Chapter Eight
To struggle against
The prophecy's will,
Can a Jedi's heart harden
And own offspring kill?
.
Else inevitable end
Set in motion will be
In the chain of events
That fulfill prophecy.
.
Brenna was busy inspecting the gas chamber when she got the call. She was meticulously strict about the condition of the chambers and inspected them thoroughly herself on a regular basis. The arrival of her father's ship at this exact moment in time was...
…inconvenient, nothing more. "Capture alive," she snapped into her com-link. She'd gotten into the habit of using no more words than absolutely necessary. "Twenty Elite-guard escort. Isolation ward, cell D." That ought to do it, she decided. Even a Jedi had his limits, and she doubted that her father would be foolish enough to take on nearly two dozen of Lippa's hand-picked elite guard. Cell D was one that she had specifically set aside for her father.
She turned her attention back to the chamber, and jiggled one of the tubes. "This connection's loose. See to it."
"Yes, Administrator."
"Don't let me find any more like it."
"No, Administrator."
She went outside the chamber and opened an access panel. She studied the circuitry carefully, then nodded. Everything was in order here. It had to be. Everything needed to be perfect, or her whole game-plan would be in jeopardy. Attention to detail, she mused wryly.
Brenna checked her chronometer. Then she turned to her assistant. "Are those supply reports ready yet?"
"Yes, Administrator."
"Good. I'll be in my office reviewing them."
"Yes, Administrator."
She was still in her office when the first call came. She had a lot of work to do before Etan returned, and every detail needed to be perfect. The call was…annoying.
"The prisoner is asking to see you," Garm reported.
"Request denied," Brenna replied. She switched off her com-link.
After an interval, it buzzed again. She was still busy with her reports. "The prisoner," Garm said, "claims to be your father. He insists upon seeing you."
"Since when," Brenna snapped, "does a prisoner insist upon anything? Monitor him through surveillance systems rather than personal observation, and turn off the audio. Request denied."
She turned off her com-link again, and adjusted a figure in the report. There were other figures that needed to be adjusted as well. Her father would just have to wait.
It was some hours later when the next call came, and she was nearly finished with her report. "Administrator," Garm said in a nervous tone. "The prisoner has escaped."
"Escaped? How?"
"Unknown at this time."
"Damage? Injuries?" Brenna asked.
"Surveillance systems appear to be inoperative. No injuries reported."
"He'll probably head for the shuttle bay. Double the guards there."
"Yes, Administrator. And should I also post guards in the cargo bays?"
"Do whatever you feel is necessary to keep the prisoner from escaping. If you manage to capture him again, I may overlook this incompetence." She switched off the communicator and adjusted another figure. She would re-check them all later. She knew where her father would go, of course. Not to the shuttle bay where she had told the corporal to double the guards. If escape had been his only motive, he would never have allowed himself to be captured in the first place. No, he had come to see her, and he would not leave until he had accomplished his purpose.
It would be, she decided, unwise to put off the inevitable any longer.
Slowly, she rose from her desk and moved to the door. She went to her quarters, ignoring the salutes she received on the way, coded the access panel, and entered without even bothering to turn on the lights. "Hello, Father," she said when the door had shut.
The lights came on seemingly by themselves, but when Brenna turned around, she saw her father lowering his hand from the activating sensor. "Brenna," he said.
"I thought I'd find you here," she said.
"I see that some things have changed," he said, looking at the lights.
Brenna almost smiled. "So they have."
He had no response to that, and so he just stood there and regarded her levelly. His fingers idly tapped the wall twice.
Brenna laughed. "Really, Father, there's no need for codes. My private quarters are not monitored. You may speak as freely as you like."
Luke let his hand drop to his side. His last hope lay dead.
"Aren't you going to say something?" Brenna prompted. "That is why you came here, isn't it? To lecture me?"
"No," Luke answered. "I don't think I could say anything that you haven't already heard from Rupert."
"Well, then, what do you want?"
"I've come to take you back with me."
"Request denied. I'm staying here."
"Would you kill me, then?"
Brenna looked at him for another moment, then turned away to study a painting on the wall, an expensive Gonier depicting a woman whose face was in the shadows. She had acquired it from relics Etan Lippa had been about to dispose of, only because she had liked it, and had not at the time realized its symbolic significance. "I can arrange for your escape," she said. "That's as much as I can do for you."
"I'm not leaving without you."
Brenna whirled around to face him again. "Then you'll have to be processed, just like all the other prisoners."
"Like Rupert was 'processed'?"
A dry smile crossed her features. "Not exactly. Rupert enjoyed the full VIP package. You'll have to go coach, since I have other business to attend to."
"Is that all I am to you, then? A piece of 'business'?"
"Essentially, at the moment. So which is it to be, escape or processing?"
"As I said, I'm not leaving without you."
Brenna sighed, then moved to the table. She hit the switch for the communicator. "Corporal Garm," she said.
"Yes, Administrator?" Garm's voice answered.
Brenna looked back at her father, who had not moved. "The...prisoner is in my quarters. Send a detail here immediately."
"At once, Administrator."
Brenna switched off the communicator and turned back to her father. "You still have a moment before they get here. I suggest you make use of it."
Luke shook his head. "I'm not leaving."
"You're a fool."
"I suppose I am. There was a time when I would not have believed that my daughter was capable of murder. And I thought that seeing me face-to-face, you might change your mind. I see that I was wrong, just as Rupert was. Maybe…it will mean something to you, knowing that I died trying to save you. Do with me what you will; I'm too tired to fight."
Brenna moved to the wall and touched a pad. A panel slid open, and a tray slid out bearing a bottle of expensive Denebian wine with two fine crystal goblets. Brenna opened the bottle and poured the wine. She set one of the glasses before her father. "One of the luxuries I've acquired along the way, and the only one I've time to share with you," she said, indicating the wine. She raised her goblet in his direction. "Here's to you, Father, and to as pretty a speech as I've ever heard from someone about to be processed."
Luke left the wine untouched. "I'm going coach, remember? Besides, I find that I've lost my taste for luxuries."
Brenna drained her glass. "A shame, as it really is excellent stuff. You know, it may surprise you, but I really do care about you, in my own way."
"I'm delighted. Did you also care about Rupert?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact. Are you surprised?"
"Considering the manner of his death, I would have to say yes."
The door buzzed, and Brenna turned her back to her father. "Enter," she said.
Garm burst into the quarters with a squad of guards behind him. He was obviously startled to see such a calm scene in front of him, with the wine glasses on the table and Brenna Brellis standing with her back to a man he'd already been warned was a fully-trained Jedi Knight. His blaster wavered uncertainly.
"Corporal," said Brenna, "The prisoner is to be processed immediately."
"Standard procedure?" Garm asked.
Brenna nodded. "Standard procedure." She turned to face her father for the last time. "Au revoir, Father. Give Rupert my regards."
Luke met her gaze, then looked at his escort and stepped into the center of their ring.
"Oh, Garm—" she said as they were about to leave.
"Yes, Administrator?"
"You may put the blasters away. I don't believe that the prisoner will give you any trouble."
Garm looked at her doubtfully, but he holstered his blaster. The other guards followed his example and put theirs away as well.
Brenna turned away from the door and picked up Luke's untouched glass from the table. She drained it as the doors swooshed closed behind the group. Then she smiled. "Yes," she said, holding the empty glass up to the light, "it really is excellent stuff."
.
.
.
Luke entered the gas-chamber calmly. As Brenna had predicted, he did not give the guards any trouble. He was too tired, and there was no point in it. He looked around the large chamber, and realized wryly that he was the only occupant. Hadn't he taught his daughter thrift?
A click that meant the door was being locked reminded him of what he was here for. He looked around the chamber again, found what he was looking for, and strode over to it with neither enthusiasm nor reluctance.
It was a long time in coming. Several moments passed, and nothing happened. He leaned up against the vent tiredly, using his arms as a brace. When he finally did hear the hiss of gas being released, he was almost thankful. He inhaled deeply at the vent's port once, and then again.
It was odd, he realized, but his last conscious thoughts were that the gas had a sweet, pleasant scent to it, almost like flowers in a field.
Then he lost consciousness.
