Anakin Skywalker was now 75. He desired some peace and quiet for the remainder of his life. Years of running and hiding from rebel forces had worn him out. Today, he found respite sitting in a quaint coffee shop at the Mos Espa spaceport, Planet Tatooine. It was surprisingly crowded, unlike the few times he had been here. “Perhaps it was a bad decision to come back here”, he thought.
His eyes rolled down the menu. It stopped at the item that had irked him before. “Darth Vader Latte: An evil concoction of bitter beans from the Scarce mountains of Tatooine and Sarlacc liquor. Not for the faint.”
“I will have the Darth Latte”, he said to the waiter after much deliberation. He knew how bitter people were about him. Today, he would get a taste of his own self.
“Oh ho, we have a courageous one here. Wants the Darth Vader Latte”, announced the waiter loudly to everyone else. A few chairs creaked, a few heads turned and the din subsided.
“You shall have it sir. He he, He he”, he giggled and walked away from the table. The cashier rang a bell above him to celebrate and the noise resumed.
“Thank you”, he mumbled to the waiter with a hint of sarcasm, not looking up. Instead, he took out a book from his satchel and flipped to the pages with the bookmark.
Staring into the book, he reminisced without reading. He had never really recovered from the failure of the Death stars. All subsequent plans that he had conceived had failed as well. They didn’t have the passion with which he had driven the Death star projects. The failures had spiraled him into a depression.
No one truly understood his intent. To everyone, he was the monster bent on destroying civilizations. He had failed to get the public too see his vision for a unified galaxy which could only be achieved by taking out Encephalus, the planet that harbored the most violent factions in the galaxy. The rebel forces were never able to look beyond their petty quarrels and their desire for undisciplined freedom made them blind to the chaos in the galaxy. In the end, the legacy he had left behind was a succession of failures, the death of millions, and a coffee named after him. He had failed his life's purpose. He had murdered many and gained nothing. In the end, the means hadn't been justified.
He jerked to the crashing sound of utensils and found himself staring at a stranger peering into his eyes. The stranger stood there thunderstruck and didn't wink for what seemed like eternity.
"Did he recognize me?", wondered Anakin to himself. He looked down to the coffee in his mug to avoid eye contact. The swirling coffee reminded him of the galaxy.
Anakin ignored the stranger.
"Look at me while I speak to you!"
Anakin continued to ignore.
"I know you, you piece of shit. I know your eyes. I will never forget! You can change your clothes, your hair and remove your mask; but I will always recognize you!".
"Sir, I think you have the wrong person", said Anakin, keeping his eyes down.
"The wrong person? The only wrong person in this world is you Darth Vader! The personification of evil. The only one who could take out planets without remorse. "
A collective "woah" reverberated around the room. Drunken brawls were not uncommon in Mos Espa . However, people generally tended to their own business. But the mere mention of Anakin’s Jedi name brought the coffee shop to a stand still. There were 33 pairs of eyes looking in a single direction.
"Today you shall face justice!", yelled the stranger.
"Sir, you have the wrong person. I am a career librarian biding my time until death catches up with me". Anakin once had the largest library in the galaxy. How he missed drowning in his books.
"Death is definitely catching up with you today, Mr. Vader. Today, I will have my revenge for the murder of my brother and a million others."
Anakin suddenly felt the searing heat of hot liquid on his face. The coffee trickled down to his tongue. It was sweet.
He looked up and recognized his accuser. He could see the rage. This was the brother of Boris, the arms dealer who had supplied the kyber crystals for the Death star's superlaser. He had killed Boris after a scuffle when he had reneged on the deal and demanded a larger payment for the crystals. His mask had been damaged in the scuffle and Boris' brother, not more than 15 years old and crouching in the corner of the room, had seen Anakin's eyes. He didn't expect the kid to remember him. He couldn't have been more wrong.
At that moment, he knew his run was over. There was no escaping this time. His silence and calm made the case against him. And everyone in the coffee shop knew it too.
He had hoped to die quietly with remorse and regret. The last words from his mouth "I am sorry" was barely heard in the carnage that followed. He felt the first few stabs and the excruciating pain. Then, to his surprise, there was no more regret. No more failures. Justice had been done, to him and to everyone else in the galaxy. He found his peace and looked forward to the quietness of eternity that was to follow. But hell was real.
(Star wars fan fiction, alternate history)
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