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Debris littered the trading post of this outer rim hellhole, the unfortunate yet predictable result of a shootout between rivalling gang factions.
Darth Vader couldn’t pinpoint the exact cause of the violence, but he knew how these things went. Sometimes, all it took was a sideways glance, plenty of idle time, and a surly mood for a sentient being to draw their blaster and start firing.
But the fact that his son happened to be here, on a rebellion mission gone awry at exactly that ill-timed moment, was enough for Vader to imagine unsheathing his lightsaber and eliminating everyone responsible for putting the boy in danger.
If Vader had any hair left, it would’ve all turned grey by now.
The location and planning of the mission resulted from incredibly poor timing mixed with some old-fashioned incompetence. Vader could throttle every single being that comprised the Alliance’s so-called High Command. How these fools managed a multi-planet operation and coordinated the efforts of thousands of people, Vader would never understand.
Why would they send Luke to a destitute wasteland run by warlords? What could the rebellion possibly find in a place like this? Vader considered it fate that he was stationed in a nearby system—Luke’s distress call through the Force and his frantic tugging on their bond provided plenty of motivation for Vader to abandon his own mission and hightail an imperial shuttle right to Luke’s location.
The flimsy walls of the trading post teetered precariously, and the blaster bolt-riddled front door hung loosely off its hinges. Vader’s HUD registered the smell of smoke and something malodorous that reminded him of spoiled milk. Any grass within the vicinity had been trampled into dirt and dried mud that showcased boot-prints of various sizes. Even the wooden staircase lodged into the sloping hill leading to the entrance creaked due to its uneven construction—one misplaced step and the planks would snap.
Obliterating the trading post and everything around it would be the last thing Vader did before leaving with Luke.
Vader reached the top of the hill without incident, then used the Force to dispel the structure away from the body laying within. Soon, a figure appeared, curled into himself, rocking back and forth and mewling in pain.
“Son,” Vader said, crouching down to assess Luke’s injuries through his orange flightsuit. He gently massaged his son’s side and abdomen, but stopped when Luke winced. “Where are you hurt?”
His son managed a weak smile. “Stomach and ribs, mostly. I think my ankle is broken. It’s nothing major. Got stunned by a few blasters and zapped by a couple of cattle prods and I fell awkwardly.”
“Cattle prods?”
Vader frowned beneath his mask. Luke had not mentioned that when he summoned him through the Force.
“Where did they go?” Vader’s tone lowered into a deadly cadence.
“The rebellion or the gangs?” Luke coughed and Vader rubbed his back. “The rebels are long gone. The gangs probably killed each other or fled. Were there bodies out there?”
“Some,” Vader responded. He had paid them no mind, though. The only thing that mattered was his son. “The rebels left you here?”
Luke pressed his left hand on Vader’s thigh and pulled himself up to sit with a groan. Sweat plastered his forehead, and Vader swept his sticky bangs away. His normally brilliant blue eyes dulled in pain, and Vader once again swore vengeance to the rebellion for putting Luke in harm’s way.
“It’s their protocol,” his son said with an eyeroll. “Terrible, huh? We have a ‘no one gets left behind’ policy while the rebellion thinks it’s better to save your skin than to save a dying squad mate.”
Vader shook his head. While the empire certainly had a justified reputation for its…negligent handling of its troops, Vader had fought to implement a culture of unity in which all imperials looked out for one another.
He liked to believe morale was improving. The emperor, of course, thought everything Vader did outside of cultivating his connection to the dark side was a waste of time. And if his master discovered Luke was alive instead of missing like Vader had initially claimed…well, that was a bridge father and son would have to cross together.
For now, though, nothing in the Force suggested the emperor was aware of any deception. Vader and Luke’s plan wasn’t perfect, but it had evaded his master’s notice thus far. Vader hoped to keep it that way, but his son had a knack for flirting with danger and requiring a rescue.
Luke looked up at his father with a worried expression as their uncertain thoughts trickled through their Force bond, now magnified due to their proximity. “Do you think the emperor might…?”
“He does not know yet, young one,” Vader said. “Our plan is still proceeding as we discussed. But first, you will need to return to the rebellion at once.”
“Great. I can’t wait to concoct a lame excuse about how I miraculously survived a shootout.”
Luke rolled onto his knees and leveraged both hands on Vader’s pauldron for support. With a firm push, he stood up and leaned against the armoured chest to gather his bearings and avoid adding pressure to his swollen right ankle.
“The rebels can be easily persuaded, though,” Luke mused. “They believed me when I told them I was a nobody moisture farmer from Tatooine. Ha!”
When Luke’s laughter aggravated his bruises, Vader wrapped a snug arm around him.
“You have nothing else to tell me,” Vader said as he gently guided them out of the skeletal remains of the trading post. “Rest in my ship and you can rejoin the rebellion when you are able.”
“But…”
“No.”
Through the Force, Vader sensed Luke’s warm smile mixed in with his exhaustion and bodily aches. His injured ankle made it difficult for Luke to walk, but Vader used the Force to jump down the hill and float them into his shuttle.
As Luke applied bacta to his injuries and settled into a cot to rest, Vader walked to the edge of the ramp. He extended his arm, and with a flick of his wrist, the dilapidated trading post crumbled into a pile of rotting wood and dust that clouded the thin air and swallowed the dead from view.