The corridors of the rebel flagship hummed with the usual life support noise, but Alex barely noticed this background sound. It had been three days since Luke Skywalker returned without a hand. Alex walked along a familiar route to the docking bay, where his own ship awaited him.
Their meeting in the corridor seemed accidental, but Alex had wanted to talk to him for a long time and had foreseen his appearance. The guy looked... devastated. Not physically – the bacta chamber had done its job, and the new cybernetic prosthesis worked flawlessly. But in Skywalker's blue eyes, there was such deep fatigue that it was as if he had aged ten years in these few days.
"Luke," Alex called out as their paths crossed near the elevator. "How are you? Does your hand bother you?"
Luke mechanically clenched and unclenched the fingers of the prosthesis, observing the smooth movements of the synthetic muscles.
"No, everything is fine. The medics did an excellent job." His voice sounded even, but Alex heard a barely perceptible emptiness in it. "And where are you heading?"
"To my ship. I wanted to open a bottle of good Corellian whiskey." Alex studied Luke's face, noticing the tension at the corners of his eyes, his clenched jaw. "Keep me company?"
Luke hesitated for a few seconds, then nodded.
They descended to the docking bay in silence. The ship greeted them with dim lighting and the smell of leather upholstery. Alex led Luke into a small living room, where he had created something like a personal sanctuary. Soft armchairs, a small table made of real Corellian wood, shelves with data crystals and various souvenirs from dozens of worlds.
"Sit down," Alex gestured to one of the armchairs and headed for the bar in the corner of the room. "Shall we invite Leia?"
"No, she..." Luke sank into the armchair as if carrying an invisible burden on his shoulders. "She's busy. But I'll send her an invitation."
Alex took a bottle of twenty-year-old Corellian whiskey and two glasses from the bar. The amber liquid sloshed in the bottle, reflecting the light of the table lamp.
"Tell me what happened on Bespin," he said, pouring the whiskey. "I've heard fragments from others, but I'd like to hear it from you."
Luke took the glass but didn't drink immediately. He looked into the golden depths of the drink, as if he could find answers to his tormenting questions there.
"Han..." he began quietly. "Vader froze him in carbonite. I saw it happen. Leia was screaming, and I couldn't do anything. Nothing."
"Carbonite?" Alex raised an eyebrow, taking a small sip of whiskey. The technology interested him – he had heard of industrial applications of carbonite freezing, but its use on living beings was something new. "That's industrial technology. How did the Empire adapt it for..."
"For torture?" Luke gave a bitter chuckle. "They were testing the process on Han before... before they took me to the Emperor."
Alex put down his glass. Luke's voice carried such pain that he wanted to say something, to help somehow, but he understood – sometimes you just need to listen.
"Vader knew I would come," Luke continued, finally taking a sip from his glass and grimacing at the strength of the drink. "He foresaw my arrival. And I... I fell for it... The Master warned me. Said I wasn't ready, that my path led to suffering. But I didn't listen."
"You couldn't leave your friends in trouble," Alex said quietly. "That makes you human, not weak." Alex didn't ask about the Master yet.
"Human?" Luke raised his eyes, and bitterness swam in them. "I fought him, Alex. Darth Vader. And he... he played with me like a predator with its prey. I thought I had learned something, that I had become stronger. But he dealt with me as if I were a child with a toy sword."
Alex listened intently. The fact that Luke had even survived a meeting with one of the most dangerous beings in the galaxy spoke volumes.
"He cut off my hand," Luke mechanically touched his prosthesis. "Cornered me over a reactor shaft. And then... then he told me the truth."
Luke's voice trembled, and he took a large sip of whiskey, as if trying to drown out the pain.
"What truth?" Alex asked.
"That he is my father." The words burst from Luke's chest like a confession of murder. "Darth Vader is Anakin Skywalker. My father. The very hero of the Clone Wars that Ben told me about."
Luke placed his glass on the table with such force that the whiskey spilled.
"And Ben... Ben lied to me all this time. He said Vader killed my father. That Anakin Skywalker was betrayed and killed by his apprentice. But that's not true! They are the same person!"
Luke's voice carried not only pain but also rage – a deep, burning anger at the one he considered his mentor and friend.
"I trusted him," he continued, standing up and starting to pace the room. "Ben was like... he replaced my father. And he lied. Lied all the time."
Luke stopped at the viewport, looking into the starry void.
"How can I trust anyone now? If even Ben..."
Alex remained silent for several minutes, contemplating the words. What he was about to say could change Luke's perception of many things. But the young man deserved the truth – the real truth, not half-truths and evasive formulations.
"Luke," he finally said. "What if Ben was telling the truth? The real truth?"
Luke turned sharply.
"What are you talking about? Vader himself told me..."
"That he is your father. Yes, I don't doubt that." Alex leaned forward. "But that doesn't mean Anakin Skywalker is alive."
"I don't understand."
Alex leaned back in his chair.
"Tell me, what do you know about the dark side of the Force?"
Luke frowned.
"What the Master taught. That it tempts, corrupts. That it feeds on anger, fear, hatred. That once you step onto the dark path, it's almost impossible to turn back."
"All of that is true, but simplified," Alex twirled his finger in the air. "The dark side is not just a philosophy or a way of thinking. It's... a parasite. A consciousness virus, if you will."
"A virus?"
"Imagine a disease that affects not the body, but the mind. It penetrates the consciousness of the gifted, using their weaknesses – fears, doubts, anger. They are like opening a door into your soul. Once the door is open, the virus replaces the personality, creating a new one, subordinate to the dark side. And the true personality... it gets locked away somewhere deep inside."
Luke slowly returned to his armchair, his face paling.
"Are you saying that my father..."
"Effectively, your father died the day Palpatine completed his conversion. Anakin Skywalker is truly dead, just as Ben said." Alex spoke softly but firmly. "What wears his body, his face, his memories – is something else, something that is using your father's shell."
"But then..." Luke clenched his fists. "Then it means my father didn't betray the Jedi? He didn't kill children in the Temple?"
"Not him. His body, his power – yes. But not him." Alex closed the book. "Anakin Skywalker perished, Luke. He fell, like all Jedi."
Luke leaned back in his armchair, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from him.
"So Ben wasn't lying..."
"He was telling the truth. Perhaps not the whole truth, but the truth. Your father was a good man, a hero. And he was killed – not by a lightsaber, but by something far more terrible."
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Alex watched as Luke processed the new information, as the expression on his face changed. The pain was still there, but now something else was mixed with it – understanding, and perhaps even relief.
"Alex," Luke finally said. "What if he's still there? Somewhere inside? What if Anakin Skywalker isn't completely dead?"
Alex was silent for a long time. He had asked himself this question many times, studying the nature of the dark side.
"Perhaps," he said cautiously. "I knew a Jedi... He was infected too, but managed to resist. He even cut himself off from the Force to prevent the virus from taking full control."
"And what happened to him?"
"It ended badly," Alex shook his head. "Very badly. Constant struggle with himself, isolation from the Force... it drives you mad. But that Jedi managed to fulfill his role in the fight against the dark side."
Luke leaned forward.
"But is there a chance? Theoretically?"
"Hypothetically... maybe. But it would require incredible willpower. And external influence—something that could awaken the suppressed personality." Alex looked at Luke intently. "Why do you ask?"
"Vader, he spoke to me," Luke said quietly. "He said we could overthrow the Emperor, rule the galaxy as father and son. But in his voice... there was something else. Not just cruelty and power. Something... human."
"It could have been a trap," Alex warned. "The virus uses any means to achieve its goal. It could have mimicked paternal feelings to lure you to your fall."
"Perhaps," Luke nodded. "But what if it didn't?"
Alex understood what the young Jedi was thinking. Hope is a terrible thing. It can give strength for the impossible, but it can also lead to ruin.
"Luke, I have to tell you something," Alex paused. "What happened between you and Vader on Bespin... you don't understand how lucky you were to survive."
"Lucky?" Luke gave a bitter chuckle. "He cut off my hand. You call that luck?"
"Yes, precisely." Alex leaned forward. "Luke, you fought one of the most dangerous beings in the galaxy. One that exterminated the entire Jedi Order. You had no chance against him in a fair fight."
"I know I'm weak..."
"No, you don't understand." Alex shook his head. "Anakin was the strongest gifted of the Order who fought in the Clone Wars, he killed hundreds of Jedi. The virus captured all his experience and skill with the Force. And amplified it... And you... how many real lightsaber duels have you had?"
Luke thought for a moment.
"Practically none. Only training fights with a droid on the ship, and a lesson with Ben..."
"Exactly. And now think—why are you still alive? Why didn't Vader kill you in the first seconds of the fight?"
"He... he was playing with me?"
"He let you escape," Alex said firmly. "For some reason, he needed you to stay alive. You should ask yourself why..."
Luke was silent for a long time, processing these words. Finally, he looked up at Alex.
"You know a lot about this. About the dark side, about how it works. Where did you get it?"
Alex felt himself tense. He didn't want to reveal the whole truth about himself to Luke—it wasn't time yet. But the guy deserved at least a partial answer.
"I've been studying it for many years," he said cautiously. "I've spent my whole life trying to understand what happened to the galaxy. How an entire Order could fall so quickly. And the more I learned, the clearer it became that it wasn't just a political intrigue."
"You think the Emperor is also infected with this... virus?"
"Yes. But it's unlikely his former personality is still there. And I'm sure many others are infected."
Luke stood up and walked back to the viewport.
"So, to truly win, it's not enough to kill the Emperor and Vader?"
"We need to destroy the source of the infection itself. Break the chain of transmission." Alex also stood up. "But that... that's not a task for one person, Luke."
"What if I'm not alone?" Luke turned around. "You said you're studying it. Maybe we could..."
"Luke," Alex raised his hand, stopping him. "That's what I'm doing. What do you think I'm doing here? I'm gathering those capable of action throughout the galaxy."
"And what should I do?" Luke's voice sounded desperate. "How can I become strong enough to resist them?"
"Keep learning," Alex said. "You said you have a mentor?"
"Yes, an ancient master. A great warrior." Luke nodded. "He was very displeased when I left to save my friends. He said I was repeating my father's mistakes."
"What is this master's name?"
Luke was silent for about ten seconds, wondering if he should say it. Then he decided.
"Yoda."
"Show me what he taught you," Alex asked, trying to keep his voice casual.
Luke hesitated.
"Here? On the ship?"
"Why not? Just some simple exercises. I'm curious to see Jedi techniques."
Luke shrugged and reached for the table. A glass of whiskey slowly rose into the air, hung for a few seconds, then gently lowered back down. Then he concentrated, and Alex felt him trying to read his emotions through the Force—clumsily, roughly, but with noticeable potential.
"Not bad," Alex said, though internally he noted dozens of technical errors. "How long have you been with Yoda?"
"A few weeks." Luke lowered his hand. "He said I needed years of training, but there was no time. Han and Leia..."
"You did the right thing," Alex assured him, closing his eyes. "Loved ones keep us from certain decisions. That's strength."
"He said the opposite. That attachments lead to suffering."
"Old Jedi dogma," Alex shook his head. "It doesn't account for the fact that our connections can be a source of strength, not just weakness. Your father fell not because he loved, but because he opened his mind, succumbing to fear."
Luke nodded thoughtfully.
"Yoda said something similar. That fear is the path to the dark side."
"He's right. But not entirely." Alex returned to his chair. "Fear, anger, hatred—these are all emotions any sentient being can experience. The problem isn't the emotions themselves, but how the dark side uses them."
"Like a virus using the symptoms of a disease?"
"Exactly." Alex nodded. "That's why it's so important to understand the nature of the enemy. It's hard to defeat what you don't understand."
They sat and talked for a long time. Luke spoke about his training with Yoda, about the strange visions that visited him in the cave on Dagobah. Alex listened attentively, noting details that might be useful in the future. Gradually, the tension eased from the young Jedi's face, the pain in his eyes replaced by something brighter—not hope yet, but at least understanding.
When Luke finally left, Alex remained alone in his cabin. He sat in his chair for a long time, contemplating the conversation. Yoda. The last of the great masters, the keeper of ancient knowledge. Perhaps meeting Yoda was necessary.
Alex stood up and went into his bedroom, where a meditation cushion stood in the corner on a small elevation. He rarely allowed himself such a luxury—looking too far into the future was dangerous, especially for a gifted person of his level. It was too easy to attract unwanted attention, too easy to leave a trace in the streams of the Force that Imperial adepts could detect.
But now he needed answers.
Alex sat in the lotus position, closed his eyes, and began to immerse himself in meditation. First, he felt the familiar warmth of the Force spreading through his body, then his consciousness began to expand, extending beyond his physical shell. The world around dissolved, giving way to an endless ocean of possibilities.
The streams of time flowed before his inner gaze, like glowing threads, weaving into a complex pattern of destiny. Each thread represented a chain of events, each intersection—a moment of choice that could change the course of history.
Alex cautiously touched one of the nearest threads. A vision unfolded before him: he remains on the flagship, continuing his work in the shadows. Luke returns to Yoda on his own, completes his training. But something goes wrong—images of battle flash in the vision, Luke later appears to him with amber irises... This branch of the future is painted in dark tones of defeat.
Alex withdrew from the vision and reached for another thread. Here he sees himself openly joining the Alliance, fighting side-by-side with the rebels. But this picture is also grim—Imperial forces descend upon Tarsus. Star Destroyers surround his home, and the planet is illuminated by flashes of explosions.
The third thread showed him a path of caution—he continues to act through intermediaries, never revealing the true nature of his abilities. This branch stretches further than others, but even in it, something unfinished is felt, as if an important piece of the puzzle remains lost.
Alex delved deeper into the stream of time, searching for the thread that would lead him to Yoda. When he found it, the vision unfolded with crystal clarity.
He sees himself piloting the "Ringing Blade" through hyperspace. Stars turn into lines of light, and then regain their form as points when the ship exits hyperspace near a small planet shrouded in mist. Dagobah—a world of swamps and rot.
The ship enters the atmosphere, cutting through the dense clouds. Below stretches an endless sea of green swamps, interrupted only by rare islands of solid land. The air is thick, humid, saturated with life and something else—the Force, which has permeated the planet itself.
Alex lands the ship on one of the hummocks, firm enough to support the weight of the "Ringing Blade." The engines hiss, cooling in the humid air, and steam rises around. The sounds of the swamp—croaking, splashing, rustling of unseen creatures—envelop the ship, as if the planet welcomes him.
He opens the hatch and steps outside. The air of Dagobah envelops him, warm and humid, smelling of decay and new life simultaneously. Soft earth, covered with moss and fallen leaves, squelches underfoot. Ancient trees rise around, their roots going deep into the swamp water, their crowns lost in the fog.
And then he sees him.
On a neighboring hummock, no more than ten meters from the landing site, sits a small figure. At first, it seems like just part of the swamp landscape—an old stump or a strangely twisted root. But then the figure moves, and Alex realizes it's a living being.
Small, no taller than a meter, covered with sparse gray hair. His skin is greenish, wrinkled with age, but his eyes... his eyes are full of ancient wisdom and a power that could move mountains. He sits, leaning on a staff of swamp wood, and it seems as if he has always been here, as part of the planet itself.
Yoda.
The great Jedi master slowly opens his eyes, and his gaze meets Alex's across space and time. A smile appears on his ancient face—not surprised, but rather satisfied, as if a long-awaited event has finally occurred.
"I have waited for you long," Yoda says, and his voice sounds in the vision with crystal clarity. "Come. It will be useful for you."
The vision suddenly broke off, and Alex sharply opened his eyes. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, and cold sweat ran down his back. He felt the echoes of the vision still pulsing in his mind, and Yoda's words echoed in his memory.
"He felt that I was watching him," Alex realized with a mixture of admiration and anxiety. Even through the streams of time, even in a vision—his sensitivity to the Force was so great that he detected my presence.
This was both impressive and frightening. If Yoda could detect his observation through the temporal streams, what would stop the Imperial adepts from doing the same? Alex mentally promised himself to be extremely cautious with future attempts at foresight. Too much was at stake to risk exposure.
But the decision had already ripened in his mind. The vision was too clear, too definite to ignore. Yoda awaits him—not just awaits, but has been waiting for a long time, as if their meeting was predetermined by forces beyond the understanding of even the wisest.