Chapter Text
“Please.”
Luke mumbled under his breath again and again, wetting his dried and crusted lips, his own mouth quickly becoming parched. It hurt to swallow; it hurt to move. His hand— he shook his head as tears dusted his lengthy eyelashes, smearing them down his face. The wind that rocked his frail body left and right didn’t help his blurred vision, as he stared up at the open grate just within reach directly above the weathervane. It taunted him.. his only hope.
“Ben, please!” Luke shouted once more through his strained throat, holding back the sob of his own desperate pleas going unanswered. Ben owed him this; why didn’t he answer his call? If what Vader said was true— no, no, it can’t be true. Why didn’t Ben tell him? Why didn’t they urge him to stay? Why didn’t he listen to Leia?
But the only voices Luke could hear were those inside his own head, demanding answers for his own impulsive actions and foolish behavior. He was on his own. And when he tried to reach further, he could only get cruel reminders that he’d rather leave buried.
There is no escape.
With a gulp and a shake of his head, the youth looked up at the grate once more. It wasn’t too far away – if he had both hands, he could do this. Maybe he still could. It was his only chance for survival. His thighs wrapped around the durasteel pipe, his wounded arm uselessly snaked as well, as his only hand reached for his salvation.
The cold and dry grooves of the grate felt comforting to his hand, slick from sweat and covered in cuts and wounds from his ordeal. As he touched the grate, a sensor began to activate: no, no, no! Luke could feel it close back up as his hand slid down. Grab onto something, anything! With a desperate push, he shimmied up the panel as best as he could to give himself leverage, as his hand slipped off – but he managed to grab onto the rising arm. His body inched up with the arm, his legs wrapped tightly to the weathervane as they rose up to the top, before throwing himself off to the side and onto the grate.
Luke almost rolled off into the clouds below him as his exposed stump slammed straight into the frame, letting out an agonized scream as fresh stream of tears stung his eyes. But still, he wrapped that arm around the other side of the raising platform. His thighs burned from the strain, muscles spasming as his one hand clung to the slick grate. Pain no longer flared as he rose — it radiated all around, seeping around like an endless burn up his spine. The wind tore at his face, blasting his swollen eye and stabbing into open wounds he couldn’t recall getting.
The mechanical arm finally lifted as much as it could and took him back into the exhaust tunnels that he had been ever so ruthlessly shot out of. He scampered away from the edge as soon as he could, remembering the consequence from before.
It was a relief just to be free of the endless barrage of wind, able to hear nothing but the sound of his own labored breathing. The steady thump of pain from his forearm reminded him that he was still living and he nursed it to his breast, jamming it under his armpit as he got up to his knees. The seared edge pulsed in time with his heartbeat. Or maybe that was just his mind. Luke refused to acknowledge it. If he saw it—really saw it—it would be real. Vader would be real. That voice, saying those words, would be real.
So he kept it hidden, wrapped tight, jammed under his armpit like a secret. As long as he didn’t look, it didn’t have to mean anything. It didn’t have to mean him.
A voice in his head told Luke to rest, he had survived, this was enough. But no; this was a trick that would lead him to an early demise, or worse, a quick capture. As he shook off those thoughts, he could only face his own internal punches.
Why did he even come to Bespin? He ignored the words of his masters, of Ben, of Yoda. When Leia warned him that it was a trap, he didn’t search for another option. He dove headfirst. Was he really so selfless? Or was he desperate for revenge, for a chance to prove himself?
Don’t make me destroy you.
The youth winced as that voice needled into him, fearful for the memory and that of certain death. He would have to crawl along the tunnel, watchful for sensors and the outline of collapsable chutes. There would have to be a maintenance hatch somewhere, Luke just knew. Limping forward, Luke edged forward with his left hand, scooting along the side, trying his best to steady his breathing and block out the shock his body was ravaged with.
“I’m on my own,” Luke whimpered as he made his way through the network of tunnels. He couldn’t control his anger at Ben, no matter how hard he tried to cool it. It kept coming back to him, radiating with the pain, shifting from hurt to rage. He’d set him along this path and couldn’t have prepared him for this? Why, Ben? This was his most desperate hour and no one was listening to him.
If you choose to face Vader, you will do it alone. I cannot interfere.
The youth closed his eyes, trying to hide his own bruised ego. He tried to think of his friends. His eyes rolled back into his skull as he tried to sense Leia; there was no sign of her presence, no pulse of her trailing image. His lips turned into a small smile as he realized she must have escaped. There was little hope for him but at least she was able to escape.
Survive.
Luke gritted his teeth and trudged forward, letting out a sigh of relief as he spied a mini-door hidden on the next tunnel. His fingers groped the outline of the groove, pushing and pulling with little result. “Open, please,” he hissed, slamming his fist against it.
“Whoa!”
The side opened and Luke fell out, rolling onto his side and slamming his back against the interior of a dark and humid room. It smelled awful; waste and junk was scattered all around up to his shins as he found the strength to stand. He’d been fighting the urge to retch throughout this entire ordeal and he could no longer hold it in, expelling the nausea in the pit of his stomach. With the sleeve of his arm, he wiped his trembling lips and felt around for the exit.
Another elevator.
Luke pressed the button for one of the middle floors, where he last left his X-Wing. It was a foolish hope, but foolish hope had turned into Luke’s favor at times, and he could only pray that Vader was long gone and impounding his ship wasn’t an urgent priority.
“Don’t throw up, Luke. Don’t throw up,” he repeated to himself as he felt the nausea swirl about from his gut to his nostrils, the vibration of the rising elevator rattling his nerves. His hand went to his hair, combing the matted and wet locks absentmindedly, his armpit giving a gentle squeeze to numb the dull but constant ache in his other arm. Sweat dribbled off from the tip of his nose as he waited for the door to open, unsure of what would happen next.
Sirens grew louder and louder as Luke made it to his floor, rattling the space around him as the door opened, mixed with the sounds of panic. People were running all around left and right, shouting and arguing. Cloud City was in total chaos.. and maybe that could be used to Luke’s advantage. No one had the time to stare and gawk at his bruised skin or tattered clothes; it was each man for himself. There were occasional Stormtroopers rummaging about the crowds, but they were unable to detain the hysteria. Luke ducked when he caught sight of them, thankful (for the first time) of his own diminutive stature.
The focus was on containing the public and Luke slipped through the cracks. He didn’t dare attempt to reach out and sense if his hunch were correct, but he believed his fa— Vader was no longer on the floating city. People began to thin out as Luke got closer to his private docking port, sending waves of anticipation and dread throughout the wounded youth. It was too good to be true; his hand reached for the blaster that serendipitously had managed to stay in his holster. Luke was in full survival mode now; if a Stormtrooper approached him, he would incapacitate them, without question.
Luke gasped as he reached the open frame to his port, quickly noticing two Stormtroopers in conversation. He rolled over to the other side of the frame, protected by the wall, swallowing as he tried to remain unnoticed. Footsteps? Did they catch him? His hand wrapped tighter around his blaster, prepared to use it, his finger tapping on the trigger.
One, two, three.
The sounds of the clunky Stormtrooper armor were so close; Luke peered from the corner of his eye as one of them stepped through the arch and stood there, not noticing Luke. He held his breath as long as he could until the Stormtrooper finally walked on and away, leaving only one left. He licked his lips once more, waiting until there was nothing but silence. Luke finally exhaled as the sounds of boots were no longer audible and ducked around to peer through the arch, his blaster drawn and ready to put an end to this ordeal.
“Yeah, don’t worry, I’m on it,” the Stormtrooper replied to a message received, walking to the side of Luke’s X-Wing as he pulled out a device, tinkering with some codes on it and preparing to lock it into the vessel. “I don’t see the need for a restrainer for this, anyways. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to come back, right? But I’ll do it.”
Luke couldn’t control himself any longer.
“No!”
The helmet turned to the sound of his shrill tenor, just barely able to catch a glimpse as the blast struck him right in the chest, sending him flying back and over the ledge into the atmosphere below. Luke shuddered as he was briefly reminded of the fate he almost suffered – but the sound of concerned Stormtroopers and running boots took him out of his stupor.
It wouldn’t be easy to escape without Artoo, but this was his only shot. Luke raced to his precious ship and hopped into the cockpit, firing the engines as he heard the footsteps getting closer. Blaster fire surrounded him and he quickly took off, flying into the air and through the clouds. He was surprised that there were no TIE Fighters to greet him; were they after Leia? Maybe other Cloud City residents scrambling to break through?
“I could really use you right now, Artoo, old buddy,” Luke said as he floated through all of his options. He was lucky that he knew how to pilot ships like this without an astromech, but it wasn’t easy even for seasoned pros. Options were limited.
“Lutrillia? No, too populated,” Luke groaned as he watched a map in the viewport. He had to make an escape from Imperial forces, but his options were limited. If not Lutrillia, the only option was the poisoned fortress for the Empire, Anoat.
“I barely have enough fuel for either,” he grimaced as he checked all of his readings. But wait – there was a speck on the way to Anoat, a refueling station. It was all he had.
Luke charted in the course; he could only hope that he wouldn’t be intercepted by TIE Fighters on his long trek or the instant he made it to the station. He slumped back in his seat as the course was confirmed, finally able to breathe.
The open gash on his left shoulder stung and his swollen bruised eye was sore, his eyelid drooping and half-shut. His right forearm unhid itself from the protective armpit, absentmindedly reaching for the control stick, wincing as he was reminded of his maiming. He started to sob as he slowly brought it up to his face, staring for the first time at the clean cauterized edge where his hand once was, where he was permanently marked by Vader.
Vader?
Father.
Luke shook his head, unable to staunch the flow of tears that slid down his cheeks. It couldn’t be true; he tried to forget about that deep baritone, the haunting labored breaths, that outstretched hand that seemed to compel him beyond understanding. The more he tried to fight it, the more it left a permanent scar, stabbing with the memory of those words.
I am your father.
Unable to bear the pain and burden of his reality, Luke fell unconscious, trembling as the tears began to dry on his face. Adrift to the stars, the uncontrolled chance of fate was all he had left…