There! Alive!

Far below...too far to reach. Then with a flare of shock the sense was lost, vanishing again in a flurry of movement.

But alive. Falling away still...

Fate had not yet finished with his son, Vader knew...nor himself, he felt.

Twisting away, he headed for his shuttle with new purpose in his stride.

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"They'll be in range of our tractor beam in moments, My Lord." Admiral Piett hovered nearby, anxious to reprieve himself following his last debacle with this dilapidated Rebel freighter.

Vader did not bother to acknowledge the words, eyes trained out into the umbra of Bespin's atmosphere, senses straining, searching for the boy. That this damn freighter was here again to plague him was beyond belief--particularly since he had dispatched its cocksure pilot.

But he had heard his son call out through the Force, and as his Destroyer had come about the freighter had appeared on the forward scopes, racing through the thin atmosphere of the gas giant toward the underside of the city. Powering through open space just beyond Bespin's gravity, the Star Destroyer was slow and cumbersome to turn so that the tiny, maneuverable freighter had reached the city and blasted off for deep space before the Executor had even leveled its huge bulk up.

But Vader was not concerned; he'd prepared for every eventuality. There was just too much at stake to take risks.

"Did your men deactivate the hyperdrive on the Millennium Falcon?" If they hadn't...

"Yes, My Lord," Piett acknowledged sharply.

He smiled--Vader smiled beneath his mask. "Good. Prepare the boarding party...and set your weapons for stun."

"Yes, My Lord." Piett turned away to the young lieutenant nearby, who fairly blasted out his nervousness in the Force. "Lieutenant..."

"Yes, Sir," the young man said smartly, and Vader could sense his fear, his eagerness to get away.

Weak. All weak. Which of them possessed the strength of spirit to be prepared to die for their convictions? A whole ship of their worthless hides could not equal the soul of one Jedi. Of his son...

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Luke lay alone in absolute desolation, pain slicing up his arm with the staccato beat of his heart, his spine burning from the impact of the fall. Not one coherent thought could form in the chaotic jumble of his bewildered mind, the once-secure surroundings of the Falcon's hold a distant blur about him. He stared sightlessly, absolutely still, unable to process the enormity of this revelation...

--Luke-- The word coalesced from nothing in the centre of his mind, strangely compelling in that moment.

"Father?" Had he said that? Had he spoken that name out loud?

--Son... come with me--

Luke shook his head as he shrank back onto the bunk, broken and lost. "Ben...why didn't you tell me?"

Two huge impacts shook the Falcon and Luke rose, dragging himself up against fatigue and pain, unable to stand the voice in the quiet hush of his solitude; unwilling to think of the consequences.

He walked in silence past the irate Chewie, half-hidden beneath deck plates, yelling back into the jabbering comm. Light-headed, reality a distant whisper, he reached the cockpit, strangely calm in the bedlam which seemed to boil all about him without ever touching him. The simple act of walking, of remaining upright, seemed to require such total concentration as to block out all other considerations.

Leia turned--where was Han? The stranger who had helped him into the Falcon paused to touch his arm, glancing down at the sterile unit which protected it now, concern in his eyes. Luke nodded once, wondering whether he should know the man--in that second he had absolutely no idea--then glanced up.

The Star Destroyer completely enveloped one side of the skies, the Falcon tiny, a flea on a bantha as it struggled to outrun its imposing foe.

Luke sighed, exhausted past any sense of anxiety, only blank resignation remaining. How could they fight this? How had he ever thought they could win?

"It's Vader." He heard his own voice, low and hoarse, aware of Leia's eyes on him.

--Luke...it is your destiny--

Luke's breath caught and stilled as he shrank back, unable to block out the words which burned through his thoughts. Darkness swirled, but now it was different, strangely familiar; both repulsive and reassuring...calling him on, drawing him in.

He shook his head slowly against the pull, weary and empty and crushed. Why had they lied? Why? Why had they trained him to face his enemy yet left him with this huge, desperate, debilitating weakness?

Betrayed, by those he had trusted most. "Ben...why didn't you tell me?"

The Falcon shook as TIE's harried her to destruction, and Chewie howled his frustration at recalcitrant machinery.

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Threepio balanced against the bulkhead, severed foot in his hand as Artoo clanked uneasily across the deck towards the mainframe, ignoring his counterpart's alternate scolding and pleading.

Artoo, who had been in the back corridor onboard the Tantive IV three years earlier, when Leia had needed to hide the Death Star plans. Artoo, who had carried the message to Kenobi. Artoo, who had shown Luke Skywalker the fragment, and changed his life forever.

"Artoo! Come back at once, you haven't finished with me yet! You don't know how to fix the hyperdrive--Chewbacca can do it. I'm standing here in pieces..."

Artoo tracked determinedly across the hold, indifferent to his counterpart's alternate pleading and demands. Another heavy bolt wrenched at the Falcon, careening her to one side faster than the artificial gravity could hope to counter. Threepio scrabbled momentarily, his metal hand slipping against the smooth pad of the bulkhead before he fell back in a flurry of noise. "Artooo!"

Distracted, Artoo paused on his way to the hyperdrive link-breaker, his intention to reconnect the hyperdrive at the point that Bespin's central computer had listed it as disengaged momentarily forgotten as his domed head spun back...

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-:The universe tilted:-

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... Onboard the Star Destroyer, the Pit Officer lifted his hand in acknowledgement, searching for confirmation. "We have a lock. Admiral?"

"Engage," Piett ordered, not taking his eyes from the tiny freighter as it accelerated away from them...

Silence stretched for long seconds, the atmosphere tense and expectant.

"Positive lock, sir. Establishing back-up..."

Caught in the invisible beam which held it stationary as the Destroyer powered toward it, a moment's optical illusion occurred as the Rebel ship seemed to Piett to reverse course, speeding backwards to them whilst they remained stationary.

"Confirming secondary lock. Tractoring it into forward bay nine."

The words were spoken automatically now, everything in hand, procedure being followed. Still, Piett waited until the Pit Officer confirmed that the ship was aboard before he dared turn away...

"We have acknowledgement. The ship's in F-nine, sir, full lock-down. Boarding parties are on the deck."

Piett turned and hurried after Lord Vader, relieved; his job was done now. Anything which happened from here on in was on General Veer's head.

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"Son of a..."

Luke had watched, helpless, as the Destroyer loomed about them, the Falcon pulled inexorably closer.

A lurching jolt had yanked them all from their seats and brought reality snapping in about him, harsh and unyielding. And seconds--just seconds too late--all hyperdrive functions came back on-line, status lights momentarily illuminating green before they flashed red, unable to operate against the pull of a tractor beam.

Adrenaline pumping, galvanized into action, Luke spun round and set off from the cockpit at full tilt, his wounded arm still clutched to his chest. He was halfway down the corridor, Chewie rushing towards him from the opposite direction, when the pain exploded up his spine, dropping his legs beneath him as he fell to the ground with a yelp.

Chewie dashed forward, howling as Luke doubled up on the deck, beyond words. Distantly he heard Leia call his name, but in that moment he couldn't even turn his head against the wracking waves of pain which burst through him. Chewie gathered him up, the burning agony which knifed into Luke's spine unbearable at this, making him call out before blackness narrowed his vision to nothing.

The last thing he felt was the touch of Vader's mind as the darkness closed in...

"...uke...ke...ca.. hea...

"...have...wa...up...got to...

"Luke...Luke, can...hear me?"

He opened his eyes slowly, not daring to move. Leia crouched over him in the med-bay, hand to his cheek, and Chewie whuffed in the background, leaning in past the dark stranger who...

It occurred belatedly to Luke that Han was still not there. Previously, he'd simply assumed he was elsewhere on the Falcon, but the realization burst through his thoughts now as he automatically reached out with the Force, searching for his friend.

"Han?" he managed, "where's...?"

Leia looked away, avoiding his eyes, so he turned to Chewie, who threw his head back and keened a long cry. It needed no further explanation.

Taking hold of the edge of the bunk Luke hauled himself upright, gasping against the pain that lanced down his back. Leia pushed against him. "No, Luke. The fall's injured your spine, you have to rest. Stay..."

The heavy double-clang of the Falcon's landing gear setting roughly down was all the further encouragement he needed.

"Like hell." He was already on the edge of the bunk, biting back the fireworks which burst at every movement. "Chewie, I need a blaster."

Chewie turned without argument, almost throwing the stranger aside in his haste.

From the main hold, the sound of cutters engaging whistled a low note, turning everyone's head.

"Three minutes. Probably less," the stranger guessed, sharp, dark eyes searching the corridor. He turned the other way, shouting loudly, "Chewie, make it two!"

"Three!" Leia added, voice like steel.

She turned as Luke stood, shaky and nauseous, his maimed arm still pressed to him. Burning now, throbbing in time to his heartbeat at the effort of standing.

"Vader," she murmured, searching eyes on Luke. "What does he want?"

"Where's Han?" Luke avoided.

"Vader...tested Cloud City's industrial carbon-freeze unit on him. To use on you."

"He's alive?" Somehow, that one thought displaced so much misery in that moment. The crafty old Corellian was alive--he'd live to fight another day.

Leia nodded, though her voice was small. "Vader gave him to a bounty hunter, to take to Jabba the Hutt."

The Hutt; Han owed him, Luke knew. He'd kept threatening to leave to pay the debt off, but there was always one more repair to make on the Falcon.

Luke glanced again at the well-dressed stranger as Chewie rushed back in, bowcaster over his shoulder, an armful of blasters weighing him down.

The first sparks lit the bay behind them in an actinic glow. Threepio came barreling through, heading in the opposite direction, not even slowing in that moment.

Luke took the blaster, steadying himself against the bulkhead just out of the entrance's direct line of fire. He felt desperately weak, his head spinning just from the strain of standing. Tiny floating spots lit his vision, and he wasn't sure whether they came from the cutter in the bay or his own frail state. He hoped the former, but suspected the latter. His body was screaming out to rest now, so much so that he feared he might simply keel over at any moment.

Ignore it, there'll be time to rest when this is over.

He was dimly aware somewhere in the back of his mind that this wouldn't be over for a long time...

Movement caught his eye, pulling him back into the moment as a stray thought occurred. "Chewie, deactivate the droids. They'll leave them in the ship."

As if all this was a momentary complication, as if they'd be back in an hour or so, when they'd dealt with it. As if.

Still, Chewie whuffed assent as he turned and headed after Artoo and Threepio.

Leia took position against the far wall, her gaze tight and pinched as she glanced up to Luke. "What does he want?" she repeated.

"Me," Luke said simply.

"Why?"

The door exploded inwards through a flaring shower of sparks, the pressure change popping Luke's ears as he ducked back from the shrapnel. They must have used charges.

He glanced to Leia to make sure she was alright, back to the others...

Then he turned and opened fire.

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Vader stood in the bay, General Veers beside him, as stormtroopers poured into the freighter.

Blaster fire ensued, intensified...

Their forward progress thwarted, the stormtroopers faltered, unwilling to risk the path through the bottleneck of the ship's narrow entry ramp when it was so effectively defended. Vader scowled, turning slightly to Veers, who pressed the headset to his ear, frowning against the cacophony of noise.

"Lieutenant, fall back. Use shock grenades...no, no, set them to stun."

"Send them in," Vader said simply, causing Veers to glance up sharply.

"My Lord?"

"Send them in. I want to see what he does." Vader turned back to the freighter, feeling no need to validate his order further.

He could sense Luke now, feel his resentment, his frustration, his betrayal. Could it be pushed over into fury?

His own anger was simmering too. Frustration at the boy's stubborn refusal on CloudCity, at his defiance here. He had offered the boy everything--everything--and he had turned it down, turned away. Had made his choice very clear. Foolish--to give up so much for simple sentiment.

Vader frowned at that consideration... Had it been a refusal of his offer--or of him? That thought hurt; that the boy had acted out of repulsion. It stung as it had never done before, that someone would judge him and find him wanting. It bit deep.

And fury rose against it; that his own son would do this, his own blood.

How dare he judge...

Vader strode forward, stormtroopers falling instantly back to give him room.

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The noise within the Falcon's hold was incredible, a low cloud of acrid smoke billowing at roof-level, burning the back of Luke's throat. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recognized the futility of his action--they all did. It gained them nothing save to exercise their defiance; given the numbers of troopers available to throw at them, the status-quo remained exactly as before.

Several white-clad troopers had fallen just inside the hold, slowing others who tried to make their way through, the bulkhead about Luke and Leia pockmarked with smoldering blast-holes. Luke's blaster was running hot in his hand now, probably close to exhausting its charge. Stupidly, he reflected that it couldn't possibly get any worse--

Then the troopers fell back in a flurry...and a huge, dark form strode purposefully into the ship, the dense black smoke swirling in perfect eddies about him.

Leia backstepped as Chewie threw out a howling challenge.

For long seconds all the blasters stopped, the silence ringing in Luke's ears...

Loud and heavy, Vader's breathing dragged through the air... Then Luke took two long steps forward and fired.

And again...and again...and again.

He knew of course that it wouldn't stop Vader. It didn't even slow him, as he lifted his black-gloved hand to deflect the bolts; simply batted them aside to burst into showers of incandescent sparks against the walls.

But it didn't stop Luke firing.

And it didn't stop Vader stalking forward.

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Leia watched the surreal vision unfold, swirled about with heavy smoke and bright, flaring flashes as Vader stepped closer, unstoppable, and Luke kept on firing. Just...kept on firing, like a man possessed.

Finally Vader stood level with Luke, towering over him as Luke held his blaster at arm's length with his one good arm, pointed squarely at the Dark Lord, the tip of the barrel almost resting against his chestplate.

For long moments they remained frozen like that, silence screaming in her ears after the battery of noise.

"Shoot," Vader rumbled deeply, his voice laced with barely-controlled anger.

Leia could see Luke's arm trembling, his whole body tensed against the need to act.

Yet he stood--he just stood stock still.

She wanted to yell, to shout out that he should shoot. Kill him. He won't be able to deflect a point-blank shot. Shoot! Pull the trigger!

And still Luke hesitated, though he must know this, somehow unable in that moment to act, though she couldn't conceive of why. Luke had fought against this nemesis for all the time she had known him--against Vader; his father's murderer, the Emperor's henchman. Pull the trigger!

They remained still, Luke's finger on the trigger, Vader staring down in still silence, the moment stretching for eons...

The movement, when it came, was shocking in its speed.

Vader's hand whipped around, violently knocking the blaster from Luke's grip to clatter away to the deck, though he didn't respond at all, his eyes remaining locked on that dark mask, as if he could somehow see past to the man hidden within.

Still they stood, frozen, immersed in some private battle.

With the speed of a viper, Vader brought his arm back in a massively powerful swing. The backhand blow connected with Luke's face to snap his head to the side, the strike so strong as to throw him backward into the bulkhead though he remained somehow upright, as Leia cried out in shock.

"Never point a weapon at me again," Vader growled, cold fury in his voice.

Slowly, very slowly, Luke pulled his wits about him then turned, taking a single step to stand in exactly the same spot, arms down, eyes unyielding.

Without hesitation Vader landed a second blow, no punch pulled, the motion combining all the considerable strength of his shoulder and arm to power Luke back into the bulkhead.

Leia cried out his name, stepping forward to be caught by Lando's grip tight on her arm, everyone's eyes locked on the bizarre scene playing out before them. Luke remained leaning against the bulkhead, head lowered for long seconds, breathing heavily. Several drops of deep, viscous scarlet dripped to the deck plates at his feet, the silence dragging like a bowstring across Leia's fraught nerves, taut with anticipation and shock.

Finally Luke hauled himself straight again and paused, wavering dangerously, his hand to the bulkhead. Then he turned to face Vader, his chin lifted in resolute defiance, the blood from a deep cut which split his lip trailing a crimson line down his chin to bloom in a spreading stain on his tattered jacket.

They faced each other, the stillness brittle, stretched to breaking...

Vader's arm wheeled back again.

Luke tensed for the blow--but he would not blink.

Vader's hand stopped inches from his face, the blow stayed, though Leia couldn't imagine why; the Sith Lord was not known for his mercy--nor his compassion.

For several seconds they remained like this, that same private battle of wills being fought out...

Slowly Vader's hand lowered...and Luke's shoulders slumped just slightly. Leia stared in shocked silence, unable to even begin to reason what was taking place, knowing only what this must be costing Luke.

Knowing he couldn't maintain it...but knowing he wouldn't back down.

Finally, with a shallow sigh Luke's head rolled slightly...then he pitched forward, unconscious.

Vader stepped in, arms stretching out--for what, Leia couldn't guess...

Then he caught Luke gently, one hand to his chest, the other about his arm, and lowered him softly to the ground, taking his weight as he fell and crouching to one knee beside him, one huge black-gloved hand beneath Luke's head.

"Luke..." he said quietly, his voice wracked with feeling in that moment; genuine, human emotion.

Leia could only watch in bewildered confusion as Darth Vader twisted back to the officer at the Falcon's hatch, voice tight with warring emotions.

"Where are the medics!" he hissed harshly, making the officer pale as he turned to shout out onto the deck.

They were there in an instant, three of them crowding about Luke as Vader stepped back. In an instant...had they been waiting? If so, for whom...for Luke? Why would Vader bother to summon medics to tend to a Rebel? Everything was happening too fast, spinning away from Leia's comprehension with dizzying speed. Stormtroopers came rushing in now, crowding about Leia, Chewie and Lando to bind their hands and push them forwards past the medics in the hold, still gathered about Luke's unconscious form.

"Luke!" Leia finally found her voice at the realization that they would be separated.

Vader looked up, faceless mask swiveling to her.

She yanked at the trooper who held her, dragging him to a momentary halt. "Where are you taking him!"

"Away from you," Vader rumbled, turning back dismissively.

The trooper wrenched at Leia, hauling her forward again, shocked into silence by the accusing venom in Vader's voice.

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To be continued...

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Chapter 2

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CHAPTER TWO

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The prisoner lay very still on the medi-bay scanner, his breathing slow and shallow, his face covered in innumerable grazes and fine cuts, others slicing deeper into the fabric of his ragged jacket and the flesh of his shoulder and arm. His eyes were closed and his mouth slightly open, jaw relaxed in unconsciousness.

"Well?" Vader prompted curtly.

The medic, Nathan Hallin, glanced up at Lord Vader nervously, unsure of why the unconscious man was here anyway, and not in the dedicated but rather more limited medi-bay within the detention level, where all the others had been taken. He'd been summoned with a small trauma team to the docking bay as a dilapidated freighter had been taken aboard and forcibly grounded, given no further explanation as a deafening firefight blazed about him then, after agonizing moments of absolute silence, called into the ship to treat what was clearly a Rebel, judging from his uniform.

Hallin had been on Vader's personal staff for less than a season, chosen by Vader to replace an existing member whose skills he exceeded, and wasn't yet well-versed with the finer points of his promotion. But he was a fast learner.

"Aside from...the obvious--" Hallin hesitated, then said it anyway, "the loss of his hand--he has contusions, several deeper lacerations and concussion. More seriously, some acute nerve damage to his upper thoracic spine; compression and displacement of discs and vertebrae consistent with an impact or a fall. Nothing irreparable, if it's treated immediately."

"He collapsed because of?" Vader prompted curtly.

"The nerve damage. It's significant enough to bring anyone down. I understand he'd just received several...severe blows to the head, which probably aggravated the upper spinal injury. His system probably just couldn't process any more damage and simply shut down." Intensely aware of the brooding silence from the huge figure to his side, the slim, slight medic began to back-pedal. "To be honest, I'm surprised he was standing anyway, considering the damage. Plus, he is concussed. Taking into account all of his...injuries..."

Hallin trailed off, aware that he was simply digging a deeper and deeper hole.

Finally, unable to stand the silence any longer, he tried, "We should...begin treatment to relieve pressure on the nerves along T-four to T-eight on his spine. That's a time-critical injury, My Lord. The hand less so, though the sooner we wet-wire AR nerves into biological ones the easier it is to integrate them, and for the patient to adapt."

It occurred belatedly to Hallin that neither of these procedures may be an option since the patient was clearly a prisoner, judging from the amount of troopers staged in and about his medi-bay. It would be far more in keeping with Hallin's still-limited experience with Lord Vader for him to simply wish to know what was wrong, rather than what could be done to repair it. If the young man was a Rebel as Hallin guessed, then he was facing the death penalty anyway, which made it rather a waste of everyone's time and of Hallin's considerable ability...

"Treat him. Whatever is necessary," Vader said, bringing Hallin's head round in surprise.

"Yes, My Lord," Hallin acknowledged, trying to hide his shock.

Vader almost made to leave before a further thought occurred. "Are any complications possible?"

"Complications?" Hallin hesitated, unsure what Vader was getting at; it surely wasn't concern. He turned back to the prisoner, considering. "The neural procedures to the spine carry a risk in terms of possible secondary nerve damage and the length of time under anesthetic, but the droids who perform the procedure are very competent. The limb replacement is only a local anesthetic and so carries no risks, though it's a long procedure. If we use a more basic replacement..."

"No. Use the best available. Do you have everything necessary here?"

A thought occurred to Hallin now--a reason for the man's being here rather than in the Detention Level, and for Lord Vader's apparent concern--perhaps this was an Imperial spy? A trooper from the 501st even, Lord Vader's own battalion. Would that warrant this level of concern? If so, then Hallin would be expected to display the same.

"Of course, My Lord. Should I use..." He stumbled, uncertain how to ask, "standard medical staff?"

"Are there others more competent?"

"There are several specialists in your own team who are presently onboard, if you wish to ensure an exemplary job."

"Use them. Whatever you need." Vader turned his wide bulk to Hallin, stepping in to tower over the slender medic. "I assign his health to you, Hallin. I expect no mistakes... I shall be displeased with any misstep."

"Yes, Lord Vader." Unlike everything else, that was crystal clear. "Should I...does he have a name? How would you like him referred to in the log?" Hallin felt certain now that the badly-injured man was some kind of agent in Vader's employ, which left him unsure what Vader would wish entered into the ship's medical log.

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Vader paused for a long time, considering, his gaze on the unconscious youth. "His name is Luke. He is my son."

The medic's eyes widened in shock, though to his credit he made no other move. Vader could almost see that fast mind working through the facts though, changing gear accordingly.

"I understand, Lord Vader. I understand completely," Hallin reassured quickly.

Feeling he had now made the repercussions very clear, Vader left Hallin to his work.

Striding from the medi-bay, Vader considered his actions. It had been a momentous act to him, to acknowledge his son as his son. He felt...what? Uneasy emotions conflicted, long-lost whispers at the edge of his thoughts; at his son's rejection of him, at dim memories of a distant past. Awareness of his Master's plans, of the boy's inevitable part in them. Of what it would demand of his son--what it would take from him.

Some deeper feeling welled, fed by the boy's presence...

He had, of course, known of his son for almost a year now, as soon as the Emperor's spies had tracked down the name of the pilot who had destroyed the Death Star. The rarity of the name, the nebulous feelings Vader had sensed when chasing down that X-Wing above the Death Star, the simple fact that the anonymous pilot had made that impossible shot...it hadn't been hard to come to the obvious conclusion.

Over the past year, Vader had alternately felt so sure that this was somehow the son he had believed lost with his mother on her death, then wracked with doubt that it could possibly be true, that such things were occasionally allowed by fate.

Terrified, both that it would be a lie or that it would be true.

And then Luke had come to Cloud City, his presence in the Force shining out, and Vader had known in a way deeper than any facts his spies could bring him.

This was his son. His child--his legacy.

And to say that--to speak it out loud for the first time--felt...good. Though it did nothing to interpret deeper, wildly warring feelings on the matter.

What it did clarify however, beyond question for those around him, was the level of commitment he expected of them in this. That was his intention in saying it, he reasoned, stepping easily back from the momentary burst of rare sentiment. That, and nothing else. And if it turned out that it was not the Emperor's wish to have this information disseminated...well then, nobody was indispensable.

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It was early in the morning when the man began to come round from the anesthetic, the scanners which surrounded him registering changes in brain activity and sounding out a tone.

Hallin stepped quickly into the room. He was deathly tired but hadn't slept yet, wanting to wait until the man had come round to make sure that all was well before he dare retire. Now he checked the IV feeds, glancing nervously at the condition readouts above the scanner, which remained worryingly erratic after the protracted surgery time, and reaching out a hand to one of the 4-OneBee droid as it approached with a small hand-held scanner as a second droid removed the oxygen feed.

Surprisingly, as Hallin was resting the scanner to the man's temples he brought his left arm up and wrapped his hand weakly about the medic's, attempting to push it away.

"Luke, can you hear me? My name is Hallin, I'm a medic. You've just had a surgical procedure and you need to try to remain very still. Do you understand?"

The man's eyes fluttered open briefly as he pawed clumsily at the IV feed in his arm, but he gave no other sign of genuine awareness. Hallin turned to the medical droid. "Do you have an EM scanner?"

"No, sir. I'll go and..."

"No, I have one in my office. I'll just be a moment."

When he returned less than a minute later it was to a scene of mystifying confusion, though for a moment he didn't realize, his tired brain struggling to register the unthinkable. The 4-OneBee stood exactly where he had left it, but it was now inactive, the lights in its eyes dark, motionless head still bent in regard of its patient...who was no longer there. Panicking, Hallin rushed up to the scanner bed whose white cloth was stained by several drops of blood surrounding the removed IV feeds. For long seconds Hallin just stared, eyes moving repeatedly between the deactivated droid and the empty bed...

Two blaster shots from the corridor beyond made his heart skip a beat and finally brought movement to immobile limbs. Dashing headlong into the brightly-lit corridor, he saw his patient leaning heavily against the wall to his left, barely upright, with a gaggle of stormtroopers about him in the corridor raising their blasters as they backed up.

"NO!" he shouted, running forward. "Don't shoot!"

By the time he reached him, the half-awake man had taken several faltering steps down the corridor whilst the troopers held to a wide semi-circle round him, blasters ready.

"Don't hurt him! He's coming round from surgery. He's just..."

"You have one minute to get him back in the bay, medic. Then we bring him down our way." The commanding stormtrooper's voice was clipped through his mask comm, but lost none of its threat.

"Fine... Fine, just stay back." Hallin stepped forward as another three medics appeared from the medi-bay, drawn by the commotion.

"Sir, three of the medical droids are..." one of them began, before finally realizing what was going on around him and trailing to silence.

"Fetch me a hypo, load it with a dose of Sinorin. Quickly!" Hallin hissed into the shocked medic's face.

Hallin hesitated at his next order...but the stormtroopers were a law unto themselves and this was turning very quickly into a situation he knew he couldn't control--and Lord Vader had made him directly responsible for the man. He turned to the second medic, his voice tinged with urgency.

"Contact Lord Vader directly. Use the comlink in my office. Tell him what's happening."

The white-faced man nodded, backing up to dash back into the medi-bay.

The patient had taken several more faltering steps down the hallway now, ignoring the troopers who kept a constant, set distance around him. His bare feet dragged as he paused, leaning his shoulder against the wall to leave a scarlet smear as he started forward again, his bruised and battered torso bare, a pair of white drawstring sleep-trousers his only clothing.

How was he doing this!

Uncertain, having never seen anyone recover this quickly from a full anesthetic, Hallin stepped toward him, his eyes drawn uneasily to the long, fresh scar running down the man's bare back just above his shoulder blades. This type of surgery was very delicate, not meant to have any stress put on it so soon.

How is the man standing...how is he awake at all?!

Level with him now, terrified that he would collapse at any moment causing further damage, Hallin placed his hand gently on the man's shoulder. "Please stop. You're injuring yourself--you have to stop."

The man slowed at this though he didn't turn, still resting his weight on his shoulder against the wall, his injured, bandaged arm clutched to his heaving chest, his shoulders dropping.

The troops about him all closed in slightly, and his head snapped up again, eyes focused dangerously on them. As one they brought their guns to bear, incredibly wary considering the state of the man they surrounded.

Glancing at them, open hand out to restrain them, Hallin realized for the first time that there were four troopers on the floor against the far wall, blasters scattered about them. Had this man done that? Surely not--how could he possibly...? Memory of the blaster-shots whirled back into Hallin's thoughts...

A medic came running from the bay behind him, holding out the hypo. Finally! Hallin grabbed it and turned quickly back to the man, thumb on the release...

And something inexplicable happened.

Somehow...somehow as he turned, he... His arm twisted back as if pushed, so that he ended up with the hypo pressed against his own body--and released the tranquilizer's full dose. He managed to turn to the other medic and whisper, "Antidote..." before his knees gave way.

When he came to, he was leaning awkwardly up with his back against the wall, the other two medics knelt about him, one repeating his name as the other gently tapped at his face.

"I'm...give me..." he managed, still struggling against the effects of the Sinorin, though the antidote was beginning to work through his system now.

He dragged his head around to see the stormtroopers still gathered at a wary distance about the injured man, who had pushed away from the wall, swaying, unable to go any further.

"Don't let them fire...keep them..." He managed to half-lift a hand to point, and one of the medics realized and set forward.

"Don't let him fall..." Hallin's voice was small and breathless and he tried again, struggling to stand. "Don't let him..."

Then the turbolift door at the edge of his vision slid open and a huge black form emerged to step into the bright white of the Star Destroyer's corridor. Lord Vader took everything in with a single glance, and in that moment was completely in control.

"STOP!" His voice was loud and low and gave no room for misunderstanding. Everyone in the corridor was immediately reduced to a frozen silence.

"MOVE BACK!" he barked--and the stormtroopers immediately withdrew, lowering their guns.

Hallin turned at the sound of a low sigh, half-exhaustion, half frustration, to see the injured man collapse to his knees in the still silence, slumping back to sit on his heels, head low, swaying unsteadily.

Lord Vader strode down the corridor, passing the downed troopers without a sideways glance, passing Hallin as he finally struggled to his feet, passing the silent and nervous medics and the armed stormtroopers who shied away from their imposing superior. When he reached the hunched man he crouched to one knee before him and studied him in silence for a long time, his huge, wide bulk dwarfing the smaller man. Chest and feet bare, battered and bruised and sutured, he seemed incredibly vulnerable beneath the black-armored austerity of his captor.

"Where are you going?" Vader finally asked, his quiet reproach tempered yet completely emotionless in the face of the willful, struggling man's obvious pain.

The man lifted his head with difficulty, the effort of staying even this upright clearly draining him, his frailty becoming more and more obvious, every reserve now spent.

Strangely, though Hallin didn't hear him speak, Lord Vader replied as if he had. "They are unharmed. You would do better to worry about yourself."

This time Hallin heard a word, little more than a sigh.

"...Han...?"

Again Lord Vader was silent for a long time, head slightly to one side. Then, the tone of his voice indicating some concession being made, he allowed, "I will retrieve him."

He reached forward to the slumped man whose breathing was becoming ever-more ragged. "And you will rest."

It wasn't so much the offer of a deal as a statement of the way things would be.

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.

Luke's head was sagging, his whole body trembling with fatigue.

Still, he leaned back, trying without success to lift his arm against the overbearing ebony shadow which stretched out to him, though all consideration of resistance was gone now, all strength sapped. The lights split in his vision and everything began a slow, deliberate turn, as if gravity were momentarily disengaged. His head swam, the walls spun, everything twisted every direction at once.

Focus! Stop this! He called to himself the one thing he could always trust.

The Force was a cool burst of fleeting clarity, but he sensed the Darkness at its edges, pressing in, reaching out.

Reaching out...

He tried to lift his head to focus on the dark, hulking figure before him but even that was beyond him now. His breathing shallowed as he became aware that he was struggling for air, then he toppled forward, unable to stop himself, reality spiraling about him as the floor rushed up toward him.

Strong arms caught him then lifted him from the floor as if he were a child, the action lighting a trail of fire down his spine, though in that moment he was past caring. Everything churned in his hazy vision, no up, no down, waves of awareness between blank, black voids. Voices raised in concern, though he couldn't seem to process the words, nothing reaching through the thick, dull haze which enveloped him and pressed down, stealing any thought save that of simply breathing, and even that faltering. All sound reduced to a single tone which sang in his head as his pounding heart shook his whole body with every labored beat. Too hard to breathe now, too hard to try, the exertion of lifting his chest unthinkable.

Each gasp came a little shallower until he could do nothing but descend into the still, crimson-tinged darkness, unwilling to fight anymore.

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Hallin leaned in to support the man's head as Vader lowered him onto the scanner-bed, adrenaline forcing the medic wide awake as medi-droids closed in, activating readout fields so that the information began to appear as a streaming display at the end of the bed. He glanced up, all business, checking the readouts as he took the offered IV from the droid to insert the needle.

Lord Vader ignored him completely, his hand resting on the unconscious man's chest.

Hallin turned back to the medical readouts as a warning sounded. "He's going into shock."

The IV feed filled with fluid and Luke's eyelids fluttered momentarily--

"NO!" Vader reached out and folded the tube closed. "Take it out!"

Hallin physically jumped at the ferocity of his outburst. "What?"

"Take it out. No drugs--it will interfere with his connection to the Force."

Hallin's eyes widened as he shrank back, but afraid as he was, some basic commitment cut in and he spoke out against Vader. "He...the surgery, My Lord; he shouldn't have moved, he's going into shock. His condition is very serious..."

As if to back him up, the medi-bay began again to sound its low alarm tone. Hallin glanced back at the display, then at Lord Vader's gloved hand still holding the IV tube folded, and spoke the hard truth. "His blood pressure's dropping dangerously low. The drugs will stabilize him until his body can...."

"No. He is a Jedi. He will drop into a trance, heal himself...if you don't interfere."

Hallin frowned; he was a medical man and simply didn't have time for this--

"Do as I say," Vader rumbled, the threat evident in his tone.

Hallin hesitated; as far as he was concerned, the Force was a myth, an entertainment for those too gullible to see the truth. He knew, of course, what people who were close to them said of Lord Vader and of the Emperor, but he had seen nothing in the two months that he'd been on Lord Vader's staff to merit any re-evaluation of his own beliefs. But he was a military medic and Lord Vader's subordinate. If Vader wished to test some theory, then it was within his rights to do so--certainly nobody here was about to stop him.

So why did Hallin remain frozen in place?

The medical alarm rose a pitch, demanding resolution. Wasn't this Vader's son? Why would he risk this? How could he?

That black mask turned on him, the voice from within broaching no argument. "Take it out."

"Of course," Hallin finally acknowledged, his voice flat, laced with defeat. "You understand...he will go deeper into shock, probably cardiac arrest without some form of intervention to stabilize him..."

As he spoke he slid out the IV, keeping his eyes on the readouts, awaiting the inevitable.

Vader didn't turn, didn't look to the display at all. He simply stared at the failing man.

They didn't have to wait long... The scanner changed to a constant tone and readouts began to flash red.

"He's gone below prescribed levels..." Hallin said flatly, his own heart beating fast in his chest. It was against everything he'd been taught, everything he'd ever believed, to stand by and simply watch when he could so easily prevent this.

"...His heart's going into fibrillation..." Seconds away now...

Vader's voice was low and quiet, barely a whisper, but Hallin heard it anyway, the raw emotion hidden by the mask all too audible in the hoarse words which drew Hallin's eyes to Lord Vader as he hissed down at the dying man, "Fight!"

Still the scanners registered the failing vital signs of the youth, and Hallin felt his own head shake as he looked back to the man. Unable to help himself, he reached out his hand to place it lightly on his patient's forehead, knowing it would offer no help but somehow needing, in those final moments, to offer some kind of succor.

Finally Vader relented, stepping back and turning quickly to Hallin. "Help him!"

He didn't need telling twice. Galvanized into action he stepped forward, arm out to the medi-droid. "Adrenaline--240 in a DR needle! Now!"

He stretched his hand out over the man's chest, automatically feeling for the spot between his ribs, hoping it wasn't too late, fearing it was. As he took the needle, a change in the scanner tone made him turn...

Two of the readouts had risen from critical back toward normal limits. Frowning, he stared at the display in blank confusion. How...?

A third climbed back within limits as the man's vital signs began to stabilize.

Vader reached his arm out to gently push Hallin back from the patient, whose irregular breathing was beginning to even. The medic frowned, speechless as he looked down to the man on the bed, whose blue lips were beginning to redden, color returning to waxen skin.

What the hell was happening?

It took less than a minute for the readouts to stabilize--not even nearly to normal; the man remained in a serious condition--but to climb from critical. To step back, quite miraculously, from the edge.

Some signs remained incredibly elevated though--brain activity and oxygen levels were exceptionally high...

Was this.... Hallin hardly dare even consider it.

Lord Vader turned to him, bass voice perfectly even now, distant and emotionless. "Learn and adapt, if you are to serve him. He is a Jedi...all previous knowledge and boundaries are gone. You were right to contact me, however. Do so earlier, next time."

With that he turned and left. Hallin watched him, a dark silhouette against the bright light of the corridor beyond. Then he was left alone, to look back down in mute wonderment at the Jedi.

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Luke was woken from a fitful, disturbed sleep by the realization of who was near.

He'd spent the night in a detention cell, pretty much dragged there by Vader when he'd made his third attempt to leave the medi-center only a day after the first.

By the time Vader had arrived he'd already been forced to stop, stormtroopers ahead of and behind him, but this time he'd gotten much further into the ship. Still slow and breathless, still frail, but awake this time; aware enough to find his bearings, clarify where exactly he was in relation to where he needed to get to...and more importantly, how to get there. Next time.

Vader had arrived seething, simply striding up to Luke as he had leaned weakly against the wall for support, grabbing him by the arm, turning him about and dragging him down the corridor. Luke hadn't even had the strength left to fight; to shout out or struggle as he was half-dragged, half-marched through the Destroyer, Vader's grip unyielding, the sound of many stormtroopers' boots behind them. All of his energy had gone into simply staying upright.

Still in medi-center whites, feet bare, he had been deposited--practically thrown--into an empty cell whose roof curved down to the floor in a concave dome, and whose only notable feature was a huge, thick pillar in the centre of the room. Half-collapsing in exhaustion at the forced march, vision tunneling, chest heaving, he'd been only vaguely aware of the techs who had gathered about him as he'd collapsed against the pillar, struggling to find the strength to stand again.

"If you act like you are a prisoner here, you will be treated as one," Vader had finally accused, frustration and irritation clipping his words.

Cryptically as far as Luke was concerned; what did Vader think he was?

He was a Rebel soldier being held captive by the Empire and he would take any opportunity presented to escape--or at the very least cause havoc. A sting of pain had drawn Luke's eyes to his ankle, where the techs were using some kind of hand-held device to seal two fine metallic cables about each, the other ends of which were already looped around the thick pillar.

"They are unbreakable," Vader had said needlessly. "You could, of course, use the Force to bring down the pillar, but since the roof rests upon it, I would not advise it."

He stared in silence for a long time at Luke--waiting for what Luke hadn't known. Unable to summon the strength to even speak yet, he could only glare back, open animosity in his eyes, his chest heaving as he'd still struggled for breath.

Finally Vader had turned and left. The hiss of a hermetic seal had sounded as the heavy door pulled closed, to be followed seconds later by the sound of a second outer door doing the same with a solid, impenetrable finality.

Vader--nothing else; no connection, not his... Luke still couldn't even begin to think of the man in those terms...and it was becoming easier to just ignore it now. He knew who Vader was; what he was. And he knew exactly his relationship to him: enemy to soldier, Imperial to Rebel. He neither wanted nor needed those perceptions altering.

So now, as he recognized that grudgingly familiar sense approaching outside his cell, his eyes opened then narrowed though he didn't move otherwise, remaining on the hard floor where he had slept, laid on his side to favor the sutures down his back, facing away from the entrance.

The outer door grated open, followed a few seconds later by the inner one. Heavy footsteps walked forward then halted.

Silence, in which Luke forced his breathing to even, jaw tightening.

"I know that you are awake," Vader said at last, his tone quiet and calm, but still blunt and unyielding.

"Leave," Luke said, not even turning.

"I wish to speak with you," Vader rumbled, as if that were reason enough to comply.

"I don't wish to speak with you."

"Then you will listen," Vader said curtly.

With little real choice, Luke pushed himself painfully up to lean a shoulder against the thick post, the cables twisting about his ankles as he did so. The scathing, derisive fury in his voice when he spoke surprised even himself. "Fine...go ahead."

He had the momentary gratification of seeing Vader pause, uncertain. "Go ahead," he invited again through tight lips. "You want me to listen--I'm listening."

"You are not listening," Vader said, shaking his head slightly. "You do not intend to listen to anything I say."

"Have you finished?"

Vader said nothing, merely stared.

"Good. Then leave."

"You are judging me without knowing the facts."

"No, I'm judging you on the facts," Luke bit out. "I'm in a detention cell being taken against my will to Imperial Center. The person who put me in here has injured my friends for no other reason than to get my attention, and is now intending to deliver me and them to a man who will surely kill us all when I won't do as he asks. The person who put me in here knows this as well as I do, and yet still that door remains locked. That is the man I'm judging."

"You are so stubborn," Vader said at last, shaking his head in frustration.

"And you're blind," Luke accused angrily. "Willfully so. Because I don't believe you can't see what will happen."

"The choice of what will happen is yours."

"I've made my choices. I made them years ago. None of this..." even now, he couldn't bring himself to say it, "changes them."

"Your choices were made without the facts."

Luke only looked away. "I had the ones that mattered."

"Only to them."

"And I suppose you'll give me the truth?" His words were laced with caustic disbelief.

"Why do you believe me any less capable of that than Obi-Wan?"

"Because I'm here," Luke replied, incredulous that Vader could even ask. "Like this. Because my friends are here..."

"You would do well to forget them. They are an unnecessary weakness."

Luke shot him a disbelieving, outraged stare, but he continued with relentless logic.

"The Emperor will use them to control you. That is why they are here."

"Then let them go." It was half-request, half-challenge. It was the first time he looked to his father's eyes.

"I cannot."

Luke turned away, unsurprised. "Do you do everything he tells you?"

"You do not know him." The tone of Vader's voice revealed little but for a moment--just an instant--Luke's temper softened to something more compassionate. Then he blinked and turned away, rubbing tiredly at his temples.

"Well, I'm about to," he said, exhausted, the frustrated implication in his words clear.

"It does not have to be this way. The offer I made on Bespin remains--will always remain." He declared this as if he were offering some kind of gift, not condemning Luke to Darkness. "I can teach you, show you a power that will make you invulnerable. Luke, you have the ability to destroy him."

"How would you possibly know?" Luke's voice was tired and dismissive.

"Because I know who you are. I know what you are--the truth. They have shown you only a fragment of that which you are capable of, by their own choice. I know your aptitude...your capability. They could only ever teach you competence, because that is all they know. I can show you mastery."

"To do what? Fulfill your ambitions?" Luke challenged.

"Fulfill your own potential," Vader countered.

"As it suits you."

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Vader fell silent, unaccustomed to this--all of it. If the boy would relent, just a little, if he would just open his mind to the possibility that Kenobi was wrong and Vader right. How could he explain, how could he make the boy understand?

"Luke... you are not like them. We are not like them." The boy remained unmoved, face stubbornly turned away. "Understand what you are--know what you are capable of. Your lineage, your bloodline. I can give you that knowledge, make you realize your inherent potential."

"Why?"

That one word, spoken so quietly and without any trace of animosity, stopped Vader dead.

"Do you not wish to know who you are?" Vader was incredulous, genuinely confused.

This, surely, was what the boy wanted. Every truth that had been so deliberately kept from him, every fact. Having been confronted with a glimpse of reality after years of lies, how could he not want it all? But the boy shook his head in resigned refusal.

"I've lived this long without your 'truth'. I'll be dead soon anyway. What does it matter?" The boy was genuinely dismissive, anger waning now to be replaced with an empty bitterness, a knowing, weary acceptance that he would never know the real truth--not as long as those about him sought to control him.

"You should know who you are. Your heritage, your birthright."

Vader held his son's searching gaze as Luke turned to him, pale blue eyes so much like his own. Haunted and lost, deeply dispirited. So much like his own... Was this the price of power? Was this the true legacy of the Skywalkers--were they all cursed to a life of misery and grief?

"I really don't care," Luke whispered, his quiet, defeated tone more damning than any previous anger. "Please leave."

And that was it--against that resolute, determined denial, what more was there to be said? Vader turned to leave, but paused at the heavy door. Turning back, he dropped the small palm-held holo-projector he'd held to the ground at his feet. It clattered across the hard floor, rolling to a halt.

Neither looked at it.

"Your mother," Vader said simply, then turned and left without further comment.

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.

Alone, Luke stared at the small device laid on its side on the floor. Seconds turned to minutes as he stared at it, until its dark color against the white walls had burned an imprint into his mind so that it remained even when he closed his eyes.

But the truth he'd craved his whole life had become too hard, too damning. Especially now, from this source. He didn't want any more--couldn't take any more. He was tired and battered, body and soul both.

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From the main observation console in the ops room, Vader watched the image of the cell as Luke stared mutely at the device for a long, long time.

Willing him to pick it up...

Finally the boy leaned back his head, eyes closed. And Vader could sense the tangle of conflicting emotions which pulled him every direction at once. Loyalty to his friends, his cause. Fear that his hidden past would be a weakness, a method of control.

The desperate desire to see his mother's face, just once...

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Luke willed himself to remain still for a long time, but every single fiber of his being was attuned to the small, abandoned holo-projector that lay on its side just ten paces away. It had been a cruel thing, to leave it here...a cunning thing.

He opened his eyes and stretched out his left hand, and the projector skittered momentarily over the bare floor then launched across the cell to land neatly in his palm. He held it for long seconds, struggling against inner demons--the longing, the need to know despite his words, the resentment and bitterness which had driven him to rebuff even this.

He gazed at the device in his hand, aware that he was being watched, but uncaring, the relevance of this moment too great to disregard.

His mother. His past. Twenty-one years of forsaken abandonment compressed into this instant. A lifetime of craving, of yearning, of searching for any connection, no matter how faint...

And now, finally, the truth was being offered...at a price. Acceptance.

Of what he was...of what he could become.

Sighing deeply, he held onto this possibility--the potential to see her--for just a few seconds more...

But the price was just too high.

He twisted it onto its side in his palm, so that the three fine veins which projected the image faced his thumb. Without visible emotion he broke each of them off, rendering the projector useless, then let it fall from his hand.

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To be continued...

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Chapter 3

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CHAPTER THREE

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Luke knew. Long before the heavy double-door to his cell opened, he knew.

Even though the cell was soundproof, he knew the commotion going on in the corridor outside...

The inner door rasped open--

"...and your mother!" Han shouted, as he was practically thrown inside.

"Han!"

"Luke! Kid!" Han shouted his name as he turned toward him, blinking repeatedly as if trying to bring the world into focus. He set forward, arms open wide to embrace Luke as they met.

Luke winced, pulling in a sharp breath as Han pressed against the sutures in his back, but the moment was too precious to spoil. They pulled back, Luke studying Han. He looked tired and drawn, with a fresh cut over his left eye and a long open graze down his chin, already darkening into a bruise.

Still, Luke smiled. "You don't look so bad to me."

Han grinned. "Ah, you should see the other guy."

"Why, what does he look like?" Luke laughed.

"I have no idea--can't see a damn thing," Han replied glibly, though Luke could sense the subtle panic beneath his words.

"Can't see?"

"Well, I can see light and dark...vague shapes." He squinted at Luke, head on one side as if it would make a difference. "But you just look like a big thumb."

"You know, I have been told that before," Luke conceded lightly, nodding. Even in this, they joked...what else could they do?

"Where're the others?" Han pushed the conversation on and Luke followed his lead, rushing to reassure.

"They're okay. I think they're a couple of levels above us. Definitely way forward and on the other side of the ship."

"Why aren't they with you?"

Luke shrugged. "I'm guessing they know we wouldn't leave without each other. That means if by some miracle we get out of here, we still have to make our way through the length of a Star Destroyer before we can even think about getting off. Gives them plenty of time to get ready for us and organize any number of surprises."

"Wow, they're good," Han deadpanned.

"I think it's Vader."

"Yeah, we already met today--when they thawed me out. He grabbed me by the neck and told me if I gave him any trouble he'd turn my face inside-out. I'm guessing he's not a morning person." Han was leaning in to Luke now, eyes wide. "You know, you actually look like a thumb with two black eyes. I guess you've already given him trouble, huh?"

Luke looked away, uncomfortable. "I think we both scored a few hits."

Han paused, momentarily serious. "Listen, thanks for coming after us."

"For all the good it did."

Han remained stubbornly optimistic. "Yeah, but we're together now. We can start work on getting outta here. And we gotta get out and get to Chewie and the Princess before they get to us, or else I'll never hear the last of it from the Wook. Or Her Highness."

Luke could only smile in the face of such confidence. He hadn't realized how much he missed it. "Hey, who's the other guy with them? Dark, well-dressed..."

"Lando's here?" Han's hackles rose at that news. "He's the one who got us all into this. He handed us over to Vader."

Luke frowned. "Well he was shooting at Vader last time I saw him. And he's in a cell with the others now."

"Yeah, probably hittin' on Leia," Han growled.

"What happened?" Luke asked, realizing belatedly that he had no idea.

"Ah, we had to land on Bespin for repairs--Lando runs some tibanna gas mine there, and we needed a safe port. Took us weeks to limp there from Hoth and then Lando's all sweetness and light, saying absolutely he'll fix the Falcon up, but we gotta wait 'till he can ship the parts in. We spend weeks an' weeks waiting--admittedly in the lap of luxury--with Lando always sayin' 'Oh, they'll be on the next transport for sure.' Then her Highnessness starts gettin' all crampy and decides to contact Ackbar and ask for a pickup instead. Next thing we know, Vader appears, we're in the detention level, I'm strapped to an interrogation rack and they're firing up the carbon-freeze. Not my best day." A thought suddenly occurred, bringing Han's head up. "I thought he was after the Princess, but Lando said he was looking for you--we were just bait. What does he want you so bad for?"

Luke sighed, not wanting to get into this now. Instead he turned to walk back and settle gingerly against the pillar, making sure he kept his sutures clear of it. "I'll tell you later," he dismissed, hiding the avoidance behind another question. "What was wrong with the Falcon?"

"Hyperdrive. We didn't even make it to the rendezvous; stayed well and truly stuck in the Hoth System. Plus we had half the Imperial fleet on our tail..." The next he spok as if he was finally putting a puzzle to rest. "They must've thought we had you on-board!"

"A Destroyer took out the hyperdrive?"

"Nah, Hoth did that. We tried to hotwire it and managed to blow out the long-range comm system too. You know, there's not one damn thing about that planet I liked." Han flopped back onto a hard bunk.

Luke shrugged. "It kept the Empire off our backs."

"Yeah, that worked out great," Han deadpanned, looking about him meaningfully. "Where the hell are we anyway?"

"Vader's Super Star Destroyer, I think."

"Great. So that's twice as far to run to get to Chewie an' Leia," Han said dryly. "How long have you been here?"

"We're in a detention cell, in hyperspace. How would I know?"

"How many meals?" Han reasoned.

"Not nearly enough. Feels like one a day, which means I've been here three days. Two days elsewhere. But I was out cold before that, and I have no idea how long for."

"Out?" Han frowned.

"In a medi-center. They put me in here when I tried to go walkabout."

"Medi-center? What happened?"

Luke shrugged, not wanting to stay on this conversation any further. "Vader."

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Han frowned, blinking rapidly as he stared at the blurred outline of the kid's hunched form, where he'd retreated to on the floor by a huge pillar which dominated the small cell. "You okay?"

"I'll live," Luke assured dismissively. But there was something else--something in his voice...

"Luke?"

He vaguely saw the kid raise his head, blurred and indistinct. Saw him hold his arm out in silence, and Han squinted at it, the white bandage against the white walls making it difficult to see just what...

The air left him in a rush of compassion as he shook his head and looked away, uncertain what to say.

"It doesn't hurt so much now." Luke said quietly.

"What the hell happened?"

"Vader," Luke repeated, voice strangely neutral as he said the name.

"Why?"

Luke shrugged. "I...got a blow in with my lightsaber."

Han was silent for long seconds. "You hit him...with a lightsaber?"

"Yeah."

Clearly the kid didn't want to give up any more information on this. Han considered for long seconds before finally nodding and saying quietly, "I'm impressed."

Strangely, the kid didn't reply; just looked away in silence.

Slowly, over the next few hours, interspersed by long, reticent lulls, Han coaxed what felt like the edited highlights out of Luke. The fight, the fall. The tractor beam, the medi-center. It all made sense, except on thing...why they were still alive at all--any of them. When he tried to push the kid on that one, he got stonewalled every time.

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Luke lay on his back, staring at the curve of the ceiling...not that it was a ceiling, per say. The cell was a half-dome, ceiling and walls merging into a single concave curve...why? He didn't exactly make it a habit to visit Imperial detention cells, but curves on any starship were a waste of space. So why here?

Beside him, Han moved in his sleep on the hard bench that the cables about Luke's ankles meant that he couldn't even reach. He glanced over, worried for him, but still grateful for his company and the distraction it offered. He knew he'd eventually have to tell Han more; that Han knew he was keeping something back, but was allowing it with good grace, for now.

But he couldn't speak the truth--not yet. Some things were still too hard to say out loud, to even begin to consider. He looked down at the bandaged stub which had been his hand; some wounds kept on bleeding.

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"I think my eyes are getting better," Han maintained from the unpadded bunk where he lay, waving his hand before eyes.

He'd been there two meals now, which definitely equated to two very long days, the way his stomach was growling.

Luke glanced up from where he generally sat on the floor, leaning back against the post in the centre of the cell. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Han glanced over, squinting. "... I want to say...three...?"

"I don't actually have my hand up," Luke said, deadpan.

"Oh, that's low," Han said dryly.

"You're not ready," Luke said easily, voice straining slightly as he shifted uncomfortably against the surgical scar he'd admitted he had on his back...maybe he wasn't ready either.

"Yeah, but if we go now..."

"If we go now, not only will I be dragging you along, whilst trying to fire a blaster one-handed and having to stop every time we hit steps to say, 'Down one...and another...', but when I finally give you a blaster because you've nagged me relentlessly about how much better you can see now, you'll probably shoot me in the back," Luke reasoned good-naturedly.

"Hey, there's nothin' wrong with my aim, junior."

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Luke repeated back.

"Man, you're worse than Chewie," Han grumbled.

Luke smiled tiredly. "We'll go when we get the chance. Whenever."

"That's all I wanted to hear," Han grinned.

Silence...

"And you aren't quite as bad as Chewie."

"Thanks."

"And you can fly better than him. But don't tell him that."

"Thanks."

"And you don't smell like a tauntaun when you're wet, which Chewie definitely does."

"Always nice to know."

"Except for that one time when I covered you in tauntaun innards."

"Yeah, thanks for that," Luke said, a smile sounding in his tired voice.

"Hey, you weren't complaining at the time, pal. I'm the one who had to spend the night in a very small snow-shelter with you."

"Revenge is sweet."

"Ah, it wasn't so bad. Try being stuck in a small freighter with a wet Wookiee."

Silence... The kid was awful quiet these days.

"See, I can see how many fingers I have up this close," Han said, waving his hand before him.

"I hope so, that's your own hand," Luke pointed out mildly.

"C'mon. I bet you five hundred credits I can tell you this time."

"You already owe me the Falcon twice over." The kid sighed, but he still rose, leaning against the thick post for support.

"Care to double it?"

"Do you have four Falcons?" Luke asked dryly.

"Hey, there's only one Falcon. And we're taking her with us when we leave."

Luke leaned closer to hold his hand out, always seeming to stand awkwardly to Han when he stepped from the center of the room, his bandaged arm still clutched to his chest.

"How many?" he invited.

"Two!"

"Congratulations. You can see."

"Now can we leave?" Han asked impatiently, as if this had been the only obstruction.

"Absolutely. You open the door and we're out of here," Luke agreed, turning to head back to his spot.

"Are you..." Han leaned in, frowning, as Luke walked away. "Are you tied to that post?"

"A little bit," Luke allowed dryly.

"And you didn't think to mention that earlier?" Han said, rising and stepping forward to grab clumsily for the fine organic steel cables and lift them into his still-limited range of focus.

"All things considered, I thought it was the least of our problems. Would you quit pulling that? I'm attached to the other end!" Luke yanked back with his ankle as he slid down the pillar to sitting again.

"Wow, they really want you to stay put, don't they?" Undeterred, Han crouched down before Luke to study the cable. "This is military high-grade. Pretty hefty stuff--three of these'd lift the Falcon."

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Luke shifted uneasily as Han glanced up, that big-brother mix of concern and reproach in his tone, part patronizing, part kidding. He'd already used it to good effect to drag from Luke the fact that he'd had some kind of surgery on his spine. Luke would've kept quiet about it, but a medi-droid had been in to check the wound daily, and the fact that it had clearly been instructed not to say a word to either of them hadn't even slowed the run of questions that Han had launched.

Now he was tilting his head in that familiar way. "What'd you do?"

"Nothing."

"Really? Cos I can't help but notice that I remain cable-free and, if I say so myself, I did a hell of a lot to hack 'em off."

Luke sighed, realizing that he had absolutely no idea of how to break the news of his training to everybody, especially Han. Of everyone, he suspected that the cynical smuggler would take this the least well. But he'd better get used to explaining it--there were a lot of people who simply didn't believe that the Jedi ever existed; the Empire had put a lot of effort into reinventing them as fakers and opportunists obsessed with their own political power. Some bought into the lie, some didn't. Some never believed in the first place--which took Luke squarely back to Han, who remained crouched before him. Luke looked his friend in the eye, manner very serious.

"You know all that...Force stuff you don't believe in?" It wasn't his best opening line, he had to admit...

"Yeah, I know it," Han said slowly, realizing where this was going, "Please don't tell me you got it into your head that all that stuff Kenobi spouted is real."

"It is real."

"See, it's not..."

"Han..." Luke interrupted.

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"No, listen--telling people it's real and wearing lightsabers is gonna make people do this to you." Han lifted the cable to illustrate his point. This was important. The kid did one step short of idolize that bantha-brained old hermit that he'd first come into Han's company with--to the point that he'd one admitted to Han that he'd heard Kenobi's voice over the Death Star. He'd had none of it when Han had said that in moments of high stress, pretty much everyone had some kind of weird experience. Didn't mean they were real.

At least the kid at least had the good grace to hunch down slightly in Han's still-blurred line of vision as he spoke, still trying to defend his corner. "Han..."

"Luke, Kenobi was just..." he hesitated to say it, knowing how the kid worshiped the old man, but this was important. "He was just some crazy..."

"Han, look down."

Han frowned, glancing down. "Ho! Hey! Whoa!"

He floated gently about a foot off the ground, neither boot touching the floor, still in a perfect crouch--he stretched forward quickly, hands out to catch himself...but didn't fall. "What the hell!?"

"If you struggle, it's very hard to keep you level," Luke said mildly.

"Seriously? ... You're doing this!?... Seriously!" Han babbled, arms out stiffly as if to balance himself now. "How the hell are..."

"It's all real, Han," Luke said quietly.

"Get me the hell down, then!"

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Luke lowered Han gently to the ground, releasing him slowly so he took his own weight back. Han crouched in silence for long seconds, glaring at Luke.

Finally, when Luke could stand it no more he opened his mouth to speak, to be met by Han's hand before his face, one finger held up to silence him. "Okay, supposing--just supposing--that I accept that it's real for the minute..." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully at the last. "Which I'm not sayin' that I do... Can you do anything else?"

Luke shrugged unassumingly. "I can speed up my reflexes, accelerate healing, increase my physical abilities, read intent, see..."

Han sat back to yank his boot off and drop it to the ground. "Lift that up."

"Han, I just lifted you up. What..."

"I wanna see you do it on something else. Somethin' I name."

Sighing, Luke lifted the boot with the Force, turning it gently in the air at eye level. Even this small act felt good. He'd not maintained anything more than passive contact with the Force since arriving here, uncomfortable to do so this close to Vader, knowing that he would sense any contact.

Inexplicably, Han felt the need to check for forcefields, waving his hand over and about the boot. How exactly Han thought that Luke would be creating or manipulating them in an Imperial detention cell, Luke didn't know.

"It's not a trick," Luke said, giving his friend time to come to terms with this as Han tapped suspiciously at the boot.

It didn't take him too long, opportunist that he was.

"Can you open the door?"

"No. I could open a normal cell door--just blow it out--but this is different and I've been trying to figure out how. I've gone over the door repeatedly, but there's no mechanical lock at all, only an automated hinge mechanism to open the door when it's free-moving. I was looking at the structure of the roof, and I think there's a vacuum between the two doors--around this whole chamber. I think we're in a room within a room. That's why there are two doors with the outer one opening out and the inner one opening in; they're both held closed by a vacuum that exists between these two rooms. I'm pretty sure I could force the seal, but I think if I did it'd open the cell to a vacuum. I think it was made specifically to hold Jedi."

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Hold Jedi..."That's why they want you, isn't it?" Han asked slowly, as it all came together.

Luke nodded slowly.

"That's why Vader was sent after you."

"Vader has his own reasons," Luke said cryptically, making Han frown at the kid.

He was different somehow; had been since Han had arrived here. Han had put it down to their less-than-favorable circumstances, but now...

Han looked closer--he seemed older...more prepossessed.

"Where were you," Han asked slowly. "When we were limping all the way to Bespin then stuck on Cloud City for weeks on end...where were you, Luke?"

Luke glanced down...and was actually about to speak when his face changed quite suddenly, a wary mask falling as he looked aside. "Vader," he whispered.

Han frowned, glancing at the blank wall where the kid was looking, confused. "What?"

A distant, muffled hiss of displaced air was followed by the grind of the heavy outer door opening. Han pushed up and back as Luke rose beside him, just as the inner door grated open and Vader stalked in, striding up to Luke without even glancing at Han, stormtroopers crowding in at the door.

"What were you doing?" Vader growled without preamble.

The kid was incredibly guarded now, but strangely unafraid. More than that even; antagonistic. Han could see it quite clearly.

"Why?" Luke challenged.

Even his voice was different; had an uncharacteristic edge to it.

Vader took one step closer, hand held out, finger up in warning. "Don't play games with me. What were you doing?"

Still Luke wouldn't back down. Han glanced at the troopers by the now-closed door. Was the kid suicidal!

"Why don't you check your security footage? Or ask your troopers in the ops room. That's their job, isn't it, to watch us?"

Han glanced up, squinting about the cell for a security lens, though he could see nothing.

"I am asking you," Vader snapped, denying none of Luke's accusations.

Luke remained silent, the air fairly buzzing between them. Han had never seen the kid like this before--he was almost unrecognizable.

"Check the wires," Vader ordered.

Two troopers rushed forward to comply, inspecting the cables which bound Luke to the wide central pillar.

"They're good, Lord Vader. No marks," came the filtered reply.

"The door," Vader said, without looking away.

The troopers pushed past Han, hustling him aside. "Hey, watch it!"

"Clean, Sir."

Vader lifted his head to study the post which Luke was tied to, then scanned the room slowly before turning back to a still-silent Luke, who fairly seethed animosity, eyes hooded, stance taut.

"If you do anything, anything at all, he will suffer," Vader growled, pointing to Han. "As will the others. They are all expendable. Remember that."

He turned, his cloak swirling about him, and was almost to the door before Luke spoke, voice tight and low. "I will."

There was something in it...something that spoke far more of a threat than of compliance.

Han tensed, turning to Vader, who paused, twisting slowly back to stare at Luke for long moments. Han felt his own muscles tighten, sure Vader would lunge at Luke, sure the kid would throw himself at Vader if he did, uncertain what to do; whether to grab for the kid to restrain him or launch forward to try to help him.

Then Vader simply turned and stalked out, the door slamming home behind the troopers who followed him, the hiss of the hermetic seal engaging the only sound for long seconds.

"Man, you sure know how to pick your enemies," Han wheezed, letting the words out in a long gasp.

Luke relaxed only slowly, muscles gradually loosing, breathing softening. Still, he stared for a long time at the doorway, an intensity about him which Han had never seen before, a wildness in his eyes.

He eventually sat, hunched in silence for a long time, lost in his thoughts, Han not daring to ask what the hell had just happened.

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No one entered the cell for the next three days. Food came sporadically through a narrow hatch which opened in the wall, Luke always knowing a minute or so before, standing to gaze at the wall as if it were a window. Announcing the arrival of new guards or the changing of the existing ones; any breaks in the routine.

Han didn't ask the kid how he knew this stuff, but he was beginning to accept that he just might, no matter how uneasy it made him feel. Luke was always right about when the food arrived--to the minute.

They'd studied the walls for a long time too, trying to gauge how big the chamber was that their cell was set inside, based on brief glances at the depth of the food hatch; how much of a space the vacuum filled--whether their lungs could take the decompression if Luke forced the door. Han had been willing to give it a try, but the kid had reasonably pointed out that if they'd gone to this much trouble, they would have calculated the size of outer chamber needed to at the very least render its occupants unconscious. Han had to admit it would have been a pretty glaring oversight not to, given the amount of work which had gone into this. Though based on the Death Star design, he was still almost willing to give it a go.

A fair amount of their ample time was also put into trying to judge how long before they arrived at Imperial Center. After some heated debate as to how many days it took to travel from Bespin to Coruscant down the Corellian Trade Spine, Luke had won the argument by default when he pointed out the fact that both of them had been unconscious for the start of the journey, which meant that they had no idea how long they had been traveling in the first place--something of a hindrance in working out how far they still had to go. And that was assuming they'd made no stops--and that they were traveling at a constant point-five beyond lightspeed, both of which were pretty major assumptions.

Too many variables and not enough information, and time was ticking down.

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The sound of the pressure cycling which always marked the opening of the outer door dragged Han awake. He felt groggy, like it was the middle of the night, though they never lowered the lights in here. But he'd had to wake quickly too many times over too many years for it to bother him now, so by the time the inner door grated back he was wide awake and scrabbling upright.

Stormtroopers poured in, too many to count.

Han realized peripherally that Luke had already been awake, standing up before the thick pillar he was tethered to, though he hadn't woken Han. It crossed his mind in that moment to wonder why, but the troopers were jostling Han back now, a blaster in his face.

"Hey, easy pal," Han said, adrenaline pumping.

For a few seconds, there remained a tense standoff as several troopers lined up a way back from the kid, blasters trained on him as Luke held them in a level gaze. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and emotionless.

"Do it," he said simply.

Han frowned uneasily...

The three troopers directly in front of the kid fired, the suddenness of the action making Han cry out as the combined shots threw the kid back to glance off the pillar and hit the ground like dead-weight.

"Luke!" Han was dragged back roughly by many hands. A blaster jabbed into his stomach, winding him, and when he looked up, it was to stare down the barrel.

"This one's not set on stun," the trooper said pointedly.

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To be continued...

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Chapter 4

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CHAPTER FOUR

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"Leia? Leia!" Han shouted out as he was hustled down the ramp of the transport, on seeing Leia being dragged from a second shuttle onto the wide, troop-lined platform, lit up in the dark of the planet's night.

"Han!" She struggled pointlessly against her guards, but that didn't stop her trying. "Let me go! You stupid..."

Her voice was drowned out by Chewie's deafening howl as he saw Han from the ramp.

"Chewie!" Han yelled, elated now. "Hey, ya big..."

The stormtrooper beside him pushed his blaster into Han's ribs. "Shut your mouth, pirate, or I'll shut it for you."

Han didn't care--he didn't care in that moment. They were alive, they were okay. Talk about a roller-coaster day!

They were dragged up alongside him to stand in the center of an impressive group of troopers, all of whom they completely ignored in their relief to see that each of the others were okay. Lando joined them, hands bound, and though he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge the man, in that moment, Han didn't even care that he was there.

"Were you on-board too?" Leia asked, beaming from ear to ear, hardly at her most regal but sure as hell stunning to Han. "For how long?"

"You know me, sweetheart, just can't keep away from a pretty face," he grinned, bobbing his eyebrows.

Leia rolled her eyes as Chewie chuntered his concern. Han brushed it off easily. "Best night's sleep I ever had!"

The stormtrooper in charge of the prisoners turned on them. "If you don't all shut up..."

He never finished his threat. A far greater one than he could ever issue stalked down the ramp of the transport, black cloak swirling about him in the night winds as the impressive phalanxes of troops came smartly to attention.

In the silence, Han glanced around, orienting himself.

They were on a huge landing platform high on the roof of a massive, monolithic building, open to the elements and surrounded by four towering spires which continued up in perfect proportion from the monumental mass off the main structure below, the night illuminated by thousands of lights from the city about it, their reflected glow great enough to obscure the stars entirely. Not that Han needed them to recognize Coruscant--and it would always be Coruscant to him, no matter how many times the Imperials claimed and renamed it.

And he knew the Towers too, had seen them hundreds of times from a distance. A safe distance. Never once expected to see them up close...then again, who did?

The legendary magnificence of the Imperial Palace was laid out about them, in the scale of the landing platform and the troops assembled; in the polished and banded granite slab beneath their feet, delicately inlaid with finely scrolled metals whose design radiated out in a complex pattern hidden by the polished boots of many stormtroopers, in the height of the towers which soared above every other structure even here, immersing the viewer in its casual opulence, a tremendous statement of Imperial wealth and resources on a planet where overt displays of outrageous luxury were the norm.

As vast as it was, the platform was only a fraction of the roof space of the monumental main Palace. The four lofty Habitation Towers which rose up about them from the corners of the building below were each surrounded by private gardens lit up in the night, where full-height trees swayed in the wind, dwarfed by the imposing bulk of the towers themselves. Their intricately-carved stonework, floor upon floor, was thrown into sharp relief by bright lights aimed from the lush gardens at the bases of the towers, the lamps hissing and steaming as drizzle landed on the magnified heat of their huge refracting lenses.

Vader strode forward across the landing platform without pause, completely at ease surrounded by this display of Imperial might, a group of somber-faced officers trailing behind him.

Halfway across the platform he paused as rows of scarlet-clad Royal Guard--the Emperor's own regiment--marched out to break the of the rows of white stormtroopers with a double line of blood red.

"The Emperor," Leia murmured, drawing back slightly as Han craned his neck to see.

Darth Vader walked several paces forward from the Imperial Commanders and dropped to one knee, head low, disappearing below rows of attention-still troopers.

Anticipation made Han's heart beat faster; he was about to see the Emperor...the Emperor! Nobody saw Emperor Palpatine, not in the flesh. Admittedly he probably wasn't going to live to tell anyone, and even if he did who would believe him, but still...

An expectant stillness fell about the scene, its imposing gravity lost on no one, even Solo.

The man who walked slowly out from the high double doors of the south tower, a heavy, hooded cloak hiding his form, seemed at once small and frail, yet absolutely in command; aware of his status and expecting recognition of such.

A small entourage followed at a respectful distance, four elderly men in dark, rich vermillion robes, a striking, porcelain-skinned red-haired woman in a black one-piece--clearly military from the way she held herself--and two Royal Guards.

Oddly, above the wind and despite the distance, Han thought he could hear the 'click - click' of the gnarled black cane the Emperor used to walk with as he stepped forward. More so, he felt, for the first time in many years, reduced to unsettled silence by the hooded man's disquieting presence...

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Walking across the windswept platform, Emperor Palpatine forced himself to slow his pace, but when he finally reached Lord Vader he was unable to keep the fervent anticipation from his voice. "Rise--rise, my friend. Your mission was successful."

It was not a question.

"Yes, my Master."

Palpatine could sense some sliver of reluctance, a carefully concealed unease, and it brought a slow, subtle smile to his thin, cracked lips. Not that Vader felt this, but that he felt it yet did nothing about it. Control on any level was rewarding...control of someone of Vader's abilities was endlessly gratifying.

"Good. Very good. You've done well," Palpatine rewarded easily, eyes turning to the transport.

An open medical repulsor-sled was being guided down the ramp, its occupant unconscious, hooked up to the inbuilt specialist IV system which was capable of keeping him that way.

Palpatine waited, eyes locked on the sled. As it approached he sensed something, some blast of intense concern, and glanced momentarily at the spot several rows back into the stormtroopers.

"His companions," Vader said simply, clearly having sensed the same.

Palpatine frowned; there was something--some distant familiarity...

"Leia Organa," he said, remembering the woman from her infrequent attendance to Court; her father was always so protective.

As well he should be, traitor that she was. She held his attention for only a moment though, his ochre eyes turning back greedily to the sled. He'd once thought to bring her before him in chains, to answer for her crimes. Now she was almost beneath his notice, useful for one thing only. But very useful in that, he hoped. Yes, he had plans for his little Rebel Princess.

He smiled wickedly, eyes remaining locked on the greater prize. He had waited a long time for this moment once he realized Skywalker's existence. Prepared for it, anticipated and carefully schemed, plans within plans, waiting to be set in motion. It had been a long time coming, but then so had most momentous things in his life. As with all of them, he was a patient man. And as with all of them, he knew that this too would come, despite the best efforts of the Jedi.

He took three fast steps forward as the sled neared, in that moment completely forgetting his cane. Halting it, he leaned over the unconscious man who had been the bane of his life for so long, omen of the Jedi's precious prophesy hanging like chains about his neck. The only real threat to his reign.

He stared for long, still seconds, head to one side, yellow eyes taking in the boy's features as his closed eyelids flickered, perhaps at some distant realization.

"He's barely grown, little more than a padawan." Palpatine's tone was mocking, scornful in its amusement as he glanced up to Vader. "How did he elude you for so long?"

He reached out, ashen skin pale against the boy's dark bruises, almost but not quite touching the boy's temple; noting him flinch more violently away. "But what a power..." Palpatine turned sulphurous, taunting eyes to Vader, sharp voice reduced to a private, goading whisper. "Everything you once were."

Vader remained silent; impassive. He likely knew his Master would seek to drive a wedge between himself and his son as soon as possible. And he knew why.

Palpatine turned away, amused by Vader's willful silence, knowing that his servant would try to use the boy against him--probably already had. But Vader had always been too impatient, too impetuous, far too abrupt to achieve anything in as delicate a situation as this. Except to serve Palpatine's ends of course, as he always did, whether he intended to or not.

As his son would. He studied the boy again, more closely now...and paused, grating voice lowered in displeasure. "You have damaged my Jedi, Lord Vader."

Vader's chin lifted slightly. "He was...difficult to contain."

"He is a Jedi." Palpatine's tone was dismissive.

"He is more than that," Vader maintained, careful to keep any challenge from his voice. Any pride.

Palpatine held his eye for several long seconds then turned away, disgusted. "Take him to his quarters," he said at last, glancing to his companions. "And take them to the detention level--if you're capable of that."

He turned and walked away, not bothering to acknowledge Vader's deep bow.

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Palpatine walked impatiently into the room where his new Jedi had been ensconced, the fiery, red-haired Mara Jade two steps behind him, her displeasure at being twisted up in her master's new 'project' blaring out through the Force. Which was of course exactly why he had brought her. Her job was to do his bidding; what she wanted or preferred was immaterial. It always had been.

He had intended not to return to it today, instead to leave it in uneasy solitude whilst he enjoyed the satisfaction of ownership at last--in body if not yet in spirit. But the pull to come here had been just too great, so he had made his way down here on the pretext of checking the unprepared-for medical arrangements, knowing that in truth he had wanted nothing more than to be here, watching it. Like a child with a new toy that he was not yet allowed to touch.

The comparison brought a smile to pale, thin lips at the realization. He had not felt this way in a long time.

His Jedi's heavily-fortified quarters were spread over several rooms within an immense, elegantly proportioned apartment. Tall, ornately-carved wooden panels concealed massively-reinforced blast doors and the dark, macassar-polished walls hid trussed, perennium-strung plasteel slab, with brace-strung military-grade filament set within the solid, refraction-free bulk of explosion-rated windows. A prison to hold a Jedi.

Beautifully dressed and luxuriously appointed, but a prison nonetheless. Doubtless his Jedi would see it as such, too. But there was a game being played here, subliminal messages being communicated; that open defiance was unnecessary in such a context; every effort was being made to make this a civilized encounter.

How long it remained that way was up to his new Jedi.

At the end of three large rooms, the bedroom already looked like a full-facility medi-center, groaning with scanners and support equipment. No one would take any chances here, the risks for failure were just too high. Palpatine had gone to great lengths to make that very clear--as had Lord Vader, from what he understood.

The Jedi's unconscious form lay on the high bed, wires and inputs connected up to medical displays, the several human medics crowded about them all turning and bowing reverentially as the Emperor entered. There were no sentient droids here; unreadable in the Force, Palpatine did not trust them, never allowing them beyond the main Palace and into the Habitation Towers.

"Leave," he ordered the medics as he walked forward.

Accustomed to their Emperor's curtness, they filed out in silence. The last to leave was noticeably younger and sported a fleet uniform, with dark hair and olive skin.

"You are Hallin," Palpatine said simply, having made a point to remember his name.

The man stammered to a halt, bowing uncertainly. "Yes, Your Excellency."

Palpatine nodded slightly, never taking his eyes from the man. "Lord Vader has told me that you are an exemplary medic."

"He is very kind, Excellency," Hallin said, at a loss for other words.

The Emperor smiled at that. "No, he is not. He is, however, trustworthy." At this, Palpatine leaned forward just slightly, pressing his message home. "It is that which I value more than anything else."

The slight young medic nodded his understanding, though he was unable to resist backstepping before the Emperor; always a pleasing reaction.

"Of course, Excellency."

Palpatine held silent for long seconds, eyes burrowing into the nervous man, judging him...

Having, as ever, more in play here than the obvious, he glanced back to Jade, who had remained at the door. Stepping in closer to the medic before he spoke, he kept his voice low, consciously dampened in the massive, echoing room. "You have done well thus far--you are to be rewarded. Skywalker is...of great value to me. I appoint you as Chief Physician to Lord Vader's son; his retinue must, after all, be reinstated after his prolonged absence. You will be assigned quarters in the Palace, for living and for working. You will be assigned an aide, but may choose your own staff."

This time the medic did not retreat, elated at the distinction bestowed on him, finally managing, "Th-Thank-you, Excellency."

The Emperor narrowed his eyes slightly as he stepped back. "You understand the heavy responsibilities of your post? I do this because I have great faith in you."

"I...shall endeavor not to disappoint, Excellency."

"Do so," Palpatine grated in dismissal. "As if your life depended on it."

The medic bowed low as Palpatine turned away, pleased. He had, of course, already studied the man's file closely before making this decision, though the fact that Lord Vader had trusted him enough to assign him first to his own staff and then to treat his son had held greater weight.

For the Emperor to hand out the honor of such a post was one thing; to do so in such a way as to be in itself of use was another. Personal recognition and a few gracious words on the part of the monarch could create a loyal servant for life. Especially when offset with a subtle threat to clarify. Which was what Palpatine needed around his new Jedi; loyal vassals...loyal to Palpatine, and unshakably so. The boy would test them all, sooner or later.

Consideration of this fact brought Palpatine's eyes back to Mara, remaining where she was by the door as the medic had left, her flash of russet hair bright against the muted tones of the room.

"Not you, child," Palpatine ordered as she too turned to leave.

A slight tightening of her jaw was her only visible sign of frustration, though she obeyed without question--she always had.

Palpatine walked up the step to the raised level on which the bed stood, dark, its rich covers making the boy's grazed and bruised skin appear pale. It had indeed taken a great deal for Vader to subdue his son. He tilted his head to look at the boy as Mara drew near.

"He looks not at all like his mother, only his father," he said at last, considering this a good thing, knowing she would not understand.

She didn't know who he was, of course, only that he was a Jedi. As much as Palpatine trusted his favored assassin, he was not in the habit of handing out significant information. Only what was necessary to her job, which this was not--not yet. Knowledge was power, and Palpatine never gave power unnecessarily. Particularly when it could hamper. The timing of this particular nugget of information was most sensitive; he needed her to reach certain conclusions without it. Too soon would color her opinion of him, and all of their subsequent interactions.

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Mara Jade remained silent as she glanced with vague disinterest at the unconscious man, unsure of why he was here anyway and not in the detention levels with his companions.

She knew of course that he was a Jedi; had noted her master's obsessive attention to planning every detail of his confinement, as well as his growing excitement at the Jedi's impending arrival. And she well remembered the maltreatment of other such treacherous, dangerous individuals in the past. Dangerous...though not to her master, of course.

They lasted a day, sometimes two or three, until her master grew bored of tormenting them. Then he would turn Vader on them. For practice, he claimed--for sport, she often suspected. Though it was hardly a fair fight.

She had seen the Emperor bring down Jedi himself several times under the same justification, with or without the aid of a lightsaber. Had been taught by her master how to do the same, though she had nothing approaching his abilities in the Force. But certain things could be learned, and in the beginning there had never been a shortage to hone her skills on, though in recent years Lord Vader's applied zeal had finally begun to show as they became fewer and farther between, none in the last several years. In a strange sort of way, she missed it.

The concept of guilt was long since lost on her--it did not serve her master's needs.

Which did nothing to explain the Emperor's treatment of this particular enemy. Presumably the Jedi had something he needed--or perhaps he was part of some greater game. She glanced at her master who remained lost in thought, fascinated by the unconscious man, all his attentions focused there. What was he scheming...what did he want with him?

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Aware of her intense curiosity, Palpatine glanced momentarily up to her and she lowered her eyes, turning away deferentially. That battle was long since won. Satisfied, he turned again to his new acquisition. It had been the threat which hung over all that he had accomplished, the Jedi Order's last great caveat; fulfillment of their precious prophesy and destruction of his own:

The Son of Suns.

They had thought it Lord Vader, but with a wonderful, twisted irony, Palpatine had proved to them how very wrong they were...so they had apparently hung their hopes for retribution on his son.

How they'd lied to hold sway over it. How they'd manipulated. How they'd bent and warped their precious Jedi ethics to suit their needs in the name of necessity...and what power they'd handed to Palpatine in doing so. Because now--now that he finally had this threat restrained and contained, now that he finally had the opportunity--he found he could not destroy it.

He knew he should; he should kill it now. Knew that absolutely, having come face to face with it, at last.

But he couldn't quite bring himself to do so, not without making some effort to possess it. As with Lord Vader, the temptation of controlling this much power was just too great. And in truth, wasn't this what Palpatine had always intended? To own this power? Whether in the hands of Vader or his son was immaterial. What mattered was that he possessed it. This--this boy hardly yet full-grown, their precious 'Son of Suns'--could just as effortlessly fulfill the Sith prophesies of dominion as he could the Jedi's claims of true balance...just as his father had.

All of Palpatine's far-reaching plans...this embodied in this half-grown child was the missing link without which all else fell to dust. The opportunity which Kenobi had so long since denied Palpatine when he had is dueled with Anakin was now possible again...by Kenobi's hand. How wonderfully ironic. It made possession that much sweeter.

But how to possess? How to make it yield to a new Master?

Had he held it ten years earlier, as he had its father, there would have been no question as to its loyalties. But that opportunity was gone, stolen away by the Jedi, bane of all his careful plans. So how to go about twisting this mind to his own ends, now? That he didn't know yet; that would take time--to learn, to exploit. To create the chains with which he would bind it.

It wouldn't be awed by his abilities or his position, and careful study of his spies' reports over the last three years suggested that the more pressure he brought to bear, the more the willful little creature would push back. If he needed further proof of that, then Lord Vader's encounter at Cloud City was a prime example.

He could offer it power--more power even than its father now held--was that a possible incitement? Position, perhaps; recognition...unequalled status? Assets and wealth? Though if it wanted any of those, it could have taken them in abundance long before now.

And pain alone wouldn't sway it; if that were the case, then Vader would have already triumphed. It was, after all, his forte. No, the boy wouldn't submit under duress of pain. Outrage would only feed his resolve.

Because Vader had tried, presumably, though he hadn't admitted to such. Palpatine wasn't blind to his ambition, though he knew it was not a true threat--not without this boy. Vader's weakness had always been his lust for power: the power to excel, to rise beyond his humble origins, to change events to suit his own desires. It blinded him to all other considerations. But he lacked the resolve to carry those ambitions through with Palpatine, the chains which bound him too old and too deep-set. That was why he needed the boy; to accomplish what he knew he could not, mentally as well as physically.

Still, Lord Vader would surely have offered more than Palpatine ever could at Bespin, and it hadn't abandoned its principles or its companions. Perhaps that was his son's weakness; a Jedi's compassion; it cared too much. Always a terrible, hobbling flaw. Compassion had long been the weak underbelly of the Jedi...had it realized this?

Probably not; its every act had illustrated its loyalty to its cause, its need to protect that with which it felt empathy. Its Rebellion, its comrades, even the Jedi tenets which had so bound and constricted it. Yes; compassion had made it trust, and trust had dragged it down to weakness.

Once he clarified the extent of Kenobi's deceptions--the depths he'd stooped to, the devious, hypocritical cruelty he'd committed in the name of his precious Jedi Order--would it turn away? Surely. Surely the boy would abandon any thought of allegiance. In its position, Palpatine would aid Kenobi's enemies out of spite; just revenge on those who had so callously sought to use him.

And Palpatine would take that. It wasn't loyalty, but it was a start, a fracture point, a means in. He took one step closer, drawn in by this locus of power. Trained power--the boy was accomplished to some degree; not what he had expected. Vader had first encountered the boy three years ago above both Alderaan and Yavin, and had claimed that Obi-Wan had only begun his training, but this was not the awkward, unpolished potential he had anticipated. This was, to all intents and purposes, a Jedi.

He smiled a thin, gratified smile which did nothing to soften that sulphurous gaze; it had been so long since he had sensed another Jedi. Far, far longer since he had sensed an adept of this power. He cackled knowingly at that; the boy's lifetime, in fact.

An even longer stretch since he'd had the opportunity to truly challenge his own abilities in this way; those without knowledge of the Force were so easy to manipulate and mold, broadcasting their every emotion but sensing nothing, floundering in the dark. But this...this would be a meeting of minds. A Jedi would read his intent as clearly as he read theirs.

With his father, Palpatine had held the luxury of time, investing years of subtle manipulation in the boy from early childhood. Forming a connection, a dependence, an unbreakable bond. Now he had no such convenience; Vader's son was practically grown, with his own beliefs no matter how shaken, and his own will. He would never trust as his father had.

But trust wasn't necessary. Only obedience.

The unanticipated fact that he was trained was a curiosity, but of no lasting importance. He had turned Jedi before. Count Dooku had been so willful, so defiant in the face of Darkness... But everyone had a weakness. Once isolated--once the flaw was found and compounded--that iron resolve had crumbled so wonderfully.

Like Dooku, Skywalker would of course know what Palpatine was doing; that was always the challenge with Jedi. Which was why it had been so advantageous to loose Vader on it. He had needed to so brutally dissect its life before he brought it before him, and to provide Skywalker with someone to rail against of course. An enemy to concentrate that willful obstinacy on, whilst safely removing it from himself so that he remained always the principal authority, all his Jedi's attention and energies and anger carefully directed elsewhere.

A challenge was all well and good, but Palpatine had never believed in starting from a level playing field; it was not in his nature.

He again became aware of Jade's eyes on him and let his face settle into a neutral expression as he pulled his thoughts to more immediate concerns.

"Tell them to repair this," he said to her of the medics, indicating the bandaged remains of his Jedi's arm.

"Tonight?" Mara asked.

"Of course tonight," Palpatine said, the snap in his tone indicating his annoyance that she need ask.

"The hand, is it...temporary?"

He knew what she was really asking, and why. So he smiled at her discreetness, rewarding her with a direct answer. "No, my dear, it is permanent, like my guest. Have them fit the very best. Nothing less will do for my new Jedi."

He looked again at the still-frail creature, resisting the urge to shake it awake. No doubt it would make its presence known from the moment it was.

"Mara; put a detachment of my Royal Guards outside its door with the Palace Guards; it's more powerful than I thought. There are to be no mistakes."

"Yes, Master," she acknowledged. "But the lock's not breachable. The room is a prison; he won't..."

He only needed to turn slightly towards her, not even bother to catch her eye. She was instantly silent.

"You will stay here at the Palace for the foreseeable future," he continued, as if she had not spoken. "You are now responsible for its imprisonment until I'm satisfied that it will stay where I put it."

It was a gamble, to place Mara in charge when only Vader could really control the boy, but she was capable and loyal, and whilst Vader's involvement was very much a part of his greater plan, Palpatine had no desire to have him anywhere near the Jedi until he himself had a far greater understanding of the situation. And Mara Jade had her part to play, eventually...

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Mara scowled, emerald-green eyes narrowing in distaste as she glanced again to the unconscious man. She didn't like babysitting jobs, they were beneath her. Especially ones with no future, which this Jedi surely was, no matter what her master claimed right now.

"Not this one," Palpatine said with a smile, more alive than Mara remembered seeing him in many years. "This one will carry my Empire forward. He will be all that his father should have been."

She frowned at this, her eyes rising to her master.

"Do you not sense it?" His tone was, as ever, half challenge and half disappointment.

"I know he's a Jedi," she said.

He laughed, amused at her dismissive air. "No, child; he's more than that. All things bow to the power of the Force."

She waited, intensely curious now, knowing he would sense this, and tell her what he saw fit.

"His line is to the Jedi as you are to an ape, my dear. They are the next evolutionary leap, compelled into being by direct intervention of the Force, connection beyond all that the Jedi envisioned. I'm surprised Kenobi taught him...he must have been truly desperate."

Mara glanced at the slight man, bruised and bloody, reassessing her view of him in respect of her masters, eyes narrowing in consideration.

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Palpatine smiled at her ready acceptance, eager anticipation tingeing his words with dark intent. "I have a formidable task before me, I feel."

He had forgotten the thrill of facing a worthy adversary; a genuine, unpredictable threat. The command of his Empire paled by comparison. Unable to resist, he reached out intending to rest trembling fingers against the boy's temples, the action bringing a stray memory unbidden to his mind--of the boy's father; of finding him burned and mutilated on Mustafar.

He had reached out then to check that his new apprentice would live, in more ways than one. If Anakin's connection to the Force had been too badly diminished by his injuries...well then, what use would he have been to Palpatine? He would have simply walked away; left the boy to burn. He had clearly failed to defeat the Jedi who had gone after him; if his connection to the Force had also been substantially severed, as was oftentimes the case in such extreme injuries, then his usefulness would have been at an end.

But it had not been the case. Much had been lost, but Anakin's connection had always been intense, so that he still held more power than any Jedi. And now he had a reason to hate. Now Anakin and Palpatine's aims were the same, though for different reasons; the destruction of the Jedi. Kenobi's act had bound Anakin to him more finally than anything Palpatine could have done. His inability to finish what he had begun, whether from the compassionate weakness of a friend or some instant of vindictive hatred fuelled by betrayal, had given Palpatine the greatest tool he had ever possessed. And he had used it without compunction.

And now, incredibly, Kenobi's actions had brought an even greater instrument to Palpatine's attention. A line he had thought irrevocably broken was reinstated, an opportunity long-lost suddenly within his grasp again.

Palpatine hesitated, a new consideration presenting itself; did Vader know? Did he see his successor in his son?

Did he realize that in his need to reclaim that which he saw as his, Vader had created the potential for Palpatine to reach it; the weakness which would enable him to breach the boy's resolute defenses? Did he recognize that Palpatine would sacrifice Vader to gain Skywalker just as willingly as he had once sacrificed Dooku to gain Vader?

If so, then he said nothing, obedient to the end. Would his son be as tractable, as malleable?

Hand resting on the boy's forehead, Palpatine reached out with the Force to touch this locus of power--

and was thrown back, mentally and physically, as if touching a live wire, the unconscious boy wrenching away from him.

Mara moved quickly round to her Emperor, though he had not lose his footing entirely, so gestured her away, grinning as he stepped back, resting his hand again on his Jedi's forehead, this time leaning all of his mental abilities into subduing the youth.

Eyelids flickering, it resisted momentarily, but in its drugged state this was no cognitive defense, only subconscious instinct--opposing aspects of the Force too dissimilar to maintain contact, like oil on water--and under Palpatine's concerted effort, this was subdued and the boy slowed and stilled again.

But how wonderful that it would fight him even now, without hope of victory, like a reflex action. Would it struggle when he came to break it? Would it rail against him? Did it understand how pointless that would be?

Did it know that it would lose that battle too?

Had they told it that the more it fought, the closer to the Darkness it would edge, because it could only fight fire with fire, and the fire that gave heat would also burn?

When the boy finally settled slack, Palpatine released his hold, long fingers trailing across the grazed skin of its cheek.

Would he yet have to kill it?

What a waste... If he did, he would ensure that it had a worthy death. A blaze of glory--a fitting end for the last Jedi.

The slightest touch of a smile lifted the corners of his lips at the realization; remembrance of earlier musings. Because something could be salvaged, even then.

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The door to the detention cell slid open and Leia scrabbled upright in reaction, face already composed into a meaty scowl for whoever entered.

Two Imperial officers did so, completely unimpressed. "Up. You're to come with us," the older man said, already turning away again.

"Where are the people I arrived with?" Leia said, remaining where she was.

"I have no idea--I wasn't sent for them," he said, cold, disinterested expression changing not a whit.

"I'm not going anywhere until I know where they are." She kept her voice firm, resolute in this; if they wanted her to move, they were going to have to carry her. And just let them get close enough to try that...

The officer sighed boredly and glanced momentarily at his companion. "The Commander said you'd be awkward. He said you'd change your tune if we were to tell you where you were going."

Leia arched perfect eyebrows in doubting query.

"The injured man who arrived on the shuttle...that's who you're being taken to."

Injured?...did they mean...

"Luke?" Leia stood, anxious hope replacing stubbornness. "Where is he?"

"In his apartments. I'm ordered to take you there."

In the anticipation of the moment the oddness of that passed by unnoticed, and Leia setting forward, willing to comply for the opportunity to see Luke.

Stormtroopers and guards eyed her with cold disinterest as she exited from the turbolift to be walked the short distance to a second checkpoint between the Detention Centre and Palace above, permissions closely checked and confirmed before they were nodded onwards.

Then she was up in the Palace, four stormtroopers accompanying the two officers as they walked along empty walkways obviously restricted to military personnel but open to one of the cavernous internal spaces of the main Palace, everything there exactly as she remembered from her infrequent visits with her father. Level upon level of military bureaucracy bustled with its own overblown sense of importance, blind to the anguish it caused to the daily lives of ordinary people--or worse, uncaring, aware that they were imbued with the power to overwhelm any resistance, great or small.

She had always hated it here, in this house of mirrors and manipulations. Long before she'd known anything of the resistance or Palpatine or her father's covert political views, she had always hated it here.

She passed through all this self-serving wealth and outrageous opulence without a sideways glance, feeling gratefully out of place.

They traveled for a long time before they reached the apex level of the Main Palace, which housed the vast six story high hall with its grand marble and wrought-metal staircases which swept graciously, curve upon curve, to the heavily-guarded bottleneck of the Tower entry. The cavernous space of the high, pillared and vaulted Crossways linked the more public parts of the palace to the elite Habitation Towers above, the change marked not just in scale and opulence, but more subtly in the numerous guards, who changed at this point from the white of general stormtroopers to the royal blue of Palace livery, then finally, in Court itself, to the deep scarlet of the Royal Guard.

They were now further into the Habitation Towers than Leia had ever been, traveling through restricted levels where security checks were more and more frequent. Despite her unease, she hadn't failed to note that permission for her entry to the Towers had been given by a Level Two security clearance; that meant a high-ranking member of the Emperor's personal entourage. As they continued to walk, she was running through the list in her head--it was barely more than a dozen--and beginning to doubt very much that she was really being taken to see Luke at all, judging from the luxurious surroundings.

They finally stopped outside the grand double-doors of a huge private apartment high in the... West tower, she thought, trying to maintain her sense of direction.

It was lavish and impressively sumptuous, the magnificent marble-lined hallway within practically big enough to fly Han's precious Falcon down without a scratch. Incredibly well-appointed, notably placed...she held her breath, uncertain who would command such a privileged position within the Emperor's retinue.

A slim, lithe redhead set smoothly forward from what looked like a staff wing placed just within the apartment's main doors. She was a striking beauty, flame red hair and porcelain skin with a delicate bloom to her cheeks and full, ruby red lips set off by brilliant emerald green eyes...but there was a coldness to her, a sense of guarded detachment so common to so many here, her icy gaze taking Leia in and summing her up in a glance.

Leia gave the same look back, neither impressed by what they saw.

"And this is?" the redhead prompted, turning to Leia's guard.

"Leia Organa--the Commander asked to see her," the older officer replied smartly. Though the woman wore no uniform, she was obviously very much in charge here.

"When?" the redhead asked, frowning.

"An hour ago."

"Then you're late," the redhead admonished, turning about on her heel to set off down that long, tall central corridor. Leia was ushered forward by a none-too-gentle push from behind.

The wide hallway opened up to a circular crossroad within the apartment, whose high ceiling was set with a huge glass-domed atrium, different cuts and facets within it forming a complex pattern which reflected and refracted light down onto the matching geometric tiles of the pale marble floor beneath. This opened up to another three long corridors, each stretching so far as to make Leia realize that the apartment must cover half of one entire floor of the Tower; a privileged residence, indeed. She was marched quickly past room after room which led off from either side, their open doors revealing cavernous spaces whose long banks of high windows allowed sharp daylight to stream in from the bright morning beyond.

Past grand reception rooms and dark-walled studies, a vast, barrel-ceilinged library whose old-fashioned hard-copy books lined floor-to-ceiling shelves alongside a more contemporary storage system which took an entire wall in its span, pale blue light ridging the edges of hundreds of data cards, art and historic artifacts casually placed about the surfaces of mirror-polished tables.

Conference rooms, social rooms, a substantial, imposing formal dining room to her right with darkly patinated bird's-eye iroko wood paneling the walls and wide slabs of polished burr-elm on the floor, interset with inky darrick banding.

And then into an enfilade of private rooms beyond the public face of the apartment. The first was also wood-paneled, the dark, carved walls of Macassar ebony reaching well above head-height, where scagliola-polished plaster of deepest damson-red continued up to the towering vaulted ceiling, reflected in an inlaid marble floor of glossy black, veined with smoky cream and bound by sweeping, fluid lines of copper inlay.

Incredible, luxuriant wealth, displayed with no real desire to impress in these personal spaces, but simply because this was what the inhabitant was accustomed to. Casual affluence, comfortable and effortless, hinting at the privileged life lived within; a polished, tooled-silver autoreader and several memory chips were left casually to one end of a grand table in the private dining hall, the first heavy, carved chair pushed back as if its inhabitant had been there moments earlier.

Then she was through into a lofty, arched-ceilinged withdrawing room, immense in scale. One wall was a bank of heavily-reinforced windows, beyond which a deep stone-balustraded balcony enjoyed an uninterrupted view of the Palace roof gardens far below, and the distant city beyond. This room too had a tall, all-glass bookcase with hard-copy books inside, all the furniture here scaled up to match the imposing proportions of the room, whose walls were hung with a sumptuously embossed, dark taupe vinesilk. Dense, heavy fur rugs were scattered artfully across the marble floor and a fire was set in the massive hearth against the chill of the spring morning.

And on, into the next room. The officers stopped respectfully as she continued forward with the slim woman into a bedroom, split onto two levels, the lower one where she stood now close to another long, curving bank of tall windows boasting those breathtaking views beyond. To the back of the huge room the higher level was thickly carpeted, whilst nearer to her, the floor was a dark chocolate-and-sand polished fossil-stone which extended into an open corridor at the far side, the walls within a fine mosaic of rich browns and inky black terrazzo. The furniture here was aesthetic and timeless and unmistakably masculine; sizable, heavy, burred wood pieces on sturdy polished copper feet, all suited, all faultless, casually scattered with trinkets and memento's from various planets; clearly a very private, personal room.

Deeply uncertain, Leia glanced to the huge bed which rested in the center of the raised area, whose white linen sheets were perfectly arranged about its occupant. The surrounding technology of angular metal medical equipment arrayed about the bed's head seemed at odds with the comfortable, organic nature of the room. Unwilling to go any further, she craned her neck slightly...and then realized who it was, her feet setting forward of their own volition, her voice broken in recognition. "L - Luke?"

She was by his side in an instant, hand reaching out to rest lightly on his shoulder, hoping to wake him, knowing deep down that it was a futile gesture. She gently brushed his fringe from his eyes, as his eyelids fluttered just slightly in response.

"What have you done to him?" Leia glanced up accusingly.

"Spare me the indignant outrage," the redhead countered, unmoved. "You'd change your tune soon enough if you knew..."

As if realizing she had spoken out of turn, the woman searched for a rationalization of her words, adding a faltering explanation, "that...we were...taking care of him. He came out of his second surgery last night--his third, apparently, since Bespin..."

As Leia stared, uncertain what the woman had sought to conceal, a slight, dark-haired medic walked into the room carrying a tech reader and frowning at the redhead as he pointed to the doors behind him. "What's going on, where are all the...who are you talking to?" He glanced to the bed and noticed Leia, then started forward, hands out. "No, no. I'm sorry, no visitors--not yet."

Leia needed long seconds to place him as the medic who had first rushed forward when Luke had collapsed onboard the Millennium Falcon, after...after Vader.

He was halfway towards her, clearly familiar with this whole strange scenario, when the redhead spoke out. "The Commander authorized it," she said, her words stopping the medic in his tracks as his confused eyes turned from her to Luke.

"The Commander? When?"

"About an hour ago, apparently. Said he wanted to see her. I have no idea why," she added dryly. "I'm not entirely sure he knew what he was doing--or who he passed the command on to."

"No, he hasn't speak to anyone," the medic countered, turning back to Luke. "He hasn't woken yet."

Leia frowned, confused and glancing back to the redhead. Who was the Commander? Why would he allow her to see Luke?

The redhead narrowed those green eyes, glancing to the door. "Wait here. Watch her."

She strode meaningfully out, expression like thunder, leaving Leia with the distinct feeling that she was about to be marched back down to her cell again absolutely none the wiser. She looked quickly back down, whispering Luke's name again, hand to his cheek. No response. Aware of his eyes on her, she turned sharply back up to the medic, who grinned and stepped forward, unabashed.

"Please forgive me; protocol isn't my strong suit, a malady shared by most medics, I'm afraid. I'm Hallin, the Commander's physician." He took another step forward, still smiling genuinely, expression expectant.

It occurred to Leia that he hadn't recognized her. She had no guards here and still wore her own civilian clothes...he didn't remember who she was. She glanced mutely back down; as well as being the mysterious Commander's, was this man also Luke's physician--was that why he was here? Why assign a medic to him, let alone one of this status? More importantly, why was Luke here at all, and not in the Detention Centre? These were too highly-placed to be any rank and file commander's quarters, and even if they were, what was Luke doing here? Was he here so this commander could keep a close watch on him, assigning his own medic at the same time? She stepped forward graciously, intending to find out. "Leia. I'm a friend of Luke's...a close friend."

"Ah," the medic acknowledged. "From the Palace?"

Leia had to fight to hide her frown; how could the man possibly believe that Luke had friends within the Palace? "Do you...you do know who you're treating here?"

The medic raised his eyebrows in surprised response, as if sharing some secret. "Yes...do you?"

Leia hesitated, unsure what to make of that, though her tone remained indignant, giving away none of her confusion. "Of course I do. I just told you, we're old friends."

The medic backed down completely at this. "Of course--forgive me, I'm afraid I'm new to Palace life; protocol and such. Who does and doesn't know."

Bringing her most regal, authoritarian air to bear, Leia smiled graciously as she spoke. If there was one thing she could do, it was stately formality. "I quite understand. How is he?"

Hallin stepped forward, still obviously unsure who she was, but probably recognizing a well-bred upper-class accent and attitude when he heard one, and automatically going into medical-mode. "He's...he's stable now. Comfortable."

Leia glanced down to hide her frown; Comfortable..? Why would the Empire want their number one Most Wanted enemy comfortable? Why would they put him in lavish, extensive private apartments in the Imperial Palace, completely unguarded, doors wide open? She stared at the man for several long seconds, trying unsuccessfully to pull the pieces together.

"I'm sorry...why is he here?" she finally blurted, unable to hide her confusion.

Fortunately, Hallin completely misunderstood, turning to check the medical readouts. "Oh, the Emperor commanded that he be brought back to his own quarters to recover after surgery. I would have preferred that he stay in the dedicated medi-center but...well, you cant' really argue when the command comes down. I'm sure you know that he's been on an extended mission, away from the Palace for some time apparently. I suppose he thought it would be best for the Commander to recuperate in more familiar surroundings, now that the last of his surgeries is complete."

He glanced meaningfully down at Luke's right side and Leia, still thrown from the medic's referral to Luke by rank, only now noticed the perfect prosthetic replacement for his severed hand, a clean white medi-strip wrapped about the point where artificial skin was grafted onto real flesh. She reached tentatively out to touch it; it felt warm beneath her fingers, skin on skin.

"It's the very latest prosthesis, almost as many nerves as the real thing--and the skin is lab-matched. Quite amazing," the medic enthused, completely missing the one real point; he shouldn't have needed it, Leia thought.

"Why did you do this?" she said at last.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, you didn't know? I'm so sorry, the Commander...lost his hand in...a recent...action."

The medic was right; diplomacy wasn't his strong-suit.

"Yes, I do know, and I know who did it. I know everything." Leia couldn't keep the anger from her voice at the medic's carefully modulated reply, as if the Empire had nothing to do with Luke's injuries.

"You know?" he hedged, visibly uncertain how to react to such a direct manner and obviously dubious as to how much she truly knew.

"Vader's many things, but moderate isn't one of them," Leia said.

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.

"...Yes." Nathan Hallin hesitated as he looked the rather curiously-dressed woman up and down again. He was becoming used to all manner of unexpected individuals here in the corridors of power, though the Commander's sprawling apartments housed only the same few, ever. This was the first new face that he'd seen in here since his arrival...but then ther seemed to be a lot of breaks from routine happening today, with the absent guards and doors which were usually locked and guarded flung wide open. Perhaps she was another 'Military Aide,' as Commander Jade was; she certainly had that edge to her, that sense of no-nonsense competence which was, frankly, a little scary.

Still, he was deeply uncomfortable at the woman's direct mention of Vader. It had been made patently clear to him that Skywalker's parentage, his identity, even his name, wasn't general knowledge within the Palace...and just as clear that the Emperor intended to keep it that way. Yet this woman seemed to know; Hallin wondered momentarily just how close a 'friend' she really was, that she'd know so much about him. In truth he knew nothing of Skywalker's past save what he'd learned over the last few days, mostly from Commander Reece, the ex-Imperial guard who had been assigned years ago as Luke's Adjutant--and even that was guarded. There were, in fact, things which Hallin had been told not to mention even to him, and there was clearly a great deal that he was keeping from Hallin. It occurred suddenly that perhaps this woman who seemed so willing to speak her mind, could enlighten him further. "The Commander's relationship with his father is rather...volatile, don't you think?"

She blinked. "I'm sorry?"

Commander Reece chose that moment to come bursting into the room with the towering, blue-skinned Chagrian Chancellor Amedda, no less, trailed by two Imperial Officers.

"Hallin, you're sure that the Commander couldn't have woken this morning?" Reece walked briskly forward, all business, eyes pausing only briefly on the unknown woman, who glanced between them in silence.

"Quite sure." Hallin turned to his medical readouts, activating a screen to check his facts. "Yes, quite sure. He hasn't yet regained consciousness."

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.

Leia had retreated a step as The Emperor's chancellor, Mas Amedda, had entered the room, knowing that her chance for any further information was lost. She turned back to stare at Luke, mind swimming in a sea of confusion, still trying to fathom the meaning of the medic's question, so casually spoken, The obvious conclusion to draw was that Luke and Vader...but that was wrong, of course. He was wrong, or she'd misunderstood. Yes, misunderstood; the whole morning had been strangely surreal. The conversation carried on about her, distant to her ears.

"I'm telling you, Chancellor Cordo said that he'd been in here this morning, speaking to him," the older officer said, his tone that of someone being asked to validate the same question over and over.

Amedda frowned at that. "The Emperor's Aide?"

"Yes. He said the Commander was awake and had ordered Leia Organa to be brought up here. I'm just doing as I was told by--forgive me--the ranking officer present."

Strangely, this seemed to make the Chancellor hesitate for long seconds, his eyes turning to Luke again. Finally, he made up his mind. "Well the ranking officer isn't awake, and I'm telling you to take her back down. If the Commander wakes and asks to see her again, which I seriously doubt, I'll have her brought up again."

Finally, it permeated through Leia's shocked thoughts...the Commander... the Commander. They were speaking about Luke! There was no second Commander who had issued the order to bring her here. They were speaking about Luke as if he could give out orders...as if they knew him!

The officer bowed his head and clicked his heels together in military acknowledgement, then started toward Leia. Her eyes remained on Luke in shocked silence until the officer took her arm and hauled her away, leaving the medic to watch in confused alarm as she was practically dragged from the room.

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Bewildered, Nathan Hallin turned to Mas Amedda as he too made to leave, "I'm sorry, is she not a friend of the Commander?"

The Chagrian turned icy eyes on him. "She was. She's not anymore," he said simply, not bothering to wait for a reply.

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As ordered, Mara had waited outside the apartments for Amedda before returning to the Op's Suite two stories up, where the Emperor stared at virtual screens showing Skywalker's quarters from various viewpoints, with Hallin now tending to his patient, oblivious.

"Your timing was impeccable as ever, Amedda," Palpatine rewarded as they entered, bowing to his back.

"It remains to be seen whether she'll believe it, Excellency. She only has the medic's word for it--and that obscurely," he replied, studying the images...and Leaving Mara to narrow her eyes, sure that something was being kept from her.

Why bother making Amedda curtail the Rebel woman's visit when Mara could so easily have returned and broken up the discussion at the relevant moment?

"She'll piece it together. She was always an intelligent young woman." Palpatine smiled as he scrolled through images on another virtual screen until he found her whereabouts, scowling in confusion as she was marched down long corridors towards the Main Palace and the Detention Center far below, with rare white-armored stormtroopers before and behind her. One of the officers reached out to grab her arm as she walked too far ahead and she jerked free, turning to deliver some unheard diatribe at her captors.

"I thought we would have to wait forever for the medic to tell her," Palpatine murmured at last, amused.

Mara turned again from the screen; tell her what? Hadn't this been to persuade the Rebel Princess that her precious Jedi was actually an Imperial agent, sent by Palpatine to infiltrate the Rebellion...though why exactly that was important escaped Mara. He was gone from them now...why bother to sully his name there?

She was still uncomfortable that she'd been ordered to hide all the guards and unlock all the doors to his apartments, presenting them as genuine quarters rather than a heavily-fortified prison. What if he had woken? It would have been her who would have been responsible for containing an irate Jedi rampaging through the PalaceTowers. Hallin said he had woken twice onboard the Executor when he was supposedly drugged with custom-developed sedatives.

"You worry too much, child," Palpatine said without turning, not hiding the fact that he was listening to her thoughts, as he always did.

She never hid them, not from him--which was why he trusted her. Not that she could anyway; he had taught her everything she knew about the Force, taught her to put up shields about her mind, to hide knowledge and intent even from Lord Vader. But he had not taught her one fraction of what he knew...which was also why he trusted her.

"This way was better," her master added. "A little spontaneity goes a long way. She'll find no artifice in the medic's actions because there was none. You had your task and Amedda had his...and I'm sure neither of you would ever disappoint me."

He didn't look to her as he issued the last, confidence and demand both, as subtle yet as crystal clear as ever. Mara didn't react; she'd heard the same abstruse threats since childhood, when she'd first been brought to the Palace, her rare abilities making her an ideal candidate for her master's exacting requirements.

"But is it enough to make her believe that he's an Imperial agent?" Mara worried. Intelligence suggested that Organa knew Skywalker well; had done so for years. She wouldn't be easily swayed.

"Will she tell the Alliance leadership everything?" Amedda added at last, bringing Mara's inquisitive gaze to him; everything?

The Emperor smiled confidently, his answer vague enough to reply to both Amedda and Mara's questions equally. "Oh, I'm sure she'll find countless reasons not to at first. But I'll give her equal reasons to question that. She'll believe eventually, and tell her precious Rebellion. She's too loyal not to. And the truth has a way of outing...Skywalker is proof of that."

Mara nodded, confident that her master's plans--whatever they really were--would come to fruition at his designated pace. They always did.

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To be continued...

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Chapter 5

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CHAPTER FIVE

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Palpatine walked purposefully down the wide, high corridors in the palatial West Tower to Skywalker's quarters. Guards became more and more in evidence as he grew closer, and his pulse quickened, senses heightening in anticipation of the task ahead.

Today more than ever he bristled with dark intent. Today he faced his Jedi. Today the battle lines would be drawn. Subtly though; he knew the boy from long study. Always from afar; information from agents and spies and second-hand accounts, but he had a good sense of how this battle would need to be fought. Nothing too overt--the boy would bridle at that--this would be a subtler game, a slow subversion. Death of a thousand cuts, plans hidden within plans; some distant, some immediate.

Some underway already...if his acerbic little Princess would be so good as to carry the information Palpatine had provided her with back to her Rebellion. He had carefully scattered clues and traces to be found by them, both within their precious little Rebellion and further afield, when they eventually began to look. No matter what, there would be no going back for his new Jedi. He would make sure of that.

His thoughts went momentarily back to the Princess; to her vague attenuation within the Force, very much like Mara, his wonderful, pitiless assassin. His 'Hand' when she fulfilled his orders far from the Core Systems, in delicate situations which required a certain...distance.

He had trained many 'Hands' over the years; people of exceptional ability with an affinity in the Force, agents who travelled the Empire carrying out his will, hearing his voice and replying in kind. Though he took care only to give enough knowledge to serve, never sufficient to represent even a passing complication.

Leia Organa could be taught, if he had the inclination. Not too much; just enough to be useful.

But not now--now, she would fulfill his plans far better by running back to her Rebellion and spreading suspicions. She was high enough in the hierarchy there to be trusted, even over their precious hero, their vaunted 'Destroyer of the Death Star.' It would necessitate someone of her status to override their reluctance; someone who actually knew him and who clearly had their own doubts, even as they betrayed him.

Yes; one must be prepared to surrender a few pawns in the greater game, and Palpatine was certainly willing to give up the opportunity to train another Hand, in return for cutting his Jedi's connections with the Rebellion. He had Mara, and that was enough for now. She too had a specific role in his future plans, which was why he needed her here, with his Jedi. She would doubtless object privately, but she would never voice her frustrations.

Meanwhile, Palpatine could concentrate on Skywalker. On the subtle war of words and wills which would begin today. On the web he would weave about the boy, pulling him in ever further with contradictions and insinuations...though in this instance they were hardly needed. Skywalker's own twisted, shattered life was desolate enough; realization of his coldly calculating betrayal by the Jedi he had so willingly trusted would surely be feeling like a knife in his heart right now.

Because that was the truth, the actual, wonderful, glorious, ironic truth. Palpatine had been given this Jedi. He had been handed it on a plate, with the key to opening the path down into its own dark shadows so considerately provided by Kenobi. Because Kenobi had lied to it; had committed the greatest sin possible in knowingly depriving a stolen child of its father, and then compounded that sin by lying not only about the boy's lineage, but just as importantly about his own involvement, in his efforts to control the boy.

Did he really believe he could keep a truth like that hidden?

Oh, the boy would still resist; he would still fight, Palpatine knew. But it would be a reflex action, the final fragments of a shattered life. A pale shadow of the unassailable conviction which would have built his resistance had he not sustained this gaping wound of Kenobi's making. Now, when they finally faced each other, his Jedi would carry within him a terrible, destructive flaw, too great to even begin to process yet--and Palpatine would give him no time to do so, no moment's grace to come to terms with the chaos of confusion. Right now he would be desperately lost. Loss of faith in those he trusted, loss of identity in the face of cold reality, loss of certitude, questioning his belief in his own ability to withstand the Darkness.

So this was Palpatine's task when they finally faced; to use what Kenobi had so considerately provided. To search out more weakness, any flaw which could be exploited. To gently, infinitesimally, begin to nudge his Jedi's perspective away from where it stood now, towards Darkness. To steal those final fragments of hope now, whilst the boy was still willing to listen, then to rip away by any means his last vestiges of control and see what the boy would do; whether he truly had his father's blood in his veins.

And that was the gamble; to push too hard too soon would only alienate when Palpatine needed to maintain an open dialogue between them; establish a precedent that would remain, no matter what.

But he also had to fix the rules of their future relationship from the outset; that he was the Master, invincible and unassailable. That any divergence from Palpatine's rules, no matter how small, would be swiftly and violently curtailed.

No warnings, no degrees of response.

He was the Master and his word was absolute.

Such complex contradictions to weave into these first meetings of minds, a careful line to be tread. But this had always been Palpatine's forte, to subjugate and dominate, to manipulate to his advantage and break those around him to his will, instinctively knowing what would be required to dissect the mind within.

Breaking a mind was easy of course, and so amusing, to push another to the brink again and again, physically and mentally. To see just how many times one could do that before the mind within snapped. The challenge now, however, was to do so in such a way that it could be rebuilt. Reshaped to Palpatine's purpose. He had never had the opportunity to do this with its father--not like this, all plays out in the open, intent and counter, consequences clear, nothing hidden.

This was the art of the game. And this he would enjoy.

He entered its quarters, heavily-guarded again now, aware of its presence just two locked rooms away, knowing in that same instant that it was aware of his. It was slow though; still recovering from surgery and drugs, woken only a short time earlier and not yet having been allowed to leave that single room. But it hadn't reacted at this restriction--hadn't struggled or objected--perhaps because it knew it wasn't capable yet. Maybe it realized that Palpatine was near...or was this in recognition of its surroundings, which were hardly contentious?

Perhaps it simply acknowledged the inevitable.

His awareness of it dimmed as it raised mental barriers in defense, and he smiled, amused; as if they would make a difference. But let it feel safe...for now.

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Sitting quietly in a chair by the inches-thick window, dressed in the only clothes they had left for him, Luke gazed out watching the evening light wane into the night, lost in thought, his left hand rubbing absently at his forehead to ease the pressure there.

He was dressed in black, a color he seldom wore. A fitted, stand-collared shirt of smooth, refined cortal linen whose buttons were formed from tiny, hand-woven vinesilk knots, the braided loops which fastened them made of the same decorative cord which looped in finely-stitched, intricate patterns about the front of the shirt. He'd left several open, hot and claustrophobic despite the grand proportions of the room, so that the intricately topstitched high collar hung loose, the fine fabric cool against his skin. The trousers too were black, flawlessly tailored, their fabric heavier and closely woven. Even the boots, of a soft supple hide he didn't recognize, were perfectly fitted, handmade to the highest quality and subtly stitched, black-on-black.

He felt deeply, uncomfortably out of place in them. Awkward and self-conscious, aware that the shirt alone probably cost more than Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen had earned in a year on Tatooine. Lost in their darkness, a pale shadow smothered and swallowed up by their casual opulence. Was this too mind games, as the room doubtless was? Designed to set him ill-at-ease, make him feel out of his depth. Or was it all simply to illustrate what was on offer.

What would the Sith do when Luke refused, he wondered.

He knew Palpatine was Sith--knew it without doubt, now. It had always been whispered within Intelligence circles; had been an open secret for years. And now, here, aware in a way he had never been before...he knew.

Something...resided here. It brooded in the dead of night and the bright light of day, its intensity overriding all else. Not like Vader; that was a massive locus in the Force, a hulking knot of Dark intent too great to ignore. This shadow writhed and twisted, defying quantification, at once massive and intangible and infinitely dangerous. It enclosed and enveloped, like a pressure change, like the still before the storm.

What should he do? What could he do?

He had no idea...absolutely no idea.

--Ben...--

Luke reached out with his senses, but only Darkness answered, smug and self-satisfied, completely confident. Completely alien. He had no experience of this, no idea how to combat it. And it was everywhere here, blanketing everything in that dense, impenetrable fog, isolating and limiting and subtly hindering. To withstand it--just that, just to hold it at bay--took every ounce of applied concentration. His abilities seemed strangely muted here, contact with the Force hard to maintain as it swirled away from him, lost in a vast sea of Darkness which pushed ever inwards, a perpetual pressure looking for any weakness, any ingress.

Consideration of this constant, grinding weight made him rub at his temples again, though it did nothing to ease the pressure, his focus pulled taut as he strained to hold against it. And still the storm grew nearer...

--What do I do? --

Luke pulled his hand away, still trembling with weakness. What should I do?

More than anything else, his thoughts were with his friends now. Realization of Vader's words--that they were a weakness--hammered home. His heart burned in his chest at that fear. Fear that the Emperor would use them...fear that it would work.

How could it not?

The sound of the heavy double-doors releasing dragged him from his reverie and he turned to see the red-haired woman enter, hard eyes glaring at him.

"The Emperor commands your presence." She lifted an arm, indicating the door.

Swallowing once against his dry throat and gathering what weary wits he had about him, Luke rose and walked forward between the towering, silent Royal Guards who fell in to flank him one step back as he crossed the threshold.

He walked into a second cavernous room, cold and unwelcoming despite lavish furnishings, and a second set of tall doors grated open to its far side, too heavy to be the carved wooden panels they appeared. Into a third room with his silent, imposing escort to his sides. This one was very much inhabited, its occupant blaring out through the Force, a locus of power so great that Luke flinched involuntarily.

Darkness, thick and roiling, almost a physical thing this close to its wielder, obscuring everything. The expansive room in no way diminished the Sith's crooked frame as he stood close to the huge fireplace, at ease in the shadows; kindred spirits.

A fire was lit in the hearth; bone-white wood which cracked and popped, made brittle by the flame. Heat roared as it buffeted and baked the air in the grand hearth, easily high enough that Luke could have stepped beneath the lintel without bending, its amber flicker overriding the low lights of the huge room to make the shadows dance in darkness.

Strangely, the long table to the centre of the chamber was set for dinner, two chairs placed at opposite ends, footmen waiting nervously.

The Emperor--the Sith--turned as Luke entered...to smile benignly, though the shadows of the fire played cruel tricks on his ravaged features, giving the expression a dangerous edge. Still, he bowed his head just slightly...and Luke, at a complete loss for words and uncertain what else to do, did the same.

"Jedi," the Sith acknowledged, his voice thin and reedy; rasping.

He wore long, richly decorated robes in darkest crewel-worked ruby, and a heavy mantle of raven black. A high collar pushed at the pale, waxen flesh of his neck and his bone-white hand gripped a polished, twisted cane which clicked on the stone floor as he used it for support...though like Master Yoda, Luke suspected it was more for effect than necessity.

A flurry of heavy cloth whispering against the polished marble floor as the Sith took a halting step forward then paused, staring intently at his captive.

Ashen and frail, aware that the exertion of the short walk had reduced him to trembling uncontrollably, heart pounding so loud he could hear it catch in his breaths, Luke wondered at the insignificant image he projected.

"You should sit," the Emperor said obligingly, bringing Luke's gaze up in surprise.

Palpatine walked to settle into the far chair, nodding at the red haired woman who bowed and left, affording Luke a brief glimpse of the brightly-lit corridor beyond, his mind sharpening a little, dragging itself awake at the opportunity. Six. Six guards against the far wall of the corridor, weapons held ready at the open door...but he was sure he sensed far more than that. They must be on either side of the door as well.

"Did you hear me?" It was not quite a challenge, but it brought Luke's eyes back to the Emperor.

"I heard you."

Had he said that, so casually? His first words, given boldness by the fact that his mind was elsewhere. Still he didn't move.

Palpatine tilted his head, unimpressed; amused even. "Then stand. We'll see which one of us falls first."

Luke remained still for several seconds, his head swimming. How had he managed to get into a war of wills already? Don't do it; don't get into a fight you can't win over nothing.

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Palpatine noted how the boy tried to disguise the extent of his own fragility as he walked shakily to the chair, left hand extended to steady himself before he reached it. His Jedi sat, collapsing back in exhaustion to look out from heavily-hooded eyes, dwarfed by the towering guards who stepped to either side.

The Emperor smiled, content. "There are twelve."

At the momentary frown which brushed the boy's wary features, he clarified. "Twelve guards; a full complement. There is also a garrison in the room at the end of the hallway; a further twenty-four guards. They hold to nine-hour shifts in the corridors outside. They know what you are and what you're capable of. None will hesitate."

He continued, quite happy to volunteer this information as reward in acknowledgment of the fact that the boy had done as he'd been commanded. It was of little use other than to spell out how unlikely his escape was and anyway, the contest was between himself and his Jedi; lesser beings were of little importance. They served only to clarify Palpatine's resolve. "There are a further eighteen battalions assigned to this HabitationTower, the same to each of the others. These rooms have been designed specifically for you--a prison to hold a Jedi. My Jedi. Specifically where I want him."

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Ignoring the obvious taunt, Luke leaned back, resting his aching right hand on the carved arm of the chair and feeling deathly tired. For long seconds neither spoke, Palpatine simply watching him. The still silence stretched and Luke blinked slowly, feeling no need to break it.

Time trickled in silent anticipation...

He lifted a heavy, trembling right hand to his temple, to...

A shock of pain ran the length of his arm and lit fireworks in his mind, the memory pulling his eyes to his hand.

He'd woken to the shooting pain of fresh surgery, a clinical white dressing about his forearm, the same slight, olive-skinned medic from the Star Destroyer telling him to take care as he'd struggled to hold it out before him, clumsy and trembling, turning his arm about to study the perfect replica. In seconds, he'd had to drop the arm, cradling it in his left hand against the incredible dull heaviness. It had felt warm in his real hand, though he had no sensation from it beside needle-fine stabs of pain where he touched it.

He tried again now to move his fingers; they tingled like pins and needles, every nerve white hot yet strangely numb, as if he were wearing a thick, heavy glove which dulled senses and restricted movement. Awkward, jerky movement flexed the fingers which were completely familiar yet disturbingly alien.

Palpatine's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Feeling will return over the next few weeks, as nerves heal and your mind learns how to control it. I'm sure you're a quick study." There was the amusement of double meaning in his voice at this last comment.

Luke glanced up, unsure how to react.

Palpatine smiled benignly. "Lord Vader is...effective, but hardly subtle. Akin to using a blunt instrument. I gave him only the command to bring you here."

Did he expect gratitude? Luke bristled at this, the scowl pulling fine lines about his eyes.

His mind was clearing now, that first rush of blind panic subsiding, drowned by his anger at Palpatine's remark, his own stubborn refusal to be intimidated affording him a burst of adrenaline. Still, a little of Yoda's teaching had rubbed off; where previously Luke would have immediately gone on the offensive, now, he had the good grace to find his center, relax tense muscles and wait this out.

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Palpatine noted the boy's momentary reaction, quickly quashed; more than he would have expected. More so because of...what? He narrowed his eyes in contemplation and the boy did likewise, aware that he was being studied. Watching him, Palpatine sensed that stubborn will coming into play, like his father.

"Eat," Palpatine prompted at last, one hand casually extended, palm up.

"I'm not hungry," the boy said simply, without even looking to the table.

Which amused Palpatine immensely; he grinned with undisguised amusement as the game began. "Of course you are. I thought you served as a soldier in your petty little Rebellion. Did they teach you nothing? A soldier always eats whenever he's given the opportunity; he never knows when the next meal will come."

The boy only blinked without moving, refusing to be drawn.

"Very well, the choice is yours," Palpatine turned to nod at the servant, who stepped forward to fill the goblet before him with wine, his counterpart doing the same beside Luke.

When they had stepped back, Palpatine glanced at them and the Red Guards who had remained behind his Jedi. "Leave," he commanded simply, turning his eyes on the boy as the guards walked from the room, followed by the bowing servers.

The moment hung for a long time, expectant...

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It had, of course, occurred to Luke that there were now no guards to stop him either turning and making an escape attempt or launching himself across the table at his captor. Preferably both.

But the fact that Palpatine had allowed this meant that he had also planned for it. One didn't rise to rule an Empire by failing to consider consequences, and whatever else he thought the Emperor, Luke didn't for a moment think him stupid. And the truth was that at the moment he doubted very much whether he could reach the door at the far side of the cavernous room, even without intervention.

So he remained still.

Finally, when the Emperor had seen that Luke had worked this moment through, he settled back, content. "Apparently you have learned something."

Luke remained impassive, allowing the conversation to be led. Palpatine had presumably brought him here to say something, and he believed he knew what. Still, the silence hung heavy for a long time, until finally Luke felt himself pressured to speak.

As was his nature, he came straight to the point. "What do you want?"

Palpatine smiled pointedly. "Want? I already have everything that I want."

Luke recoiled slightly at the inference, but held his peace, surprising himself at his calm. "Then I presume there's something you have to say to me?" He wanted this over--wanted Palpatine to ask the question so that he could refuse. No delaying of the inevitable. He would rather deal with the reality of his situation than play these mocking games.

"No," the Emperor said simply without further elaboration, leaving Luke to frown, uncertain now.

"Then why am I here?" he asked across the divide.

"I simply wished to meet Lord Vader's son."

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Palpatine watched closely this time, noting the subtle changes in the boy's stance as he tensed at the designation, his hackles rising automatically. Sensed the more obvious play of emotions through the Force. There--there it is!

"I understand that you were unaware of your lineage?" he pushed, searching for further confirmation. Aside from tightening his jaw, the boy offered none visibly this time, though his sense in the Force boiled. "It would seem a rather...glaring omission on the part of your previous Master, Kenobi. You did know he was also your father's former Master."

The boy didn't react, but then it had been a statement rather than a question.

Palpatine smiled, making no attempt to hide the mocking derision in his voice. "One must begin to wonder whether he had ever intended to tell you your pedigree. Perhaps...perhaps after you had unwittingly committed patricide for him."

The boy's eyes hooded, voice tightening. "You know nothing about it. They wouldn't--"

"He used you," Palpatine dismissed, cutting him off. "Don't be naïve. It's unfitting to your station."

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Luke had stopped dead, but not for the reason Palpatine presumed. He had made an error, and now was terrified that the Sith would spot it, chiding his own impulsive outburst. He forced his mind to work, to cover the mistake and reinforce Palpatine's assumption. "I'm not naïve. I understand what he did--and why he did it."

"Then since you defend him, one must assume you think him right?" The Emperor pushed, apparently searching to clarify whether Luke's anger was disillusionment at Ben's pretence, or resentment of Vader's harsh truth.

And for the first time, Luke smiled too, in realization. Subtly, and it was gone in an instant. But the awareness that Palpatine wasn't infallible--that he wasn't all-knowing or all-seeing--gave Luke some flicker of confidence, even here. He leaned back just slightly, relaxed almost imperceptibly.

"You may assume what you wish."

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Palpatine remained still, noting the change in the boy, aware that something, some perception, had subtly shifted. That his Jedi had reassessed. He stared in silence for a long time as the fire crackled in the grate, releasing a high-pitched hiss as moisture burned from the logs. The boy didn't speak further this time; felt no need to fill the silence or substantiate his vague words.

Chose not to speak further.

He paused, mentally reassessing his own strategies accordingly. "And failing any information to the contrary, I shall, Jedi."

"You're mistaken--I'm not a Jedi."

Palpatine raised his eyebrows, setting his head to one side. "Did he teach you nothing at all, your pitiful Master? You are a Jedi when you are acknowledged as such by your peers." He paused, a thin smile splitting his lips. "Though it is amusing...that your cognizance should be acknowledged by a Sith. Fitting, I think."

"You'll forgive me, but I don't consider your opinion particularly relevant in this." The boy's confident voice belied his patent uncertainty as to whether Palpatine lied, but he seemed resolved of this fact, either way.

"Then whose blessing do you seek, Jedi?" Palpatine asked, grinning knowingly into the boy's silence. "Kenobi's? Because I can promise you that you are already more powerful than he ever was."

"Power isn't everything."

"No?" Palpatine said. "It keeps you here."

"I haven't tried to leave yet."

Palpatine laughed out loud, appreciating the boy's spirit despite the gravity of his situation; perhaps he was more like his father than he realized.

"What am I to do with you, my friend?" he finally asked into the boy's wary countenance, his voice amicable, as if indulging an old acquaintance who had committed some minor misdemeanor. "What should I do with a known insurrectionist who makes open war against me, challenges my rule and destroys my armies?"

"I believe the penalty for sedition is death."

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Luke was surprised by how little emotion sounded in his steady voice. The Emperor leaned back, amused, almost laughing.

"Yes...but what a waste!" Luke held silent, so Palpatine leaned forward, still grinning. "What a waste on both our parts."

"That would depend on what you have to lose."

"And what you have to gain."

Luke leaned back, arms resting on the huge carved chair, eyes tightening. "What are you offering?"

The Emperor almost, almost spoke out...then paused, ocher eyes narrowing dangerously, the change mercurial. "Don't ever think to lie to me."

The threat in his words was chilling despite the heat of the fire. Still, Luke would not blink. "I thought that was the nature of the game."

"You should not be so eager to play games when your life hangs in the balance, my friend."

"I'm not your friend."

Palpatine stared for several seconds then sighed, the slightest of smiles tugging bloodless lips from darkened teeth, but never reaching his eyes. "You do make it so very difficult for yourself, child."

"To do what?"

"I am offering you everything. Everything you've ever desired. Things you do not even realize you want yet."

"You have nothing I want," Luke said simply, very sure.

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Palpatine shook his head slowly, taking again the opportunity to slowly pull his Jedi into discussion and call into question those he trusted. Nothing too contentious at first; he didn't wish to push him away but to lure him in further. Enough to entangle, though--to make him consider, make him question. This would be a slow attrition, a thousand carefully placed allusions and insinuations about his unknown past, leaving the boy always waiting for and wanting more.

"I have the truth of who you really are. It was not I who lied or betrayed. Believe me, it is as much Kenobi's fault that you are here now as your father's...and there are deeper reasons, greater truths." Palpatine leaned back, tone self-righteous but indulgent. "Ask any question and I will answer honestly."

Seconds passed, in which neither broke the gaze of the other, eye to eye, reading intent... Finally the boy half-smiled, warily shaking his head.

"I don't believe you," he held, refusing to be drawn in.

"Why would I need to lie? I assure you, the truth is far more damning than any pretence I could conjure. The past whispers of the future. Your destiny runs with the blood in your veins."

"I don't believe you," the youth repeated, his tone so clipped, so sure.

But only in voice; in intent rather than belief, Palpatine recognized. Though he hid it well, that had cut deep. He filed it away with other flaws, to be exploited at leisure.

"You are unwise. Unwise to question my word, and more so to try to bait me. Do you know what I am capable of?"

"I believe you capable of anything in pursuit of your goals," the boy said, clearly using his belief to validate his mistrust.

"Yes...I am." Palpatine let the threat hang for long seconds. "But I will never lie to you." He said it firmly, underlining this enticement before taking the conversation back to what had so clearly disturbed the boy moments before; the inference of preordained destiny; that his father's fate would be his own. "As I do not lie now, when I say that there can be only one outcome to this."

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Luke felt the pressure of Palpatine's words, spoken with such knowing certainty. So much so that it took him several seconds to gather his wits around the mass of rising insecurities which froze all thought. This was his weakness, and he knew it; the knowledge Vader had forced upon him had left him paralyzed with doubts. He pushed himself past them, an exercise in discipline. Master Yoda would have been proud of him. "Really? Because I see three."

The Emperor smiled, shaking his head indulgently like a teacher explaining the way of the universe to a confused child. "You will kneel before me."

"Or I will not yield, and you'll kill me." Luke raised his eyebrows slightly, offering his third alternative. "Or you'll drop your guard, and I'll kill you."

Palpatine laughed out loud at this, genuinely amused. "I think not."

"And that's why I shall."

"No, my friend. I am a hard man to kill."

Luke nodded somberly. "I'll remember that."

"I hope you have a very long memory."

"For that, I do."

The Emperor grinned, amused; the smile of a bantha cautioned by a flea. "Hardly fitting words for a typical Jedi Knight. But then you are hardly typical...did Kenobi tell you what, as well as who you really are, Jedi? Or did he omit that information, too?"

Luke paused, freshly confused. Struggling to ignore pressing fatigue, he willed himself to concentrate though his body was slumping now, his head beginning to drop in exhaustion from even this short exertion, intense as it was. He remembered Vader's words to him onboard the Star Destroyer...of his heritage, his bloodline.

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Palpatine watched as the barest frown lined the boy's features for an instant before that neutral mask fell again. But his curiosity was evident in the Force, a morbid fascination, both desiring to know and reluctant to hear.

A perfect beginning.

"But you are tired, my friend. You should rest. We will speak again tomorrow." Palpatine smiled indulgently, knowing what it would mean to the boy to leave this conversation here, how it would eat into his thoughts. For himself, Palpatine already had all that he required out of this meeting; to leave it here could only be to his advantage.

Knowledge was power, and power always held a price. If his Jedi wanted more information, then he would have to sit at this table again. And he would come back--willingly. Only Palpatine and Vader held the truth, and judging from the boy's reactions tonight, Palpatine knew now that he would never go to Vader. In fact, he was counting on it.

Here, at his table, was his only possibility of ever laying to rest a hidden, haunted past.

How could he not take it?

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To be continued...

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Chapter 6

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CHAPTER SIX

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The substantial double-doors cycled through their release, grinding open on hidden sliders.

That's one very heavy door, Luke thought dryly as he turned from the chair by the thick bulk of the reinforced window.

He'd been left alone to his thoughts all day. Only not quite alone; two Red Guard had stayed in the room, standing to either side of the door throughout the day, visited occasionally by the hard-eyed redhead. At first, he'd been uncomfortable beneath their constant, silent scrutiny, but had eventually rationalized that they didn't seem inclined to interact or interfere at all. Finally, he'd decided to simply ignore them, and wandered round the massive, split-level bedroom, walking down the wide, intricately mosaic-tiled corridor which led to a dressing room and a 'fresher suite, both windowless. Hung neatly in the dressing room to one side of the corridor were five complete sets of clothing, all of which were in dark hues of midnight blue, somber slate gray and black. All of which, disturbingly, looked like they'd fit him perfectly.

He'd left, not wishing to think about it for the moment.

Back into the cavernous bedroom, the rooms beyond still locked to him, the guards at the door. He'd studied the tall transparisteel sheets in the windows carefully. Up close, they were threaded through with two interwoven layers of fine filament, tough enough as to be visible to the naked eye; you didn't see that even in military vessels.

He'd wandered again round the substantial room, hands dragging casually against the walls, wondering how thick they were. He'd stood as close as his wary guards would allow him to the huge carved wooden doors, knowing they wouldn't be wood, remembering their thickness from the night before and pondering how the locks worked.

He'd wondered whether anyone would feed him.

He'd sat cross-legged on the floor before the window, meditating, trying to locate the others through the Force. Finding Leia had brought an unexpected smile to his face and he'd almost, almost, reached out to her, to try to make contact as he had done at Bespin. But fear of discovery had held him back; that they would realize that he could contact her, even if she couldn't reply, and so move her further away.

But he'd followed that trail...down...a long way down. Many, many levels below him and off to one side. Still, he'd found her, and so presumably the others. He made his first mental map of his surroundings; his position in relation to her, a vague idea of distance...

Then he'd broken the contact, already worrying that his transgression would be discovered. He'd concentrated on trying to raise mental barriers, pushing out the grating buzz which pressed against his thoughts, forced by necessity to begin to develop this skill beyond what Yoda had taught him.

He'd gazed out again at the monolithic Towers and the distant city beyond, forehead resting against the inches-thick transparisteel. A million lives being lived, ordinary, normal lives...he craved that now with easily as much ardor as he'd once craved the excitement of adventure far from Tatooine.

He'd watched a fiery sunset, the huge moon stained red by the dying embers of the day.

He'd wondered again if someone would feed him; realized just how unlikely that was, since he'd refused to eat at Palpatine's table last night. His jaw tightened at that, knowing that this was now a little war of wills. A stupid war of wills with only one realistic outcome.

He'd had the sense to sit last night rather than enter into that battle. What logic had deserted him when he'd refused to eat? Stupid; stupid thing to do. All the more so because he knew--he knew--that if he went back to that table, he'd still refuse to eat. Stupid, stubborn, ornery...

He shook his head slowly, chastising himself when Master Yoda was no longer around to do it for him. Chiding himself again at his negative frame of mind.

So when the door began its cycle to the sound of multiple bolts releasing in sequence, he'd been thankful for the interruption. The tight-lipped redhead had walked into the room on the balls of her feet, turning to him before the door was fully open.

Too soon; she knew where I was already. They have surveillance in here.

Cold green eyes fixed on him as she said simply, "The Emperor commands your presence."

He remained sitting in the chair for long seconds, wondering what she'd do if he said no... Wondering why he was even thinking that; he already had one pointless little battle going on right now, the last thing he needed was another.

He was learning--but to whose benefit, he wondered.

Aware that his gaze was still on her, the woman's intense green eyes turned momentarily wary. Luke watched her for several more seconds, taking in the cool, reserved look in his jailor's expression, wondering whether it was defensive reflex or real emotion.

Which left the burning question, what was really going on behind that glacial stare. "What was your name?"

She looked away, didn't reply. Luke dropped his head back down, massaging at his temples again. "Nice name. A little short." She'd relax eventually, relent a little. Push too hard and she'd only back off further.

Besides, he had a feeling he'd have the time to invest--and for some reason, he felt it should be in her. She was, after all, quite clearly responsible for security; for keeping him here. If nothing else, it would give him something other than the Emperor's meticulous little manipulations to think about...and that was a good thing.

He rose and walked loosely forward. The redhead stepped back warily so she remained outside his reach.

"Jumpy little thing, aren't you?" he murmured lightly.

She set her head to one side, those cold eyes remaining pointedly unamused as he passed by.

He walked again beneath the stretching, arched ceiling of the lounge, his two guards falling into pace behind him as he passed huge, heavy furniture to equal the scale of the room. Six Royal Guard remained at the door he had passed through, six more at the door he walked toward. Into the huge hall, exactly as before, dim shadows lit by scarlet flames, the long table set and laden with food.

And the Emperor, hooded yellow eyes burning into him, cold amusement written clear on his face.

Luke felt his hackles rise; forced himself calm again by strength of will. Still, he couldn't stop his jaw clenching and his eyes narrowing, which only brought a wide smile to the old man's thin, bloodless lips.

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Palpatine smiled at the boy's instant reaction as he entered the room; how he advertised every emotion on his face, how he blared it out through the Force.

Did he not realize?

How refreshingly naïve he was, how wonderfully unaffected and artless. It was a pity that this would be lost--sacrificed to Darkness. But how useful it was here and now, all that passion and zeal. How easy it was to twist and use...once one had a strategy.

Because any intense emotion was a weakness, especially when it came to the boy's father. He had sensed it in their first meeting last night, all that anger, that confusion, that wonderfully impassioned denial--not necessarily to believe; he knew it was true--but certainly to accept. That was what drove him now. Loyalty too, of course; to his friends and his cause, but that was of no use to Palpatine. It could be made to serve his ends, but only in the most limited sense. He had needed something greater, something deeper. Loyalty was a strength--he had needed a flaw. And now he had found one, so considerately provided by Kenobi.

Because the boy was afraid. Not of Palpatine, although he should be. But that lesson could and would be taught, in a manner which he would never forget.

No, this fear was very different...and wonderfully destructive.

This was fear that his father's fate was his own, because the same weakness ran in his veins. That had glared out in their short discussion last night; fear that his fall, like his father's, was inevitable. All twisted through with resentment, with true, bitter hatred of Vader because of it. And betrayal. By Kenobi, to have lied so easily, by the father he never knew he had; found and lost in a single beat of a bruised heart.

Wonderful, primal emotions. Powerful and undeniable.

Given time of course, the boy would have come to terms with his heritage; time and distance always afforded perspective. But Palpatine had no intention of granting either. He had gained Skywalker at just the right moment--and he fully intended to exploit it. He would push forward whilst the boy was still reeling, underline that connection, that perceived weakness. Convince him of its reality, the inevitability of his fate, the weakness in his blood. Keep them close, father and son; keep them in opposition. Always pushing, always goading, never the time to come to terms, to deal with this vulnerability. Stir up all the crippling fears and doubts which fed that resentment and then release the boy on his father.

Yes, a wonderful, gaping weakness.

There were others, of course, and he would use them all, but nothing like this. This had already delivered his new Jedi to him. With careful manipulation, it would give him his Sith.

That thought brought a smile to his face, which unsettled his Jedi even further. Palpatine turned to hide his amusement, walking slowly to his own chair and sitting before finally looking up to his Jedi indulgently. "Sit."

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Even at this, so simple an invitation handed out with such subtle, hidden agenda, Luke felt his momentary stubbornness kick in. But he walked to the chair and he sat; he too had an agenda tonight.

The Emperor nodded to the laden table. "Eat."

The worst thing was Luke knew Palpatine was right; he should eat. Every soldier knew that. You eat when you can, you sleep when you can, because you never know when either will be taken away. Two days without food and already frail from his injuries, he could feel himself weakening physically if not mentally. He should eat. If the opportunity came to make an escape, he would be too weak to take it in another day. He should eat.

Don't be stubborn. Eat.

"No." He wilted at his own obstinate will.

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Palpatine merely glanced to the servers, who stepped forward to fill the smoky glass goblets with dark, ruby wine. He watched his Jedi glance momentarily at the food on the table then look resolutely away toward the fire in the hearth. He must be hungry by now, Palpatine knew. Vader had been instructed to feed him little, and the boy had not eaten at all since he arrived here. Nor would he; he wanted his Jedi to be left hungry, save at this table. Wanted this wild thing to learn to eat from its new Master's hand.

The boy had picked the wrong thing to fight over and he knew it, Palpatine could sense that much, but still he fought--couldn't help but do so. Strong-willed, like his father; stubborn. The strength which could be a weakness, with a little careful direction. The weakness which could be a strength, if he didn't hold it in check. Still, if all went to plan, this particular battle would be concluded tonight...or at least rendered worthless.

He nodded, and the servers and Luke's shadow-guards bowed and walked in silence from the room.

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Luke caught again the tantalizing glimpse of freedom from the bright corridor beyond, where guards stood against the far wall, weapons drawn. Far wall; very far. Was it a corridor or another room?

Palpatine settled, drawing Luke's eyes and his mind back to the moment. "I'd like to know where my companions are," he said, voice steady.

The Emperor only gazed back in silence.

"I know that they're here, in the main Palace below," Luke said firmly. "I'd like to see them."

The Emperor remained still and this time Luke let the silence hang, prepared to wait it out.

Finally, Palpatine spoke. "Do you have any other glaring weaknesses you'd like to declare?"

Luke tilted his head, refusing to be drawn. "I'd like to see them."

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Palpatine smiled just slightly at the battle lines being drawn; if the boy thought he could direct the conversation, then he was wrong. "They are traitors, which makes them your father's jurisdiction," he said, taking the discussion instantly back to where he intended.

"And who commands Vader?" the boy parried.

Palpatine ignored the challenge. "I am curious--you seem...uncomfortable acknowledging your father as such, child."

The boy held his silence for long seconds, gritting his teeth against the reply he so clearly wished to make, fighting to keep his mind on the goal. Palpatine let his expression change not a whit, but inside he leered at the boy's grinding jaw. Already this flaw tormented Skywalker, and Palpatine would lose no opportunity to twist that knife, to work that wound wider. Still, the boy held focus admirably.

"I would like to see my companions."

"Why?"

"To know that they're alright."

"You have the ability to do that without seeing them. It runs in your blood."

The boy's eyes hardened just slightly at that.

"You are...uncomfortable that they are here." Palpatine made this a statement rather than a question, leaving the boy to wonder whether the Emperor had read his mind, or simply stated the obvious. Either way, he said nothing. Instead he took the goblet of wine in his hand then, as if he felt that this was a patent fact that he should nevertheless clarify, he added, "Their freedom is for sale, of course. For a price."

"I very much doubt that--unless it serves your own ends."

"Heh. You judge me too harshly, Jedi."

"I don't think that's possible."

Palpatine only laughed, as if sharing a joke with an old friend. "I have found over the years that everything has a price."

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Luke didn't miss the inference, but chose to ignore it. Instead he let the silence hang heavy for a long time as Palpatine gazed steadily at him...

Finally, with a low sigh of reluctant resignation, but knowing he could do nothing else, Luke asked, "The price is?"

"Well done, Jedi." The Emperor set down the goblet and leaned forward slightly, as if the game were finally afoot. "The price is...what...?"

He hesitated theatrically, mocking yellow eyes fixed on Luke, thin lips pulled back from stained teeth, as if this were a question he had only now given any thought to, though even knowing him as little as he did, Luke knew that wouldn't be the case. He leaned back in distaste; at having to deal so civilly with this creature--at being here at all.

In his excitement, the Sith didn't seem to notice. "What is...what is your little Princess worth?" He seemed to consider this for a moment, then, "Ah, but she is my exception. I think nothing will keep her from the executioner's block."

Luke's heart skip a beat. "You need them alive."

Palpatine smiled a death's-head grin. "I need only one of them to hold you, Jedi. And Leia Organa has been a thorn in my side for too long. Now that I have her, an example must be made--one that my enemies will remember."

Luke's chest constricted at the words, so casually uttered, as if Leia's life was some insignificant part of a much larger game.

"The Wookiee will go to the Kessel mines," the Sith added. "He has some strength, he may well last the year out. Calrissian will go with him, though I doubt he will do the same. The Corellian will stay here for now. Your father believes he will be enough to hold you."

"Vader knows nothing about me."

"He said you asked after the Corellian when you were injured," Palpatine said, implicating Vader in his plotting.

"Because I knew he was the only one who wasn't there."

"Still, you wanted him extricated from the Hutt gangster."

"I would have asked the same of any of them."

"Which is reason enough to believe the Corellian of worth to you." The Emperor shrugged elaborately. "If he is not, then you should say so now and I will have him executed tonight--he's of no value to me. Perhaps then I would have to fall back on your little Princess. Solo's death may just keep her head from the block. For now."

Luke lifted his hand, rubbing at the center of his temple against this provocation. What did he say? Did he say no, Han was worth nothing to him, and risk the Emperor carrying through his threat simply to call Luke's bluff? He knew he'd still have Leia and Chewie to control Luke...

With the stakes too high to feint, he said nothing at all. Palpatine steepled his fingers expectantly, his air one of assured amusement, and Luke could only grit his teeth in the face of these continual provocations and manipulations.

Still the Emperor gazed expectantly for long seconds. "So then--what is the Corellian's freedom worth to you?"

"Leia's first," Luke said, making the Emperor's eyes narrow.

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"No--no, I have plans for your little Princess," Palpatine said deliberately, setting shields to hide his intent from the boy, though not too many or too deliberate; a direct lie could often be detected by the simple fact that it would be notably shielded. But then Palpatine seldom fell back on such vulgarities. In that moment, he very much longed to carry out the threat he was issuing; the girl was nothing but a malicious agitator, and would be a constant spur to Skywalker to keep on resisting Palpatine's will. It was this knowledge that Palpatine relied on now, along with his very genuine intention to remove her, one way or another; he allowed the boy to sense that much.

"You said all things could be bought." The boy knew that he was being led, but he also knew that the threat to Leia was very, very real.

Palpatine struggled to withhold the smallest of smiles from twitching the corners of his lips. How vulnerable they made him...and he knew this, yet still he defended them. "For a price. You cannot afford hers."

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"So you have one." If Luke could gain her only a stay from execution, it would give him time to work out some plan to get out of here. Or buy Leia and Han the chance to do the same.

The Emperor's eyes turned to the huge fire in the grate as he considered and Luke found himself holding his breath in anticipation.

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Palpatine stood and took a few steps toward the fire, his casual manner belying the importance he attached to this conversation. All future plans were decided by it, whichever way it went.

When he spoke, it was in quiet, considered tones. "Twelve weeks...yes, I think that is fair. Twelve weeks of your undivided attention. I would take no less, not for her."

He turned to his Jedi, who frowned for long seconds as he deciphered the offer...then his eyes opened wide, and Palpatine knew he understood. The boy almost refused outright...but he hesitated a fraction of a second--and Palpatine knew he had him.

"Twelve weeks of your compliance, Jedi. At the end of that time, I will let her go."

Skywalker tilted his head before laughing doubtfully, as if unable to believe he was even discussing this. Seeing that, Palpatine pushed on, wanting the deal done before his Jedi thought too long on it. If he gave him time to consider, he knew the boy would simply decide that a better option would be to begin his own escape attempts, and though Palpatine wasn't afraid the boy would escape, he didn't wish to be put into direct contention with him just yet.

He had to curtail such thoughts now; ensure that Skywalker would remain reasonably amenable in the coming weeks. Already he could see resentment at his incarceration settling into the boy's features; another day or so and it would poison his mind, making him unreachable. He would dig his heels in and force a confrontation out of nothing more than his own innate stubbornness. That would come eventually anyway, Palpatine knew, but he didn't want it yet, with so many precedents and practices still to lay in place; compulsions to be hidden within conventions, influence within routine.

Some mutually binding contract had to be established, a way to tie Skywalker down with openly agreed terms on both sides. An obligation that his new Jedi, still bound by those high moral principles, would hold to once he had agreed.

Much as he would like to execute the troublesome ex-senator and so lop off one of the Rebellion's heads, this would gain him far more in the long run. But if the boy didn't yield, then yes, he would carry through on his present threat--having made it he couldn't afford not to--and there were other alternatives. Though this was the most advantageous, if all went to plan.

But he needed the boy to agree to this now. And to do that, he needed to stop him looking at the greater picture and instead become mired in the details. "I will let her go. Anywhere she chooses, with my guarantee of safe passage."

"Your guarantee is worth nothing," the Jedi countered. But he didn't refuse the deal.

"My word--as a Sith."

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"That's worth even less." Luke was instantly aware of the insult he had just issued. Tellingly, Palpatine seemed not in the least offended.

"Then what do you suggest, Jedi?"

Luke paused, aware on some level that he was being railroaded, but willing to talk at this point, curious as to what he could achieve. If the deal was good enough, then perhaps he should consider it. Years of trading in the deep desert had taught him to start high and be bartered down.

Aware of this, of the outrageous nature of what he was about to ask--and of the fact that he had nothing to lose at this point--he spoke out. "Let them go now, all of them. Let them all go, and I'll stay. For twelve weeks."

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Palpatine laughed out loud at this--but he kept the negotiation going; established that all-important precedent. "Out of the question. Do I look like a fool?"

It had to seem like the agreement was of the boy's choosing as much as Palpatine's. If it was Skywalker who placed the deal on the table now, then he would only have himself to blame later...

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Luke kept his expression solemn. "I give you my word--as a Jedi."

"And I should take that?" Palpatine said, incredulous. "When you allow me no such recognition?"

"My word," Luke repeated against this.

The Emperor's eyes narrowed and he turned away, his back to Luke now. After long seconds, he spoke out. "I will not give you all four. One must stay."

"Not Leia." Luke's voice was firm.

"The Corellian," Palpatine said with equal resolve.

Luke paused; it still gave Palpatine a lever to control him...but to have the others gone, now--he hadn't hoped to gain even close to this much. "How will I know they're safe?"

"You are a Jedi; of course you will know."

Luke remained silent, eyes wary, and Palpatine shrugged, dismissive. "I am sure you would have no compunction about dissolving the agreement, if you believed it broken."

"What exactly is the agreement?" Luke said, drawn in further in spite of himself, with so much now in the pot.

"I would simply like to continue our talks." The Emperor was casually dismissive, as if he were asking for nothing at all. "And I would like your word--not as a Jedi, not as a soldier, but your word--that you will do the same. That you will remain here for the agreed twelve weeks without contention. Willingly; no attempts to escape, no premeditated disobedience. No obstruction or belligerence. A civilized dialogue...by both parties."

"Just that," Luke said dryly.

"Just that."

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Palpatine watched as the boy fell to silence, and forced himself to do the same, to act as if this were unimportant to him.

"Twelve weeks is a long time."

He could sense the boy considering, weighing up the advantages against the drawbacks.

"To buy three lives? I think it very cheap."

"But clearly you don't, or you would have pushed for more," Skywalker said in a moment of wary clarity.

Uneasy at this, Palpatine only shrugged, unwilling to be forced to validate his offer. "How is it any different than what we are doing right now, Jedi? I have told you, I merely wish to maintain a dialogue. In order to do that, I am willing to offer this truce; a gesture of goodwill."

"I don't believe you'd do anything that wasn't to your advantage. The deal is more than biased in your favor."

"But then I hold all the cards."

"Except the one that matters," the youth held pointedly.

"Even that is in my hands."

"But you don't control it."

Palpatine laughed aloud at that. "No one will control you, Jedi, unless you choose to allow it. I am buying your attention, not your will. And even that only for twelve weeks."

Still the boy hesitated, and Palpatine pushed just a little further. "Have you so little faith in your own resolve, that you think you could be so easily swayed?"

He chose not to answer that. "At the end of that time?"

Palpatine smiled inwardly, knowing he had him! "The agreement is fulfilled; we owe each other nothing more."

Twelve weeks would be more than enough. More than enough to bind the boy to him, to prize open all those weaknesses and exploit them. To gain a Sith.

He stepped close for the first time, towering over the seated youth. "Are you afraid?"

"Not of you." The boy held his gaze, unflinching, though he knew the lie; he would be stupid not to be.

Palpatine leered, wondering if Skywalker realized the depth of the slip in his own words, his gaze never leaving the boy's. In silence, he held out his hand...

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The pressure bearing down on Luke in that moment felt like it was crushing the air from his lungs. Should he do this? It bought him so much...but was the price too high?

Master Yoda had known they would be a weakness. Had warned him even before he left Dagobah to let his friends go. Had actually asked that he sacrifice them to the greater cause. Did he know Luke so little? Luke shook his head slightly in consideration...because he couldn't abandon them then, and he couldn't do it now. Was incapable of it; it was against his very nature to do so. He had lost so much, had so much ripped away from him, had willingly given so much more... But he couldn't do this. He couldn't desert those he held so close.

He knew--knew that this would cost him dear...

The Emperor held his hand steady; pallid, deathly-white, its long, ridged nails curved like claws--and all Luke could see was that hand about Leia's neck, tightening...

And he couldn't hold out against that.

His heart beat hard against his ribs, but he knew he was committed; had been from the moment he left Dagobah, in truth.

Still, when he took the old man's hand in silent agreement he felt an involuntary shiver slice down his spine and he jolted just slightly against the turmoil which shocked through the Force--as if everything had forcibly inverted, twisting about and within itself in a convulsive spasm. Reflex jerked his hand back but the Sith kept a solid, unyielding hold, his relentless grip cold as the grave.

"We have a pact, Jedi," he said gravely, holding Luke firm for long seconds, and releasing him only grudgingly.

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,

To be continued...

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Chapter 7

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CHAPTER SEVEN

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Luke paced his opulent prison uneasily, hardly aware of the guard at the door anymore, waiting the arrival of his visitor with equal parts trepidation and enthusiasm.

The bad-tempered redhead had spent the morning guarding him today, sitting on one of the chairs at the windows rather than standing by the door, her hard eyes fixing on him every time he so much as moved. Finally she'd ordered a replacement at midday when summoned by Palpatine, returning briefly to tell him that his request of the previous evening--to see his companion--had been allowed by the Emperor.

And Luke had again sensed that crosscurrent, that whisper in the Force about her, hidden completely when she was with the Emperor, smothered by that all-encompassing shroud of Darkness. But here, alone. some barely discernable focus traced the edge of his awareness, so light as to be almost imperceptible.

"What are you?" he'd asked at last, knowing that she'd understand the question.

"Huh, wouldn't you like to know," she'd huffed, lifting her chin.

He'd tried setting his head on one side, expression open. "Yes. You're not a Jedi...or Sith."

"You think that puts me beneath you?" she'd challenged, green eyes ablaze.

"You appear to be the one holding the gun."

"That's right, and don't you forget it."

He'd held her gaze steadily, the slight smile staying on his lips, and she'd glanced away, seeming suddenly embarrassed at the needless threat.

"I'll get your visitor," she'd muttered, leaving Luke to stare at the door as it cycled closed, no longer noticing the stony-faced guards who stood to either side of it.

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It was now mid-afternoon and no one else had been back to the room. And patience wasn't exactly one of Luke's strong suits.

He sat on the arm of the chair gazing out into the distant city, rubbing his temples against the constant headache he'd had for the last three days. At first, he'd tried to dismiss it as Coruscant--that it was simply something about the planet that was causing it, some barometric pressure--but slowly he'd come to recognize that it intensified with proximity to Palpatine, or with his own use of the Force, when the pressure closed in about him like a wavefront, constricting about his mind with massive, focused pressure.

Focused; as a conscious act. A pointed discouragement from the Emperor against using the Force. Or perhaps simply a method of knowing when he did? Though he'd felt no such disturbance from his fath... from Vader.

The truth was he had absolutely no idea...and that was the real problem; neither Ben nor Yoda had ever mentioned it, or anything else of real substance about the Dark side, save to avoid it at all costs, which seemed pretty academic here, Luke reflected wryly. And that left him guessing, in a place where guesswork was a dangerous thing. Left him uncertain, in a situation where he knew that confidence in one's convictions was everything.

He sighed, rubbing his closed eyes so hard he saw sparks in his vision--anything to alleviate the pressure. He felt tired and drawn, having shocked awake in the early hours just before dawn, absolutely sure in that moment that someone had shouted out his name. Wide awake, he'd glanced about the dark shadows of the cavernous, unfamiliar room searching for the source. But of course there'd been nothing there, only the lingering shadows of some intense nightmare, lost to him now.

Unable to settle again, he'd risen and dressed to stand alone in the room for once before the tall thick transparisteel windows and watch the sun rise, desperately hungry.

Meditation was becoming difficult, the jarring pressure weighing down on him dulling mind and senses both and leaving him uneasy and frustrated. Eventually he'd stopped trying, instead laying back on the cold marble floor, its cool against the healing scar on his back comforting through the fine silk of his slate gray shirt, his knees pulled up as he gazed at the distant, heavily carved and coffered ceiling, contemplating how many places there were to hide surveillance lenses up there and wondering if there were any dead-spots in the room. Wondering what his observers were thinking of his bizarre behavior right now.

Wondering how he was going to explain the deal he'd made to his friends. How he was going to explain to Han that he had to remain. Questioning whether he should back out now while he still could, knowing that was what they would tell him to do.

Were they right?

Eventually the doors had cycled open and the redhead had strode in, watching him with raised eyebrows where he lay on the cool floor, clearly thinking him completely insane.

Luke had scrabbled up quickly. "I was... ah, your opinion of me can't get any worse, anyway," he'd reasoned aloud, bringing the slightest hint of an amused smile to her lips a she'd turned away to sit on the chair before the windows.

It was late afternoon when the doors finally grated open with the release of multiple bolts. Eight stormtroopers lock-stepped into the room, the first Luke had seen since arriving here. They about-turned smartly and marched out to leave a bound and wary Han Solo standing alone before the closing doors.

"Han!" Luke launched forward, in that moment so pleased to see his friend that all his guilty misgivings were forgotten.

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"Luke--Kid!" Han practically yelped the words, shocked once by seeing the kid in one piece, and again by his surroundings. He stepped forward, but was forced to stop uneasily as he lifted his still-bound hands before him, the reality of their situation quickly and effectively reminded.

Refusing to be cowed, he glanced around the room. "Wow. Wanna swap? I think my room's about as big as that bed and my bunk consists of a solid ridge coming out of the wall with a 'fresher built into the end of it."

"Nice," the kid said, falling easily back into their familiar banter. "Classy."

"And convenient," Han quipped. "Don't need to go too far in the middle of the night."

Luke nodded, grinning. "Again, a good point."

"I thought so. Could do with...hey, your hand!" Han belatedly realized that Luke was resting his right hand in his left, cradling it subconsciously. The kid looked down, his voice distant.

"Yeah, they...replaced it." He held it up for inspection, moving his fingers awkwardly as Han studied the prosthetic.

He held back from asking the obvious--why had they fixed it--and if the kid knew, he didn't offer. "Feel weird?" he prompted instead, still staring at the hand; it was a perfect replica, minutely detailed--a very expensive piece of kit.

Luke only shrugged uneasily, clearly not wanting to talk about this now.

Taking the hint, Han glanced around again. "I thought I was coming to see Palpatine, considering the setting. Didn't expect to see you here."

The unspoken question made Luke's smile drop. "Maybe he thinks he can buy me..."

Han nodded, glancing about; seemed reasonable--it would probably explain the hand, too. And the kid's clothes, which made even Lando seem poverty-stricken by comparison.

His next question shocked Luke, though he hadn't meant it to. "Can he?"

"No!" Luke upheld, visibly hurt at Han's words.

"Just..." Han paused, not sure why he'd even bothered to ask, aware of how much he'd just hurt the kid. "Sorry. I dunno..."

Luke stared at the floor and Han shifted uneasily a moment before moving the conversation on. "Have you seen Chewie and Leia?"

"No, haven't you?" There was instant concern in Luke's voice.

"No, they split us up. Different cells. Hollered myself hoarse but I think the cells are soundproof."

"They're here somewhere. But I..." Kid paused, suddenly guilty.

Han scowled. "Luke?"

Luke hesitated, his every movement that of someone looking to get something over with. "I...made a deal. With Palpatine. That in return..."

That was as far as he got.

"You made a deal? With Palpatine! What..." Words failed Han for a second--but just for a second. "Kid, he's not gonna stick to any deal."

Luke shook his head, rushing to explain. "He has to fulfill his part of the deal first, or it's null and void. Han, I had to."

"Had to? What the hell does that mean? You just told me he couldn't buy you, and now you're saying..."

"Han, listen...please--"The kid sounded like he was trying to validate his actions as much to himself as to Han. "Palpatine agreed to release everyone except one person, in exchange for my staying."

"Staying?" Some of the fire went out of Han's eyes at the realization of what Luke had done, but he was still seething.

"For twelve weeks. I stay here for twelve weeks."

"And then what? You think he's gonna just let you go?"

"No. But he wasn't going to do that anyway," Kid said wryly.

Han softened a little at that, knowing that the kid had no real choice; that he'd tried to make the best out of a raw deal in a bad situation. Gain something out of nothing. "I dunno. Twelve weeks is a long time, Luke."

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Luke remained silent for long moments. Only now, when someone else voiced that fear, was he becoming aware of just how long it really was.

The thought that Luke had been dreading finally occurred to Han. "Who stays?"

Luke didn't look up, unable in that moment to meet Han's eye, ashamed of the fact that the decision had been made, that Luke had agreed. Wishing--hoping that his friend would...

"I'll stay," Han said firmly, meaning it.

The relief escaped Luke in a quiet sigh and he blinked slowly, thankful for Han's good heart. He nodded gently, still wracked with guilt, unable to speak in that moment.

Probably realizing he'd made an impossible decision for his friend, Han reached out to put a reassuring hand on Luke's shoulder, his other having to follow somewhat comically because of the binders.

"Hey, it'll be just like old times, huh? Remember that crappy dead-end planet we had to hang around on? The one where we had the cook-outs every night 'cos your stupid friend was five days late with that detonator shipment?"

Luke could only laugh at that. "You make it sound so rosy," he said dryly.

"Well, y'know...it wouldn't have been. But we made it okay. Me and you. We're a good team." Suddenly very embarrassed at his momentary camaraderie, Han made light again. "And besides, I'm charging the Rebellion for this. Hourly rate. And after the first ten hours, I'm on overtime. Plus danger money."

Luke smiled. "You can bill me."

"Yeah, like you got that kinda currency," Han dismissed easily, glancing around again. "But see that painting there? If we take that with us when we leave, I'll call it even."

Luke glanced at the huge painting of a night battle under moons and stars, realizing that he too vaguely recognized it--which meant it really must be incredibly well known.

"Fine," he said, judging the size of the massive canvas, about twice his height and four times that length. "But you're carrying it."

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"We need a comlink," Leia said, breathless from running, mind still swimming at the outrageous events of the day.

"We need a ship," Lando corrected, glancing meaningfully back to the spaceport as they huddled back into the shadows of the side street.

"If you get me a comlink, I can get us a ship," Leia said.

Lando turned back to her. "Hard as I find it to refuse those big brown eyes, I'd like to point out that in order to get us a comlink, I'm gonna have to steal it, and if I'm going to steal a comlink to get us a ride, I may as well just steal a ship, right?"

He glanced up at Chewie for support and the Wookiee keened, his nodding head indicting that it made perfect sense to him.

"Stealing a comlink and stealing a ship are not the same thing," Leia maintained.

"I beg to differ. If someone's fool enough to leave a factory-standard locking system on a valuable item--" Lando began, but Leia cut him off.

"Just get a comlink, okay?"

Lando looked at her for long seconds, clearly sure he was right... "Fine," he said at last. "Chewie?"

They disappeared from sight and Leia was left to draw back into the shadows of the busy Cat Dato Spaceport, glancing around nervously, expecting to see that familiar white armor any second.