to take and train him.”

“Did you terminate him?” the Emperor asked unconcernedly.

“Well—the boy was remarkably strong, though untrained,” said Vader quickly. “I thought that he could become my apprentice.”

The Emperor said nothing for a few minutes. “You seek to destroy me by training another Sith, Lord Vader?”

“Master, I would never”—Vader remedied quickly. He began again. “I thought only that if the boy could be trained, then there would be two Sith that you would trust to carry out your orders. This is a large Galaxy—the presence of another Sith would relieve some of my duties.”

“You grow weary of your obligations, Lord Vader?”

Vader knew his Master well enough that he recognized that he was walking on thin ice. “No, Master. I only thought that if I am destroying the seeds of rebellion on the Outer Rim, I cannot see to the problems of the Core Worlds. An apprentice—one we could trust—would solve this.”

Darth Sidious said nothing for a few minutes, and Vader knew that his argument had won. What came next, however, he did not expect.

“Why this interest in a strong Force-sensitive boy, Lord Vader?” the Emperor questioned. “Never have you had qualms destroying strong Jedi.”

“This boy is not a Jedi, Master. He is impressionable, and”—Vader paused. “He is the child of Anakin Skywalker.”

Vader could sense the surprise and disgust of the Emperor. “Your child ? So, then, you have not released all of your former self? You still feel the weaknesses of the Jedi, Vader?”

Vader had known that this would be the response. “I believe that he was hidden from me to insure that we would not be able to train him, Master. I believe that the Jedi was sent by Obi-Wan Kenobi to retrieve him and train him to defeat us. Also… If I manage to gain the boy’s trust and loyalty, he will become a faithful servant of the Empire.”

That was the clincher—the Emperor knew that if the strength of Darth Vader’s son was trained for the Jedi, his own position would be threatened. Finally, he said, “Very well, Lord Vader. You have your apprentice. But”—he continued darkly—“If I hear of anything displeasing to me, you shall pay. And the boy shall die—and you the one to kill him.”

“Yes, Master,” Vader replied as the blue form of his Master disappeared. He let out a particularly heavy breath. His excuses had worked.

There was nothing in his room except for a bed and a table with nothing on it. The walls were white, the floor was white, and there were no windows. Luke assumed that he was on a ship of some kind, but it did not feel like it. Vader had not contacted him once since his dream two nights earlier. Since then, he had almost driven himself crazy. Vader had provided him with a droid, which he had named Bede, because of its serial number of BD-261. But, it was not built for personality, only for care-taking. So far, Luke had tried to teach it the Word-Association game, but it seemed that the model was not able to perform such a humanoid feature. And so, he was left with nothing to do, except to meditate.

Vader had been right about that, Luke granted. He had remained in a trance for several hours and had reemerged newly revitalized. Still, the chill that the Force seemed to emanate made him uneasy. He did not feel quite comfortable with it, and it did not give him the same calm that he had felt when Vader had used the Force to pacify him after the dream. He would have to speak to Vader about it—perhaps there was something he was not doing correctly.

He had refrained from meditation and for the past day he had been working at the door of his room. It was a door that could be opened by a series of codes or by voice recognition. It was a distraction from the truth of his situation to try and crack the code. He had ordered the droid to get him some basic tools, and had spent the better part of nine hours attempting to dismantle the mechanism that locked him inside the room.

He was terrified of getting electrocuted—would the metal of his prosthetic hand act as a conductor for the rest of his body? Would they find him, days later, dead on the floor from electrocution?

Nonetheless, he plodded on with the primitive tools that the droid had procured. The mechanism was in shambles around him, but he lay no closer to discovering the codes that would allow him to escape his room.

He still vaguely hoped that he would wake up from this dream, but he knew now that it was pointless to deny what had happened. When he had stopped meditation the first day in isolation, he began to mourn over Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru. The next day—this morning—he remembered how evil the Jedi had been. That his guardians had harbored one was unthinkable, and Luke began to wonder if perhaps they were guilty of crimes punishable by death. Why couldn’t they have just obeyed the law?

When the door opened, he was ecstatic to think that his efforts had finally paid off—but then a dark shadow blocked his light and he realized that Vader had entered the room, and was now staring down at him.

He swallowed fearfully and glanced down at the mess of wires and parts and circuitry that lay all over the floor of his room. “I—uh”—

“What, exactly, were you doing?” Vader asked, his voice expressionless.

“I was trying to open the door,” said Luke, hanging his head.

“Why?”

“I—uh—was bored,” said Luke, gesturing to his surroundings. “What was I supposed to do?”

Vader seemed mildly amused—if that was possible—when he spoke next. “Why did you not use the Force to open the door, instead of destroying the locking mechanism?”

“I didn’t think that was possible”—

“You will become a Sith, Luke,” said Vader. “You will soon learn that everything is possible through the Force.”

Luke was silent for a few moments while he contemplated Vader’s words. He looked back up to Vader, and stood. “Can I be a pilot too?”

That was not the question that Vader had anticipated—he had expected more questions about the Force and the Sith, but it seemed that the boy had accepted his future readily. “You wish to train as a pilot?” he said, raising his brow behind the mask. It seemed that the boy had inherited that love as well.

“Yes,” said Luke eagerly. “I always wanted to—I was going to go to school and try and get accepted into the Imperial Flight School, but Uncle Owen refused.” The boy’s face clouded over. “I know why, now, obviously.”

Another reason to detest Owen Lars. “Imperial pilots begin training at fourteen,” he told Luke. “They train on the Star Destroyers. However, there is a group that trains here,” he said, motioning to the ship with a gloved hand. “You will remain here, so that you will be trained as a Sith as well. I will allow you to begin now, even though you are not of age. If you do not perform to the standard the Empire expects of students selected to learn on the I Executor /I , then your training will be stopped.”

Luke could hardly believe his ears. He was going to be allowed to fly? He had asked only in vain hope…

“You will be moved to their quarters,” said Vader, continuing. “You are to tell no one of your relation to me. Your instructors will be informed of the situation. He glanced down—or, at least, Luke thought he did—at the dismantled locking mechanism. “You are not to leave this room until you have rebuilt this,” he said, indicating the mess strewn about the room with a gloved hand. “Once you have, tell me and I will open the door. The Stormtroopers will tell you what to do then,” he said.

He turned and moved to leave and was nearly out the door when a shell-shocked Luke called out, “Thank you!”

Vader paused almost imperceptibly. “When I return, I want this door fully functional.” With that, he swept down the corridor, leaving Luke with the seemingly impossible task of putting the mechanism back together.

Luke looked despairingly at his mission and picked up the main circuit board. He’d get to fly once it was fixed, he told himself. Heaving a sigh, he began collecting the parts.

Luke hardly slept for the next two days. Taking apart the locking mechanism had been easy, but putting it back together-

He wiped sweat from his forehead and realized that he had used his mechanic hand. He stared at it for a second before wiping it on the pilot trainee uniform that had arrived the previous morning. It was far better than the awkward clothes that he had gotten upon leaving the medical center.

At times, it was mindless work, and it gave him time to think about what Vader had told him about the Force. Could Luke truly become as powerful as Vader? And a pilot at the same time?

Vader had seemed pleased when Luke told him of that goal. Was he a pilot also? Taking a sip from the water that sat beside him, Luke connected the last wire and leaned back, surveying the fruits of his labor. Did it work? He hoped so-spending the last five or so days in that room was more than enough for him.

Exhausted, he stood up and stretched his arms and legs, yawning. He wondered if Vader stretched. Did he need to? Or did his mechanical appendages never need to? He examined his own mechanical hand. He had had the habit of cracking his knuckles, and had attempted to do so once without thinking, and it hadn't worked. Yawning a second time, he tried to communicate through the Force, and do as he had felt briefly when Vader had spoken to him telepathically. Struggling, he thought, Father?

Yes? The response came immediately in that strange mind-voice of Vader. Luke was so excited that it had worked that he severed the connection and worked to rebuild it quickly.

I'm done, I think.

I'm busy right now. Use the Force to open the door.

What? How?

Focus on the Force-the energy you feel right now-and push it towards the door. Imagine it opening the door. If you do it correctly, the door will open.

But-Luke began to protest before Vader left his mind abruptly. Straining, he tried to reform the connection, but to no avail. Finally, he turned his attention back to the cursed door. Sighing, he tried to feel the energy, and found it more easily than he had the last time, when he had been excited over the completion of the rebuilding. Okay, he thought to himself. Open the door.

Nothing happened.

He tried again, focusing on the feeling that the Force produced. He held out his hands, as if willing the energy to pass through them, and squeezed his eyes shut. Open.

He was almost afraid to open his eyes, but when he did, he was amazed. The door had opened the width of a hand-span. Excitedly, he tried again, and this time it opened all the way. Euphoric, he jumped up. "Yes!" he sang out. To his surprise, six Stormtroopers were staring at him. Slightly afraid, he said, "Um... You're so supposed to show me where to go," he said.

"Yes, sir," said the first one. "Follow us, sir."

Slightly bewildered at the title that he had been given, Luke followed the group down as series of halls that looked all the same. He felt as though they had walked for hours when they finally stopped. This was a ship? It didn't seem possible that something so big could possibly exist. There was a door that looked like all the others had that had the words "Pilot Training Barracks-Group 1" on the identification panel beside it and a keypad at the waist level of the first Stormtrooper. He pressed a button, and the door slid open to reveal a large room with ten bunk beds and little else.

There were nine boys all sitting at desks at the front of the bunks. Their heads all turned automatically to see Luke. "You are to receive initiation. This is now your room," said the first Stormtrooper. "If there are any problems, contact your Squad Captain."

With that, the six turned and left and the door slid closed.

All the boys immediately stood up and the tallest, a black boy with a shaved head, walked up. He was wearing a slightly different uniform than all the rest-he had a black bar on both shoulders. "What's your name, trainee?" he barked authoritatively.

"Uh-Luke Skywalker," said Luke, unsure of himself.

The boy's eyes narrowed. "Trainee Jisk, instruct Trainee Skywalker on the proper way to address a superior officer."

What? This boy was an officer? How? He looked to be fourteen or fifteen, at most.

One of the other boys, a thin one with a shock of brown hair, walked up to Luke. "Address Captain Lang using 'sir' at all times," he explained in a quiet voice.

Luke nodded and the nine boys stared at him expectantly.

"Well?" Captain Lang snapped.

"Uh-my name is Luke Skywalker. Sir," said Luke awkwardly. This certainly was not what he had expected.

Suddenly, Lang's arm swung around and caught him in the jaw. Luke cried out and stumbled back. "I'll tolerate no cheek. If you are the replacement for Trainee Barak, you will be expected to take up his duties," said Lang. He turned back to Trainee Jisk. "Show Skywalker the ropes. You're to watch over him until he gets the hang of things. Everyone, return to duty," he said. "I'm going to report Skywalker's arrival to Commander Beinn." With that, he left the room, walking purposefully down the hallway.

As soon as the door slid shut, the group of boys turned to Luke. "Looks like you got on his bad side, Skywalker," said a pale boy, who held out his hand. "I'm Len Darmic."

Luke shook it. "Nice to meet you, Len," he said, overwhelmed. The other boys laughed. "What?" he asked.

"Refer to everyone by their last names," Trainee Jisk said with a smile. "I'm Jisk."

"Why?"

"Because they believe that calling everyone by their first names creates closeness that can impair the pilot if a friend is shot down," said another boy, crossing his arms. "I'm Vaskall."

"How did you get on here anyway, if you don't even know basic protocol?" Another boy, one who hung back from the others. He had black hair and a thin, pale face. Luke disliked him immediately.

"Shut up, Dase," said Vaskall derisively. He seemed to be the second-in-command, or something, because Dase did as he was told.

"Why did Lang hit me?" Luke asked, touching the sore spot on his jaw.

"Because he can," said Jisk. "You've got rotten luck. Lang is the worst captain of all the groups, and he doesn't like you."

"He's not the worst captain. He's very able and an excellent pilot," said Vaskall loyally.

"Maybe so, but he's still rotten," said Jisk. "You better hope you're up to his standards. How are you on TIE sims?"

"TIE what?" Luke asked, confused.

There was silence. "How did you get to be here?" asked Darmic. "We all had to go through major tests before they even considered us. We all had at least 100 hours on TIE simulations before they let us on. They kick out Barak for no good reason to bring in you?"

There was no malice in Darmic's voice, just confusion.

Luke wished he could tell them the truth, but he remembered that Vader had prohibited him from saying anything. "I... uh... Darth Vader found me on Tatooine and decided I had potential," he mumbled, hoping it would pass their scrutiny.

They all let out awed breaths. "No way! You've talked to Lord Vader?" Jisk asked, amazed. "He put you here?"

"He talked to me once!" said Darmic excitedly.

They all groaned, clearly having heard this story. "Sith, Darmic, he said one word to you!" Vaskall said exasperatedly.

"I heard that he's from a planet where they breathe poisonous gas. That's why he wears the mask," said Jisk conspiratorially. He shivered. "I heard that if he took it off, he could kill people by breathing on them."

"I heard that he can kill people without even touching them," said another boy, who shuddered.

"Did you know that he holds all the records for all the simulators?" said another boy.

Luke was so overwhelmed with the volume of inaccurate information that it was a moment before he comprehended the last bit. He felt a rush of pride.

"You're making it up," said Dase nastily. "Lord Vader would never talk to you."

Luke felt a rush of anger at the boy. "Who says?"

"You've never even been in a TIE sim," said Dase. "I'm the best flyer in this group. Don't mess with me."

"Shut your mouth, Dase," said Vaskall in a warning tone. "Or I'll recommend a transfer."

Dase fell silent.

In an effort to recreate the easy-going atmosphere, Jisk said, "I had a nightmare about Lord Vader once..."

The other boys laughed. "Who hasn't? You remember the time when he killed Commander Dact?"

They all shivered in unison. "He lifted him off the ground with one hand," said Vaskall. "By the throat! He was like two feet of the ground, and Lord Vader wasn't even straining!"

Luke remembered the lightsaber that had killed his aunt and uncle and the faux Anakin Skywalker. He shivered. The lightsaber that had cut off his hand. He may be Vader's son, but he was still terrified of him. And the stories weren't helping.

Suddenly the door opened at Lang reentered. "We're doing flight sims this afternoon. Right now, lunch. Let's go," he said, turning and leaving the room as abruptly as he had entered.

Jisk grabbed Luke's arm. "Let's go, Skywalker."

The food was nothing like what he had grown up with on Tatooine. They ate some sort of tough brown bread and some other things-green things-that Luke had never seen before. After having barely eaten for two days, though, Luke was ravenous and ate everything in front of him. "Slow down, Skywalker. When's the last time you had a real meal?" Vaskall questioned.

Luke shrugged. "When do we learn to fly real TIE fighters?"

Jisk snorted. "Not until we're sixteen. Then we've got another two years of training-that is, unless you're good at it-until we're officially pilots."

"And since none of us is Darth Vader, it looks like we've all got fours years to go," said Vaskall."

Luke smiled at the irony of the situation until he noticed Dase sitting by himself, staring moodily at his plate. His smile vanished. "Is he really the best?"

Jisk's expression darkened. "His father is a General, really high up. He's practically grown up on the Executor. His older brother was a pilot and taught him really well, so he's got more experience than all of us..." Jisk trailed off.

"He's a bad leader," said Vaskall. "Can't make decisions. So, Lang was chosen as Group Captain and he's been bitter since. He's gotten Lang in trouble plenty of times over stupid stuff with his father and all. Don't mess with him, or you'll be out of the program and off the ship before you can say, ‘rebellion.’”

Luke thought a moment. He obviously would not be in any danger from Dase... but still he didn't want to be enemies with him, either. He stood up for a second and walked over there. "Skywalker, what are you doing?" Jisk called, bewildered.

"Hey, Dase," said Luke awkwardly.

Dase glared daggers at him. "What do you want?" he spat.

"Listen... I think we got off on the wrong foot," he said, undeterred. He held out his hand. "Truce?"

"Get away from me, Skywalker," Dase snarled. "Don't ever presume to talk to me again, or I'll have my father kick you off this ship. You'll go back to Tatooine where you belong."

Anger bubbled up in Luke, and he opened his mouth to say exactly what he would do to him with the Force, but he stopped himself just in time.

"That's right," Dase said with a wicked grin. "Go back to your little friends, Skywalker."

Furious, Luke turned and went back to Jisk and the others. "Told you, Skywalker," said Darmic. "Don't mess with him."

You don't know the half of it, Luke thought angrily, gripping his glass bottle angrily.

Excuse me? A familiar voice said in the back of Luke's mind.

Sorry, said Luke quickly. I was thinking about... one of the other trainees.

You're angry.

There's this trainee named Dase who thinks he's untouchable, Luke told his father. He's been messing with me.

General Dase's son?

Yeah, Luke replied

Use the Force to deal with him, Luke. With that, their mind-connection was broken. Luke, still angry, gripped his bottle tighter and tighter until it shattered, showering bits of glass everywhere.

"Hold on, there, Skywalker!" Jisk shouted, staring at him. "How in the Sith's name did you do that?"

Luke realized that the abnormal strength of his mechanical hand had done it. "I..." He decided that he could just tell them the truth. "I have a mechanical hand," he told Jisk, showing him his right hand. "Didn't realize how hard I was gripping it."

Jisk stared at him in surprise as a clean-up droid whirred over and sucked up the glass and spilt water.

"How'd it happen?" asked Vaskall interestedly.

Luke thought quickly. "Speeder accident," he said. "Last year. I was twelve," he told him.

"Hold on, how old are you?" Darmic asked, surprised. "You're only thirteen?"

"You just keep surprising us, Skywalker," said Jisk, taking a mouthful of food.

That afternoon, Lang led them into a room with strange, pod-like devices, each with a number on them. He turned to the group. "Everyone into their sims. Evens, you're a team. Odds, you're the other team. Whichever teams lasts longest has two hours of free time tonight." He turned to Luke. "Until you prove yourself to be better than a 10, that's your number. Go to your groups."

Jisk turned to Luke. "I'm 4. Vaskall's 2, and Darmic's 6. Welcome to the evens, Skywalker."

"Thanks," said Luke nervously. "Who's 8?"

"I am," said a short boy. "I'm Jons."

An older man walked into the room and cast a wary look at Luke. He had obviously been informed of his parentage, Luke realized. "I'll be grading you all this afternoon. Captain Lang, get underway," he said.

Lang saluted. "Yes, Master Commander Dirk. Group 1, enter your sims," he barked.

The groups rushed to climb in the pod-devices and Luke did the same, placing the helmet over his face. He stared at the controls. They looks more or less the same as speeder controls-with a few added switches and lights, of course. He steeled himself.

"Evens, this is B2 speaking. B10, you're my wingman. B8, you're wingman for B4. B6, you're recon. A1 favors a sneak attack, so you're all going to have to be vigilant." Luke recognized Vaskall's voice over the two-way Comm device in the helmet. He looked in the radar screen and saw blips with numbers on them. He saw himself as 'B10.'

"All right, let's get moving. B6, get up there."

Luke saw the blip with B6 on it zoom forward. He reached down and grabbed the controls, knowing innately how to maneuver the craft. He felt exhilaration at the sensation of flying and zoomed over to Vaskall's TIE fighter.

"B6 reporting that north is clear," came Darmic's voice. "B6 moving to recon east."

Luke glanced down at his radar and saw a blip with 'A3' on it racing towards Jons' ship.

His anger returning in an instant, Luke considered leaving Vaskall's side. It was wrong to target Jons, if he was only an 8! Making up his mind, Luke swerved away and raced towards the confrontation. "A3 attacking B8," he explained over their Comm device. "B10 going to help."

"B10, B6 will engage A3," said Vaskall's voice. "You don't have enough experience, B10."

Ignoring him, Luke saw through the screen Jons' TIE fighter trying desperately to fend off Dase's expert handling. Angry, he flew his TIE to the left of Dase's ship. Dase didn't seem to realize that he was there as Luke let out a barrage of laser fire.

He hit the side of Dase's ship, but it didn't explode. Dase turned quickly and rushed towards Luke's ship, but Luke pulled back at the last second and turned, letting out more fire. This time, Dase's ship exploded.

Luke grinned. "You all right, B8?"

"Skywalker?" Jons was surprised. "I owe you one, B10!"

"Good work, B10, despite blatant disregard for orders," came Vaskall's voice. He sounded impressed. "But you're still my wingman. A1 and A9 approaching. Get back here, B10."

Group B won the exercise. Luke destroyed A9, Lang's wingman, and then joined in the attack on Lang himself. With Vaskall, they destroyed the ship and then raced to help Darmic, who was getting double-teamed by A5 and A7. His ship was destroyed, but Jisk and Jons came to help them destroy the remaining members of Group A.

In all, the exercise lasted for only twenty-one minutes. They climbed out of the ships and the team all congratulated Luke, excited. Normally the sims took much longer. "Nice job, Skywalker," said Darmic, though he was subdued considering his had been the only ship lost in an otherwise perfect run.

Jons came up to Luke. "Thanks, Skywalker," he said gratefully. "Dase does that every time... Now the team practically accepts that I'll get knocked out early."

"Obey orders next time, Skywalker," said Vaskall, but Luke could tell he was pleased. "It's pretty impressive that you shot down Dase. This isn't going to make him like you any better, you know." He paused for a second. "We've never gone that fast. I've never heard of anyone going that fast, either."

"Excellent job, Group A," said Commander Dirk, peering at Luke with confusion and almost fear. "Impressive run, Skywalker." He turned to the group. "Let's go discuss this performance." Luke followed the others in an adjoining room with a large holo-broadcast platform on a table. "Sit down," he told them. Group A, subdued, did as they were told, and Group B did so with smiles, still excited over their win.

Commander Dirk pressed a button and immediately holo-projections of their TIE fighters showed up. They watched the entire run through in silence.

"Group A, explain yourselves."

"We underestimated the prowess of B10," said Lang immediately. "It will not happen again."

"Trainee Skywalker has never done a simulation in his life," said Dirk, crossing his arms.

All nine boys stared at Luke, Dase looking particularly murderous. "He seems to have a knack for it," Vaskall offered.

"Evidently so. Dase, how did you allow yourself to be fooled by the side-step?" Dirk turned his attention to the pale boy. "You lost control of your emotions once again. That is why you will never be the pilot you could be. That is why Skywalker beat you today."

"Commander, I was fighting B8 as well," Dase protested.

"So you are saying that an 8 and a 10 were too much for you to handle, while Darmic managed A5 and A7 for approximately four minutes longer?" Dirk was clearly upset with Dase.

He turned to Darmic. "You're promoted to A3, Darmic. Skywalker, take Darmic's spot. Dase"-he paused. "You're off the squad until you have a handle on your emotions. When you return, you'll take B10. You must prove yourself to be capable."

There were no words to describe Dase's emotion. He glared at Dirk. "I'll have my father demote you!" he snarled, standing up.

Dirk looked nonplussed. "My squads have consistently been the best in the Imperial Navy, Dase. I doubt that Lord Vader would take kindly to my dismissal, regardless from whom the recommendation came." Dirk inadvertently looked at Luke before quickly returning his attention to Dase. "Move your belongings to Room 9c, Dase. You're to remain there at all times. Meals will be given to you. Take some time to reflect upon your choices today."

Dase did nothing for a few minutes until he left the conference room in a flurry of emotion. "Group A, spend the next two hours reviewing group fighting strategy and planning your next sim without Dase. Group B, dismissed," said Dirk.

Vaskall, Jisk, Luke, and Jons stood and saluted the Commander. They turned to go, but Dirk said, "Skywalker, stay here."

Luke stopped and turned to face Dirk. "Sir?"

Dirk ushered him out into an adjoining room. "Skywalker, I would appreciate it if you do not speak to your father of the matter of Trainee Dase. I understand that Dase is not your favorite of the group, but if your father hears about his actions, he may punish the boy. I do not want that to happen. There is always a hotshot in a group, it's normal." Commander Dirk spoke very quickly.

Luke was surprised. The Commander thought that he was going to try and get his father to hurt Dase? "Sir..." he began slowly. "I fight my own battles."

"Yes, yes, of course," said Dirk hastily. "Go and enjoy your free time, Skywalker."

Luke saluted once more and let his feet carry him to the barracks. His father had said to use the Force to deal with Dase, to make him pay. He remembered the anger at the way the trainee had treated him at lunch time. His eyes narrowed. He did not need his father to help him defeat Dase.

He was absorbed in plots of revenge when he opened the door to the barracks and did not notice that Dase was within the room.

"YOU!"

Luke glanced upwards and saw Dase barrelling towards him. The other boy swung his fist and it crashed into his jaw, the same place that Lang had hit that morning. They crashed to the floor, Dase using his superior strength and size to pummel Luke. "How-dare-you-come-here-and-try-to-make-me-look-bad!" Dase yelled.

Luke finally got a hit in edgewise and scrambled out of the way. "You're supposed to be out of here," he said, breathing heavily and wincing as he stood up.

"Shut up! You don't know who you're messing with!" Dase's eyes were wild, and spittle flew from his mouth as he screamed at Luke. "My father will have your entire family killed! He'll send you to be a slave on the Outer Rim!"

Anger—close to the surface considering that Owen and Beru had died so recently-billowed up in Luke. He touched the Force and used it to strangle the other boy, not even realizing his actions. The effort exhausted him, and he maintained it only for a few moments before he let go. Dase coughed and stared at him, open-mouthed. "What are you? Some type of freak?" he was obviously scared. He backed up against the wall.

"Hardly," a new voice—the deep, inhuman voice that haunted half the Galaxy's nightmares-responded.

Dase looked over Luke's shoulder and all the color drained from his face and his jaw went slack. Luke did not need to focus to feel the unparalleled fear emanating from him. He turned slowly to see Vader standing impassively at the doorway.

"This is the trainee of whom you spoke?" he addressed Luke, who nodded. He walked into the barracks, his size dwarfing the room. "It seems that you need to learn a lesson in humility, son of General Dase," he said, using the Force to lift the boy to his feet. "I would advise you not to anger my son," he said.

Dase seemed unresponsive in his fear as Vader approached him. "Do you understand, trainee?"

The boy suddenly seemed to come to his senses. He nodded furiously, gasping, "Yes, my lord, sir, I understand."

Vader turned away, letting go of the Force and causing the boy to fall to the ground. Luke looked on admiringly. "Come with me," he said tersely.

Luke, sensing the power that was always at the surface of his father's mind, nodded and followed him out of the room.

The corridors immediately cleared themselves as Vader strode through, Luke following at his heels, feeling even shorter than normal. If Vader was his father, why could he not have inherited some of his height?

Luke was startled as Vaskall, Jisk, and Jons suddenly came down another corridor, talking animatedly until they saw Vader with Luke close behind. They all stared at Luke, who winced. How would he explain this one?

Luke lost track of how many elevators and corridors they took. Finally, Vader turned down a hall that had only a door at the end. He walked towards it and it opened just in time for he and Luke to enter.

It was a large room with a durable floor. It was well lit, but there was nothing else in it. "Whenever you have free time—and many times when you do not—you will come here for your training. The time you spend here is far more important than TIE simulations," Vader told him.

Remembering a fact from this morning's talk about his father, Luke burst out, "Is it true that you hold all the records for the simulations?"

Vader cocked his head slightly at Luke, a mannerism that seemed to indicate amusement. "Where did you hear that?"

"One of the other boys," said Luke lamely.

Vader was silent for a few moments. "Yes, it's true. That is why I was not surprised at your performance this afternoon. Though I am curious as to why I was a topic of conversation."

"How do you know how I did at the sim?" Luke asked, choosing to ignore Vader's last comment.

"Your exhilaration was easily felt, my son," said Vader with another trace of amusement. "I was in the middle of an interrogation at the time. It proved an interesting experience."

"Oh," said Luke.

"Right now, I am going to begin to teach you to fence," said Vader, unhooking what Luke knew to be his lightsaber. He unhooked another one as well, and dropped it on the ground. "Pick it up," he instructed Luke.

Luke started towards it but was stopped by an invisible hand. "Use the Force," Vader commanded.

Luke looked at his father. "What?"

"Did you not hear me?"

Sighing, Luke recalled the anger he felt for Dase. Already he could tell that it was easier to use the Force that way. He concentrated on the lightsaber, willing the Force to push it to his hand.

After a second of focus, the lightsaber flew to his hand. He looked at it, as if surprised to see it in his hand.

"Well done," said Vader. "Use both hands to hold it, like this," he said, showing Luke how to hold the weapon by demonstrating with his own. Luke emulated the hand placements, taking care to angle the cylinder away from himself. "Now press the button beneath your left thumb."

Luke did so and the lightsaber hummed to life. It was a bluish white color and Luke waved it around experimentally, excited. This felt nothing like the weapon of the Jedi, on Tatooine. That one had felt delicate, almost as if it wasn't real. This one-it thrilled him. He felt powerful with it.

"Always pay attention to your opponent," said Vader, lifting his own and igniting it.

Luke shivered once he saw the blood-red blade--the blade that had killed Aunt Beru, the blade that had cut off his hand--He was terrified of it. He stepped away. "I"-

"Do not lose focus," said Vader. "And do not fear the weapon."

"I can't not fear it!" Luke exclaimed.

"Fear is for the weak," said Vader. "Those such as Dase fear things-you must go beyond that. You must become the object of their fear. You cannot do so if you are a slave to fear yourself," he explained. "The lightsaber does not hold the power, Luke-you do. You hold it in your hands."

It suddenly seemed to make sense. Why would he fear the lightsaber, of all things? It was completely irrational, Luke realized.

Good, Luke. You begin to understand. Luke heard his father's voice in his head.

"On guard," said Vader, projecting a mental image of what he wanted. Luke understood and obeyed, adjusting his footing.

Vader showed him how to thrust and parry and then had Luke copy the actions. He showed him how to block, and to use the Force to overpower someone of greater strength.

After half an hour, Vader backed away. "Are you ready?"

"What?"

"You have a set of perfectly useable ears," said Vader, annoyed. "Do not incessantly ask, 'what?'"

"Sorry," Luke mumbled.

"You are going to be on the offensive," said Vader. "Begin as soon as you wish."

Luke steeled himself and brought his lightsaber down in a fierce thrust that Vader countered easily. Luke parried and attempted to thrust again. He began to grow tired as he was constantly blocked. He lost concentration for one second and then cried out as he felt his father's lightsaber swing by his cheek, the close proximity scorching his skin.

He dropped his lightsaber and held his hands to his face, still breathing heavily.

"Never let go of your weapon," said Vader, kicking the lightsaber away. "You lost focus."

"I'm tired," said Luke, gasping for air.

"Use the Force," said Vader.

"But"-

"My lungs barely function and I am more than twenty years your senior, Luke," said Vader impatiently. "If I can manage, I think you are able to as well." Luke said nothing. Vader's respirator let out a particularly loud "whoosh" and it occurred to Luke that he was sighing. "You have done well. You are a quick learner." Vader turned off his lightsaber and hooked it to his waist. "When you return to your barracks, I want you to meditate."

"Meditate?" Luke asked, bewildered.

"Yes," said Vader. "Relax, and reach for the Force. You will know when you do it," he said, holding out his hand to accept Luke's fallen lightsaber, which had lifted off the ground.

At the last second, it swerved over to Luke, who grinning. “Can I keep it?”

“No,

One of the other boys, a thin onoing off to become a Sith," he reasoned. "And you already said I couldn't tell them who I was."

"You are intelligent enough to think of something," said Vader unconcernedly. "Go. You're dismissed."

Luke had no idea how he managed to find his way back to the barracks. He received several strange looks. He still wore his trainee uniform, but the injury on his cheek did not seem like one a student pilot should have received. He opened the door to the barracks, dreading the reception he knew was coming.

As he predicted, Vaskall, Jisk, and Jons rush towards him. "Why were you with Lord Vader?" Jisk exclaimed. "And what happened to your cheek? That looks pretty nasty," he observed, peering closely at the lightsaber burn.

"I fell," said Luke lamely.

"You were with Lord Vader?" Lang asked suddenly, walking towards Luke. "Why?"

"He-uh-wanted to see how I was doing," Luke lied, knowing that it was a pathetic excuse.

Lang looked at him suspiciously. "That two almost an hour and a half?"

Luke shrugged. "Lost track of time," he mumbled.

It does not feel as though you're meditating.

Luke jumped. Well I'm trying to explain why I-a trainee-was with you!

There was a strange laugh from the other end-a sound Luke was certain was not feasible through Vader's physical form. He focused his attention back on his groupmates. "I'm kind of tired," he muttered, walking to the empty bed.

"Hold on," said Jons, procuring something from his pocket. "Here. A Bacta patch. It'll heal your cheek."

"Thanks," said Luke, gratified.

"You're not getting away so easily," said Jisk impatiently. He grabbed Luke's arm. "Tell us what he's like."

Luke sat down on the bed and the others crowded around him. "Well..." he began. He was tired and his head hurt. "He's tall," he offered.

Jisk snorted. "No way."

Luke sighed. What could he tell them? Jisk was obviously not going to give up. "He has a really short temper. And... he can move stuff without touching it."

"Whoa," said the other boys in unison.

"I heard that he's got a laser sword thing," said Vaskall. "Did you see it?"

"His lightsaber?" said Luke without thinking. Well, he's been on the receiving end of it. Twice. He glanced down at his wrist without realizing it. "Yeah, I saw it." And I dueled him, Luke thought with a touch of pride.

The other boys let out huge breaths. "Wow."

"I'm really tired..." Luke mumbled.

They took the hint. "Fine," said Jisk. "You can tell us tomorrow."

Luke attempted to meditate once the others had decided to leave him alone, but his training with Vader had left him emotionally and physically drained. He climbed into the bed that was unused and tried to block out the talk of the other boys and the throbbing on his cheek but to no avail. Finally, he succumbed to sleep, only to realize that he was facing Obi-Wan, his lightsaber—a blue one—extended.

“I have the higher ground,” Obi-Wan said.

“You underestimate my powers!” Luke shouted.

Luke felt himself gather the Force, but to a level that he knew he was not capable of. He bent his knees and jumped, soaring over the lava flow, over Obi-Wan’s head—but all of the sudden, he felt searing pain on his legs and arm, and he began to fall, a scream erupting from his throat—

And suddenly he was on the ground again, and Luke remembered well what happened next, but this time—

The dream shifted, the edges blurred and the scenery around him changed. He was standing and the pain had vanished. They were on a beautiful, lush planet that Luke had never seen the likes of before.

“Use the Force to stop that dream,” said a voice, a familiar one that Luke had heard many times in his mind.

He turned around to see a tall man with blond hair and blue eyes like his own, in perhaps his mid-thirties. He was wearing a simple black tunic with a leather surcoat and leather leggings. A lightsaber hung at his belt.

Luke mustered his voice. “Who are you?”

The man raised his eyebrows. “You do not recognize me in this form, I suppose,” he said, raising his hands. The vision shifted slightly, and blurred, and when it cleared again, Luke could see the menacing figure of Darth Vader staring back at him. The land around them had changed as well, to a desert.

“Father?” he blurted out, surprised.

“Your nightmares will continue to affect you until you learn to control them through the Force, Luke,” said the deep, terrifying voice. “You must remember that nothing is set in stone when you are dreaming. If you focus on the Force, you will be able to stop the dream.”

“I think I like you better the other way,” said Luke before he could stop himself.

“So do I,” said Vader, though he did not change back. “We will use this medium to continue your training if I do not have time during the day.”

“What?”

“How many times must I tell you to stop saying ‘what’ as your primary response?” Vader asked, clearly irritated. “I hoped to escape your incessant questioning and outright disobedience if I surprised you enough this way.”

“But… I don’t understand,” said Luke, gesturing the landscape around him. “How can you train me here? Isn’t this a dream?”

“Perhaps you cannot learn to fence here,” Vader conceded. “For that is something your body needs to learn. But I can teach you things about the Force that I simply do not have the time for during the day.”

“Will I be tired when I wake up?” Luke asked warily.

“You are not exactly sleeping,” said Vader. “This is more of a relaxed form of meditation.”

“So the answer is yes?” said Luke, groaning.

“If you meditate often enough, you will not need to sleep,” said Vader, waving a dismissive hand.

“Where were we?” Luke asked, remembering the landscape that they had first appeared on. He had never seen so many plants in his life. In fact, the only plants he had seen were on datapads. “What planet?”

Vader ignored him. “I want you to practice using the Force to move physical things,” he said. “You did so capably with the lightsaber and with the door. Soon you will not need to focus as much. It will become second nature.”

“Do you live on the Executor?” Luke asked suddenly.

“Were you listening to me?” Vader countered.

“Yes. But, do you?”

Vader said nothing for a few moments. “No.”

“So you have a house?”

Vader cocked his head in the gesture Luke was associating with amusement. “Why?”

Luke shrugged, feeling suddenly embarrassed. “I don’t know. I was just wondering if I would go with you when you go on vacation, or something…”

Vader seemed surprised. “Vacation?”

“Well, I mean, you can’t do this all of the time, can you?” Luke said. “Nobody works all the time.” Vader was silent and motionless for a few moments, until Luke broke the quiet. “Can you please just turn back into—your other self?” He asked, frustrated. “At least I can kind of read you then! I have a tough enough time when I’m awake that I don’t want to try and guess at your mood when I’m asleep, too!”

Vader let out a strange sound Luke realized was akin to laughter. “Very well,” he said, and the scene blurred for a third time, and he became the man that Luke had first seen. He held his arms behind his back. “I am the only man that the Emperor trusts completely to carry out his bidding,” Vader—though, he did not look much like Vader to Luke—began. “Therefore, I spend most of my time doing so.”

“Do you like General Dase?” Luke asked.

“I was under the impression that this time was to be spent learning the ways of the Force,” said Vader, crossing his arms.

“Do you?”

The Sith sighed, giving up. “I do not have personal relationships with the men under my command.”

“But is he a good guy?” Luke asked, pressing for an answer.

“He is from a world where he and his family were the rulers. They also heavily practiced slavery, which I have since abolished. For that reason, I believe him to be a miserable excuse for a sentient being. But, if you are thinking about the incident with his son,” Vader began. “I can arrange to have him removed. Though, I would think that you could handle a fourteen-year-old cadet on a misguided power trip.”

“He’s been lording over me,” said Luke, his visage darkening.

Vader looked suddenly pleased. “Use that anger, Luke,” he urged the boy, who looked at him, somewhat surprised. “It will help you to grow more powerful.”

“Uncle Owen always taught me to be forgiving,” said Luke slowly.

“That is why he is dead,” said the Sith, and Luke saw a shadow of the deep voice and terrifying suit pass over the man. “He forgave the Jedi for trying to take over the Galaxy.”

“But…” Luke began. “Didn’t the Emperor take over the Galaxy?”

Luke suddenly knew that he had made a terrible mistake. His father’s eyes darkened and the blue seemed to vanish. “Emperor Palpatine has brought peace to the Galaxy, with my help,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “The Galactic Senate elected him to be the Emperor.”

“Oh,” Luke mumbled, turning away.

The air seemed to clear. “We’re done for now. Perhaps next time you will not be as inquisitive and you will get some work done,” said Vader, slowly beginning to fade. Luke’s surroundings melted away and he realized that he was being shaken.

“Come on, Skywalker, we haven’t got all day,” came the voice of Darmic, pulling him from his sleep.

Luke opened his eyes groggily. “It’s about time!” Jisk explained. “Let’s go. I’m hungry, Skywalker, and we can’t leave without you.”

Luke sat up. “What time is it?”

“It’s 0600,” said Vaskall. “Breakfast is in fifteen minutes. Let’s go.”

Luke groaned. He had thought that meditation was supposed to take the place of sleep! “I’m getting up,” he muttered, sliding off his bed. A glass of water was pressed into his hand. Luke looked down to see Jons, who still seemed inordinately grateful to him. “Here, Skywalker.”

“Don’t crush this one, this time,” said Jisk jokingly.

Luke rolled his eyes and downed it. “Thanks,” he told Jons, who shrugged. “Where’s the ‘fresher?”

Darmic pointed to a room off to the side. “In there.”

When Luke returned, he was feeling slightly better, though not by much. He had dressed in a clean uniform and brushed back his hair, though he had not had time to take a shower. that he was saving for later. He still couldn’t believe the excess of water on the Executor.

“Come on, Skywalker,” said Jisk impatiently, grabbing Luke’s arm and dragging him out of the door.

After breakfast, the group began heading towards the TIE simulators. Jisk took the opportunity to walk with Luke. “So, why is Lord Vader so interested in you?” he asked in a low voice.

Luke felt his heartbeat increase. He had never been good at lying. “I don’t know,” he said forcefully.

“You don’t know.”

Luke glanced at Jisk, whose eyes had somehow glazed over. Soon they cleared up and Jisk smiled at Luke. “So, you going to deliver another performance or what?”

Luke was bewildered. What had happened? Why had Jisk done that? Suddenly he realized what had happened—he had used the Force to get Jisk to stop asking questions! He grinned suddenly. He hadn’t even meant to!

“What’s up with you?” Jisk asked suddenly, raising his eyebrows at Luke’s inane grin.

“Nothing,” said Luke cheerfully as they walked into the training sim room.

“All right. Group B, you’re going to be without B10,” said Commander Dirk as soon as they entered. “So this is an exercise on how to fight when you’re outnumbered and outclassed. If you last for over thirty minutes, you’ll get another two hours of free time tonight. Commander Dirk looked at the group of determined young faces. He smiled to himself.Come .

Luke started and the whole group looked at him. “Why so jumpy, Skywalker?” asked Vaskall. Lang observed him shrewdly. “I—uh”—Luke began awkwardly. Right now?

Do not ask me pointless questions, came the annoyed voice of his father. Luke started to sweat. “I’ve got to go,” he said hurriedly.

“What?” Darmic exclaimed. “What are you talking about?”

“Trainee Skywalker, you will remain…” Dirk trailed off as Luke ran out of the room.

The room erupted. “Where does he think he’s going?” Jisk raged. “We can’t fly two guys short!” He turned to Commander Dirk. “Commander, are you just letting him go?” he asked angrily.

Commander Dirk seemed uncomfortable with the situation. “Run the sim as usual,” he said finally.

“What?” Darmic burst out. “But we can’t”—

“Trainee Darmic, are you accustomed to speaking out of turn with your commanding officer?” Dirk questioned firmly.

Darmic fell silent and climbed in the sim without another word. The rest of Group B followed him.

Luke walked as quickly down the halls as he could without arousing an extreme amount of curiosity. Why now, of all times, did his father want to speak with him? The whole group had to be furious at