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Vader closed his eyes and breathed in as deeply as his damaged lungs would allow. He hung, suspended, in a new bacta tank in the recently activated medbay of the battle station under construction.

Vader needed time to think. But he did not have much time. The Emperor had commanded him to go down to the Sanctuary Moon. It was reasonable, if asked, that he would need a bacta treatment to be in peak health for the coming confrontation.

Still, he could not stay as long as he’d like. If the Emperor tried to contact him and he was not on the moon or at least on the way, the Emperor would be displeased. Vader didn’t need the Emperor to have any more reasons to be displeased.

He remembered a time when he hated bacta. Back when he still had whole and healthy lungs. Not to mention the rest of him. He had hated all medical treatment because back then it implied injury, illness, weakness. He’d been impatient to get back to full fighting form.

At a time when he’d responded to a name that no longer held meaning for him, how could he have guessed he would ever look forward to bacta dips? That he would treasure the time alone, to think, or dream, or simply float. Here in the bacta tank, he was beyond reach. As a young man, he’d been restless during meditation. Silence had been intolerable. Now he craved it. Even in his isolation pod, messages could pierce his peace. There was a very particular buzz that could not be ignored.

Vader knew his staff whispered about his obedience to the Emperor, and why the Emperor favored him. They said Vader was a blunt instrument, a tank in human form. That their supreme commander was no more than the Emperor’s pet enforcer. They’d said the same about his relationship with Tarkin.

Despite Wilhuff Tarkin’s overreliance on that first technological terror, Vader grudgingly respected the man. Tarkin had had his uses. In turn, Tarkin used Vader. It had been a satisfactory arrangement for both. At the time, Vader had occasionally felt he deserved more direct attention from the Emperor. Then Tarkin had suffered the natural consequences of his own shortsightedness. And Vader discovered what having Palpatine’s focused attention was like. Some days he missed Tarkin’s more hands-off style.

He followed the memories of Tarkin back, earlier and earlier. They had first met even before he’d been honored with the name Darth Vader. Memories of other beings from that time floated in the bacta in front of him. A voice he’d not heard in years whispered in his mind.

"I won’t leave you. Not this time." Ahsoka’s last words to him. He hadn’t thought about her, or about that last fight with her, in so long. Perhaps he should have tried harder to show her the power of the dark side. He had enjoyed teaching her, recording holocrons for her training, watching her become more powerful and discerning. They were both terribly misguided by Obi-Wan, Yoda, and the Council, of course, which she eventually saw. Even before he did.

He should have walked away with her. Maybe then they could have forged a new path together. A path where he could be with Padmé and raise Luke. A path where he and Ahsoka would not have ended up on opposite sides. Where she would never have looked at him with horror and disbelief. And he would not have had to cut her down.

He would do better with Luke. He had to.

Only together can we turn him to the dark side of the Force, Palpatine had said. But the Rule of Two demanded that one of them would not survive; at least, not for long. Many lunar cycles ago, Vader had suggested that Luke could be a powerful ally, out of desperation, to protect the boy from destruction. It had worked. Effectively starting a clock for one of the three of them to die.

Everything is proceeding as I have foreseen it. Was that even true? Certainly Palpatine would not be bragging like that if he’d forseen his own death. The Emperor said this often. It wasn’t always true. Sometimes it was just for inspiring fear of his supposed omniscience. He may not know any more than Vader did about how a confrontation with Luke would end.

For that matter, what if Palpatine had not truly “foreseen” that Luke would come to Vader on the moon? Could he be sending Vader away for some ulterior motive? Perhaps Vader was not the bait for Luke. Perhaps the suggestion of Luke was the bait for Vader. As usual, Palpatine knew exactly which levers to pull to make them all dance like his puppets.
Not that he had the option to disobey. But Vader could alert Piett to keep him apprised of any developments on the station he might miss while on the ground.

His compassion for you will be his undoing. What did Palpatine mean? Would Palpatine torture Vader to manipulate his son? A frisson of fear spread through him. Fear for himself? Fear for Luke? Would Luke try to save Vader? Did Luke think Vader needed saving? Did Luke think his father was worth saving? Could Luke possibly think his father was worth saving?

Among all these uncertainties, the one thing he was sure of was that Luke was nearby. His sense on that shuttle had been unmistakable. If Vader got the opportunity, he could teach his son how to mask that presence that blazed like Tatooine suns.

Will be his undoing. Undoing. Vader had been the undoing of a great many. Including those he loved. Briefly, he allowed his memory to slip past the usual barrier. He opened his eyes and watched the bacta undulating in front of him, seeing ripples on a lake in Naboo. Padmé wore white lace and professed her love and commitment. It was the happiest day of his life.

He blinked, and the scene changed. Padmé searching his face as she professed her pregnancy. The two of them would become three. He would have a family of three. He’d lifted her up and spun her around. The happiest day of his life.

But then that fateful day, she looked at him in horror and disbelief and said she could not follow him. She was undone. He had been her undoing. The worst day of his life.

Vader had sliced through Obi-Wan Kenobi as he had through so many others. It had not been nearly as satisfying as it should have been, as he had dreamt it would be during the previous twenty years. Obi-Wan’s old robe had collapsed to the deck, slashed and empty. You were my brother. Vader had been his master’s undoing.

How would he prevent being Luke’s undoing? Vader did not see a way to defeat the Emperor without turning Luke to the dark side, even briefly. The boy would have to recognize the dark side’s superior brute power, even if in retrospect.

Turning Luke might be difficult for them both. He did not look forward to seeing pain and betrayal in his son’s eyes again. Though Luke’s eyes were blue like his own, the look of betrayal had been a mirror image of his mother’s. His refusal to give in was the same as hers. Like her, Luke’s first choice was to run away.

But like his father, Luke was angry. Vader would not enjoy using that against him, to break him, but he would do what he must to save Luke from becoming Palpatine’s apprentice. He would not abandon the boy to suffer the fate he himself had so blindly walked into.

He would turn Luke, use his power to defeat the Emperor, and then together they would decide what to do next. If Luke was still uninterested in ruling the galaxy with him then, so be it. As long as the Emperor was dead, they would be safe, and they could be together. That was what mattered.

He bitterly regretted that he couldn’t save his mother from those filthy Sand People. He regretted he couldn’t save Padmé from death. One way or another, he was going to save his son.