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It was the third anniversary of the destruction of the Death Star. Jubilations could be heard all throughout the temporary base as Rebels allowed themselves to briefly forget about the stress of battle and lives spent on the run and instead remember the blow they had struck against the Empire three years before.
Some of the higher-ranking members of the Rebel Alliance had gathered together to celebrate in a more restrained fashion, but as Leia Organa listened to Admiral Ackbar reminisce, she could not help but notice that two men she greatly admired were missing.
The first was imprisoned in a block of carbonite on a ship belonging to a renowned bounty hunter, and she did not even know if he would still be alive once he was released from his hibernation. The second man, despite the fact that he should have been the guest of honor at any event celebrating the Death Star’s destruction, had returned to his home-planet for reasons she could not understand.
What Leia did not know was that even Luke did not fully understand his reasons for returning to Tatooine at first. But as he stood over the graves of his erstwhile guardians, he suddenly realized the reason for his temporary separation with the Rebel Alliance.
When it came to the Death Star, he had nothing to celebrate.
Because of the misfortune of buying a droid carrying plans to the moon-sized space station, his aunt and uncle had been killed. Even his mentor, Ben Kenobi, had died because of that accursed Death Star, having been slain after releasing the Millennium Falcon from the hold of the space station’s tractor beam.
Remembering the Death Star’s destruction just brought Luke more pain. Knowing what he did about the space station’s capability, he did not regret having shot off the proton torpedoes that had caused it to explode, but neither did he want to relive the experience. In the moment, he had not thought about how many people had died in the explosion. But now, he was older and wiser, and everything weighed more heavily upon his conscience.
Luke could have stayed with Leia and the other Rebels at the base, but Leia was still suffering over the abduction of Han, and he—somewhat selfishly—did not feel like facing that sorrow in addition to his own at the moment. He had left behind Leia, Chewie, Lando, and the droids and brought a one-man ship to Tatooine so he could complete his lightsaber and mourn the dead in solitude, as they should have been mourned long ago.
Sometimes, in his darkest moments, Luke wanted to join his aunt and uncle. They had no more problems.
But even while they were alive, they had not let pressures from the outside galaxy concern them. They were always satisfied with what they had. Luke had been the one constantly yearning to be anywhere but Tatooine.
And what had Luke Skywalker found after leaving his home-planet? Darth Vader, a man who claimed to be his father, a man on the opposite side of what Luke fought for.
And he hated him.
Hated that dark mask, hated that black suit, hated every aspect of him. Luke was nothing like him.
But he was the only family Luke had.
Closing his eyes, he knelt on his knees, hands grasping at the coarse sand as if seeking some trace of life in it. No, he could not hate Darth Vader. He wanted to, wanted his own passionate animosity to rival that which Leia harbored . . . . But he could not do it.
He could never hate his father.
Squeezing his eyes more tightly together, he murmured in desperation to the sand, “I only wish there was some way I could find out if there really is good in him.”
A lesson to be learned by all is to never make wishes without careful specification. Regret can often follow such an action, and it certainly followed the wish that Luke made.
When he finally opened his eyes, he discovered that no longer did sand rest beneath his feet, but durasteel, and no longer did a desert loom around him, but an enormous hall of a size that seemed to rival a hangar bay’s.
Luke gasped, “What in the—”
—or at least he tried to. The noise that came out of his mouth did not sound even vaguely similar.
He gazed around in shock, and a horrific thud, thud, thud reverberated in his ears. A giant boot soon came into view, and as Luke’s mouth gaped open, he raised his head higher and higher and higher and saw an enormous mask that had brought fear into more than one of his dreams.
Darth Vader was in a foul mood. It was the third anniversary of the destruction of the Death Star. Such a matter meant little to him—he had always thought that using such a vast amount of resources for a planet-destroying space station was a foolish plan—but Palpatine had been in a foul mood recently due to the slow progress that was being made with the still unfinished second Death Star, and that foul mood had only been amplified due to the fact that it was the day that marked the anniversary of the first, now-obliterated, Death Star.
Vader had just finished speaking with the Emperor and was returning to his quarters to relieve some of his frustration in the attached training room, figuring that chopping off a few robotic limbs by battling against some droids with his lightsaber might serve to improve his mood.
For anyone to be standing in front of the door to the Dark Lord’s quarters was quite unusual, but even more unusual was the sight before him.
A horrified tawny cat sat clenching with strained paws at the floor, looking like a womp-rat in the headlights.
Now, Vader had not seen an unsupervised animal in such a situation in quite some time, and as he pondered how in space a feline had boarded his Super Star Destroyer, his steps slowed.
The surprised cat finally let loose a pathetic sound: “Mewl.”
When Vader was younger, he had felt an affinity toward animals, probably because on Tatooine he had never been able to keep a pet. As a young man, however, he had found the idea distasteful after seeing some of the hideous beasts the galaxy had to offer. He was about to retreat and request that a Stormtrooper remove the frightened creature when he noticed its blue eyes locked upon him, looking much more humanlike than catlike.
Frowning beneath his helmet, Vader opened the door to his quarters experimentally. The cat looked to him, as if for reassurance, and then entered.
Curious.
Further down the hall, an aide slowed and frowned. Biting his lip, he turned back from whence he came.
Luke thought his mind was about to explode as the realization of what had happened to him sank in. His paws, which were about the color of his hair in his human body, clutched at the floor, as if he would float away once he relaxed them.
In his human body? What was he thinking?
This had to be a dream. Those could not be real whiskers in front of his face, and Darth Vader could not have just opened that door for him, a cat, to come inside.
He glanced behind himself as he moved to enter what he assumed were Vader’s quarters—and instantly wished he had not. An upright tail swished behind him like a snake, taunting him for his current situation.
His brain went into overdrive.
He was not a cat. He was not a cat.
. . . Did he just smell tuna?
No, no! He was not a cat. He was not a cat.
Darth Vader stared at the cat.
The cat stared at him.
Feeling ridiculous, the Sith Lord finally inquired, “What is it that you want?”
The cat meowed, big blue eyes staring at him and blinking. He recognized those eyes—for some reason, he was certain of that—but he could not quite put his finger on why he felt that way.
Vader finally went over to the food dispenser, returning with a plate of Burra fish that he levitated down to sit in front of the feline. “If that is all you want, I suggest you eat and then leave.”
The animal looked down at the fish, up at Vader, and back down at its prospective meal. Then the feline promptly sat on its haunches and meowed.
Vader sat in a chair nearby that he rarely used, mystified by his own actions. Why was he not simply throwing the beast out?
Seeming to think for a second, the cat hopped into his lap and then up onto the table next to him. It stared down at the food on the floor with what looked like a feline frown, finally holding up a tawny paw and slicing it through the air multiple times.
“You want me to cut it for you?” the Sith Lord asked incredulously.
He could have sworn the cat nodded.
Cursing inwardly, Vader began to stand, but he quickly sat back down. It was inconceivable. This cat could not understand him.
But Luke understood Vader’s speech very well, and he understood his own position even more.
So, Father has a soft spot for animals, huh? he thought wickedly. Let’s see how far he’ll let this go.
Luke began growling deep in his throat as he stared at Darth Vader, who looked more flustered than should be possible for a Sith Lord in intimidating dark armor.
Tilting his helmet at the cat angrily, Vader finally acceded to his new companion’s wishes, slicing up the fish. “Does that please you, you flea-infested beast?”
The feline began growling louder until finally Vader hissed, “I do not have to put up with this insolence!”
The tawny fur on the cat’s back began to rise.
“Very well,” Vader said. “You do not have fleas.”
A warning growl.
“You are not a beast either.”
A low purr finally issued from the more satisfied feline, which hopped down and began daintily scooping up the slices of fish in a small paw and placing them in an awaiting mouth.
Staring at the communications unit and wondering why he had not already called in someone to rid him of this pest, Vader finally inquired, “Are you male or female?”
The cat stared at the Sith Lord as if the fact that Vader even had to ask disgusted it.
“Seeing as you cannot talk, it appears I will have to find out on my own.”
Blue eyes widened as the feline tried in vain to scurry away, but the Force lifted the cat easily up and toward Vader.
The Sith Lord grabbed the cat by both sides and attempted to check the animal’s more private areas when a shriek caused him to pause, and a massive spitting hairball began shredding his gloves and scratching at anything in sight.
Cursing in Huttese, Vader dropped the foul creature, which ran over to a corner, hunching down and glaring laser bolts.
“Male, then. You may continue eating.”
The feline looked at him suspiciously, tawny hair still sticking straight up in the air, but finally he stalked over to the food bowl, keeping an eye on his erstwhile assailant.
Vader was about to leave the cat behind to engage in a duel that had been delayed for far too long when he paused. “Are you thirsty?”
Another one of those suspicious-looking nods.
Resisting the urge to sigh, Vader went to fetch a bowl of water.
“Uh, sir?”
“Didn’t I send you out with those datacards?” Grand Moff Zhiemm growled, spittle dripping from his swollen lips.
“Yes, sir, you did,” the black-haired aide, Souven, said quickly, “but I have some knowledge you might consider to be of use.”
“Irrelevant! Nothing you know is of any use to me!”
Souven continued anyway. “Sir, it concerns Darth Vader.”
“Oh?” the heavy-set Grand Moff’s interest was piqued. “Go on.”
“Well, I was walking through the halls with the datacards—”
“Irrelevant!” Zhiemm interrupted. “To the point!”
“I saw Darth Vader, sir . . . letting a cat into his room,” Souven was almost whispering.
“Doing what, do you say?”
“A cat . . . he let it inside his room.”
The Grand Moff looked suspicious, “Are you sure you saw what you saw?”
“More sure than sure can be.”
“Would you stake your life on it? I don’t hold with other’s treachery.”
“I swear to it.”
“We shall see.”
Vader kept trying to pass into an adjoined room, but Luke had prevented him from doing so several times. He felt confident now that Vader, despite being the dark scourge of the galaxy, would not hurt him in his catlike form. Yes, no kitty paws would be chopped off this time—err, no hands—and he was ready to wreak a little mischief.
As the Sith Lord turned once more, Luke hopped up onto the table, standing beside the datapad resting upon it. With a slight movement of one tawny paw, he shoved it off the table. Then he jumped off the table and sent the datapad flying under the nearby chair with one hard swipe. He would be amused to see Darth Vader lean down to pick that up.
Luke was disappointed, however, when Vader used the Force to call the datapad to him.
Drats. He had forgotten about the Force for a moment.
He scanned the room, and his eyes soon landed on a black globe of sorts. It seemed to be a droid that had been shut off.
On a whim, Luke flung his feline body across the room, landing on top of it and holding tight.
“What?” Vader growled in disbelief, reaching out to the Force and using it to bring the ball-shaped droid to him in a jerky fashion.
Despite the Sith Lord’s efforts, Luke did not fall off. Instead, he watched wide-eyed as Vader’s mask approached his face fast. Screeching with his feline lungs, Luke sprung off the round droid and onto Vader’s helmet, holding on tightly with sharp claws.
They remained that way for a few moments, Luke glued to Vader’s helmet like a fly to flypaper, Vader standing as still as a Tatooinian moisture vaporator.
Finally, Luke pried himself off the dark helmet claw by claw and looked sheepishly down at the two eyeholes in Vader’s mask.
Stressed, he whimpered, “Mwrowl.”
There was a cat on his helmet.
Vader had never thought he would live to see the day that a ball of living fur would latch onto his mask. A lot of strange things had happened to him, but this had to top them all.
When the cat mewled at him in an almost pleading tone, the tumult of his nerves abruptly settled. All thoughts of his frustrating search for his son and of his master’s bad disposition were gone.
All there was now was this blue-eyed cat clinging desperately to Vader’s head for dear life.
A person could learn a lot from an animal as simple as a cat. Why would a cat need to worry about a war raging in the galaxy when all it needed was in one room?
Vader gently took the cat off his helmet with both hands, staring at him. “Why are you here?”
The feline tilted his head almost sadly, blue eyes downcast.
Suppressing a sigh, Vader asked him, “Would you care to watch a lightsaber duel?”
Souven winced as he attached the microscopic bug onto the droid. If Vader discovered it, necks would be crushed.
Zhiemm’s droid was instructed to enter Vader’s quarters and provide him with a datacard containing information concerning possible Rebel locations. If the droid did not see the Sith Lord, then it was to exit immediately after depositing the listening device. Souven just hoped the plan worked.
Fortunately for Souven, after the droid typed in the passcode to Vader’s quarters—a passcode in the possession of only a few higher-ups, like Grand Moff Zhiemm—the robot was quickly in and out of Vader’s quarters.
“It is done,” its mechanical voice droned.
“Good,” Souven smiled. Zhiemm was going to love this news.
“What?” Zhiemm shouted, his cheeks turning red. “Irrelevant! Irrelevant, irrelevant, irrelevant! We could easily fake his voice! What we need is something we can see!”
“But sir, a device to do that would be more noticeable, and he would probably—”
“Irrelevant!” the Grand Moff huffed.
The aide narrowed his eyes, frowning, “You keep using that word—I do not think it means what you think it means.”
Zhiemm stared at him.
Luke was awed as he watched his father in action. Vader was pitted against three lightsaber-wielding droids, yet he easily held his own.
The Sith Lord’s movements were so fluid that it was a wonder Luke had ever been able to survive the duel against the man at Bespin.
But as Luke watched Darth Vader fight, he thought about how immoral fighting was. The truth could win or lose in a fight. The battle accomplished little—it just showed who was the better fighter. Instead of fighting each other, people should talk about their problems . . . the way a family should.
As Luke looked down at his tawny paws, he found it hard to believe that such a powerful man was his father. Still, he felt a growing resolve in his breast, and he decided that as long as his father was alive, there would be something worth fighting for.
There was good in him. Had the man wholly been Darth Vader, he would have unknowingly crushed his son’s windpipes and thrown his dead feline body into the garbage chute.
Luke blinked at the flashing red saber, and his thoughts began to muddle as the light turned white and then slowly coalesced into green. As he kept blinking, he realized he was back on Tatooine, his own saber ignited and in his right hand. Frowning, he looked down at the graves of his deceased guardians.
Had it all been a dream?
Meanwhile, back on the Executor, Vader had finally downed all three droids, and after looking around for his tawny companion, he realized the cat had disappeared.
Frowning inwardly at the mystery but not letting himself consider the incident any further, Vader left the room and with an effortless use of the Force crushed a microscopic bug he had just sensed. He would have a short talk with that Grand Moff Zhiemm. That would be the last time the ambitious man tried to usurp Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith.