Empire's Son

by blank101

COMPLETE! Dark AU-Action/Drama. In the chaos of conflict as a Republic crumbles into an Empire, two babies are smuggled to safety to keep them safe from a Sith Emperor's attention. It will not be enough. Their lives take very different paths, one raised as the Alliance's New Hope, the other as the Empire's Son. Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, Darth Vader, Palpatine, Leia Organa

21. Chapter 21

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CHAPTER 21

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It was a slow change, a gradual awareness, like a storm front closing in, so that Luke became conscious of it only in retrospect, as the pressure built and hovered like a heat-haze in the distance, a mirage at the very edge of his perceptions, a whisper on the wind. It wasn't a threat, this tremor; wasn't the rolling rumble of distant thunder. Yet he was conscious of it in his own restlessness, in the heightened state of his own awareness which made him stare at the familiar, searching for the change that had taken place.

By dusk the following day, the whisper was a word that he couldn't quite speak, hovering on the very tip of his tongue. He'd mentioned it to no one and done nothing about it, save to mark his own restlessness, but alone now as Han, Gorn and Indo had left for the night, he found himself standing before the windows of the Red Room, the lights not yet activated, staring out over the city and listening to the stillness as he looked again for that disparity; for that variation in the familiar.

He watched for almost an hour, arms wrapped about himself, unease bringing his perceptions ever more tightly to bear… It was there, somewhere, in the mass of life that ebbed and flowed. Scattered in the static, furled within itself with delicate, precise sensitivity, it was there…waiting.

He turned abruptly and walked from the room and the apartment. Ashtor stood as Luke passed and voiced a question as to where he was going, but Luke didn't answer. It was only when he was two levels down that he realized himself; he was heading for Han's quarters. He needed to speak to Han.

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He took little-used corridors, knowing every one here; every turn and shortcut and dead end. These unused hallways were barely lit, their dark walls encroaching despite their scale, cold surfaces echoing that same subtle disturbance that grated so very slightly. Barely there but all-encompassing, it somehow contrived to hide in the shadows, though it shone like the light of day.

Lost in his thoughts, Luke didn't noticed the dark figure that stalked towards him from the opposite direction, looking up only when he was almost upon it. His step broke stride and he instantly chided himself as Darth Vader neared, mental barriers rising as he cursed his own inattentiveness. Cursed again at Vader's ability to hide his presense so completely from Luke when he so wished, aware that there was no way to avoid him now without it being an obvious capitulation, and he wasn't about to concede defeat so readily, even in this.

Each slowed as they reached the other, and Luke braced for the first volley that would inevitably come.

"What are you doing here?" Vader didn't even attempt to cloak his belligerence, though Luke was hardly threatened.

"I wasn't aware that I was required to hand over an itinerary of my every waking hour to you."

"Run back and hide behind the Emperor's throne," Vader ground out. "And whisper all that you see to him."

Luke raised his chin, smiling a dare. "Guilty conscience, Lord Vader?"

That stark, faceted helmet twitched as Vader lifted his chin. "If you have an accusation, make it to my face."

Luke smiled broadly, and started walking. He was level with him before Vader turned his huge bulk just slightly, bass voice murmuring, "You are withholding something."

Not wanting to be made to lift his head to look his antagonist in the eye, Luke took a casually measured step back. "From you? Yes. Why would I tell you anything?"

"From the Emperor."

Luke froze for fraught seconds beneath Vader's stare before he managed to drag a brittle poise about his unease, sufficient that he held that obsidian gaze without blinking, though he knew that Vader had a greater ability to read him than his Master. Despite the antipathy each of them held, for some reason, they had always been able to read each other well.

"I am watching you," Vader growled ominously. "I am not as trusting of the Emperor's toy Sith as he is. And when I catch you, it will be red-handed, and the transgression will be such that Palpatine's protection will cease on the spot."

Luke drew deep for sufficient nerve to call Vader's bluff. "You're welcome to take any facts that you have to the Emperor."

"You have secrets." Vader's gloved hand rose to point as he aimed a knowing threat. "Yourself and the Corellian pilot."

"You're making accusations against the pilot who saved your life above the Death Star, now? Or have you already conveniently forgotten that?"

"Perhaps if he had turned more of his supposed skill to the defense of the Death Star…"

"Perhaps if you'd done the same," Luke parried. "You were flying lead; the X-wing was under your sights. And don't claim empty regrets to me—you and I both know you didn't give a damn about the Death Star."

"No," Vader acknowledged without compunction. "But it could still have been made to serve the Empire's cause."

"The Emperor's," Luke corrected sharply.

"As you say so very often," Vader rumbled. "Perhaps a little too often."

Luke squared his chin. "I've no doubts about where my loyalties lie—none."

"And the Corellian?"

"Solo's past is in his personnel file. I'm sure the Emperor has read it." It was a vaguery; an irrelevant truth to dodge greater scrutiny, though even this was a gamble, with Vader.

"And so you think he simply allows Solo's presence here? He tolerates nothing less than total obedience."

"Yet you're still here."

Vader tilted his head, and Luke sensed the sneer he couldn't see as Vader threw his earlier words back at him. "You are welcome to take any facts that you have to the Emperor."

"Don't I always?" Luke started walking, wanting to end this verbal battle before it came to blows, which would see them both knelt before the Emperor, forced to validate their actions. He was three paces away before Vader's words stopped him.

"Perhaps you will do so when you speak to Palpatine about the Force disturbance tonight…or were you walking these back halls because you were on your way to speak to another first? Hardly the actions of a loyal Hand who claims he has nothing to hide."

Luke paused—and Vader's self-satisfied voice was absolutely sure. "This disturbance is connected to you."

He should laugh and walk on, Luke knew…yet he couldn't help but turn, though he gave nothing away in the tone of his voice. "Why?"

"You tell me."

"There's no reason."

Vader straightened to his full, imposing height as his satisfaction rippled outwards. "Then why did you turn?"

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Distracted and unsettled, Luke reached Han's apartment and keyed the code into the door lock, sure now that the gradually building tremor in the Force had something to do with him, though he couldn't figure out how—or why he needed to tell Han that. The door clicked free and he entered quickly, his desire to speak with Han mounting—

The apartment was silent and dark, Solo not inside.

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It had been early evening when the message had reached Han's comlink. The sky was just beginning to fade from overcast blues to true black, so that the massive slabs of dark stone which dressed the tall corridors absorbed what little light was left to render the silent hallways deeply shadowed as Han made the long, familiar walk from the kid's apartment to his own more modest quarters, his shift over. The gentle buzz of his comlink made Han frown; what the hell had the kid done this time—Han was barely three levels down, and Ashtor was already comming him. He pulled his comlink, reflecting sourly that this was a new record, even for…

It was a written message, brief, and with no return comm code: 'Meet me in two hours. Same place, alone. Try not to elevate that general disdain into a full-on grudge in the meantime.'

Han stared, wondering what the hell it meant. General distain to a full-on grudge? The next words instantly clarified the message's source: 'Chewie says hello.'

He came to a stop in the hallway, staring at the message. How the hell had she gotten his comm code? 'Same place, alone.' Why did she want to speak to him, and not Luke? What the hell was he supposed to do now? He glanced up as an unknown aide walked past him, staring. Scowling, suddenly wondering whether he'd been muttering aloud, Han picked up his walk again, eyes dead ahead.

'Same place, alone.'

Should he go? He slowed to glance behind him, wondering whether to head back to the apartment and tell Luke…then resumed the walk to his own quarters. Maybe he should just blank it and pretend he'd never received it. Yeah, a little selective technical failure seemed by far the smartest course. He lifted his comlink…and saw again, 'Try not to elevate that general disdain into a full-on grudge in the meantime.'

And it came back to him; he'd said it to Leia, of himself and Vader—that he didn't rank high enough to be worth a full-on grudge from the man, he only warranted general disdain. Han rolled his head, a smile coming to his lips in spite of himself…and slowed again, staring at his comlink.

What the hell, he could find out what she wanted. That wouldn't do any harm, right?

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The Bad Break Cantina hadn't gone up any in the world since his last visit. Every other lamp was still on the fritz, every other chair still had its fake hide ripped or written on, and the floor was still mildly tacky beneath his boots, probably from the same spillages as last time —always the sign of a classy joint.

Leia Skywalker was sitting in a booth to the rear of the big room, already watching him as he made his way through the uncaring crowds on the main floor. When he got to the table, there was a glass waiting before an empty seat. He sat and took a wary sip.

"Corellian brandy," she said. "Chewie said you'd drink it."

"Not on my pay," Han groused automatically, glancing to the Wookiee, who leaned back to fold hirsute arms across his wide chest, chuntering that maybe Solo should make the most of it then, because at that price he wasn't going to get another. Han grinned, amused at the Wookiee's offhand camaraderie.

Leia glanced down, then back to Han. She still had the damndest big brown eyes. "Thanks for coming," she said at last.

"I nearly didn't."

"I nearly didn't ask you," she admitted. "Chewie persuaded me. He thinks you're reliable, and a Wookiee is generally a good judge of character."

"Yeah?" Han lifted his eyebrows, taking her in. She didn't exactly dress to kill, wearing rough-spun layers in sandy tones, but those big tawny eyes were at once sharp and soft, and her shoulder-length chestnut hair had the kind of sheen that you could… He straightened, dragging himself back to the moment. "Actually that's true, about Wookiees. Maybe I should trust you for the same reason, since you're with one." He glanced to Chewie, tipping his head. "I'm assuming you're here by choice, and she doesn't have your mother tied up in a tree somewhere?"

Chewie hucked out a laugh as Leia tilted her head. "Well, now we've got that cleared up." She flashed a dry smile, which suited her, then glanced down. "But seriously, I'd like to think I can trust you."

"I have my moments," Han claimed. She took a breath to speak, and Han pushed quickly on before she had a field-day with that one. "You haven't seen any of them yet. How'd you get my comm code?"

"We uncovered and stole the plans of the Empire's new superweapon—you think we'd have that much trouble with a comm code?"

He took another sip and let the brandy burn enjoyably. "So what else do you know?"

"About you?" She looked him up and down appraisingly. "I know you spend way, way too many credits on uniforms, Lieutenant Solo."

"Hey, they made me spend that! And since you know me well enough to comment on my dress sense now, you should maybe call me Han."

"Han." She nodded, her brow wrinkling as her voice took on a serious tone. "What I don't understand is why you keep putting that uniform on."

He looked away, uncomfortable. "I know—at the very least, they could pay for the damn thing."

"I'm serious. How can you give those people your allegiance?"

Han glanced down, and Leia frowned, leaning in. "Or are you beginning to wonder that yourself?"

He sighed. "Maybe you're right, and I'm that simple guy in a complicated situation."

"Actually, I take it back. I think you might be that complicated man in a very simple situation."

Han toyed with his glass. "Trust me, it's the situation."

"Really? Because I'm starting to think that deep down, it's pretty clear-cut for you. What's complicated about—oh, Luke Antilles."

Han pursed his lips. "He's a good kid—despite all evidence to the contrary."

She watched him closely, dark eyes narrowing. "You really believe that, don't you?"

Han nodded just slightly. "I really do."

"So…" Those big hazel eyes held his, solemn and serious. "If I bring Master Kenobi here….will he be safe?"

Han glanced down, trying to make light of it. "On Coruscant? I'm gonna say no, actually."

Leia leaned forward and rested one delicate hand on his arm. "Han, this is…this is so important to me. Obi-Wan brought me up, he kept me safe, taught me everything. He gave so much to do that, and I don't want to let him down now."

Han sighed deeply as he looked from Leia to Chewie...even the damn Wookiee was staring at him, expectant. This was what she'd asked him here for, he realized. "Look, you gotta ask Luke that."

"I have a feeling I wouldn't get a straight answer."

"What makes you think I ever do?"

"But you know him."

"I'm not in his head! I know…" He quietened, glancing down. "I know the kid's got questions…important stuff. You're asking me to—"

"I'm asking you to help me keep a good man alive…please."

Han sighed, dragging his hands through his hair before he looked back at her. "I told you before, Luke can throw a few curve-balls, but he's basically okay."

"Basically or reliably?"

"He's…you just said that you grew up with Kenobi, right? That he's always been there for you, taught you all you know. Now imagine that had been Palpatine."

"When I look at Luke Antilles , I don't have to—and that's what scares me."

Han made a brief gesture with one hand. "I dunno. I just don't know. I can tell you that he tells the Old Man absolutely everything…but he hasn't told him this. Not any part of it. I think he's got some big stuff he needs to sort out—and I think your Obi-Wan Kenobi does, too."

"He does." She watched Han closely, sharp eyes penetrating. "But he won't tell me what."

"Well then you're just gonna have to trust 'em both, aren't you? Give 'em their space; truth's got a habit of outing."

Leia's gaze turned down to the untouched drink on the table before her, thoughtful. After long moments, she looked up at Han, an impish smile brightening her features once more. "The Old Man?"

Han shrugged, grinning. "Ol' Yellow Eyes—don't tell him I said that."

Chewie hucked a low laugh as Leia leaned back. "How in the galaxy did you end up at the Imperial palace, Han Solo?"

"Honestly?" Han grinned. "I got in a bar fight—actually, scratch that, it was Luke who got in a bar fight, I just pulled the Weequay with the vibroblade off his back."

"And that got you personal access to the most elite institution in the galaxy?"

Han glanced down, suddenly somber. "He doesn't have a whole lot of people he can trust, back there. He's pretty much brought himself up…with Old Yellow Eyes haranguing him every step of the way."

"So Palpatine raised him?"

Han felt his jaw tighten. "No, Palpatine dragged him up by alternately ignoring him and putting the fear of all hells into him. Still does, every damn chance he gets."

"But Palpatine trained him as a Sith."

Han glanced away. "He didn't want it."

She leaned forward, suddenly intensely interested. "Why do you say that?"

"I just know. Know how much it's messed him up. Palpatine's got him screwed up so tight that he can't see anything else. Can't imagine anything else."

She hesitated, thoughtful. "Do you think he'd turn his back on it, given the chance?"

Han sighed. "I don't know, Palpatine's got his claws in deep. I know he can't be what the old man wants him to be, though, even when he's ripping himself apart trying." Han let out a short, mirthless laugh, realizing it afresh as he tried to explain it to someone else. "Every single day's centered around dealing with that—how to give Palpatine what he flat-out demands without…without losing himself, I guess. But he can't see that—not yet. Sometimes you're just too close, you know?"

She stared at Han for a long time… "Do you think I could help him?"

It was the earnestness in her voice that stopped Han from dismissing her words with a rough laugh. "You?"

"Master Kenobi says...he says that the Dark Side is absolute—that once you've committed to that path, there's no turning back. I think…I can't imagine that fate is that cruel—that he's damned so young, by another's hand." She straightened slightly, voice adamant. "I won't have it."

Han had to smile. "Oh you won't, huh?"

"No."

Beside her, Chewie barked out a low caveat, placing one massive hand on Leia's shoulder like a proud uncle, and Han tipped his head. "That right? Well I should warn you, the kid's no pushover himself, either."

Leia arched her eyebrows. "I can be pretty persistent."

"Yeah? Well he can be pretty headstrong himself… obstinate, wilful…you name it. You know how most humans are made of sixty-five percent water? He's made of sixty-five percent stubborn. Doesn't mean anything, it's just a reflex action…like breathing."

Leia shook her head, short, shoulder length hair swinging to brush the top of her shoulders. "Sixty-five percent isn't that much over fifty…and fifty is just plain undecided."

"…Yeah, you tell him that."

"Well then, what's your approach?" She tilted her head as Han raised his eyes in question. "When we last spoke, you said you were trying to help him."

"Damn, you have a good memory!" Like the kid, Han realized. "It's just…it's a little more complicated than that."

"Well then, we simply have to remove the complications."

He laughed at her mettle; at the indomitable look in her eye. "You really don't take no for an answer much, do you?"

"Not unless it was the answer I wanted. If a thing's worth fighting for, then you should do it—why wouldn't you?"

Han nodded, seeing absolute sense in that, and warming to their similar viewpoints. On impulse he brought his hands, which were loosely clasped one inside the other on the table, forward, and reached out his index finger to touch the back of her hand. It was pale and cool; she had a callous on the inside of her thumb.

"I know exactly where you're coming from."

She leaned back slightly, tilting her head in that appealing way. "You know I'm a Jedi, don't you?"

"Don't let it ever be said that I put my job before my gut feelings." He grinned. "Or somewhere around there."

She arched an eyebrow. "I mean, we have certain boundaries. We don't allow emotional commitments."

Han straightened a fraction. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"C'mon…" He tried a lopsided grin as he leaned closer. "There're exceptions to every rule." She let a smile curl her lips, and Han couldn't take his eyes off them. "Y'know, like TIE pilots who help Wookiees."

"Not this rule, pilot."

He wondered whether to push it…but sat back, grinning. "You're killing me here."

"You give in that easily?" she asked, amused. "I thought you said you didn't take no for an answer."

Was that a maybe? Han leaned forward as if sharing a confidence. "Well it's kinda difficult with two meters of wary Wookiee watchin' my every move." He turned as he said it, voice raising as he stared gamely at Chewie, who loosed a purposely-toothy grin of those clean, white, big incisors. "Kinda cramps my style."

"I don't think you'd let anything do that," Leia said, in that dry, teasing tone. She stood, shimmying out of the booth. "See you around, Solo."

"Hey—you gonna bring Kenobi?"

She glanced down, suddenly solemn. "It's not up to me. All I can do is tell him what you said."

Han too, fell serious. "I think the kid deserves it—and I think Kenobi knows that, regardless of anything else. Tell him that."

Leia stared a second, but nodded without pushing it any further. "I will."

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Han returned to his quarters alternately grinning, then wanting to kick himself for being so stupid as to go—and then just talk to her, like she was anyone! What the hell had he been thinking? He shook his head; of course, he knew damn well what he'd been thinking; he'd been thinking big tawny doe eyes and a mouth that tilted appealingly when she was about to launch some deadpan rebuff with the kind of understated spirit a man could….only not, apparently. Jedi code! What the hell…where did baby Jedi come from, then? That only took his mind back to Luke and Kenobi, and Han's guilt for going at all flared afresh. He shook his head, keying the code into his apartment door and walking down the short, darkwood internal corridor. Damn palace! He was gonna paint the whole place white one day! All mile-square of it.

He hit the lights to his main room—and jumped a foot in the air because Luke was there, lounged sideways on one of the chairs, his back against one arm, legs hanging over the other.

"You're kidding me, right?" the kid said laconically, head tilted. "You have some kind of trouble radar, I swear. But whilst most other people's help keep them away from it, yours drags you towards it."

So much for telling the kid in his own good time. "Oh, you've got room to talk…and how the hell did you get in here?"

"You gave me your lock code, remember?"

"Is this like when I gave you that sixty credits that you took out of my pocket?"

"No, you actually did give me the number." The kid paused. "I knew it anyway, but still, you made the gesture. And speaking of gestures…meeting a Rebel? On Coruscant, no less?"

"What, you do it all the time."

"Yes, but I'm Sith. I can do that kind of thing and not get caught," the kid said with smooth confidence. "Plus if I did, I'd have no problem in handing said Rebel Jedi over. You, on the other hand…" Luke didn't finish the sentence, instead lifting a blue-papered spice stick from his pocket and pulling out his strike-lighter.

Han stepped forward and took it from his mouth, crumbling it between his fingers. "I thought you were off spice."

"I figured this was a special occasion." Again the kid paused. "It is a special occasion, isn't it?"

Han dragged his hand back through his hair, not even sure himself.

"You don't know? You don't know if you want to get arrested, thrown in a cell, interrogated to make sure you didn't hand anything over, then marched out in front of a firing squad?"

"That's rich coming from the guy who dragged me out to meet her in the first place."

"Oh no, you came looking for me that first time."

"And the third time—when you sent me out to meet her alone?"

Luke stood to pat his pockets, clearly looking for another spice stick. "I know, this is all my fault," he said dryly. "Naturally, I should have assumed that you'd fall for the woman who just destroyed the Empire's latest piece of multi-billion-credit technology with the loss of all aboard. What was I thinking?"

Han stared. "Fallen for her? I haven't fallen for her!"

"No? Why did you go alone?"

"She asked me to. I wanted to see what she had to say."

"That could only be said to you—on your own."

"Well you didn't exactly go out of your way to make her comfortable talking to you, last time."

"That's because I have the good sense to keep my enemies at arm's length when I'm using them. It keeps everything so much cleaner." Han glanced down, and Luke let out a disbelieving laugh. "But of course you now think I shouldn't."

"You know, she actually wants to help you," he said quietly.

"Right," the kid said. "Just like when I said I actually wanted to hear about that Baron's munitions plant. The fact that I was trying to find out whether he was sympathetic to the Rebels, didn't enter into it. Because in those kind of situations, dealing with known enemies, we all tell the truth, don't we."

"Get to Kenobi another way—not like this."

"She's the first opportunity I've had to even get close to him in ten years."

"Well then ask her! Tell her the truth and ask her!"

"Yeah, I can just imagine how that conversation would go: 'Here's the thing, see: I'd very much like to talk to the man you clearly worship about the time a few years back, when he led a military incursion into the Imperial palace to try to kill me in my sleep, so eager was he to get rid of me. Oh, and apparently he omitted to mention this to you ever, but I'm also his son. Yes, we do have something of a millennia-old vendetta going, Jedi and Sith, and yes, I'd very much like to address the fact that he's already tried to kill me once, but I hope you won't let that influence your decision as to whether or not you should take me to him'."

"If you tell her, she'll do the right thing."

"Yes—for her own Master! She's loyal to him in the same way that I'm loyal to Palpatine—don't think for a moment otherwise."

Han glanced down. "She asked me that—about you and Palpatine. I told her that it wasn't about that, it was about you needing to talk to Kenobi."

"Oh, you told her that? Tonight?"

"Yeah."

Luke's flat voice was quietly reproving. "You're now passing information about an ongoing action to a Rebel agent, you know that?"

"Ongoing action? It's not an ongoing action, it's your private business."

Kid glanced down, frowning. "Things may have changed."

"How?"

"There's a disturbance in the Force—a shift of events, like a bow-wave coming."

Han lifted his palms up, shaking his head. "What the hell does any of that sentence mean?"

"It means something's about to happen. Something so important that it's impacting on…" Luke hesitated, struggling to put something that was clearly so obvious to him, into words Han could understand. "It's going to change things sufficiently that I can already sense it happening. Whatever it is, it's already started."

Han hesitated, and Luke stepped forward. "What?"

He sighed, and looked up. "I got the feeling that Kenobi's on his way to Coruscant, now. That's what Leia wanted; she wanted to know whether she should let the meeting go ahead."

Luke straightened, eyes widening, and Han knew that he'd just filled in the final blank for the kid. "Here? Why the hell did he come here!"

"He's not here yet. Leia said—"

"This is too big. Palpatine will know…if I've sensed the disturbance then he will have, too." Luke turned about on the spot, then back to Han, increasingly agitated. "I didn't think he'd come to Coruscant…is he insane!"

"You said you wanted to meet him."

"Not here! Palpatine will…" The kid broke off, caught once again between warring loyalties; his knowledge that he should hand Kenobi over to Palpatine and…and what?"

"You don't want to hand Kenobi over, do you?"

"If Palpatine becomes involved, Kenobi's dead—instantly. For the first damn time ever, I'm doing something that I want to do—that I need to do! I won't get this chance again. Even if I handed him over to Palpatine alive, I wouldn't get this chance."

Even if…Han straightened, realization crawling under his skin. Until now, he'd assumed that Luke had wanted to do exactly what he would want to do in this situation; to shout, to demand answers, maybe even accuse, but…his memory dredged up Luke's claim to Leia:

'I've no intentions of hauling Kenobi before the Emperor to answer for his crimes, I assure you. If he ever stands before my Master, it won't be my doing.'

Luke wouldn't have told a direct lie to a Jedi; that was how this worked—how the kid had taught Han himself: misdirection, not lies… And both of the scenarios the kid had named to Leia required that Kenobi be alive.

"You're gonna try to kill him, aren't you? Is that what this is about?"

Luke looked away, jaw set. "There's no try about it."

Han stared for long seconds… "You won't do it. I don't believe you could."

The kid straightened, resolve written in his every move…but it was half-front and Han knew it, though that only seemed to make Luke angrier. "Think of it as following in my father's footsteps—he seemed more than capable of coming after me when I was eleven."

"Even if you did, how would you explain that to the Emperor?"

"If he'd met me away from Coruscant, as any sane man would have done, it wouldn't have been a problem! Now he's come here…" Luke paused. "I'll tell Palpatine everything—after the event. If Palpatine finds out Kenobi's here, he won't even let me close."

Han shook his head, thoughts on what he'd said to Leia, as well as the stupidity of Luke going against Palpatine's wishes in this—not on killing Kenobi; he didn't believe Luke would do that, not when it came down to it. But the kid had said often enough that the Old Man went insane if he even mentioned Kenobi's name, let alone admitted that he'd purposely deceived Palpatine for the express intention of speaking to him. "That won't be enough, and you know it. You said yourself that this is the one thing…" Han broke off as that cold, creeping comprehension rolled up his spine again in realization of Luke's hope to offset the Old Man's fury: I'll tell Palpatine everything. "You're actually thinking of handing Leia over to Palpatine, aren't you?"

Luke looked down without speaking, and Han felt his anger rise. "You said you'd let her go."

"I can't protect her—not now that she's brought Kenobi here."

"Hells, Luke, there are some things you just don't do!"

"No, there are some things you don't do. This is exactly what I do, I made no bones about that, ever. I would have helped her if I could—for you—but I can't, not now. I should have handed her over a long time ago, we both know that…but I held back. This is why you shouldn't get involved; this is why you never get involved. You just smile and you fake it, but you don't ever let them in."

Han straightened. "Does that include me too?"

"You're putting me on the spot?" Luke asked. "For doing my duty?"

"No, I'm putting you on the spot for doing as you're ordered without bothering to think for yourself. Without bothering to look at the consequences. That's why you don't let people in—it's so much easier to do whatever you're told that way, right?"

"I'm not going to apologize for living up to the expectations placed on me by the Emperor."

"Is that what you thought about Toprawa?"

Luke's eyes narrowed, injured at the accusation. "You think I regret it? I don't. I regret your involvement, but Bria Tharen was a Rebel and a traitor…just like Leia."

"You're serious, aren't you?" Han asked, incredulous. "You need to take a good long look at yourself and what you're doing in your precious Emperor's name."

"No, Lieutenant, you do." The kid straightened, on the defensive. "You need to stand in front of a mirror and take a look at that uniform you're wearing…and try to live up to it. Since you're so damned determined to teach me some principles, the least you could do is have a few of your own."

Han blinked, shocked…and fury soon followed. "That's it, I'm done with this. I'm done with this whole place and I'm sure as hell done with you."

"Well then get out."

"Get out? Fine, how's this: I quit! I'm done."

"Get out!"

Han wheeled about and strode out without once looking back, ignoring the fact that it was his apartment, or the way that the door slammed home on its runners as only Luke had the ability to make them do.

He marched down dour corridors in furious silence, jaw clamped, lips a thin line. He'd had it—he'd had it with the kid, with this whole crazy place. Let them court-martial him, he didn't care! Anything would be better than this. He paced for a few minutes more before turning about and heading out of the palace, intending to make his way on foot to the Shades. Let anyone dare try to mug him tonight…just let 'em try!

It took him a half-hour of walking, one block out and ten blocks down at a time, to clear his head sufficiently that he slowed to a halt, looking about. Damn, he needed a drink! He glanced about to orient himself, and was far enough down from the higher levels that the cantinas here were a mix of mid and low-level, populated by beings looking to have some fun or ply their trade without trouble. There were enough cantinas and tapcafes to have a choice, many of which Han knew well by now, so he passed the first, which was too classy, and the second, which was way too loud, and entered the smoke-filled main room of the third, walking straight to the busy bar and catching one of the barstaff's eye.

"Corellian ale…in fact, make it a chaser."

"With?"

"Armanth. Double."

Flicking her lekku behind her back as she glanced briefly at his uniform, the Twi'lek pulled the ale with professional ease, turning to lift an ornate bottle from the shelf as the ale glass filled, so that ale and chaser arrived together.

"That'll be nine-sixty."

An older man serving behind the bar stepped up as she held out her hand. "S'okay, Sinda," he glanced to Han. "These are on the kid in the corner. Your lucky night."

Confused, Han glanced through the crowd…and sitting on a stool against the wall, a loose half-smile on his face, was Luke.

Han turned back to the bar for a moment, glaring at his drink…then he shook his head wryly and rolled his eyes skyward, before gathering his drinks and heading toward him. "I don't believe it. How the hell did you get here?"

"I walked, like you did."

"I mean how did you know I'd come to…you know what, don't even bother to answer that." He downed his short, swallowing a few times against the fire which burned a hot trail into his stomach, before looking at the kid again. "You are an absolute asshole sometimes, you know that?"

"I do."

"You treat people like dirt..."

"I know."

"You mess with their heads."

"I do."

"You continually try to push 'em away,"

"True."

"Then just when they think they're finally getting to understand you, you explode in their faces."

"I know."

"And quit just agreeing with me an' grinning."

Calming a little, Han glanced down, unable to stay mad when the kid was giving on everything he said. Sighing, he shook his head. "Why d'you do it, huh? You let people get so close, then you just…"

"Freak out."

"Exactly!"

"I know."

"Stop agreeing with me!"

The bartender leaned over the bar to catch Luke's attention. "Hey—the officer's ale and chaser…that's nine-sixty."

Luke glanced back to Han. "Can I borrow some credits?"

.

.

It was near dawn by the time they got back to the palace, the soft, frost-laden light setting a serene haze to the massive structure's steep angles and looming bulk as it disappeared into the low clouds, its unremittingly dark blue stone softened to a misted indigo.

The comlink on the kid's belt buzzed, and he ignored it, instead turning to Han. "I was thinking…"

"About the fact that you owe me nine credits sixty?" Han joked loosely.

"What you said—about your leaving." There was no smile on the kid's face this time. Instead he hesitated for long seconds… "You were probably right; you should."

"…What?"

"You should go—leave. I can get you a full discharge, and you could go where you want. Start again and…"

"Wait a minute, why would I go?"

Luke's head turned briefly to Han, though he wouldn't meet his eyes. "Why would you stay?"

His comlink buzzed again, and this time Luke lifted it to look at the ID, then turned it off.

Han frowned. "Are you gonna answer that?"

"No, it's just Indo. If you left now, you could—"

"I'm not leaving. That was just you driving me insane."

"You have to go." There was something determined and desperate in the kid's voice. "You can't stay here any longer."

"You're kidding, right?" Han dismissed. "I haven't gotten nearly my credits' worth outta these uniforms. They haven't even stopped itching yet."

The kid wouldn't be cajoled. "I'm serious. I shouldn't have brought you here in the first place. People…they don't stay with me very long—or they don't stay in one piece."

"Gorn stays, and he's in one piece."

Luke half-smiled. "You think I'd've come out here after Gorn? And before you start defending him, I know there's nothing wrong with Gorn, he's just…I don't even know his first name."

"Therne."

"Really? Actually, that kinda suits him." Luke shook his head. "The point is, I'll have forgotten that tomorrow."

"No, you won't. Indo's endless hours of tutoring—you remember everything."

"No, I remember things that are useful—things of value. Therne, I'll forget…and that's the point. Haven't you worked it out yet, Han? Or did you just not listen, no matter how many times they all told you—because they're right. I'm…" he laughed sourly, "I'm a dangerous man to know."

Han came to a stop. "No, you're not—Palpatine is. And he's just as dangerous to you as everyone else. Remember that."

"I can take care of myself."

Always that mantra; wouldn't let anyone else even try. "How, by doing whatever the Old Man tells you? 'Cos it seems to me like you've been doin' that for a long time now…and how's that working out?"

Luke shook his head. "You can't…you can't say things like that. Things like that make people disappear. I can't protect you—not from him."

"Luke, d'you want to be that guy who just does whatever the hell he's ordered for the rest of his life? You've spent years with all these damn tutors, learning all this stuff, and in everything they've taught you, they haven't taught the one thing you actually need—they haven't taught you to think for yourself."

"I'll be out of here inside a year."

"No, you won't, you'll never be out of here, 'cos you'll just carry it with you wherever you go. And don't tell me that's not so bad, because we both know the truth. You want me to leave? I'll let you in on a secret: I can't wait to go…when you come with me."

"You know I can't do that."

"You stay here and you're dead."

"So are you."

Han frowned…and the military comlink at his belt chose that moment to buzz an incoming comm. He lifted it—Indo. "Yeah?"

Even on the comm, the Viscount oozed disdain. "May I assume that you are presently with Luke, Lieutenant Solo?"

"Uhhh…"

At least he didn't wait for the excuse.

"Please inform him that the Emperor issued a command almost an hour ago, summoning Luke to his presence immediately."

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Having no spice on him, Luke was forced to make a brief detour to his own apartment before he felt ready to answer the summons, though he knew it would delay him further, and had no idea what Han would say when he reappeared with it. As Luke entered, thoughts on what he'd say to Han, Gorn stepped from the cluttered staffroom beside the door, his face somber. For a second Luke stared, wondering why he was here at all, at this hour. Gorn remained still, face solemn—and Luke glanced down the long corridor and into the three-room enfilade which led to his own rooms, knowing…

At the end of the last room, standing to either side of the mirrored doors, were two Red Guard.

Royal Guards, here; Luke's heart skipped a beat, skipped another. His Master rarely deigned to come down here, invading the one safe haven that Luke had. Was he here now to find out why his summons had been ignored for over an hour…or did he know something? Anything—everything. Was this a dangerous accusation, or a simple reprimand?

He faltered to a stop as Gorn still stared, pointedly avoiding announcing the Emperor's presence, so that Luke could have simply turned and walked from his apartment; avoided this entirely. On Palpatine's order, he no longer left himself visible within the Force—his Master wouldn't know he was standing at the doors to his own apartment right now.

But he'd pick it out of Gorn's head if he had to wait too long, and so Gorn would face his wrath—and for nothing, because even if Luke managed to get out of the palace right now, he'd have to come back eventually.

Beside Luke, Han slowed, eyes on Gorn. "What the hell are you doin' here at…"

He trailed off, seeing the Royal Guard.

Luke pursed his lips and nodded once in unspoken thanks to Therne, then walked on towards the mirrored divide, knowing Palpatine was waiting beyond its broken reflections.

.

At the end of the enfilade in the Red Room, Indo turned from where he stood to one side, stock-straight, hands clasped tightly together, face dour. His glare went immediately to Han, probably already suspecting that something was going on, and believing that Han would be involved somehow—in fact, he likely believed that Han was instigating it once again, despite Luke's repeated dismissals. He had, of late, become a niggling voice in Luke's ear, taking any opportunity to cite Han's insubordination his flagrant disregard for authority as dangerous examples to follow, with only one eventual outcome.

Luke hesitated, glancing back to Han, voice a quiet murmur. "Wait here."

"I'm coming in."

"No, too much is fresh in your mind."

"I can—"

"Not this time. Not with him." Luke quickly took the civilian comlink from his pocket and handed it over to Han, looking to give him something to do, to stop the argument that was already forming on his lips. "Here. If it sounds, it'll be Leia. Tell her I'll meet wherever she wants, tonight." He hesitated at Han's misgivings. "I won't hand her over."

"What'll you tell Palpatine?" Han asked quietly, eyes on the Royal Guard.

Luke didn't reply but walked on, thoughts on exactly that, given his words to Han. He reminded himself afresh to play the game his Master had taught him by so many harsh examples: never lie. Lies are easy to detect. Always tell the truth, just never the facts.

A few days' delay, that was all. Once he'd spoken with Kenobi, he'd tell his Master everything—save Han's involvement. But if Palpatine pulled the truth from Luke now, he'd refuse him the opportunity to go after Kenobi; deny him any contact, Luke knew that.

If he held silent now, and went to face Kenobi alone then yes, he would pay, he would be punished. But it would be too late for his Master to change anything or forbid him. It would be done. He would have faced his father.

Whatever the cost, it was worth that.

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.

.

The high doors swept open in silence, and Luke entered the unlit room, turning immediately to the bank of windows which looked out over the dawning city, knowing that was where his Master stood.

Dressed in dark vermillion robes, a wide cowl of figured velvet hiding his features, Palpatine didn't turn, eyes and attention remaining on the sprawl of the ecumenpolis below.

The doors closed as Luke knelt in genuflection in the empty room, deeply uneasy at his Master being here in his one safe haven, and waited…

And waited. Palpatine remained still, his back to Luke, the heavy train of his ruby robes pooled at his feet.

Was he waiting for Luke to offer something? Guilt-ridden panic began to slowly congeal in the pit of his stomach. Was he being given on last chance to tell Palpatine everything, now? Did he give up this one chance, this only chance—because that was what it would be, if he told his Master; Kenobi would be found and killed in short order, and Luke's only opportunity to ever put his past to rest would be gone.

And he couldn't give that up…wouldn't.

Head lowered, he felt a spear of regret at the realization that he hadn't had spice in over a week. He should have taken it; stupid, to listen to Solo. If he'd not stopped, he would likely have known no more of the disturbance than the vague awareness that his Master had, so that when he faced him now, Luke wouldn't even have had to lie. Wouldn't have had to worry what he could and couldn't hide from his Master when—

Luke's thoughts paused as he wondered, quite suddenly and for the first time, whether that dangerous, deep-buried knowledge that his Master's attunement was not as finely balanced as his own, could actually save him…because it afforded him more subtle control; the ability to hide beneath even his Master's close scrutiny. His heart missed a beat, then pounded in his chest, at the very notion…

Without turning Palpatine spoke, grating voice low and demanding. "What has happened?"

His tone was distant and distracted, but no less the threat for it. Again the knowledge of what he was considering beat against Luke's resolve—but the words came from him without conscious thought. "I don't know, Master."

"But something has happened…and you did not think to come to me?" Luke lowered his head further in silence, and Palpatine continued quietly, as if considering. "I sense a disturbance in the Force…fractured and diffuse."

The muscles of his back twitched involuntarily as Luke struggled to suppress the desire to automatically raise further shields in place, instead working to veil only the thoughts and memories of speaking with Leia, knowing that her presence was what his Master had sensed.

"It is not the first time I have sensed this disturbance." His Master turned, the pallid glow of dawn rendering his raised cowl a hollow pit from which sulphurous yellow eyes gleamed brightly. "And it is, therefore, not the first time that you have sensed it."

Luke glanced down, then immediately made himself meet his Master's eyes. They narrowed, the rustle of heavy cloth marking a sideways tilt of his head, as his Master regarded him. "And so what did you see, my little blue-eyed boy?"

He blinked, mind racing to pitch logic against long-ingrained fears. What did his Master know, and what was nothing more than vague words which Luke read his own guilt into?

He was so close—so close to speaking with his father, to asking him why. Why he'd deserted his son. Why, knowing Luke was alive, he'd still abandoned him here, to this. So close to the truths that had been withheld, to the answers he'd craved for as long as he could remember…

Han's words still rang fresh in his mind: "You've spent years with all these damn tutors, and in everything they've taught you, they haven't taught the one thing you actually need—they haven't taught you to think for yourself."

He straightened his back, sure that his Master must be able to hear the pound of his heart. He'd never lied to him—not like this, face to face. He hadn't even done that with the Death Star. He'd made his report while still onboard the Vendetta, and had never been asked to re-state any of it—never been given the the chance to offer validations or caveats. Palpatine had been far beyond listening to anything, by the time Luke reached Coruscant to face him. To face him…did he risk that fury again, now, for abstract answers that should no longer even matter?

He stared into his Master's eyes. Just in this—only this once, in this…

"Nothing, Master—I saw nothing." It was said too quickly and he knew it, his shock at his own daring throwing him off-center.

"No?" Palpatine stepped forward and leaned down to take Luke's chin in his hand, using the motion to prompt him to stand. Luke rose, his Master's hand still holding him lightly, something that had always unsettled him. Palpatine smiled just slightly, leaning forward. "Then why are you afraid, child?"

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.

.
Even touching the boy's face, Palpatine could sense nothing in the Force, and momentarily regretted his order just months ago, that the boy should conceal his presence. He could of course rescind that order, but to do so now would have been an admission both of an error in ordering the boy to do such in the first place, and of his own inability to read him now. Still, he needed no Force contact to see the slight widening of the boy's eyes, or feel him shrink back from his Master's hand.

He wasn't blind. He knew the boy had the potential to be more powerful than himself. Power was a wonderful gift, given to be used, and under his careful tutelage the boy had learned to do just that, left from childhood to hold his own against the likes of Vader. And he was certainly coming of age—even Vader had noticed that…or rather, had fallen prey to it, in their recent duel. Yes, despite his reluctance to use them, the boy's sporadic powers had begun to expand and develop, of late. And it was an interesting conundrum, for Palpatine…because much as he'd thought that he had wanted this—wanted the boy to finally realize his potential to serve—in fact he'd found that the more the boy's abilities expanded, the less sure Palpatine had become…the more threatened.

But then power itself wasn't everything. Palpatine prided himself on the knowledge that he was an exemplary tactician, a consummate manipulator…and he was confident that it was this that gave him the edge over the boy, just as it had with his father, when Anakin was still at the height of his power. Though his methods, of course, were very different this time.

In this instance, what was important was not the power Palpatine held, but his willingness to use it. Like training a wild nek, one had to be always ready to demonstrate one's dominance. Obviously the animal was stronger and faster, the clear advantage held, but if a trainer owned it from infancy and had never hesitated to use force to demonstrate what was, at that time, his own superior strength, then such lessons were written deep into the creature's psyche, and the trainer's willingness to take any opportunity to underline and reinforce those beliefs maintained such perceptions, despite changing circumstances.

And so the boy now stood, wide-eyed and nervous, eager to please and deferring completely to his Master's will…as it should be. As it had been with Maul, before him. Anakin…Anakin had been the exception to the rule, and proof of its efficacy; had he held Anakin from childhood, had he trained the young boy's mind and honed his body and his skill, then he was confident that the duel at Mustafar would have come to a very different conclusion, and Anakin's power would have remained intact. As it was…Vader knew no more of what this present Force-disturbance was than Palpatine did.

It had been deeply gratifying in so many ways, that Anakin had lost all that had set him above Palpatine…but deeply galling, too. Because at the time, with that power gone, Palpatine had wondered where he could possibly turn, to recreate it…

He smiled at the boy. "Tell me all that you see?"

"Master?"

"Now." Palpatine kept his voice quiet; one did not need to shout, to convey a demand. "Tell me what you see, right now."

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.

Still wary, Luke closed his eyes and opened his mind, answering instantly the command in his Master's voice.

The flow of the Force rushed like a river around him. A thousand images: the minds and thoughts and intentions of those close by. The grating presence of his Master just steps away; the absolute confidence, the simmering resentment which Luke knew he fired by his very presence, which he'd never quite understood. It came like a tide about him as he cast his mind outwards, a flood of information and awareness which he immersed himself within, allowing it to saturate his senses without picking any single course to follow. "I see…nothing. Nothing specific."

Cool fingers slid down about his throat without tightening, as his Master's voice came in a whisper.

"Look closer."

Falling further back within its embrace, Luke tilted his head, attuning himself to the myriad of feelings and emotions which resonated within the Force; snatches of thoughts and memories tumbled briefly in crystal clarity then fell back into the flow as he released them, widening his senses, but without truly looking for traces or allusions. "There's nothing. People, moments…"

"Look closer."

His Master's voice, as much sensed as heard now. He saw himself, briefly, through his Master's eyes. Sensed the complex mix of greed and antipathy which had pushed the grasping hand to slide lightly from his chin and rest about his throat…

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Palpatine loosed an open-lipped smile, appreciative of the power he sensed being wielded, finally seeing the potential he'd always known should exist, from the very first time he'd seen that seven-year-old boy, eyes wide, knowing in a way that no child ever should that his life was unravelling because of the dark-dressed man standing before him. Years of careful manipulation had been invested, praise and punishment both, into controlling the boy absolutely, and now…now he was finally seeing all of that power and potential come to fruition.

He watched, fascinated, aware of the connection that the boy harnessed so naturally, just as his father had once done, an attenuation which surpassed any before, developing more every day, now. It had always drawn him, this locus of power; had always filled him with pride that he had guided it, and resentment that he himself did not hold it. He stepped in, the only sound of his movement the whispering drag of heavy fabric, as he paused before the boy.

"Look closer," he murmured, pushing him on for no other reason now than to see the extent of his power.

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.

Luke frowned, spurred into refining the connection ever more precisely, though he let it slide unnoticed past the disturbance itself—he didn't want to see it; didn't want to sense it. Instead he pushed further, looking to hide the omission with escalating contact in an ever-widening field. The Capital, the continent, the planet…

The slightest tremor of a breath touched his face, and abruptly Luke was aware of Palpatine, so close that he could sense the old man's breath on his cheek, feel cold fingertips touch lightly against the fine hairs on his face—

He pulled back, awareness returning in a rush of incandescent intensity, incredible synthesis centered on a single spot, a single point of awareness…

…and he saw.

For a fraction of an instant, everything was clear, everything was lucid, everything remained in focus, from the single breath of an old man to the turning of a galaxy…

That background scratch, that he sensed occasionally at the very edge of his heightened senses; a presence completely familiar yet somehow removed, a fraction displaced, a shade offset. That nebulous feeling of fractured familiarity, like a well-known tune in the wrong key.

He jerked just slightly, and his Master was there instantly, pushing for more. "What do you see?"

"Nothing—it's not the disturbance. It's…"

A building, hunched and stark against a darkened sky of roiling clouds. Musty corridors, cold and empty. A secret, long-hidden in the dark of dour corridors and dusty rooms.

"Look closer…"

Obeying without thinking, Luke focused on it; completely, intently, every fraction of power turned to it…

"Tell me." His Master's voice, from far away.

"A corridor…very long and very dark. Well hidden."

"Where is it?"

"Very close…and very far away."

"Which?"

"Both. In the center of everything." He sensed the frustration flare in his Master, but they both knew that Force visions were never as simple as sight alone.

"Where does it lead?" hissed Palpatine.

"I don't know. It's barred."

"Physically?"

"And mentally."

Palpatine frowned, frustration curling into annoyance, which gnawed within Luke's awareness. "Break the bars"

Luke blanched. "I can't."

"Why?"

"I…shouldn't, I don't think."

"Why?"

"I don't know—but I shouldn't breach this." He knew it absolutely; this was forbidden territory.

His Master's frustration bored into him. So much of Palpatine was visible to Luke in this heightened state, so he sensed with shared clarity the shadow of uncertainty which rippled down his Master's spine to settle like a cold weight within. Sensed his Master's knowledge that something was wrong; something closed in about him, perfectly hidden. "Break the bars."

"They're too strong."

"You haven't tried."

"I can't." The answer—the knowledge—was categorical.

Palpatine gritted his teeth. "Then find another way in. Subtlety, subterfuge. Find a way."

"I can't."

"Do as I tell you!"

Luke sensed the distant shock which ran through his body from his Master's hand, but he was too detached, too widely spread within the Force, for the physical to be real. Only the demand remained. And he could do this, he knew; could force his way in, or could creep around and through defenses that were near-perfect. Because near-perfect was imperfect…

With effortless, innate dexterity, he scattered himself lighter, ever more delicate, ever more elusive, until the solid became insubstantial—or perhaps that was himself.

Passing so subtly that it was without even a tremor, he paused, taking measure. A memory—a knowledge, as expertly hidden as the building which crouched, squat and dark and foreboding. Endless halls, dim and unused…a room. Technology; automated, ongoing. The precise, synchronized tack of mechanical movement, the steady, regulated hubbub of air in fluid…and everywhere, a dark, intense red. Every surface in this place; in this one room. "Underground," he said at last, though it was more a general awareness than the image coalescing. "It's underground, enclosed…technology…air in water." He heard that sound distinctly, the low babble of bubbles in liquid—smelled the tang of medically sterilized fluid.

It hit him again with an almost physical force: "I shouldn't be here."

"Why? Show me what you sense." His Master's voice, clipped by impatience.

That familiar weight, that inevitable blunting burden as his Master climbed inside his thoughts…then something twisted. His awareness seemed to turn within itself and inside out, ripping violently away to leave Luke gasping.

"What happened? " His Master shook him as Luke struggled against the shock. "Answer me!"

"I don't…it was you—the connection broke apart because of you. I shouldn't have been there anyway." Why did he keep repeating that—why did he feel a surge of guilt dragging him down, that he'd refined the vision, even at his Master's command? What stood equal to that? Because something had. Some conviction had pushed with equal influence, and even now had the power to hold him to silence.

"What did you see?"

"I didn't…I didn't see anything, Master."

"You said you saw technology…air in water."

Luke searched, one thought still clear-cut —perhaps because it wasn't a part of the vision itself, but connected with it, in some fundamental way. "You knew…you knew that something was wrong; something closed in, hidden."

Immediately his Master's hold slackened, eyes becoming distant. "I sensed…some spectre that hovered, unseen." That strong hand loosed him entirely and Palpatine brought it to his own throat, as if feeling some invisible force tighten there. "Something comes…something stalks, wrapped about with a pitch black cloak of—"

Ocher eyes flicked open as Palpatine paused, and Luke knew instantly who his Master suspected. He'd sensed all that his Master had; the vaguest awareness of a distant threat, indistinct as shadows shifting on the tides of a night sea, whilst changing events ebbed and flowed about it.

But then his Master had never needed the tangible; suspicions were sufficient to push him to conclusions. "Perhaps the man who has served me for so long, now covets the throne for himself."

"Then remove him." All else was momentarily forgotten beneath the chance to gain this. What had begun as a vague hope to distract from Leia Skywalker's presence, had taken on greater import with the opportunity to bring down Vader. "You said you'd give me this—this chance to face him."

"When you were ready."

"I'm ready now, Master—let me prove it."

Palpatine brought one pale hand back to Luke's cheek as if in affection. "You are a good child."

If he'd dared, he would have knocked his Master's hand away, frustrated by the epithet that he hadn't yet managed to shrug free of, and Palpatine knew it. As it was, he shook his head, voice halfway between appeal and demand. "I'm not a child. Let me prove it—let me duel him!"

Palpatine raised his wrinkled brow, his words harsh though his sense was almost indulgent. "And if he took your head from your shoulders? Years of work, spent moulding something of value from the crude little creature that came here, would have been wasted."

"His only advantage is strength, and I'd pick my arena. I'd never be fool enough to fight him in an enclosed space—you taught me better than that. Master, this is connected—this is all connected, I can sense that." Whatever Vader had seen when he'd claimed earlier that the disturbance was connected to Luke, he was wrong—it had been Vader; this was all connected to Vader!

Palpatine's eyes narrowed. "What do you sense, that makes you see this?"

Without thinking, Luke turned his awareness outward, an expansion without check, cast widely and aggressively, searching for the nuance that had made him so sure. Instantly he found something new in the subtle undercurrent of the Force about him, and grasped for it.

It existed scattered within the space between awareness and intuition…he tilted his head, searching to single out that mote in the storm, that flaw in the uniform…

He sensed Leia's presence at a distance; knew it distinctly, an unmistakeable fusion of compassion and boldness. Something within him warmed at it, but he pushed it aside, focusing past it and through it…a second presence separated out, distinct and enigmatic, almost perfectly concealed, even to him—and Luke knew with a terrible realization who it was. He withdrew hastily, dropping a fog over his thoughts. A brief moment; a flicker of awareness as an old man's voice, tinged with amicable bemusement, sounded a future echo: "I can tell you everything…everything that's been withheld."

Luke opened his eyes, staring at his Master for long moments…

"What did you see?" That rasping grasp; an instant, avaricious demand.

Kenobi was here, now. Luke remained still, the moment convulsive with possibilities…

"It's gone." He lied directly to Palpatine. Looked his Master in the eye and lied to him. "It's gone, now, whatever it was. Vader's connected though, I know it."

His Master's gaze held for long seconds, something sinister in his stillness. And Luke stayed silent, held centered, a thousand shields in place as he looked to his Master without blinking…

And finally Palpatine smiled, pale lips against stained teeth, and once more asked the only question that had ever seemed to hold any true relevance to him. The only thing he had ever required of Luke: "Will you always be my servant, child?"

Luke scanned his Master's face, needs and desires skewing wildly again as he considered all that he wanted…to see Kenobi, to stand face to face with him and ask his father why he had deserted him—to look him in the eyes as he said it. To demand why he'd been abandoned in favor of his father's precious cause, his Rebellion. To ask him why he'd been so willing to murder his own flesh and blood when Luke was still a child, when it was Kenobi's fault—his fault—that Luke had come to serve the other side of his war. How many nights as a child had he laid awake, cold and trembling and lost, with those thoughts racing through his mind? How many times as he'd faced his Master's vicious temper, had he wondered why his father had discarded him so completely? How many questions burned…

One chance…one chance to ask and find the truth. Answers that only his father would know, closure that only Kenobi could give. And hadn't his Master always taught that one should use any means to gain what one needed?

He let out the breath he'd held in frozen lungs and locked chest; forced the barest hint of a smile to his lips as he held his Master's gaze. "I'll always be as you made me, Master. Everything that I am, I am because of you."

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Standing to tense attention as he waited for either the Emperor or Luke to walk from the enfilade, Indo became aware that Solo, still standing to the far side of the big, austere room, was watching him. He turned briefly, and the Corellian's chin lifted a fraction, eyes narrowing.

Indo turned away with studied disinterest, his thoughts on the boy rather than Solo. He'd been aware since Toprawa that something had been going on between the two, some secret that they kept to themselves, and was growing less patient by the day with it. Solo was a wayward influence on Luke, when Indo had worked so hard to bring him this far. He knew now what the Emperor's intention was; that Solo would be tolerated here for just this test, to see whether Luke would learn to turn his back of his own accord. As a consequence, Indo had remained silent, knowing that the Emperor would wish no compromise of his test…but it was difficult, as the boy fell ever more under Solo's influence. Turning back, Indo became aware from the Corellian's tenseness that something was wrong tonight—more so than usual—and curious as to why Luke hadn't taken Solo in with him. Perhaps he knew of the Emperor's muted dislike of the man.

Realizing that he was under scrutiny, Solo turned to stare at Indo again, then looked slowly away to walk to the wide span of windows, where dawn was beginning to soften the sky to the gray tones of early morning. He didn't try to speak to Indo about Luke's role here any more, present or future; he knew such pointless complaints would fall on deaf ears.

The comlink in Solo's hand—the one that Luke had quickly given him—sounded a chime, and he strode quickly from the room, bringing it to his mouth. Indo listened to his receding footsteps and murmured words as he walked the full length of the enfilade, probably specifically to be sure that Indo couldn't hear what was said.

To the majority—Solo included—Indo knew he was considered a cold, calculating man of acute, even blinkered focus, who pushed his charge to the very limits. He didn't particularly care—their opinions were unimportant. For himself, Indo had found a mission in life, one that coincided with the goals of the Emperor himself, no less, and that was to make Luke Antilles all that he could be. If it was necessary to push the boy for that, then yes, he would do so—without hesitation.

But despite all the steps that Indo had taken to prevent it, it seemed that Luke was growing away from him now. Solo was getting too close, sufficiently so that Indo was beginning to feel his own influence slip, and he hadn't invested so much for so long, to see his labor lost now simply because some wayward ex-pilot had elbowed his way into Luke's life, causing him nothing but grief along the way. There was clearly more that had happened during that fateful day of the Death Star's destruction, for instance. Indo wasn't blind—and he certainly wasn't stupid. Solo's influence here was becoming dangerous…to Luke, and therefore to all of Indo's intentions for the boy. And that alone was reason to remove him.

All this upheaval, for the sake of one more lesson… The boy had been exposed to many over the years, and it had always been left to Indo to pick up the pieces, as it would be this time after Solo's removal, he was sure. Though it had become easier over the years, as Luke had learned not to leave himself vulnerable…which left Indo all the more baffled that the boy should choose to do so now.

What particular lesson had been taught with the Emperor's customary clinical efficiency on the day that Luke had first been handed over into Indo's care, he did not know; to this day, Luke would not speak of it. But at the time, the sight of the traumatized child who had withstood four long years of vindictive maltreatment had fired something within Indo which had been impossible to ignore.

By this time, Indo's own son, the reason for his existence and the center of his plans for so long, was dead. Everything, everything that he had centered his life on, was gone in an instant, in the space of a lost breath. All his work, all his ambitions for Dubrail, endless years of tireless coaching and schooling and advancing. All gone…

Eleven months. Eleven months he lived in a gray and empty world, adhering to hollow duties…

Until he had been summoned to a private audience with the Emperor, and once again been given a direction. The Emperor had even commiserated with Indo for his loss. Had commended the way in which he had always sought to guide his son's future; channel the boy's potential. Could he do it again, Palpatine had asked? Could he take another charge, and turn raw potential into realized capability? Could he start tonight?

The child delivered to Indo later that night was completely unresponsive—so much so that he had summoned a medic for fear that the boy had sustained an injury or suffered some kind of seizure. Luke was taken to the Palace medicenter where he remained locked in this still, impassive state for days, reacting to nothing, neither eating nor drinking despite his malnourished state.

So it had been Indo who first coaxed words from the silent, slight, malnourished child. Indo who had lifted him, feather-light, skin and bone, back into the bed which he would always crawl beneath when left alone. Had quietly removed the small hoards of food he would hide about his rooms for fear of being starved again. Had rearranged the furniture of his bedroom again and again, when the boy was strong enough to begin to drag it into the corner to make a makeshift hide-away, night after night. Had gradually tried to direct the uncannily silent, insular child back to a more balanced state.

It was a long time coming, but within that tolerance came acceptance—a connection.

The turning point, strangely enough, had been the annual ceremony to commemorate the Emperor's accession, and though it was only months after he'd been delivered to Indo, Palpatine had decreed that Luke would attend. The boy had been outside only once in the last four years, and that had been only five months earlier when, dressed in new clothes and practically dragged by Palpatine from the Throne Room to the Great Hall which led out onto the long stretch of the Pageant Balcony, he had been hauled, struggling mutely, into the wide open space and the bright light of day. The crowds which had been waiting in their thousands on the terraces far below for their Emperor's appearance, had loosed a mutual roar of recognition which had cut the air like the rumble of thunder, prolongued and deeply intimidating in its scale—all the more so at this distance, where their numbers blurred into a sprawling, crawling mass as they surged forward.

Luke had stood frozen on the balcony for less than a minute, gripped tightly the whole time by the Emperor. When he'd finally been allowed back into the Hall his nerve had failed him and he'd crumpled against the wall, hunching forward as he'd heaved short, wracked breaths which shook his whole frame. Like everyone else Indo had glanced, just once, to the disturbed child, wondering at the Emperor's actions—because they would have had a purpose.

But he'd done nothing more—nobody ever did.

Now, he found himself responsible for the boy's second steps into daylight in four years. New, tailored clothes befitting his station were ordered, boots were measured and fitted, his wild hair cut short. Nothing elicited any reaction.

By Indo's nervous arrangement, a tracker had been sewn into the lining of the boy's shirt, and another placed in the heel of his boot, in case he bolted. Guards were assigned.

The morning was bright and sunny as the cortege made their way down through the palace for the short journey to the huge, grand, Congregation Hall to one side of the palace grounds, traditionally used for all large events requiring the attendance of planetary representatives and the Royal Houses.

Holding tightly to a handful of fabric at the silent boy's shoulder despite his obvious unease at this, Indo had walked Luke to the private gardens on the top of the public levels of the palace, where a fleet of black speeders awaited to take dignitaries to the event.

At the high double-doors the boy had stopped dead with such force that Indo stumbled to a halt, and looked down to see the boy standing at the threshold, squinting in the light, eyes darting cautiously. They stared at each other in silence, Indo unsure what was wrong. For a long time they remained like this, Indo frowning, the boy glancing back to the guards behind him then down to the threshold again, deeply uncertain.

"Outside," he'd said simply at last, his voice very small.

"Outside," Indo acknowledged, hiding his surprise at the breaking of this self-imposed silence.

"Outside here?" The slight, pale boy had drawn his clenched, scarred hands to his chest in uncertainty, and finally, Indo realized both what he was asking of the child, and what he was offering him.

"Whenever you wish," he'd assured.

Gently taking hold of his sleeve, Indo had stepped over the threshold and into the bright warmth of the sun. The boy still hesitated, feet planted, forcing Indo to pull lightly as Luke had leaned back in resistance, unmoving, as if unable to make that final step.

Finally Indo stepped back inside the threshold, taking a gamble. "Another day, perhaps."

The boy took a step back into the shadows of the room and Indo thought the bluff had failed… But then he shook his arm free, pursed his lips and, lifting his hand to shield his eyes against the daylight, took two quick, tense steps out into the sun...then froze, turning back to look at Indo and the guards beyond.

Understanding the import of the moment, the difficulty and the daring of the act, Indo had smiled. Luke simply stared. He didn't smile for almost a year; it was no longer in his vocabulary to do so.

But he had studied Indo's face closely. Perhaps it was the first time in years that someone had done this to him.

It brought home, as he looked at the slight, scarred, serious boy, just how damaged he was. How far he would have to come to achieve any level of normality. How much he had lost.

But he had taken the first step. Alone.

It was a long, hard road.

It started just minutes later when, still riding high on the back of his achievement, Indo had tried to guide the boy ahead of him into the waiting sedan speeder, and Luke had recoiled, twisting away in panic though he didn't yell out—he almost never did. He'd very nearly made it past the guards before one of them had grabbed him, lifting him just clear of the floor to stop his struggle—and Luke had bristled as he always did at any contact, thrashing wildly, arching his back to claw at the man's helmeted face.

"No, let him go," Indo yelled quickly, before this escalated. "Put him down!"

On his feet again, the boy instantly backpedalled further, eyes wide, recoiling until he hit the palace wall behind him, head jarring at the impact.

"Luke…Luke!" Indo held his arm out without touching, trying to stop the boy from sidestepping back into the room to his right, seeking to break his sudden overreaction. Surely he remembered speeders—what was he panicking about? "Luke, it's a speeder, that's all. It's just a speeder."

The boy's eyes remained wide, hands flattened to the wall behind him. Around them, other guests awaiting their provided transports were beginning to stare, or worse, trying hard not to, as they whispered between themselves.

"Luke, it's just a speeder." …and then Indo had remembered. Remembered just exactly how Luke had come to be here in the first place; the explosion that had left him alone.

They spent the next forty minutes watching dignitaries line up and step into speeders. Watching them take the short trip over to the Hall. Watching the speeders slow and their passengers step out safely. Watching the speeders turn about to make another trip…and another, and another.

"We have to get into this speeder," Indo said at last, when they were the final party standing on the rooftop platform. The boy pressed back, chin pulling in, lips a narrow line as the sedan waited, doors open, bobbing slightly in the wind. His new clothes had been pulled awry in the struggle, and Indo daren't try to straighten them.

"Luke, everything will be fine." He had no idea what to do. Slight as the boy was, Indo knew he could probably have one of the guards restrain him and bundle him into the speeder, but then what? Even if they managed the short trip, what state would the boy be in at the other end of it, where Indo was supposed to deliver him to the Emperor?

Luke stared resolutely at the ground before him, his perpetual frown deepening…and Indo had no idea of how to proceed. He wasn't the right person for this. The boy was too unstable, too disturbed. He sighed, shaking his head. "The Emperor is waiting."

Pale blue eyes lifted to Indo's—and he saw the way forward. "The Emperor ordered this, Luke—that you do this, now. Do you want to keep him waiting? Will you go against his command? You know he'll come back here, soon…"

The boy glanced down, one hand lifting to his lips as he gnawed compulsively at his thumbnail.

"What will you say to him, Luke, when he arrives here, incensed. What will you say, when he comes for you?"

Luke blinked slowly, still chewing at his nail…then glanced up towards the speeder. Indo didn't rush him, simply moving aside as he gestured silently for the guards to take another transport. Luke paused one more time, hands clenched to fists as he froze for long seconds at the speeder's door…then he climbed inside, still small enough to stand upright a he stared dead ahead, body tensed, back straight.

Indo had, of course, felt a brief flare of guilt at holding such threats over the head of one who had already faced so many—but it was for the boy's own good. The intimidation wasn't his, after all, nor had it been a lie; the Emperor would indeed have come looking for the boy with all haste if he had failed to arrive at the Hall. Better, surely, that Luke knew that. Better that he always knew the truth, when no one could protect him from it.

.

And so it had gone. Indo had never hidden anything from Luke. Never made light of, or underplayed it. His position here was to facilitate the boy's progress, and he could hardly do that by lying to him.

It had been less than a year before the disappearances had begun. Though Luke's rooms were always locked at night, Indo would arrive early every morning and unlock the door to find him gone, with no explanation for months as to how, though he always returned in time for his first lesson, crumpled and dishevelled.

Then people had begun to contact him, asking diplomatically if he was aware that the boy was…outside of the palace.

Outside of the palace, where?

Outside, climbing the wall.

Luke had taken to scaling the external walls of the palace. Hundreds of stories up, on the upper ziggurat and the turrets. Accusations were levelled, and it had been forbidden in no uncertain terms. It became, in fact, the first thing that Luke had acquiesced and agreed with totally to Indo's face…and then gone off and done exactly the opposite, once alone.

The windows had been sealed shut. The boy had then taken to going further and further afield to get out. Indo had confronted him, and for the first time ever, Luke had argued back. The Emperor's name had been invoked, and Luke had hung his head, contrite—then done it again, within days. Unable to stop it, Indo had instituted the nightly regime of sleeping tablets, to ensure that he remained in his room. The comms lessened…for just four months. When the next comm came, Indo had thanked the man, then ignored it entirely. Luke returned for lessons, on time. Nothing was mentioned again—ever.

The beginning of longstanding habits.

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He'd never truly had a childhood, but at fourteen, Luke grew up.

The uniform was delivered unexpectedly just a month or so before Luke's fourteenth birthday, with no mention of its impending arrival by the Emperor. In a life already burdened with so much, Indo watched Luke struggle as lessons were rescheduled, continuing well into the night, and Luke began to experience first-hand the pressures of his future position, desperate as ever for the Emperor's approval. And still, occasionally, he would disappear. Of course, Indo knew that by now, Luke was leaving the palace—that his night time wanderings were taking him further and further afield.

He requisitioned members of the military to stand shift watches outside Luke's rooms in an attempt to curb his night-time comings and goings, but as before, found that despite this, he had no effective way to limit the incidents. Why he'd thought that guards might work, after the boy's frequent break-outs from the Throne Room in his youth, Indo didn't know.

But as ever Luke always came back, ready for lessons the following morning as if nothing had happened, so though Indo didn't like it, he tolerated these passive defiances with little more than ongoing reprimands.

Still, the boy was beginning to crack under Palpatine's constant pressure, his explosive outbursts more and more extreme despite everything Indo did, whole rooms destroyed in moments, anyone who tried to interfere in genuine danger…and just when Indo thought this whole house of cards would come tumbling down…everything calmed. Luke calmed.

More than that, over the space of just a few months, he became increasingly insular. He disappeared more, retreating to the roofs and outcroppings of the massive ziggurat, finding ever more hidden corners in the sprawling palace. He missed lessons.

More importantly, the abilities which the Emperor so valued the boy for, began to wane.

Then Luke had disappeared altogether.

For the first time, Indo had made a conscious choice not to inform the Emperor, aware of what he would do to the boy. Luke had been found late that evening in the lower levels of the main ziggurat, by which time Indo had been forced to quietly cancel lessons and claim the boy's illness. It hadn't been so very far from the truth. When he'd been found huddled in the corner of a storage bay in the lower ziggurat, Luke was barely able to stand—certainly unable to string a coherent sentence together. Fortunately, of the twenty men out looking for him, it had been one of Indo's staff who had not only found Luke, but been shrewd enough to take in his surroundings, and so had picked up the burnt-out stubs of the spice sticks.

Someone had supplied Luke with cardom, a base spice cut with nine or ten others, and seldom clean, Indo had since learned. He knew a great deal of all the variants, now.

After two days of being unable to keep even fluids down, it was when Luke had started coughing blood that Indo had risked summoning a medic. Luke was six days in the medicenter in all. And each day, Indo had stood in the shadows of the room, wondering whether the endless hours and effort he'd invested in training yet another young mind had been in vain. And occasionally, now and then, he'd thought of Dubrail…wondered if his own son had reached this point, and dealt with it in a very different way.

This particular cardom spice, it seemed, had been cut with toxic compounds to bulk it up for resale. At fourteen, Luke had needed dialysis and regenerative treatment for kidney damage. It had taken him over a month to recover.

Within two, he'd disappeared again, overnight. Search parties were sent out, first into the palace then, more worryingly, farther afield. There had been no way to hide it from the Emperor this time. It had been two days before they'd found him, curled up and near-comatose in a drug-den at the back of some squalid cantina in The Shades.

Back to the medicenter—a full week, this time. Then he'd had to answer to the Emperor for his actions, and was consequently returned there for a further two days, as the Emperor had clarified his opinion of such a flaw.

You could perhaps have put two such drug-related incidents in such a small time scale down to his inexperience…but at barely fourteen, Luke's unique experiences had left him sharp and world-wise beyond his years, a broken childhood endured among the best and the worst of humanity, with every strength and vice that such encompassed, enacted daily about him. He was hardly the innocent, and perfectly capable of looking after himself. No, it wasn't hard to work out just exactly why Luke had been so unlucky; he hadn't. After a lifetime of having his place in the greater scheme of things made crystal clear by the Emperor, the boy had little sense of, or interest in, his own self-preservation. He wasn't unlucky or inexperienced…the fact was, he simply didn't care.

And what did one do, under such circumstances? Again, Indo had no experience, and neither the intention nor the option of bringing in any kind of outside help. Yet it seemed the greater the pressure, the more the boy fell back on spice—and the pressure would only ever increase, here.

He could perhaps have returned to the Emperor to discuss his concerns. But considering Palpatine's previous response had been severe enough to put Luke in the medicenter, Indo had been reluctant to involve him again, particularly since Luke would know that it had been he who had done it.

On the other hand, if the threat of further reprimands hadn't stopped Luke, then Indo knew that nothing he did would.

Better then, surely, to deal with the practicalities of the problem, whilst maintaining his disapproval, as Indo had with earlier habits. To try to limit the obvious risks whilst turning a blind eye to the actual problem itself, in an effort to ensure that his charge came to no further harm. The boy had grown out of his night-time climbs across the outer walls of the palace, eventually. He would grow out of this too, given time—and Indo would still be here, the dependable constant.

For a while, this mix of tacit tolerance and public disapproval had worked—it still worked now, to a degree—and in the process, it had fostered that all-important interdependence which meant that he would stay with the boy, as Luke rose through the ranks. Commander already, and set to join the Emperor's elite—where would he be in five years' time? Indo knew of course, that Hands severed all contacts with their past…but he didn't believe the boy would remain such for long; he had greater plans for Luke—had set his aims and his eyes on the one other post which required the unique skills that Luke embodied.

The Emperor probably knew to some degree that Indo coveted Lord Vader's position for his charge; certainly he must know that Indo withheld certain facts in working towards this goal, but likely allowed it because Indo's ambition for Luke served his own purposes. All the boy's flaws—his brittle volatility, his hidden vulnerabilities, his obsessive nature—all these things, Indo had taught him to control—and that had bought Indo a certain immunity. A certain leeway, provided that his goals and the Emperor's were the same. Which they so clearly were. Though he would never be so vulgar as to say it aloud, Indo knew that he was training Lord Vader's replacement.

And he would do just that—would give his Emperor a pre-eminent second-in-command, superior in every way; loyalty, obedience, ability…what were a few petty transgressions or compromises along the way, compared to that?

.

Nearing bootfalls marked Solo's return to the room, and Indo watched him as he slowed to a halt, tucking the comlink out of sight as he waited for the Emperor to leave… The man radiated a concern that Indo simply did not feel, at the Emperor's involvement in Luke's life. Disapproved of so many of the measures that had been put in place to help the boy to deal with that fact.

For a second Indo faltered, questioning why he felt no such anxiety, rare doubts whispering. Would Indo have pushed his own son this far? As much of Dubrail's life as he'd been prepared to sacrifice to see him excel, would it have been equal to this? Would he have turned away and allowed, even assisted so much, in his pursuit of private ambitions?

Aware of Indo's scrutiny, Solo turned to stare stonily…and Indo straightened, lifting his chin, his momentary doubts quickly quashed beneath the knowledge of all that he'd achieved.

Solo was wrong, wallowing in a mire of his own petty, provincial values.

Yes, the Emperor had trained the boy to excel in a way that no others could, but it was Indo who had grounded him, who had given him the stability and the means to endure, and he wouldn't be made to feel ashamed of that by some petty rank and file nobody.

He'd done what he'd had to, to achieve so much—and he would continue to do so, to maintain it. He turned and walked from the room, leaving Solo to his self-righteous vigil. Let him stand and wait; Indo had no need to. Long-established reliance ensured that as Luke went from strength to strength, he would always carry Indo with him.

Despite all of Solo's attempts to force himself into Luke's life, because of Indo's own actions and the hard choices he'd made, he had not just older, but far, far stronger ties.

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To be continued…..

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