A/N: Hello all! I just want to start by saying, as always, THANK YOU for the great reviews, feedback and input. Some of you I can't reply to via PM, so I'm going to now:
Jocyyyya: Thanks! Also, I have seen that concept art and agree it is awesome! I never thought of it as a "snapshot" of the Specter/Vader duel from "Dark Assassin," but can totally see it now that you've pointed it out!
Guest (Ch. 49): Thank you for the kind words! I'm so happy you enjoyed the update.
Stregian: Great insights; and I agree Emperor Vader will be…interesting. And yes, Vader's actions do seem to have a sentimental undercurrent. Very well noted.
I tried to reply to all reviewers who are logged in with an account; if I missed you—sorry! It wasn't on purpose. To be honest, my brain has been VERY fried lately. So, please let me know if I missed you and I will get back to you ASAP; thanks!
In other news, it looks like my company is trying to expand and consolidate, so my promotion has been cancelled. We were told that all of our jobs are now terminal. They're going to start bringing staff to the new office in Dec., so who knows how much time any of us have before the ax drops… so I'm actually on the hunt for a new job. I'm not waiting to get laid off. I can't relocate as my family depends on me too much. So, life's next set of complications has "begun its landing." Oye….
On a brighter note, the doc says dad's foot should be fully mended in the next 8-9 weeks. So, yay! My truck also recently needed some repairs but it was pretty minor: a tire rod needed replacing but was less than $200 to fix, so phew! Plus 4 new tires to prepare for winter. Less 'phew' there…hahahahaha.
Otherwise, I'm back at the gym. Now that my tumor is gone I want to get back into shape. I used to be crazy fit, once upon a time, and am working to get that back. Also, my own story is coming along. I've actually developed some new concepts and archetypes that I'll be incorporating into the story and have the storyboarding about half complete! So, progress is being made. I just need to do the other half and make final decisions on all the names.
Well, that's it for now. Let's get back to Cloud City! Onward!
PS, Star Wars not mine; only the OC's. This is just for fun…and because Vader is soooo awesome!
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Star Wars Ep. V: Jedi Assassin Ch. 50- The Dark Test
As Biggs swung the chrome-plated skiff below Cloud City's curved bulk, he carefully avoided the plethora of weather vanes that stuck out of the under-belly like spines on a creature he once saw on Yavin Four-though its name now eluded him.
"Scanners at full," Tank reported from beside him, Fade curled on his lap, her amethyst eyes bleary and barely half open. "It's not picking up any—wait. It's got something." He looked out the view port. "Straight ahead."
Biggs activated his helmet's optic sensors, using the features that drastically enhanced normal human vision.
What he saw made his mouth drop open.
"I don't believe it," he deadpanned.
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Link's fingers were going numb, as fast as he was working them to get Solidarity out of trouble.
And the boss.
And his boss's rebel friends.
And basically the-entire-kriffing-galaxy, if this played out in Vader's favor.
Emperor Vader. Link couldn't stop the shudder.
At least old Palpy stayed at home like a good little dark lord. He was happy to be fawned over all day by his brainless courtiers and sycophants and the rest of his slobbering fan-club.
But Vader? No; he hated the gilded life. He was a warrior. The battle-field was his palace.
And his favorite décor usually consisted of the mangled corpses of his enemies.
Decapitated, mangled corpses—piles of them. And he preferred to do the deed himself.
Another shiver.
"What?" Mouse asked from beside him, pausing at his own station.
In his peripherals, Link caught his worried look.
"Nothing," Link dismissed with a shrug, "just thinking about stuff I shouldn't."
"Well, we're going to fix it so none of the 'stuff' you're thinking about happens," Mouse countered firmly, "the Emperor's just another tally on Spek's kill-count now; we need to get this place going again so we can help him add Vader next and then…." He paused, leaned over to Link's holo-screens.
He frowned while examining the data scroll. "What did that last part say? Something about the Falcon?"
Link rolled his eyes. "Techs probably saying they can't believe what a piece of junk it is." He shook away his trepidation and took a breath. "C'mon, somebody needs to rescue the boss and the rebels again. And since Ghost isn't back yet, it's gotta be us."
Mouse only twisted his lips in a smirk and re-seated himself. "What would he do without us?"
Link sputtered. "Lucky for him, he'll never know."
Mouse reached for a data-pad. "Let's try to get into the inner city's security. If we can access the holo-cams, maybe we can pinpoint the boss for Biggs and his Imp buddy."
Link snorted. "Sounds good. You do that, I'll try to calculate that safe exit route for Solo before he—"
An alarm button suddenly squealed and Link immediately pressed it.
A new holo manifested before them, between their work stations. The pair's mouths dropped in unison with what is showed them.
"Oh…no," Mouse intoned.
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"Oh…no," Lando murmured in disbelief.
Over the comm, Leia let out a surprised shout.
"Hellooooo!" Han cut in, from behind Lando, who was presently seated in the pilot's chair. "Still can't see over here!"
"It's Death Squadron!" Lando yelled in alarm. "All of Death Squadron!"
Surrounding all sides of the Falcon, monolithic, colossal daggers leapt out of hyper. A mind-numbing armada of bone-white vessels encircled them everywhere Lando could see—
He fought to keep his breath from freezing at the wall of triangular dead-naughts barring them in, like they'd flown into the open mouth of a behemoth monster—and were staring down its rows of teeth.
And they were all no doubt at this moment locking on-to them.
"Guys!" Leia suddenly came over the comm from her spot in the gun turret. "Are you seeing this!?"
"No!" Han shouted, "I can't! But Lando just told me-!"
Chewie harned angrily from the co-pilot's chair and waved at the comm.
"Okay! Okay!" Lando shouted back, and activated the unit, "Do you two have a hyper-space vector plotted for us yet?"
"No," Commander Darklighter grimly answered, "nothing from our people yet. We're currently under your city, seeing if we can trace the boss."
Chewie let out another loud harn, this one Lando was relieved wasn't aimed at him.
"Lay off, Wook," Darklighter fired back, "Solidarity is down. Vader must have had his agents hit them with something; they're trying to get back on their feet and help us out. We need to—"
"We need to get out of here!" Han hotly cut-in. "Even blind I know we're surrounded. We need those miracle workers to work a miracle! Or we're—"
The ship jostled hard as something struck it.
"Great," Han muttered, "I know that blast—Destroyer cannon. We're officially in their range."
"Then let's get officially out of range," Lando retorted, and pulled some levers aggressively, "before someone gets a tractor beam on us."
Lando caught Han let out a yelp as the ship roughly jerked left, spinning to avoid more laser fire.
"Warn me next time!" Han complained. "I'm still blind over here!"
"But unfortunately not mute!" Lando quipped.
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In his career, only one constant remained with him, aside from the blood and death—
A plan. The Specter always had a plan.
His redundancy systems were set in place with their own redundancy systems, and those had their own back-ups as well.
A good assassin, one who preferred success—and continued life—always handled for any situation long before it blew out of control.
But the best assassins could control each situation as it arose, as they had already predicted and factored every possible facet long before any knives were drawn or throats were cut. Every iota, well in advance, had been already un-packed, checked and re-checked, preventing anything from unfolding except a clean, streamlined job.
Dromerick had drilled that in unmercifully—like everything else. The insane scientist made it clear that assassins were death incarnate; and death was never passive, but aggressive.
In control; always.
That certainly didn't allow for rebels, or Jedi…or Sith.
Or dark lords who happened to reveal themselves as a long-lost father.
Luke didn't let himself ponder how Dromerick would have reacted, could he see this now.
Years of torture chambers and re-conditioning would have been his gentlest—and least likely—reaction.
When Vader took a step back, it was clear he was waiting for Luke to make his decision.
Yet, there was no mistaking the fact that the Sith would not accept another refusal. This was Luke's final chance, his absolute final chance, to come willingly.
After that, the crimson saber would hiss to life, and it was safe to assume what followed would make their duel on the Death Star seem like a tranquil picnic on Naboo by comparison.
He knew what was coming, what was inevitably coming…so why not call the blue saber and strike first?
In the recesses of him mind, Specter soberly nodded in agreement.
So, why couldn't he move?
Because, this is what you've always wanted, Skywalker seemed to whisper in his ear. He'd done it: he'd finally uncovered, courtesy Master Yoda, what truly happened to his mother.
But, moreover, he'd finally found his father. There was no more wondering, no more sleepless nights, fearing the worst: that his father was being tortured by the Emperor for amusement, or even experimented on in a secret Imperial lab, like so many Jedi before him.
Like Luke had once been, years ago.
It was over, the 'job' he'd given himself after escaping the lab: to track down his parents- was done.
Only, it wasn't. He'd never, in a million lifetimes, ever considered that his father was in fact, Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith. Even on the rare occasion he managed to snatch a few moments of sleep, and the nightmares assaulted him, even in the darkest, most terrible places of his mind, the thought that his Jedi father: the Hero with No Fear, had succumbed to the darkness, never occurred to him, even for a second.
But he had, Palpatine had managed to lure him into the dark side. His father, the war hero the galaxy once looked to for salvation, he'd betrayed everything he once held most precious—
It made sense now: why Luke had seen visions of his father fighting Darth Vader in the Jedi Temple; of course he saw them both. His father must have just allied himself to the Sith Master –and betraying his friends had been Palpatine's first command to him.
And if Luke followed his father into the darkness, if he chose to become as Sith as Anakin Skywalker did, there could be no doubt what Vader's first order would be.
Biggs' warning flashed through his mind again: Vader's revelation that he intended to make Luke murder his own friends in cold blood.
No; that would never happen. He'd never allow it.
Yoda's admonitions finally made full sense: that the dark side would offer him his parents, but it would cost him his very self. Fade's words, as of their own accord, flitted across his mind again:
We'd lose you, Friend, forever.
Luke cringed, and recoiled from Vader.
There was so little of him left. Dromerick had cut into him, ripped out most of his organs, tissues, his identity as Luke Skywalker, as a human being…and any chance at ever living a normal life. He'd never have a place in this galaxy, ever.
Even if the rebellion did win. He'd always be cut off, an outsider—
Dromerick's biting, final words cut into Luke afresh: You'll never escape. You'll never be free.
Wherever you go, you'll be living a lie.
He'd always live a lie because he was a lie; that's what Dromerick had made him into: not a mere killer, but a walking lie.
He looked human, but his true humanity Dromerick had stolen from him a long time ago. Along with any hope of finding real acceptance in this galaxy.
Even his name; the scientist had left virtually nothing left of Luke Skywalker. He'd killed that child on the surgical table, and from his mutilated body had birthed the Specter.
But…the Jedi and rebels had changed that.
Leia had changed that.
They'd awakened something inside of him, that little shard of humanity that Luke had all but forgotten long ago. Something in him that reminded him how to smile, how to open up to friends—
How to laugh at Han when they all bombarded him with a snow fight on Hoth.
How to feel that intoxicating warmth when Leia held him and made him promise to come back.
No. Luke riveted, something in him snapping at the thought.
Vader would take that from him: Luke Skywalker, that other person he was only now beginning to know, Vader would take that person and kill him forever—
Just as Palpatine killed Anakin Skywalker from him created Darth Vader.
A murky image of the nightmarish monster Vader would turn him into made Luke's breath catch. He took another step back, half astonished that Vader didn't react.
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The comm beeped, jolting Link out of his stupefied paralysis.
Because, of kriffing course, when things were already beyond horrible…kriffing Death Squadron had to show up and kriff things up even more!
Link reflexively flipped the switch to activate the comm.
"This is Scorch," a too deep, masculine voice came over the speaker, 'his' voice altered by identification shielding software built into the systems, "I've infiltrated the objective on Tattooine"—
"Sorry, Scorch!" Mouse cut-in. "We can't talk right now, we're in big trouble!"
"Why?!" the agent suddenly demanded. "What's wrong? Did Solo-?"
"Nope!" Link interrupted. "Vader lured the boss to Bespin by using his rebel buddies as bait. And, just for extra 'fun,' the Emperor showed up too. Boss killed the Emperor…and now all of Death Squadron is here and everything is bad!"
A long sigh, twisted by the software. "The Emperor. I should have seen that coming. Well, by the time I got there it'd be over. Good news, Ghost stopped here to check in and just left. She should be to your headquarters soon."
Link and Mouse let out dramatic sighs and slouched in their chairs in unison.
"Should I pull out to assist anyways?"
"No," Mouse replied, "we've been trying to get an agent in there for too long; you're the first to succeed—"
"Naturally," Scorch jibed—
"Anyways," Link butted-in dryly, "we've been re-creating our systems with the back-ups from years ago, that we kept around because: reasons. And we should be set just about"—
Around them, machinery whined back to life and the lighting came back on.
"Woooooo!" the pair cheered, striking victory poses.
"Great," the agent drawled, "well, contact me when you can. Tell Spek to not let Vader enjoy his role as Emperor too long."
And the comm disengaged.
Link only rolled his eyes. "Okay, let's calculate that escape route before things get too"—
On their view screen, the Falcon suddenly jostled, hard—as if something got a hold of it.
"Oh, no," Mouse deadpanned.
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When the Lieutenant sprinted up to Piett, he already knew what was coming, having seen the space freighter suddenly veer away from them.
"Sir, the tractor beam…failed," he softly professed, sweat beading his brow.
Piett raised a hand, signaling the other man to calm himself.
"Lieutenant, Lord Vader has not even contacted us for an update," was the brisk reminder, "we have time. Simply have the crew take more careful aim and try again."
"Admiral," one of younger officers called from the command pit to his left, "another ship has come out of hyperspace and is closing in on the Millennium Falcon." He glanced at the screens and his brow pinched in what Piett deduced was confusion.
"Sir," the officer avowed, shaking his head, "it's…a Nubian Starfighter- a pre-Clone Wars model."
Piett riveted to the view ports as it zipped past in the far distance.
"What in the galaxy?" he murmured to no one in particular.
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"We've got coordinates!"
Biggs couldn't stop from starting when Link's voice came bursting over the comm.
He stood in the cockpit, watching in disbelief as Tank had opened the Revenant's top hatch to retrieve...the shocking sight they'd glimpsed just a couple minutes prior.
"Great," he called back after flipping a switch to open their channel. "Send it to Han."
"Can't," was the glum answer, "they're really close to the Executor. As in: much too close, like…'only Han would ever dream of getting that close.'"
"Okay," Biggs scoffed, "I get the idea."
"The Executor is sending out some sort of comm-scrambling signal," Mouse put in, "really bizarre pattern. Runs on an algorithm, of an algorithm, of yet another"—
"Again: got the idea," Biggs replied tersely, "send us the jump coordinates. We're just about done here—hopefully."
"Phew, good to hear," Link professed, "oh, and just so you know"—
"Commander Darklighter," Warhead's voice suddenly broke over the secondary comm system, "Captain Typho here. Just came out of hyper. Where do you need me?"
"Yeah," Link added, "like I was saying: just so you know- Warhead is en-route."
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Leia was ready when the TIE fighters swarmed around them.
What she wasn't ready for was the mind-number amount of them—they were everywhere!
Madly, she swung her seat around in the dorsal pit, her tiny fingers aching as they commanded the massive blaster cannon to fire deadly orange energy at their enemies.
She clenched her teeth, wanting nothing more than to hear Luke comm in that he had escaped Vader and was being picked up by the Revenant now…but—
Nothing. Fleetingly, her mind was seized by memories of Hoth; Luke had vanished on them for a while then too…but had abruptly come over the comms—to say he was challenging the Executor.
In the ventral turret, Kenobi was at work, nearly every shot making a TIE fireball.
Leia let out a sigh, remembering what the old Jedi had told her: that she had to let everyone play the role they were destined to.
With a steadying breath, she took aim, and forced her thoughts to focus.
Luke trusted her to do what she had to; she had to give him as much in return.
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Typho's yellow fighter veered around the Falcon, and he opened his comm channel.
"Solo, Warhead here."
"About damn time someone showed up who knows what they're doing," the smuggler groused, "anyone have coordinates for us yet, or should we make reservations for the extra-large detention cell?"
"Coordinates are sending now; base tried to send the directly, but Executor's got a signal-jammer; I'm using your ship's shadow to block it…they never get any fully right you know."
Laughter from multiple people rippled over the comm. He heard Solo let out a deep breath.
"Ugh, thanks, Warhead. I really thought we were done."
"Thank me when we're back at base. Make the jump to hyper; you're clear."
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"Admiral, we've got lock on the Falcon."
"Excellent; proceed with tractor beam."
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Lando pulled the final leaver back for hyper.
Only a garbled whine announced anything tried to leap to hyper.
Tried…but failed.
"Lando!" Han bellowed.
"They told me they fixed it!" the Administrator protested in his defense. "I trusted them to fix it!"
Chewie harned in angst, pushed the dark-skinned man aside when he rose to probably help, and only let out some…colorful language when Lando added: "It's not my fault!"
But everyone froze in silence when a massive force suddenly jostled the ship.
Until Han said dourly, "That wasn't a blaster cannon."
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When Typho saw the tractor beam seize the freighter carrying Luke's friends, his first thought was to locate and destroy the tractor beam itself.
Except between his one fighter and the Executor lay no less than several thousand TIE's. And eventually, one of them would get lucky.
Granted, the shielding on his fighter was just a durable as on the Revenant itself, Luke would hear of nothing else, but the numbers were ridiculously against them.
So he returned to the Falcon's shadow and opened his comm.
"Link, Mouse?"
"Yeah, Warhead, we've got you on vid-feed. Why didn't Han's crew jump to hyper?"
Typho let out a frustrated breath. "Apparently, the city techs did not repair the drive as they said. Apparently, the Empire covered their bets by letting the hyper-drive remain…damaged."
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Link and Mouse traded guilty looks.
"Sooooo," Link hesitantly began, "when we saw that data come through from Bespin about the Falcon…maybe we should have read it after all."
"Yeah," Mouse put-in, voice clipped, "maybe we should have."
"Later!" Typho barked, making them both jump. "Pull that data and send it to the Falcon! They need to fix that drive."
"But they're caught in a tractor beam!" Mouse retorted, "and our systems are running, but at minimal. I don't think we have the juice to hack into Executor, much less—"
"I'll take care of Executor," was the gruff rebuttal, "just get that ship fixed!"
And the comm cut off.
"Miracle: Number 5,668," Link quipped, "coming right up!"
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Piett watched as the invisible tractor beam did its work; the pile of scrap that its owner actually considered a ship began its journey to the Executor's most heavily secured hanger bays.
The Admiral shook his head, still unable to grasp how any sane, rational man could consider such a junk heap a ship—much less a ship that could battle the Empire's greatest super vessel and hope to win.
Though…he may have just answered his own question: 'sane and rational' indeed.
Captain Solo had been described in their briefings in many ways, those two words Piett did not recall ever being among them.
He let out a sigh; wondering how Lord Vader intended to deal with such a motley crew of insolent rebels.
He didn't hear it when another officer approached him from behind.
"Piett."
The Admiral swung around in shock, hastily clearing his throat and regaining his composure.
His gaze took in a much taller, broader-shouldered man, his pale face stern as ever; grey eyes as focused and resolute as before… Hoth.
"General Veers," the Admiral greeted, grasping a pro-offered hand, more in relief than in welcome, "I understood that you would remain in the bacta for at least another"—
"No," was the blunt reply, "I couldn't bear the sticky slime another minute. And my duties don't care about a few cuts and bruises. I have piles of work accumulated already."
Piett closed the distance between them, the rebels nearly forgotten, "Max, I read the reports. You were brought back to this ship nearly dead. We didn't know if you'd make it."
Veers had the audacity to offer a small grin. "Firmus, your concern is appreciated; truly, it is. But I've got a few years left in me yet."
But just as Piett opened his mouth to rebuke what he saw as flippant disregard for health and mortality, the General held out a data pad.
"What's this?"
Veers kept his voice down. "We need to talk, in a discreet corner."
And he walked away.
In the next moment the Executor's captain was at his side.
"Anything I can assist with, Admiral?"
Piett forced his face to remain neutral as he turned to the brown-haired man. "No, Terric, the General was just letting me know he's returning to his duties."
Terric pinched his brow in what seemed to Piett worry and bafflement. His tone confirmed as much. "So soon? But shouldn't-?"
"I didn't say I agreed, captain. But Veers knows himself best."
The other bowed. "Yessir."
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"Okay, okay," Mouse tensely said, "I think I've got it."
"Got what?" Link asked, "I'm trying to figure a way around the Executor's jamming signal. That ship still has to talk to its other ships. It can't exactly jam itself."
"What if the other ships are slaved to it?"
Link lit up. "I could make a new comm signal for us based of slave signal templates."
Mouse gave a thumb's up. "Make it so. I think I've got us re-connected to the boss's helmet vid."
Link slouched. "Oh, good. Let's make sure he's in one piece still."
Mouse reached for a switch. "All right, fingers crossed. Re-activating helmet vid-comm."
And he flipped the switch.
The pair cheered when another holo-screen sprang to life…until the visual cleared enough for them to see—
Darth Vader.
"Oh, no," the pair groaned.
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Vader could feel it: his son's conflict.
Yes, he feared for his friends, it was to be expected. It was not lost on his clever boy that in order to become a full Sith, whatever attachments one had to a past life had to be…extinguished.
Hence his child now shrank back from him, anxiety for them consuming his mind.
But, Vader perceived more. While Luke's conscious thoughts were wholly focused on the princess, the rebels and his assassin cohorts, there was, buried much deeper, a defined undercurrent.
It was something Vader has glimpsed first on Vjun, ever so vague, a tiny whisper he almost missed. And again, when he touched the child's mind on Dagobah, it was more potent, the boy wasn't hiding it from him because he didn't expect Vader's Force presence to reach out to him there. The child had felt safe with the Grand Master, safe enough to lower his guard.
But now, even with Luke's defenses wound around him tighter than dura-steel cords, Vader could perceive it: a powerful compulsion in his son, a craving that would not be silenced.
A need for connection- to his blood. To his family.
And the only living family Luke had left was Vader.
Something in dark lord purred in happiness; the Force was indeed with him. Luke could not lie to himself, he could not deny that destiny had bound them to each other.
His son could sense it no doubt as clearly as Vader did.
And that meant he could not resist it forever.
He held out an inviting hand, unwilling to let the opportunity pass. He didn't flinch when Luke recoiled more.
"You cannot hide your feelings, Son," he professed, keeping his voice as soft as the vocabulator would allow; he didn't want to shatter this moment with any show of aggression, "you feel it: we are meant to be together. Come with me." He slowly stepped towards Luke, subtly herding him towards a metal railing as he did before; and closed the distance between them when the 'clank' of metal armor meeting the rail guard told him Luke was pinned. He stood a full head taller than his child and used it to advantage. Looming over the assassin, he grasped the boy's armored shoulders. "Do not hesitate," the dark lord rumbled, his voice still muted, but infused with more urgency, "you wish to come with me. Do not think I cannot sense it."
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Biggs expanded the scanner's range as Tank stomped back into the cockpit.
"That was fun," he grumbled, "glad I had the armor on."
He scooped up Fade's washed out form from the co-pilot's chair and sat, planting her back in his lap.
Biggs opened his mouth to say something, but caught Fade suddenly stir.
They both stilled as the feline's eyes opened, and she glanced around blearily.
Good, you have not departed the city. I am relieved.
"Can you see the boss?" Tank pressed at once.
Yes, he is choosing his fate…now. I assumed the old Sith Lord was the one to present his test; I was wrong. He is making his choice now. The other Sith is offering him a place at his side.
Biggs shook his head. "Luke would never—"
Tank put up a gloved and armored hand. "You said: 'he's choosing'? You don't mean he's tempted to accept?!"
Biggs felt his lips part in disbelief when the feline squirmed, and her ears drooped forlornly.
He is, very much so. The dark lord is offering him something Friend has craved for a long time. This is his test.
Even as Tank gawked, his helmet and face plate removed, Biggs wasted no time. He flipped open a channel to Solidarity.
"Link! Mouse! Do you have vid on the boss?!"
A long pause, only broken when Tank bellowed: "Are you two alive, or what!?"
Then two voices clearly snapping out of…something, Biggs didn't want to wonder what, and then Link came over with: "Oh, boy, you two have no idea—"
"Stop stalling!" Biggs snapped, "Can you see Luke!?"
"Yes!" Mouse cried, and Biggs cringed at his frantic tone, "we're trying to get audio to his helmet or implant back up…Vader's mind controlling him…or something! We've got to get him out of there!"
Tank reached for his helmet. "Get the ship to a landing dock. I'm going back in there."
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Link's fingers had never flown so fast. Even as he listened to Biggs and Sunber argue about whether or not they should go back into Cloud City to retrieve Specter, and while he couldn't hear Fade, per se, he knew she was arguing the point because he caught their retorts to her.
He was wondering how it would all end, when the flapping of wings came over, followed closely by angry screeches.
Everyone assumed that Ghost or Fade were Spek's second in command. Link wondered how many others had figured out it was in fact the moody falcon.
Suddenly, the controls at Solidarity seemed to take over on their own, and Link hesitantly opened the comm again.
"Uh, that's you…right Noc?"
The sputtering screech would have been hilarious any other day, Link only let out a breath of relief today.
"Okay, so apparently, Noc is re-uploading all our baseline systems," Biggs announced, "he restored our weapons systems, sent the Falcon what they need and put together a new comm signal so we can all talk to each other despite the Executor's jamming. So, first things first: can you two talk to Luke? Can you give him directions on how to get out of there?"
Link glanced over at Mouse, only to see the color drain from his face. He was watching the screen feed from Spek's helmet.
"What?"
"You weren't paying attention," Mouse replied. He honestly looked ready to cry. "The boss admitted he wants to go with Vader."
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A/N: Yeah, I really am horrid enough to leave it there. It was such a great cliffy and I wanted to upload something today. Hopefully I'll find a new job soon and things will begin to settle down. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy and PLEASE leave a review. Especially for those of you who have not reviewed, please say something. Even if it's one or two words like "nice job" or "more please," it's something. Well, that's it for now; till next time!
