A Living Nightmare
Chapter 16: A Small Kindness
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“Death is a natural part of life. Rejoice for those around you who transform into the Force. Mourn them do not. Miss them do not.”- Jedi Master Yoda
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6 BBY
Location: Hyperspace - The Scythe’s Cockpit
I feel the gentle thrum of the Scythe’s engines resonate through my bones, a tactile echo in the Force. Even without real eyes, I can sense the ship’s contours—the press of the cockpit walls, the subtle tension in TK-421’s posture, and the soft, uneven heartbeat of young Galen Marek behind us. He’s still asleep, strapped into a fold-out emergency chair.
I shift my gauntleted hand and let my fingers graze the hilt hanging from my belt. Linna Marek’s lightsaber. The thing hums quietly with the residue of her presence—she was strong, once. That she’s still breathing is a complication I’ll have to explain. Executing a rogue Jedi is routine for Inquisitors. Letting one live? That is something else altogether.
TK-421 clears his throat. I sense the swirl of his emotions—a swirl of loyalty and perpetual caution. “Everything…okay, sir?” he asks softly, mindful not to wake the boy.
I exhale, the sound carrying more weariness than I intended. “If by ‘okay’ you mean have I sorted out how to justify this mission to my superiors, then no. Linna Marek is alive. I left her behind, wounded, but breathing. The report won’t be straightforward.”
TK-421’s hands tighten on the yoke. “Why not just kill her? Or say you did?”
I let my head tilt forward, as though studying the darkness beyond the viewport. In truth, I’m seeing it in my own way—through the threads of the Force, the luminous swirl of hyperspace. “Because…Galen came willingly,” I say at last. “Her death would have served no purpose. And we needed to leave in a hurry.”
A lie, partially. Part of me suspects I simply didn’t have the stomach for it. Another part wonders if the boy would have resisted if he watched me strike his mother down in cold blood. That bond between mother and child…
“So, how are you going to explain it?” TK-421 presses.
I rub my thumb over the lightsaber’s brushed metal. “I’ll say she was…critically wounded. That we had a narrow window to escape the father’s—Norwa’s—supporters before they rallied. Any number of excuses. The truth is, in the end, we got what we wanted.” My gaze—or the closest thing I have to one—shifts toward Galen. He murmurs softly, lost in some dream.
TK-421 follows my line of thought. “What happens to the kid now?”
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I extend a cautious brush of the Force toward Galen, sensing his raw potential. The boy’s power tastes like bright, untamed electricity. “Lord Vader may want him,” I finally said, voice hushed. “Could see him as an…apprentice of sorts. Or he’ll be processed, like all the other children we find. Indoc…conditioning, re-education—whatever they’re calling it these days.”
I can practically hear TK’s unease, though he tries to tamp it down. “You don’t sound thrilled about it.”
A humorless smile tugs at my lips. “I’m not,” I admit. “There’s a part of me that wants to…take him. To run. Train him properly—if I even knew what that entailed.” My laugh comes out dry, hollow. “I’ve been an Inquisitor for so long, I don’t know how to meditate without drawing on anger or fear.”
The cockpit goes quiet except for the steady hum of hyperspace. I flick through possible futures in my head: me, Galen, and TK-421 fleeing into the outer rim, forging a new life. But I know it’s a fantasy. The Empire’s reach is too vast. And what would I even teach him? I don’t know the first thing about being a Jedi.
“We both know that’s suicide,” TK-421 says gently. Not a challenge, more a resigned acceptance. “They’d hunt you across every sector.”
“They’d succeed,” I confirm. “Lord Vader, the Emperor…they’d never let us vanish.” I shake off the thought, letting my focus return to the present. “You’re not the only one who wonders about how it all ends, trooper. Believe me, our fates are bound to this Empire in blood.”
He doesn’t respond, but I sense his agreement in the faint slump of his shoulders.
After a moment, I sigh. “This mission’s going into the books with a dozen half-truths. Another twisted success story for the Inquisitorius, no doubt.”
“Better than a failure,” TK-421 offers.
I let my fingers drift again to the lightsaber hilt. “Better?” I echo. “I suppose that’s debatable.” A flicker of memory—Kota on Nar Shaddaa, a minor legend who died at my hands. Another name erased, another point of conscience chipped away. And yet, I left Linna alive. Why?
Galen stirs, and we both pause. The boy lets out a small moan, but remains asleep. The cockpit returns to its hush. The swirl of the Force around him is intense—untrained brilliance waiting to be shaped. I wonder if Vader will mold him into a monster or if the boy might retain some spark of innocence. The Force only knows.
“Sir?” TK-421 prompts, as if expecting another reflection.
I grip the co-pilot’s seat, forcing my thoughts to still. “Set a course for Mustafar, once we exit hyperspace” I say quietly, deciding on the next best step for an official handoff. “I’d rather get it all done and over with. Vader can do what he wants with me.” He nods, and the ship’s engines pulse as we adjust our heading. I allow myself one last fleeting fantasy: taking Galen and disappearing into the cosmos. But the moment passes, replaced by the suffocating reality of the Empire’s shadow.
My useless eyes burn with something akin to regret. We are what these monsters have made us.
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Location: Mustafar Orbit
We broke from hyperspace above Mustafar, the Scythe’s hull shuddering at the abrupt transition. Even before the planet came into visual range, I felt him—Darth Vader—like a vortex of pain and suffering spiraling outward into the Force. Mustafar’s dark side presence only heightened my unease, stirring old pity I once held for the machine man. A pity I no longer dared admit.
TK-421 handled the controls up front, guiding us into the planet’s atmosphere. I stood behind him in the cockpit, letting my Miralukan senses unfurl across the volcanic surface below. Through the Force, I detected the fortress—an obsidian spire rising from molten fields of lava. And beyond that, barely registering as a flickering beacon, was Kento Marek, the Jedi prisoner we were here to see. The older man’s mind brushed against mine, reaching out in desperation for a presence he recognized: his son.
Galen Marek dozed fitfully in that same fold-out seat he had been in the entire trip, arms and legs dangling in the harness. Already, I felt Kento trying to connect with him, even from this distance. But I would not allow it. Reaching into the darkest corners of my power, I summoned the Force to create a barrier between father and son. If they were to meet, it would be face to face, free of Force hijinks or whispered telepathic goodbyes. Perhaps I’m giving them a courtesy I never had.
A sharp pang of memory flared in my mind: a different life, a different time—when I had never met my own father, and never would. I clenched my jaw, pushing the thoughts behind a mental wall. Mustafar was steeped in the dark side, and I drew on that oppressive energy to bury my regret, to keep my composure. I couldn’t risk letting Vader sense any weakness.
“Sir,” TK-421 said, “we’re settling into the final approach.”
I nodded, sensing the Scythe slice through Mustafar’s thick clouds of soot and ash. The cockpit glowed with sullen orange from the molten rivers below. As we neared Vader’s fortress, my mind flicked to another piece of my past: a VR simulation from another life, where I had prowled these same corridors, fought stormtroopers, even downed a TIE fighter. Eventually, I faced Vader in that digital hellscape. My gut twisted at the thought of crossing sabers with him here, in brutal reality. I prayed it would never come to that.
The Scythe touched down on a platform inside the castle’s main hangar, the ramp hissing open to belch a wave of oppressive heat into the cabin. Galen stirred, rubbing his eyes.
“Are we here?” he mumbled, blinking at the glowing haze. “It’s so…hot.”
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“We are,” I said quietly. “Follow me.”
TK-421 cast me a questioning glance from under his helmet. I answered with a brief nod. “Stay with the ship,” I instructed. “Keep the engines primed, just in case.”
Galen unbuckled and hopped off the emergency chair, marveling at the spectacle of lava flows visible through the shielded hangar barrier. “This place is awesome!” he said, wide-eyed.
Awesome, yes—if one appreciated the twisted grandeur of a world shaped by endless destruction. I couldn’t deny part of me found it striking. A real fortress, I thought, recalling how ironically similar it was to that VR version I’d once “played” through. Only now, the stakes were lethal.
At the foot of the ramp, Admiral Gable Karius awaited us, flanked by two stormtroopers. The sight of him made Galen recoil for a second—no surprise, given the man’s heavily augmented frame. Karius was mostly metal, with only the right side of his face still fleshy. His left arm ended in a skeletal prosthetic, each servo whirring in precise increments. Even I found it eerie, and I was used to the Emperor’s bizarre menagerie of half-droids.
“Inquisitor,” Karius greeted, voice resonating from a metallic voicebox grafted near his throat. “Lord Vader sends his regards. I trust your mission was a success?”
He glanced pointedly at Galen, his single organic eye flickering with curiosity.
“Something like that,” I said. I felt Kento’s Force signature pulse again—an attempt to reach Galen. Once more, I blocked it with a silent surge of energy, slamming shut the boy’s mind like a vault.
Karius invited us to follow. Behind him, the gloom of Vader’s fortress loomed, halls lit with dull red glow panels that reminded me of ancient crypts. Galen padded close, shielding his face from a passing gust of superheated air.
“Admiral,” I ventured, “you’re here on Lord Vader’s orders?”
Karius gave a curt nod, mechanical arm twitching. “Indeed. My Lord instructs you to see the prisoner before reporting to him. The situation is…delicate.”
I swallowed. Delicate… code for something complicated—Vader rarely used that word. Or any word to denote caution. “Lead the way.”
We crossed a wide corridor, the fortress’s interior brimming with the dark side. It fueled my mental resolve, letting me drown out the tender recollections that threatened to surface. I never knew my father, never had that chance. But I’d make sure Galen at least saw Kento in the flesh, for better or worse.
Galen coughed lightly at the pervasive smell of brimstone, but kept pace. He craned his neck, dazzled by the high arched ceilings. “Is this my father’s house?” he asked, half in awe.
“You could say it belongs to…someone else,” I replied, carefully vague. “But yes, your father’s waiting for you here.”
That earned me a beaming smile, and a pang of guilt twisted in my chest. If only he knew. I hardened my expression to keep from showing weakness, forging on into the gloom. The Force thrummed with foreboding—Vader’s presence a black hole, devouring all emotion in its path.
I still remembered that old VR game and the duel. In hindsight, it was restrictive and wildly inaccurate in how one used the Force or a lightsaber. Yet I remember Vader being an absolute monster to fight. The real Vader would be no kinder if I crossed him. All I can do is comply. For now, I had Galen in tow. The future would unfold soon enough, once father and son reunited in the halls of the Empire’s darkest domain.
And behind every step, Kento’s failing heartbeat resonated in the Force, straining to reach the son he’d never properly met—until I slammed that door shut again. Let them meet in person. Let them speak, or scream, or cry as living beings, not disembodied echoes in the Force. I never had that option. But perhaps they still did.
We took an elevator down to the detention center—myself, Admiral Gable Karius, and little Galen Marek. The admiral led the way, his mechanical limbs whirring in the stale air. Galen clung to me, steps hesitant.When the elevator doors slid open, we stepped into the security hub. Several officers saluted Admiral Karius. In my attuned perception through the Force, I noted three stormtroopers, two security guards, and a Purge Trooper lurking near a bank of monitors. Something about that Purge Trooper’s presence stood out like a void—resistant to my surface scans. That was their nature. Well-trained, well-augmented. Deadly, if they needed to be.
“Prisoner number 96008,” Karius said, striding to the main console. “Authorized visitation for the Inquisitor and…” He glanced at Galen. “…the child.”
A security officer punched in the code, then gestured us forward. Karius nodded at the cell door across the hall. “Take as much time as needed. I’ll wait out here.”
I turned toward the locked entrance, feeling a pulse of dread in my gut. Now I understood what Lord Vader meant by ‘delicate.’ The prisoner beyond that door was the father of the boy at my side, battered nearly to death. I felt him in the Force, dim and flickering like a dying star. Yet, even in his weakened state, he was trying to reach out—to sense Galen. I kept an iron hold on the dark side, blocking that telepathic link so father and son could meet face-to-face.
With a wave of my hand, I opened the door, stepping into a dimly lit chamber reeking of antiseptics and old blood. Kento floated in a containment field, swaying slightly—robes torn and bloody, one leg missing. Needles protruded from his arms, likely administering the Imperial interrogation drugs that had left his mind addled. The soft hum of the field thrummed against my senses.
I locked the door behind me with the Force, letting the gloom of countless tortures fill my spirit. This place had seen so many Jedi break. It fueled the negativity I clung to for power. And it kept me from flinching at the ‘sight’ of a broken man.
“Father?” Galen gasped, stumbling forward. “Father!”
The boy’s eyes were wide with horror. He reached the edge of the containment field and glanced back at me, pleading. “Help him!”
I folded my arms, leaning against the door’s control panel. In the suffocating hush, I remembered my own interrogation under Vader—losing my freedom, but never a limb. Kento wasn’t so lucky.
Sensing our presence, Kento’s eyes fluttered open. I felt his shock, anger, and surprise spike in the Force. And something else…. My jaw clenched. Thank the void I wore a helmet, where no one could see my expression.
“My son,” Kento rasped, voice trembling. “Galen… What are you—” He dragged his gaze to me, blinking furiously. “Why did you bring him here?”
He coughed, struggling for air. I pushed off the wall, arms still folded over my chest. “Your wife is safe. Your home is safe. And for now, your son is safe.” I could feel Kento’s eyes flick to the lightsaber hanging from my belt and I felt him try to probe my mind. This time, I let him, offering him a glimpse of truth: Linna living, Bar Nava’s leadership intact. A small kindness, I told myself.
Kento’s shoulders shook with relief, though it only deepened his heartbreak. “I’m…so sorry, Galen,” he whispered, turning back to his boy. “I never wanted to leave you. I—”
Galen pressed close to the field’s edge, tears spilling down his cheeks. “Dad, I have your pilot figure,” he said, fumbling in his pocket for a small toy. “See? I took it with me.”
Kento stared at the scuffed starfighter pilot figurine, eyes brimming with tears. For a moment, the containment field hummed faintly between them, but the father still smiled. It was the smile of a man who realized he might never see his child again. Then he choked on a sob.
“I never wanted this for you,” he managed, tears dripping onto his tattered robe. “I never wanted any of this…” His breathing grew shallow. “I’m sorry, son.”
At that moment, Kento turned those half-lidded eyes to me—desperate, pleading. “Keep him safe,” he begged hoarsely. “Keep him…away from Vader…”
I said nothing. My heart thundered. All I could do was feel the cold press of the dark side in my veins, forcing me to remain silent. The door behind me slid open. A deep hiss of mechanized breathing filled the chamber. Galen gasped, spinning around.
Darth Vader stood there, towering in black. Kento was too far gone to sense him until that very instant. At Vader’s presence, the Force seemed to constrict, thick with finality.
“This boy is far stronger than expected, Inquisitor,” Vader intoned, his voice a baritone rasp echoing in the sealed cell. He turned his skull-like mask toward me. “You have done well today.”
Some subtle gesture of Vader’s left hand deactivated the containment field. Kento dropped onto the cold floor with a ragged cry, missing leg twisting awkwardly. Galen rushed to him, arms outstretched.
“Dad!” the boy sobbed.
But Kento barely had time to register his son’s touch before he jerked upright, choking. I sensed Vader’s ruthless will tightening like a vise on the old Jedi’s throat. Kento’s face contorted, eyes bulging. A moment later, there was a sharp crack. His neck snapped under the invisible pressure. Vader let the body fall, lifeless, in front of his horrified child.
Galen staggered backward, trembling, tears pouring down his cheeks. Shock, grief, fury all warred in the Force around him. Every emotion flared like molten lava.
A four-year-old child, full of such potential with the Force. All those emotions were directed at one, single man. And he unleashed it all.
For a heartbeat, the air itself seemed to thicken, charged with energy that crackled across my senses like tiny arcs of lightning. Then, all at once, it erupted.
A fierce Force push thundered through the cell, jolting me backward. It slammed into Darth Vader as well, the dim lights flickering wildly. I saw sparks dance along the metal walls, an electric discharge that hummed with the boy’s anguish.
Instinct took over before my mind caught up. I felt the dark side surge within me—my usual source of power in dire moments—yet there was something else, too, something more primal guiding my hands. Like a puppet on invisible strings, I threw my arms up and formed a hasty barrier around myself, letting the roiling Force wash around me in a swirl of negative energy. The blow was intense, far stronger than I’d have expected from a four-year-old.
Vader, for his part, simply wrapped himself in the folds of the dark side, forging a protective shell against Galen’s explosion of power. He bore the brunt of it without flinching, though I sensed the Force snap and crackle around him, jolting like stray lightning. Beneath that mask, he must have felt the impact as surely as I did.
For a second, the lights stuttered—on, off, on—throwing the cell into a dance of shadows. Even the outer hallway’s power fluxed in response to Galen’s unleashed fury. Then, as abruptly as it began, the wave receded, leaving the boy panting, tears streaming down his face. He inhaled, readying another strike.
Vader moved faster than I could track—one harsh gesture, a concentrated injection of dark side energy directed at Galen. The boy’s eyes rolled back, and he collapsed, unconscious, onto the cold floor.
A somber silence settled over the room, broken only by my own ragged breathing. Vader turned away from the boy without a hint of concern, the edges of his imposing silhouette still crackling with residual sparks of Force powered lightning.
“Your report, Inquisitor,” he ordered, voice resonating through the vocoder like an executioner’s sentence.
His address snapped me out of the shock of what transpired and I felt my hand instinctually reach for the green bladed lightsaber clipped to my belt.