Ryloth

15 years after the rise of the Empire

The black shuttle dropped the last few meters and settled gracefully on the landing pad.

A few minutes later, with the ship shut down and prepped for the next take-off, the tall figure of Lord Darth Vader strode down the ramp toward the glowing sign of Zenton's Repairs and Sales.

But then he stopped abruptly and walked slowly to the edge of the landing pad to stare at the bright horizon. The sun was just setting, and the mountains of Ryloth rose in the far distance. The heat of the day was giving way to increased wind and lower temperatures.

He sighed softly, quietly enough that the vocoder would not pick it up, not that anyone else was about right now.

What was this? He felt odd today. Repeated checks of his mechanical systems yielded no issues. And deep down, in the part of his soul that still held a vestige of Anakin Skywalker, he knew it wasn't mechanical. It was emotional. Spiritual perhaps.

His masked head shifted to the northwest. In the distance, barely within sight of his augmented vision, smoke rose into the sky. A Free Ryloth base (or building – it hardly qualified as a base) had been discovered and bombed into desolation an hour ago. It was another step towards complete subjugation of this planet for the Empire.

It should have filled the Dark Lord with a sense of satisfaction, but for some reason this time he felt only a numb void where the Dark Energies of conquest and destruction usually raged within him.

This was his eighth trip to Ryloth in the last 10 years. He had faithfully destroyed 7 prior bases (or buildings), but new fighters, and new bases, continued to poke up like dangerous Macaab mushrooms in spring.

It all seemed so pointless today.

What was wrong with him?

The Senator (he could – sometimes – bear to think about her when he called her 'the Senator' in his mind) would no doubt have her own opinion. Of course she would be completely disgusted with him, with his Master, with this behemoth of an Empire which had spread across the galaxy, subjugating planets and races. But she would know, even now, 15 years after his near death and rebirth into the suit that kept him alive, what was going on in his heart and soul.

Darth Vader had no doubt of that. She had been brilliant and insightful, the Senator.

He closed his eyes briefly, then raised his black mask still higher. His capital ship, the Devastator, glittered in the sky like a gracefully moving star. Up there, captains and lieutenants and Stormtroopers and droids were toiling and working, the ship a hum of activity. On the ground, technicians were even now combing the destroyed camp of the so called "Free Ryloth" movement, seeking information about other traitors both on and off planet.

He sighed again. 'Free Ryloth.' The fools should know that freedom was not the panacea that they thought it was. Freedom meant inefficiency, and often sloth, and confusion, and foolish politicians rising higher than their intelligence warranted to spend agonizing hours arguing in elegant chambers while the troops on the ground suffered and died.

All he wanted, all the Emperor wanted, was peace. If only they could understand that, the members both of the Free Ryloth Movement and the newly emerging Rebel Alliance. If only they could submit to the majesty of Palpatine. Then the fighting and death and destruction and pain across the galaxy would be over.

("Really, Ani?" the voice of his long dead wife seemed to ring in his mind, "Do you really think that Palpatine desires the best for the peoples of the galaxy? If you are going to be a monster, at least be an honest monster. Palpatine cares only for his own total supremacy and power. He cares nothing about the humans and aliens of the galaxy, and he will use and abuse them to the end of his days.")

He snarled softly and turned resolutely. He hated when the Senator talked to him that way. She used to love him, he still loved her … even their arguments about politics were cloaked in love.

But she was dead, at his hand.

He focused on his breathing for 5 cycles, and strode firmly toward the door which led to the underground chambers of Zenton's Spaceship Repairs and Sales.

As the elevator descended, painfully slowly, the Senator spoke again.

"You're having a midlife crisis, Ani."

He knew, from bitter experience, that arguing with the Senator was pointless. Nevertheless, he did.

"I am not having a midlife crisis. I am powerful, rich, esteemed, and one of the two strongest Force users in the galaxy. I have everything I could ever want."

"Do you?"

The voice sounded vaguely sad now.

He found himself responding with hasty contrition, "No, Senator, of course I don't. I desperately want you and the ..."

He forced himself to stop. He couldn't risk thinking about the child right now. The child who had never drawn a breath because ...

Thankfully, the elevator door slid open now, though slowly. It was surprising, given its owner, that the elevator wasn't in better condition. But no doubt the erratic genius that was Rycker Zenton always found something better to do than work on his aging elevator.

He took a firm step into the small front room of Zenton's establishment, then halted in surprise.

Rycker Zenton was leaning over a table, clearly in the midst of working his magic on the small droid on the counter in front of him. He was, as usual, dressed casually in a mechanic's uniform that had seen better days.

Zenton straightened (he was middle aged, with graying hair and substantial height, though he wasn't nearly as tall as Vader) and nodded his head courteously though not obsequiously.

"Greetings, Lord Vader. I thought I might see you today."

Vader, unusually, spoke without thinking.

"You're fat."

("I can be rude with impunity," he commented to the Senator. She, who had combined incredible grace and kindness with years of training in etiquette, remained eloquently silent.)

Zenton smiled a little, obviously not bothered in the least.

(Perhaps on Ryloth being heavy was a sign of wealth and status? Vader couldn't remember. He didn't bother to remember such things.)

"I am indeed, Lord Vader. You last visited my establishment 458 days ago, and I have gained 35.3 kg since then."

Vader blinked behind his mask. The instant recall of the numbers in question was not a surprise, but ...

"Why?"

Zenton strode over to a nearby cleaning station and began removing the accumulated grease and dirt from his hands.

"I like to eat, Lord Vader, and in the last 18 months Nabooian blue crab has become readily available for a reasonable price. Plus I've got a source of chocolate covered Zella nuts now. And a new pilot so I don't have to crawl into those tiny cockpits anymore. So yes, I've packed on the kilos."

Vader found himself strangely invested in this absurd conversation.

"Surely that is unhealthy, Zenton."

The man's face drooped sadly, "You're right, of course, Lord Vader. Completely right. My med droid is upset with me. I'm going to lose some weight starting in a couple of weeks. Next week is the most important festival in the Rylothian year, and the food is amazing. After that I'll work on it."

Vader doubted it, but it was hardly his concern except that it would be regrettable if Zenton dropped dead from a heart attack.

For Rycker Zenton was a certifiable mechanical genius. Vader still remembered his first visit here almost 12 years ago, when the magnitude of the man's gifting became clear. Vader knew that he was himself a brilliant mechanic, so the realization that this man was even more talented than he was had been quite startling.

Zenton would have potentially made a fine addition to the Imperial engineering corps, but Vader had chosen not to forcibly recruit him. The man's ability was of an unusual kind, with sporadic bursts of glorious insight mixed in with plodding days of normal repairs and, it appeared, eating blue crab. To have put Zenton in a laboratory and pressured him to produce at a steady rate might well have quenched the inventive fire within the man.

So, Zenton worked quietly on Ryloth, building and repairing spaceships, droids, and other machines. And when Vader was on planet, he usually visited Zenton's workshop. Not for the sake of the Imperial Engineering Corps., but on his own behalf.

One of the few things that gave him pleasure these days was his ships. Many of Zenton's most brilliant ideas and creations seemed perfectly suited for a gifted Force Sensitive pilot. Vader had made his own adjustments to many of his personal ships, and to his Advanced TIE, based on ideas from Zenton.

(Zenton was actually mildly Force Sensitive. Not enough for training, and not enough that Vader felt any obligation to put him on any list of Force Sensitives, but Vader had no doubt that much of the man's mechanical ability stemmed from his rather esoteric connection to the Force.)

"I think you'll find some of my latest work to be of interest, Lord Vader," Zenton said, turning away from the cleansing area, his hands now scrubbed adequately.

"I suggest you show me then," Vader returned with slight impatience, "I have limited time."

Zenton nodded and waddled over to another elevator, which deposited both men, a minute later, in a medium sized, rather cluttered workshop.

The Sith stepped forward and gazed around. The floor was filled with engines and spacecraft parts of various kinds. The atmosphere was redolent with the smell of engine grease and plasma discharge, no doubt from shielding tests.

Oddly, there was an unusual aura in the Force here. Vader's brow furrowed slightly, then smoothed. Zenton was in his element here, so likely his connection to the Force was more noticeable.

Zenton looked around with pleasure, then glanced at the Dark Lord. Vader was intimidating and downright scary, but the man was at least a supremely accomplished mechanic. Given how many morons Rycker had to deal with on a daily basis, it was a pleasure to talk with Vader so long as he remembered not to annoy the Dark Lord to the point of having his neck snapped, or his breathing impeded, or anything of that nature.

"Here, my Lord," he said with a pleased gesture, "Is something I've been working on with shielding. Of course firing speed and shielding are often at odds when in the midst of a battle since both require power, but I've been able to add a modification which allows the ship's computer to ascertain ..."

The words flowed on, and Vader flowed with it. For a moment, he felt a twinge of envy for Zenton. He too had lost himself in machines as a child. Of late, his duties had limited how much time he could spend tinkering.

"... of course, this is no good for normal TIE's since they don't have shields, but I know your Advanced ..."

There was a sudden, loud scraping noise beyond the east wall, and both men stilled.

Zenton frowned, then shook his head with irritation and a twinge of concern, and strode rapidly over and through the east exit door. Vader followed him into a docking bay, though he remained near the door as Zenton stalked onto the bay floor.

The docking bay was surprisingly large, though lavishly filled with 6 craft in various states of repair. The spacecraft exit for repaired vehicles was, as Vader knew from previous visits, out a cliff face so the ships shot over a 50 meter drop to a stony valley below.

A small craft, battered, oily, and apparently held together with spit and tape, was sitting near the exit of the bay. It was smoking slightly and the ship had clipped the edge of the bay door, leaving score marks on both the door and the side panels of the ship.

The top popped open and a ridiculously short man stood up.

No, not a man, a boy.

Zenton stepped forward and yelled in mild irritation and concern, "What do you think you're doing, Luke? Destroying my ship? Are you all right?"

The boy grinned cheekily and quickly slid down the side of the craft, using nearly invisible handholds to slow his descent. When he landed on the floor, he turned toward Zenton and brushed an errant lock of hair away from his eyes.

"I'm fine, Boss. And maybe if you'd done a better job locking down that stabilizer, sir, I wouldn't have had a problem. I was testing the new guidance system when the stabilizer broke loose and the ship started bucking like a terrified bantha. I barely made it back. There was also a problem with the engine; it was overheating, which isn't encouraging on a cold night. We'll have to dig into the wiring."

Zenton shook his head sorrowfully and took another pace towards the boy before obviously remembering his terrifying guest. He turned suddenly towards the Dark Lord, a look of apology on his face.

But Vader wasn't paying attention. His eyes were now on the boy, short, slight, with dark blond hair and very blue eyes. He was wearing typical mechanic's togs.

And he was a brilliant Light in the Force.

Under the mask, Darth Vader frowned in bewilderment. Stars and galaxies and nebula. Who was this child? And why hadn't he felt him before?

A moment later, he realized he had sensed the boy. But his own ennui, and irritation with life, and his awareness of Zenton's mild Force sensitivity, had clouded his senses.

It was a foolish mistake, and not one he would make again with this boy, whoever he was. Though the child was no threat; he was obviously not trained at all.

("Pay attention, Anakin," the Senator suddenly said in his head.

"That is no longer my name," he growled back, "But I am paying attention!" He wasn't stupid!)

"My apologies, Lord Vader," Zenton said, spinning around with a slight wobble to walk back toward him, "Obviously we have a little problem here but we'll deal with it later."

He turned back to the boy, who was frowning unhappily at the dents on the craft, and said more gently, "Luke, we'll fix this up in the morning. Go get some food and then you should be off to bed now, it's getting late."

The boy rolled his eyes but took a few obedient steps towards the north exit door before Vader managed to get the words out.

"On the contrary, stay. Who are you?"

Zenton and the boy exchanged surprised glances, but the youth obediently took a few steps closer.

"I'm Luke ..."

"Luke Lars," Zenton interrupted, with a ferocious frown at the boy, "My new pilot and apprentice mechanic. I was getting too portly to fit into cockpits and then Luke showed up and it was a mutually beneficial arrangement for us. Luke's an amazing pilot for his age."

There were waves of disapproval, and even outrage, emanating from the boy, so strongly that Vader could almost see the ripples in the Force.

Obviously something in Zenton's words had upset the boy, but it wasn't clear what.

"Luke Lars?" Vader repeated. Something about that name nagged at him.

The boy huffed and folded his arms, "No, not Luke Lars ..."

"This," Zenton said irascibly, again interrupting the boy, "Is not the time, or the place, Luke. This is Lord Darth Vader. He knows a lot about criminals past and present. We have had this discussion ..."

"My father," the youth interrupted with blazing eyes, "Was not a criminal!"

"I know that," the mechanic answered, passing a weary hand over his eyes, "But he has the same name as a notorious criminal and throwing that surname around is not appropriate, nor will I allow it in this shop. We have talked about this before, more than once."

"And I told you," the boy returned stubbornly with a lift of his chin, "That on Tatooine, names matter. I will not deny my name just because some stupid criminal shared it a long time ago!"

The two glowered at one another, a rather comical sight given that the inventor was truly gargantuan and his young pilot a spindly child of no more than 12. Vader found himself in the surprising position of being a mediator.

"I am familiar with Tatooine culture," he said carefully, "And certainly young Luke is correct, that family names matter. Nor is there any crime in sharing the name of a criminal."

The boy smiled a little, "See, Lord Vader agrees with me."

Zenton raised his eyes to the heavens in exasperation, "Fine. It's on your head. I have no part of it."

Young Luke frowned slightly, then turned directly toward Lord Vader.

"My name," he said proudly, "Is Luke Skywalker."

There was a stunned pause.

("Surprise!" the Senator crowed cheerfully.)

"Luke Skywalker," Vader finally said in a measured tone, "Son of ..."

"Anakin Skywalker," the boy returned, his chin jutting out fiercely, "But not that Anakin Skywalker."

Vader narrowed his hidden eyes. Here was a Force sensitive boy of age 12 or so, from Tatooine, saying that he was the son of ... of ...

He turned to Zenton and fiercely commanded, "Go."

Rycker opened his mouth, closed it, cast a worried look toward Luke, and obediently shuffled out of the docking bay.

Leaving a bewildered Darth Vader (in the midst of a midlife crisis) with a small youth who claimed to be his son.

Or something.

"Which Anakin Skywalker are you referring to, Young One?"

The boy sighed in an aggrieved way that would have been insolent if it hadn't been rather adorable, "You know, the Jeedi, or whatever he was ..."

"Jedi," Vader corrected automatically.

"Yeah, he wasn't my father. My father was a navigator on a freighter who died about the time I was born. They just have the same name, that's all. I mean, it's a big galaxy. There have to be lots of people with that name."

Vader considered this for a long moment, then spoke carefully, "The Jedi Anakin Skywalker was from Tatooine. It seems an unlikely coincidence."

Luke blinked like a surprised baby owl and tilted his head to one side, "Was he? Well, maybe Grandmother Shmi heard about him and admired him and named my father after him. I mean, I know he was a criminal but sometimes on Tatooine criminals are venerated. Did he hate the Hutts, the Jeedi? Because ..."

"Grandmother Shmi?" Vader interrupted. His heart would have been pounding if hadn't been so highly regulated. As it was, it pumped steadily but he was aware of a feeling of dissociation. There was a strange buzz in his head, and the sound of ringing bells in the far distance. Was he really here? Was this all a dream?

"Yeah," the boy sighed, "I never knew her. She was taken by Tuskens and killed."

Luke brushed a hand against his eyes, "Just like they took me, only I survived, barely."

Vader breathed four times and then asked the obvious question, "How old are you, Luke Skywalker?"

The child looked surprised, "I'm 15."

Vader jerked slightly.

("Yes, Anakin, our son is 15!" the Senator commented acidly.)

The young Skywalker looked defensive, "I know I'm ... uh ... short. I'm sure I'll have a growth spurt at some point."

The young face twisted dubiously, "Maybe."

More heavy breathing, and then Vader looked around. He needed to sit down.

With a gesture of his hand, he reached out for a large chair at the side of the hanger. It lifted into the air and moved gracefully over to where Vader was standing. Luke gazed at this apparent miracle with disbelief and awe.

Vader, on the other hand, was merely thankful for Zenton's additional kilos. This chair actually looked strong enough to hold the Dark Lord.

He sat down. And sure enough, the chair didn't break. This put him nearly at eye level of the youngster who was claiming to be his son.

Which was impossible. Because the Senator had died at his hand, with the child unborn.

("So Ani, maybe you don't actually know what happened on Mustafar, hmmm?")

Vader forced himself to rein in his upheaval and distress, to be logical, "Let's start at the beginning. Tell me about your life until now."

The young Skywalker looked startled, "Um, why, Lord Vader? I'm just a mechanic."

"I will ask the questions, Boy. And I expect every detail. To conceal any pertinent experience in your life would be most unwise," Vader growled back. He focused on restraining his impatience and eagerness. He would get far more from this oblivious youth by staying calm.

A blink, and then an obedient nod, "Ok. I grew up on a moisture farm outside Tosche Station. I was raised by my aunt and uncle, Owen and Beru Lars. I'm an orphan; my father died before my birth, and my mom in childbirth. Um, I don't know how much you know about moisture farming ..."

"Enough to know it is respectable and painfully dull," Vader replied, "So let us move on. I would like to know how you ended up here."

A shadow crossed the boy's face, "Sandpeople, I mean Tusken Raiders, came to the farm a little more than a year ago. My aunt and uncle were gone to Anchorhead to buy parts for our moisture 'vaporators and the Raiders probably knew that. My friend Biggs and I tried ... we tried to fight them off but there were too many of them. They abducted us ..."

The blue eyes were looking down at the ground now, "It was, uh, a bad few days in the Tusken camp. But after less than a week, an agent from Jabba the Hutt showed up and bought me and Biggs and three other kids and teens who had been snatched from other outlying farms."

A shuddering breath, and the boy continued somewhat unsteadily, "I was a slave for about a week."

The youth looked up now, his feet shifting around with obvious discomfort.

"Grandma Shmi was a slave most of her life, and my father as well until he won his freedom. I was the first freeborn Skywalker. I would not ... I would not submit to slavery, even if I had to die attempting to escape. I owed that to Grandmother, to my father, to the Skywalker name. I managed to steal a wand off a spiced up Twi'lek guard, turn off my embedded slave transmitter, steal a landspeeder from the palace and flee while Jabba and his court were in a drunken sleep after one of their orgies."

His expression steeled, "I made it to Mos Eisley and stowed away on Rycker's ship. He discovered me on his spacecraft when I was in hyperspace."

The blue eyes glowed now, "I can't thank him enough. He gave me passage to Ryloth and agreed to let me work off the fee. Since then, I've been piloting for him and doing some mechanical work. He pays me in food and shelter plus a small salary. Someday I'll move on, but for now I'm content to stay here."

There was another sigh, and the boy continued, "Master Rycker even got word to my aunt and uncle that I'm safe, though he concealed my locale just in case anyone managed to tap into the message. I'll never go back to Tatooine.

"Don't you wish to see your family again?" Vader demanded bluntly.

The child nodded, his eyes tearing up, "I would give anything to see them again. But after the Tusken raid, and after my escape, it wasn't safe for any of us to be on Tatooine. Jabba doesn't take even the flight of an insignificant slave lightly ... there is a bounty on my head now, not a big one, but worth the while of many a poverty stricken individual. My family somehow made it off planet, and for now we need to stay apart. I know that."

Luke looked at the Dark Lord gravely, "I am happy they are safe. Here I am all right, so long as no one working for Jabba finds me. And I don't think they will. Not that many people come from Tatooine to Ryloth. I'm just thankful Master Zenton was making a supply trip there when I made a run for it."

There was a long pause, and then the child shrugged, "So that's my story, my Lord. May I go? I'd like to clean up that ship a little before I go to bed..."

"No, you may not."

The giant frame was trembling now, and Vader finally allowed himself to reach out and touch the boy's hands, to run his fingers up and down his spindly but muscular arms.

"You are ... I am ..."

This produced more alarm than anything else Vader had done.

Luke stepped back, eyes wide.

Vader breathed a couple of cycles, "Luke, you are right. Names matter. I ... I am Anakin Skywalker, your father."

("Good for you, Anakin!" she said lovingly.)

/-/

An hour later ...

Zenton's front workshop

Rycker Zenton leaned over the droid he was cleaning, dispirited.

He wasn't a particularly warm hearted person; he couldn't afford to be. But he had grown attached to young Luke Lars. Even in his mind, he didn't call him Skywalker. He knew of the Hero With No Fear, and carrying that name just was not safe. If only he could have convinced the boy but ...

Zenton shook his head dismally. He did know enough about Tatooine culture to realize the importance of names, of carrying them on bravely. The boy was too loyal to his dead father for his own good.

There was a slight click as the elevator opened.

Zenton turned around with a feeling of dread, only to have the dread morph into incredulous surprise.

Darth Vader strode out of the elevator with his gigantic arm around Luke Skywalker. The boy was looking up with glowing stars in his eyes, and was talking a mile a minute.

"Would you really? Biggs was my very best friend. I mean, he might have been ransomed but his family probably doesn't know that he was sold by the Tuskens to Jabba. I hope ... if we could get him out of there I would be so grateful."

"You can have anything you want, Luke, I promise you that. And I cannot think of anything I would enjoy more than conducting aggressive negotiations with the Hutt Lords."

Zenton was drooling in shock as the Dark Lord strode over to him.

"Master Zenton, my profound thanks for your care for my son."

"Uhhhhhhhhhhh ..."

The helmet tipped forward, "Given that you saved him from slavery and death, I am in your debt. And since I will be leaving the employ of the Empire shortly, I'm afraid you will need to leave as well as Palpatine will no doubt wish to know what happened here."

"Uhhhhhhh ..."

"I will be sending you a credit chip worth 6 million credits within the hour. I trust that will be enough for you to start again in another locale."

This time, Zenton just gaped openly.

Luke reluctantly let loose of his father and stepped forward to give the Rycker an enthusiastic hug.

"Lord Vader is my father, isn't that exciting? He used to be Anakin Skywalker. The Jedi Anakin Skywalker. Who was really the only one – my father never was a navigator. It's kind of complicated. But like Father says, thank you. Thank you for not throwing me out the airlock ..."

"I would never have done that, young Luke," Zenton said, reaching up a hand to ruffle the blond hair, "Your courage in escaping Hutt slavery deserved its reward."

Another glowing look, and the boy stepped back toward his father. The tall cyborg placed a gentle hand on his much shorter son and nodded at Rycker before guiding the youth toward the elevator.

The door shut behind them. Rycker looked around a bit dismally, but comforted himself with the credit chip that would be his soon. He had plenty of possible places to go, the galaxy was his Nabooian crab, and with 6 million credits he could buy any parts that he wanted.

/-

Vader's shuttle

In flight toward the Devastator

"Father," Luke said, his voice still awestruck at being able to say that word, "Have you heard of the planet Alderaan?"

"Yes, Son, certainly. It's a Core World."

"Do you think we can go there sometime? I think that's where my Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru are."

Vader turned, regarded the boy briefly, nodded, "Indeed, we will go there soon, after we have freed your friend Darklighter."

Luke smiled and leaned back, his face pointing toward the stars.

And Vader, Anakin Skywalker, leaned back as well, his eyes longing to shed tears though they could not.

He had found his purpose in life. He had found his son.

("I know you will take good care of him, Ani," the Senator said, and then added with a teasing note, "And remember how you thought our baby was a girl? I suggest you keep your eyes open on Alderaan ...")

The End

Author Note: I think this really is just a one shot. It is one of those ideas that leaped into my head and I wrote it down. For those who wonder, my idea is that Luke got captured by Tuskens, sold into slavery, and escaped before Kenobi could rescue him. Then Obi-Wan took the Lars to Alderaan and there could be an exciting reunion of some kind in the near future for the Skywalkers. Vader will figure out how to evade the Emperor somehow. He's a smart guy. Oh, and I am personally an enthusiastic addict of dark chocolate covered almonds, and I'm guessing chocolate covered Zella nuts are just as good.