Chapter Text
Darth Vader stood silently (except for his breathing) in the Emperor’s alchemical laboratory as the old man consulted his evil books and combined repulsive ingredients in a large iron bowl.
“Soon,” he cackled. “Now, where is the blood of betrayal?”
Vader handed a small vial over to his Master.
“Ah!” The Emperor accepted it in one clawlike hand, broke the wax seal, and poured the contents into his bowl.
Foul-smelling green smoke enveloped the two of them. The Emperor coughed; Darth Vader’s artificial lungs were not bothered by such things.
Palpatine waved his hands, clearing some of the smoke away from his face and turned the page of his magic book.
“More salt,” he muttered to himself. “Bone marrow? I don’t recall using that before.”
He ducked down to his cabinet of seldom-used ingredients and came up with an old jar that only opened with difficulty.
“There, my apprentice,” he spoke more loudly now. “You should be a great deal stronger, and more comfortable, presently, when I restore your legs.”
He tipped the nasty goo into the bowl, and the green smoke turned a deep black, taking on an earthy smell, tinged with ammonia.
“Kneel,” the Emperor commanded.
Darth Vader obeyed.
Palpatine poured the smoking contents over his enforcer’s helmeted head, and a rush of energy knocked him to the floor. Beakers, bottles, and other alchemical bric-a-brac were knocked over, with a couple shattering on the floor, releasing new foul stenches into the air.
But the smoke cleared quickly.
Clucking to himself at this nuisance, the Emperor thought of ordering Vader to help him up from the floor but then realized he could no longer see the former Anakin Skywalker. He crawled across the floor to where his apprentice’s cape lay crumpled on the ground, feeling genuinely alarmed for the first time in decades.
He never had any intention of helping Darth Vader; it was far safer to keep his apprentice in constant pain and dependent on technology to manage his various disabilities, but he still needed Vader alive.
Palpatine lifted the cloth from the floor and uncovered a large black cat, seemingly in shock. Its Force-presence was unmistakable. It was, impossible as it might have seemed, Darth Vader.
“Damn it!” Palpatine exclaimed.
The curse broke the cat from its stupor. The now feline Vader reacted, as one might expect. All of his fur stood on end, and in a panic, the cat raced around the laboratory, making the mess much worse. Finally, having nowhere else to run, the cat began to yowl. Hearing its own voice increased its distress, and with it, the volume.
“Stop it, stop it!” Palpatine called out and he struggled to his feet. “Calm yourself, my apprentice, and let me try to discern what caused this… horrible… mista- miscarriage.”
The yowling slowly reduced to a low growl as the feline Vader cowered on the floor, watching his master with transparent resentment.
Was the bone marrow too out of date? Palpatine wondered as he turned back to the ancient tome.
The answer was worse, if possible. The smoke-and-mirrors ritual Palpatine had been using was missing its final page, and he had accidentally turned to a completely different spell. One that was much eaten by time and mold, and in heavy need of restoration. Worse still, this meant that Emperor Palpatine was guilty of the worst sin an autocrat could commit… a mistake.
He would just have to make the best of it. Palpatine had always been rather fond of cats. Or at least the idea of cats.
As an apprentice himself, he had kept a cat, a gray one, as a pet for three days. Then Darth Plagueis, who was inebriated at the time, had vaporized the poor beast for pissing on one of his bookshelves.
“Hmmm.” He didn’t think Darth Vader would do a thing like that. But best to be safe, and to continue damage control alone.
Sticking his head out of the laboratory, the Emperor ordered his Praetorians to send for Governor Tarkin.