Disclaimer: I do not own star wars nor do I own this fic, its owned by (Shaadoo Shai) at gamefaqs (is this legal, I just want to share it. Its so funny)

ENTRY I:

...So today I was shown this new 'death star' thingy the Emperor's been contracting so many workers for. You'd think that with all the credits he's pumped into it, he could do something more constructive like maybe concentrate his efforts into abolishing the slave market so prominent in some of the Outer Rim territories. I mean, come on, this Empire's supposed to work for the people.

ENTRY II:

You know, while it's no moon, I'm seriously impressed by the size of this Super Star Destroyer. It took us ten minutes to get from the transport shuttle to the bridge, and that doesn't include the time it took to wait for the elevator. I mean, my god.

ENTRY II:

...I'm starting to dislike being around my Master. He smells like old people and medical droids.

ENTRY III:

...Something really embarrassing happened to me today. One of the junior officers asked about the color scheme for the recreational hall this morning, and though I felt tempted to strangle him for not taking up this matter with Development, I indulged him, and he showed me two different schematics. Everything I see is in varying shades of red and black, so I honestly had no clue which one looked better. I took a shot at it, and said the green one looked nice. He gave me a bizarre look, and said that there was no green one. After the awkward silence, I crushed his throat, and stuffed his body into a ventilation shaft. I could just as easily have reported his demise, but I don't want my troops to think I'd kill them as soon as look at them. That would affect morale.

ENTRY IV:

We tracked down one of the Jedi today! Her name was Ayla something. From what I've read in the logs, she was supposed to have been executed...but she was apparently so blasted popular that some of the fanb - I mean, Clone Troopers - saved her before she died. It didn't help her much in the end, because I finished her off. She was a great fighter, though. She tried spinning, which, while admittedly a good trick, did nothing to save her from my blade.

ENTRY V:

The construction crew found something really weird in one of the garbage disposal rooms today. It appears to be a dianoga. Considering this battle station has been constructed in the middle of space, I have no clue how it got there unless someone smuggled it in. I asked around, but no one's claiming responsibility. When I brought it up in conversation with my Master, he simply said "Good, good. Everything is going according to plan," around a mouthful of fries. I think he's losing it.

ENTRY VI:

...At the conference dinner earlier, Admiral Ozzel got up to leave. However, he had tucked the tablecloth into his belt rather than his napkin, and made a terrible mess everywhere upon moving away from the table. He absolutely ruined my gloves. I don't know why the Emperor keeps him around, he's as clumsy as he is...wait, someone's paging me. Gotta go.

ENTRY VIII:

Just realized I wrote 'Entry II' twice. So I'll just pretend that didn't happen. There's been entirely too much on my mind lately. I haven't been sleeping well, this damn respiratory system keeps me up at night. I wonder if requesting to clone me a set of new lungs would be too much to ask - I mean, even Grievous had lungs. We'll see. My birthday's coming up soon, I'll subtly hint at it in conversation.

ENTRY IX:

I didn't mention how I got my new lightsaber, did I? Right, right. Not much of a tale to tell, my Master gave it to me soon after I was...reconstructed. It was in a dusty old box. I had the feeling he had been keeping it for me for some time...perhaps years. As if he'd known all along I wouldn't use my old one anymore. I asked, and he mumbled something about artificial crystals and the Sith. But he didn't mention what color it was. That kind of made me depressed. I wouldn't even need a new one, if Obi-Wan hadn't stole mine like a common thief. He spends years being a horrible master, turns my wife against me, cuts off my legs and arm, and then, of all things, takes my lightsaber? What the hell was up with that, anyway? Jackass. He always told me to take such good care of it, too...

ENTRY X:

The Emperor invited some of his advisers over for a chat today, and I had to stifle a laugh. They wear these really stupid-looking hats that remind me of the Neimoidians, or Duros, or whatever the blazes they're calling themselves these days. I escorted them back to their ship, and kept quietly force-shoving their hats off along the way. The looks on their faces were priceless. It's little things like that that keep me going...that, and fixing things.

ENTRY XI:

It was Empire day today. We wanted to throw a surprise bash for the Emperor, but he's off dismantling the Senate or something. Sometimes, I don't think he cares.

ENTRY XII:

One of the clone troopers keeled over and died today in the middle of a training drill. Then another, and another and another. I think we need to consider getting a new host, or we could just start conscription. There's been something of a setback over at Kamino, so the second one is looking like more of an option.

ENTRY XIII:

The Emperor arrived to oversee continued production of the Death Star, and we threw him that surprise party. I kind of ruined it, though. When he opened the door, I'm pretty sure he heard me breathing before he turned the lights on. I feel like such a tool.

ENTRY XIV:

This suit is just bizarre at times. I started fiddling with one of the knobs on the chest panel today, and picked up the Max Rebo Band on my audio receptors. I think the station was Jazzwailing FM 3. While that kicks all kinds of ass, now I'm starting to interfere with scanning equipment whenever I walk past it. Should I get it fixed? What to do, what to do...

ENTRY XV:

Got something really neat today. It's called a hyperbolic chamber. While I'm not too clear on the specifics, it will enable me to rest, eat, breathe and sleep without the use of my suit. Good thing too, because A) My helmet grill is developing a nasty food crumb and dried liquid buildup, B) I haven't had a good night's sleep in months, and C) This whole thing needs to be washed something fierce. I should probably read the manual...once I find it underneath all of this packing foam.

ENTRY XVI:

We've started conscripting, and I took a look at some of the troops during combat simulations. Half of them can't hit the broadside of a moisture farm, and one of them smacked his head getting to the flight sim. Sometimes I'm so ashamed to be a part of this Empire.

ENTRY XVII:

Met with Admiral Thrawn today. We discussed combat stratagem over lunch, and played chess. He beat me in three turns. Damn, the man's good.

ENTRY XVIII:

I tossed a garbage bag down one of the interior thermal exhaust ports today, and seconds later, the whole station nearly shook itself apart. I'm not very impressed by this technological terror that's being constructed. Still, I'm not going to clean up their mistakes. I'll let them figure out the problem for themselves.

ENTRY XIX:

While looking out the viewscreen today, I could have sworn I saw...get this...giant yellow text...just floating through space. Apparently no one else noticed it. I even checked the scopes, and there was nothing there.
I'm worried that I'm starting to see things; maybe the chamber's affecting me. Still, I'm pretty sure I saw what I saw. I couldn't make most of it out, it was too far off, but I distinctly read 'New Hope'. New hope? What the hell? Did something happen to the old hope? What was wrong with it? Is hope new and improved? If I ever had an excuse to start staring vacantly out of windows, this is it.

ENTRY XX:

I think Grand Moff Tarkin has warts. Ew.

ENTRY XXI:

I've just received word that several of the new stormtroopers were actually rebel sympathizers out to acquire various datum on the workings of the Imperial training programs. They got what they wanted, and have since stolen a lambda-class shuttle (I've always said those things needed an alarm system) and escaped, apparently making off with several decicredits worth of valuables as loot. I was quite upset, and have informed Personnel of it. There had better not be anything of great importance missing, or there will be hell to pay.

ENTRY XXII:

Meeting with Prince Xizor today. I sense an unusual amount of hostility from him, seemingly of a personal nature. It's so depressingly typical. Count Dooku escapes, it's my fault. The Republic falls, it's my fault. My wife dies, and it...okay, bad example. But honestly now, I wonder what Xizor's problem is. Despite his pathetic attempts at civility, it was easy to read that he'd love to rip out my innards. By the force, who defecated in his cereal bowl and blasted his hometown into oblivion form orbit? Not me.

ENTRY XXIII:

I informed my Master of the matter of the yellow text this afternoon, and he gave me a look that suggested I was something he scraped off of his shoe. I'm not crazy, I know what I saw. Still, this, I fear, has left me in poor standing with his excellency. If only I could perform some service for him, and redeem myself in his eyes...

ENTRY XXIV:

Those rebel infiltrators stole the ice cream maker from the cafeteria. In addition to making a mockery of the imperial Personnel dept., petty theft, and the lives of the twenty or so men I jettisoned through the airlock as punishment, now they have to answer for the loss of my favorite late-night snack. I'm sorry, but now, it's personal.

ENTRY XXV:

Death Star was officially completed today, and I got to break the bottle of Corellian wine, thus christening it. Yay me!

ENTRY XXVI:

Paperwork today. It's a royal pain in the rectum, and I despise it. You try typing in these ridiculously cumbersome gloves through mechanical hands and forearms and tell me how it feels. To make it easier, I can use only my index fingers. It's not fair! The only reason I keep this diary going is because I have nothing to fix...wait...fix...yes, that's it...

ENTRY XXVII:

...poodoo poodoo poodoo poodoo poodoo poodoo poodoo poodoo poodoo stupid poodoo poodoo poodoo poodoo stupid stupid useless excuse for a Sith lord poodoo poodoo poodoo poodoo poodoo poodoo can't do anything right stupid stupid STUPID...

ENTRY XXVIII:

Ahem. Allow me to explain yesterday's entry, and what precisely occurred to merit my self-recriminations. In my attempt to perform a favor for my emperor, I...shall we say...'adjusted'...the gears on his throne in order to make it creak slightly...just enough to cause him irritation. I had meant to repair it for him before his eyes, just to make him appreciate my being around, but...oh, I wince as a write this...I tightened the gears too tightly, and, well...

He sat down, leaned back, and the seat broke right off, his momentum sending him careening down the stairs.

He'll be all right, he just needs a day or two in the infirmary to recuperate. And it's all my fault. Oh, I feel so helpless.

ENTRY XXIX:

...in an attempt to occupy my mind from the disaster, I have taken to supervising the removal and retrofitting of new thrust engines on our new TIE fighters. It seems that several of them are producing ugly square blue blocks of energy around them. Bizarre.

ENTRY XXX:

I have sent a bounty hunter after the rebels who stole my ice-cream maker. His name is Boba Fett, and he is reputedly the best. I seem to remember his father from Geonosis. He was a good fighter, but I never understood why either he or his son are so popular or feared. It's got to be the armor. I'll admit, it looks so wizard, especially the helmet. I wish I had one like it. I'll bet he never has to wonder what color something is.

ENTRY XXXI:

Ever have one of those days? I'm having one now. Not only have Rebels apparently intercepted COMPLETE SCHEMATICS OF THE DEATH FREAKING STAR, including any possible weaknesses (COUGHthermalexhaustportsCOUGH), but I have recieved orders to break off from the fleet, disrupting my schedule for days, but the trace has lead us to the Tantive four, on a course intersecting with...can you guess it? TATOOINE, folks. TAT-FREAKING-TOO-INE. Sigh...the Emperor knows I have bad memories there. He could just as easily have sent Motti or Ozzel or some idiot, but NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO(!), I have to do all the cleanup work. When I get back, throats are going to constrict. And that's if I'm in a good mood.

Entry XXXII:

Okay, in my all-time weirdest things ever list, this is going up there, right under the yellow text:

We intercepted the Tantive IV, and boy, was it chock-full of known rebels. As a bonus, we found none other than Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan herself. And this is the odd thing, I just realized-

She looks like Padme.

Not identically, of course. But the eyes, the mouth, her expressions...she even had a variation on that funky bun hairdo she used to love so much. I think that's what really brought it out. Anyway, as you can imagine, all this got me quite upset, so we left none alive. We didn't find the plans, but some of the escape pods were jettisoned - I'm wagering they're in one of those. Why the pods weren't blasted instantly I'll never know - but on the upside, neither will the commanding officer in charge. Anyways, I've sent several battallions down to search the landing sites and near villages. I hope I've placed competent officials in charge, because I'm not going down there. Too much sand. I hate it, it just gets everywhere. Not to mention what it would do to my suit. OK, sleepy now, goodnight.

ENTRY XXXIII: (Think I'm gonna start using standard numerals now, this is getting redundant)

Boba Fett came back. He tracked down the rebel infiltrators, but most of them had split up. What irritated me was that he disintegrated those he found after questioning (Turns out they're heading for Bespin). And not only that, he disintegrated their spoils, he disintegrated their hideout, he even disintegrated the fragments of the bodies that he disintegrated. Think I'll have to warn him about that next time, boy's got some rage issues.

ENTRY 34:

You know what really irritates me? The size of Motti's Adam's apple. It's like this giant egg got stuck in his throat and he never bothered to try to hack it up. I hope he gives me an excuse to try to remove it.

ENTRY 35:

We escorted Leia Organa to her cell yesterday, shortly after which we deigned to discuss the location of the Rebel base. The stormtroopers outside her cell must have been disturbed by all the screaming. I would have avoided it if I could, but we tried everything - truth serum, sleep deprivation, scraping our fingernails across glass, randomly jumping into her cell and saying 'boo', shaking our fists at her, saying 'why we oughtta', hideous torture, yada, yada yada. Finally I had no choice but to seal her eyelids open and force her to watch a tape of that irritating children's show. You know, the one with the purple krayt dragon? I'm ashamed of myself, but it's very important we get results.

ENTRY 36:

Something's wrong with my vocabulator. I'm not sounding as low-pitched and threatening as I usually do. I sound kind of...force forbid...whiny.

ENTRY 37:

I'm getting really sick of this. I've just realized people can see my own eyes through this helmet in the right light. That's not menacing at all, and just won't do.

ENTRY 38:

Welp, we blew up Alderaan today. And the tremor in the force was so nasty that I honestly almost chucked in my helmet. Some might inquire as to how people like Tarkin and I can sleep with a clear conscience after murdering billions in one fell swoop. The answer is simple; of course we can. They started it.

ENTRY 39:

Ysanne Isard stopped by for a chat, and decided that we should play ping-pong in the rec room. Honestly, that girl creeps the hell out of me sometimes.

ENTRY 40:

Dum dum dum dum de-dum-dum dee-dum...dum dumm dumm-dum-de-dummm dumm te-dummm...I swear, I'd love to meet the composer who wrote our anthem. Genius, absolute wizardry at its best.

Entry 41:

I think my elbow needs tuning up. I was speaking to Tarkin, and my arm just started gesturing for no specific reason after I was done speaking. Anyhoo, no rebels on Dantooine, she lied to us, Tarkin whined about it, yada, yada, yada.

Entry 42:

I wonder, if you had a lightsaber big enough, would you be able to reflect the Death Star's beam? Don't ask, just food for thought.

Entry 43:

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; that's what I could say about this afternoon's events. On the one hand, some Rebel punk kid, accompanied by a former Stormtrooper named Solo, as well as a large walking carpet infiltrated the battlestation, freed the princess, and escaped with her. So, bad vibes for sure, but at least we slipped a tracer onto their ship before they took off (makes me wonder how they did - that thing looks like a piece of junk).

But on the other hand, they were with my old master, and I TOTALLY CUT HIS LYING MANIPULATIVE ASS IN HALF!

It was weird, though. He didn't actually get cut...he just sort of disappeared. It really freaked me out, and I had to poke his robe (which is all that was left, apart from his saber - that thing's going on my wall) with my foot a bit to make sure he was really dead. He also mumbled something about being more powerful than I could imagine if I killed him. I don't know what he was talking about - he seemd to be pretty darn weak - kind of
shuffling around more than actually fighting. And there was something wrong with his saber, too. Kept flashing on and off.

More powerful, indeed!

Maybe he turned into a giant lightsaber. That would be cool.

...nah.

Entry 44:

It's a very good thing that I stored this diary on my personal Interceptor. It will give me a ruminative focus as I make my way to the nearest planet with an Imperial presence (wish this thing's hyperdrive was working properly). I need to refuel, repair, and most importantly, sleep for about a week. It's been a hell of a day, folks.

Hell of a day.

Started out innocently enough. Infiltrators, princess, owning my master - I mentioned these already. Since then, a bit's happened.

I'd like to say, 'I told you so' to the contracted constuction crew of the Death Star. And I will, once I get back to civilization, and track them all down. Every last one of them.

Slowly.

I'd also like to say that to Tarkin, and Motti and all the rest - not in a hostile manner, except I can't. Their atoms are now floating freely about the space surrounding Yavin 4 (The rebels' hidden base, as it turns out - they're holed up in ancient Sith temples - how that for irony?).

I'd also like to meet that pilot who actually fired the shot heard (and felt) 'round the star - not to throttle him good and dead, no, not at all - but because I'm curious. The force was especially strong with this one, rare in and of itself, and also, he's a good pilot, whoever he is. The Empire needs more of those, not like that stupid wingman who bashed into me and sent me sailing out into space (although he did inadvertently save my life - I suppose I should be thanking him. Maybe I'll erect a memorial, and then kick it over. I dunno. Perhaps I'll-------

Entry 45:

That'll teach me to not put on the autopilot while I'm writing. That could have gotten me killed. Maybe I've been wrong about those programs all these years.

Anyway, I'm lucky I survived this crash. My Interceptor's going to need some work. My mapper's still working, though - I'm on a forest moon orbiting the gas giant Endor. Don't think it's inhabited, but I know for sure there are Imperial reconnaisance troops here, somewhere. Atmosphere's breathable...think I'll scout around and see what's out there. Hello, big green world, here I come...

Entry 46:

No sign of amy imperial settlements yet, and it's been six days. I've been surviving off of various roots and berries, as well as a parakeet that I managed to capture three days ago. It's times like this I wish my lightsaber actually gave off heat.

Entry 47:

I encountered a native today. I demanded that he tell me all he knew about the area, but I got nowhere. It reminds me of that time I 'interviewed' that Sullustan rebel spy. Despite learning nothing - mainly in part due to the fact I couldn't understand a word he was saying - it was still an entertaining exercise. I'm taking its remains with me, to ward off other possibly hostile natives. Also, just in case I get hungry again.

Entry 48:

I'm traveling at night now. A close call with a hungry beast has made me realize that however well my black armor camouflages me against the night, against audio-sensitive predators, I'm a sitting womp rat. Why me?

Entry 49:

Hmm. Tastes like Bantha.

Entry 50:

Something is wrong. The homing beacon I left aboard my Interceptor has ceased transmitting. I'm returning at once to investigate. It may seem a bit of a cliche, but I have a bad feeling about this.

Entry 51:

I'm grateful that I decided to keep the native's garments at hand - they're proving to be quite useful as a sack for his (dwindling) remains. I was getting sick of dragging him, anyway.

Entry 52:

...and there they were. Crawling all over my Interceptor, ripping its innards out, poking and prodding and tossing and turning (some of them spinning) with all of its sensitive equipment. I was not pleased, and told them so. I'm pretty sure the tossing the head of their kin at their feet got that message across, but I felt a bit of personal discipline was in order. I've since decided to remain here and activate a high-frequency homing beacon, as I repair the ship. My men will come to me, which is as it should be, and I will have something to occupy my time. Now, where did I put that hydrospanner...

Entry 53:

I have successfully made contact with a Moff currently supervising the fitting of an imperial installment, one Jerjerrod. He promises that scout troops will arrive within a week to transport me to the base. He also advises that the local race, called Ewoks, are harmless, easily frightened, yet curious creatures, as I am already aware. A shame, I was looking forward to further confrontation. Oh well, at least I won't go hungry.

Entry 54:

It was just before dawn when they attacked. They came out of nowhere. I am fortunate for two things: one, that I am light sleeper, and two, that the one who threw the first spear at me was a lousy marksman. At least thirty of them, coming at me with spears and bolas and rocks. While I was alarmed at first, It was quite the laughable attempt. Hopefully, this new slaughter will be enough to dissuade them from further attack.

Entry 55:

I can't sleep anymore. I awoke in searing pain to find a large boulder had smashed through the hatch, nearly crushing my left shoulder. I can still move my arm, though it hurts tremendously to do so. These Ewoks are masters of camouflage and stealth - I never even sense them approaching. I must remain awake, lest they cause further damage to my ship, or worse, to me.

Entry 56:

Three days without sleep. I am beginning to feel groggy, and the Ewok meat is beginning to go rancid. I feel quite ill. I shall endeavor to heat a piece of scrap metal using my saber, and cook upon that. Hope it works.

Entry 57:

A week now...yes, it's been a week. They'll be here soon. They haven't forgotten me. That's right. They'll be here soon. Only a matter of time.

Entry 58:

I thought I saw Obi-wan. Effects from sleep deprivation. I'll just keep telling myself that. Keep telling myself that. There's no such thing as ghosts. No such thing as ghosts.

Entry 59:

It was because I ate an arm, wasn't it? All the time i sat there and cooked it and devoured it they were watching OH YES THEY WERE WATCHING I KNOW I JUST KNOW that's why...that's why they stormed the ship they stormed the ship and they attacked me with blades and hacked into my shoulder and I couldn't get them off I'm so tired and they TOOK MY BLASTED ARM. I'll kill them I'll kill them all I'll slaughter every last one of them and feast with the Emperor on their BONES...

Entry 60:

ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES DARTH A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES DARTH A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES DARTH A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES DARTH A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES DARTH A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES DARTH A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES DARTH A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES DARTH A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES DARTH A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES DARTH A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES DARTH A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES DARTH A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES DARTH A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES DARTH A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES DARTH A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES DARTH A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES DARTH A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES DARTH A DULL BOYALLWORKANDNOPLAYMAKESDA----

The following is an excerpt from audio recording 3896-B, recorded by Squadron 58, under the command of one Moff Jerjerrod, stationed at time on the fourth moon of Endor

"How much farther is it?"

"Just down this valley and...oh, my..."

Sound of footsteps

"That's disgusting."

Retching

"Ugh, someone get him a towel...I've never seen that much blood in one place..."

"Look, sir! Ewok heads!"

"In a pile? What was lord V-"

What appears to be a sound of a lightsaber igniting

"An admirable ploy. I commend you for your efforts, although they will prove futile."

"Lord Vader! What in Bespin happened to your arm?"

"Do you truly believe dressing in the skins of my soldiers will fool me? Your distractions grow tiresome!"

"Sir?"

"Prepare yourselves!"

"Sir, please. We need to get you to a bacta ta-ARGH!"

Scuffling, sounds of lightsaber movement

"Sir, please, we..lk...hurgh..."

"He's gone berserk!"

What appears to be a tree falling, blaster fire

"Set to STUN! To ST-"

More blaster fire, bodies falling

Vader, muffled, sounds like 'Yub yub this, 'commander'

"ARRGH!"

Stun blasts

"Mommy...where's my podracer?"

Loud crash

"We...we've got him. Inform Moff Jerjerrod...tell him to send a pickup unit."

Entry 61:

Okay. I'm feeling better now.

Honestly.

In retrospect, I'm a bit surprised that I lost control of myself as easily as I did. Perhaps I must still learn control. But then again, you try lying awake for days on end, listening for twigs cracking, hearing calls of 'yub yub' from the blackness...(shudder)

Now if only the nightmares would stop.

At any rate, the new arm is healing quite nicely. Purrs like a nexu, no grinding, and the joints are self-lubricating - a good thing too, those oil baths were rather unpleasant. I'll get more replacement parts when I have the time.

Entry 62:

I tell you, if for some reason we create another Death Star, I know exactly where I'll suggest it be built.

Entry 63:

I had assumed that with my convalescence here aboard the Executor's medical bay, I would see an end to the hallucinations and visions that were so prominent during my...illlness during my stay on that forest moon.

It would appear I was mistaken.

I'm seeing Obi-Wan's phantom now. He won't appear to anyone else, just me. I even tried to inform one of the med-droids that there was a man standing at the foot of my bed, and it gave me a sedative. Between the massacre, the yellow text, and now this, it will be a wonder if the entire Empire doesn't consider me a lunatic before the year is through.

Entry 64:

He's absolutely everywhere now. Floating outside the bridge's window in deep space, inside my hyperbaric chamber, at the ship's market going for seven wupiwupi a pound - no matter where I go, he's just standing there, watching me. Disapproving. It's enough to make a man want to tear out his optic sensors.

Entry 65:

It would appear I've missed a bit of action while I was away. The rebels have been chased off of Yavin 4, and are flesing through the galaxy. But they must undoubtedly have a secondary base. We'll find it. And when we do, we'll strike back at them so hard...

And also, I am intrigued by the young pilot who destroyed the Death Star. I have recieved visions of him, in dreams...I should not care, and yet, the Force is very strong in him.

There's something about this boy...

Entry 66:

I really like the number 66. Reminds me of old times. Ah, those were the days. Simpler times, perhaps. Less pain wracking my body with every step. Sound sleep. Drinking liquid was a lot easier, too.

Oh, sorry. Yeah. Forgot to mention, I haven't picked this thing up in quite some time. There's just been so much to do. Report to my Master (who's really spending way too much time isolated in his palace on Corusca- sorry, Imperial Center now, on what has officially been renamed Palpatine Square - self-importance, anyone?), hunt down rebels like the scum they are, strangle the odd commander, infest healthy planets with vegetation-killing seeds, public speeches...you know, the usual. So it came as no surprise that I'd eventually lose track of this diary. Found it today underneath a stack of 'Bothan Boobies' which I confiscated from Ozzel last week. Oh, I haven't dared look at them, knowing how my master is with non-humans and all that. Imagine if he read my thoughts? Now that would be embarrassing. Anyways, I'm gonna start updating now that things have settled down. Heck, even Obi-Wan isn't appearing to me anymore.

Oh, and there's another Death Star in construction around Endor. Sometimes it's good to be alive.

Entry 67:

I wonder if Obi-Wan stopped appearing because he's...found someone else?

NO, no, it's not like that. Sorry, that just came out bad. I just wonder sometimes...do I have possession issues? I'm going to go talk to the ship's psycho-analysis droid about this.

Entry 68:

Speaking of which, I wonder sometimes just whatever happened to Threepio. I hope he's okay. Is he being powered-up? Is he getting enough shut-down time? Is he getting oil-baths when he needs them? I really hope he wasn't sold for scrap, or anything. Maybe I'm getting soft with my age, but...I can't help but worry.

Entry 69 (LOL):

The scouts have absolutely no clue how the analysis droid wound up half-crushed, floating outside the airlock. And that's how it will stay. Can't have anyone running about knowing all my filthy little secrets, can we? ;)

Entry 70:

If I see one more rolled-up issue of 'Bothan Boobies' sticking out of Ozzel's belt buckle, I swear to the force I'll kill him. If not, I'll find another excuse.

Entry 71:

Xizor was in my master's audience chamber today, in person, as I made my report. That alone is enough to seriously enrage me (MY Master! MINE! Grrr...), but something happened which made me feel a lot better. I'm not sure, as the holocam angel was terrible, but you see my Master was having his toenails cut (something he should really do more often, by the look of things) as we all spoke, and I think Xizor took one to the eye. Burnt and charred as it was, I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. That'll teach him to grovel.

Entry 72:

That text again, that FORCE-CURSED YELLOW TEXT. I made out something about 'Episode V'. V? Violet? Vengeance? Vroom-Vroom? I'm so confused. I don't care if he thinks I'm mad, I'm reporting this next time I'm back home.

Entry 73:

If these rebels think they can just walk in and completely subvert a fledgling Empire's stranglehold... I mean, firm grip, for the sake of security, of course - on the galaxy, they're going to be on the recieving end of a rather nasty spanking. Followed by hideous torture, of course. It's the only we we learn and grow.

Entry 74:

So we've just set course for the Hoth system. You know, I've always wondered who named that. I mean, what does 'Hoth' make you think of? Some guy with a lisp saying 'hot'. And it's not. It's quite frigid.

I wonder about planet names sometimes. Whoever named Tatooine 'Tatooine', anyhow? Makes me think of some spacer with body art. They should have called it something else. Something like...Sandymus Prime, or whatever.

Hey, I never said that naming things was my forte. Come to think of it, I wonder what I would have named my son, if I'd had one. Something classy. Something like Lando, or something. I've always liked that name.

Ah, I'm rambling again. Point is, we're on our way there. Ozzel's leading the fleet, he'd better not screw up. I'm in a forcey-chokey kind of mood right now.

Entry 75:

Oh, I choked him, alright. I just choked him but GOOD. Just wanted to say that, feeling a lot better now. I'm going to go down and supervise the occupation myself, as it should be. After I flush these magazines out the airlock. I would have given them back if he'd done well here. That'll teach me to be generous. Next Admiral that screws up gets his oxygen taken away. No excuses.

Entry 76:

What a waste of a trip. I get out of my chamber, dust my cape off, shine up my helmet, take the turbolift down, get into the shuttle, head down to the planet, JUST in time to see the Milennium Falcon leaving. This idiotic pilot INSISTED on double-checking the thrusters before we took off. "Oh, better safe than sorry, Lord Vader." Jackass.

Despite the fact he's only got one arm now, he's piloting back surprisingly quickly. Think I'll recommend him for a promotio...oh, wait, no. Keeling over, hitting the floor. Guess I'm driving us back.

Entry 77:

First Ozzel comes out of lightspeed right next to the damned planet, setting them all alert to us, THEN they manage to slip transports past us, we almost CRASH two fnarling STAR DESTROYERS (Honestly, are there any GOOD pilots left in the galaxy? Are ours blind?) , and now we send a squadron of TIE fighters after them, and they lose them in an asteroid field. I'm getting really sick of all these stupid people. Even Solo. He should have just gone to hyperdrive if he'd had any sense. Doesn't he know what the odds of navigating an asteroid field are? Idiot. Next time I see him, I'll torture him. Just for being stupid. I'm not even going to ask him any questions.

Entry 78:

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

Oh, there goes another one.

Pop.

It's a tradition for starfighter pilots to paint emblems on their hulls representing the amount of kills they acquire in battle. I believe I shall don a Zero-G suit, head out into the storm, and paint a couple dozen TIEs on that big asteroid shaped like a shoe - it's really cleaning up. I don't know how they keep missing that one.

Pop.

Entry 79:

Ok. Boots, chest armor, knobs and buttons all shined up? Check...and then some (I truly do appear to be shinier today than usual...most impressive).

Helmet on straight? Check.

Cape brushed off? Check.

Fleet moving away from asteroid field? Check.

Tension-relieving, personal-assistant-strangling exercise complete? Check.

Okay. Time for a meeting with my Master.

Entry 80:

Three things:

Firstly, for some reason I think that conversation could have gone much better. But for what it's worth, I think I hid my thoughts nicely.

Secondly:

Wow.

Through my time in this galaxy, I have seen a great many things. I have partaken in wars too terrible to recount, and witnessed miracles that most sentients would not believe possible. I have experienced the mysteries of the force, on both sides. I have spoken with wise men and fools. I have seen unique and plain forms of life, sentient and dumb (a certain old friend comes to mind). There is very little these days that surprises me. But nothing could prepare me for what my Master told me today.

That child who destroyed the Death Star? Who was strong in the force? Whose act became legend to the Rebel Alliance, encouraged all kinds of Imperial defections, caused the populace to doubt in the strength of the new Empire? Who I nearly killed?

My son.

Oh, yeah.

Not kidding.

Yeah.

I gotta sit down, I'm pacing a hole in the floor here.

Just, wow. If I had a death-stick...but I don't, and that's silly. My lungs are burnt enough as is. Besides, what kind of example would I be setting to my oh my god it's already happening to me.

Okay, so I fed my Master a line about having to destroy him if he didn't join us. I know that won't even be necessary. If he won't listen to me, then I'll give him a bloody good thrashing. Or...ground him. I don't know, this isn't the kind of thing I'm good at. I fly ships. And fix things. And strangle people. And sometimes, I fix things by strangling people. But, a parent? A...father?

Me?

I'm going to do the only sane thing possible upon finding out a thing like this: get some sleep. I can't think right now. I need to adjust. Good night.

Oh, and thirdly...just how in the hell did it take us this long to get the kid's name? We're the Empire, for the Force's sake. We know these things! We're watching you! The skies have ears! Makes no sense, I tell you.

Entry 81:

Which brings to mind the question...how exactly am I going to tell the kid? I'm no good at these face-to-grotesque breathmask things...

Wait, I know. I'll put out the word I want to contact the rebels. To give them a message.

"Rebels, a part of Lord Vader is with you."

No. That sounds dumb.

I've got it. "Vader has a message for the Rebels."

That's all that needs to be said.

I'll have it broadcast over the holonet. I'll talk to a representative personally. And when they get word I want to contact the pilot who destroyed the Death Star, they will offer him up to me out of fear. This is perfect.

Yes.

There is no possible way that this can go wrong. I am so amazing, sometimes.

Entry 82:

Not only was she the most beautiful woman who ever lived, not only could she wield a mean blaster, not only was she a skilled Queen and diplomat, not only was she a goddess in the repulsorbed, not only was she a kind and understanding, eternally giving soul...but she could give birth to a baby while dead.

That's just incredible. That's just how great she was.

Wait.

That makes no sense.

And wait. She was like, six months into it before I...well, did that bad thing.

That makes no sense either.

What the hell?

Entry 83:

Seeing as how an asteroid field is laying waste to three quarters of my Executor's TIE squadron, I've done the reasonable thing and brought in the only folks who can go in and get the dirty work done.

No, I'm not talking about the Latrine Space Duck or any other household cleaning mascot. I'm talking about Bounty Hunters.

I had Boba Fett in (who I warned about the disintegrating), of course, and to make it look like anyone else could actually get the job done, a few others as well. There was a lizard that walked like a man (and wore clothes too small for him), a guy with his head wrapped in toilet paper, a robot man-fly, a flasher, and a living combination lamp post-don't walk sign. I swear there's something wrong with everyone in the trade. If they can't get the job done, no one can, because quite frankly I'll be upset enough to choke everyone in the galaxy.

Entry 84:

A matter has come to my attention which I believe is cause for great concern. It could very well mean the end of my Empire, if it turns out to be true.

I was re-examining holocam recordings taken from one of the Death Star's myriad black boxes - examining my son's flight techniques. He's rather impressive, I'll give him that (I remember when I destroyed my very first spherical satellite...good times), but I have noticed he just may have had an unfair advantage. An advantage I once had.

An advantage that represents a great peril to the order of the galaxy.

He may have R2-D2 with him.

More to come on further examination.

Entry 85:

My fears have been realized. That is the droid, there is no question about it.

Now, you may believe that I am grossly overreacting over such an insignificant thing as a droid. I cannot blame you for this, but you would be wrong, for you have not experienced any amount of time with this particular droid by your side.

Let me tell you a few things about him.

That droid understands humans. Knows the way they think. It can form plans. It can improvise. It can repair hyperdrive engines faster than you can blink. Not just those - find any problem on any ship, and it can fix it. It can weld, it can fuse, it can separate. It can reprogram your ship's OS to fly right into the nearest star, if you let it.

It can fly.

It can electrocute. It can spit out oil, set people on fire, and douse the flames if it feels like it. And it can slice.

Oh, can it ever slice.

It can get into your onboard operating system and make it dance. It can slice past any code, any firewall, any protective measures you can think to put up against it. It can steal any bit of data it feels like. It can shut down battle station defenses. It can serve a mean flapjack.

It shouldn't even be able to do half of these things, but it does.

I'm fairly certain that it could control this Super Star Destroyer if one were to give it half the chance.

I know what that droid can do. And trust me, it isn't something you want working against you. My motives are clear...I must turn my son to the dark side...and reprogram that droid, so that it can make it that much easier for us to rule the galaxy as father and son.

Or maybe I should just have its memory erased. Cut off any problems before they can occur. We'll see how things pan out.

Entry 86:

You know, it's funny how different each and every larynx feels through the force, and how, when you crush them just so, they can make all sorts of interesting sounds. Needa's sounded like a drowning Noghri, which was amusing, so I have decided to accept his apology.

Entry 87:

I have reported the matter of the yellow text to my Master, and he cut of the transmission in mid-broadcast. There are times when I feel like the galaxy's biggest, blackest, raspiest ass.

Entry 88:

A speech to the peoples of the Empire I'd like to make some day:

We know you don't like the Gungans. We don't like the Gungans. I don't like the Gungans. Nobody likes the Gungans. There's a reason they're rarely seen off-world.

But that's not enough reason to blow them up.

Besides, less sensible people would inevitably scream 'prejudice' if we did. We'd prefer to avoid that.

We had to destroy Alderaan because it was harboring an insurrectionist movement. Not out of personal preference.

When the Gungans get out of line, we'll smack them down. But until then, they've committed no crime other than being their usual irritating selves. Okay?

Besides, the Emperor has a penthouse on Naboo.

Entry 89:

Fett tells me Solo hid on the side of this very ship to make his escape, and they're headed for Bespin.

Perhaps I've underestimated him. I'll invite him to dinner by way of apology.

Entry 90:

I neglected to mention. His name is Luke.

'Luke'?

I distinctly remember telling her I hated that name. But then, she hated all my choices, too. She was overly critical, and never listened when I told her I wanted a name that sounded tough.

'Luke'? What kind of pansy name is that?

Good thing we Sith have that renaming thing going on. In his case, it won't be just a rechristening, it'll be a favor.

Entry 91:

Which begs the question...what will it be? Something flashy. I always liked the name Lando. 'Darth Lando' perhaps? Hey...that's a smooth name. I like it.

Entry 92:

Speak of the devil. Cloud City, the prime Tibanna gas mine on Bespin, is run by one Baron Administrator Lando Calrissian. The good ones are always taken.

Interesting. It seems that according to our records, this gas mining operation of his doesn't fall within our jurisdiction, and isn't subject to taxation, despite the fact that it's in a registered sector. How...unusual.

Well. Good to know we have blackmail...or, rather...bargaining material.

Yes, my path is clear now. Surely, Luke will be able to sense the peril of his allies. I will use this Calrissian to lure him into a trap by endangering his friends. When all is complete, I will have taken the life from Solo, the droid from my son, my son from his own delusions, and the first name from Calrissian.

Okay, I'm pushing it. Calrissian can keep his name. I can live with 'Luke' for now. Until Darth "something else" comes along.

Entry 93:

The transmission of today's Imperial Center Holonet broadcast just came through. The gist of it is this:

"Vader: I Have A Message For The Rebels"

"This cryptic yet reassuring phrase was received by Holonet Communications early this morning. Unfortunately, the details of this warning or announcement are still unknown. Due to signal interference caused by an asteroid field in the area, the transmission was cut off shortly after it began. Sources say that the Imperial fleet is under no imminent danger, and should return to Imperial Center shortly, upon which time we may look forward to hearing the remainder of Vader's message to the Rebel insurrectionists who threaten our galaxy's peace. Judging by the one sentence that came through, and knowing Lord Vader's reputation for confidence and certainty in dealing with such threats, it would be no large assumption to assume that he has the Rebel threat well in hand, and feels the need to reassure the public by notifying these terrorists that their days are numbered."

I have today learned a valuable lesson. When you own the media, when every single broadcast is pre-arranged to sway events in the favor of both you and your fledgling government, when you spread propaganda and misinformation about the opposition as a matter of course...even your own intentions can become misread.

So, to sum;

Stupid asteroid field, stupid me for not verifying the message had gone through, stupid idea, stupid media, stupid rebels, stupid everything, stupid stupid.

Entry 94:

It is as much a joyous epiphany as it is a tragic realization.

I have to overthrow my master.

Really, there's no other choice. As a matter of fact, I can't see any reason NOT to.

First off, it's a Sith thing. I've been researching our history for a long time now, and I notice that the overthrowing and succession of the Master by the Apprentice is a rather common and apparently accepted trend. High amongst our values is power, and the will to achieve that power.

It's time for a new Master and Apprentice. I have a candidate.

I'm the number two man in the galaxy. I have a shot at being number one.

What kind of Sith would I be if I didn't take it?

Secondly, my mastery of the Dark Side is nowhere near as complete as my master's. This is both a good and bad thing - I cannot hope to ever be his equal, considering my limitations (lightning and mechanical suits don't mix after all). His mastery of it has also given him extended life - but at a cost. Despite how much longer he may live, he is withered and decayed, foul and physically weak.

Were I to strike quickly, he would not stand a chance at stopping me.

Thirdly, I'm not too wild about how easily he swallowed my line about converting Luke. Call me paranoid, but perhaps he wishes for an apprentice who isn't limited by a life-support system (and isn't crazy enough, in his opinion, to see bright yellow text where there is none - I know what I saw, but I digress). And given that long-life thing he's got going, he just might have enough time to train someone new. Time I might not have.

So, the time, as it were, is ripe.

I regret having to do this. He has taught me a great deal...but that's the nature of things. For what it is worth, I will make it as painless as possible. I owe my old friend that much.

Yes...I shall rule the galaxy with my son at my side.

Unless my Master has some secret cache of clones of himself stashed somewhere. Then I'm screwed.

Entry 95:

On Bespin now. There is a certain degree of anticipation that comes with situations such as this, and I confess to enjoying it. So much of my life has now become routine that I welcome little plays at intrigue.

We have Calrissian in talks at the moment, and are persuading him to see our point of view. My brief exchange of words with him went a good way into helping that along - I'm fairly certain he soiled his cape.

Soon, very soon, all that I desire shall come to pass. My son shall be at my side, and the galaxy ours alone to rule.

Furthermore, this is the last known location of the Rebel infiltrator who stole my ice-cream maker, and should he still be here, I'll be damned if he's getting away again. True, I could simply order another - I have - but it was a very well put-together little ice-cream maker. I want my Rocky Rancor Road.

Entry 96:

The problem with bringing a battalion of Stormtroopers with you is where to hide them when you're trapping someone. We've currently got them stashed in locked rooms throughout the city, but we've got about five or so left over, and the Falcon is due to arrive within the hour. Worse comes to worse, we'll stick them in an engine room somewhere and hope for the best.

Entry 97:

He is in pieces now, next to me in this temporary personal quarters. In a pathetic state. His parts are showing.

The Stormtroopers in the engine room reported a droid stumbling upon them. They blew him apart, and requested further instruction. I investigated, and nothing could prepare me for what I found.

C-3P0. One of my oldest creations. One of my oldest friends.

I sat there, holding his head, for a full hour, just remembering.

My childhood. Tatooine. Shmi. Watto. Kitster. Podracing. That jerk Sebulba. Sand.

Fond memories, bittersweet. Tinged with happiness and pain.

It makes me wonder if I'm truly cut out to be a Sith sometimes.

I haven't felt like this in a very, very long time.

I cannot afford sentimentality, it's interfering with my thoughts and could compromise my judgement. We'll take them in tomorrow.

Looking over at his remains now, it is a difficult decision to make, but I suppose I should have him destroyed. There's no telling how much he could reveal if he were to make the connection between me and the man I once was, if he still remembers me.

Good-bye, Threepio.

Entry 98:

Han Solo is the worst dinner guest of all time.

Honestly.

Repeated instances in which he has made my forces look incompetent aside, assisting in destroying the Death Star, and being stupid enough to actually fly into an asteroid field, I've got no personal grudge against the guy. I actually admire him for his tenacity.

(it seems he was a Stormtrooper for a brief period of time. A shame. If he had remained with us, I'm certain he would have become a decent commander. But, he washed out, which was his loss.)

He has a surprising amount of courage for a mere smuggler, and a death mark isn't an easy thing to live with - I know, having handed out a few dozen of those myself. He is a notable pilot, and under different circumstances I would love to test my own abilities against his.

But none of that can excuse bad table manners.

I consider myself a fairiy generous person. A good amount of people have betrayed or hurt me in my lifetime (still thinking of you, Master), and I've been good enough to let the past be the past. True, most of those individuals are now dead, but that's neither here nor there.

But I was willing to let everything Solo had done slide, and have a friendly chat with him over some supper.

But oh, no. He wouldn't have anything of it. First he pulls a blaster on me and shoots - understandable, given the surprise situation. I relieved him of it, and politely asked him and the party to join us for dinner.

At which time he proceeded to lay out the insults. Starting with Calrissian. Then Calrissian's attendant. Then Cloud City's security staff. Then the Stormtroopers present. Then Fett. Fett's ship. Then me. Then my mask (this, I recall, is when I began to become rather upset - I work hard at keeping this thing shiny). Then the Emperor. Then the Imperial flag, the Imperial anthem (again, a no-no - you don't mess with that anthem), and every Grand Moff from here to Imperial center.

And then he insulted my mother.

Oh, goodness heavens gracious me.

No.

The next thing I remember was that I was breathing louder than usual, and making Solo turn all sorts of funny colors from across the room. But a bargain is a bargain, and table manners are table manners, so for decency's sake, and Fett's, I allowed him to live. For the time being.

That did not, however, prevent me from knocking him unconscious and having him escorted out.

And of course, the walking pile of hair got all riled up after that, and Fett had to put him down with a stun blast. Cannot say that I blame the wookiee, really. Yoda once told me how ferocious they are about life debts. I only wish they were as ferocious about washing.

Fett didn't say much throughout the whole ordeal, moving only now and then to sip from his drink with a straw underneath that helmet of his. He's always quiet, and I think that's why I like him. He's got some serious bottled rage issues inside he needs to work out, but I like him nevertheless. Knows his place.

Calrissian was very pleasant and accommodating, although he seemed rather ill, and excused himself after the main course. Treachery and self-service have that effect on people. True, I maneuvered him into that corner...but here's me playing the galaxy's smallest viola. He'll recover.

Leia Organa, however, was fairly decent about the whole thing, which surprised me. I'd be very upset if someone had interrogated and tortured me for hours on end. Yet, she remained stoic about the whole thing, keeping her obvious anger in check, and we even discussed old Republican politics for a while. She's a born negotiator. Reminds m...ah, never mind.

He didn't even TOUCH his steak.

Honestly!

Entry 99:

It comes to me as something of a shock, realizing that I have absolutely no clue as to how I'm actually going to GET my son back to the Emperor. I know these rebels...many of them would take death before dishonor. And while I have no way of knowing that Luke is one of those, I'm not one to take chances (but you knew that already). So, I have to assume he won't come willingly. What are my options?

Okay, there's shoving him in the brig aboard the Executor. No, bad idea, he's strong in the force, can probably levitate things, like keys. Rules that out.

There's knocking him unconscious, and hitting him really hard each time he wakes up.

Nah, it's a long way back to Imperial Center. Don't want to damage his brain.

I could bury him neck up in a room full of sand.

Ehhh...wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy, really. I hate sand.

So much.

But I think I'm onto something here. I just need to restrict his ability to move.

Maybe I could cut off his arms and legs?

No, that would prevent him from realizing his full Sith potential. And it also really sucks. Trust me, I know.

Think, Darth, THINK!

Ahh, it's hopeless. Right now I feel as dumb as that carbonite-frozen box of foodstuffs over there.

Hey...

Entry 100 (Yay):

Aggressive:
adj.
1. Characterized by aggression: aggressive behavior.
2. Inclined to behave in an actively hostile fashion: an aggressive regime.
3. Assertive, bold, and energetic: an aggressive sales campaign.
4. Of or relating to an investment or approach to investing that seeks above-average returns by taking above-average risks.
5. Fast growing; tending to spread quickly and invade: an aggressive tumor.
6. Characterized by or inclined toward vigorous or intensive medical treatment: an aggressive approach to treating the infection.
7. Intense or harsh, as in color.

Negotiate:

v. intr.

To confer with another or others in order to come to terms or reach an agreement: "It is difficult to negotiate where neither will trust"

v. tr.

1. To arrange or settle by discussion and mutual agreement: negotiate a contract.

2.
1. To transfer title to or ownership of (a promissory note, for example) to another party by delivery or by delivery and endorsement in return for value received.
2. To sell or discount (assets or securities, for example).

3.
1. To succeed in going over or coping with: negotiate a sharp curve.
2. To succeed in accomplishing or managing: negotiate a difficult musical passage.

And those are the two key words of the day. Aggressive negotiations. In which I and my son partook. I didn't think it would be easy, and I'm less than pleased with my end results (read: nothing), but at least I know one thing for certain now.

When he's ready, that boy's going to behead the Emperor faster than you can say "Snap-hiss".

Snap-hiss. You know, the sound a lightsaber makes when you...never mind, we're getting off track here.

It started off simply enough. My decision to freeze Solo in Carbonite was brought up by a very good point made by Calrissian; it could prove fatal. Luke won't be able to help me with any takeovers if he's all pasty and dead, so I figured Solo would be the active guinea pig. Fett wasn't pleased about my torturing Solo in the first place, and I could tell he was throwing a tantrum under there, but he wouldn't dare say anything. Calrissian looked like he was going to blow chunks again, so I took my leave of both of them, to make my preparations.

Once I was all shiny again (that Tibanna gas tends to 'cloud' things up - ha, ha), we had them brought in to the carbon-freezing room. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the Wookiee had managed, somehow, to salvage Threepio's parts and restore him to half-working condition.

Except that for some reason his head was on backwards.

(Mental note: If I ever speak to Solo again, for some reason, have a talk with him about how hard good help is to find these days, and inquire how the hell he managed to stay alive for so long with a moron for a partner.)

I didn't have time to puzzle over that for long, though. Fett whined some more, so I shut him up by throwing a money bag in his face (not literally, but you get the point). Then
the ape got all uppity about us freezing his friend, and knocked a couple of troopers for a loop. Fett nearly shot him - it seems he has a 'fettish' (sorry) for Wookiee pelts. The only reason I stopped him is because the perpetually angry moron could have shot Threepio. Best bounty hunter in the galaxy or not, anyone who doesn't have the force on his side is either really lucky or overrated in my opinion. Probably, in Fett's case, a bit of both.

Okay, fine, so I've got a soft spot for the droid. Can we move on?

Solo, in a rare act of decency, calmed the rug down, during which time Organa gave me one of the nastiest looks I've ever received. Seriously, if looks were force-chokes, I wouldn't be writing this.

It was really creepy, it reminded me of the time Padme walked in on me poking through her 'unmentionables' drawer. She looked so very much like her in that instant, that I'm ashamed to say that my jaw hit the floor under this mask, and I stared back like a drooling idiot. Like I said, creepy.

Then she and Solo had a bit of a moment.

Ever since Padme passed on under unfortunate circumstances that I will not go into detail about lest I spend yet another night drinking in the cafeteria, I've always had a problem with couples. I get bitter, angry, jealous, nostalgic, and whatnot. Thankfully, one of the stormtroopers had the tact to break that up. Someone's getting a medal.

And then she's all "I love you". Barf.

And then he goes "I know."

"I KNOW?"

My personal views on romance aside, that has to be the single most horrible excise for a romantic line I have EVER heard. Worse than the poodoo I used to spew back in the day. Seriously. "My heart is beating, hoping that kiss will not become a scar" has NOTHING on "I know."

My stuff is admittedly bad. Solo's just not even trying.

Anyway, while the solo-flavored popsicle was being made, my thoughts turned again to princess Organa. The similarity was too creepy, and I had to know more. So once Solo was ready, I arranged to have the princess wand Wookie (really, it was for Threepio, I was going to shoot the shag carpet out of an airlock later) brought aboard my ship under threat, much to Calrissian's dismay. For those of you who have been keeping count, the deal between Calrissian and myself has now evolved from

"Help me trap Skywalker, and I'll leave your little operation and friends alone."

to

"Help me trap Skywalker, and I'll leave your little operation alone and you keep watch on your friends."

to

"Help me trap Skywalker, and I'll leave your little operation alone if I feel like it."

As a side note, I was going to occupy it anyway, and there is in fact now a permanent Imperial garrison installed on Bespin, and Calrissian is currently a fugitive. Funny how things work out, hmm?

Anyway, that's what you get for trying to hide from Big Imperial Brother. We always get you in the end.

Where was I? Oh, right, back to the story.

So basically, I booted everyone out of the chamber while I got ready to face my son, who had just arrived. I took the time to work on my scary voice - I knew once I got him good and scared, he'd get good and angry, and you know where that leads to.

This is one part I'm really proud of - I had things arranged just so that he knew it was a trap for him. He found his way to me, along which, at my direction, he was separated from R2. I may be able to best my son in combat, but I'm taking no chances with that droid. It could probably set my respirator to auto-inhale if it got close, and that wouldn't be very much fun.

Immediately I set about creeping the hell out of the kid with "The force is with you, young Skywalker, but you are not a Jedi yet."

Translation: Let's do this.

And so we did. The aggressive negotiations began. I was vaguely surprised to see that he was, in fact, using my old lightsaber. This really made me happy - I was getting back my droid, my saber and my son in one day! What a deal!

Anyway, he was better than I thought he would be. His form needs some work, however. I punked him at the very beginning, even tossing him on his butt with one hand. I even maneuvered him right down into the carbon-freeze pit, and I was kind of disappointed for a moment. Looked like he sucked, but nope - the kid actually jumped all the way out, up to the top. He'd impressed the hell out of me now, so I began to take him a bit more seriously, taunting him, telling him to release his hanger, confusing him, so forth. Good thing too, because he showed me he's not afraid to use dirty tricks (what a great Sith he'll make. So happy!). He actually blasted me in the face with a hose, and then wound up maneuvering ME so I fell off the platform.

I was so proud of the kid, I could have squealed. But I didn't. Instead, I brought the fight down into Cloud City's lower levels. I suppose that this when I began to have an urge to play some baseball. He is my son, after all, and we'd never spent any quality time together. I was surprised he didn't get the joke as I started to hurl pieces of machinery at him, but I began to think of something which irked me.

The kid had absolutely no clue I was his old man. I had suspected it earlier, but thought he might have some inkling, some suspicion. I thought he must have felt the connection, at least, when we met. But, no. Nothing.

Obi-Wan never told him I was his father.

Oh, that really pissed me off.

I suppose, in retrospect, that was probably one of the causes of what happened next. As I focused on my rage, I was letting pieces of machinery fly left and right, and one took him on the back of the head, and then a coupe more hit him. I should have been paying attention, but oh well.

Another took out the window, and that sucked. Really. The pressure sucked the kid out the window. I had to lean against a wall - not because of the pressure, I was able to stand upright a second later - but just because I was so pissed off I had involuntarily stopped breathing.

And then I got an idea. Stop breathing, eh?

I followed the kid down, and hid around a corner, stifling the urge to chuckle, because this was going to be great. I was actually having fun, for once.

When I popped out, I'm pretty sure I scared six shades of poodoo out of him.

No, let's be fair.

Seven.

So, we aggressively negotiated our way across the platform. I almost had him at one point, and told him so, but nothing fights like a caged animal, and he started realizing I had his back to a wall, us being in the middle of the city's underbelly, and thousands of feet in mid-air in the center of an air shaft, after all.

Then I got clumsy, and he nicked me in the shoulder. Something about that bothered me. He could have very well taken my arm off, but didn't. He just nicked me.

Or maybe he did sense it, and didn't really want to hurt me?

It didn't matter. The Sith part of me got all upset, that being a wasted opportunity and all, so I decided to show him how it was really done. Plus, my shoulder really hurt like hell.

And so it was that I negotiated his hand off.

Aggressively.

Ah, memories.

The downside was, no more old lightsaber for me. :(

He screamed about it, but I paid it no mind. Take it from me, he'll recover.

I figured now was a good time to ask him about what he knew as any. And wouldn't you know it?

"He told me enough! He told me you killed him!"

Oh, old master, how I wish you had not disappeared into thin air when I hacked you in half. I wish you were buried instead. That way, I could dig you up, chop you into tiny pieces, and flush you down a latrine. It's not enough that you've got to turn my wife against me, lie to me, dismember me, steal my lightsaber and leave me for dead, but you've got to lie to my son about me too? For shame, Obi-Wan. For shame.

Well, I suppose you could say the man I am now killed the man I used to be.

But quite frankly, that point of view sounds like metaphorical garbage to me.

So, here I was. My son thought I'd killed his dad, and hated me more than anything in the world.

What was I to say? I thought of many things.

"Son, do you know what a 'point of view' is?"

"The thing about Obi-Wan is, he's a dick."

"And thus, another reason why Jedi suck."

"Uh, you know what happens when a man and a woman fall in love?"

"You'd be surprised how easy it is to change your name in this day and age."

"I know how you're feeling since your aunt and uncle died. You need a family. I know a smelly old man who'd make a great grandfather for you!" "Who's yer daddy!"

But in the end, I just settled with five simple words.

"No. I am your father."

No need to complicate things any more than they already were, right?

And then the denial kicked in, which I set aside for him by telling him to search his feelings. He did, and the waterworks kicked in.

Now, nothing stops a baby from crying quite like a sugary treat. So I offered him the galaxy. Told him to come with me.

Maybe Obi-Wan told him never to talk to strangers who offer you candy and say they're related to you or something, because he instead elected to jump off the edge. Some people have messed-up priorities, but it's not up to me to question them.

At least he didn't scream like a little girl.

Now, I've done my homework. I knew where he'd end up. And the news hit me then, as I made a dash for my shuttle to go catch the kid that Calrissian had turned traitor (again) and freed Organa and the Wookie. I was upset, but I suppose I should have expected that. Having absolutely no faith in my forces to bring them in, and knowing Organa & Co. would somehow wind up saving my son, because things just work that way, I opted instead to head for my Star Destroyer, to await them as they fled the planet.

And save him they did - I made contact with him aboard their ship, mind-to mind. I really reached him for a second, confused and addled and cauterized as he was, before he shut me out. Fair enough, I thought, he's had a busy day, and should take some time to rest before he's brought into custody. Their hyperdrive was deactivated, after all, I thought.

That's about the time when they went into hyperdrive.

See what I mean about that little droid?

I'm not even making assumptions. I just know. Trust me.

Having failed yet again, my officers were rightly frightened that I would take out my vexations on them.

But for the first time in ages, I found I was not vexed. Not upset in any way.

I have a powerful son who will one day join me, taking his rightful place as ruler of the galaxy. Today was simply not that day. There will be another.

It is inevitable.

I left my men alone, made my report to my master. His rebuking for losing Skywalker did not faze me in the slightest.

My son is strong in the force. For that, I am proud, and today, nothing can touch me.

A hell of a day, diary. A hell of a day.

I'm not worried about losing him. Not in the slightest.

One day soon, he will return to me.

It is his destiny.

And that was #100. Happy anniversary, Vader's Diary!

Entry 101:

As I've said, there are times when I lose faith in the entire Empire. This excerpt from a Holotext chat I've just participated in should suffice to show you why:

LordVader has joined #ImpHiCom
Welcome To Imperial High Command Holotext! There is currently no topic set.
(08:26)LordVader: I can't believe Coruscant's Holonet went down.
LordVader sets topic
Today's topic is "Deathstar II Project."
(08:26)LordVader: This is going to suck, I know it.
(08:30)LordVader: Where is everyone?
(08:31)LordVader: Oh, right. It doesn't start for a half hour yet.
LordVader sets topic
Topic is "Palpatine smells funny."
LordVader: Heh heh heh.
LordVader sets topic
Today's topic is "Deathstar II Project"
(08:35)LordVader: ...
(08:39)LordVader: Doot doot doot dooty doot dooty doot.
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(08:41)JJ: Lord Vader, sir.
(08:41) LordVader: At ease, Commander Jerjerrod.
(08:41)JJ: Thank you, sir.
(08:41)LordVader: How goes the project?
(08:41)JJ: Well, to be honest, we're only about 60 done.
(08:42)LordVader: He's going to throw a fit, you know.
(08:42)JJ: I'm sorry, sir.
(08:42)LordVader: I have no quarrel with you. Craft takes time. But just try telling the Emperor that.
(08:42)JJ: I need more men, that's the problem.
(08:42)LordVader: Don't we all?
(08:42)JJ: ...Sir?
(08:42)LordVader: j/k. Otherwise, I would have walked right into that one.
JJ chuckles
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(08:42)JJ: Hello, Admiral.
(08:43)LordVader: Hey.
(08:43)JJ: Hello.
(08:43)AdmiralPiett: Sir!
(08:43)LordVader: We're at ease, Admiral. I should probably make that known.
LordVader sets topic
Today's topic is "Deathstar II Project" - WE ARE CURRENTLY AT EASE
(08:43)AdmiralPiett: Alright then. How goes things?
(08:43)JJ: Lord Vader and I were just talking about how we need men.
(08:43)AdmiralPiett: ...bah?
(08:43)Vader: Indeed, Admiral. Big strong beefy men.
(08:43)AdmiralPiett: I...see.

(08:43)JJ: We're only kidding around, Firmus.
(08:44)AdmiralPiett: Don't call me that.
(08:44)JJ: Why not? It's your name.
(08:44)AdmiralPiett: Yes, my first name. I'd prefer my last, thank you.
(08:44)JJ: Haha. Firmus. School must have been terrible for you.
(08:44)AdmiralPiett: Shut up.
(08:44)LordVader: Children, just because we are at ease does not give us the right to be stupid.
(08:44)JJ: But I was just sa-
LordVader mutes room (-M)
(08:45)LordVader: A great man once said that the ability to speak does not make you intelligent.
LordVader de-mutes room (+M)
(08:45)AdmiralPiett: Forgiveness, sir.
(08:45)LordVader: That's okay. Just think before you speak next time.
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(08:45)V33RS: Hello.
(08:45)LordVader: Good evening, Max.
(08:45)AdmiralPiett: Veers, always a pleasure. But...should you be in here? No offense, but this is high command chat.
(08:45)LordVader: It's all right. He has my special permission. He did win the Hoth battle for us, after all. And in this day and age of oh-so-stellar command, that's saying something.
(08:46)V33RS:D
(08:46)JJ: Sir?
(08:46)LordVader: No offense, Jerjerrod, but the honest truth is that when a ragtag band of ill-equipped, ill-funded, poorly trained rebels manages to not only destroy an 'invincible' battle station, but outfight the majority of our troops, set up headquarters on multiple planets, and become a consistent thorn in the Empire's side for years, you know you need new help.
(08:48)LordVader: Oh, don't get so nervous. I won't do any choking until it's called for.
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(08:48)LordVader: Panaka? Panaka...Panaka...hmmm...
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(08:48)MoffPanaka: Yes, Lord Vader?
(08:48)LordVader: Your name is ringing a really loud bell at the back of my mind.
(08:48)MoffPanaka: I'm afraid we've never had the pleasure of meeting, sir.
(08:48)LordVader: Please, don't be so formal. Or I'll throttle you. Now, tell me...did you ever serve on Naboo?
(08:49)MoffPanaka: Why yes, sir. I was once assistant to the Queen at the time...Amidala, yes, that was it. I was captain of her Royal Guard.
(08:49)LordVader!
(08:49)MoffPanaka: Did I know you during that time?
(08:49)LordVader: Now is not the time for it, Panaka. But let's just say that you and I need to go get a drink sometime. It's on me.
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(08:49)MoffPanaka: Why, thank you!
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(08:49)LordVader: Don't mention it. I'm in dire need of some stimulating conversation.
(08:50)JJ: I understand how you feel, sir.
(08:50)LordVader: It's one of the resons I talk to myself so often in your presence, Jerjerrod.
(08:50)V33RS: Zing!
(08:50)LordVader: Just messing with you.
(08:50)JJ: All in good fun, sir.
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(08:55)Hethrir:)
(08:57)Pestage: Go away. No one likes you.
(08:57)Hethrir:(
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(08:58)LordVader: Thanks. God, I can't stand him.
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(08:58)GrandAdmiralBatch: Hello, all.
(08:58)V33RS: Welcome, sir.
(08:58)GrandAdmiralBatch: I'm not late, am I?
(08:58)AdmiralPiett: No, as a matter of fact, you're just on time.
(08:58)V33RS: Ten to one says everyone comes scuttling in RIGHT as it's supposed to start.
(08:58)AdmiralSarn: I'll see that bet, and I'll buy the drinks.
(08:58)V33RS: It's on, then.
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(08:58)AdmiralRoek: Hello, all.
(08:58)JJ: G'day.
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(08:59)LordVader: Pellaeon and Thrawn? This is a surprise, to be sure. We didn't think you'd get the memo in time, being all the way out there.
(08:59)AdmiralPellaeon: Simplicity in itself, sir.
(08:59)GrandAddyThrawn: I anticipated this meeting.
(08:59)LordVader: Fair enough.
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(08:59)LordVader: Oo
(08:59)AdmiralSarn: DAMMIT
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(09:00)V33RS: BOO-YA!
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AdmiralPellaeon is swept away in the flood of Grand Admirals
GrandAddyThrawn chuckles
(09:00)LordVader: So, Thrawn, how are the Noghri?
(09:00)GrandAddyThrawn: Well enough. My thanks for them, sir.
(09:00)LordVader: Not like I have any time to use them these days.
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AdmiralOzzel has been ejected from #ImpHiCom (You are banned from #ImpHiCom. Reason: Failing Lord Vader. Don't do it again. Ban Expiration: We'll see.)
(09:01)AdmiralPiett: WTF?
(09:01)AdmiralPellaeon: He's dead, isn't he?
(09:01)LordVader: Yes, I choked him until he died from it, I did.
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(09:01)AdmiralPiett: I honestly wouldn't be surprised if he didn't have a holonet access password, and just left it open for public use.
(09:01)V33RS: Yeah, he was like that.
(09:01)LordVader: Clumsy, stupid, AND careless. Lovely combination.
(09:01)AdmiralKrennel: I heard he was into bantha pr0n.
(09:01)AdmiralPiett: Again, I wouldn't be surprised.
(09:01)GrandAdmiralIshiin: Well, who says that was actually Ozzel?
(09:01)AdmiralReShirt: Come again?
(09:01)GrandAdmiralIshiin: Someone could have just changed their name to his account ID to try and infiltrate this briefing.
(09:01)AdmiralRoek: A rebel spy?
(09:01)GrandAdmiralTeshik: It's plausible. Easy enough to change your name on this thing. Watch.
GrandAdmiralTeshik Name-Shift: MonMothma
(09:02)MonMothma: See?
MonMothma was kicked from #ImpHiCom by LordVader (You rebel scum. :D)

09:02)AdmiralPiett: BAHAHA
(09:02)V33RS: ROFL
(09:02)GrandAddyThrawn: Heh.
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(09:02)GrandAdmiralTeshik: I should avoid tempting fate like that.
(09:02)JJ: Haha...sorry, but he got you good.
(09:03)GrandAddyThrawn: On a serious note, it really couldn't have been anyone else's account, Ishiin. Official imperial usernames are registered, and remain so even in the case of death. And besides, it was banned from the source network. Someone was on his personal station trying to get in.
(09:03)GrandAdmiralIshiin: Damn, didn't think about that.
(09:03)GrandAddyThrawn: And this is why I get promoted. :P
(09:03)GrandAdmiralTigellinus: So, Thrawn, how is life in the unknown regions, anyway?
(09:03)GrandAddyThrawn: ...
(09:03)JJ: Ouch.
(09:03)AdmiralPellaeon: No xenophobia in the channel plz.
(09:03)LordVader: At least not until the Emperor gets here.
(09:04)LordVader: That was a joke.
(09:04)LordVader: Kind of.
(09:04)GrandAdmiralTakel: Isn't he late?
(09:04)Pestage: Yes, actually. Hold on, I'll see what the hold-up is. AFK for a bit.
(09:04)AdmiralRoek: Vader has the right idea, we should at least try to keep it positive in here, regardless of our differences.
(09:04)GrandAdmiralBatch: We should do impressions.
(09:04)V33RS: Good idea. Without meaning disrespect for the dead, sir, may I do Tarkin?
(09:05)LordVader: It's indecent, but the Force knows we've all done worse. Indulge us, Max. But go back to your regular name after the changeover, those threes look silly. That goes for both Jerjerrod and Thrawn as well.
GrandAddyThrawn Name-Shift GrandAdmiralThrawn
JJ Name-Shift MoffJerjerrod
(09:05)V33RS: Very well, sir, and thank you.
V33RS Name-Shift Tarkin
(09:05)Tarkin: BUHHHHHHHHHHHH I LOOKED THIS WAY EVEN BEFORE THE DEATH STAR BLEW UP
(09:05)GrandAdmiralPitta: LOL
(09:05)JJ: Haha, he did kind of look decrepit.
(09:05)LordVader: Sick but amusing.
Tarkin Name-Shift GeneralVeers
(09:06)GeneralVeers bows
(09:06)AdmiralReshirt: Ooh, ooh! I have one!
(09:06)LordVader: Go ahead, Reshirt.
AdmiralReshirt Name-Shift Emperor
(09:06)AdmiralPellaeon: Uh-oh.
(09:06)GrandAdmiralThrawn: Not a good idea.
(09:06)LordVader: No. Change it back.
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(09:06)Emperor: BLLLLARGHHHHHHHH I LOOKED THIS WAY SINCE THE SITH WAR ERA! BRAAAINS!
(09:06)Emperor: Uh-oh
(09:08)Empror66: lord vader, if you please?
(09:08)LordVader: Yes, master.
(09:08)Empror66: my apologies, my loyal underlings, for my tardy arival.
(09:08)Empror66: arrival
(09:08)Emperor: im sorry sir
(09:08)Empror66: now, as you all well know, our agenda for tday concerns the constrction of a new deth star (09:08)above teh forest moon of endor
(09:08)Empror66: today, constuction, death, the
(09:08)Emperor: OH GOD I CAN'T BREATHE
(09:08)Empror66: i should probably mention beforehand that im not used to holokeys. it has been sometime (09:08)since i have used them.

(09:08)Emperor: I'M SORRY PLEASE SPARE ME MY LORDS
(09:08)Emperor: I BEG YOU
(09:08)Empror66: so please ignor any typos you see.
(09:09)Empror66: Ignore
(09:09)Emperor: I'M CHOKING UP BLOOD HERE COME ON PEOPLE
(09:09)Emperor: SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING
(09:09)Empror66: oh very well. ill stop talking until this is done.
(09:09)Emperor: I DON'T WANNA DIE
(09:09)Emperor: PLEASE HELP
(09:09)LordVader: Okay, done now.
(09:09)Empror66: excellent. now as we were saying
(09:09)Emperor: MMMNNNNNNNBBBBBBGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
(09:10)Empror66: what teh devil?
(09:10)Emperor: DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
(09:10)GrandAdmiralThrawn: He must have fallen onto the holokeys.
(09:10)Emperor: DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
(09:11)LordVader: Oh, for the love of-
(09:11)Emperor: DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
Emperor was kicked from #ImpHiCom by LordVader (You died).
(09:12)Empror66: Good. Gooood.
(09:12)Empror66: now then
(09:12)Empror66: the rumors are indeed true, there is a second death star being constructed in orbit around endor
(09:12)Empror66: it is understandabe that some of you may hve reservatuions about this, considering what happened to the last one
(09:12)Empror66: understandable, have reservations
(09:12)Empror66: however, rest assured that measures are being taken to ensure that no such weakness is inherent in the current models constuction
(09:12)Empror66: construction. wow i stink today
(09:12)Empror66: specifically, there will be no unshielded thermal exhaust ports (don't ask, we wordked around it
(09:13)Empror66: worked
(09:13)LordVader: I am, for the record, still convinced this is a bad idea.
(09:13)Empror66: lord vader, a word in private?
(09:13)Empror66: if you ever undermine my authority in public like that again, ill let all your hopeful usurpers know that the red knob on your chest is an 'off' switch. are we clear?
(09:14)Empror66: oops wrong channel. haha

Now entering Private Convo mode: LordVader-Empror66 Personal Message box
(09:13)Empror66: if you ever undermine my authority in public like that again, ill let all your hopeful userpers know that the red knob on your chest is an 'off' switch. are we clear?
(09:13)LordVader: Yes, my master. I apologize.

You have reactivated #ImpHiCom as primary convo channel
(9:15)AdmiralPiett: Sir...?
(9:15)Empror66: a minor detail. you're forgeting about seeing it even as we speak.
(9:15)Empror66: forgettng
(9:15)Empror66: fogrting
(9:15)Empror66: Censored by ImpHiCom
(9:15)Empror66: asfkhjalkfniunfiuahfihbuihgdyfgsdf
(9:15)Empror66: you will forget about that too

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(9:15)Empror66: now, as to the
(9:15)Emperor: DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
(9:15)Empror66: oh not again
(9:15)Emperor: DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
(9:16)MoffJerjerrod: How is this possible?
(9:16)Emperor: DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
(9:16)GrandAdmiralThrawn: Just because they've been ejected from the channel doesn't mean they're not still lying dead on the holokeys.
(9:16)Emperor: DDDDDDDDDDDDD
(9:16)AdmiralPellaeon: hold on, i'll fix it.
(9:16)Emperor: DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
Pellaeon sets mode: -V/Blacklist-Provider-0998546832
Emperor Name-Shift AdmiralReshirt
Admiral Reshirt has been permanently banned and blacklisted (Ban Expiration: None).
(9:16)Empror66: very good, admiral
(9:16)LordVader: Pellaeon. I remember your name now. If memory serves, you are in fact not an Admiral.
(9:17)AdmiralPellaeon: No, sir, I am not.
(9:17)LordVader: Your appearance here is a breach of security, then.
(9:17)AdmiralPellaeon: It is, my lord.
(9:17)GrandAdmiralThrawn: He is here at my behest, sirs. I have observed his service record, and believe he will have a place here with us in the future.
(9:17)GrandAdmiralThrawn: I merely wished to accommodate him with the higher echelons of command. I supplied him with access codes to this meeting, and forged his ID code. But as you have seen, he shows commendable initiative and skill.
(9:18)GrandAdmiralThrawn: I will accept all blame and consequences for these actions.
(9:18)LordVader: Is this true..."Admiral"?
(9:18)AdmiralPellaeon: Yes, my lord.
(9:18)Empror66: you both take foolish and unecessary risks
(9:18)LordVader: Shall I dispense with them, master?
(9:18)Empror66: there is no need. duplicity can be a virtue in itself, and furthermore, this Pellaeon will indeed bring the empire to a success of some sort. I have forseen it.
(9:18)Empror66: you may stay for the duration of this meeting, impostor.
(9:18)AdmiralPellaeon: Thank you, my lord.
(9:18)GrandAdmiralThrawn: Am I to be punished, my lord?
(9:18)Empror66: for this occasion, no. but solely becase you have shown remarkabe intellignce and foresight in the past. i will permist this, but perform no such act again
(9:19)Empror66: as well, i have not forgotten your heritage, thrawn. be mindful of that.
(9:19)GrandAdmiralThrawn: Yes, my lord. All apologies.
(9:19)LordVader: If we are finished with this distraction...?
(9:19)Empror 66: lord vader is correct. as to the station, it will be armd and operational before the exerior shell is compete
(9:19) armed, exterior, complete
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AdmiralHackbar: Guess what
Empror66: eh?
AdmiralHackbar: IT'S A TRAP
AdmiralHackbar sets mode -F;shattercmd
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(9:19)GeneralVeers: wtf
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(9:20)AdmiralPellaeon: HOLOSPLIT

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(9:20)AdmiralPiett: Intensify firewall security!
(9:20)MoffJerjerrod: Too late!
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(9:21)GrandAdmiralThrawn: pwnd
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(9:21)LordVader: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
LordVader has been ejected from #ImpHiCom

...and so there you have it. We were unable to re-establish communication for four standard hours, and by that time the Emperor had gone off to the infirmary to get his medicine, so we called the whole thing off. My Admirals are petty, disrespectful squabblers with a penchant for numerical screen names, my Grand Admirals are either mute or treacherous, my security team on Imperial Center can't prevent rebel slicers from infiltrating our supposedly secure private meetings, and my master cannot spell.

Is it any wonder I have this urge to activate a lightsaber in my mouth?

I miss the old days. Going to call up Panaka now, go get that drink.

Entry 102:

I have spent some time in thought about this, and I have realized what my master truly is.

He's not an all-knowing, all-powerful Sith lord.

He's not a wise and benevolent master.

He's not even a universal dictator.

He's a magic fortune-telling ball. You know, those little ones that younglings buy for, what, eighteen wupiwupi at the hobbies store? You ask it a question, shake it, and it give you one of several possible responses. Here, I'll show you where I'm going with this:

"Everything is proceeding as exactly as I have foreseen it."

"Search your feelings."

"The future is clouded, and difficult to sense at the moment."

"The answers will come in time."

Any day now, I'm expecting a "Clear your thoughts, lord Vader, and ask again."

If we're going to have an expressionless, automated, cryptic object sitting atop the Imperial throne, it might as well be my own helmet. At least I've got soul.

Entry 103:

After months of vigorous searching, and having no leads as to his whereabouts since he eluded us on Bespin, we finally caught up to him.

We located the rebel base in which he was hiding, and tore it apart.

He fled, but to no avail. We chased his X-wing for what seemed like hours, and I was fortunate enough to disable his hyperdrive engine. The Executor was on the scene, and we brought him into our docking bay.

Kicking and screaming, we brought him to an interrogation room.

Days passed. Weeks.

Finally, he cracked, and told us what we needed to know.

After verifying his information, we acquired that which I need in order to dominate the galaxy.

We dispatched him through the airlock.

And now I have it. It makes me powerful. It gives me focus.

Along with this cup of Jawa juice, I am now enjoying the first truly good batch of Chilly Chadra-Fan Berry Ice Cream I have had in years.

Entry 104:

Maybe my master isn't all he could be in the sanity department these days. Maybe he did manipulate his way into the higher echelons of government, and maybe he did mastermind a war. His tactics may have been questionable, but it was all for the good of the galaxy. That's why I pay the naysayers no mind. People will say things.

But these rumors going around, that he's collected my son's hand and is keeping it as a memento?

No. I don't buy that. That's just weird.

Entry 105:

All this talking about sons and fathers gave me thought: Where was my dad? I never knew him. My mother always said she raised me alone. Growing up, I began to accept that I was something of a miracle, I was born to be the chosen one, by will of the force.

But I've begun thinking lately that there's a scientific explanation for everything. I remembered something my master once said, that his master could "create life". I began to get curious. So I did some research, checked captured jedi archives, sith holocrons, and found nothing.

Finally, I questioned the old man. He seemed rather edgy, and said "the midi-chlorians did it", before running off to get his sponge bath.

Does no one want to talk about this issue or what?

Entry 106:

I've lost my wallet.

Stop laughing. This isn't funny.

I have absolutely no idea as to where it could currently be located.

I've retraced my steps, and the last time I can recall having it was on the elevator leading up to the bridge about two days ago.

It's got my code clearance ID, my personal ID, my command ID, pilot's license, some old photos of Padme and I goofing around in a holo-snapshot booth (I always loved the one where she's sticking out her tongue - so adorable), the Emperor's personal contact number, and, most worrying, my credit card.

This is what you get when there are no storage compartments in your mechanical legs, and you try to sew pockets into your cape instead. I never was good at sewing things. Only fixing them.

Entry 107:

I'm getting real sick and tired of Xizor being smug around me. Offering me ships at the price I name...it's just slimy. He could at least try to argue or haggle over price, pretend to openly hate my guts. I don't know what he's got against me, but I'm going to find out.

I actually am somewhat relieved I don't have to take too much out of my personal stash. Still, I'm uneasy. Going to go to the bank tomorrow, have my card listed as missing.

Entry 108:

In a prefect galaxy, the only public servants are sentients.

That way, nobody has to put up with stupid droids sticking to routine, arguing with you and denying you access to your own account due to lack of identification.

I'm Darth Vader. It's what people know me for being. I think those two words say enough. But for the especially dense, the black suit, helmet, mask, cape, and LIGHTSABER usually give it away.

But none of that matters to surly droid programming. The bottom line was, if you do not present two pieces of identification, you're up a lava creek without your arms or legs.

ID? All gone. Birth certificate? Burned, so as to hide my former life from prying eyes.

Even after removing his limbs, bit by bit, the blasted droid still wouldn't let me alter my account.

I had a long talk with records and personnel, who, I am pleased to say, showed a little more respect, and replacements for my ID are on the way. But that will take some time. I just hope no one's actually found the wallet.

Blasted droids. Well, at least I now have a new paperweight.

Entry 109:

Xizor has very kindly informed us of the whereabouts of a rebel base.

And the Emperor has very kindly dispatched me to oversee its destruction personally.

I'm so happy, I could vomit through my breathscreen.

I don't have time for this.

Entry 110:

As if I didn't have enough to deal with, what with Xizor and these blasted meetings, now the matter of money comes up just as I've lost access to it.

Some bounty hunters have captured Skywalker. We were more than happy to make their asking price, except there's another party bidding who wants him dead.

Luckily, we've tracked them. The surface reason is that we're the Empire, and you don't haggle with us.

The real reason is that I can't afford what the price has been driven up to now.

Entry 111:

My credit card bill arrived this morning. Among those things which I have apparently purchased this month - and the list is long - are:

A) An XP-5 landspeeder
B) "Personal female Twi'lek services"
C) A J-237 Nubian (Not bad)
D) A small moon
E) Pants

There's a thirteen-digit figure attached to that card. It could buy Imperial Center, and then some. I'm not worried about cost, it's the inconvenience of the thing that annoys me.

Entry 112:

The Emperor wants to know why people are calling him up at five in the morning and asking if his cryo-storage unit is running.

Entry 113:

Something strange has been happening to me.

I didn't kill that rebel pilot (even though he was spinning, and I was impressed).

I didn't kill that bounty hunter for allowing Luke to escape (although I suppose I am proud of him).

I didn't kill the bank manager for having such a stubborn droid.

Dare I say it?

I'm not the Sith I should be...

Entry 114:

As a child, it was my fondest dream to journey to every planet, every star system that the galaxy has to offer. I know now that I will never see them all, but I have immersed myself in such research, and been to so many places, that I think I now feel safe in saying this:

I've been around, but I have never seen, another who looks like a puppet, and is wrinkled and green.

I've always wondered what species he was, and I suspect I will never know.

Entry 115:

I feel an end is drawing near. Closer, by the day.

That might be due to what I witnessed today from a private location wherein I met a most interesting man, with most interesting intel on prince Xizor. There's a lot to review before I make any moves, but it's irrelevant now. I'm still rather shook up by what I saw.

I clearly read "Episode VI: Return Of The Jedi."

Big. Blasted. Yellow. Text.

AGAIN.

Right out there in space, for everyone to see.

And strangely, no one on the street was looking up. Not a soul. Not a word about it on the holos, either.

I don't know if I'm seeing things. Maybe the Force is playing games with me.

Maybe my optic sensors need some serious re-tuning.

Maybe I'm having a midlife crisis. I am pushing fifty.

Either way, the prospect of the Jedi returning has been enough to get me anxious. I'm wired out of my helmet on my sixth cup of coffee tonight. I won't deny it. I'm scared.

My hand's shaking now. Whether from fear, the coffee, or that my elbow has been acting up again, I don't know. Probably all of them.

And when I'm scared, I get angry. And when I get angry, I get hateful. And when I get hateful, you end up in intensive care.

But you knew that already, right?

Entry 116:

How do you even pronounce Xizor properly, anyway? I'm not sure I'm doing it right. Maybe that's why he's so angry at me. I've been going with "Shee-zor". There's Zye-zor, there's Zee-zor...

I need to pay more attention to the world around me. That's the problem when everything you hear is filtered into your ears electronically. You never know if you hear things wrong. It's why I like writing here so much.

Got to head off. Meeting with Jar-jarrod.

Isn't that weird? His name is spelled with an E, but it's pronounced like...

Whoops.

Entry 117:

Okay, that tears it. I'm seeing things again, I'm hearing things wrong, I have a credit card bill the size of a Carrack-class cruiser, and I haven't slept in three days.

And now I find out Xizor's after my son.

I don't care if I killed his entire family on some ill-fated, contrived, senseless experiment years back. It was an accident, for goodness' sake! I didn't even pull the trigger, I just headed the operation.

They told me that something went wrong, and that they'd fix it. It's not my fault.

Who the hell is petty enough to harbor a decade-long grudge?

I'm fed up of him. Whether he's got the Emperor's ear, interest, attention, or hand in horrible, horrible marriage, it's personal now. He's going to answer for his actions.

Tonight I dine on Falleen soup.

Entry 118:

In the chaos surrounding our attack on Xizor's skyhook, my son and his friends eluded me again. But I'll get them next time.

It's kind of depressing, this game of felinx and chadra-fan. Makes me feel almost guilty, like some sort of villain, chasing people around the galaxy.

You ever feel like your whole life is some badly-conceived, overly-complicated, multi-chaptered dramatic space opera? I get that way sometimes.

Entry 119:

And so it goes. After reviewing progress reports from JerJerrod (or Jar-Jar, as I've taken to calling him - it was certainly a mistake at first, but now it's just plain funny the more I think about it - too bad no one gets it but me) on the second Death Star, we have determined that they're a full month behind schedule. The Emperor and I were originally going to come together and suggest quicker methods of construction (read: intimidate the whole crew into going without sleep). However, he's thrown his back out again, and it will be a week or so before he can get here.

I'm in my shuttle at the moment, and we're coming up on it now.

Why did it have to be here? It's almost as if he does it to torment me.

Well, time to settle in for yet another two consecutive weeks of nightmares about cannibalistic bears made from sand.

Yes, I have a way of anticipating the worst.

Entry 120:

It's a good thing this suit can be made airtight at the push of a button. Following my walking through a door into the vaccuum of deep space, and floating around outside the mess hall windows for a bit, I've had a bit of a chat with Developmental Security, which has resulted in some Developmental Security-shaped indentations in the walls. Let that be a lesson; safety matters.

Entry 121:

Five security heads fell down reactor shafts today. Coincidentally, the same thing almost happened to me three days ago. I swear, this place is unsafe.

Entry 122:

It might have been the conversation I had with Jar-Jar, or my complaints with Dev. Sec, but I'm noticing a marked improvement in efficiency among the workers here, and I feel a lot more secure. There have only been five elevator-related fatalities this week, as opposed to last week's seventeen. That's saying a bit. I just wish we could keep production costs down - for some reason we're spending sixty thousand credits extra this month on personnel.

Entry 123:

The Emperor arrived this afternoon. As per usual, he was a walking mass of predictability. Of course I want to "continue my search for Skywalker", he's my long lost son, you doddering old fool...

What's that you say? Bring him before you? Wow, I never thought you'd say that! It's not like I ever expected you to allow me to turn him on my own, or anything!

You know, in some ways...actually, in many ways...I'm ahead of my master. I'm sure I could turn my son just as well as he could. Even better! And I will. You watch and see.

I may be having a crisis of faith, but I'm still strong enough with the dark side to turn an impressionable mind to do my bidding.

And if that goes off-kilter, I'll slaughter some children. That'll get me back in black in no time.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. So, he was shown to his quarters, and as usual, completely forgot to give me orders. I'll presume that means I'm off duty for now. And if I'm not, then I'll put up notice that I'm taking the day off. I'll check in with him tomorrow.

Nothing much else to note, except that the stormtroopers at the welcoming ceremony were looking even more orderly than usual. I honestly thought they were cardboard cut-outs, for a second there.

Entry 124:

I really shouldn't gloat. You always pay a price for it in the end.

But today, it was worth it. As the station rotated to the left, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. Magnifying vision, I knew I was not mistaken. I handed my master a pair of binoculars, pointed, and watched as he mouthed the words "clutches...gangster...hutt."

After a moment or so spent in silence, he sent me to fetch his laundry, without another word.

WHO'S CRAZY NOW, YOU SENILE OLD WIZARD?

Entry 125:

Wow. I really shouldn't have proved him wrong like that. Now not only am I not permitted by his side as he "meditates over the stars and eternity" (read: sleeps in a comfy chair), but he's so irritated he's willing to ignore any pressing concerns - like the need for combat drills, and just send all the ships to Endor's far side right away. I know we've got a good trap set in place here, but we could at least rehearse our parts a little - never hurts to be ready for the real thing.

I mean, they could be there for days. We don't know WHEN they're attacking. We just know they are.

His lack of concern for anything other than his own plans is irritating me.

Also, he pretty much booted me off the Death Star, to wait on board Executor (if I was a child, I'm sure it would be without any supper). Talk about bitter.

Fine by me. If he wants to lurk on board that death trap with only his funny-hatted advisers, I've no quarrel. I'm that much farther away from the green moon of furry horrors.

Entry 126:

The "Death Trap". I like it. That's what I'm calling it from now on.

Entry 127:

Shock today. I was on board the Executor's bridge, trying to look for anything interesting outside to help pass away the time, when I noticed a shuttle kind of wavering about. I was convinced that the pilot was either a fool or inebriated, as he was doing a very poor job of trying to not look like he was keeping his distance, while at the same time endeavoring to fly casually. So I got curious, and asked what was going on.

Truth be told, I was pretty damn sure someone had found my wallet, and had come to give it back. I sensed a great amount of fear and hesitation on board the ship. I know I kind of have that effect on people, so I looked a little closer and holy crap, it's my son.

And there I am thinking, "Wow, my son found my wallet, what are the chances," and then I realize I'm being stupid, and the Rebels are attempting to sabotage the construction effort, or destroy it, like the old man said.

Well, after going through so much trouble, I could hardly spoil their little surprise so soon in the game, so I let them through.

But I'm not sure what to do now. Do I just head down and wipe them out, or does he have something else in mind?

I'd better go ask. He'll be upset that I left Executor, but to hell with it. Have to make sure that "everything goes as he foresees it".

My god, over twenty years now.

I'm so sick of hearing that line.

Entry 128:

Well, here I am. Heading down to meet my son again. I'm on board my personal shuttle now, sent here on behest of the Emperor, because Luke will apparently come to me, so that I may bring him before him. Not to catch up on life or anything. No, not to spend some quality time with my boy. So that I may bring him before HIM.

I swear. Maul apparently wanted to kill all the Jedi himself. Dooku wanted to separate from the republic and start again with himself in command.

I'm not even starting on all the things Palpatine wants.

If I didn't know better, I'd say we Sith really do have possession issues. Entry 129:

I just had a 'moment' with my son, and now I've got a very strange feeling in the pit of my stomach.

And I'm pretty sure that, for once, it isn't due in any way to the mashed cabbage and blue milk I had for dinner.

No, I'm pretty sure this is guilt.

That's not good. Darth Vader does not feel guilt. Anakin Skywalker feels guilt. And if Anakin Skywalker feels, that means that Anakin Skywalker is still alive. Not truly dead, like the boy said.

This is cause for concern.

I will not allow such thoughts to trouble me. For now, the matters at hand.

The boy has changed since the last time we met. His will is stronger, his link to the force is stronger as well, and his fashion sense is much improved.

He addressed me as "Father", instead of "NOOOOOOOOOOO, NOOOOOOOOOO", which kind of made me feel good about myself. I gloated over it a bit, and then he went and said some things that made me uncomfortable, about me being filled with sucrose and spice, everything nice, so on, so forth. I meant to say that I'd impale him through the head with his own lightsaber if he called me Anakin again, but it came out as "That name no longer has any meaning for me."

Sometimes, I'm such a wuss.

He pressed on, and I couldn't bring myself to talk about it. Instead, I just did as I always do. Toy with machines when I feel weird. He made a nice saber.

Then I said some things without really meaning to. That I MUST obey my master. And that got me thinking. "Why?"

And then I got all confused. The rest was kind of a blur, they took him away, leaving me uncertain as to who I really am.

Am I Darth Vader, or Anakin Skywaker?

Well, whoever I am, I know for one thing certain; I feel jealousy.

The kid builds one hell of a lightsaber. His skills will be put to great use for the glory of the Sith.

And I'm kind of tired of my own saber. Perhaps if I hint at it, I will receive a really good father's day present.

Entry 130:

Going back up now, and he is in the brig. Let's recap.

Anakin Skywalker is proud that this son is so caring.

Darth Vader is proud that his son is strong.

Anakin Skywalker loves his son.

Darth Vader loves his son's power.

Anakin Skywalker had legs and arms.

Darth Vader has low-quality metal rods for appendages.

Anakin Skywalker could eat hard foods easily, and breathe without alerting whole star systems to his presence.

Darth Vader can't.

Anakin Skywalker had a handsome face that took in all of life with a wink and a smile.

Darth Vader has a face like a ventilation grille.

Anakin Skywalker had few material possessions.

Darth Vader has entire systems under his power.

Anakin Skywalker had a podracer.

Darth Vader has a Tie Interceptor.

Anakin Skywalker was friends with a moronic Gungan, a Jedi Master who lied to him, and a treacherous wife.

Darth Vader has no friends. Only a magic crystal ball that speaks in cliches and walks like a man.

Anakin Skywalker feels love for his son, flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood.

Darth Vader feels hate for his emperor, his guide and mentor for as long as he can remember.

Anakin Skywalker wants to live with his son, to teach him the old ways of the Jedi.

Darth Vader wants to rule the Galaxy with his son, with an iron fist.

Anakin Skywalker feels love.

Darth Vader feels alone.

This class is hard.

Entry 133:

Testing.

This is a test.

Okay, this works. Not sure I can keep this up for very long, but I'll go with the flow.

The flow of the force, as it is.

See, thing is, I'm dead now.

Didn't see that one coming, did you?

Neither did I. The force is strange like that.

So, if I'm dead, why am I writing this? Well, simple, actually. Three reasons; first, a test to see whether I can interact with the living world. Seems I can, but I don't know how long I can keep it up. Second, a confession.

I've been such a jerk for the last twenty years, it isn't funny.

And it took my own son nearly being killed to make me really realize that.

It never rains, but it pours, hm?

This is what happened: I brought Luke to Palpatine, who immediately set about creeping the heck out of the poor boy. I have to hand it to my son, he stood his ground for awhile. Really did, even when the old man turned around and turned all his arguments back on him ("Oh snap", I thought, when he told him his faith in his friends was his weakness).

I hid what I was thinking, but Luke...he was just too good. He read me like a book, saw plainly that Palpatine was even weirding me out, and even outright disturbing me.

Come on. When your old friend pats an arguably phallic symbol and says "You want this, don't you?" It's time to reconsider who you're fighting for. I mean, honestly. UGH.

To top that off, it wasn't enough he had to be all weird. He just got...arrogant. Condescending, more so than he usually is. In an impressive display of expositionary dialogue, he proceeded to explain the entire trap to Luke. Which of course put him on edge, making him all angry and so forth.

And I started thinking, "He knows I'll protect him if Luke attacks. Wait...no. He's depending on it." I gave some serious thought to just standing by and letting nature take its course, but by that time the saber was already coming up, and I reacted on instinct.

Understand: By this time, I'd become sick of the old man lording it over on me, and knowing - just KNOWING I'd still come crawling back - even after all the times he'd predicted I'd overthrow him, way back. That bothered me to a great extent - sure, I was his apprentice, but I didn't consider myself to be his property (although he did technically own the rights to my life support system, but that's nether here nor there).

So it really upset me that I had just saved his life without thinking about it. What was I, a dog? Or worse...a slave?

I'd been there before. Serving under a greedy Toydarian with fetid body odor and a penchant for gambling is one thing, and humiliating enough. Serving under a greedy, crazed dictator with worse body odor and a penchant for megalomania is just insult to injury.

I stopped thinking about it though, and the Sithy part of my brain just assumed that the Emperor was right, as always, and that only together could we turn him to the dark side. Aside from that, my son was in fact at the moment trying to hack my arm off, so I focused on that instead.

I paid the price for my wandering thoughts with a boot to the face, which sent me down a flight of stairs. Spun and slowed my fall a bit with the force, though.

Ah, spinning. Is there anything you can't do?

Anyway, I had found myself in a most precarious situation, so I used the time-honored tradition of banter in order to distract the boy. I looked up at him, and said,

"Obi-wan has taught you well."

Inside I'm thinking,

"Crap. High ground."

He turned off his saber, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I was lucky. He told me he didn't want to fight. "Fair enough, that's his mistake", I thought, and I was amazed when I was halfway up the stairs and he hadn't turned the thing back on. I resolved to teach him a lesson (Jedi or Sith, when someone's WALKING MENACINGLY TOWARD YOU WITH A LIT SABER, you don't let your guard down. Common sense).

So we went at it some more, and I wouldn't admit it, but his refusal to fight me was stirring up conflict. A very private matter, which he HAD to bring up into the open. This bugged me.

Probably why I tossed the saber at him, I think.

And of course, that set the old man off, cackling like a hyena.

I tried to tune him out by focusing upon my son's thoughts, figuring what was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander.

And oh, what I found there.

As I think about it now, I'm amazed by my own thoughts at the time. You'd think I'd say "my goodness gracious...I have a daughter, too?" or "I am so proud", or something similar.

Nope.

Here I am thinking "In your face, old master."

So then of course, I got all typical and decided she'd make a fine replacement, because my son was a goody two-shoes. And while I'm sitting there gloating about how Obi-Wan has basically failed at life, my son is rushing toward me intent on murder.
There's no denying what happened afterward. The kid beat me like a red-snouted Rodian stepchild. I had no chance to attack, barely any time to defend.

To top it off, I was distracted because I heard this weird chorus singing, and I thought the Death Star's PA system had been activated and someone was playing music.

I had also just made the connection between Padme and Leia, and I was thinking how funny it was that they looked so alike, and that history really did repeat itself.

Then I got my hand chopped off for like the umpteenth time, and if it hadn't been so agonizingly painful I would have bust a gut laughing.

And then Palpatine comes along and basically tells him to off me.

"Only together can we turn him," my ass.

The old liar was using me, I realized. Had been using me for a long time.

And he refused to kill me. He tossed away his saber and proclaimed himself a Jedi, like his father before him.

His father. Me. A Jedi.

What I used to be.

I started thinking about the old times. How happy I was.

And how I'd had absolutely no problem with the Jedi until Palpatine turned me against them.

And I realized that I had been wrong. It wasn't Padme who had changed, or Obi-Wan. It was me. I got greedy.

That in trying to control everything around me, I really did become what I swore to destroy.

All this time, I'm crawling to my master's side like a dog. Again.

I realized I had no mind of my own, and that Palpatine had been playing me like an omni-box for decades.

And he's standing there, and frying my son with lightning, nothing but avarice and hate in his eyes, and I remembered a time just like that, with the lightning, and through the course of my own actions, I had caused a man to be killed.

All because of what I wanted.

But what did I ever really want? A family. Friends.

I look to my son, pleading for his life.

Family.

I look to my Master, who I understand now turned me against everyone I held so dear.

So you see, from my point of view, the Sith are evil.

The funny thing was, I took no pleasure in it. I didn't even smile as I tossed him down the reactor shaft.

I just knew it was what I had to do.

For my son.

I took a little breather, and realized that most of my suit had stopped working.

Didn't matter. I had my son, and for once, he had me.

I wanted to talk, to tell him everything, but there wasn't time, he said, and we had to get away. I reached through the force, and he was right, the place was going to blow.

So we hobbled down to the nearest docking bay, and I was feeling pretty sleepy. For a split second, I chided myself, thinking that this wasn't the time, and then I remembered that it was a bit more serious than that.

I felt it wasn't necessary for him to really carry me any further, because let's face it, I weighed quite a bit, and I didn't want to slow him down.

I asked him a favor, and he did it.

I had forgotten how nice a cool breeze can feel against your face sometimes. How nice things smell.

How lovely colors were, too. Reflecting on it now, I was right.

A green color scheme would have looked nice.

But there wasn't time. Luke was right too, I told him, about something more important.

Me. Who I really was inside.

I nodded off just then.

And now, here I am.

Instinct told me to leave this diary behind, on Endor. The force will lead you to it (it does things like that when you say it does).

The third reason I write this is so that you can know, my son. My daughter. Know your father, if you ever wish to. This has been my life, for the past twenty years. Learn from this diary. Learn from my mistakes. Never choose the dark side. Trust in the force, and each other. Live well, live constructively. Take up podracing, or something. Have fun.

Don't concern yourself with the trivialities of life. Don't look for answers to everything. Giant yellow text is just another of life's great mysteries.

Don't lose your lightsabers. They're your life. Train the next generation of Jedi, and tell them that, too.

When in doubt, know that Artoo can probably fix it.

Take care of Threepio for me.

Remember I will always be with you. And so will the force.

It calls to me, now, in the forms of Obi-Wan and Master Yoda. I go now to be one with it, and them.

And to find out exactly why I have a middle-aged body and a twenty-five year-old head.

Don't ask. I don't even know, myself.

Yours Truly,

Anakin Skywalker.