Important note: The rating for this story reflects the inclusion of the psychological and physical torture of Luke that appears later in the story. I will rate each section so you can decide whether or not you want to read it. If such descriptions will offend or upset you, please don't read those parts. This part is rated T.

As always, SW characters/universes, etc belong to George Lucas & Co, not to me, and this fanfic is definitely non-profit.

The Terrorist

by MJ Mink

That he, with his great strength, had to lock his grip around a rail as a brace against the howling gusts swirling through the shaft, foretold the depths of his son's will, of the undisciplined Force ability that gave the mind dominance over the turbulence buffeting around the body and allowed Luke to cling to his precarious perch above the abyss.

This was no time for admiration, for though his son's spirit was strong, his physical form would soon give into shock from the amputation and might yet surrender to the eventual inevitable and fall. Vader had withheld his most important card until now -- until the moment that the truth might be played and the hand won.

"Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father," he growled, his voice resonating through the hollow core of Cloud City.

"He told me enough! He told me you killed him!" Fury and grief rang through the youth's tone, and the emotions gave Vader pause.

So. This was why the youngster had determinedly faced him and not fled when confronted with the superior skills of the Dark Lord. Ah, Obi-Wan, my old Master, he thought with a twinge of remembered pain, you should have told him the truth -- or barring that, you should not have told him such a wicked lie. This changed the dynamic of his intended revelation. Learning his true parentage might well overwhelm Luke's sensibilities and cause him to react irrationally. Lord Vader had no desire to see his son die in such a useless fashion.

"No," he replied finally, "I did not kill him. Indeed, Anakin Skywalker lives this day."

Perhaps it was only the hair whipping across his face that brought tears to his son's eyes. Perhaps not. Either way, Vader felt a shudder of shock vibrate through the Force, followed by the boy's intense interest. "That's not true!" Luke screamed. "That's impossible!"

"Search your feelings," he said calmly, trying to wake Luke's latent abilities. "You know it to be true."

The youth's gaze drifted as he looked inward. Faster than Vader could have predicted, Luke accepted the truth and glared at him. "Where is he? What have you done with him?"

Though he knew the boy could not see his smile of welcome, the Dark Lord held out his hand. "Come with me."

Instantly he saw his error, for the blue eyes narrowed with suspicion. "No! I'll never join you!"

"I am not asking you to join me," he replied softly, so Skywalker had to lean closer to hear him. The boy was almost within reach. "But I will tell you about your father...and I will tell you how to track him. Perhaps you will find him before I do."

Horror filled the agonized gaze as the implied threat struck the youth.

"Or, son of Anakin, would you prefer to fall to a painful death, and leave me to deal with your father?"

Luke glanced down the shaft, his face momentarily concealed by clumps of sweat-matted hair. He looked up again, hesitating, considering. Still Vader held out his hand, waiting as he would wait for the trust of a wounded animal. Luke's eyes closed and, for a heart-stopping moment, Vader thought the boy was going to let go and plummet to his death. But when the eyes opened, in their depths he saw combined hope, resignation, and desperation, all emotions that he had felt himself at his most crucial moment. Pushed to the edge, losing all hope, only to have it returned from an unexpected and very dangerous source.

Young Skywalker reached toward him, and Vader locked his fingers around the small wrist, pulling his son to safety. All too quickly, the boy lapsed into unconsciousness, and the Dark Lord caught his breath at the narrow escape they had both had -- the boy, from death; Vader, from a bleak future of subservience.

Despite Luke's apparent slightness, his muscles were honed to a fine hardness, a mark of discipline, Vader noted approvingly. He hefted the youth over his shoulder and, locking his arm around his son's knees, marched off the gantry and through the long corridors to where his shuttle awaited their arrival.