AN: Lately I seem to be writing slower than G.R.R Martin! Many, many thank yous as always to everyone who is reading this very long fic and staying with it. I hope you continue to enjoy the story as it unfolds. An extra thanks to those who have been kind enough to leave a comment, every single one of them means so much to me. If you have used a sign-in account then I hope to answer you all directly.
I'm afraid this chapter is still a "setting it all up chapter," but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.
Thanks to Kazlynh for checking this over - if there are spelling mistakes and grammatical errors they belong to me! :/
This chapter is dedicated to lovesdaryl along with a public apology - I'm sorry :( - please check out her amazing Walking Dead fic.
All previous disclaimers for Dark Times still apply.
Dark Times: Chapter 7
For Darkness Restores
Part Two
Thecla bowed her head to her master, deliberately keeping her eyes away from the figure lying on the bed; not yet having permission to look upon her master's new acquisition. "I am yours to command master," she spoke the words quietly, her voice still roughened with disuse during her weeks of incarceration.
Vader had taken her straight to Palpatine after removing her from the cell in the bowels of the Palace. Her mind still staggering from the Dark Lord's statement…
"The patient is waking. The Emperor believes his recovery would be assisted if he woke to a familiar face."
… and she had immediately known of whom who the Dark Lord spoke and, glancing at Rhovan, she had seen that same unspoken understanding flare in the Major's grey eyes. No-one acknowledged it, not Vader when he had taken her arm in his grasp and pulled her from the cell, not Rhovan when he had stepped aside to allow them past and not herself when the Dark Lord guided her to a waiting turbolift that took her straight to the prison's separate and secluded landing platform.
Skywalker was alive!
She had failed. She had failed her mission for her master. She had failed to keep father and son apart. She had failed Luke.
"Do it!" He had demanded, knowing…. Knowing why she was there. Knowing exactly what he asked of her. Those blue eyes, vibrant and understanding of her task. He had accepted it. He had looked for it. He had wanted it.
"Do it!"
And she had.
She had pulled the trigger. That one, abrupt, shot had caught him at almost point blank range. It had sent him flying backward and down the ramp of the shuttle to drop from its side onto the snow outside.
It had been a fatal shot. She knew it! Had felt it as soon as the bolt of light had left the muzzle, as soon as she had felt the kick of the blaster in her hand. She knew it had been a clean kill. She had been well trained, she had killed many times and she was well acquainted with death and yet, still she had failed.
Skywalker was alive!
Thecla had allowed the Dark Lord to steer her, her body moving automatically as he led her from the shuttle and into the depths of the pinnacle of the Empal SuRecon Centre, her mind stuck on those last few moments on Horaarn, playing them over and over in her mind.
Luke being escorted up the ramp, hands bound behind his back, legs hampered by shackles. The jerk of his head as he saw her, the flash of recognition, the relief that had filtered into his eyes. Then cold determination…
"Do it!"
Given no time to prepare, given no time to wash, to eat or even to come to terms with being out of that dark cell, Vader had taken her to the ante chamber of the Emperor's temporary office. Clamping her jaw, gritting her teeth, and with growing consternation she had struggled to stay on her feet, the weakness of her body threatening to betray her and more than once she had glanced to the empty reception chairs and eyed their comfort enviously as they waited to be summoned.
Skywalker was alive!
And she had no idea what that really meant for her and her future.
The doors of the Emperor's office had parted and, again with Vader clasping her upper arm, his fingers digging hard into muscle, she had been dragged forward into her Master's presence.
The desk was empty, the wide window behind was dimmed to a low tint to keep out the bright noon sun and cast the office into grey shadow.
"Ah, my child," Palpatine's smooth voice came from behind her.
Vader released her and Thecla slid to her knees, in reverence and with exhaustion. She dipped her head, eyes staring at the weave of the expensive ruby-red carpet in the Emperor's private office. There was the sound of pouring liquid, the chink of glass, from behind as Vader also took a knee in the Palpatine's presence.
"Thank you, Lord Vader," Palpatine's tone carried a command; Vader was dismissed.
The large man rose and stepped back from Thecla. "Master," he intoned as he bowed his head in reluctant obedience.
Palpatine remained silent as the door to his office swept shut. His robes rustling as he moved, his footsteps heavy on the floor as he approached her.
Thecla trembled with fatigue, with fright, fighting the impulse to throw herself at his feet and beg for forgiveness for failing him. She swallowed the instinctive urge and gritted her teeth; determined to be His agent to the very end.
He had trained her. He had invested his time in her, taught her and guided her. She would not fail him again.
"I should hope not," his voice sounded humoured, as though he was delighted by her thoughts, her internal struggle and yet there was also a barb; sharp and biting. He passed her, leaving her kneeling, and settled behind the large desk leaving another long gap of silence before speaking once more. "You disappoint me…"
A wave of guilt, of searing shame, swept through her, but she had held her tongue; knowing it was best not to speak until invited.
Minutes ticked, silence dragged and the Emperor took a sip from whatever liquid he had poured into his glass. Thecla's throat clogged with thirst and she had to fight the urge to lick her cracked, parched, lips.
"…. your feelings for Skywalker are not unknown to me, even now I can feel them," Palpatine continued as though the preceding silence had not existed. He sounded disgusted, revolted by the notion that his agent may care for another. "You did not attempt to kill him to fulfil my commands. You shot him to spare him from Vader… to spare him his fate. To keep him from me!"
Thecla wanted to argue, could feel her contentions and rationale of her actions bubbling just under the surface; she had tried to fulfil her duty, had tried to keep Vader and Skywalker apart as ordered. Had attempted to execute Luke as commanded to satisfy her master's wishes that should Vader's capture of Skywalker be unavoidable that the Rebel die. However, she knew that to voice them would mean her death. To voice them would be a betrayal of all of Palpatine's trust in her; that he would sense her thoughts and feelings was proof enough of her disloyalty.
The simple truth was that she had cared, still cared, for Luke Skywalker.
"Hmmm," Palpatine pondered, taking another sip of his drink while she knelt on the floor, dehydrated and exhausted. The glass was set down on the desk and still Thecla kept her eyes to the floor. "You have a chance to redeem yourself."
Knowing she was expected to speak now, knowing her cue, knowing her master; she intoned softly, barely able to make her voice more than a scraped whisper. "I am the Emperor's willing servant."
"Perhaps you were once," The Emperor's tone was cold, biting. "Perhaps you will be again, but be under no illusion; you have much to atone for and I will be watching."
Thecla stared at the carpet, stared at the threads of the weave and the rich, deep and dark, colour still not daring to raise her eyes to her master, not daring to speak. The floor covering seemed new; it had no pile, no softness. It was hard and woven tight, warp and weft rigidly interlocking and yet… there… and Thecla had to crush her smile, hide her amusement… just there… there was a single thread pulling up, escaping the dense knit.
"…guards outside will escort you to an apartment within this facility," Palpatine was speaking again telling her of next mission. Thecla focused on his words knowing her life depended on carrying out his instructions. "You will clean yourself up, take nourishment and report back to me in the upper medical wing."
Thecla cleared her throat; already knowing that she was to assist Luke. Vader's words had been quite clear…
"The patient is waking. The Emperor believes his recovery would be assisted if he woke to a familiar face."
…implicit that it was Luke who she was to go to. She was the familiar face.
Palpatine lifted his glass again, making her wait for excruciating seconds while her body ached in the kneeling position. He sipped at the liquid and placed the glass back down on his desk. "You believe that your target did not die and that you are to assist in his awakening. That is what Lord Vader has inferred, yes?"
Thecla swallowed, dryly. "Yes, Master."
The Emperor chuckled, his amusement genuine. He rose from his chair, walked around his desk. "Then Lord Vader is somewhat misguided. Your task is two-fold. It is true that the boy's body lives again. He is emerging from a coma and the medics believe that familiarity will ground him. You are to sit with him, speak with him, read to him if you so wish. You will be his anchor in the waking world." Standing above her, he paused to consider his next words. "But he is no longer Luke Skywalker and there has to be no mention of his previous incarnation. I am shaping him. I am guiding him; creating what he will become…" his voice turned cold, malignant. "… and yet, remnants of Skywalker still exist in his mind. You, child, are also tasked in reviving those remnants, with bringing those snatches of Luke Skywalker to the surface."
Why?
The question was in Thecla's mind before she could quash it.
And the amusement was back, his voice carrying incredulity that she had not understood his intent. "So that I can remove them, cut them from him and leave his mind empty and mine to fill."
And so she had obeyed him and followed the guards to her assigned rooms. She had stripped from the filthy prison clothes and showered; the water hitting her body hot and hard, the soap vigorously scrubbed into her skin as she removed the grime and stench of the detention centre. She had sat for a long time just brushing her hair and reminding herself to make arrangements to have it cut, while refusing to even glance in the mirror once; too afraid of what she would see, too afraid to face herself and what she had done and was about to do at Palpatine's bidding. Then she had dressed in a simple jump suit, tied up her hair and ate a simple meal; not wanting to upset a stomach more used to meagre prison rations.
Palpatine had sent an escort to bring her to Luke's room… it seemed his lack of trust extended to even this most simple of duties… and now here she stood in the threshold of the most private and most guarded of hospital rooms on Imperial Centre.
"Go to him," Palpatine ordered, "sit with him."
Still not raising her eyes to the figure on the bed, Thecla took a hesitant step forward, but Palpatine caught her arm, halting her and she had to fight her instinct to jerk away from his oily grasp, from his fetid breath.
He must have seen this, sensed this, for his grasp tightened. "Remember all I have said. Skywalker is dead."
"Yes, master," she whispered in return to the implicit threat in his words and tone.
He released her and again she stepped forward to the man lying on the bed. Luke…
…for he looked like Luke and, no matter what her master said, she could not think of him as no-one or nothing…
…lay inclined on the air form mattress; a two pronged oxygen cannula resting at his nostrils, a feeding tube snaked across his abdomen to disappear into an incision in his stomach and a peripheral intravenous cannula was fixed into his arm maintaining a steady flow of fluids and medication through lines that ran down from rehydrate packs hanging above and to the side of his bed.
He was slightly turned away from her, his blue eyes open and staring intently at the blank wall of his room. He didn't respond to her approach, didn't acknowledge her pulling a chair closer to the bed, didn't react as she sat and reached forward and took his hand, entwining her fingers with his.
She swallowed, aware of Palpatine at her back, and licked her lips before hesitantly speaking. "My Lord," she addressed Luke, knowing, without needing to be told, his place in the Empire's hierarchy. She placed a hand against the warmth of his cheek and gently turned his head to her. She smiled as his eyes found her's, as confusion pulled at his brow and she tried not to despair at his lack of recognition.
"My Lord," she greeted again, with a smile, "it is good to see you awake."
He stared at her face, seconds passing slowly, before his eye lids flickered and sluggishly closed and he lapsed back into deep sleep.
ooOOo
There is a smell in the darkness. It is the smell of rot, of decaying wet foliage. There is a sound. The noise of rain fall. It rushes, it runs and drips. The air feels hot and humid, and the sweat is clinging, cloying.
The dirt underfoot is soft, it sucks at footsteps, pulls against the leather of boots.
There is light in the darkness, an opening that broadens to reveal a clearing among the tall trees that snarl out from the ground and whose roots are entwined and interlinked. Tall, so tall that they almost block the heavy grey clouds that are gathered above.
There is a figure, small and huddled in the centre of the cleaning and voice whispers above the surging rain.
"Dagobah."
Eyes snap open, pupils constricting in the light of the chamber.
"Dagobah…"
ooOOoo
Leia drew her knees up onto the co-pilot's chair and stared out at the twisting lights of hyperspace beyond the cockpit window. The engines of the Millennium Falcon thrummed steadily sending minute vibrations through the ship and causing small swells in the cup of hot chocolate that she held tightly in her hands. Lights flickered about her, blinked unseen as systems worked. A small arc sparked behind her from a panel and there was a shout from beyond the closed door, followed by the roar of a frustrated Wookiee.
The Princess lifted the cup to her mouth, feeling the heat, but not registering it, as it touched her lips. She breathed in, taking in the aroma of the cocoa and the spice of the tang bark, briefly, almost unconsciously, wondering when and where Han had been able to replace his supplies of the drink. She knew why he kept the supply, she knew why she continued to drink it. It was Luke's favourite.
Luke…
She closed her eyes, the pain of him stealing her breath. She had believed him dead, had believed him at peace. Her grief had been pure, her grief had stopped her for a while, stopped her in the stillness of horror and regret while the world moved on around her. She had slowly begun to come to terms with her friend's death, had slowly been pulled back into the world and hastened her steps to catch up with the events around her.
Han had helped. Han had been patient. Han had been demanding. Han had been as heartbroken as she and it was only when she began to emerge from her own fugue of grief that she had realised that.
Yes, that was why Han bought the hot chocolate. That was why she continued to drink it.
Luke…
Because he was alive! Because there was hope, because someday he may sit in this ship and drink it beside her once more.
Darth Vader's son…
They had said nothing to the Alliance. They had not told anyone what they knew about Luke. Had not divulged that they suspected…
… knew…
… that he was alive!
They said nothing of him being the son of the man they all feared and hated. The man who had been relentlessly hunting them until a few months ago when he had abruptly pulled off from pursuing the Falcon and returned to the centre of Imperial power.
They had remained silent when the Alliance Command had speculated about the reasons behind the Emperor's long stay in the medical centre, ruling the Galaxy from the pinnacle of the EmpPal SuRecon tower. They said nothing when the reports began to trickle in that the Lord Vader had only fleetingly visited before picking up his search for the Rebellion with renewed vigour and brutality, and hope began to filter through the fleet and the personnel that perhaps… just perhaps… Palpatine's days were coming to an end.
Only they knew; Han, Leia and Chewbacca knew, that it was Luke who had drawn the Empire's ruler and his enforcer to the hospital tower and at once they were both heartened, that perhaps Luke was recovering from his devastating injury, and terrified for what their young friend was suffering at the hands of the Empire…
.. but why had Vader left Imperial Centre?
Why had he abandoned his son?
Had Luke perished after all?
No… no… It wasn't that. It couldn't be that.
There was something else happening here.
Leia drew in another breath, listening to the muffled sounds from beyond the cockpit; the muted grumbles of Chewbacca, the retorts from Han, Artoo's bleeping and Threepio's bleating and Leia smiled briefly against her cup at the comfort of the familiar sounds.
To the Alliance Luke Skywalker was dead. To the galaxy he was already a fading name; a man who had briefly been a notorious criminal, a martyr to the Rebellion but now, long months dead, he was no longer newsworthy. In the weeks and months following Horaarn the Galaxy's media had moved on as it always does.
The occupants of this ship had not. They could not forget or abandon Luke. They had discussed telling Mothma of Luke's heritage, of their suspicions…
… their belief…. their tuth…
… they had discussed gathering together a small team, had debated the pros and cons of going to the Imperial Centre and breaking Luke out. They had argued, fought, yelled and screamed at each other, each of them switching roles and switching sides of the debate, and each of them knew as well as the other that a rescue attempt was not yet possible.
That it was impossible…
After the Cusrean and Horaarn debacles, after Hoth, the Alliance agents on Imperial Centre had fallen silent, all of them feared captured and killed. They suspected Luke was being held in the pinnacle of Palpatine's hospital tower but they did not know precisely where he was, or what physical condition he was in. They had no schematics that they could use to make an informed decision about where he could be. They had no security codes to get passed the planetary patrols to even reach the surface. Imperial centre was locked down tighter than the Banking Clan's vaults since Palpatine had moved his court. There was no team…
… "… you, me, Chewie. We could ask Wedge, Jansen… and that new guy… whassis name... the blond kid, looks like Luke…." Han clicked his fingers, mentally grasping for the young pilot's name and failing. He frowned at Leia's shrug and equally blank look. "… anyway… the Rogues. They'd be up for it…"
… and to form one would mean telling the Alliance what they knew of Luke, of what they knew about Luke, because without that knowledge Leia knew Command would never sanction such a rescue for just one man; not even for Luke Skywalker.
But for the son of Darth Vader?
"Yeah, great idea, your worship, let's make the kid a target again! It wouldn't be a rescue team that would be sent."
A rescue?
No, not for the son of Darth Vader.
Months of talking, months of arguing and they were no further forward.
Opening her eyes, the Princess took her first sip of the hot drink, letting the flavour run over her tongue, the sugar and spice igniting her taste buds as she swallowed the thick liquid. She smiled; it was good. She kept the brim of the cup against her lips, held the cup tight in her hands feeling the heat in her palms and breathed in the aroma.
Leia was tired. Achingly so. The negotiations with the Teth representatives had been long and arduous spanning four days and nights with snatches of sleep and many cups of caff. She had been tempted to ask for a stim injection but, on recalling the side effects suffered by Luke and the other pilots after the Yavin evacuation and subsequent chase by the Imperial fleet, she had decided against it. Han did not need a paranoid, agitated and hyperactive woman on his ship on the way home.
The talks had been ultimately fruitful and the Falcon was now hauling much needed rations for the beleaguered Alliance fleet with more promised to follow. She could only hope that Mothma had been successful in securing additional funding and supporters from her negotiations. They needed so much more to keep the fight going; more support, more donations, more volunteers, more ships, more weapons, more… more… more….
It wasn't that the people of the Galaxy suddenly had greater support for the Empire. If anything, the rumblings and disgruntlement had increased since Vader's murderous rampage following Luke's "assassination," but fear was good at silencing people. Fear was good at keeping people kowtowed and in their place.
"The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin, the more star systems will slip through your fingers."
Another sip. She still stood by her words to Tarkin, still knew… still felt it deep within her bones, that the Empire would one day face its day of reckoning and its grip on the Galaxy would be loosened and all those systems would tumble free from its grasp. It just wouldn't be today, or tomorrow or any day soon.
She sighed, drank a little more.
"Are you going to nurse that cup all night?"
She smiled and glanced up at the familiar voice as Luke slid into the pilot's chair beside her. "It's good she told him."
He's not here…
He smiled at her. That infectious grin that always seemed to lift her spirits, then it was gone and his eyes were sad, troubled and he looked more like he had after Escaal. "I miss it."
"Hot chocolate?" She teased, lightly.
How can he be here?
His eyes glanced up, those intensely blue irises, looking at her through the fringe of his hair. "No…," he shrugged and turned away. "This. I miss this. I miss you."
"Luke, are you all right?"
You know he's not. You know…
He didn't answer, just stared in silence at the churning tunnel of hyperspace. The air felt thick and heavy in the cockpit and she had difficulty drawing a breath to find her voice.
"Luke, what's wrong?"
He turned to her, cocked his head and considered her, chilling her with the cruel smirk that quirked his lips. He glanced up as a shadow fell over her and voice whispered, a voice she knew from her days in the senate, from the holonet, from her own brief encounters with the Emperor, "Princess Leia…"
A hand fell on her shoulder and she jumped, cried out, spilled the hot chocolate drink down her front as she turned to stare up and into the yellowed eyes of the foul creature Palpatine had become; the burn of the fluid inconsequential to the horror that…
"Hey, Leia?"
Leia jerked, pulled away from the hand on her shoulder, spilling more of the cooled…
…it's cold! How can it be cold?...
…chocolate milk over the edge the cup. She drew in a tight, fearful breath…
"Hey, it's okay… it's me."
"Han!" She gasped, confused and disorientated, as he moved quickly to lift the cup from her hands before more of the drink could spill. It was cold now…
…but it was hot only moments ago…
…but if it got onto the instrument panel it could short out several systems and she was sitting right next to the life support controls.
"What is it?" he crouched before her, set the cup down on the deck plates and took her hands in his. Her fingers were chilled, and she was trembling. "What's wrong?"
Leia looked down at the spreading chocolate stain on her jacket. She was troubled, confused, breathless at the intensity of….
"It was a dream," she said to reassure him, to reassure herself. "Just a dream."
So why were her hands still shaking? Why did her stomach churn with deep unease? When had she fallen asleep?
"A dream, huh?" He smiled, waiting for her to elaborate.
"It… seemed so real. I don't even remember falling asleep," she laughed at herself, trying to chase away the lingering shadows, the creeping unease. "I feel ridiculous!"
Han waited, still cradling her cold hands in his warm palms, saying nothing; just waiting for Leia to speak, waiting for her to tell him what was wrong.
She sighed, tried to shrug off her restless disquiet, but she knew Han wouldn't budge until he was sure she was okay. "It was Luke," she told him, watching him nodded, watching the sadness and anger flare in his eyes. When he said nothing she sighed in resignation and added, "he was here…. with Palpatine."
Han remained silent, looking up at her as she gazed down at their intertwined fingers. Finally Leia lifted her eyes to his, she shrugged and smiled. "It was just a dream," she dismissed, "just my mind trying to make sense of everything. It's just…" she paused, trying to put her thoughts and feelings into order so that she could explain to Han. "… everything's a mess."
The corner of Han's mouth quirked, amused at her loss of words, amused that the few words she did express seemed to sum up perfectly the events of the last year.
She was right, everything was a mess.
Everything had spiralled from their control and Han, who had once bragged that he controlled his own destiny, now felt like a passenger as events dragged and twisted him from the path he had once so carefully mapped out for himself and it had all started in a Cantina in Mos Eisley.
But there was one thing that was as it should be. There was one thing that… apart from a chocolate stain on her jacket… wasn't a mess.
He wanted to ease her discomfort at her dream, ease her guilt…
… and your own, Solo…
… and pain at losing Luke. He let his lips form into a grin.
"That bad, huh?" He stood and, still holding her hands in his, he pulled her to her feet. "Come on, your worship, let's get you outta that jacket and cleaned up."
"Is that what you're calling it now?" Leia teased and stood on her tip toes to plant a kiss at the side of his mouth.
"Hey, careful, your Highness I don't want to get chocolate on me…" Han protested, letting go of her hands and stepping back, careful not to knock over her abandoned cup on the deck.
"Then we'd just need to get you out of your clothes," Leia told him, her eyes dark and her voice low, husky, "and get you cleaned up, too."
Han's smiled widened knowing where this game was going as Leia pressed into him, wrapped her arms around him and he bent down to capture her lips with his own.
Leia felt her body enfolded in his embrace,…
…this was where she belonged. This is where she felt safe and secure….
…felt the heat of desire rise, banishing her earlier unease… at least for little while, at least for now, at least until she stood alone in Han's cabin over the mussed up bunk holding her jacket in her hands while staring at the dried and dark chocolate stain spread across the white fabric with a name escaping her lips in a whisper.
"Luke…"
ooOOoo
It was quiet. Too quiet. It was as though the Rebellion had disappeared, as though they had given up and had slunk back to whatever dank hole they had originated from. They were silent when Rhyllis Prime fell to the Empire to be stripped of resources and assets. They were silent when troopers massacred protesters on Firro and continued through the capitol killing randomly, wiping out a third of the city's population. They were silent when the Emperor announced further rises in taxation and removed all rights of privacy from the holonet giving him the right of access to all information that was held by the state owned media and on everyone who used it.
There was no right to a private life - all lives in the Empire belonged to the Emperor.
Rhovan sighed, placed down the datapad he had been reading. He rubbed at his temples, loosened his collar, yawned and leaned back in his chair, placing his feet on his desk.
It was quiet in the Emperor's private prison, too. All the prisoners now languishing behind closed doors with no contact with the guards. No-one, not even Rieekan, had been questioned for weeks. There was no reason to ask any questions. In the wake of the events of Cusrean and Horaarn public support for the Rebellion had waned and Vader's relentless pursuit of them had devastated their numbers and sent them and their supporters scurrying into hiding. Any information Rieekan could supply would now be months old and useless.
Everyone down here, including the guards and the officers seemed to have been forgotten and abandoned. Rhovan's duties now consisted of organising duty rotas, food supplies for the prisoners, ensuring the security systems remained operational and checking the remaining prisoners were still alive for no-one had permission to die without the expressed consent of the Emperor.
And He had been silent since moving his court and his person to the Emperor Palpatine's Surgical Reconstruction Unit several months ago. The Palace, indeed the Empire, continued with business as usual but Rhovan knew that people were unsettled by the Emperor's prolonged absence from the palace, privately asking and wondering and worrying about the despot's health. Rhovan had sensed fear, but he had also sensed hope among those living and working in the vast Imperial stronghold.
Hope that after two decades of rule that Palpatine was on his death bed despite his sporadic appearances on the holonet.
Few knew the real reason for the Emperor's absence. Few suspected what had really drawn Palpatine away from the palace and the public eye.
Rhovan suspected that it was Luke Skywalker.
No, that wasn't right. Rhovan knew it was Luke Skywalker.
He rubbed his hands over his face, felt stubble on his chin and briefly wondered how long it had been since he had last been in his apartment to wash, shave and change his clothes. The hours down here seemed to bleed from one to the other, slowly dripping monotonously until nothing differentiated them. They were the same, always the same.
Luke Skywalker.
He was sure only four people knew of the boy's survival. The Emperor of course, Lord Vader, the Emperor's agent and himself.
"The patient is waking," Vader had told him and the woman. "The Emperor believes his recovery would be assisted if he woke to a familiar face."
Again he mulled over the Dark Lord's words from weeks ago. "Waking…." "… woke to a familiar face."
Luke, and there was no doubt in Rhovan's mind that it was Luke Skywalker Vader had been referring too, had been shot weeks before the Dark Lord's visit to the Detention Centre and even more weeks had passed since then. Months of dragging silence.
"Waking…"
This was not the first time that Rhovan's thoughts had wandered to Skywalker, to Vader's son. It was also not the first time that he had mused over the Dark Lord's words and only one conclusion had ever presented itself to him. Luke had been shot in the chest, that much he knew from the holonet footage, and the injury would have impacted on his heart, his lungs, or both. Luke would have been starved of oxygen. He must have suffered anoxia or severe hypoxia. The resulting brain injury would have been traumatic, so the question was; why all the effort and time spent with him? Why not just allow him to die? What good would a brain-injured boy be to the Empire?
Jedi… The boy was Jedi…. but…
"Luke isn't a Jedi…"
Ehlen Ander's words, uttered following Skywalker's debriefing in the wake of the Cusrean disaster, echoed in his mind.
"…Luke isn't even a padawan. He is a boy with a raw power and a famous name and no-one left to teach him what he needs."
It wasn't the first time Rhovan had recalled the Rebel Major's words. It wasn't the first time that he recalled warning both Anders and Rieekan of the dangers Luke posed to the Alliance.
Skywalker had been powerful, untrained and barely restrained by the Alliance when physically well, but injured, damaged….
Vader's motives were clear and very simple; Luke was his son. However, Palpatine's were not. What could the Emperor want with a wounded boy, a disabled enemy?
Questions left unanswered as always, Rhovan yawned again, stretching in his desk chair, hands high above his head, jaw cracking, eyes tearing at the force of it, just as the door to his office swept open to reveal the red robes of the Emperor's personal guards.
Caught mid-stretch Rhovan froze, paused, as he watched the soldiers file into his office. Slowly, deliberately taking his time, he lowered his hands and lifted his boots from his desk. He placed his feet on the floor and sat straight in his chair not caring that his uniform was unfastened and dishevelled.
"What can I do for you gentlemen?" he asked politely, wondering what poor soul Palpatine had remembered was still down here and what he had in store for the prisoner.
Rieekan?
There was a twist of anxiety for the General, for his friend.
A friend no longer after what he had done…
His concern, his worry for Rieekan was immediately forgotten when he was told, with a hint and bite of humour in the soldier's voice, "You are to accompany us, Major. His Excellency requires your presence in the throne room."
Rhovan chilled. His entire body suddenly freezing and seizing and one word sprung immediately to his mind.
Shit!
Palpatine had returned and he had missed it! Months spent down in this hole had dulled his senses, had blunted his edge, his skills! He had been a fool, had taken his finger off the pulse of the Palace and now Palpatine had made his move, had pressed Rhovan into a misstep and was moving into take advantage of the forced error.
Rhovan felt like a Dejarik piece; a Houjix left too long out of the game play that had become fed up and easily taken by a skilled player.
Was Palpatine that manipulative? Was The Emperor of the known Galaxy that concerned with a single individual, with one person, that he would waste his time manoeuvring him into position until he had him just where he wanted; bored and unaware and ready for reaping?
The Major dragged himself to his feet, fastened his jacket and pulled it sharply down, trying to drag out the wrinkles in the cloth. He swept his hair back and donned his cap, briefly wondering if Palpatine would notice that he hadn't shaved, then told himself it wouldn't matter what his corpse looked like as it was unceremoniously dragged away.
"I am the Emperor's willing servant," he told the soldiers with a brief bow of his head.
They fell in around him, two in front, two behind, as they escorted him through the massive palace. Rhovan kept his head up and his walk precise, just has he had been taught in the Academy as though he were on parade or marching and drilling and not walking to his death. He ignored the curious glances that were thrown toward the small procession as it worked its way swiftly through the mundane lower levels of the monolith and up into the more ornate corridors and hallways of the main body of the Palace.
Rhovan had never been in this part of the Palace, the more public areas, the working hub of Palpatine's Empire, but he kept his eyes front dampening down his curiosity and desire to explore, after all he was not a tourist, he was not here to admire the opulence or the fast efficiency of the place. He was here to answer for his actions for the last few years, he was here to explain his treason to his Emperor.
The Red Guards surrounding him took a sharp turn and walked him out of the grandeur of a pillared and marbled hallway and through a double doorway into a plain corridor that could be found anywhere in the Empire; in the Academies around the Galaxy, on a Star Destroyer, from the bases and garrisons of the core worlds to the furthest outpost in the outer rim.
Grey durasteel walls, polished floor. It was stark contrast to the opulence he had just left and he felt he was entering yet another prison, another torture chamber…
…Perhaps you are…
… because everyone had heard the rumours and stories of Palpatine taking delight in torturing and killing those who had failed him right in front of his courtiers.
For the first time in the long walk Rhovan swallowed, finally allowing himself the luxury of reacting to the tight anxiety and nausea that balled in the pit of his stomach.
A set of blast doors separated, the sections pulling up diagonally into the corners and they stepped through into yet another corridor. This one was lined by single doorways and it looked very much like the corridors in his cell block that was in the opposite wing and hundreds of floors below. This hallway was set apart only by its wider size and by the various twisted carvings and statues that lined the walls like sentinels; silent watchmen over their Emperor's inner sanctum.
Rhovan's common sense told him that behind those doors lay offices and work stations, but the effect of the low lighting, the strange contorted sculptures and effigies and the oppressive silence and emptiness of the corridor that should be filled with the hustle and bustle of activity set his instincts screaming to turn and run.
Fear parched his mouth and chilled his body.
Like the maw of some strange behemoth the doors at the end of the corridor drew open. Approaching the quietly, widening gap the Major could see that the chamber beyond was massive and empty. The Red guards around him drew to a halt and Rhovan followed suit, coming to a dead stop.
The lead soldier turned that red helmet, that blank visor, to him and again there was a hint of humour to his voice when he spoke.
"His Excellency wishes to confer with you alone, Major," he gestured toward the waiting, open doorway.
"Thank you…," Rhovan was relieved to find his voice did not break as he spoke, but he could find no rank on the guard's scarlet robes. "… soldier," he finished.
And a part of him had to wonder if it was this man who would drag his still warm corpse from the throne room.
Taking a breath, keeping his head high, Erwin Rhovan stepped through the door to meet his Emperor and began his lone walk down the length of the throne room, his boot steps clipping on the smooth polished floor, towards the steps to the raised stage that held the Emperor's seat of power.
Rhovan kept his eyes front as he walked but the bleakness of the room surprised him. Vast high walls of black durasteel, lighted by the slits that graced the walls of all Imperial designed buildings be they palaces or prisons. Uniformed and cold, precise and methodical like the Empire itself.
He drew to a stop at the first step to the dais and glanced up at the throne half expecting to find Palpatine now sitting there, but the large chair remained empty. His eyes flickered to the space under the throne, under the platform, but the light barely filtered beneath and heavy, dark shadows cloaked the area. He swallowed, waiting, wondering what was happening, not liking not knowing, not liking this feeling of helplessness, not liking the feeling of being watched and weighed.
Minutes slowly ticked away…
"You are a difficult man to read, Major Rhovan..."
The dry whisper coming from so close behind had the hair on the back of his neck prickling. He turned on his heel and fell to one knee knowing who had spoken without seeing him.
"But I suspect that is why you were chosen for the programme," the Emperor finished.
Heart hammering, Rhovan forced out, "Excellency, I am honoured to..."
"Save the platitudes, Major," Palpatine spat out, "We both know you are not here for a social visit."
Rhovan stiffened, body chilled to the bone. He kept his eyes to the floor where all he could see from his peripheral vision was the skirts of the Emperor's robes and the tip of his walking stick.
"You consorted with Our enemies. You bore arms against Us. You lead and organised resistance and rebellion. Your actions on Hasthaal, Cusrean and Escaal are known to me as are the number of dead patriots, killed because of your actions, because of the information you fed to the Rebel Alliance," Palpatine's voice was still low, hissing like a viper about to strike.
Rhovan said nothing in his defence. He merely waited; waited for the list of his crimes against the Empire to end and for his fate to be decided.
"We have lost weapons, supplies, vehicles and ships that are destroyed or now aimed against us. We have lost intelligence information and hyperspace algorithms because of you, Major."
The Emperor moved around him, footsteps dull, walking stick tapping, robes rustling. "You deserve to die, Major, for inciting such insurgency against me!"
Palpatine completed his circle, was now standing directly before him once more. Rhovan waited for him to speak, waited for The Emperor to kill him.
"Aurek-Aurek-three-three-four-zero-Dorn," Palpatine announced.
Rhovan started, surprised and relieved, to hear his authorisation code spoken. He kept his hope dulled, he kept his eyes to the floor and suppressed the tiny smile that threatened to curl his lips.
"I had thought the program abandoned, the operatives terminated and yet here you are with an order code that catches even my attention…"
The Emperor broke off, turned away from him, walked to the stairs and climbed to his seat of power while Rhovan remained kneeling. There was quiet as the despot settled and regarded him.
"In all your postings you have maintained your status as a loyal Imperial Officer, while finding and encouraging dissent and twice you have even been welcomed into the arms of the Rebellion and given rank and status in the heart of their Alliance…"
Rhovan kept his eyes cast down as though ashamed of his insurgency, still unsure of the Emperor's intentions.
"… You have followed your orders to the letter, Major and in over a decade you have never once asked to be relieved. You have taken to your mission with drive and ambition, climbing through the ranks while rooting out dissent and encouraging it, fuelling it… before utterly destroying it."
Rhovan closed his eyes; sights and scenes ripping through his mind. The Cusrean student demonstrations he had organised and fired up to clash with Imperial troops that had led directly to the massacre of thousands and the annex of the planet into the Empire at the Cusrean government's "request" due to the resulting unrest. The creation and the careful build-up of the resistance network on Hasthaal and the sudden sweep and arrests of hundreds of operatives; his own brother being the one who had been set up to be caught and arrested while relaying tracked weapons that lead the Empire to the resistance's door.
"Sam… This doesn't have to be you!" Rhovan tried to keep the desperation from his voice.
His young brother shook his head. "Yes, it does!" I know the flight paths, I know where the scanner's dark spots are. I know the scheduled traffic. I'm the only one who can do this!"
"No!" Rhovan roared, losing his composure. He slammed his glass down, the amber liquid sloshing over the sides to wet the table. He gestured to his second-in-command, "This is Dihind's job, it was always his call, his mission."
"He's a civilian! Working civilian traffic. That's different traffic paths, different priorities," Sam, sighed, slumped in his seat and reached for his own glass. "You're trying to protect me, Erwin. I know what I'm doing, I know what would happen if I get caught. Where I'd end up… you are my brother after all."
Rhovan said nothing, sadly watching his teenage brother take a sip of the bitter amber liquid and seeing the tremble in his brother's hand. Sam was scared, terrified and was going ahead with it anyway.
It had led to his brother's arrest. It had led Sam into the detention centre and into the cells. It had led to Rhovan killing his brother to protect him, to save him from worse.
It wasn't supposed to have been Sam.
"…Your plan to discredit the Rebellion was inspired, Major," Palpatine was still talking and Rhovan forced his mind into the here and now. To lose focus while in audience of the Emperor was ill advised. He pushed Sam away, pushed away his grief and regrets and concentrated on Palpatine's words. "… as was your suggestion of staging it at Cusrean and using the abandoned space station."
Rhovan couldn't help the brief stab of surprise at the praise he heard in the Emperor's voice.
"I only regret that I was not there to witness the Rebel's outrage when they learned of the Felucian Necrosis. You did well, Major, to bait and secure their attack on the station."
"Thank you, Your Excellency," Rhovan forced out, his heart still hammering, disbelief at this turn of events numbing his limbs. He may yet survive this encounter.
"And Skywalker's involvement in the attack, that was your doing also?"
Rhovan swallowed, before answering. "No, Sire. That was Leia Organa's suggestion."
"Really?" There was a chuckle of amusement, then, "you may rise, Major."
Rhovan pushed himself to his feet and stood at ease waiting as Palpatine regarded him from behind his hood. Palpatine leaned forward, placed his hands on the arms of the throne.
"Yes, you have served me well, Major. Except for Escaal."
Rhovan chilled, froze where he stood. He had been played, he had been praised and allowed to relax and now Palpatine had moved in for the kill.
"Explain," The Sith Lord demanded.
The words wouldn't come. His mind numbed and time stretched. He swallowed, and took a breath suddenly realising that what he said next would make the difference between his life or his death.
"My apologies, Excellency," he bowed his head briefly, mind scrabbling to find the words he needed. "I had taken leadership of the resistance, but had yet to consolidate it. In order to do this I suggested to the Network section commanders that we make contact with the Alliance and plan a co-ordinated attack against the munitions plant. I had thought that the losses we would take would be minimal and necessary sacrifices for my mission. The Alliance agreed, but demanded our support should any of their pilots be shot down. I gave it.
"Consequently, Skywalker was shot down and we took him in and…"
"Chaos, Major," Palpatine interjected. "Hundreds dead, including the General's son."
"Yes, Excellency," Rhovan acknowledged, fighting the urge to nervously lick his lips, "a regrettable turn of events and…"
"… and you assisted in Skywalker's escape while knowing he was a highly valued individual."
"Yes, Excellency," Rhovan agreed again, for he could not dispute the facts. His heart was hammering in his chest and he was sure that even Palpatine could hear the rapid beats. "Skywalker got me back into the Alliance ranks and gave me access to their Command; to Mothma herself."
"Hmmm," Palpatine acknowledged the explanation but ignored the mention of Mothma, as though she was insignificant. The Emperor sat back, regarding the officer below him. "Over the years Major you have caused significant damage to the Empire, twice you have become a member of the Rebellion itself, actively striking out against me under the auspices of your mission parameters. Parameters that you appear to have extended to suit your needs," he leaned forward again, gazing down at his officer, a deadly warning in his voice. "How am I to know there is not true rebellion in your heart."
Rhovan couldn't help himself, he swallowed, knowing Palpatine would have noticed the nervous bob of his Adam's apple. "You don't, Excellency," he said honestly, wondering where he had got the strength to speak from.
Palpatine silently regarded the man and Rhovan had to wonder what was going through the man's mind, wished for the first time in his life that he had the same power as the Jedi.
Suddenly the Emperor laughed, a chuckle, a cackle of glee. "I say again that you are a difficult man to read, Major, but I appreciate your candour. Not many men can stand in my presence as you have and speak with such frankness. You are either foolhardy or courageous, or perhaps you just don't care?"
It was a rhetorical question and Rhovan remained silent. Waiting for the Emperor to speak again, while stilling the small voice of panic in his mind.
"Hmmm…" Palpatine pursed his lips, quirked them in a smirk. "I should have you executed for treason and yet I find that I have a use for your unique set of skills."
Again Rhovan said nothing, knowing that anything he said would come across as sycophantic and now was not the time to curry favour. Now was the time to remain silent and save his life.
"Lord Vader's action over the course of the last few months has solidified the Empire's rule and control over the Galaxy. He has demonstrated our resolve and determination to quash all insurgency. Fear is a great barrier to dissent, do you not agree?"
Rhovan nodded, "Yes, Excellency."
"And yet it still remains," The Emperor noted. "That quiet voice in the background whispering against us, whispering against me... even here on Imperial Centre, even here in the Palace."
And Rhovan understood his task. He was being asked to seek out those questioning voices and destroy them.
"Ha!" Palpatine laughed, delighted. "Perhaps not so hard to read after all!" He leaned forward again, pale, clawed hands clutching at his throne. "No… not destroy. I want you to seek them out Major, I want them found. I want you to organise the resistance as you did on Hasthaal and Escaal. I want you to add to the voices, I want you to encourage and to fan the flames of Rebellion. Allow them whatever acts of aggression they wish to perpetrate, allow the terror to spread within the core worlds."
Rhovan's mind reeled, his body chilled to the core at what he was being asked to do. He was being asked to fan decent against the Throne by the man who occupied it! Too many questions buzzed and circled in his mind…
Why? Why would Palpatine want Rebellion against himself? What could he possibly achieve by creating chaos?
….but he was the dutiful officer, he could not disobey his Emperor. "And the Alliance, sire?"
Palpatine shrugged. "They are insignificant, hiding in rim worlds and afraid to strike."
Rhovan's mind raced at the opportunities this mission presented; he could use this. He could do this. "They could prove useful, Excellency. There are some among them who would be influential in garnering support."
"This is your mission, Rhovan. Use whomever you chose," his tone was dismissive and Rhovan knew his time was coming to an end.
Rhovan clenched his jaw, muscles bunching in his face. "I will need equipment, codes, access to sensitive Imperial data and… autonomy."
Palpatine's face hardened, yellowed eyes glared and there was a warning in his voice. "You have it, autonomy from all… but not from me!" Again he sat forward, emphasising and repeating the statement, "not from me… You will report your progress to me, you will alert me to any action the resistance is likely to make. Everything you do, Colonel, I will know."
Rhovan bowed, hiding his smile at his promotion. "As you command, Excellency."
ooOOoo
to be continued...
