Revenge of the Jedi (15/17)
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Title: Revenge of the Jedi (15/17)
Fanverse: Revenge of the Jedi
Blurb: Luke has a bewildering vision, begins Leia's training, and continues his own with his newest mentor.
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Chapter Fifteen
Luke walked through a wall and found himself staring out a large window, at an unfamiliar expanse of water, backed by lush green hills. In the distance, he could see a massive waterfall. Puzzled, he turned around, and took in an equally unfamiliar room, painted a warm, cheerful yellow. A woman was sleeping on the bed, her tangled blonde hair dark with sweat, one arm flung over her face, while a medical droid ran a scanner over her body.
Two more droids stood on each side of a large cradle, clucking concernedly. Luke couldn't quite see the baby within, but this was his past; it had to be him. He didn't bother stepping any closer.
"The blood loss is significant, but not dangerous," said the first. "I estimate the probability of death at three hundredths of a percent."
"What do you suggest, Denine?"
"Several days of rest should be sufficient. Inform her that --"
The door opened, and a man in a grey officer's uniform stepped through. Denine turned towards him.
"You are not Anakin Skywalker, Arya Nellith, Aerus Nellith, Xanetia Nlai, Obi-Wan Kenobi, or Padmé Amidala," he announced. "Your entry is unauthorized."
"Get out of my way," the officer said impatiently. A lightsaber sprang to life in his hand.
"Your entry is unauthorized," said the droid again, then collapsed into a heap of metal as the officer sliced through him.
One of the remaining droids said, "Oh, dear."
The other gave a loud, mechanical screech, but neither moved from their posts. The officer -- Jedi? -- promptly cut them down, as well, then slung his lightsaber back on his belt and reached inside the cradle.
The woman -- Mother, Luke thought, she couldn't be anyone else -- stirred and murmured something, her voice low and exhausted.
The strange Jedi straightened and walked to the bed, leaning over Arissa and whispering something to her. Luke's eyes narrowed, just as someone tapped on the door and pushed it open.
"Arissa? Are you all right?" called a woman, poking her dark head in. The Jedi-officer spun around and even Luke, frozen in sheer confusion, took a step forward. Without the layers of paint or elaborate clothes, it took him a moment to identify her as Senator Amidala.
She, however, seemed to instantly recognize the intruder. "Captain Ambra?" Her eyes fell on the droids and she stepped all the way through, one hand on her blaster. "What are you doing?"
His only response was to raise his lightsaber again, the blade humming to life.
Amidala's eyes widened. "Traitor," she hissed, and pulled the trigger.
Ambra blocked the shot, sending the blast into the wall just above the cradle. A baby began to scream, and Ambra rushed towards the cradle, deflecting Amidala's fire even as he grabbed the shrieking infant with his free hand, holding it against his chest. Amidala hesitated for a moment, long enough for him to reach the window and jab his lightsaber into the glass. Her next shot hit him in the shoulder and he gave a shout of pain, but jumped through, the baby still shrieking --
The X-Wing's control panel beeped, and Luke jerked himself out of his vision, back into mundane reality. What passed for mundane reality with him, anyway.
He checked the reading -- they were approaching Dagobah -- and looked down at Artoo.
"That was . . . really strange," he said. He'd looked into his past more out of habit than any particular curiosity, practicing for practice's sake. He certainly hadn't expected . . . whatever that had been. I was kidnapped? Or something? But I was with Father later, so --
Mildly intrigued, he considered the conundrum for a moment, then put it aside. He had more important things to worry about right now: Leia was here.
“It’s not working,” said Leia, for the fourth time. “I don’t feel anything.”
“That’s all right,” Luke told her, infuriatingly calm -- and even more infuriatingly, sitting on nothing but air. She wanted to tell herself that she wasn’t failing, it was just tricks and nonsense, but . . . air. “It takes awhile --”
She suppressed the urge to tug on her hair. “We don’t have awhile! Five weeks -- ”
“Leia, you can’t think about that.” He dropped to the ground. “You’ll never be calm enough to touch the Force if you’re worrying about Jabba.”
Leia folded her arms. Yoda had told her the same thing, when she’d talked to him before Luke’s arrival. Put this aside, you must, if are to be a Jedi. Be calm, passive --
Passive. Ha.
“I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like,” she said. “Feel it flowing through me? What does that even mean?”
“It’s hard to explain.” Luke rubbed his thumb and middle finger together, exactly as he’d done with his flesh hand. Sometimes she wondered if he remembered that it wasn’t. But then, she didn’t know how that felt either. It had become increasingly apparent that, as much as he still obviously cared for her, he’d grown apart from her in odd ways, too.
Maybe this, she thought, would change that, pull them into the same world. And maybe --
Well, maybe it wouldn’t.
“That’s how Obi-Wan always talked about it,” Luke said finally. “Honestly, it never made that much sense to me either. I can feel it . . . passing through me, I guess, but it feels more like --” He lifted his hands, then turned them to stare down at his veins. “More like fire.”
Leia winced. “That sounds painful.”
“It isn’t.” He looked over at her, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. “Just -- intense. It’s hard to get started in the first place, and hard to control after that, and it can destroy you in a flash, if you’re not careful. But it’s immensely powerful and alive and . . .” He shrugged, with an almost shy smile that was, somehow, nothing like his other almost-shy smiles. “There’s nothing like it.”
“And you can see it? Right now?” Leia almost looked around, just to make sure she hadn’t missed obvious wreaths of flames.
“Mm-hmm.” Luke tilted his head to the side. “Maybe Yoda’s way would be better for you.”
“Yoda’s?” she repeated, suspicious. “What do you mean?”
He grinned. “Catch me if you can,” he said, and bolted towards the trees.
“Luke! What are you --” She sighed and ran into the wood, frowning when she couldn’t hear any footsteps. She could see his prints in the mud, however, so she had no difficulty following his trail. Leia raced after him, jumping over roots and brambles, ducking under low branches, speeding up as she considered the several seconds and seven inches he had on her.
A few minutes later, she heard the sound of laughing and burst out into the open air, almost sliding into a deep ravine.
“Just like old times, isn’t it?” said Luke, standing on the opposite side, his voice clear. He wasn’t even panting.
An enormous tree had fallen over the ravine; Leia could clearly see that it was rotting clear through.
She glared at him. “Luke Skywalker, I swear --”
He darted further along and Leia only hesitated a moment before stepping onto the tree trunk and then running along it as lightly as she could, trusting more to her instincts than to her senses. She felt briefly disoriented, but refused to allow herself to be distracted by it.
Leia was gasping for breath as she jumped off the log, her legs rubbery, but she forced herself to run even faster. Whatever bizarre test this was, she refused to fail it --
Her eyes were wide open, trying to see everything, even though it was impossible to make anything out. Then, with another burst of speed, she felt her breath slow and deepen, her pounding heart quiet, her skin cool. The blur of green resolved into individual trees, rocks, skittering animals, she really did see everything, and hear everything, and feel it all around her, and she could see-hear-feel Luke just ahead too --
Leia skidded to a halt as she burst into the clearing where Luke sat, perched on an exposed root and tossing a rock back and forth. That odd confusion of senses vanished.
She took a few deep breaths, necessitated more by force of habit than her body’s needs.
“What was that? ” she demanded.
Luke dropped the rock and grinned. “Now you know what it feels like.”
“That -- that was the Force? That . . . everything?”
“Best description I’ve heard so far,” he said, looking far too amused. Leia pushed him off the root and he let himself fall, still laughing.
“You could tell when I -- that’s what you were waiting for?” she asked, waving her hand. “You felt it?”
“Yeah.” Luke sprang up, still grinning. It was funny; all this had made him so different, but right now it made him seem more like himself than he had been in years.
Then it struck her -- except for his elderly mentors, she realized, he wouldn’t have felt another Jedi of any kind, ever. Well, except Vader, who hardly counted. She remembered Luke’s face when he’d offered to teach her even if she didn’t decide to be a Jedi. I’d just -- rather you did.
Leia couldn’t help but smile back. “So, running does that?”
“No, just running at superhuman speeds,” said Luke. “That’s how Yoda trained me. If you’re trying something you can do normally, most likely you’ll do it normally. Doing things that are difficult -- or impossible -- without the Force, well, that makes you use the Force. It doesn’t have to be running, though. He mostly had me stand on my thumb.”
“Your . . . thumb,” Leia repeated.
“It’s easier than it sounds. I’ll show you back at the swamp.”
She just shook her head.
In fact, it was easier than it sounded -- which in no way translated to easy. Just possible. Leia managed it on her seventh try, again feeling that odd, muddled everythingness around her. For about four seconds. She barely landed on her feet and lifted her eyes to Luke’s.
“Look, I know I’m supposed to put it aside and so on, but I’m not going to master this in the next few weeks. And that’s not even considering the time that I can’t be here.”
“Of course you’re not,” Luke told her. “I’ve been thinking about it, and really, we’re not trying to make you a Jedi Knight in five weeks. Just a good enough warrior to fight Jabba and his goons. So you need to practice this to get a grasp on the Force, but after that, I’ll teach you more -- immediately useful things, all right?”
Leia eyed him. “What do you mean?”
He dropped his omnipresent bag from his shoulder and dug around inside. After a few seconds, his hand emerged, fingers curled around a long, silver, familiar cylinder. She stared.
“You made your lightsaber?” She considered it. “It looks exactly like your old one.”
“It is my old one,” said Luke. “That is, my father’s. I got it back when I was away. I need to study how it’s made to make my own, and I’ll need it for . . . things, but you can train with it, too.”
“Can I . . .?”
“Sure.” He handed it over to her. Another time, Leia might have been embarrassed that her hand was shaking, a little. She reached up to flick the button -- it had been made for a much larger hand than hers -- and watched, wide-eyed, as the blue-white blade zapped out, humming as she swung it back and forth.
Leia let out a short, quick breath, and hit the button again. The blade vanished.
“That’s . . . thanks,” she said.
She threw herself into her exercises for the next two days, then headed off for her work on Carathis.
“I should be back in four or five days,” she said, rather grateful that Yoda was sleeping. He generally regarded her with approval, pointedly praising her discipline, but he’d railed against her divided loyalties more than once. “I’ll keep practicing.”
“Of course,” said Luke, and smiled. “Don’t worry. I have somewhere to go too.”
Although he’d managed to pass on some more information about troop movements and rivalries between the moffs and admirals, he remained frustratingly vague about his own activities. She didn’t doubt his loyalty, but his plans tended towards the involved. She’d have preferred to help, at least.
Leia sighed, kissed his cheek, and headed off to her shuttle.
Darth Vader was not, of course, nervous. While he had not, between one thing and another -- those things being constant battles -- ever had a student, he had mastered everything worth knowing.
He did not look at Luke, who had himself barely spoken. Vader might almost have called him cowed, if such a thing were possible for any child of his and Luke in particular. But no. In the place of his son’s usual, if baffling, mixture of insolence and controlled fear, Vader sensed only a certain anxiety.
Concern for his immortal soul, doubtless, or some similar nonsense.
The door to his meditation chamber slid closed, and Vader finally turned to face Luke, thinking that he was closer to achieving his goals at this moment than he’d been in almost twenty years. But not close enough. Luke had shown no sign of relenting in regards to the Dark Side -- though, given his evident power, perhaps -- no. Together, they might already have the strength to destroy Palpatine, but as Emperor, Luke would almost certainly need the power of the Dark Side.
Though, if Palpatine himself were any indication -- but Luke would be strong enough.
Vader put his doubts aside. “Obi-Wan’s trick is in fact an advanced technique that involves probing others’ minds for information, and then replacing it with your own suggestions.”
“You don’t bother with it very often,” said Luke. “Why?”
Because torture is one of the more arduous ways to gather information. “Its usefulness is limited,” Vader told him. “It is only effective on the weak-minded -- which may be most of the galaxy, but cannot be depended on. The suggestions rarely last long.”
“Oh.” Luke looked away. “How am I going to . . . uh, practice? Without letting everyone know what’s going on?”
For answer, Vader simply sent for Daine Jir.
“He is more cunning than strong-minded as such,” he said. “Still, you may find him something of a challenge.”
He explained the process while they waited for Jir, ignoring Luke’s evident revulsion. Vader himself had never been particularly fond of the technique, in either of his lives. He couldn’t remember using it more than a handful of times, and his memories had been sharper of late. As Anakin Skywalker, he had decried it as torture more than once, and as Darth Vader, he used it for that purpose alone.
Luke, he suspected, was not suited to torture of any kind. All the better, in a future emperor. Luke would never use it casually, as Palpatine did, but only when necessary.
Jir entered, his expression intrigued. Vader told him that Luke would give orders and he was to ignore them, and retreated to observe his son’s progress. Luke’s hands were clenched at his sides, strain evident in every line of his body. Unsurprisingly, he failed on his first try.
On the second, Jir half-bent to untie his boots before frowning and standing upright. “I don’t --”
Luke stared at him unblinkingly, then with a small, imperious wave of his hand, said, “You’d rather not stand.”
“I’d rather not stand,” repeated Jir, and promptly sat, stretching his legs with evident enjoyment. Luke took a step back, covering his mouth with his fist, and the break in concentration was enough to send Jir scrambling to his feet.
“What --”
“That is all,” Vader told him, and Jir hastily retreated, still looking rather dazed.
So did Luke. Vader suspected that any praise, however rightfully deserved, would be taken poorly.
“As you saw,” he said instead, “it’s simpler when you suggest something the subject might reasonably want to do.”
“Right,” said Luke. “I, uh, wasn’t thinking of that. It just seemed a straightforward thing to ask.”
“Exactly.”
Vader did not consider it likely that Luke would make further progress in this, and switched to training him in other areas. He quickly discovered that his son had received a . . . singular education, skewed even more towards battle and clairvoyance than his own had been, and seemed decidedly pleased to learn anything unrelated to either.
“I . . . heard something about healing,” he said, rather cautiously. “It seemed useful. Can we actually keep people from dying?”
“No,” said Vader, and then -- “it depends on the case. The great healers studied for decades, and had extensive powers, but even they could not bring the dead to life.”
Luke blinked, his brows furrowing, then his eyes widened. “Oh. Speaking of the dead coming back -- um -- ”
“My mother has spoken to you again?” said Vader, unable to avoid the obvious conclusion.
Luke stared at his hands. “Um. Yes.”
He had evidently been charged with a message far more unpalatable than Vader’s had been. “Well, what is it?” he demanded.
“She says she loves you,” Luke said, so quickly that a less attentive ear might not have understood him.
Vader often chose not to speak. Rarely was he at a loss for words. On this occasion, however, he could only stare at his son, his mind completely blank.
“Oh, and I was wondering how I got kidnapped,” said Luke. “Obviously you got me back, but --”
“What?”
“I saw it,” said Luke, with another spike of anxiety. “But I’ve seen all sorts of things with you later, so it can’t have been very successful.”
Vader managed to reassemble his thoughts. “You were stolen by a Jedi, most likely Obi-Wan, shortly before your third birthday. I pursued him and he crashed the ship you were both in; I could tell you were dying, and then gone, and that he was unharmed.”
“That’s odd,” said Luke. “I suppose I must have been sent into hyperspace right before I -- well, didn’t die. Maybe they had a healer. But what I saw was earlier, when I was still a baby. Maybe a few days old.”
“You were never kidnapped until the Jedi took you,” Vader said flatly.
“Then that’s really odd,” said Luke. “Anyway, healing. Can you teach me?”
Vader paused. He had never had any occasion to heal with the Dark Side; even it could do little enough for his ruined body. With Obi-Wan, he had learned more for the sake of completion than anything else. He had not done it in many years, and had no desire to fail before his son.
On the other hand, he could not dismiss any opportunity, however small, to increase Luke’s gratitude to him. For some reason, he felt almost amused at the thought, and -- something else. Besides, healing was a more useful skill for a warrior than his youthful self had ever considered, however little value it might have for Vader particularly.
“I can,” he said, then admitted, “though it is more difficult to explain than to do.”
“Well, that’s all right,” said Luke, and held his left hand in front of him, and reached to his belt with the right.
“What -- ”
Luke grabbed a vibroblade and sliced it across his palm.
“What are you doing?”
“You said it’s easier to demonstrate,” he said. “Now you can demonstrate. Here.”
For a moment, Vader could only stare at the hand, transfixed by the blood oozing from between the flaps of skin. It occurred to him that it was a little strange, that this should be horrifying, when he had personally sliced off the other hand. But that had been . . . an unfortunate reflex, not . . .
Vader put that out of his mind.
He ought to use the Dark Side, demonstrate its power in yet another fashion, but even if he could think of some way it could be used for this, he had no intention of experimenting with it on his son.
I am a Jedi, he told himself, as he had told himself daily for the last thirty years, and there cannot be any real harm in it, as he’d told himself a fair number of times, too.
Vader reached for the Force.
His grip seemed almost to close on air, on nothing, the Force slipping out and around him, remaining tauntingly beyond his grasp. Then he remembered the years of lessons Obi-Wan had drummed into his head, the control fought for and fought for again and finally achieved, then the ease with which everything had come to him. Mastery of the Living Force had been all but second nature to Anakin Skywalker -- he was not that man, that man was dead, but he had a right to this, he remembered --
He forced himself into a semblance of calm and let himself fall into the familiar patterns of the Living Force -- just this once, and if Luke ever did something so monumentally stupid again, he’d slice off his other hand -- or, well, something --
The Force slipped into his grasp, seeming very nearly gleeful. It was a moment’s effort to heal the small slice, willing the skin to close, knit itself together. Luke’s eyes widened.
“There isn’t even a scar! That’s amazing,” he said, looking more impressed than he had since he’d been stolen, and -- Vader wanted to call it something else, or undefinable or simply strange, but it was none of those things. He’d seen that hint of respect too often, and had prized it too highly, to mistake it for anything else. Even if Luke had never shown the slightest indication of it before, and he’d never expected that he would.
It was a small thing, he thought: nothing to the powers he might possess -- that he did possess, he reminded himself. But the Living Force was still blazing through him, burning away everything else, even pain, and without that constant agony and -- without the pain, his mind was clearer than it had been in years.
“-- didn’t teach me,” Luke was saying, his face animated. “Not that visions aren’t interesting, but this -- hm, I think I saw how you did it, but . . . you can heal yourself, right?”
“Yes,” said Vader, “and if you so much as think about slicing yourself up again, I will confiscate that knife.”
Luke gave him an incredulous look, and then his mouth twitched into a small, bewildered smile. “All right,” he said. “But I do need to practice.”
“I suggest rats,” Vader told him. Reluctantly, he released his grip on the Living Force, and pain screamed back up his surviving nerves. He caught his breath, clenched his teeth, trying to think of anything else, and let the Dark Side sink back into him.
He could almost feel his mind clouding, his temper fraying, his power expanding. Luke evidently felt it as well; he looked up at him, his earlier expression replaced by concern.
“Father? Is -- can I -- do you need . . .?”
Vader considered his son through a haze of -- something. He’d done it for Luke, he remembered. To keep Luke from . . . something else. To keep him safe, happy, protect him.
Alone, he had enough power for that. Together, they had enough power for, apparently, anything. Luke, he decided, didn’t need any more. He didn’t need this.
Title: Revenge of the Jedi (15/17)
Fanverse: Revenge of the Jedi
Blurb: Luke has a bewildering vision, begins Leia's training, and continues his own with his newest mentor.
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Chapter Fifteen
Luke walked through a wall and found himself staring out a large window, at an unfamiliar expanse of water, backed by lush green hills. In the distance, he could see a massive waterfall. Puzzled, he turned around, and took in an equally unfamiliar room, painted a warm, cheerful yellow. A woman was sleeping on the bed, her tangled blonde hair dark with sweat, one arm flung over her face, while a medical droid ran a scanner over her body.
Two more droids stood on each side of a large cradle, clucking concernedly. Luke couldn't quite see the baby within, but this was his past; it had to be him. He didn't bother stepping any closer.
"The blood loss is significant, but not dangerous," said the first. "I estimate the probability of death at three hundredths of a percent."
"What do you suggest, Denine?"
"Several days of rest should be sufficient. Inform her that --"
The door opened, and a man in a grey officer's uniform stepped through. Denine turned towards him.
"You are not Anakin Skywalker, Arya Nellith, Aerus Nellith, Xanetia Nlai, Obi-Wan Kenobi, or Padmé Amidala," he announced. "Your entry is unauthorized."
"Get out of my way," the officer said impatiently. A lightsaber sprang to life in his hand.
"Your entry is unauthorized," said the droid again, then collapsed into a heap of metal as the officer sliced through him.
One of the remaining droids said, "Oh, dear."
The other gave a loud, mechanical screech, but neither moved from their posts. The officer -- Jedi? -- promptly cut them down, as well, then slung his lightsaber back on his belt and reached inside the cradle.
The woman -- Mother, Luke thought, she couldn't be anyone else -- stirred and murmured something, her voice low and exhausted.
The strange Jedi straightened and walked to the bed, leaning over Arissa and whispering something to her. Luke's eyes narrowed, just as someone tapped on the door and pushed it open.
"Arissa? Are you all right?" called a woman, poking her dark head in. The Jedi-officer spun around and even Luke, frozen in sheer confusion, took a step forward. Without the layers of paint or elaborate clothes, it took him a moment to identify her as Senator Amidala.
She, however, seemed to instantly recognize the intruder. "Captain Ambra?" Her eyes fell on the droids and she stepped all the way through, one hand on her blaster. "What are you doing?"
His only response was to raise his lightsaber again, the blade humming to life.
Amidala's eyes widened. "Traitor," she hissed, and pulled the trigger.
Ambra blocked the shot, sending the blast into the wall just above the cradle. A baby began to scream, and Ambra rushed towards the cradle, deflecting Amidala's fire even as he grabbed the shrieking infant with his free hand, holding it against his chest. Amidala hesitated for a moment, long enough for him to reach the window and jab his lightsaber into the glass. Her next shot hit him in the shoulder and he gave a shout of pain, but jumped through, the baby still shrieking --
The X-Wing's control panel beeped, and Luke jerked himself out of his vision, back into mundane reality. What passed for mundane reality with him, anyway.
He checked the reading -- they were approaching Dagobah -- and looked down at Artoo.
"That was . . . really strange," he said. He'd looked into his past more out of habit than any particular curiosity, practicing for practice's sake. He certainly hadn't expected . . . whatever that had been. I was kidnapped? Or something? But I was with Father later, so --
Mildly intrigued, he considered the conundrum for a moment, then put it aside. He had more important things to worry about right now: Leia was here.
“It’s not working,” said Leia, for the fourth time. “I don’t feel anything.”
“That’s all right,” Luke told her, infuriatingly calm -- and even more infuriatingly, sitting on nothing but air. She wanted to tell herself that she wasn’t failing, it was just tricks and nonsense, but . . . air. “It takes awhile --”
She suppressed the urge to tug on her hair. “We don’t have awhile! Five weeks -- ”
“Leia, you can’t think about that.” He dropped to the ground. “You’ll never be calm enough to touch the Force if you’re worrying about Jabba.”
Leia folded her arms. Yoda had told her the same thing, when she’d talked to him before Luke’s arrival. Put this aside, you must, if are to be a Jedi. Be calm, passive --
Passive. Ha.
“I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like,” she said. “Feel it flowing through me? What does that even mean?”
“It’s hard to explain.” Luke rubbed his thumb and middle finger together, exactly as he’d done with his flesh hand. Sometimes she wondered if he remembered that it wasn’t. But then, she didn’t know how that felt either. It had become increasingly apparent that, as much as he still obviously cared for her, he’d grown apart from her in odd ways, too.
Maybe this, she thought, would change that, pull them into the same world. And maybe --
Well, maybe it wouldn’t.
“That’s how Obi-Wan always talked about it,” Luke said finally. “Honestly, it never made that much sense to me either. I can feel it . . . passing through me, I guess, but it feels more like --” He lifted his hands, then turned them to stare down at his veins. “More like fire.”
Leia winced. “That sounds painful.”
“It isn’t.” He looked over at her, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. “Just -- intense. It’s hard to get started in the first place, and hard to control after that, and it can destroy you in a flash, if you’re not careful. But it’s immensely powerful and alive and . . .” He shrugged, with an almost shy smile that was, somehow, nothing like his other almost-shy smiles. “There’s nothing like it.”
“And you can see it? Right now?” Leia almost looked around, just to make sure she hadn’t missed obvious wreaths of flames.
“Mm-hmm.” Luke tilted his head to the side. “Maybe Yoda’s way would be better for you.”
“Yoda’s?” she repeated, suspicious. “What do you mean?”
He grinned. “Catch me if you can,” he said, and bolted towards the trees.
“Luke! What are you --” She sighed and ran into the wood, frowning when she couldn’t hear any footsteps. She could see his prints in the mud, however, so she had no difficulty following his trail. Leia raced after him, jumping over roots and brambles, ducking under low branches, speeding up as she considered the several seconds and seven inches he had on her.
A few minutes later, she heard the sound of laughing and burst out into the open air, almost sliding into a deep ravine.
“Just like old times, isn’t it?” said Luke, standing on the opposite side, his voice clear. He wasn’t even panting.
An enormous tree had fallen over the ravine; Leia could clearly see that it was rotting clear through.
She glared at him. “Luke Skywalker, I swear --”
He darted further along and Leia only hesitated a moment before stepping onto the tree trunk and then running along it as lightly as she could, trusting more to her instincts than to her senses. She felt briefly disoriented, but refused to allow herself to be distracted by it.
Leia was gasping for breath as she jumped off the log, her legs rubbery, but she forced herself to run even faster. Whatever bizarre test this was, she refused to fail it --
Her eyes were wide open, trying to see everything, even though it was impossible to make anything out. Then, with another burst of speed, she felt her breath slow and deepen, her pounding heart quiet, her skin cool. The blur of green resolved into individual trees, rocks, skittering animals, she really did see everything, and hear everything, and feel it all around her, and she could see-hear-feel Luke just ahead too --
Leia skidded to a halt as she burst into the clearing where Luke sat, perched on an exposed root and tossing a rock back and forth. That odd confusion of senses vanished.
She took a few deep breaths, necessitated more by force of habit than her body’s needs.
“What was that? ” she demanded.
Luke dropped the rock and grinned. “Now you know what it feels like.”
“That -- that was the Force? That . . . everything?”
“Best description I’ve heard so far,” he said, looking far too amused. Leia pushed him off the root and he let himself fall, still laughing.
“You could tell when I -- that’s what you were waiting for?” she asked, waving her hand. “You felt it?”
“Yeah.” Luke sprang up, still grinning. It was funny; all this had made him so different, but right now it made him seem more like himself than he had been in years.
Then it struck her -- except for his elderly mentors, she realized, he wouldn’t have felt another Jedi of any kind, ever. Well, except Vader, who hardly counted. She remembered Luke’s face when he’d offered to teach her even if she didn’t decide to be a Jedi. I’d just -- rather you did.
Leia couldn’t help but smile back. “So, running does that?”
“No, just running at superhuman speeds,” said Luke. “That’s how Yoda trained me. If you’re trying something you can do normally, most likely you’ll do it normally. Doing things that are difficult -- or impossible -- without the Force, well, that makes you use the Force. It doesn’t have to be running, though. He mostly had me stand on my thumb.”
“Your . . . thumb,” Leia repeated.
“It’s easier than it sounds. I’ll show you back at the swamp.”
She just shook her head.
In fact, it was easier than it sounded -- which in no way translated to easy. Just possible. Leia managed it on her seventh try, again feeling that odd, muddled everythingness around her. For about four seconds. She barely landed on her feet and lifted her eyes to Luke’s.
“Look, I know I’m supposed to put it aside and so on, but I’m not going to master this in the next few weeks. And that’s not even considering the time that I can’t be here.”
“Of course you’re not,” Luke told her. “I’ve been thinking about it, and really, we’re not trying to make you a Jedi Knight in five weeks. Just a good enough warrior to fight Jabba and his goons. So you need to practice this to get a grasp on the Force, but after that, I’ll teach you more -- immediately useful things, all right?”
Leia eyed him. “What do you mean?”
He dropped his omnipresent bag from his shoulder and dug around inside. After a few seconds, his hand emerged, fingers curled around a long, silver, familiar cylinder. She stared.
“You made your lightsaber?” She considered it. “It looks exactly like your old one.”
“It is my old one,” said Luke. “That is, my father’s. I got it back when I was away. I need to study how it’s made to make my own, and I’ll need it for . . . things, but you can train with it, too.”
“Can I . . .?”
“Sure.” He handed it over to her. Another time, Leia might have been embarrassed that her hand was shaking, a little. She reached up to flick the button -- it had been made for a much larger hand than hers -- and watched, wide-eyed, as the blue-white blade zapped out, humming as she swung it back and forth.
Leia let out a short, quick breath, and hit the button again. The blade vanished.
“That’s . . . thanks,” she said.
She threw herself into her exercises for the next two days, then headed off for her work on Carathis.
“I should be back in four or five days,” she said, rather grateful that Yoda was sleeping. He generally regarded her with approval, pointedly praising her discipline, but he’d railed against her divided loyalties more than once. “I’ll keep practicing.”
“Of course,” said Luke, and smiled. “Don’t worry. I have somewhere to go too.”
Although he’d managed to pass on some more information about troop movements and rivalries between the moffs and admirals, he remained frustratingly vague about his own activities. She didn’t doubt his loyalty, but his plans tended towards the involved. She’d have preferred to help, at least.
Leia sighed, kissed his cheek, and headed off to her shuttle.
Darth Vader was not, of course, nervous. While he had not, between one thing and another -- those things being constant battles -- ever had a student, he had mastered everything worth knowing.
He did not look at Luke, who had himself barely spoken. Vader might almost have called him cowed, if such a thing were possible for any child of his and Luke in particular. But no. In the place of his son’s usual, if baffling, mixture of insolence and controlled fear, Vader sensed only a certain anxiety.
Concern for his immortal soul, doubtless, or some similar nonsense.
The door to his meditation chamber slid closed, and Vader finally turned to face Luke, thinking that he was closer to achieving his goals at this moment than he’d been in almost twenty years. But not close enough. Luke had shown no sign of relenting in regards to the Dark Side -- though, given his evident power, perhaps -- no. Together, they might already have the strength to destroy Palpatine, but as Emperor, Luke would almost certainly need the power of the Dark Side.
Though, if Palpatine himself were any indication -- but Luke would be strong enough.
Vader put his doubts aside. “Obi-Wan’s trick is in fact an advanced technique that involves probing others’ minds for information, and then replacing it with your own suggestions.”
“You don’t bother with it very often,” said Luke. “Why?”
Because torture is one of the more arduous ways to gather information. “Its usefulness is limited,” Vader told him. “It is only effective on the weak-minded -- which may be most of the galaxy, but cannot be depended on. The suggestions rarely last long.”
“Oh.” Luke looked away. “How am I going to . . . uh, practice? Without letting everyone know what’s going on?”
For answer, Vader simply sent for Daine Jir.
“He is more cunning than strong-minded as such,” he said. “Still, you may find him something of a challenge.”
He explained the process while they waited for Jir, ignoring Luke’s evident revulsion. Vader himself had never been particularly fond of the technique, in either of his lives. He couldn’t remember using it more than a handful of times, and his memories had been sharper of late. As Anakin Skywalker, he had decried it as torture more than once, and as Darth Vader, he used it for that purpose alone.
Luke, he suspected, was not suited to torture of any kind. All the better, in a future emperor. Luke would never use it casually, as Palpatine did, but only when necessary.
Jir entered, his expression intrigued. Vader told him that Luke would give orders and he was to ignore them, and retreated to observe his son’s progress. Luke’s hands were clenched at his sides, strain evident in every line of his body. Unsurprisingly, he failed on his first try.
On the second, Jir half-bent to untie his boots before frowning and standing upright. “I don’t --”
Luke stared at him unblinkingly, then with a small, imperious wave of his hand, said, “You’d rather not stand.”
“I’d rather not stand,” repeated Jir, and promptly sat, stretching his legs with evident enjoyment. Luke took a step back, covering his mouth with his fist, and the break in concentration was enough to send Jir scrambling to his feet.
“What --”
“That is all,” Vader told him, and Jir hastily retreated, still looking rather dazed.
So did Luke. Vader suspected that any praise, however rightfully deserved, would be taken poorly.
“As you saw,” he said instead, “it’s simpler when you suggest something the subject might reasonably want to do.”
“Right,” said Luke. “I, uh, wasn’t thinking of that. It just seemed a straightforward thing to ask.”
“Exactly.”
Vader did not consider it likely that Luke would make further progress in this, and switched to training him in other areas. He quickly discovered that his son had received a . . . singular education, skewed even more towards battle and clairvoyance than his own had been, and seemed decidedly pleased to learn anything unrelated to either.
“I . . . heard something about healing,” he said, rather cautiously. “It seemed useful. Can we actually keep people from dying?”
“No,” said Vader, and then -- “it depends on the case. The great healers studied for decades, and had extensive powers, but even they could not bring the dead to life.”
Luke blinked, his brows furrowing, then his eyes widened. “Oh. Speaking of the dead coming back -- um -- ”
“My mother has spoken to you again?” said Vader, unable to avoid the obvious conclusion.
Luke stared at his hands. “Um. Yes.”
He had evidently been charged with a message far more unpalatable than Vader’s had been. “Well, what is it?” he demanded.
“She says she loves you,” Luke said, so quickly that a less attentive ear might not have understood him.
Vader often chose not to speak. Rarely was he at a loss for words. On this occasion, however, he could only stare at his son, his mind completely blank.
“Oh, and I was wondering how I got kidnapped,” said Luke. “Obviously you got me back, but --”
“What?”
“I saw it,” said Luke, with another spike of anxiety. “But I’ve seen all sorts of things with you later, so it can’t have been very successful.”
Vader managed to reassemble his thoughts. “You were stolen by a Jedi, most likely Obi-Wan, shortly before your third birthday. I pursued him and he crashed the ship you were both in; I could tell you were dying, and then gone, and that he was unharmed.”
“That’s odd,” said Luke. “I suppose I must have been sent into hyperspace right before I -- well, didn’t die. Maybe they had a healer. But what I saw was earlier, when I was still a baby. Maybe a few days old.”
“You were never kidnapped until the Jedi took you,” Vader said flatly.
“Then that’s really odd,” said Luke. “Anyway, healing. Can you teach me?”
Vader paused. He had never had any occasion to heal with the Dark Side; even it could do little enough for his ruined body. With Obi-Wan, he had learned more for the sake of completion than anything else. He had not done it in many years, and had no desire to fail before his son.
On the other hand, he could not dismiss any opportunity, however small, to increase Luke’s gratitude to him. For some reason, he felt almost amused at the thought, and -- something else. Besides, healing was a more useful skill for a warrior than his youthful self had ever considered, however little value it might have for Vader particularly.
“I can,” he said, then admitted, “though it is more difficult to explain than to do.”
“Well, that’s all right,” said Luke, and held his left hand in front of him, and reached to his belt with the right.
“What -- ”
Luke grabbed a vibroblade and sliced it across his palm.
“What are you doing?”
“You said it’s easier to demonstrate,” he said. “Now you can demonstrate. Here.”
For a moment, Vader could only stare at the hand, transfixed by the blood oozing from between the flaps of skin. It occurred to him that it was a little strange, that this should be horrifying, when he had personally sliced off the other hand. But that had been . . . an unfortunate reflex, not . . .
Vader put that out of his mind.
He ought to use the Dark Side, demonstrate its power in yet another fashion, but even if he could think of some way it could be used for this, he had no intention of experimenting with it on his son.
I am a Jedi, he told himself, as he had told himself daily for the last thirty years, and there cannot be any real harm in it, as he’d told himself a fair number of times, too.
Vader reached for the Force.
His grip seemed almost to close on air, on nothing, the Force slipping out and around him, remaining tauntingly beyond his grasp. Then he remembered the years of lessons Obi-Wan had drummed into his head, the control fought for and fought for again and finally achieved, then the ease with which everything had come to him. Mastery of the Living Force had been all but second nature to Anakin Skywalker -- he was not that man, that man was dead, but he had a right to this, he remembered --
He forced himself into a semblance of calm and let himself fall into the familiar patterns of the Living Force -- just this once, and if Luke ever did something so monumentally stupid again, he’d slice off his other hand -- or, well, something --
The Force slipped into his grasp, seeming very nearly gleeful. It was a moment’s effort to heal the small slice, willing the skin to close, knit itself together. Luke’s eyes widened.
“There isn’t even a scar! That’s amazing,” he said, looking more impressed than he had since he’d been stolen, and -- Vader wanted to call it something else, or undefinable or simply strange, but it was none of those things. He’d seen that hint of respect too often, and had prized it too highly, to mistake it for anything else. Even if Luke had never shown the slightest indication of it before, and he’d never expected that he would.
It was a small thing, he thought: nothing to the powers he might possess -- that he did possess, he reminded himself. But the Living Force was still blazing through him, burning away everything else, even pain, and without that constant agony and -- without the pain, his mind was clearer than it had been in years.
“-- didn’t teach me,” Luke was saying, his face animated. “Not that visions aren’t interesting, but this -- hm, I think I saw how you did it, but . . . you can heal yourself, right?”
“Yes,” said Vader, “and if you so much as think about slicing yourself up again, I will confiscate that knife.”
Luke gave him an incredulous look, and then his mouth twitched into a small, bewildered smile. “All right,” he said. “But I do need to practice.”
“I suggest rats,” Vader told him. Reluctantly, he released his grip on the Living Force, and pain screamed back up his surviving nerves. He caught his breath, clenched his teeth, trying to think of anything else, and let the Dark Side sink back into him.
He could almost feel his mind clouding, his temper fraying, his power expanding. Luke evidently felt it as well; he looked up at him, his earlier expression replaced by concern.
“Father? Is -- can I -- do you need . . .?”
Vader considered his son through a haze of -- something. He’d done it for Luke, he remembered. To keep Luke from . . . something else. To keep him safe, happy, protect him.
Alone, he had enough power for that. Together, they had enough power for, apparently, anything. Luke, he decided, didn’t need any more. He didn’t need this.