The peace only lasted for a moment--a breath, a heartbeat, a single sleepy blink.

Then, recognition.

The boy's eyes were suddenly huge in his face and with a short, sharp cry he jerked away from the tall black figure at his bedside, struggling to sit up and gain distance but prevented by the bed's restraints. Shock and terror rolled out from the youth like an icy tidal wave, mixing with Vader's own dark and freezing the room to a stilled tableau--the Rebel pilot, straining to get away, face pale and pitifully young; the Sith Lord, taking an involuntary step back and releasing the bed rails, for a moment startled at the boy's violent reaction. The Force between them fairly shrieked with the youth's surprised dismay and naked fear.

And during those first instants, Vader was again unsure what to feel--and more certainly, unsure what to say. His tongue felt thick, wooden, and he couldn't seem to draw a deep enough breath to speak, despite his ever-regulated respiration. Once again he was glad for the mask that hid his expression; his mind swirled with a million things he wanted to say--a million things he could, but there were so many they formed a logjam in his throat.

"Cease this nonsense at once!"

"Don't be afraid."

"Stop struggling before you injure yourself further."

"I won't hurt you."

"You will answer me quickly and truthfully."

"I am your father."

"You are my son!"

Instead, he turned away. The terror in the young pilot's expression stung somewhere deep inside--it was the same look she had worn, in those last few moments when his rage had overtaken him and he'd had her at his mercy...

Get ahold of yourself! he ordered his own mind sternly, hands fisting at his sides. If he could handle the shock of his own wife's betrayal, he could handle dealing with a Rebel pilot who happened to be his offspring.

It was painfully fitting, somehow, that the son shared the mother's traitorous tendencies--a gift from Obi-Wan as well, no doubt. Leading the boy away from him, trying to undermine what should have been a strong bond. Teaching the boy to hate him, telling an impressionable child that his dear father had been murdered by Darth Vader. Lying to the boy, so that he would grow to become a powerful Jedi and carry out their revenge on the Sith--

His fists tightened until they creaked. The hells-damned Jedi--once again they betrayed him using those nearest and dearest to him! First they turned his wife; now, they were raising his son to become a weapon of vengeance against him.

But not yet, he realized, his hands loosening a bit. He'd found the boy in time--he was still untrained, untainted by the weakness of the Jedi. The only thing to repair was the tattered truth...to own the boy as his, to teach him, bring him home...

And yet, as he turned to face the young pilot and felt the fear and hate and despair, saw the frantic struggles, the frightened trembling--something twisted inside him. Words that had been at the tip of his tongue died before they could be voiced. The youth was terrified of him--hated him, blamed him for so much--

"I hate you!"

No--he could not say the words--he could not feel even more of the boy's shock and disgust--

For stars' sake, stop it!

And as the boy gave one more jolt of fear and surprise and went stock-still, Vader realized he'd snapped out that thought aloud. Now, the little Rebel lay frozen as far away from him as the bed's restraints allowed, staring up at him with eyes like a cornered animal.

"That's better," Vader went on, unwilling to let his inner turmoil show up in awkward silence, quickly assuming his usual air of superiority and command. "Your struggles at this point only worsen your condition."

The fear was still all-pervaisive, like a chill in the air, but the youth was bringing up his own anger and resentment to borrow strength--that much was obvious through the Force. He swallowed hard once, twice, and set his jaw, trying to glare ferociously at his captor but only really managing to come off as a scared, angry, helpless child. "I won't tell you anything," he insisted.

"I doubt that," Vader responded, keeping his distance--not because of his own feelings, he reminded himself firmly, but to keep from sparking off another struggle from the Rebel. It was easier to keep his footing if he simply thought of the boy as a Rebel pilot.

One he happened to share a blood relationship with...

He scowled at himself again. "I did not bring you here for interrogation. If that were the case, you would have found yourself in the prison medbay surrounded by droids."

The boy's eyes narrowed, as he jerked one arm against the heavy weave-strap restraint on his wrist. "What's the difference?"

"You're not being awakened by stimulants and electric shock," Vader rumbled darkly, affronted by the youth's lack of respect for his kindness, "nor are you being injected with truth serums and subjected to mind probes."

"And that makes such a difference." Anger and fear still ran through the boy's Force sense like wind through trees, stirring everything, but coupled with the inescapable restraints and the presence of the Sith Lord in the room, a saddened resignation began to filter through, along with morbid hope. "So...what happened back there? Did you...kill him? Did he get away?"

"Kill--?" Vader paused. Kill who? Anakin Skywalker? He vanished years ago--it doesn't matter what this child thinks-- "Neither," he responded, feeling the irritation of slipped prey once again. "I found no one--yet. But I will. And you, apparently, are the key to drawing this Jedi out."

With a sigh that was almost a moan, the youth turned his head away--pain shot through his bright presence in the Force, alerting Vader to the possibility of his injuries having been exacerbated by his struggles. But no--the pain was emotional, lodged in the anger and fear the young pilot was putting out in waves.

Why would he--? For an instant, he was confused--then struck. He thinks I'm hunting his father.

He felt a strange sort of awe, even faint relief, that his half-orphaned son would regard him so well, would be so loyal to a man he'd never met--loyal to the memory of Anakin Skywalker the galaxy had known; the ace star pilot, warrior of the Republic, powerful Jedi Knight. There was a longing he could feel in the boy that matched his own--a faint hope as dim as a candle, hidden by fear and dread.

But greater still was the brief snap of pain within himself--the boy hated him, hated the face and name he now wore. And hated him still even more for the deaths of his family and because he now believed that Darth Vader was hunting down Anakin Skywalker with the intent to destroy him.

He'll soon be set straight. He will know the truth from the lies and he will help me eliminate the imposter--

And again, even as he opened his mouth to say the words, he couldn't get them past the end of his tongue. The truth would set him free, but it would tear apart the only father the boy had ever known--an image, a storybook figure, a child's hero. Vader knew how much the boy hated him--he could feel it radiating through the Force-strong youth in a way he'd never felt from any Jedi--and he knew how the whole galaxy looked upon him. He was not stupid, nor ignorant, and he knew--he knew--he had done things in his lifetime that many of even the worst men would not contemplate. He knew...no matter how much was done in the name of peace and order--he knew he'd done things...

Telling the youth who he was...would destroy the gossammer image of himself the boy held--a memory he had tried to forget. The man he had once been--never wanted to be again. A past he wanted to erase forever. But this young pilot--this fragile, frightened man-child--was a piece of that past, a huge piece. And even as the words hung ready in his mouth, for some damnably unfathomable reason he just could not bring himself to shatter that thin image the boy still clung to.

Maybe...in some hidden part of himself he would forever deny...he wanted someone to remember him as he had once been--when life had been kinder and there were still simple joys and he knew what happiness felt like...a time when someone had loved him...

And the truth...would break his son's spirit. He knew that too, no matter how much the realization cost him, no matter how he wished he didn't care.

And I don't care, hells burn it!

He squared his shoulders and forced away the doubt, replacing it with inner iron. He could always use the information later, if the need arose to bring the boy more firmly into line. With the right persuasion, the boy's intense loyalty to his father-image could be transferred to Vader himself, and such a hold on the young pilot would be quite useful. The shock of such a revelation would also cripple and disarm the youth's rebelliousness--best save it for a situation that would serve the greatest advantage to him.

At least, that's how he rationalized it to himself. He was not merely afraid to destroy the dreams of a child.

"The Jedi is not your concern," Vader said at last, even as the boy still refused to look at him. "For now, you will rest and recuperate. Then I will continue my search. I still have use for you."

"You don't need me to kill Jedi," the youth murmured defiantly. "You've been doing it long enough without me."

"That is irrelevant," Vader responded, half-turning away. "You are the key to this." In more ways than you know.

"I won't help you."

"I don't need your help!" the Sith Lord snapped, the abruptness in his harsh mechanical voice making the boy flinch visibly.

"Then what do you want with me?" the boy all but snarled, somehow plaintive through the despair in his Force signature.

Vader paused, his mouth half-open to form a retort--but what did he want? At first, only to find the Jedi impostor and capture an annoying Rebel pilot--but now...

Now he had the truth. Now he wanted to keep this boy, to know him, to teach him and give him the truth as well--this strong, talented boy, his son, his legacy...

I do want to know more about him, he admitted to himself, reluctantly. He is my son--he is strong, worthy...he will learn the ways of the Force, know its true power, and he will stand at my side and we'll rule the galaxy together...he is my son, and I...and I...

I don't even know his name.

The realization crashed in on him, almost shocked him. He didn't know anything about the youth--nothing; "Rebel pilot" was the only label he'd ever had for the boy, and all the information he had was contained in a tiny datafile in his office on the Executor. And all that had was a readout of an X-wing fighter's transponder signal, the date and method of the Death Star's destruction, and a few theories on which Rebel cell the pilot belonged to; fragments, shards of impersonal data.

Even now, looking right at him, he didn't even know what color his son's eyes were; he could guess that they were blue--but they might also be gray, or green, or hazel...

"What is your name?" he demanded suddenly, facing the youth.

The boy gave him a confused, distressed glance and looked away again, jaw tightening.

"I already know who you are, Skywalker," the Sith Lord stated impatiently. "You made it abundantly clear during your tirade earlier. Now tell me your name!" When the youth still refused to answer, Vader smashed his fist against a console panel hard enough to leave a dent--causing the young pilot to jump abruptly. "Speak!"

"Luke," the boy answered shakily, his voice a husk, staring warily at his black-gloved fist. "I-it's Luke."

"Luke..." Vader went still, letting the name roll over his tongue. Luke Skywalker. My son's name is Luke...

And he is alive.

Those old feelings threatened to rebel against his control once again and he turned away, unsure of how sensitive Luke was and if the boy could pick up on anything through the Force. He tried to push them aside and kept his head up, stepping away from the bed. "You will remain here and rest," Vader informed the youth briskly, thanking the steady deep tone of his vocoder. "I will collect you when you have recovered and we will resume our little...search. In the meantime, you will not give the medics and technicians any problems, or I will deal with you more harshly."

"I won't help you kill him!" Luke snarled, thrashing against his restraints again as the Sith Lord strode out the door. "I won't let you hurt my father! I'll fight you! I'll stop you--!"

The door closed behind him, cutting off the boy's furious, desperate cries--but not the anger and despair that rippled out through the Force like river rapids, churning and turbulent. Full of anguish and grief and helplessness--and rage, all directed at him.

Vader found himself with one hand against the metal frame of the door, leaning there, feeling like he'd just run a marathon on a low-oxygen world despite his respirator--something splitting inside him with old remembered agonies and broken hopes that he fought to hold back, new pain he had not yet learned to harness. He suddenly felt old, tired...alone...

His son was alive, and with him now, but the boy did not know him and never would; his son hated him for the death of his family--deaths he blamed himself for when he let himself admit it--a gulf he'd carved with his own hands and a wound that might never heal--

"I hate you!"

He reached to find his cold, empty center once more--because he didn't care, he wouldn't--and drew himself up, stood tall again, and strode away from the medbay without ever once looking back.

"Princess! There you are," General Rieekan greeted as the young woman strode briskly into the communications bay.

"You said this was important, General?" Leia responded, coming to his side. "I need to get back to helping the supply sergeants--we're having logistics difficulties with some of the container ships--"

"I'm afraid we may have a problem, your highness," the general interrupted grimly, facing her instead of the communications console. "We're getting reports of Imperial Fleet movements from several of our scouting vessels. Most of the First Fleet is combing the space near our former base in search of our whereabouts, but the command ship and several Destroyers broke off from the main groups and changed course."

Something cold--like a warning fist of ice--settled into Leia's stomach. Her folded arms dropped to her sides, and her businesslike facade gave way to concern. "Where are they headed?" she asked quietly, fearing she already knew.

"As near as trajectory tells," Rieekan replied, "they're going to the Naboo System."

Her fists tightened almost without her consent. Of course. Just when Han's headed there. "Coincidence?" she wondered aloud. "Or did something tip them off?"

The general's expression was as puzzled as it could be, given his constant air of command. "We thought perhaps they were after Lieutenant Skywalker, which would give us some hope that he's alive and that we could locate him..." He paused, glancing regretfully at the princess. "But it's been too long since Skywalker's disappearance for them to just suddenly decide to change course in the middle of their search. They must have received orders."

Leia's teeth clenched. For the Executor to move out of a high-priority sweep of surrounding systems for a known Rebel command cell, the orders would have to come from high up indeed--it took the Emperor himself to give orders to Darth Vader. And it was well-known over the years that His Imperial Majesty had a penchant for second-guessing the Alliance's every move, always somehow one step ahead of whatever they planned.

Which was why Luke's success at the Battle of Yavin was both a stunning surprise and a huge victory for the Alliance. They had never won a battle like that--an overwhelming defeat of the Empire's forces, instead of a hit-and-run scramble to harry the enemy and escape with their lives. Not in nearly twenty years.

And just in the last six months, they had gained new ground they'd never taken before.

The name Skywalker was bringing hope to the battlefield once more, just like the stories her father had sometimes told her--rare, forbidden stories of the Jedi Knights, and the Hero of the Clone Wars, a man who knew no fear...

Shaking herself out of her reverie, Leia turned her troubled gaze to General Rieekan once again. "Can we warn Captain Solo?"

"Too risky," he replied, shaking his head sadly. "If all goes well, he should be leaving the system by the time the convoy reaches Naboo...but attempting to sneak a transmision to him through Imperial space might compromise his mission."

"I see..." Swallowing, Leia glanced down. "There's nothing we can do but wait, is there?" Again...again I can't do anything...

Rieekan nodded, touching her shoulder gently in encouragement. "Solo's a smart man, Princess, and a tough one to beat. He'll make it."

She managed a wan smile in reply. "Thank you, General," she mumbled, turning to leave. "Keep me appraised of the situation."

"Yes, your Highness."

Once out the door, standing in the quiet, stark, gray-paneled corridor, she wrapped her arms around herself for a moment and felt terribly small. In just the last few days, it felt ad though her world were falling apart--losing Luke, her dearest friend, the wonderfully kind, innocent farmboy who listened to her rant and held her when she was upset and made her laugh when she was depressed. And now Han and Chewie were in equal danger--slipping through her fingers, to be as lost as Luke if the Imperials caught them...

Without them, she felt horribly alone; the ship's corridor was a cold and empty place without her closest friends.

But she was still the Princess of Alderaan, heir to her father's life work, the one so many people looked to for an anchor in this time of awful tribulation. So she wiped the first and only tear from her cheek, stood up straight, and pressed on--marching for the cargo bays as if heading for a routine inspection, betraying not a trace of her inner turmoil. No matter how hard it got, she had to be strong; there was more at stake here than her own happiness.

On the outside, she was the Rebel Princess--tough, fearless, commanding. But on the inside, she was just Leia, and she was all alone.

Luke...oh, Luke, where are you? I wish you were here...!