Chapter Text
The dazzling white of Hoth’s snow-covered plains slipped away behind him as the X-wing climbed towards space. The view ahead grew gradually darker, changing from the clean azure blue of Hoth’s lower atmosphere to a dark, inky colour ahead. Luke allowed himself a small measure of relief at the sound of the X-wing’s engines at full throttle and relaxed a little into his seat.
The transports were away. Most of the snubfighters were already in space and making for hyperspace. He could see the Millenium Falcon following behind them, the blue glow of her sublight drive racing upwards and away from the Imperial fleet. The Alliance had survived, so far. The battle of Hoth was lost… but the war would go on.
He brought up his scopes and started making calculations for the best way to avoid Vader’s fleet and make a clean jump. The space above Hoth buzzed with a swarm of ships, and the dark dagger-shape of the Executor was so large it filled Luke’s scopes unless he toggled out to a very low zoom.
He needed, above all, to avoid that ship.
“Artoo – “
He was interrupted by a loud beeping noise from the cockpit console. Luke frowned; that wasn’t a noise he’d heard before.
“CAUTION,” an electronic voice said. “CAUTION.” And it kept repeating it, over and over.
Artoo whistled in alarm. Luke’s hands flew over the instruments, trying to work out why the Master Caution alarm was sounding. He felt like he was slow to respond, his brain not quite keeping up with his hands and he checked the same instruments several times before he realised what he was doing.
Outside the cockpit the sky grew darker as the X-wing continued its climb.
There was probably a routine response for this, a checklist of things he should be working through. If there was one, he couldn’t remember it right now.
“Artoo,” he said, “any idea what’s wrong – oh.” He’d found it. A cold, hard, icy feeling settled in his gut. Oh, this was bad. “Artoo, the cockpit isn’t pressurising,” he said. “Any idea why?”
Artoo whistled softly, a long negative sound. Luke checked the system again, came to the same conclusion. The pressurisation which should provide him with a protective, breathable bubble of air was not working. Luke stifled a sigh and rubbed the area over his eyes where a headache was forming. The snowtroopers had fired at him as he’d taken off; he didn’t think they had hit him, but had they? Or was it a mechanical problem, and it was just his bad luck it happened now?
Luke kept toggling through the controls, trying to work out if it was a problem that he would need to go to ground for, or something he could fix from inside the ship.
Artoo whistled at him. He ignored it. He needed to concentrate on figuring this out, and concentrating was suddenly really hard. The ship kept climbing.
Artoo whistled again, loudly and rudely this time. And Luke finally looked at the screen that translated his binary into basic.
MASTER LUKE. OXYGEN MASK.
Oh, yeah. How had he not thought of that himself? Luke reached back for where the mask should be, found it, and snagged it with his right hand. He put it on, flicked the switch to start the supply and –
“I’m not getting any oxygen, Artoo,” he said. He tapped the mask, the seals, the console. Nothing. Whatever was wrong with the pressurisation system was also affecting the emergency oxygen supply. He took the mask off and tossed it aside.
“Kriff,” he swore.
The X-wing was still climbing. Luke tried to think. He needed to get away from Hoth, but he couldn’t do that if the cockpit didn’t pressurise. He’d die from hypoxia quite quickly. It would start with subtle incapacitation, a foggy feeling that would make him sleepy and make it hard to think, and then he’d lose consciousness and eventually die, and –
Oh.
Subtle incapacitation.
Luke cursed himself, suddenly understanding why it was hard to think right now. He looked at the ship’s altimeter – 12,000 metres: well above the reach of Hoth’s breathable atmosphere. It was already starting, and he’d spent precious minutes of whatever oxygen there was left in the cockpit trying to problem-solve the issue instead of doing what should have been his immediate response – to get down.
Taking hold of the yoke he levelled the fighter out of its steep climb, banked and then pointed the nose down. At first he over-rotated it and for a moment the ships wings stalled as the descent was too steep and it started to shake. He pulled back a bit, trying to strike a balance between remaining in control of the ship whilst also getting down as fast as possible.
Artoo whistled a warning as a flurry of turbolaser fire reached out of space towards them. It seemed that he’d attracted attention. There were three TIEs gunning for him.
Luke had no option but to take evasive action. He stepped down hard on the right stabiliser and rolled the ship to starboard. One of the TIEs overshot him and Luke shot it down with a burst of his own fire.
“Damn it, I don’t need this right now,” he said, as he twisted back away from the TIE’s wingman and dodged more incoming fire.
That headache was getting worse. It was like an ice pick in his forehead now, a sharp throbbing pain. Luke tried to manoeuvre behind the oncoming TIE, but he fumbled the move and over-rotated again. For a brief moment he thought they might collide, but the TIE dodged out of the way at the last moment. Luke found himself swearing angrily in Huttese – he was better than this. This shouldn’t be hard.
He glanced at the altimeter again. 9,000 metres – still well above any breathable atmosphere. He had to get the ship back down to… what was it… oh, kriff; he couldn’t remember where Hoth’s death zone began. He needed to get below that, though, so he just pointed the nose down and threw full power to the drive.
Artoo whistled shrilly as turbolaser fire grazed him. “Sorry, Artoo,” Luke said. “But if we don’t get down, I’m going to pass out.”
And soon. He was seeing stars in his vision and everything looked a little clunky and odd, like a holo playing at a speed just a little slower than it should be.
“Luke, what are you doing!” someone called over the comm. Luke blinked, surprised by the sound of his name.
He glanced back at his scopes. The Falcon was still out there, climbing away. As were a handful of X-wings. The call had come from… Wedge? Maybe. He hit the comm. “This is… ah… “…. What was his call sign again? He shook his head; it was gone. “This is Commander Skywalker…I’m… ah… having problems with the cockpit pressurisation.” Force, talking suddenly seemed really hard. “I… ah… I can’t get the oxygen to work. I’m… ah… heading back down.”
And almost as soon as he’d transmitted it, he realised just how stupid that had been. He’d transmitted it openly, not remembering to reply on the encrypted channel. He’d just advertised to everyone – Imperials and Rebels alike – that he was in trouble and an easy target. In frustration he hit his helmet with his gloved hand. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
Like a predator that suddenly smelt the blood of a wounded prey, a whole wing of TIEs suddenly broke off pursuing the last of the Rebels and turned towards him, swarming.
“Oh, Sith.” Luke swore.
The Master Caution alarm was still screaming at him. Luke hit the damn flashing light and then pulled the circuit breaker to shut it up. “Hold on, Artoo,” he said, and put the ship into a steeper dive.
And that was also a bad idea. Suddenly he lost lift under his wings and the ship began to stall. It dropped heavily, and the nose pointed even further down. The airframe started to creak and for a moment Luke thought it would start to break apart around him and…
Force, he felt tired. Sleepy.
“You might have to fly, Artoo,” he said. “I’m… I’m not great here…”
Then there was the sound of an explosion, the ship bucked, and Artoo squealed briefly before going silent. He’d been hit. Luke couldn’t tell how badly, but he knew it meant Artoo wasn’t in any position to help.
For a few long seconds Luke just sat and started out the cockpit viewport. Hoth’s cold, dazzlingly white surface raced towards him but every time Luke blinked it disappeared for a little longer. It was like he couldn’t keep his eyes open. He was the most tired he’d ever felt in his life.
Not-so-subtle incapacitation, Luke thought, trying to rally. So this was what it was like to die from hypoxia? It was oddly comfortable, apart from the pounding head. He felt… warm… lazy… it was okay, actually. There had to be worse ways to die. Like… burning up in turbolaser fire, or being carved up by Darth Vader’s lightsaber, or dying of thirst in the desert, or …
Luke.
Luke jumped. The voice in his head was like a claxon going off, even louder than the Master Caution alarm had been.
Ben?
But, no. Definitely not Ben.
Luke, focus.
Sounded a bit like something Ben might say, though. Luke tried to obey the command, and realised the ship was in turning in a slow corkscrew as it descended in a death spiral. He pulled back on the nose and tried to reduce the angle of descent enough to regain control. It worked a little. He looked again at the altimeter. Alarmingly, he couldn’t read the numbers. It was like they were in a language he didn’t recognise.
Let me help.
Who are you?
I can help you.
I’m… tired… Luke’s head was heavy and his neck was weaker than melted durasteel. He had a feeling that in a few moments he would just drift off. He wouldn’t be conscious when the ship hit the ground. That seemed like a mercy, somehow.
Suddenly, it was like a bolt hit him, like the opposite effect to a stun bolt; like a jolt of energy burned through his body and he was suddenly, painfully awake and alert.
Hands on the controls, said the voice, sternly. Look at your instruments, not out the cockpit.
It reminded Luke, vaguely, of the way his superior officers would snap at him if he did something reckless in the simulators. That was definitely, definitely not Ben.
Yes, sir, he said. Then he shook himself. Who are you? He asked again.
Luke’s head pounded, but it wasn’t just headache now… it was like a knocking sensation in his mind. Like someone knocking on a door.
He wondered, vaguely, why he hadn’t been shot down by the TIEs yet. A look at his scope showed him they had all… backed off? That was odd. Maybe he was hallucinating.
Are you real? he asked the voice.
Luke felt frustration burn down the connection to this other voice. He had a vague impression the voice was not used to being asked so many questions…
Luke… it said. You’re going to die unless you let me help you.
The world was rotating, Luke thought. And then he realised he must have taken his hands off the controls at some point and the X-wing was spiralling again, inverted, and the wing structure creaked and groaned with the stress it was under. There was the sound of tearing metal and something on the ship came lose. Luke gripped the controls again.
Knock, knock, knock… went the feeling in his head.
“Well, you might be an hallucination,” Luke said aloud. “But what have I got to lose?”
The other person’s consciousness seemed to ripple through him, and there was a stark feeling fizzing through his muscles. It was fear, Luke realised. And determination. Absolute, total determination that even though the odds were very high that Luke was about to die, the other presence simply would not have it.
Luke watched in a disconnected sort of way as his hands reached back for the controls, flew across them at a speed that seemed blurry in Luke’s staccato vision.
I’m about to pass out, he thought.
Another bolt of energy went through him. No, you are not, the voice said.
That hurts.
Dying will hurt more. Stay awake. I cannot fly the ship if you lose consciousness.
Fly the ship? Luke realised hazily that, yes, that was what his hands were doing. But it wasn’t him in control of them. The ship was back under control, no longer falling downwards but flying. Hoth’s snowy landscape grew closer and closer and closer…
The TIEs were back, Luke realised. No – just one TIE. A TIE Advanced. It flew just out of sight, somewhere above him and to the right. Luke stared at it. Why wasn’t it shooting at him?
Luke, the voice snapped. Look at the controls. I need to see them.
His heart was racing. Was that hypoxia or fear? The ground was close now. He tried to take a calming breath, but it felt like there was no air there to suck in. He felt breathless. Black spots appeared in his vision, and everything was wavering and tilting. He felt the other presence in his mind burn with frustration at the loss of vision.
Sorry, Luke sent, and then as if in slow motion he seemed to slip under, consciousness melting into a warm, dark nothing.
* * *
Darth Vader settled his TIE advanced down on the icy ground and initiated the cool down sequence. On contact with the ice and snow the heat of the ship sent a haze of hot steam into the air, which obscured his view. He unlatched the crash restraints and climbed up and out of his ship. Above him the sky buzzed with fighters, and far above that was the dark wedge of Executor, hovering over the planet.
Vader reached for the commlink on his belt. “Executor control,” he said.
There was a pause, then a slightly nervous male voice. “Yes, my Lord.”
Vader walked away from his TIE, through the haze of steam and towards the downed X-wing.
“Is the med evac shuttle on its way?”
Another pause. Vader heard ice crunch under his feet as he walked towards his son’s ship.
“Yes, my Lord. ETA ten minutes.”
Vader was studying the crashed ship in front of him. The nose had crumpled on impact, concertinaing towards the cockpit. The two left X-foils had snapped during the collision when the left lower wing had struck the icy ground at high speed. All that was left of those wings was two short stubs, and the gouges in the icy ground that stretched back a good half-klick to the point of first impact. Broken metal littered the ice in a long debris field. The cockpit transparisteel was a web of cracks and indentations. But Vader could still make out the form of his son, unmoving in the cockpit.
“Inform them that I expect them to arrive within five minutes,” Vader said.
He didn’t wait for acknowledgment; he flicked the commlink off and reattached it to his belt.
With a short Force-assisted jump Vader landed on what remained of the ship’s nose. He balanced there for a moment, before reaching down and pulling at the canopy until it came loose. He let it drop to the ground.
Luke was unconscious. That was unsurprising – Vader had felt Luke’s consciousness slip away from him moments before he’d had chance to land the ship. Consequently, the X-wing had crashed, but the Force was never stronger in Vader than when he was afraid, and he had used it to deny this planet its kill. The Force had cushioned Luke from the lethal effects of the sudden deceleration on impact. The ship had crumpled around him, but the boy had been held in a cocoon of safety.
Looking at him now, the boy could have been simply asleep. Head slumped down, still strapped into the crash webbing. No bruises, no lacerations, no blood. The only sign of injury was the cyanosis that coloured his lips an unsettling shade of blue. Vader reached into the cockpit and released the crash webbing. Luke started to slump over the controls, but Vader caught him. With a hand under each armpit he pulled the boy up and out of the cockpit. Holding Luke steady against his chest, Vader jumped back down to the icy ground.
He walked several metres away from the crash site; he was not expecting the ship to ignite now if it had not already done so, but today he felt unwilling to take chances. He lowered Luke down to the ground.
Vader felt for a pulse. It was there – thready and possibly a little too fast, but there. Vader held his gloved hand over his son’s mouth, and the sensors in his prosthetic palm picked up the sensation of breathing. Luke was alive, his heart was beating, and he was breathing.
Only then did Vader let in the feeling that had been waiting in the wings – the feeling of relief. It was an oddly painful sensation, one that had become unfamiliar to him in recent years. Because when did Darth Vader ever perceive anything or anyone to be so fragile and important that it was a relief when the worst did not happen? Only since he had learnt that his son lived.
A warning from the Force made him look up then, and he saw a ship approaching at speed. He narrowed his gaze, lifted his commlink again and switched it to the TIE squadron frequency. “The Millenium Falcon is attempting to approach,” he said. “Discourage them. Wings One and Two form a protective perimeter over this position. Wings Three and Four… that ship is your priority target.”
A series of acknowledgements clicked across the channel. Satisfied the threat would be dealt with, Vader turned back to his son.
“Luke,” he said. He shook the boy’s shoulders. “Luke,” he said it again. He realised it was perhaps the first time he had said the name aloud.
Luke did not rouse. But despite that, the Force seemed to whisper that all will be well…
The sound of the medical shuttle landing pulled Vader from his thoughts. Behind it the Millenium Falcon was climbing for space again, with a squadron of fighters on her tail. A snowtrooper with a medical insignia ran down the ramp of the shuttle before the ship had fully settled on the ground. The trooper carried a medical kit in one hand and a portable oxygen rebreather in the other. Vader stood, stepped back, folded his arms across his chest and allowed the medical team access.
A small smile stretched across his lips. At last, he had his son. And the Force still whispered all will be well…