"He still had a choice, like everyone else. He could have chosen differently!"

Silence hung over the ether for a moment. Then, quietly:

The newly-christened Darth Vader pounded at the buttons on his arm, trying to adjust the airflow in his helmet, trying to drive the voices away and knowing it wouldn't do any good. He had always heard (heard not being the right word, not even close but closer than any other) the chatter on the edge of his consciousness, almost all the time, almost always discussing him. Sometimes discussing other people, too, yet never distinctly enough for him to understand.

He would understand now, though. He would understand everything, everything that the Jedi had never allowed him to understand.

"Look at that suit," said a new voice; "what a wretched device."

"It is the only thing keeping him alive, now."

"If he hadn't been so stupid as to pull that stunt with the other Jedi..."

"Yes, stupid, and impetuous. And he has been, to use a phrase I heard a long time ago, in serious need of an attitude adjustment. But Anakin has always been that way. It's a wonder he stayed alive this long."

"A wonder? We both know it has been all of us, showing him where to go."

"And more importantly," giggled the new voice, a young-sounding voice, "when to duck."

Once, when he was still the innocent Anakin Skywalker, he had asked Obi-Wan Kenobi about the voices. Only once.

"Do you-" he had faltered, "do you know what-? Or am I... crazy?"

Obi-Wan had looked around, checking to see that the deserted swamp they were slogging through was as deserted as it had been for the past five hours. "You are not crazy, Anakin," he said finally. "And you are not as alone as you believe. You hear things, whispers of the shadows of life, because the Force is so strong in you. You... will grow used to it in time, I believe. Try to ignore it." The older Jedi seemed unusually awkward.

"But why?" Anakin argued. "Why can I not use this?"

Obi-Wan looked him fully in the face for the first time since Anakin had asked the question. His eyes were dark, darker than normal. "You must not. Only those who follow the teachings of the Dark manipulate it for their own ends. You are not crazy for hearing it, but it is indeed a sort of madness." He touched Anakin's shoulder. "I would advise you to not speak of it again. Especially around Jedi."

And that was all that had been said on the matter, ever, and Obi-Wan assumed his apprentice had taken his advice and shut the voices out.

That would have been all there was to it, too, except that Anakin found two things: first, that the more he tried to block the voices, the stronger he heard them, and the more distracting they were; secondly, the voice of his mother joined the invisible crowd. Her voice was all he had left of his mother, Shmi Skywalker who had died because her son had not heeded his visions and gotten to her in time.

Anakin had never actually spoken to the voices, not since he was so young that it was cute he had imaginary friends. The Force had been strong with him even then, though he had not known it: he had only known that he was destined to leave Tatooine, destined to become a Jedi. The greatest Jedi, ever. He always intended to speak up, to reply to a voice when he heard it, but something always prevented him: someone walking in at the wrong time, or, even if nothing happened, he felt ridiculous at the idea of talking to the air.

There was nothing he hated more than feeling ridiculous. Well, very little, anyway. More than a little. Enough that Master Yoda had told him hate he had, and get rid of it he must. He was generally in too much of a rush to decipher what the little green Jedi had to say.

Darth Vader grew tired of adjusting his suit's climate control. It would never be comfortable. He had a growing suspicion that he might have done something rather stupid in throwing away his previous life... for this...

So he swore a bit, and cursed Emperor Palpatine with a backache every time the emperor ate curry (though he kept that bit to himself; treason was getting to be a slightly overused word around the place). All this accomplished was the damage of a tiny but essential piece of electronics in the surveillance cameras, causing alarms to go off and the building to go into full security lockdown.

Darth Vader swore again and strode off to his living quarters, looking like Death, but noticeably missing the grin. Triple durasteel-reinforced containment doors crumbled into steaming lumps of worthless metal as he approached them, but he made sure to direct the Force to carefully open his own door: ripping it off its hinges wouldn't give him the privacy he wanted.

Now he could talk to the voices. Now, he needn't feel ridiculous: he was the second most-powerful being in the universe and could do what he damn well pleased. Now no one would dare disturb him, and if they did, he could practice his fun new trick of strangling people from fifteen feet away.

He locked the door behind him anyway.

Vader sat quietly on the lounge, tried not to think, tried to block out the constant hurricane of his inhalation and exhalation, tried to shut off all the thoughts that attacked him when he was alone, and then the voices returned.

"Ani, my Ani," sighed the voice of Shmi Skywalker. "What have you done? Are you truly my son? I did not believe my son would do this. You cannot be my son."

"Damn straight that's not your son," said a another voice, a new one in the realm of the Force. Darth Vader whipped around, his filtered breath deafening him. If he had been capable of whispering, he would have whispered, "Padmè?"

"No," continued Padmè's voice, "That's Darth Vader." A mocking, bitter tone crept in. "The newest and brightest Sith Lord. When I saw my beloved husband turned into that, I died inside. I only breathed long enough to deliver my children into the world he has destroyed."

"I have grandchildren?" asked the first voice, pleased. Vader was confused.

Some of the bitterness left the voice of Padmè. "Yes," she replied, "twins. Luke and Leia. They're beautiful."

Something strange happened to Darth Vader's body. It felt like, once again, it was about to sink into a molten river of lava, only this time, as if he was General Grievous, heavy metal bound his chest... it took him a second to realize this feeling was dread.

He had thought –if he was honest, he had almost hoped- that his child had died when he had choked the life from Padmè. It would have been cleaner, that way. Now there was a loose end –two, actually- and they would have to be dealt with. It also meant that the Jedi prophecy, the one that everyone thought called Anakin himself the Chosen One, destined to bring balance to the Force, could actually be applied to his son. Or daughter: couldn't be sexist even if you were evil (or maybe you couldn't because you were evil: political correctness doesn't seem to be on the side of all that is right and good).

Damn those Jedi! A sudden wave of hate sloshed messily over him. They had turned his own wife against him, driven him, forced him, as it were, to murder her. And now the maliciousness of those traitors would make him kill his own children as well, for he certainly couldn't let them live and destroy the Empire he had brought about, the Empire that would soon be his. Damn them!

A rather ugly decorative vase shattered explosively, just because it was within twenty feet of his rather unstable emotions.

"Padmè!" he croaked, despising the monotone that emanated from his mask.

"No!" shrieked Padmè. "He heard me! I didn't think he could hear me!"

"I'm sure he didn't, dear," soothed Shmi. "I think he's just wallowing in remorse."

"But what about my children? My babies? Are they safe?"

"Surely he would not hurt his own children?"

"He murdered me, and I was his wife."

As he listened, Darth Vader changed his mind about attempting to speak to the voices. They might go away.

Losing his wife once was one too many times.

He drifted away, his burned and battered brain unable to focus anymore. Vader didn't know how much later it was when he heard Padmè speak, and say, "Am I trapped here for eternity? How does this work?"

"You are not compelled to stay here; however, you might find it difficult to leave. You are bound, spiritually, in death, to whoever you bound yourself to in life."

"So, you're saying," replied the once again bitter Padmè, "that I must stay with the haunted corpse of my dear Anakin until the universe is destroyed? I'm not sure how many more enjoyable thoughts like that I can stomach. So to speak."

"I'm sorry, Padmè, my daughter; but you are no longer quite Padmè- you are now the Force."

"I knew that already."

Darth Vader clenched his fists angrily, causing the lounge he sat on to disintegrate into ashes. He was dumped unceremoniously to the floor, his lightsaber clattering away across the black tile, and had enough sense to control the resulting embarrassment and anger. If he didn't learn to direct the new Sith powers he had, he would make more trouble than he was inclined to deal with. The rage grew inside him, but he pushed it down as firmly as he could. It would be... unfortunate... if he burst into flames because of it.

"Stay away when he's angry like this," warned Shmi. "Everything here starts to feel a bit... explosive."

He used the Force to retrieve his lightsaber. It rolled across the floor, and rattled a bit more.

"I always have to clean up after you. You can get something yourself, for once," grumbled Padmè. "And to think, I always thought it was funny when you stole food off my plate or sent things zooming around the room by using the Force."

Vader ignored her, and tried to climb awkwardly to his feet (he still hadn't become accustomed to the suit), and as he did so, his holographic commlink lit up, displaying the not-so-picturesque visage of Emperor Palpatine. Vader fell over the other way, attempting to kneel, as he usually did. Inside, he seethed with humiliation and, yes, more rage.

"Lord Vader!" exclaimed the Emperor. "Are you aware of the emergency state we are in?"

"No, my master. I have been in my quarters," he lied.

"All of our cameras onboard were deactivated. There may be spies around. Go and find them, and bring them to me."

"Is it possible, master, that there was a... malfunction?"

"Unlikely, Lord Vader. If there are spies aboard, I want them found! You may execute them after I interrogate them."

Vader bowed his head. "Yes, my master."

The hologram blinked off. Vader rose to stand, wondering, Why must I do this? We have a whole army of clones on board for this very reason...

Jamming his lightsaber into his belt, he strode once again from his quarters; the suit seemed to make him unable to walk normally, and he could only stride majestically. It became wearying after a while.

Vader continued to seethe a bit and mutter complaints as he strode along the corridors, looking for spies he knew were not there. "And why did he force me to do this, like I'm some sort of clone, one of his servants? I'm his apprentice, not his slave! It's not my responsibility to do the mindless searches, that's should go to the Storm Troopers."

He stuck his lightsaber down a trash chute and rattled it about. No one hiding there.

"And," he continued grumbling, quietly enough that no sound came from his mask, "how dare he think that's all I'm good for, catching spies. I have more power than anyone in the galaxy, except for him, and what do I get to do? Run around, chasing shadows? I'd rather strike fear into the masses. I am a Sith Lord! When I become even more powerful..."

Vader swung his arm out to knock a dent in the wall.

"...Emperor Palpatine is dead."

"My lord Vader!" The shout came from behind him. Darth Vader spun to face him, his black cloak winding itself lasciviously around his leg. He pulled it loose and waited for the man, apparently some lower-level sergeant who was not paid enough to confront Darth Vader, to continue.

"We have determined the source of the security breach. A microchip in the main terminal exploded. Surveillance has determined there are no spies." He attempted a brave smile. "There was no reason to search, sir."

"I know," breathed Vader, self-righteous ire rising in his throat like bile.

"Well, sir, I mu-" The man suddenly stopped. Presumably because his windpipe was slowly being crushed. Darth Vader clenched his fist tightly, and the sergeant fell to the floor, dead. Vader looked down at him. His fury drained away.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Darth Vader walked away, not noticing the lack of chatter in the Force until a shriek nearly deafened the ears of his mind.

"Oh, powers!" screamed the voice of Padmè. "Merciful Otherness, I killed him! I- I- He's dead!"

There was a brief whisper of sobbing, and Shmi said, "It is not your fault, you could not help it. Shh. Be at peace, dear daughter."

"I killed him. My hands... I could not control my hands... I couldn't help it..."

"I know, I know. You were not responsible. There is a reason we are called Force, and why the Sith are evil for manipulating us like this..."

"I cannot stay." Padmè's voice was wild, frantic. "I can't stay here. I can't do that again. I must go!"

Silence. Then, softly: "Yes, daughter, I understand. Go to your children. Protect them. I... I will stay here, with my son."

"I still love him," Padmè cried. "I can't help that, either. But I can't stay. Goodbye. Perhaps we shall meet again."

"Yes," said Shmi. "We shall."

Vader felt when Padmè left; a chasm in him he didn't know was filled suddenly was empty, gaping, like a missing tooth.

"No," he growled, "don't leave, don't go, I'm sorry, my love, come back..."

The silence roared in his mind.

And one more splinter of Anakin Skywalker that still remained lodged in the soul of Darth Vader broke off, and slipped away.