PRINCE
By Sapadu
A/N: Again, I'm still in a lot of pain right now and still fighting off my health problems. I'm still writing because it's better than doing nothing... mostly. But really, what's bothering me is something I stumbled across, courtesy of BING, because when I'm bored, I Google 'Jedi Prince fanfiction' to see if anyone is writing stuff like I am. I didn't find fanfiction, but I did find this: (the force dot net) threads/join-me-and-achieve-perfection-a-reread-of-the-glove-of-darth-vader.50011595/
I will say that it's funny (there are some constant references to the Simpsons and Game of Thrones, so that's always chuckle-worthy), but I, personally, too often found myself laughing just to keep myself from crying – if you didn't like the original books, thought they were 'So bad, it's good' territory, or found them a guilty pleasure, you'll enjoy this. But for me, it struck a wee tad too close to home and that hurt. Please share my pain.
Oh, and about this chapter... the flow of time is a little screwy so, don't assume all these events are happening in consecutive, flowing order.
Chapter 9: Monster
He tore my clothes right off/ He ate my heart/ And then he ate my brain
They were half-way through their third game of sabaac when the cranky medic woman came back in. Janson, being the one whom had called everyone together and voted that they should sit with the kid while their old Commander took a nap, was the unofficial spokesman and promptly stood up to get in her way.
"Can we help you with something?" He asked, doing his damnedest to block the doorway. The medic stared up at him, as though she were looking at something that she thought wasn't really there.
"Nah, I'm good. You kids just keep outta the way."
Wedge and Hobs also got to their feet. Everyone else in the room spread out – defense formation, the way they saw it.
"We will. Just depends on where you're going."
The medic lady frowned.
"I'm going to check on my patient – with even half those injuries, I'd insist on frequent checks to make sure there aren't any infections or scar tissue growing in. The situation as it stands is serious enough that I need to change the bandages and reevaluate to see if bacta is necessary."
A perfectly reasonable stance, logical and straightforward and hell if this woman was getting past them – not when they were under orders from their commander.
"We can take care of that."
Most of them expected her to start arguing with them. Or to fight – in which case, none of them would have felt bad in the least for hitting a chick in the face, especially with the suspicion that she was a spy, or at least out to sabotage or ruin something from inside the base.
What caught them off foot was how she crossed her arms and smirked.
"A-right – one of y'all, check the kid over and tell me how he's doing. I'll bet you anything that I can tell more about his condition just looking at him than you could with any of the equipment in this room."
Well, let it never be said of the Rogue Squadron that they couldn't take a dare.
"Guys..." Janson turned and gave the rest of them an uneasy look, "C'mon – this is stupid." Likewise, it should never be said that the Rogue Squadron were idiots enough to stick their noses into some business they couldn't handle – like trying to do a medical examination when the most experience any of them had was an improvised splint for a broken limb in an emergency combat scenario.
The crazy medic lady didn't say anything, either out of respect for Janson, or because she'd been serious about treating her patient. Still, several of the Rogues hovered around behind her. Even if they didn't know anything about medicine, they did know any number of ways to kill someone with little more than a blunt stick. And, personally, all of them were going to be more than happy to wait for an opportunity to pick a fight with this woman.
"Guess I shouldn't tell y'all that I cussed out the woman who give y'all your marching orders..." The woman said, out of the blue, as she was finishing taking the kid's temperature, "...Hmm... 39.1... that ain't good..."
A collective glance around the room told every pilot that nobody knew what to do with this new information. Or, really, if they should.
Janson gave a nod to Antilles and the two of them stepped aside.
"So, why ARE you telling us?" One of them asked, sidling up as she put a blood pressure cuff on the kid's wrist.
"Cuz she pissed me off." The woman squeezed the pump a few times – and from the looks of it, she seemed to be squeezing a little harder than necessary, "Was goin' on about needing to keep the kid under surveillance and guard and fuckin' restrained to the medcot. Now shut up – I need to hear this."
The room was deathly silent for a few moments, while all of them seemed to process what it meant that Mon Mothma – one of their leaders – had tried to order a guard, surveillance, and restraints on the ward of their own Commander Skywalker.
"...80 over 59... You by the cabinet, open it and pull out the third shelf." She jerked away quickly enough that every man in the area instinctively jerked back and cleared a path for her. Even the soldier she'd motioned to did as instructed, out of a long ingrained reflex to hearing orders barked his way.
"Izzat bad?" Someone was stupid enough to ask. The woman didn't answer, instead commanding another pilot to pull up the medical blankets enough that she had access to as much of the kid's legs and chest, and yet another to open up the cardiokinetic panel on the life-support equipment and connect the electrodes. By the time she was back over, there was no doubt that her measurements had been bad.
Probably very bad.
Chewbacca moved his knight, watching as Han distractedly shifted his bishop back to where he'd just moved it from.
Chewie hadn't even moved his knight in the general region of Han's bishop. If anything, Han's other rook was in danger. As if that weren't enough, he hadn't even retaliated against Chewbacca taking every pawn he'd sent out, and all with this one knight alone.
Something was bothering the cub. Chewbacca could tell.
":Maybe we should go back.;" He suggested, moving to fully capture Han's rook. Just because the cub was having a bad time didn't mean Chewbacca was going to take it easy on him.
"Yeah? Where to, exactly? I'm thinkin' most of the places we been to ain't gonna be too smart to land for awhile." Han moved another pawn out – and this was a pawn that, really, Chewbacca could capture with his knight, where it was.
So THIS was the game the cub wanted to play, was it?
":Or we could stay here. Your call.:" So, Chewie moved his knight and took the pawn. And, as Han had moved his other two surrounding pawns out earlier in the game, there was nothing for Han to use to capture the knight in return. Chewbacca didn't feel sorry in the least.
Han glared at him, and Chewbacca knew it wasn't for the game they were playing.
"Don't talk like you know so damn much."
Chewbacca snorted at the cub – mostly because he knew he DID, as a matter of fact, know so damn much. In his first few years as Han Solo's shipmate, trying to pay off a life debt, he'd learned that Humans were some of the slowest creatures in the galaxy. This cub, in particular, was one of the most stubborn, impossibly thick-headed men Chewbacca would ever know – if the smart route was to turn right, this one would insist on turning left and maneuvering them through any number of obstacles, and then claim that the challenge was half the fun.
Well... it was, and the cub was crafty enough to keep them from harm, but more often than not, Chewbacca wondered where Han's limits were, or if he even had limits.
Chewbacca also had learned what Humans thought of Wooks – not just the Imperials whom had been his captors, but other Humans. He and his kind were thought of as brutes, as mindlessly violent, as stupid and savage and angered at the slightest provocation. And, like all other thoughts, those stung the most because Chewbacca could see grains of truth in them. Wooks were more prone to physical tussles – but they were no more violent than a stupid Human that someone had decided to give a loaded pistoler. And if the simplest solution to a problem was to push and shove until someone was cowed enough to sit down and get out of the way, he didn't know a Wook who would waste time any other way. And he'd known more than a few Wooks with tempers – but they were still mild and simple, and let the steam off as quickly as it brewed. Simplicity wasn't the same as stupidity, and a preference to use one's fists wasn't the same as being savage or brutal – especially if there was nothing else available and your best weapon WAS your fists. But Humans were slow creatures, so Chewbacca learned to cope.
He'd grown used to being dismissed as the cub's bodyguard or the monster he kept on a leash for whenever he wanted someone killed, enough that when two Humans came along that recognized him as something different – as Han's friend, as a being in his own right – Chewbacca had found no compunctions in accepting them in.
And now, those two people were cut off because the cub was being stubborn and proud and refused to talk to them.
Chewbacca watched Han move yet another of his pawns out into the open. This one, Chewbacca left alone, instead beginning to move his pieces into a defense against any assault Han might launch.
Especially infuriating about this problem was that it would be so easy and so simple to resolve. It hadn't even been an argument about two different Humans both thinking they were right – it had been the cub lashing out and getting angry for virtually no reason. Even Wooks, when fighting over the pettiest situations, had reason to be angry. And when there was a simple, easy solution to any of those problems, Chewbacca wasn't foolish enough to let it pass.
Of course, in most solutions with other Wooks, Chewbacca could imagine the Jedi cub suggesting that both parties stop being angry. Simple, but not easy, so Chewbacca was rarely successful at it, and he knew better than to expect any of his kin to even try.
Not the point – the point was that Han had a perfectly easy means within his reach. All he needed to do was find his other nestmates, and just talk to them. Chewbacca didn't even think the cub would need to stop being angry for that – just argue or fight like he'd seen the cub do with the little princess before on so many occasions, and eventually, they'd work it out.
But Han wasn't. Because he was being stubborn. Which was stupid. Wooks might be simple, and think in literal, straightforward ways, but Chewbacca had never known a Wook who could think of a solution to a problem and NOT do it.
":Where do you think the other tin can went?:" Chewbacca finally asked, figuring that if he couldn't get Han to find his nestmates, then he could at least guilt the cub into looking after the pup. And what better way to do that than to aggravate Han over a droid?
"I dunno and I don't care." Han groused.
":Compared to the goldenrod, that one at least left us alone.:" Chewbacca noted, ":And when it suddenly disappeared, wasn't that when the pup started acting strangely?:"
"Can it, Chewie – you're distracting me from the game."
Chewbacca snorted and didn't need any further comment to communicate what he thought of Han's pathetic excuse.
A long, quiet moment passed. Han stared at the board. Chewie let him.
After a minute, Han restlessly tipped over his own king.
"Chewie." Han finally looked up, scowling, "Sometimes, I really don't like you."
Hot... it was so hot... Ken didn't understand why it was this hot. It felt unnatural. It seemed to sear all the way down to his innards. He couldn't even see why it was so hot, or what it was that was burning him. He was only able to squirm and writhe. His arms struck out blindly and found a solid wall that he could only push against and hope that it moved.
It did. He could hear something – it sounded like a rhythmic pounding, and a loud suctioning noise, and as he pressed harder and harder, his arms sunk through the wall and the noise grew louder. It wasn't just a burn, now – it seemed heavy, crushing. The only reason he was able to move was because the walls around him felt like they were pressing on him to make him move, like the liquid inside a balloon.
"What are you doing?" Ken couldn't see where the voice was coming from – he couldn't even properly hear it, as though his ears were connected to the source through some kind of tube and the words funneled directly into his brain. He also couldn't really respond, with everything pressing and surrounding his whole body enough that all that was left were his thoughts. So, Ken said nothing in reply and continued to push.
"Too far, you are going too far." How? As far as Ken could tell, he was going nowhere. He could only barely move to wriggle about and avoid being crushed.
"Go back. Do not come out." Suddenly, Ken felt his fingers breach through something – whatever it was, it was cool and dry, and Ken latched onto it and pulled himself forward. The heat all around him burst, like a bubble and he found himself gasping for air...
"Ken." And then he blinked and found himself facing up and saw Dee-Jay's face, as solemn and unmoving as ever it was. Ken struggled, found his arms flailing about, and realized that he was still buried, waist deep, in Dee-Jay's chest. The more he moved, the more something – it was too hot to be oil, but too slick to be Human blood – sprayed everywhere and Ken couldn't even completely pull himself free.
"Stop. You are hurting us." Ken could only crane his neck and see Chip's head, dangling impossibly in midair, something dripping from his eyes, as though the sockets were too loose and somehow bleeding.
"Come back." Dee-Jay's head bent and leaned closer until Ken's nose was practically mashed against the metal frame of the old droid's face. Frantic to keep some distance between them, Ken's hands flew up and tried to push Dee-Jay's face back. The metal felt somehow warmer than it should have been, softer even, and one of Ken's fingers pushed on the jaw so hard that it came off – metal beard and all – and flew away, splattering oil all over Ken's hands, warm and running. And all that was left was a gaping mouth, filled with teeth and half-rotted gums.
Before Ken could even regain enough breath to scream, the jaw stretched and bit down, snapping him up from around the ribs and slicing clean through his elbows.
It was even bigger, being swallowed, than Ken had thought. It was dark and it was cold, too, and the walls of the throat crawled as though they were alive with something else.
No, more than crawling – they were moving as though made up of bodies. Ken could see arms, and legs, and faces. Some were kicking, as though trying to move. Some were trying to stretch. Some were reaching for him.
Some actually touched him. He couldn't do anything but snap his teeth and wave his useless stumps of arms.
"We have the makings of a perfect villain on our hands." A finger ran up the side of his face. Ken tried to bite, and realized that his neck didn't seem to be able to move quite the way it had before.
"It was inevitable." Something grabbed the back of his head, and he couldn't even move the little he could before.
"All that's left now is to wait." Ken even tried closing his eyes to block them out, as all the faces turned on him, each with their eyes gleaming. He couldn't even look away. And he couldn't stop the feeling of whatever had grabbed him bubbling and oozing over his skin, like molten tar. When he looked down, the pitch blackness had seeped around his neck and pooled on the floor, until a face, wrinkled and decayed with evil sneered back up at him.
"Running away from your destiny?" A voice croaked.
"Destiny?"
Ken looked up. The Emperor's face – and all the faces of the prophets – were everywhere, over him, around him, under. And they wouldn't turn away, even as he sank deeper.
"Destiny?"
Ken's neck twisted, futilely trying to rise over the blackness that seemed to be sucking him in.
"Destiny?"
Suddenly, now more than ever, Ken knew that he hated these men – not just for what they were, but all they stood for. They WERE evil. They WERE the Dark Side. Everything was their fault. He hated them all...
"I swear..." He choked, trying to wrestle his way out of the darkness. The prophets and the Emperor seemed to slide farther and farther away, like he was falling further down a tunnel and leaving everything behind him, "I swear, I will one day-"
"-Kill you all."
Han froze, and then tried to move back and away from the kid as slowly as possible. Ken's eyes weren't even open all the way, but it was enough that, combined with the freaky-ass smile on his face, Han didn't want to make any sudden movements, just in case.
He also really didn't want to be within the kid's strike range.
The medic woman, for some reason, decided that getting right in the kid's face was the best solution. Han coulda punched her, he thought it was so stupid.
"Kiddo? Can you hear me? I need you to say something if you can hear my voice."
Ken blinked a few times, then his eyes focused. The creepy smile slid off his face, and he did, indeed, focus on Dank. Han had mostly figured that the kid was probably okay – probably – and that he'd wake up sooner rather than later.
Han hadn't figured on the kid responding the way he did.
"Who're you?" It didn't sound like a question. That was what scared Han – it was a straight-up command. And it wasn't even in the kiddo's normal tone of voice, which would have sounded more whiny and like a spoiled brat of a kid demanding something. This sounded... almost like an adult. Han just couldn't explain how, but it had the feel of someone with real power and authority giving orders and expecting complete obedience.
The medic woman didn't even flinch.
"I'll take that as a yes, then." She pulled away and made a note on her datapad. Han stayed as far back as he could, cursing Chewie for talking him into this, and kept his eye on the kid. Ken wasn't even blinking – and considering the medic woman was supposedly examining him to be sure he wasn't brain damaged or nothing, Han wasn't sure if he should speak up about it – but at least he wasn't staring at Han like he wanted to smash his skull in or nothing.
"Kay, now I want you to follow my finger with your eyes..." Dank waved in front of Ken's face, and those eyes stayed stubbornly half-opened and immobile. Han was also willing to bet good money that the kiddo was doing that on purpose. The medic woman made a very loud noise that was obviously concerned – again, because Han was pretty sure this woman wasn't no idiot, he was pretty sure she was doing that on purpose, too.
"That's no good – external ocular muscles aren't functioning properly..." She muttered, far too loudly to be talking to herself as she made notes, then picked up a flashlight, "Let's see how bad the damage is..."
Han kept backing away, slowly. But he did see the look in Ken's eyes – how he seemed to take just a moment, but almost completely revise his idea of how to approach the woman. And then, his face just melted, into a completely different look – a look that Han had seen before, just yesterday, when he'd thought it might be a good idea to come in and try to cheer the kid up, and that look of terrified apprehension, utter helplessness, and vulnerability had been planted in every inch of the boy's body language. Only now, it was being forced with cold, precise calculation to be a perfect imitation. The only way Han would've ever known was if he'd seen that LOOK on Ken's face, just seconds prior.
Which he had.
"...i don't..." The medic flashed the light, then paused and pulled back, apparently interested in what the kid had to say, "...w-what..."
"-The fuck?" She muttered.
This was why Han didn't really buy the crap from the higher-ups that this woman was a spy – she was way too willing – happy, even – to show off her absolute worst. Han'd heard of this crazy bitch threatening troops who pissed her off (and maybe he kinda couldn't help but like a woman who had enough balls to shout in a crowded mess hall that 'the next sonvabitch who whistled at her was gonna get an enema loaded with boiling water and nerf-burger drippings up his ass') had shouted and sworn and flipped off every commanding officer she'd ever made eye contact with, and now she was cussing in front of a kid. Far as Han could tell, a spy would wanna keep her nose as squeaky clean as she could, suck up and make nice with everyone, and keep a low profile.
Least, while there was someone else in the room.
"...please, i don't..."
Ken had curled back up into a ball, gazing at the both of them the same way some kind of small, sickeningly cute, probably fuzzy animal might stare at a predator in a last bid for pity. It kinda made Han feel sick.
The medic lady, on the other hand, seemed curious.
"Oh, you wanna play GAMES, now, do ya?" She asked, her words coming out through a feral grin.
All the while, Ken was still tucked into that position, like he was expecting one of them to lunge at him, and was just trying to hide by pressing himself into the wall. Han had never pretended to understand this kid – not why Luke had felt the need to drag him along everywhere, not why the kid was supposed to be so important, nothing the kid said or did, and Han sure as hell didn't understand what the uproar with all the higher-ups was (did they really think that a twelve-year-old with no training, no weapons, who fainted at the sight of blood was REALLY gonna do ANY damage around here?) – but he HAD understood why Ken would be so skittish and quiet after being abducted and tortured. Hell, that was half the reason Han had held back from trying to knock some sense into him.
Okay, and because Chewie had reminded him of how limp and useless HE'D been after a much lighter form of torture. Still, the point was, Han wasn't stupid and he GOT it.
But seeing someone – ANYONE – swing from one extreme like this to another and then back would've already set him on edge. Seeing Ken – the little wussy pup who hadn't been able to walk without tripping, scraping his knee or bloodying his nose and needing LUKE of all people to pick him up again – do it...
Han's gut was telling him that this wasn't right. Han trusted his gut.
He got out of the room as quickly as he could. The crazy medic didn't seem to care that he'd left her alone with a kid who'd probably gone psychotic. Whatever – he might respect her, but the crazy old bitch wasn't his problem.
Luke needed to know.
When Luke woke up and glanced up at the timepiece to see the numbers 0200 flashing at him, his first thought was that there was no way he had only gotten two hours of sleep. His next thought was that it made perfect sense, because he still felt so drained. Then, thoughts of water and food occurred to him and Luke realized that he was also in terrible shape, physically speaking.
Finally, he sat up and forced himself to stand and begin to go through stretches and exercises, despite his aching head and twisting stomach. He tried to empty his mind of thoughts and worries and anything that might connect him to his body, tried to focus his being on the Force, on being a part of it, of letting go...
"...there are injuries on my patient..."
The Force was like a river – it flows through a Jedi's being. And a Jedi was no more a being as he was a mere drop in the river... Ever changing, a part of every other drop...
"What's goin' on with you two?"
The Force was in everything. Every living being was a being of the Force, whether they felt it or not. It reverberated inside everyone like a thread of electricity... just like old Ben had told him, once, that surrounded them, penetrated them, bound the galaxy together... Luke breathed.
"...You can't be certain of things like this..."
Focus, he told himself, focus on feeling the Force around you. He tried to focus on old words from his first lessons, to feel the Force's energy around him, as it hummed like a live-wire between him and everything, pressing into the giant web of invisible strings as they shivered with the energy...
"...it's in his blood to turn..."
"So... you ARE Commander Luke Skywalker?"
"We've been HAD. And I fell for it, too."
Luke stopped, reeling. Maybe he'd been concentrating a little too much – the strange thing about focusing on the Force like that sometimes did cause him to feel into those around him a little too strongly. Perhaps it wasn't unlike Triclops' ability to step into people's dreams. Or perhaps it was just an extreme version of feeling other people's presences in the Force, like he was used to. Luke wasn't sure.
Ken would probably develop a sound, testable theory, if Luke were to ask him...
"Do you not trust me?"
Luke shook his head.
Maybe onto the next thing. Maybe he was just over-exerting himself...
Focus on the Force inside of you, he thought, like it's flowing with your blood, like a strum along your nerves. It was a part of him, at the same time like it had always been there, and as though someone had one day come along with an injector and pressed it into his veins...
"And YOU had the BRILLIANT idea to, upon his recovery, take him to an unfamiliar part of the base, strap him down with binders to a medical cot, and have me stick something down his throat..."
Not even all of his vaunted self-control could stop Luke from cringing as his stomach twisted, yet again, and this time, he found himself on all fours, choking as his throat refused to close up. Hacking and wheezing, Luke managed to hoist himself back onto his cot and keep himself from being completely sick. Or, if he couldn't manage that, from being too dizzy.
Luke glanced at the timepiece, again. 0300. That couldn't be right. Had it really taken him an hour just to try a simple number of stretches and meditation exercises?
"...fuckin' cheap crap."
Maybe it was broken...
Luke's eyes landed on the datapad on the shelf. Even compared to other soldiers' barracks, Luke's personal affects were virtually non-existent – next to a box of spare circuits and a few hygiene items, Ken had left the datapad he'd been using for the last several weeks or so. Luke didn't think he'd seen the thing out of the boy's hands for a solid consecutive minutes since Han had pushed it on him.
"If I gotta listen to this kid for another minute, I'm gonna throttle him. I don't care how much you like his motor-mouth, we all need some goddamn quiet for a while."
He could have punched Han for saying that right in front of Ken. Instead, the boy had taken the datapad and spent the hours tapping away on it like there wasn't even a world outside his own little bubble. It had been almost alarming, how quiet Ken would be those days.
And, maybe not alarming, but still something that had made Luke nervous, was how Ken would sometimes spend even quiet hours, endlessly writing in his log. At the end of the day, Luke would answer any questions Ken had written down, but Luke had still never seen what Ken had written. It had been, to his thinking, a sign that he trusted Ken and respected his privacy.
He wondered, had Ken thought differently? Was there something in here that might lead to this drastic change he'd seen in his apprentice?
Luke didn't know. But he did turn the screen on and start to read.
Log entry 0600 hours, 30:10:40
Assignment: Record observations and questions in an orderly fashion to present as questions at a later time. Assigning officer: Captain Han Solo, Millennium Falcon, 29:10:40 1400 hours, mission briefing quarters.
Objective: Follow movements of Commander Luke Skywalker. Observe interactions with other Alliance members to understand rules of engagement among soldiers and significance of said interactions to understanding the Force.
0605 hours: Morning Report. Commander Skywalker reported to General Rieekan. Then, led Morning Report of Rogue Squadron. Notes: Commander Skywalker uses formal and appropriate salutes with General Rieekan (I was neither instructed to salute, nor disciplined/acknowledged if I performed incorrectly/accurately replicated the salute) however, his language and discipline are more casual when addressing the Rogue Squadron. Still differs from strictly informal, social conversations.
0630 hours: Breakfast. Morning conversations mostly regarding quality of food (objectively, likely mediocre; subjectively, object of derision and disdain among troops) and daily tasks. Most other troops believe they have 'The worst job, EVER' – this is identical to what they said yesterday. Notes: Commander Skywalker complained regarding relative uncleanliness of engine rooms. Complaint seems unnatural, and I have not heard any mention of this displeasure prior to morning discussion. Likely not a sincere remark – possibly only made because of surrounding discussion.
0650 hours: Beginning of duties. Morning assignment: Debriefing regarding Rogue Squadron missions and sweeps. Persons assigned duty: Commander Luke Skywalker, Major Wes Janson, Commander Wedge Antilles.
Luke massaged his eyes, his head throbbing even worse from the glow of the light. Ken had recorded EVERYTHING like this? The entry even went on, detailing every line of the debriefing with Ken's own remarks and questions in between the speakers. And, more worryingly, many of the remarks were not what Luke would call 'complimentary'.
He shook his head and scrolled through the entries, looking for something – he wasn't quite sure what, but he was sure he'd know it when he saw it.
01:11:40 0825 hours
Notes on Interactive Behavior: Eye-contact.
Captain Solo, Major Janson, Commander Antilles, Sargent and Lieutenant A_, Engineering Officer S_ (Who was that? Luke had never heard of him, let alone known Ken had spoken to such a person) all instruct "Look me in the eye when I'm talking to you". Commander Skywalker, Princess Leia, Officer Klivian, Various Commanding officers and Generals instruct "Quit staring, it's rude." Conclusion: There must be varying rules/degrees for when eye-contact is appropriate/required.
Observation: Commander Skywalker maintains eye-contact with members of Rogue Squadron during debriefings, in casual conversation, with myself during lessons.
Captain Solo does not maintain eye-contact, but does look in the direction of whomever he is speaking to.
Princess Leia frequently initiates eye-contact, but does not maintain (Note: Usually, in debriefings or other committee sessions, has materials that require reading.) When she breaks eye-contact, usually gaze is directed downward.
Commander Antilles does not maintain eye-contact. Also directs gaze in general direction of speaker.
Major Janson does maintain eye-contact in conversations he deems of great importance. Also, instructs me to "quit staring, it's creepy" when attempting to make eye-contact during non-vital conversations.
Conclusions: Possible gender difference, also possibly related to command structure. General consensus seems to be, when eye-contact is required, two to three seconds optimal before exceeding into 'staring'.
Answer given by Private D_, Eleventh Division, Seventh Squad, Mess Crew 05:11:40 at 0630 hours. Exact words: "Look, you little bender, if you don't stop staring at me, I'll knock you outta your boots. [My response: Why? I do not mean any harm.] If you're gonna play dumb with me, I'll give it to you straight – You look other guys in the eye like that all the time, it either means 'I wanna kill you' or 'I wanna fuck you.' Now, stop it before I break your jaw."
Would have responded asking why Commander Skywalker does it quite frequently, but risk-to-benefit ratio skewed heavily in favor of bodily harm if continued to aggravate. Declined.
Luke hadn't realized he, or any of the other soldiers did that. He hadn't even noticed Ken noticing. And he hadn't noticed Ken having other conversations with soldiers that weren't even in his division or squadron, let alone notice enough that some of them might not have been as patient or controlled as they should have around a child.
This is not one of the proudest moments of Jedi Master Luke Skywalker. He thought.
Still, not what he was looking for here, either...
09:11:40 0900 hours, Intelligence briefing, Persons assigned duty: Commander Luke Skywalker, Colonel F–, Captain I–, Officer N–, Lieutenant K–, General Rieekan.
Colonel F–: Assigned probes have been deployed at points at 40*100*52, 87*50*23, 58*29*46, and 21*105*30. They've been in position for 168 hours, and in that time, have made 47 reports, 20 of which were classified as high priority.
Officer N–: The first high-priority report was on 03:11:40 at 0325 hours. Investigative duty was assigned to Rogue Squadron at that time. Commander Skywalker, your report of that investigation.
(I didn't know the Rogue Squadron had been called out for an investigation. Did Luke go with them? Did I just not notice? Or did they not tell me – if the call had come at 0325 hours, I might have still been asleep...)
Still not it, though Luke was staggered by how precise Ken had been about detailing what he observed.
01:12:40 1200 hours
Useful notes:
Remain at least 5 meters away from any ship undergoing repairs. 10 meters from Captain Solo when he is personally making repairs.
Alliance-issued socks itch. Don't complain.
Toilets are on the left side, sinks are on the right.
Use the wording "Would you like a bite/like some?" instead of "Do you want me to share?" when addressing adults. Food is considered a social activity as much as a nutritional one, but Commander Skywalker says most adults do not like children offering them something to eat.
Take less than you think you will eat. If you are still hungry, wait until the next meal.
Commander Skywalker likes a drink consisting of melted chocolate and warm milk.
If you must burn your tongue, drinking melted chocolate is worth it.
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05:12:40 0123 hours
Unable to sleep. Commander Skywalker has patrol duty at 0600 hours, so requested that I do not disturb him. Will instead make observations about the day.
Interview with Mister Triclops at 04:12:40 1350 hours centered around myths he has been reading. I recognize most of them – they were in the archives in the culture and history libraries. One was about the four great founding Masters of the Old Order – in the legend, they have the names Master Jacen, Master Bede, Master Durga'devi, and Master Xuanzang. Mister Triclops, however, refers to them as Masters al-Ein, Freudsig, Young, and Schodiger. Possibly suggests he has familiarity with the Old Order through some other experience. Commander Skywalker might find this useful.
That was certainly interesting. Luke filed that away for future use. Still not quite what he was looking for.
13:12:40 1630 hours
Another interview with Mister Triclops today. I feel sorry for him, a little – maybe because he asks a lot of very simple, non-important questions. What the weather is like outdoors? Would I please describe what the sky or plants or animals looked like? What was the mess hall serving for lunch? How MY day had been?
Commander Skywalker says that I asked a lot of similar questions when he first met me. I am not sure that's why I pity Mister Triclops – if anything, his questions show that he at least has had SOME experience living in the outside world, so he does have context for when I give him answers.
I think he's pathetic – that is, full of pathos, despite the fact that he is obviously very logical and thoughtful, I have not heard him ask a question or make a statement yet that wasn't very rooted in an emotional reasoning. I understand that, at least – emotions are confusing. I mean, I might be used to them and everything, but they are still so difficult and I still don't understand why a lot of other people seem to feel the way they do – I at least understand WHY I feel what I do, like what has made me angry, or what makes me sad. Other people are too confusing – they'll become upset or depressed or happy over the strangest things.
I think I told Commander Skywalker about that, once – He said that no two people are alike, and actually, maybe a lot of other people don't understand why they feel what they do, either. He also said that most people learn how to empathize – that is, feel on the behalf of other people – because they learn how to over time. So, if you spend a lot of time away from other people (like growing up with droids) or if you're separated from other people (like being kept in prison) you don't learn or forget some things...
Maybe Commander Skywalker is right – we are alike, that much...
I had a nightmare about the creature, again. He mocked me, saying that Commander Skywalker is hiding something, that there's something he doesn't want me to know or tell me about Mister Triclops. That I should cut my losses and run while I can. This is the first time the creature hasn't taunted me about anything that Mister Triclops and I talked about, today – usually, he says something like how Mister Triclops is trying to get me to trust him so he can use me, or he laughs at how we use the same words for a lot of things, and might pronounce things the same way or...
Well, the creature's a liar, anyway, so it doesn't matter what he says.
I will not complain, though – after the first nightmare, when I said the next day that I hadn't gotten much sleep, Captain Solo told me "You're starting to whine, again, runt." I know my whining annoys everyone. So, I shall not do it, again.
Nightmares? Luke frowned and went scrolling through other entries. Ken had never mentioned nightmares, not connected to whenever he'd interviewed Triclops, and certainly not about any sort of creature – from this, Luke guessed Ken had been having some recurring nightmares...
Had they been affecting his training? Luke could remember some of the times HE'D been plagued by nightmares, and the days afterward that he couldn't even make it through his basic training exercises without feeling dizzy or sick, either from exhaustion or the images that wouldn't stop running through his mind.
Luke could also remember how Leia had reacted then, when he hadn't been able to tell her what was wrong, when he sometimes had days that he couldn't get out of bed, when he'd been unable to calm himself, or stand up straight, and it wouldn't be until after a battle or something else equally important that he WAS able to sleep, completely peacefully, and he only just now realized how grateful he was that those days had been relatively only a few and spaced so that Leia and other soldiers and the commanding chain had only passed them off as food poisoning or momentary fevers or migraines instead of the truth that he'd been...
The sound of the datapad clattering to the floor startled Luke out of his daze. It had slipped out of his fingers as his mind had wandered to some more... unpleasant memories. Or maybe he'd dropped it...
Right... He was past that. Or, more appropriately, it was a part of his past that he'd lived through, managed, and now he needed to focus on the more pressing matter of his apprentice... who was now living through the same thing.
...Maybe that was a little unfair... Luke knew he'd never lived through a complete torture like this...
Luke picked the datapad off the floor.
I can't help but wonder: Given how many planets there are in the galaxy, how many different worlds there are... Why is there all this fighting? Why can't we each have a little space that's our own, and leave each other alone – the Empire can stay on one planet, the people who don't like the Empire can live on a different planet. Simple.
I say this, because I saw two soldiers arguing in the docking bay the other day – they were from different squads, I think, and the longer they argued, the louder and angrier they got until they were hitting each other and fighting, and all I could think was why they had to be standing right next to each other while they were arguing like that. It's not like it was a small room – there were X-Wings parked in there – they could have at least stood back and then... maybe it wouldn't have happened like that. It's the same thing: I understand things like the soldiers going into battles because they have orders from commanding officers, and that there's reasons like needing money or keeping a position and things like that... but that question of why it has to be everyone right next to each other, bumping and arguing and fighting over everything when there's enough room for everyone if we just spread out enough...
(At least, I think, maybe Mister Triclops could go live somewhere else...)
I asked Captain Solo – he smacked me on the head and told me to stop whining like a wimp. (I'm starting to think that Captain Solo doesn't know what the word 'whining' means – I was not.)
I asked Princess Leia – she told me that I was being childish and naïve. (Well, excuse me for being a kid, I guess. I'm glad I didn't say that.)
So, I finally asked Luke. He didn't scold me or brush me off... but he just looked at me, then sighed and said he didn't know. I don't know why I was so upset – and by that, I mean the fact that I was upset at all... I thought I'd gotten used to it. I know that Luke doesn't know everything. I know that Commander Skywalker doesn't know everything. But... I guess it still bothers me when I have a question and he can't answer me – like it means there's something even bigger wrong if I'm not the only one who can't understand it. Like the whole world is wrong, because it means things can't be explained... and not things like scientific anomalies – that's a statistical likelihood, in any case, so it can still be explained – but rational things like why people behave a certain way... that SHOULD have an explanation.
I'll find out. There has to be an answer to this question. I'll find it – I swear, I'll find the answer, and if there isn't one, now, I'll MAKE one. And then, I'll be able to tell Luke. At least... then, at least I won't have let him down, again.
Luke didn't remember this conversation... well, no, he DID remember... but the memory wasn't nearly as clear as some others were. He didn't remember exactly how Ken had asked him, not like he could remember the exact tone of awe the boy had had when they first met, or the precise words Ken used when he said he wanted to come with Luke on the fake mission to Duro. He couldn't recall the look on Ken's face, unlike the utter terror Luke sharply recalled on his face when he heard mention of Triclops. Luke didn't even remember what he'd been thinking – if he'd been contemplating the greater truth of Ken's question, himself, or if his mind had wandered to thoughts of all the destruction he'd seen wrought in his days as a soldier, or the lives of his friends he'd seen lost...
Or if he'd even been thinking about it at all, if he'd maybe been distracted entirely and had just answered out of complete oblivion.
"You ALWAYS have to try."
He couldn't think of a time he'd ever heard Leia sound so bitter. Why had she been so sharp, so unlike herself? Luke didn't believe it was JUST because she'd been worried about HIS well-being, or thinking about the amount of trouble he'd get in if the Council found out he'd kept what he'd known about Ken a secret. There had been something.. deeper...
"I have to try."
What had it been...
"There is good in him."
...No, that couldn't be why...
"I can save him. I can turn him back to the good side."
Luke hung his head in his hands. The datapad pressed hard against his fingers and his forehead, simultaneously harsh and rough, yet grounding and solid.
"I have to try."
There was a knock on his door.
Of course, just as he'd resolved to find Luke, Han WOULD find himself face-to-face with Her All-High-Worshipness. Han could have punched someone in the face – not himself, it wasn't his damn fault... and maybe not the Princess, not sure he'd EVER be able to live it down if he did, but SOMEONE had to be to blame for this and damn it, Han was pissed at whoever it was.
If Her Mightiness noticed, she obviously didn't care. She just kept walking along her all-important task, not even looking at Han. And, of course, she WOULD be going the same direction Han was. Probably trying to find Luke to show him up. Or maybe it was some brother-sister thing, so Han wasn't good enough to be included in this little secret. Or a secret that had to do with the Jedi mumbo-jumbo. Or...
No, Han wasn't jealous.
...Well... he WAS, but hell if he was gonna let Her Highness know it. And he WASN'T jealous about THAT – they were siblings, it'd just be gross. He'd gotten over being jealous thinking these two were sneaking around behind his back... like THAT anyway.
So, Han kept up his stride, trying to keep one step ahead of the High-and-Mighty-Princess, but he wasn't going to try and pass her because THAT would just make it obvious that he was trying to get to Luke first, and that'd be immature, and damn it, Chewie WASN'T right about that.
On the other hand... maybe this was important enough that running would be warranted... nah, this wasn't an emergency, just... serious. Luke needed to be told, hopefully before anything else, but it wasn't like he needed to report for duty, or like there was a time frame...
Speaking of duty and reporting, Han kept passing other soldiers going about their duties, giving him and the Royal-Highness strange looks. Yeah, they probably deserved those, given that Han could see how they looked – pretty much shoulder-to-shoulder, practically in synch with their steps, and not even looking at each other.
Han stopped at Luke's quarters, and, as he figured, so did Her Majestic-ness. Finally, Han turned to her.
"Well? Ladies first." He wished that he could have made his voice more sarcastic and biting. Enough to get a rise of her, instead of the cool, formal glare she did give.
"I might as well inform you that both yourself and Commander Skywalker are being called to report to the Council."
...What? "What?"
Luke cracked the door open. The light from the hallway hit him in the eye and almost blinded him, before he could properly respond to the person who had knocked.
"Commander Skywalker. You're called to report."
She was surrounded by idiots. That was the only possible explanation Leia could come up with. Everything for the last eleven months could all be traced to the fact that Han, Luke, Chewbacca, the Council, every member of the Rogue Squadron, down to the maintenance and sanitation crew had completely taken leave of their senses. Maybe even her own wits had abandoned her, too – at least, in so far as she couldn't even think of a solution or way to fix this problem.
She refused to consider Luke's ward's role in all this – as far as she'd ever been able to tell, the boy had been void of anything resembling sense from the start.
All of this could have been avoided if Leia had ignored Luke's request and told Lady Mothma about this months ago. No – she ought to have continued arguing with him. She shouldn't have let him cow her with sentiment the way he had, should have refused to let him go until he saw reason and did as she suggested. If she'd told Han, straight-away. If proper precautions had been taken regarding both this child that Luke had taken as his responsibility, and every complication that had come with him. If there had been proper security alert and resources correctly allotted, and information handled to it's best use...
But Luke had insisted on doing what he'd done. And because of that, how much had been compromised? His reputation as an officer, her integrity in the command structure, Han's trust, and the confidence of virtually everyone connected with this affair. And who was left, scrambling to clean it up, to see that the damage was controlled properly?
Leia clenched her fists. Han was giving her that look again – like he expected her to tell him that he would be dropped at the next star system without so much as even a 'By-your-leave'. It was so childish of him, and so frustrating that he'd still think of her in those ruthless terms, terms that she wouldn't use even if he was still the complete stranger and mercenary from their first meeting.
And it was so infuriating because Leia knew full well that he was within his rights to think of her like that – she was supposed to treat every soldier, regardless of how close they were to her, with fair and equal impartiality, and yet she'd chosen to prioritize Luke over Han, betrayed every principle she stood for, so why SHOULDN'T she also be willing to shrug off her most basic creeds?
"The Council has determined for both you and Commander Skywalker to give testimonies into this event. They want to know the full account that you both might have of the transpiration of these happenings, so that Commander Skywalker may have a fair hearing at a later time."
Han blinked for a moment, and then that nasty, disbelieving sneer – she'd gotten so used to seeing him without it, she'd forgotten how completely it warped his face – crawled across his lips. Already, Leia could see his thoughts clustering, dissecting that information in the worst way possible.
"Oh – so, we're supposed to tell them EVERYTHING and that'll make it all better and the Council will completely understand what happened here, today? Because this is all for our own GOOD!" He thought that she'd put them both on the chopping block, that she was setting them up. He never even thought that Leia had put her own reputation at stake by vouching for them when the Council had wanted to strip Luke of his command without even a hearing, and gut Han's rank on suspicion of him being accessory to Luke's dereliction of duty.
Leia knew what Han thought. And, she realized, she knew what he'd say if she tried to protest that she'd tried to help.
"I was just trying to help."
"We don't need your help."
How she'd scoffed when Lando had done the same thing, all those years ago. Then, she supposed, that was just proof of what a child she'd been, once.
"As long as you tell the complete truth, yes! It WILL!" She responded, trying very desperately to toe that line between knowing and distant, and commanding and apathetic. She wasn't surprised in the least when Han sneered at her answer.
"In any case, it's your decision." Leia managed to say before promptly turning and knocking on the door.
"Yes... One moment." Luke shut down the datapad, and replaced it on the shelf. On one hand, he still felt too drained for this, but on the other, he had responsibilities. So, he straightened his clothes and tried to look as professional as possible with minimal preparation, and when he stepped out of his room, simply asked, "Lead the way."
Luke didn't answer. Leia frowned and knocked again. Still no response.
So, Han decided to take a more practical approach and just opened the door.
Luke was gone.
A/N: Don't worry, I ain't forgot about y'all. Yet. On we go!
