The Death of all Hopes

Obi-Wan Kenobi strode through the dry, barren desert of Tatoonie, reflecting upon the life he’d had – and hadn’t. There was so much he’d done, yet so much he’d failed to do. He’d failed Qui-Gon all those years ago, battling that Sith on Naboo… In his heart he was still holding his dying mentor, his father, his first best friend – Obi-Wan did not know if he’d ever been the same since then. And after that, he’d been thrust into Knighthood… He had promised to train an impossibly strong boy, and in turn, Obi-Wan Kenobi had failed Anakin Skywalker as well.

Darth Vader had been born because of his failure. The second-greatest evil the galaxy had ever known had been created by the "Great Obi-Wan Kenobi," Sith-killer, Jedi Master, Hero of the Clone Wars. Obi-Wan felt his failure every day of his life; it weighed on him every waking moment. For a man unaccustomed to failure, he had failed too many times. He would not fail again.

And he would not fail Anakin’s son.

Yet sometimes even the greatest resolve can fail – and miserably so. The strongest of vows – even those made with a pure heart – can dissolve at first contact with something greater, something eviler. Evil can possess immense greatness, and unfortunately, during the Dark Times, it did. The Emperor was Power, and the Emperor always got what he wanted. Even when it killed the hopes of all others.

But then again, Palpatine was good at that.

A woman’s scream shattered the day’s dry stillness. "No!" was followed by the sound of stun bolts filling the small home that Obi-Wan watched.

His heart crashed. He knew. The troop-transport outside the Lars’ homestead had told him, yet he’d still dared hope… but no longer. He was too late. Their only hope, the boy that was to have been their savior – found. Taken. Soon to die.

Obi-Wan dropped to his knees in the hot sand. He could not stop them – he’d grown too old for this sort of thing, Jedi or not. He could not stop that many Stormtroopers from killing a child – for surely they would kill Luke if he did not act. A small voice inside him reminded him: And he will die if you don’t. Unbidden tears rose in his eyes; grief for his shattered dreams overtook him. How had they known? How had they found the poor child? Could Palpatine have sensed his potential, his power?

And if he had, had he sensed the other?

Panic seized Obi-Wan for a moment. If Luke was gone, Leia would be all they had left, all they had left of the Jedi’s almost dead legacy. If Palpatine found her, killed her, killed them both… Only his instinctive Jedi calm saved him from rushing out and getting himself slaughtered in a useless effort to save a future already made impossible. No, he told himself firmly. Leia has not his power, and would not be as readily sensed… Even by Palpatine. Sith aren’t infallible, he reminded himself. Obi-Wan forced in a deep breath. Besides, he remembered, even if so, another opportunity will present itself. Yet he knew his hopes were beginning to mean less. Leia could not save them, and so the only hope was that boy –

A child’s yell forced him out of his reverie and bout self-pity. Two Stormtroopers were dragging Luke from the homestead, dragging away all the galaxy’s dreams for peace and justice…

Palpatine settled back in his throne and smiled to himself. He’d discovered long ago that anger did not eliminate satisfaction. Having risen to power – sublime power, really, controlling and building an Empire in his own image – and having orchestrated the rebirth of the Sith was really the ultimate satisfaction, anyway. He may have been dark – and knew there were few whom had ever been darker, but that certainly did not prevent him from being quite darkly pleased with his accomplishments. After all, he was Lord Sidious, Dark Lord of the Sith, slayer of the Jedi, architect of the Galactic Empire, and he could do whatever he cared to. Palpatine allowed his smile to grow slowly. This would be an excellent day, a day of destiny. Today, another Skywalker would fall to the Dark side.

One of his Royal Guards entered the throne room from his outside post, silently dragging an unconscious seven year old boy behind him. Palpatine could barely control is eagerness – he found himself leaning forward with anticipation – that boy had such power! Even with the boy unconscious, it was ripe and bare for him to see – and use. Sidious relaxed once more. Indeed, it was so much better to use him, to turn him as he had his father, then to kill one so strong… still, something inside him remembered the visions that had led him to this boy – No! I will not dwell on this, he commanded himself angrily. I will change the light side’s precious future and use him against it! Yes… that will be sweet. He is the only hope of the Jedi’s dead, weak religion. I will use him to finally destroy them – and even their memory – once and for all. I will control his strength, and I will win.

The boy awoke and scrambled to his feet. Palpatine watched hungrily as the boy’s nervous eyes warily took the dark room in, imagining how eerily quiet the boy found it. The outside Guard had left, Palpatine had noticed, leaving only himself on the throne and the boy before him. With a deep breath he drew in the child’s sweet subconscious fear. The boy’s eyes darted anxiously from the door to the throne and back again, gauging distances and gauging threats. Interesting… despite his obvious fear, defenses were instinctively being raised within the boy. Such strength! Palpatine almost salivated at the thought of having that power under control.

The boy’s voice shattered the stillness. "Who are you?" he asked, making the Emperor start beneath an outwardly cold exterior. He’d been expecting the inevitable question of where am I? not this. Who was he? The boy had the nerve to ask that? Amazing.

And full of opportunities. He smiled at the boy. "I am the Emperor."

Remarkably enough, the boy remained unsurprised. Palpatine continued. "I am your Master," he said coldly, meaning and wanting and needing to frighten the boy.

Clear blue eyes snapped up to meet his. Fury sharpened Palpatine’s gaze, but the boy met it – met it! A defiant light entered young Skywalker’s eyes, and Palpatine knew he was seeing a window into the boy’s soul. He was viewing what this child really was – what he could be – and what marked him as different. Palpatine’s eyes narrowed. Strength interested him; defiance merely pissed him off.

This boy needed a lesson.

Black lightning enveloped the boy, and Skywalker cried out in surprise and pain as he was thrown against the far wall. Restraining himself to only let it continue for a moment – though it was rather disappointing; he did so enjoy the boy’s agony – Palpatine gave the boy is best glare. Then he relaxed, allowing his anger to encompass him, but not control him – yet. For now it was enough that a well-needed lesson had been taught.

Still, those ice blue eyes focused on him once more, still clear, yet tinged with pain, and, yes, fear. But that damn subconscious defiance was still there! Uneasily, but with a foolish courage, the boy scrambled to his feet, his eyes darting to the door.

"Don’t bother trying it," Palpatine hissed. This boy would not defy him again. Enough was enough.

"What do you want with me?" the boy questioned, holding back tears with something stronger than a child’s courage. There was such power there! Palpatine was almost giddy as he thought of what he could do with it under at command. No Jedi or rebellion would dare defy him again with two Skywalkers at his side… And this one, so much stronger than his father, so much more worth the time and effort to turn – even if his defiance was growing quickly old.

"Be thankful I do not kill you now for your defiance," he snapped angrily. The boy started fearfully, his eyes widening slightly as Palpatine continued. "Instead I will give you an excellent opportunity – one I give to few others." He offered the boy his best friendly smile – the one that was polished by years of politics.

The boy stumbled over the word. "Opportunity?"

"Yes… you will be trained to serve me. I will give you power."

Luke looked up at the old man seated upon the throne in confusion. He didn’t understand why he was here or the Emperor’s promise of power. He just wanted to go home, but something inside told him it wouldn’t be a good idea to mention that. "Power?" he echoed.

"I will make you great," the old man said with a gentle smile. "I will make your dreams come true."

Luke frowned a little. What did this man know of his dreams? "I want to become a pilot," he said skeptically.

The Emperor stepped down from the throne and came to stand next to him. Luke looked at him warily, realizing that this nice-seeming old man was the same guy who had just hit him with that black stuff minutes before. "You can become the best pilot in the galaxy, and more," he said.

Luke’s eyes widened. "I know I can be the best!" he exclaimed.

The old man smiled. Maybe he was nice, after all… "Serving me would make you important," he said. "The entire galaxy would respect you."

"Me? Why?"

The Emperor patted him on the shoulder. "They would fear you."

"Fear me?" That didn’t feel right… Something was wrong.

"Yes…" the Emperor smiled.

"Why?" Luke wondered.

"Because of what you could do." Again, the nice smile, but something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

"I don’t want to hurt anyone," Luke blurted before he knew what he was saying. Somehow it just felt right to say it.

Anger flashed in the old man’s eyes, and Luke pulled back from it, but the Emperor’s hand on his shoulder held him still. "You will do what I say," the old man hissed.

Fear and feelings overrode caution, and Luke jerked away. Suddenly the Emperor didn’t seem so nice. Luke shivered. He seemed cold… dark. He didn’t want to be like that. He didn’t want to be mean. "I don’t want to be like you," he said before he knew it.

"What!"

Luke cried out as the black stuff hit him again and he flew. It hurtssssss! He screamed helplessly, trying to move away but it followed him as he rolled. Still screaming, but realizing it would be useless to fight, he curled into a ball at the Emperor’s feet.

Finally, it stopped, and Luke lay crying, tears streaming down his face. He heard footsteps but did not look up to see if the Emperor was coming closer. He kept his face hidden in the crook of his arm, sobbing as the pain still shot through his body.

"Making me angry is unwise," the Emperor said. His voice was closer and almost kind, but Luke wasn’t fooled this time. He didn’t answer, and the Emperor shouted, "Look at me when I talk to you!" and grabbed his hair, pulling his head up.

Trembling, Luke did as commanded, looking up just in time to see the hand flying toward his face – he yelped as it made contact. The Emperor released him and Luke fell back, instinctively pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, all the while not daring to take his eyes off the Emperor. He shivered again. The coldness was all around him; it felt like it was closing in, trying to smother him.

The door opened, and one of the red guards stepped in. "Now," the old man said, "you’re going to go with my Royal Guard, and I will begin your training in the morning."

Instinctively, Luke knew that to go with the guard meant he would become yucky like the Emperor. "But I don’t want to be like you," he whispered.

And he screamed as the black stuff hit him again. It went on longer this time, and Luke felt like it was tearing his body apart. It was so much worse than the time he’d accidentally touched Uncle Owen’s electric fence… It was forever before it stopped, and then Luke lay again sobbing and shaking at the Emperor’s feet. "Your only other choice is death," the old man said.

Suddenly, clearly, it came to Luke as if it were a part of himself – though one he’d never seen before. For the first time, he understood what he had to do. He had to fight the darkness.

I don’t want to die! he thought frantically. I want to be a pilot! I want to grow up and leave the farm… but he knew he’d all ready left the farm, and the galaxy wasn’t all it made out to be. But I don’t want to die…

You won’t, a strange voice reassured him. It was a warm voice; it pierced through the cold blackness Luke felt around him. Without knowing were it came from, Luke knew it spoke the truth. And in his heart he knew he could never be like the Emperor. He didn’t want to hurt anyone.

Then the Emperor was grabbing him, shaking him hard. "Well?" he demanded.

Luke shrank back, knowing he’d anger him. But his feelings told him he must do so; his feelings told him to fight the darkness. The warm voice reassured him. Trust your instincts. Trust yourself. It was only then that Luke realized that the warm voice came from inside him. "I don’t want to be dark," he whispered.

Then the black stuff struck again, ripping into him and making him scream and sob once more. It felt like forever before Luke fell into a dark haze of pain, unaware of his surroundings and unable to see. The cracking and buzzing that came with the black stuff ended, but the pain remained. Dimly, Luke heard the Emperor saying angrily to someone: "Take him to the torture room."

Fear seized him as large, cruel hands lifted him, but he was beyond fighting it. He almost cried out, No! and wanted to be what the Emperor said, but something held him back. Desperately retreating inside himself, Luke searched for the warm voice – but it wasn’t there. There was only a feeling in its place that he’d never felt before, something warm, something light… something he didn’t understand. But somehow he had a feeling he’d need it.