Марта Уэллс - From a Certain Point of View

No. Not stars.

Star Destroyers.

Bright pulses of hovering engines lighting up the sky, a fleet so dense that the natural sun was blocked out, hovering ion drives as the source of illumination over the Imperial City on Coruscant. Line after line of ships caused the entire city-planet horizon to vanish, their collective hum almost powerful enough to tilt its axis. Below these ships, the boy waited without a cloak or hood, simply a black tunic with a lightsaber on his belt.

The vision began to move—no, Lord Vader began to move. He walked with methodical purpose, yet something seemed different.

No respirator.

Through Vader’s eyes, the vision continued, and as he was set to cross the threshold, his gaze turned, breaking focus from the awaiting boy for a second to catch a flash in the window.

A reflection.

And with that image came a realization: This was not a vision. This was a delusion, a hope or a wish or a desperate dream. It was everything Vader wanted—or maybe it was everything taken from him.

Palpatine had always ensured that those were one and the same.

There Vader stood, not a hulking tank of black armor, but a man, whole. The familiar face of Anakin Skywalker peered back from the reflection, a face that hadn’t existed in more than twenty years. He looked as he’d last lived, the vertical scar over his right eye partially hidden behind rugged dark locks of hair, strong chin framed by an intensely focused stare. He remained clothed in dark-brown Jedi robes crossed over broad shoulders, and the only difference between the man in the reflection and the general who’d graced the HoloNet news so many times as the Hero with No Fear was the red-bladed Sith lightsaber on his belt.

Before moving onward toward the boy, Vader turned, focusing on a figure crossing the interior of what looked to be an elaborate rooftop apartment. Was that…

Of course.

If this was Vader’s delusion, then only one thing would make it complete.

The familiar figure of Padmé Amidala paused in her movements, making eye contact first with Vader, then the boy on the veranda, her presentation so ornate she may as well have been giving one of her familiar impassioned senatorial speeches. She smiled at him, her radiance fully restored. Together they strode out under the sea of Star Destroyers.

The boy watched, his composure shifting slightly. And then he spoke, his voice tinted with soft affection.

“Father.” The boy looked at Padmé. “Mother.”

And suddenly Palpatine saw things for what they truly were. The disturbance. The fierce defense of the vision within the ethereal chaos. The desire, the need for secrecy, not just a strategic endeavor but an explosion of emotion that ripped through the Force itself.

How long had Vader known?

“Luke,” Vader said. “You have done well.” A gloved hand rose, gesturing to the thousands of ships in the sky. “Behold, my son, the most powerful fleet in the galaxy.” This person, the soul of Darth Vader within the still-whole body of Anakin Skywalker, looked up, staring above his son as countless ion drives came to life, the twinkling blue-white globes suddenly bursting with intensity before wave after wave launched into hyperspace.

Within the vision, the ground shook, and what had merely been the rumble of launching vessels turned into catastrophic shaking, so powerful it was physically impossible on an artificially regulated planet like Coruscant. From afar, the Imperial cityscape evaporated into white. The veranda, so meticulously re-created in this vision, began to absorb the white, turning durasteel curves into an empty canvas. The white bled into every physical corner of the space, swallowing the apartment and even the shadow of Senator Amidala. The ground-shattering sound dropped away, leaving only the quiet breath of father and son.

All that remained was Darth Vader and this Luke.

Luke Skywalker .

“Yes, Father,” Luke said. “ Our fleet.”

Through the Force, a guttural scream washed over Palpatine, pushing him away from the vision. But this time, Palpatine let it.

He had seen enough.

—

For some time, Vader had covered the galaxy in his search for rebel leadership, insisting that every lead go through him. Informants, bounty hunters, spies, probe droids, Vader’s search had bordered on obsessive, though Palpatine allowed it; his efficiency and ruthlessness had always been assets. Now that Palpatine understood, the truth behind Vader’s devotion unfolded quickly. Hoth, Hoth must have been the answer. Once Vader knew his son was there, it seemed he simply could not fully shield his anticipation. Thoughts, desires, dreams must have consumed him during the journey to Hoth.

Vader’s lack of control over his feelings caused them to be his very undoing. Again.

This surge, the culmination of Vader’s relentless nature and his inability to free himself from his past, was simply too powerful to fully hide from the dark side. Just as he couldn’t contain his own impulses when facing Kenobi on Mustafar, he now exposed the secret he held most dear.

Still the fool.

But who was this Luke Skywalker? Palpatine would uncover that answer in time, but one thing was certain: He was a blank slate waiting for a Master to unlock his potential.

Any Sith would covet such an opportunity. As Vader did. If he wanted to find his son, then Palpatine would let him. In fact, Palpatine would do everything in his power to accommodate that. An entire armada, the unlimited capital of the Empire, all of those would be at Vader’s disposal. He would search. All while Palpatine would plan.

Then Vader would eventually make a mistake. He always did.

And Palpatine would step in and exploit it. He would be the one to propel Luke to the true potential of his bloodline—over his father’s final rasping breath.

That was how the Sith handled disturbances in the Force.

Now seated in his Imperial City office, the very same one as in Vader’s delusion, Palpatine dived into the Force’s chaos, eyes closed in meditation as he explored the currents for possibilities. He exerted his will over the Force, demanding insight into this unexpected variable until a singular path forward presented itself, a staggering power loaded into two simple questions:

How much did Vader know?

And how far had he gone to hide his betrayal?

Palpatine would soon discover the truth.

He tapped a button on the arm of his chair. A tinny beep chirped, then a voice spoke. “Yes, my lord.”

“Commander,” he said, his tone neutral and curt. “Summon Lord Vader. We have matters to discuss.”

For the first time in the longest time, Palpatine decided to let a feeling come through. Unlike Vader, he retained all mastery over the chaos that ran around and through him. But it was a real emotion fueled by his own amusement—not because it propelled the Empire to greater conquest or was a display to twist the knife in his apprentice; simply a flash of satisfaction that came and went.

In that moment, Palpatine smiled.

Several minutes passed before holographic lines came together to display the kneeling form of Darth Vader.

“What is thy bidding, my Master?” Vader remained still, and through the Force, Palpatine could feel the battle within him, the struggle to contain his desires. Despite the armor and machinery, Vader’s heart still beat with the fire of Anakin Skywalker.

A fire that Palpatine would put to the test.

“There is a great disturbance in the Force.”

THIS IS NO CAVECatherynne M. Valente

It was born on the thin breathless edge of the galaxy where light and warmth are legends told to frighten children.

Space is so much quieter out there. Safer. There are stretches of dark on the Rim where even something as vast and vulnerable as its father-and-mother could pass unnoticed.