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The bridge of the Executor is overall a quiet part of the ship. Aside from the telltale sounds of the machinery and conversation between officers, there’s generally no conversation held in a space where one could be overheard by the Empires greatest weapon.
It’s this silence, created by professional standard and instinctual fear, that Lord Vader finds himself standing in, outwardly looking at the next object his master the Emperor has sent him to. He is to investigate possible rebel activity and stomp out any forces on the planet…….the planet………………….
He’s been staring at it for a solid 5 minutes now, and still Vader couldn’t remember what the name of the planet was. With his arms crossed, he stood awkwardly as he mainly focused on trying to remember the key points from the briefing he happened to fall asleep to. When the technology that forced him alive hid all intent, he found that his mind often drifted to other things in his older age.
“Not like they’d notice anyways, huh?” Internally, Vader sighed. He made no effort to turn his head towards the direction of the dead man.
The specter spoke again, nostalgia in his voice. “back on The Resolute, Rex would’ve seen our confusion and subtly reminded us, if Skips didn’t point it out.”
Vader felt a stab of pain and anger at the mention of his old Padawan, and couldn’t resist slightly tilting his head towards the ghost. It felt like a loss.
Nothing’s changed in the week since the specter first appeared. Wearing his old Jedi robes under the modified Clone Trooper armor, the ghost of Anakin Skywalker in his prime stood with his arms crossed against his chest, looking at Vader with a smirk that would appear to others to represent a casual confidence.
Vader could see the anger in his eyes, however. How could he not; the anger was still in his.
“But these guys?” Skywalker continued, “these guys don’t even talk to each other! Honestly, how can you stand this?”
The question would(fortunately) have to remain unanswered as he sensed an Imperial officer standing at attention behind him, information at the ready.
“Report.” The Officer didn’t show any outward reaction to this, though the Sith Lord could feel his fear sharply rise.
“Lord Vader, we will soon be landing on Bahn. The station here,“ he points to a small visage of the planet on his holoprojector, “will be our base of operations as per your orders.”
Vader couldn’t remember when he gave orders, but he chose to enjoy the fact that he could now pretend to have remembered the name of the planet all along. Small victories.
He waved away the officer, who couldn’t help but reveal the slightest flinch at Vader’s gloved hand rising over him, before turning and walking away.
Anakin sighed. “Bahn, huh. Don’t remember that one. You think your master just makes up planets with rebellions on them to keep us busy?”, He said with a false playful tone.
As usual, he ignored the jab. His previous meeting with his master came to Vader’s mind.
Even now, despite the passage of time, the older Sith still manipulated his words, attempting to sound like the kind old Supreme Chancellor he had once met on Naboo, so long ago.
Ah, Naboo. As always, his thoughts led him back to Padmé.
“You don’t get to think about her.”
If Vader were any less concentrated on appearing intimidating and unapproachable, he would’ve jolted at the sudden reminder of his personal annoyance.
The ghost now stood in front of him, eyes having gone from a quiet blue to a harsh yellow, surrounded by sharp spikes of red. His face was cold, and full of anger.
Ahh, Vader thought. There he is.
“You know what you did,” Skywalker said. “To her. To Obi Wan. I won’t let you pretend to be allowed regret.”
Hmm. Foolish as always of the specter to bring up their old master. The anger has died down from the fire it once was in its youth, but to mention him was a surefire way to stoke the embers.
Vader has intimidated the bridge enough, he thought. He turns, and walks out, the stomping of the boots betraying the Sith’s inner rage.
It was time to relieve his anger with the help of the rebels on this accursed planet.
Red. Bright red. The glowing red of his saber, cutting through metal, cutting through flesh. A red betraying his status, his anger to all. The red of a Sith.
Red. Dark red. Blood, of the Tuskens he slaughtered, of younglings, his old master, his brother. The dark red of his burnt body, left to die on mustafar by his master, his brother.
Red. Translucent red. All encompassing, all covering, the color that tints his lenses and taints his vision. One small part of the suit, the barrier, the prison between him and life—and yet the most damning.
Vader wished he was younger, as he tore through their defenses. He wished his limbs didn’t ache, and couldn’t feel the nigh imperceptible instances when the cybernetic enhancements dug into him. He wished he had his clones with him, Rex and the rest of the 501st.
But most of all, he wished he had that ever-blinding rage his youthful counterpart once had. As he grew older, and became more in tune with the dark side of the force, Vader found he couldn’t hide in the anger. He was in complete and utter control of his atrocities now. All this power, and it couldn’t save him from reality.
In his peripherals he could see a stormtrooper approach. Vader sheathed his saber, and faced him. “What?” He asked curtly, as if the other man had interrupted one of his meditations. As if there wasn’t blood covering the pitch black suit that contained him.
“New orders, my lord.” The Stormtrooper responded.
“You’ve got to hand it to him,” the specter to Vader’s left spoke with mirth, “there was barely any trembling in that tone. Must be a usual, it’s impossible to tell with those helmets . So blank...” Skywalker trailed off, with a despondent tone.
Vader, as always, ignored him. “Speak,” he commanded of the stormtrooper.
“The Executor intercepted the escaping ships as you commanded, my lord. With the remaining rebels captured, Admiral Tarkin has requested your presence.”
Mention of the Admiral brought about new emotions, cutting through the hatred albeit not quenching the fires completely.
“Oh great,” Anakin spoke with much disdain. “What could the shriveled old raisin want now?”
Seldom does Vader agree with spirits that do not exist, but he did have a point, both on the desires of the Admiral, and his current physical state. Remembering that the poor trooper was still in his presence, he waved a commanding hand to the soldier. “Bring the Exectutor to low orbit and prepare my personal ship,” he commanded. With a nod, the trooper scurried away.
It wasn’t so much as Vader hated Tarkin, only that he incredibly disliked him. Early on in his career as a Sith Lord, Vader still held on to the old hatred that once belonged to anakin(“that still belongs to you, idiot,” came the quick and unwanted reply from his ethereal companion.)
As time passed, and the hatred matured, Vader began to realize how truly insignificant a man like Tarkin was compared to the true power of the Force. Yes, his master told him he can’t kill him, but such orders were useless now. The Admiral was incredibly useful, and could at least carry out his duties. Vader required nothing more, and killed those who had done less.