Shifting Sands

by Veronica Wilson

Once, these lonely charred corpses would have moved him: a middle-aged couple, man and woman, joined in death as they had been in their spare, laborious lives, nearly succeeding in taking their precious secret to their premature pyre. He would have been awed by their understated courage, admiring their humble fortitude. Only months ago he would have felt slight abstract sorrow that millions of such ordinary yet noble beings perished each day, unremarked by the galaxy at large while less deserving souls went eulogized and falsely mourned. Until merely a few weeks ago, he would have at least been curious about this couple -- these moisture farmers who had raised and nurtured his son.

But now he felt nothing save a weary vague disgust that his unknown flesh and blood had grown up in such inauspicious circumstances. Even his sense of betrayal had mostly dissipated, fading into detached ironic acceptance soon after the first anger and shock had left his mind. Alderaan's destruction, his escape from the Death Star battle station, and his subsequent difficult return to his Dark master had drained him. In the last several weeks Lord Darth Vader had lost, found, learned and felt entirely too much. He'd reacted to it all, and now he wondered whether any emotion or stamina remained.

At present he was a damaged and depleted vessel of too- fragile flesh encased in gleaming armor which seemed to hold him together as much as it protected him from the outside world. It let him present a coherent identity to others around him even when he was beset by despair and dissolution. Recently he'd begun sleeping in his armor rather than in his usual robes, preferring fully mechanized discomfort to the threat of the fragmentation that might come with total relaxation. Coming to terms with Alderaan's obliteration, Kenobi's duplicity and death, and Skywalker's existence and military victory, Vader had eaten little and slept less. Finally Palpatine had accused the Dark Lord of hoping to become more spirit than flesh, of using the Force as an escapist drug, and of wanting to disincorporate into the very ether as Kenobi had done.

The ruler had been right -- the worst part of all. At that instant, for the first and last time in weeks, Vader had felt anger brighter than fire, pain clearer than Light. That was when he'd resolved to come here personally, and when the Emperor had chosen to accompany him. Palpatine's decision was so unusual that Vader had not dared change his mind about making this strange journey to Tatooine. To the best of the Sith Lord's recollections, the ruler had not departed Imperial Center more than five times in the last decade. Palpatine must be more intrigued about the boy than he revealed.

And perhaps Vader would come to feel the same curiosity; perhaps he would soon feel something -- anything -- again. Yet the charred human shells he nudged with his black shining boot did nothing to move him at all.

Others had long accused Vader of being an automaton, a cold machine whose efficient programming overrode all sensation and emotion, but Palpatine had only scoffed incredulously at their biased presumptions. Rather, Vader was a reservoir of passion and magic -- a seemingly smooth surface beneath which lay deep currents of strength and feeling, charisma and vulnerability. Or at least he had been that until the destructions of Alderaan, Kenobi, and the Death Star. The Darth Vader who'd returned to him after those events had not been the same man Palpatine had claimed, disciplined, and known for years. That realization had set the ruler's heart racing with a kind of fear he'd never known. At that point the Sith had been capable of almost anything, apparently removed from usual restraints and attachments.

Vader had threatened to leave the Empire's service.

His service.

The Emperor had not been as shocked by Vader's declaration as he would have expected. Indeed, he had long sensed but not acknowledged the Dark Lord's growing depletion: the drainage that was not unrelated to Palpatine's own increasing spiritual potency. Long the ideological mainstay of the Empire, the Dark flame of the galaxy, Vader was burning himself out even as he fired the hearts and minds of loyalists everywhere and sparked fear in the Rebel Alliance.

And what better to rekindle Vader's vital passion, anger and aggressive ambitions than to give him his long-hidden heir? Palpatine had hesitated a mere few seconds before telling his pupil about the Skywalker brat, and had maintained that he'd only known about the Force-fledgling since the Death Star fiasco.

But in the small silence that had followed his announcement, all possibilities had seared through the Emperor's consciousness. It was a foregone conclusion that Vader would want to find the boy, and only a matter of time before the Dark Lord himself realized that desire. From that instant onward, the Sith's relationship with Palpatine would be irretrievably altered, for better or worse. The alternatives, however, had been killing the Dark Lord or setting him free.

Years ago the Emperor would have done the latter, confident that Vader would vent his resentments and return to his master's side as soon as he realized he could have no real power Palpatine did not grant him. But several weeks ago the ruler had known with bedrock certainty that if Vader were to leave now, it would be the end. The end of a unified ascendent Empire, the end of their satisfying symbiosis, the end of the Emperor's greatest glory.

The end of Vader. The Dark Lord would eventually have been murdered had he gone renegade, or would have committed suicide when he discovered that his ultimate ambitions were unrealizable. Palpatine had spent years deflecting Vader's latent self-loathing outward, distracting the younger man from his own subconscious death wish. Now that his pupil had become so drained, the Emperor had had no options but to relinquish Vader to the void or enlist another party to help save the Sith Lord from that fate. Ironically, that potential ally was also the enemy: the boy with the bloodline, beauty and power to destroy them all.

He'd taken a terrible, breathtaking gamble in telling Vader about the child.

But then, he'd had no real choice, had he? He only hoped he'd not waited too long in doing so. After Vader's initial shocked and almost infuriated reaction to the knowledge of the galaxy's most portentous secret, Vader had withdrawn again into that private protective shell even Palpatine's Force-probes could not entirely penetrate. The ruler hated this otherworldly realm of escape, for he was barred from it. Closer at times than any pair of lovers, he and Vader were also occasionally separated by an abyss no shared Darkness or even memories could fully bridge.

But it was irrational to regret this, for it was testament to Vader's strength. Before claiming Anakin Skywalker, Palpatine had had promising apprentices and talented disciples, all of whom had disappointed him in the end. Some had been unable to withstand Palpatine's Darkness, while others had cared more for petty personal gain than galactic vision or political power. It had taken him dozens of years to find the partner Destiny had promised him, and at times he had been nearly sure that fate was merely toying with him, never intending to keep its pledge. After his third promising apprentice had gone mad, Palpatine had uncharacteristically addressed the Force, half asking and half demanding that it send him someone he could not easily destroy. And finally it had.

He'd been careful to preserve just enough vulnerability in Vader that the younger man could be defeated should the ruler ever deem it necessary. The unbearable risk was that Skywalker might find those same small weaknesses and exploit them against Palpatine's purposes. The Emperor and Luke were the catalysts, but Vader was the fulcrum, the key.

The question was: Did the Dark Lord know it?

Standing atop the ridge near the ruined farmhouse, Vader gazed across the dunes and at the twin Tatooine suns. Although his armored suit was temperature regulated, the Sith was grateful for the warm solar glow; it seemed he'd been cold ever since watching the fragments of Alderaan explode out into icy deep space. Standing beneath the sunset, Vader closed his eyes, trying to imagine his son living and growing here. Luke had eaten, slept, laughed and played in this home. He'd watched these heavens, as Vader did now.

Luke: loving Kenobi and the Lars couple -- traitors who were not his flesh and blood. Confined to this forsaken planet for nearly twenty years while Vader had had adventure, power and prestige to spare. The boy had been trapped here, available but unclaimed, while his unknowing father staved off shattering lethal loneliness.

Vader did not appreciate the universe's sense of humor. But even this grudge was mild; again he wondered when the protective gauze would fall from his psyche and soul. If it ever would. He felt his master behind him, watching him, and knew Palpatine simultaneously admired his cool reserve and resented his aloof detachment.

What did the ruler want from him? Anger? How could he feel rage toward the dead Kenobi or those pitiable bodies lying a short distance away? They had already paid the price for their duplicity, yet this fact brought Vader no satisfaction. The damage had long ago been done; his boy was a young adult, trained early to rebel treason and Jedi heresy. Vader had missed the most malleable years of Luke Skywalker's life -- shut out while enemies had had ample time to wreak their propaganda and half- truths. Save genetic material and Force talent, he and Luke seemed to have nothing in common. Even as a servant of the Light, Vader had known not to pursue futile quests. Should he abandon this one as well and relinquish the hopeless hope of finding, turning and utilizing his son? Did he dare let himself want something again when for years he'd found a measure of peace by actively desiring so very little? He'd just recently come to terms with the prospect of waiting another decade or two for the throne. Force, after Alderaan's destruction he'd even been momentarily prepared to renounce the galaxy altogether in return for an inner serenity he'd not known for decades.

And how quickly everything had changed. Luke's existence and the boy's abilities meant that the throne might soon be within Vader's grasp. Realizing this, the Sith Lord had felt all his ambitions and desires painfully return, impaling his hard- earned equanimity with jagged shards of lust. Destiny and Fortune were truly the bitch-goddesses legends described, offering boons and extracting harsh recompense at the same time. Vader wondered whether the Fates were now smiling upon him or leering mockingly at his dilemma. Was he always to choose between serenity without true happiness and ecstacy devoid of restful calm? Would he merely exist for decades to come, or would he burn himself out, use himself up, in a short future of intense living?

"You shall find peace enough in the grave, my Lord," Palpatine stated quietly, clearly having read some of Vader's thoughts. "And," the Emperor continued, not unkindly, "if you ever gained the serenity you crave, you would die of sheer boredom shortly afterward."

"I'm sure you're right." Vader gave a slight nod.

"Of course I am."

Vader nodded again, watching the suns set and the stars rise.

When full night had fallen, Palpatine had entered the remains of the Lars home, and the Sith Lord had followed a minute or so later. Only part of the dwelling had burned; most of the underground portion remained. The fickle winds must have shifted, propelling the fire outward toward inhospitable sands rather than into the heart of the sturdy structure.

Palpatine surveyed the inner sitting room's modest furnishings, seeing by the candles and oil lamps he'd lit. Tusken Raiders or local farmers had taken the power elements, but had been superstitious or respectful enough to leave the home's few other amenities intact. Knowing Vader's intolerance of plunder, the stormtroopers who'd searched here for the stolen Death Star plans had set fire to the building but not removed anything from the premises.

"There is a small atrium in the rear of the house," Vader announced, returning to the room his ruler assessed. "The woman grew some herbs and vegetables, and a few of them have managed to survive." The Dark Lord, a born mystic and true servant of the Force, had ever respected nature. "I will remove them from here so they don't perish from neglect."

The Emperor nodded, almost grateful for evidence of the Sith's sensibility -- that same quality that had often annoyed the ruler in the past. At present, Palpatine was relieved Vader had not become so numb that he no longer noticed things like helpless dying plants. Implacably ruthless toward his enemies, Vader was simultaneously somewhat protective of living things obviously weaker than himself. Thus merciless on the one hand and benevolent on the other, the armored warrior was a conundrum only Palpatine understood. This paradox was part of what made Vader such an invaluable propagandist for the Empire. The man did not balk at killing traitors, but neither did he hesitate to insist upon funding suitable homes for their children. Indeed, a wry Alliance joke had it that without the Dark Lord there would have been few charitable orphanages in the galaxy -- and little need for them as well.

And how would Vader react to his lost child, his boy who'd been orphaned so many times already? Palpatine had come here partly to find that answer, to better glimpse the shielded recesses of his pupil's mind. "These people were Kenobi's relations," Vader continued, musing aloud. "I would know it now even had we not learned that fact weeks ago -- I can taste it in their lingering traces here."

"Yes," the ruler agreed. Only Vader's steady pulse-beat of world-weary but majestic Darkness let Palpatine endure the Light- reek of this house. At least Kenobi's saccharine presence did not taint the air, as he'd half dreaded it would. He'd only encountered the now-dead Jedi Knight a few times in the past, but that had been enough to last a lifespan. How he'd loathed Anakin Skywalker's first teacher and betrayer! Long ago, Kenobi had been Palpatine's rival -- but now, it seemed, he was Vader's.

"Perhaps, before I cut him down, I should have made him suffer," the Sith sighed. Palpatine did not need to ask to whom Vader referred. Still, the younger man appeared more contemplative than truly angry, and this continued detachment worried the ruler a bit.

"Your mere survival accomplished that, my friend."

"Do you really think so?" Vader sounded a little doubtful. "If I had died when Obi-wan had first deemed it necessary, he could not have flaunted Luke Skywalker before me as he did on the Death Star. I wonder if that supremely ironic moment compensated Kenobi for all his years of fear and self-righteous martyrdom."

"He's won nothing," the ruler announced with an angry resolve that slightly surprised both men. "He lost his precious Knighthood, his doomed Republic, and his formerly spotless reputation because he lost you, the most priceless asset of all. He'll lose his newest pupil to you too, Vader."

"Have you foreseen it?" The Sith's question was curious instead of challenging, so Palpatine was not annoyed by it. He was, however, a trifle uncomfortable with the inquiry. No, he'd not foreseen it; his usual meditations on the future had so far revealed little about Vader and the boy. When Palpatine sought to ponder the exact nature of the roles father and son would play in his life, he was confronted with the Force's obstinate refusal to yield up any information. Were the answers too volatile, or was it merely that at this juncture anything was possible?

One thing was certain: Vader's confidence in and awe of his master must never waver. "Yes," the galactic leader nodded. "He will come, and you shall eliminate his power, nullify his faint potential ability to threaten anything we have accomplished."

Palpatine remained discomfited by Vader's enduring stoic detachment. Where was the passionate, vibrant, dazzling youth he'd found, claimed and turned? What had become of his Empire's deepest and most vital wellspring of Darkness and idealism? Palpatine could supply the former but hardly the latter, and would be hard put to do many things without the partner and champion he'd chosen to amuse him and defend the throne. Had Vader exhausted the last bit of vehemence left in him with his shocked reaction to learning about his formerly unknown son?

An abrupt dreadful possibility occurred to the ruler then. Speaking casually, he stated, "I have a question for you, my Lord, and no response shall meet with my disapproval unless it is a dishonest one."

Vader nodded, waiting.

"Do you strongly resent the enormous destructive power with which I endowed that fool Tarkin? I did it to hold you in check."

"I know."

"Well?"

"What's done is done."

It was not the sort of reaction Palpatine had craved. Vader's aura of serenity made him want to violently shake the Sith Lord. Instead the ruler nodded, unwilling to display such blatant emotion. Walking the short distance from the small parlor to the even less spacious dining area, Palpatine lifted a knife from atop the still-set table. Apparently the Lars couple had been about to eat a meal when the stormtroopers had arrived. The utensil blade was dusty but obviously sharp. The Emperor carefully wiped it upon his dark sleeve and then returned to stand near his pupil.

"Look at this, my Lord. A common piece of metal, the sort used by human peasants throughout the galaxy. Cheap stuff, humble. The shiny outer surface of this tool is scratched and worn, revealing the base material beneath. Your son used this very knife, Vader. The plates, spoons and glassware as well, possibly for his entire life here. Take it," he commanded abruptly, holding the utensil toward his servant.

Puzzled, the Dark Lord obeyed.

"Hold it; concentrate upon it. Think about your offspring, flesh of your flesh, condemned to use such an implement. Never once did he dine with the gold. silver and crystal that are his birthright. When he was a child, the Lars woman used this knife to cut his food into manageable bits. That was your right, stolen from you. Taken without your consent. How many times in later years did your boy lay this table with similar cutlery, preparing place settings for his serf's repast? Doing servants' work, laboring menially for Kenobi's kin who should have instead knelt in his presence. How many lies was he told at this very table -- about you, about me, about his heritage and skills?"

"I don't know. I can't." Vader sounded a trace more human now, but his gloved hand was still calmly steady despite his internal winces at Palpatine's words.

The Emperor pressed on. "Concentrate," he ordered again. "In the few seconds I held that sad little knife, it spoke volumes to me. Once, when he was but four or five, your son dug in the sand with that knife and was punished for it afterward. The Larses worried he could have broken or lost the knife, and credits were exceptionally dear to them. That is why Skywalker had few toys and had to improvise with what he could find. Had you been here, you might have rescued him from his plight. You most certainly would have murdered Owen Lars for the brutal tongue-lashing he gave your child, who'd only been trying to amuse himself."

"Why are you doing this?" Vader's voice was slightly hoarse. "What have I done that warrants --"

"Skywalker cut his hand on that very knife several years ago while sharpening the utensil," the Emperor mercilessly continued, feeling every syllable slowly pierce through the emotional walls that had until now made Vader impervious and numb. "He bled profusely, terrifying that bovine but maternal woman he called his aunt. Her mate, trying to reassure both her and your son, joked about the incident as best he could in his insensitive manner: 'Why worry about such a little bit of gore?' he asked, 'after all, it was bad blood to begin with.'"

"Please," the Dark Lord murmured, shaking his head. "I cannot --" His words trailing off, Vader held the knife toward his master, clearly wanting Palpatine to take it.

Ignoring the unspoken request, the Emperor stepped yet closer. "In time, it fell to Skywalker to polish and sharpen the cutlery several times a year. Once or twice he did this for Fraternal Day, helping set a shabbily festive table for the occasion. He did this not for you, nor for the imaginary father his musings had created, but to honor Owen Lars."

Palpatine hissed the last words, watching as his pupil's hand began shaking. Silence stretched while the ruler stood unmoving, hovering merely a few centimeters away from the tip of the blade.

"Well?" The Emperor finally challenged, his pulse racing in unsteady bursts of tension and adrenaline to match his apprentice's own. "Would you enjoy using that knife on my vitals now? Had you the necessary daring and passion, would you twist the blade in the recesses of my heart, stabbing to the very depths of me as I have just done to you? Should you make my lifeblood flow in recompense for my now sharing with you truths no man but you could thus withstand?" To finally get a feeling response of some kind, Palpatine used Dark Side seduction techniques, prodding Vader toward fury and hatred. "Should you break your vows, take my throne, claim your boy and risk your own life in doing so? Or will you continue this death-in-life you have embraced, pretending to me and yourself that none of this truly impacts upon your soul?"

The ruler gazed coolly at Vader even as the Sith suddenly brought the tip of the blade to bear against Palpatine's throat. "Do you really think so little of me," Vader asked, his tone barely recognizable, "that you believe you can flay me open like this with impunity?"

The older man closed his eyes in a brief moment of secret thanksgiving lest Vader see the triumph and react violently to it. Palpatine had hoped for this instant, had in fact propelled Vader toward it, seeking the angry, impetuous, proud man he'd claimed so long ago. "Ah," the Emperor echoed softly, "so little of you? On the contrary, I think of you even when you do not. When I felt that you'd survived the Death Star explosion, I exulted. But then you reappeared by my side, and it were as if part of you had perished after all. You left me as fire and returned to me ice.

"Think so little of you?" he challenged again. "Look deeply into my eyes, Your Grace. Would my Darkness now be so potent if it did not value your own?"

The ruler studied Vader's masked visage. "Savor your rage, your present pain and resentment," he instructed, as he had so very long ago. "Let them nourish you, filling your veins, your heart, your mind and spirit with Darkness and stamina. Feel the sensual relief of it, like wine after thirst, rest after bloody battle. Hear your respirator quicken, responding for the first time in weeks to physical and emotional need, my Lord. When did you last feel so alive? Close your eyes and sense the powerful Force-emanations all around you -- your enemies and betrayers. Your son, flesh of your flesh. Your master, soul of your soul."

Vader obeyed him, Palpatine knew; the Sith was too reverent of the Force and too wary of the Emperor to do otherwise. A moment later the younger man gasped, obviously experiencing the shock of sudden motion after long stasis or of a storm after unnatural calm.

"Now," the Emperor silkenly purred, "how could you wish to deny yourself these commingled torments and delights?"

Vader merely shook his head, perhaps unable to speak. Palpatine brought his hand up slowly, covering Vader's right with his left. The Dark Lord did not relinquish or force the blade, and neither did he resist his master's touch. The ruler felt the warrior's fingers trembling about the knife handle.

"I know that Alderaan's destruction and all the lies have wearied you," the galactic leader continued quietly. "I would have helped you, had you only come to me in the first place. Instead you made me wait. Why, when I could give you this?" Palpatine cast down his Force-shields and let his Darkness wash across Vader's psyche in cool velvety waves.

The Sith swayed, and the ruler grasped Vader's other arm so the man would not fall. "This very power strengthened you when Kenobi left you for dead. Why -- how -- would you ignore, defy or forget it?"

"I never did, not truly." Vader sounded exquisitely, formidably vulnerable, so very innocent and jaded at the same time. "At least not deliberately."

"I thought not," the older man agreed, relenting. "I was far more concerned for you than for our bond. That shall never be sundered. Even now, after everything, if another man dared your current actions, you would destroy him for it."

Vader bowed his head (in relief? Defeat? Gratitude or shame?) and let the Emperor easily remove the knife from his grip. Palpatine felt that the Dark Lord was nearly overwhelmed by complex and even contradictory emotions. The ruler carefully released Vader's arm, and the warrior slowly sank to his unsteady knees upon the dusty floor. This was half fearful reverence and half necessary physical reprieve. Stunned and intoxicated, Vader despised his own addict's response even as he cherished the renewed and too-long denied sensation of velvet malevolence in his own blood and soul.

Looking down at Vader's bent head, the ruler relaxed a bit for the first time in seemingly endless weeks. Touching his pupil's tense shoulder, he signalled for him to rise. Next Palpatine enriched his voice with every shred of affection, dignity, persuasion and charisma he possessed: "Come, Lord Vader," he purred, "why don't you sit down?"

Vader's anger had thankfully returned, but Palpatine did not want the younger man to look back upon this night and recall only Palpatine's manipulation of his emotions. It was imperative that the Sith remember Kenobi and the Lars' machinations as well. They must be the focus of the Dark Lord's indignation. Hence, merely reminding Vader of their perfidy would not be enough; the ruler needed to offer his pupil what Vader had thus far been denied by the Tatooine conspirators and even the Force itself. Palpatine would renew his favorite's anticipation of the future and therefore assure the Sith's continued service and fealty.

The Emperor addressed his protege, who now sat in a battered but sturdy chair and stared into nothingness. Vader was close to being in shock, so much had he rapidly experienced soon after having adjusted to feeling so little at all. "Rest for a moment," the ruler commanded, revelling in the recharged Darkness and wary graceful weariness Vader radiated. "I'll explore the rest of this hovel and rejoin you shortly."

"Master?" the younger man asked quietly just as Palpatine left the sitting room.

"Yes?" The Emperor turned in the doorway and gazed at the armored warrior once more.

"Why did you not punish me a minute ago?"

The ruler studied the Dark Lord, examining Vader's relief, curiosity, surprise and unconscious disappointment. A trifle concerned at this additional evidence of Vader's latent self-destructive tendency, Palpatine sighed to himself. The Sith's near-masochism, usually disguised as courage or stoicism, proved how right the monarch had been to spark Vader's genuine interest in the Skywalker boy. Whether the brat died or joined them, the hunt would make Vader alive again, in a way he'd not been for months.

And that, for good or ill, might well be punishment enough for the Dark Lord.

"Because," the wizened man smiled, "I knew your honor would never let you harm me. You are too magnificent a creature to renege on your vows." That same nobility trapped Vader even as it lent him an incredible grace and strength of character. So Palpatine did all he could to promote this trait which served his purposes far more than it did the Sith Lord's own. Had he been Vader, he would have rammed the knife in and twisted the blade.

As if on cue, the armored man daringly queried, "What if, at that moment, our identities had been reversed?"

Palpatine reprimanded him gently. "My Lord," he patiently pointed out, "I would never be in your position."

After his master departed the ill-lit room, Vader pondered the past hour or so. He was both horrified at his near loss of control and bitter that his lack of restraint had not been complete. What would he have done had he slit the ruler's throat? Rejoiced? Mourned? Died from Palpatine's final punishment or from the abrupt severing of the strongest Force- bond he'd ever formed?

Would he have gone mad? How close was he to it already?

Perhaps going insane was a slow simple process so gradually insidious that one never noticed it. Possibly it could go unremarked by those closest to one as well. Vader had thought his growing detachment a defense against potential insanity, when it might actually have been a sign. As much as the Sith Lord feared and respected the Emperor's powers, he knew his master was a megalomaniac.

Were madmen able to see the affliction in others and call it by its rightful name? If so, then maybe Vader should be grateful for Palpatine's effort to shake him out of his aloof and remote state. That was surely what Obi-wan had attempted on the Death Star. Kenobi had addressed Vader by his first name, had insulted and mocked him even at the end.

Force. Had the Skywalker boy seen machinery or madness looming over his dead mentor? What would he see when father and son next encountered one another?

Did he actually care now what Luke would believe? He hadn't before -- at least, not by much.

Ah, my unknown and unknowing child, Vader thought, closing his eyes in either selfish tired indulgence or self-hating despair, you should have seen us at our best, at our height of glory. If only Luke had encountered Vader years ago, when both Dark Lord and ruler had been more vibrant and unjaded. When they had laughed together easily, and not only at another being's expense. Kenobi had altered all that by keeping Luke away, by preserving the false promise of the Jedi brotherhood, by consigning Vader to an existence of cybernetic pain, and by fostering treasonous ambitions in the hearts of utopians like Bail and Leia Organa. Kenobi should have been a Symorian feline, with its legendary twelve lives. If Vader could have killed him a dozen times, it might have approached fair compensation for all the old Jedi had done. But Vader would have let Luke witness none of it. The boy was not really to blame.

Yes, you should have seen us years ago. Then you would have known that neither of us intended for this galaxy to be steeped in blood. But, once the Rebellion had begun, once the war had commenced, there was no turning back. No recourse but to struggle against it. No choice but to stem the tide. Wars were never truly stopped unless they were won, by one side or the other.

And don't dare tell me I started this endless conflict, Vader commanded savagely, perhaps to Luke, possibly to Kenobi's shade, perchance to his own psyche. I don't believe that; I won't believe it.

I can't.

At one time, the corpses outside would have moved him. Luke should have known him then. Vader had no doubt that Palpatine had been so able to shake him moments ago simply because the ruler understood him more than any other living soul could. As often as Vader thought about the Skywalker boy, his reactions had mostly been cerebral, abstract. It was easier for the Dark Lord to imagine Luke as an enemy or potential tool than to ponder what it meant for the boy to carry half his genetic code.

He didn't know his own child. That fact angered him. He'd been cheated, humiliated, deprived, betrayed. Yet his rage too was mostly abstract; he knew he would have reacted similarly to any slight upon his person, property, ambitions or honor. Was this different? It should be, but Vader wasn't certain it was. Not yet, anyway. He'd felt emotions akin to these upon learning about the first Alliance victories, about governors who starved their own peasants, and about the lies Jedi had told concerning the Force and the galaxy.

When he'd first found out about Luke, Vader had been furious. Briefly this evening, Palpatine had located that same wellspring of emotion and unstoppered it. But upon both occasions, Vader the Lawgiver had reacted, responding as he would have to any grave injustice wreaked upon any injured party. He'd felt as he did whenever a blatant unforgivable crime was committed: analytical in his value judgements, weighing circumstances and motives while he reached a decision. Did he really want the boy in his life or merely resent not having been allowed to make that decision before now? He was intrigued by the idea of Luke -- nothing more. He had never actually met the lad, after all. He knew next to nothing about him, yet his own lack of emotional response shocked even as it reassured him.

At one time, my child, he thought, YOU would have moved me. You should have known me years ago. So much would be different now.

Palpatine was grateful that this room too had been virtually untouched by the flames. He glanced around at the small but neat chamber that had so obviously belonged to Anakin Skywalker's son, drinking in its painful and exhilarating emanations. This boy was much like his father had been at roughly the same age: high- minded, passionate, impatient, heroic. Even as a cynical condescending smile crossed the ruler's thin lips, Palpatine felt unexpected nostalgia and loss slam into his soul. How very odd.

And how very irrational. Had Anakin Skywalker remained that way, Vader would not have survived the past two decades and more. Palpatine had asked the Force for someone he could not destroy, and had finally received such a being. How magnificent it had been to watch his young Dark Lord -- his vulnerable but virtually indomitable Vader -- put the galaxy on its knees before the ruler's powers. How glorious it had been to witness Vader's gradual transformation from sardonic utopian to idealistic cynic; from wide-gazed novice to clear-eyed Force master in his own right; and from lonely orphan boy to self-assured, self-appointed patriarchal guardian of the Empire. But at times, studying the aloof end result of this process, Palpatine wished he could experience it all again.

He wanted to watch the transformation anew. Ironic, that he half desired Luke Skywalker's turning when Vader himself had determined that the child must be killed. But these decisions might change in the future. Vader was presently not himself, wearied and highly unsettled by the knowledge that he had a son who'd been trained to be his enemy and perhaps even his aspiring assassin.

If things came to that, of course, Palpatine would obliterate the boy from this plane of existence first. Unless...

Unless Vader continued this slow metamorphosis into an only half-living creature Palpatine had not planned and could not fully rely upon or recognize. Then the ruler would require a replacement for the Sith Lord. Or rather, he would need a substitute to perform Vader's current duties.

He doubted Vader could be replaced. Not the man himself, not his unique charismatic personality or austere, complex, strangely noble soul.

Suddenly Palpatine hated Vader's presumptuous boy with a furor bordering on madness. Directly contradicting his earlier musings about seducing Luke Skywalker to Darkness and his service, the Emperor now resolved that the ignorantly patricidal brat should be eliminated without delay. Had you known us years ago, he thought furiously to the Force-novice, we might have fancied you then. Before you had been so tainted, before you had deliberately set out to undo all we have accomplished. And if your father, who has been most wronged and insulted by your choices, will not punish you fully for them, I most assuredly shall.

Luke Skywalker had liberated the traitor Organa from her prison cell and had joined the Alliance that threatened the Empire Vader had sacrificed much to build. The whelp had destroyed the Death Star Vader had defended, pledged himself to the Knighthood the Sith Lord had decimated, and devoted himself to the man who'd caused Palpatine's pupil the most grievous harm. How could I honor those crimes, the ruler savagely pondered, by asking you to join us? I would not pay you that kind of respect and recognition after all you have done. It would be a direct slap in Vader's face, one the Dark Lord did not deserve.

Yet, boy, Palpatine mused bitterly, he thinks of you constantly even when he FEELS nothing whatsoever. That must mean something. I intended it to, after all, when I told him about you. It was the only way I could keep him willingly at my side. If I kill you, I may lose him forever. But if we keep you, I may gain nothing by it.

Or everything.

That was the possibility which had sent Palpatine to this pitiful portentous place: the chance that Luke Skywalker might solidify the fraying bond between the Sith Lord and his master. In the end, Palpatine had had no choice but to make Vader want something again, and now had no option but to help fulfil that desire.

He wants you dead now, child, although it would probably kill him.

Perhaps on some level he knows that.

In time, he shall want you with us. If you comply, we will all win.

If not?

Then Force alone knew who would triumph.

Do you realize this, boy? You are his price, and do not know it.

And what, I wonder, is yours?

Palpatine would know it. Now.

"Vader, come in here."

The Lars home was small, so the Dark Lord had no trouble hearing his master's summons, nor in following the voice to the tiny room at the far end of the abandoned dwelling. He had avoided this chamber ever since entering the damaged structure, somehow knowing he would feel most like an unwelcome intruder in this one room he had the greatest right to enter. His head ached and his back knotted with tension as he stepped into the doorway in question.

"Yes?"

"Look at this," Palpatine commanded, stepping away from the side of an average-sized bed.

The Sith gazed obediently at the several items arranged upon the coverlet. "Toys," he dutifully commented, wanting to end this quickly and depart. "Boys' playthings. Certainly we would find some..."

His sentence died unfinished as realization dawned. They were miniature ships. All of them. Vessels of many kinds, lovingly cared for and built painstakingly from kits. His heartbeat hurt him as he slowly approached the bed and looked more closely at the obviously cherished models.

"As far as I can ascertain, my Lord, these are most of the toys he owned. Perhaps he had others he outgrew and discarded. But these he clearly valued enough to keep, even at his age. They meant more than mere playthings to him."

"When I was a child, I had a couple of these sorts of models. I carried them with me, or hid them, even when I had no home." Vader's voice sounded strange to his own ears. He made no effort to alter it; he wasn't sure he could even if he tried.

"I remember." Palpatine spoke quietly -- possessively, protectively, angrily and gently all at once. "Long ago, you told me about that."

"Did I?"

"He wanted to be a star pilot," the Emperor continued.

Vader remained silent. Both he and his master knew that had also been Anakin Skywalker's ambition years before he'd ever known about the Force.

"I came here to learn the boy's secrets, the keys to his soul. His price," Palpatine explained, his hand now on Vader's broad shoulder. The Dark Lord was slightly surprised to find that he'd sat down upon Luke's bed without realizing it. He gazed up into his leader's golden eyes. They reflected the gleam from the lamp the ruler had carried into this room.

"And," the Emperor concluded, "I found it."

Vader nodded.

"No, not the ships alone. This especially." Drawing a small cheap synthpaper book from his ebon robes, the ruler handed it to the younger man. "Read it."

"Now? All of it?"

"There are only a dozen or so entries there. He was an erratic and neglectful journal keeper, it seems." Palpatine's small smile was unreadable.

Palpatine had remained with his chosen one for several minutes and then had returned outdoors; he'd sampled Vader's complex and contradictory emotions before deciding to honor the younger man's abrupt need for a bit of privacy. Vader's anger and fear, exasperation and pride had pleased him, for they proved the Sith Lord's resurgent vitality and Darkness. Whatever the future held, at least the boy had served Palpatine's purposes this night.

He heard a step behind him and turned. Vader moved like liquid shadow, full of grace and fatigue, sorrow and fury. When the Dark Lord spoke, his tones were full of simultaneous contempt and need: "The boy lived more in his imagination than in reality," he announced bitterly. "He wanted a father who was a pilot, a swashbuckler, a warrior, an explorer, or a king."

"Yet you are all those things."

Vader stared at him an instant. "He expected a hero," he murmured, very quietly.

"And that is what you are, is it not? Every day you risk your well-being for causes in which you believe, sacrificing yourself for this galaxy's greater good. In addition, you share his Force-talent and can show him what to do with his own. Few others remain who can do that, who could provide the instruction and knowledge he craves and needs. Prove all that to him, my dear friend, and he shall not be able to resist us."

Silence fell for several seconds. "I fear he was kept from me for too long," Vader finally replied. His rage at the Lars couple and at Kenobi lit him like a Dark beacon of flame at long last.

"No." The Emperor shook his head. "Once we deal with him together, he will pose no more threat to us. Of that I have no doubt." He was certain of it now, as sure as if he'd seen it in Force-vision. Oh, he'd done the right thing by making Vader take more interest in his boy. Palpatine almost purred in triumph.

"Perhaps you should return to the shuttle now," the warrior respectfully suggested. "I shall join you momentarily, for I am nearly finished with this forsaken world."

"What are you planning?"

"To burn this place to the ground."

"I would rather watch, and stay with you," Palpatine stated in feral tenderness.

And he did, smiling to himself the whole while. He knew now that all would be well. Events would transpire as destiny intended. Vader had returned to him fully, having even forgotten about the woman's damned plants.

SPEB