The explosion at the back of his head caused him to jerk mid-conversation. The scientist abruptly cut off his chatter—good, Vader hadn't been listening anyway—and stared. "Are you well, my lord?"

Help me, help me, help me.

Vader glanced to Luke's empty seat. He hadn't come back yet. He'd assumed that was odd, but…

No—don't come, don't come, don't come.

He stood up so quickly his chair racketed back. "Where is my son?"

"My lord?"

"He has been gone for too long. Where is he?"

"I can only presume he has encountered some issue in finding the refresher, or perhaps he is carrying out a more clandestine, personal inspection—"

Vader strode out of the room. If there were cries of shock and fear at how close he came to throwing people over as he barged into them, he did not notice.

"Horne!"

Horne was in the corridor, a fair way down, conversing with another deplorable scientist. He straightened up when he saw Vader, the familiar disdain in his eyes.

"Where is my son!? Something has gone wrong."

Horne didn't flinch. He didn't react to that information at all. He had apparently already known it. "Indeed it has, my lord. We have made a most unfortunate discovery."

"And what, Director Horne, is that?"

Horne lifted his chin even higher. He almost smiled. If Vader's thoughts had been caught in less of a storm, he might have noticed the eminent pleasure Horne was taking in this. There was no fear, here. "Your son is a Rebel spy, I am afraid."

The words thundered into his ears, leaving the corridor as silent as realspace.

Vader scoffed. "Impossible." He raised a hand and clenched it. Horne's eyes blew wide as his tentatively touched a finger to his throat—then wheezed and gasped. "If you intend to lie to me, I suggest you choose a believable one. Where is my son?"

Horne inclined his head. "Follow me."

The cells were standard, unremarkable cells—unremarkable save for the fact that his son was in one of them. And in one with the notorious princess of a massacred world, as well.

Vader glared at Horne. "Release him immediately."

"We have shown you the holo footage, Lord Vader. We cannot allow such blatant Rebel activity to go unaddressed. He should at least be interrogated."

"Then I will interrogate him." He turned towards his son's—and Organa's—cell. Luke had his head in Organa's lap, and was staring up at nothing in particular, while Organa glared around at everyone. "Luke. Come here."

Luke flinched and cried out but did not move. He almost bashed his head on the hard metal floor, but the princess caught him and gently cushioned the blow.

"Luke."

No reaction at all, this time.

Vader turned to her. "Release him, Princess."

"And let him give himself a concussion? He's suffering. No."

"Why is he suffering?"

Organa scoffed. "Ask the scientists."

Vader opened his mouth to demand this Rebel tell him what was going on, but Horne cleared his throat. "Regrettably, when he was caught and was being apprehended for his suspicious activity, he inhaled a dose of our most recent concoction of epistemolide hexal."

"Your torture drug?"

"Yes, though that is a crude way of referring to something which seeks truth—"

"You have tortured my son because you caught him investigating a part of the building you had no intention of bringing him to?"

"If he were not your son, Lord Vader," Horne said logically, "and we were approaching this purely rationally, would you not do the same? He was acting suspiciously. I intend to find out why, no matter the means. While your methods are perhaps crasser than my own, we both undertake the same actions. At least one of my scientists has you as an inspiration. You must understand why we have done this?"

He was being preposterous. Luke was not a common Rebel. He should not be tortured like the others. "You will open this cell and allow me to see him."

"I cannot do that—he may still be a danger to our operation, and the Empire at large."

"He is a loyal servant of the Emperor, sent to ensure you are not a threat to the Empire at large."

"And if he is secretly a Rebel spy deep undercover?"

"You jump to conclusions based on nothing."

"My conclusions are based on fact. I do not deny what I have seen. It is you allowing your feelings to cloud your thoughts. You cannot trust them above evidence. Be reasonable."

"Let. Me. See. Him." He reached for his lightsaber. "Or you will see how unreasonable I can be."

Horne's mouth flattened into an unsurprised snarl. "Suit yourself." He stepped up in front of the keypad, blocked Vader's view of it, and tapped a few buttons.

The transparisteel door slid open and Vader surged in. Organa threw herself back to avoid being crushed and Vader knelt beside his son, lifting him up, brushing his hair out of his face. "Luke? Luke, can you hear me?"

Luke's eyes fluttered open. "Father?"

"Luke?"

"I didn't mean to," he sobbed. "I did… I didn't… he made me… I failed him and he…"

Vader bent over until his own mask leered back at him in the polished metal flooring, framing Luke's fragile face. "It is alright, Luke. Whether you made a mistake or did this under compulsion, or had your own plan, I trust you." He jerked his head up irritably. "Can't you hear him? How dare you presume to comprehend what he was doing just from the word of one scientist and your holocams—"

He froze.

The door had shut again behind him without noticing. Horne and all his companions had donned breathing masks.

"What is this," he breathed.

"It has occurred to me that your behaviour in the lunchroom was highly distracting. You allowed your son to vanish, unmonitored, for an extended period of time, and ensured we would not notice. And now you vehemently proclaim his innocence. Are you an accomplice?"

"What?"

"Are you an accomplice?"

"How dare you," Vader thundered. "I am Lord Vader. You will release me and my son immediately, and if you are fortunate you will die here, quickly, by my blade, and your entire operation will not face orbital bombardment."

"I will be reporting to the Emperor about this. He can speak for you."

"Your audacity disgusts me. I have been merciful thus far because, and only because, I swore I would not jeopardise my son's mission in any way through losing my temper." Vader hauled himself to his feet. With Horne right in front of the cell door, he towered over him. Even more so when Horne collapsed again, gasping for air, and—

Luke screamed.

Vader dropped the Force like molten glass. It sloshed around the back of his mind still, Luke's agony searing, and he barely noticed as Horne clambered back to his feet. Luke was writhing on the ground again, gaze flashing around madly, pressing his palms over his eyes until he banged into a wall and toppled to the ground, curled up, sobbing.

The display on the inside of Vader's mask read: UNKNOWN GAS DETECTED. FILTRATION COMMENCING. Less air flowed into his lungs, and he staggered, light-headed.

Luke was still shaking.

Vader turned for the door and slammed in fist into it, half-throwing, half-falling onto the transparisteel. It did nothing. His mask told him in text the colour of blood that the percentage of gas in the room increased again. When he turned to look at Luke, his movements were only becoming more frantic.

He reached for his lightsaber. It was gone. It— it was hanging in Horne's hand, presumably snagged when he'd been too focused on Luke to notice the theft.

When he tried to reach for the Force to switch it on, the klaxon that was Luke sent shudders through his control. The saber hilt twitched merrily but didn't move.

"I'm sure your respirator filters out our gas, my lord. But your son is Force-sensitive—I just want to see how quickly he recovers from it. After that, I will speak to the Emperor. Perhaps he shall assure me you both should be released, even after reviewing the evidence. If not, we shall see."

Vader smashed his hand against the door again. It sent vibrations through his arm and through the floor. Luke murmured, "Stand by for take-off."

The drug altered perceptions of reality. Sensory input was interpreted in different, incorrect ways—or ways more incorrectly than normal. Luke had no idea where he was; the prison of his own mind had been turned against him, made unfamiliar, as his brain couldn't construct a truth out of what garbled information it received.

Vibrations in the floor was an experience shared with being on a ship, he supposed.

A band around Luke's wrist bleeped, and a remote latched onto Horne's belt bleeped with it. He checked it. "One hour since first inhalation. Even if this is a mistake, this will be a fascinating opportunity to investigate the effects on a Force-sensitive. They have a history of resisting the drug's effect." He glared at Organa.

Organa.

Organa, who was taking deep, steady breaths, gaze darting around furiously, but seemed utterly unaffected.

"I'm sure we will sort this out soon, Lord Vader," Horne finished. "But if you threaten us in the meantime, I'm sure you understand what will happen."

The falling percentages in Vader's vision were a threat as much as a relief. Luke's eyes were still scrunched shut. His hands were over his ears. Vader wondered what Horne's voice reminded him of.

"Discover her secret for how she resists it, if you wish to save your son," came the last parting remark. "That's what I really want to know."

"It's the Force, obviously."

Vader glared at her. "I have not yet asked you any questions."

"You were going to. May I look over Luke?"

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Do not touch my son."

"I'm not going to hurt him—"

"You certainly won't while I am watching you."

"—and I'm, as the director kindly pointed out, the one who knows how to resist it. I can help him."

"And why would you want to?"

Organa looked him dead in the eye as she shattered his world. "The holos here are picture-only, as I'm sure you've noticed. So I can tell you without jeopardising Luke's chance of getting out of here. He's a Rebel spy and he came to try to rescue me."

For a moment, Vader wondered if he had been dosed with the drug himself. That was the only explanation for the chaos being wrought by his senses: the words, cacophonous yet quiet, as they thrummed against his eardrums; the ground collapsing beneath his feet; the blurring in his eyes; the tightness in his chest. None of this was real. None of this could be real.

Because if this was real, then that meant so much… wasn't.

His son, saying he was proud of him.

The Emperor, saying Luke was safe and loyal.

Every time Luke had talked to him since… this had happened, every time—

"You lie."

"Trust your feelings," Organa said. "You know it's the truth."

Vader lashed out. He caught her by the throat and slammed her into a wall, her eyes going wide. He squeezed. "You lie."

Then she lifted a hand and tossed him back.

It happened fast enough he barely noticed it. One moment her neck was purpling under his grip, then his head collided with the transparisteel door and he dropped to the ground in a twanging pile of clattering limbs, like a droid deconstructed and left to topple. Luke jerked his head up to glance at him. "Father?"

"It is me." Vader pulled himself up faster than he knew he could, staring at Organa. A Force-sensitive, apparently. He should have known from Horne's comments. She glared back, then glanced at Luke.

"Luke." Vader said his name like a revery, reaching out to brush the hair back from his face. Luke leaned into his touch, and Vader hoped that he was at least invoking a positive memory. "You're not a Rebel."

"They can't know," he muttered.

That didn't help the knot in his gut.

"Let me help him," Organa said abruptly.

"I have said I want you nowhere near him."

"I'm the only one who's mastered how to clear this drug from my system. He needs me. Are you going to let your son suffer needlessly for your pride?" She crossed her arms. "For all I've heard about you being a monster, Luke at least told me you tried to be a good father." The way she shaped the word tried was almost mocking, and Vader wondered… Vader wondered what Luke had told her.

If Luke had told her anything.

"Help me," he snapped. He hated how she didn't even look smug.

She just looked relieved.

Palpatine brushed his damp, sweaty hair back from his forehead, cooing gently. "Luke? Luuuuuke? Are you awake again? I was so worried about you, my boy."

Kriff off, rose to Luke's lips, but even dizzy, drained, and half-conscious from pain, he knew that would only invite more.

"Come on, now. Look at me, my boy. Look at me—Luke, look at me."

Palpatine's voice went high-pitched, almost shrill and Luke glanced up in shock. For a moment, a pale face wreathed in brown hair floated in front of him, then the colours bled, like a painting doused in water. A moment later Palpatine's wrinkled face was in front of him again and he jerked back.

"Luke…"

"Get away from him! He doesn't want you!"

His head snapped around to see the source of the shout that sent vibrations through his teeth, and he saw only a droid—one of those torture droids he had been sent to oversee once, witness as it interrogated a Rebel, the Rebel's screams once its needles had done their work…

Feel me.

The touch on his mind was not from his ears or nose or eyes or touch. It was from something deeper. Warm and calm, like the dimmed lights on the night cycle of a capital ship. He glanced around desperately.

"Where are you, Luke?" That came from his ears, and… not many people had had cause to ask him that before. His mind paused, taking in the strange sixth sense stimulation, and the auditory one, somehow infused together with intent and concern.

"The Emperor's throne room," he got out. His throat closed up, choking him, like it did every time he'd considered telling his father about this. Pain still spasmed through his limbs, the aftershocks lancing through him. "I— I failed him, I was summoned here for punishment—"

"Punishment?" That sonorous voice again, the one he could feel in his teeth, pounding at his ear drums and lashing through his skull. It couldn't be ignored. But his father wasn't in the throne room with him, was he?

"The lightning."

"Lightning?" The voice boomed ever louder. "Why do you know what that feels like?"

"I can feel the aftershocks still, my limbs can't stop shaking—where are you? Why are you asking—"

"Luke, reach out with the Force. Feel my mind. You're not in the Emperor's throne room. The pain is caused by the drug epistemolide hexal."

As if to specifically undermine her point, the Emperor's cooing face hardened, and violet filled his vision again. He jerked back with a scream, hearing a thwack as his head hit something. When his cheek lolled against it, it felt… different to the marble floor. Metal. Then the sensation shifted under his cheek and he was in a cell instead, but Palpatine was still there.

Why had Palpatine moved here to torture him, instead of…

"You can't trust the input from your senses right not; the drug twists them against you based on your memories, in order to cause pain." The voice was still going. It rang in his head, sickly and echoing.

"I can hear you." He coughed the words up like blood from a punctured lung.

"I'm using the Force to enhance my words."

"You're pulling a Jedi mind trick on me? Leia, you promised never to do that." His joke landed like a belly flop, but he tried to cling to a smile.

Surprisingly, she smiled too. "You recognise me, then?"

"Your Force presence—"

"Yes, exactly that. Use the Force. Trust the Force. It exists on a different plane of existence to your physical brain, and the drugs; it's not affected. Use it to clear your mind of them."

Drugs. Force. Not real.

He glanced up at Palpatine. The Emperor gripped his face. His nail dug in until blood seeped down his chin. When Luke raised his hand to wipe it away, his fingers were red.

It felt pretty real.

"Clear your mind. Trust the Force."

Had he started bleeding from that crack against the floor? Was it Palpatine? He did what the voice said. He reached for the Force, and it reacted to his inner turmoil.

He'd always locked himself behind layers upon layers of shields. When he dipped his fingers into the raging current, it nearly took them off, and sprayed blood right back at him. That sunlit ray that the voice came with tried to pierce the torrent, but it grew murky and grey.

Don't use the Force in front of Palpatine too much, his father always said, or he will discover exactly how powerful you are.

Don't use the Force in front of your father too much, Palpatine always said, or he will discover how I have trained you.

The only solid grips in the river were thick bonds that throttled the flow itself. He didn't want to tug at either of them, and the sunlight was intangible to his touch.

The Force responded to his feelings. He was in pain.

"Trust the Force," the voice that sounded like Leia insisted. What was there to trust?

He'd been here before. Dozens of times. In reality, and in dreams. Perhaps this was a dream; it certainly looked like one of his nightmares. Leia here, his father here, and his emperor here cackling above it all.

At least it wasn't the worst nightmare he had.

"Luke," the voice like Leia's sounded desperate. "You can clear the drug from your system, but only once you've oriented yourself."

"I can feel where I am." A lot of things felt like a dream, nowadays.

"No, you can't. Remember the briefing you received on the drug. You're trapped inside your own head, your own perspective, and it is being turned against you. You need to use others' to get out and understand your situation better." She paused. "That works as well if you can't. It's how I dragged myself out the first few times. Use other people's minds."

"What?"

"Look through their eyes, feel what they're seeing. I latched onto some of the scientists when I was desperate. Get another point of view."

"I can only feel you, my father, and Palpatine. There is no one else around."

"There are dozens of prisoners in the cells around us."

"We are in the throne room!"

Palpatine smiled. "Are you talking to yourself?"

"Feel my mind. Let me connect with your mind. I'll see what you see, you'll see what I see, and we can work it out together."

Even if none of this felt real, Luke's heart seized up at the mere idea of it. "NO!"

The voice hesitated. "No?"

"Get out of my head."

"I'm not in your head."

"Get out of my head!" he shouted at Palpatine. His dark-haired shadow reared back, but Palpatine kept looking at him. Smiling.

"No one needs to know the secrets you keep for me, Luke, don't you worry," he said. This had nothing to bear on their previous conversation. Did it? He didn't remember what he was being punished for, or why… "And I'll keep your secrets as well."

He felt a faint touch on his mind and screamed. "I said don't touch me!"

"Do not invade my son's mind," his father's voice growled.

"I need to—"

No.

Was this another ploy of Palpatine's to get inside Luke's head?

Luke had let him in, he'd shown him parts that weren't yet shielded. What more did he want to see? Did he suspect his connections to Leia and the Rebellion? Was he using her voice to see if that would grant him access to the secrets he must know Luke was keeping from him?

"First you try to get me to tell you what my father's planning with Force lightning," he spat out, staggering to his feet, "and now you're trying to imitate my friend to get me to let you in?"

"Luke." There was an excellently feigned quiet horror in that voice. "No."

And then his father's voice cut in: "Why do you know what Force lightning feels like? Why does this drug cause you to experience it?"

He looked around wildly. There were droids in the throne room. He didn't know when they'd been there. But every time he thought he saw his father in the flesh, his mask melted into the wall.

Perhaps Palpatine was the only one here, and all the voices were his. Perhaps Palpatine had been every voice he'd ever heard inside his head.

"You should know, Master," he said. "You're the one who uses it when I don't have anything to report to you about the coup my father's planning."

A sharp intake of breath.

It did not come from Palpatine. Palpatine hadn't stopped smiling. "You never report anything of use, my boy."

"Which is why it's your favourite negotiating tactic, isn't it?"

"I've had a growing interest in more subtle ones." He stepped away momentarily. "Have you heard of Director Horne and his project on the moon Arikan IX? A new form of interrogation drug, I've heard. He is continually petitioning me for Force-sensitive subjects, so he can understand how it works. He even wants to develop one uniquely for Force-sensitives, which would involve blocking off the Force while under its influence."

Luke… blinked slowly. He hadn't known that before. It fit with what he did know, but… he hadn't known that.

This wasn't how he'd been given his mission. And his mission had been the first he ever heard of epistemolide hexal. The way Palpatine spoke, it sounded like this was the first he'd ever mentioned it to Luke, but it wasn't.

This wasn't real. This couldn't be real. But Luke hadn't known that Horne wanted to develop a torture drug specifically for Force-sensitives, so how could he have had his subconscious say that? And as useless as the Force was right now… he knew it was true.

Trust the Force, he thought. And asked, "Leia?"

"So you do have an association with that Rebel, Organa?" Palpatine cut in. But that was right out of one of Luke's nightmares. It was like practicing a speech in front of a portrait, only for the audience at the event itself to be neat rows of paintings, staring out. It was like planning a conversation with his father in his head, only for his father to inexplicably follow the script when they conversed.

"I'm here, Luke. You need to trust me. Let me connect with your mind."

"I can't do that." He didn't want her to see things from his point of view at all.

"Then let me."

Luke slammed up his shields again. "Anyone but you, Father."

He felt his displeasure. "I trusted you. Not only do you not trust me, but you are a Rebel, and betrayed me to Palpatine?"

The pain had lowered to a dim, distant thrumming in his veins. It leeched out of him with every moment. He didn't know how long this conversation had been going on, but he got the impression it had been a while.

Interrogation drugs weren't designed to last much longer than the interrogation.

He opened his eyes, to Palpatine swimming face, and spoke directly to it. His father's mask was reflected in the gleaming black pupils.

What did it matter if this was fake? What did it matter if this was all Palpatine's doing, a way to uncover his secrets? This was a secret Palpatine well knew. This was a secret Palpatine had been using for years.

"I trusted you to keep me safe, Father," Luke bit out. "At least, to take whatever actions necessary to do so, like you promised you would. When you started working on your coup, I thought that was what that was. But you leave for the Outer Rim so often. And you leave me behind."

His fingers trailed up his arm. The lightning scars Vader had forced himself never to notice. Some of them were still bright red and white, open wounds from the recent burn.

"You're not blind. You just never wanted to see the truth of what was going on, so even when the evidence was right in front of you, you interpreted it in completely the wrong way."

A cool, gentle hand on his forehead. "The drug is wearing off, isn't it?"

He didn't know. "Thank you, Leia. For trying."

"If you can't rid yourself of it now, you should sleep. They'll give you another dose soon enough."

"How many times did they dose you?" his father's voice said. Something useful, for once.

"I don't know." She paused. Her voice was pained.

"Are you alright?" Luke asked her mirage. There was nothing else to ask her.

"No. But when I hallucinated you, Luke, I knew it wasn't real. Because the dream you didn't ask those sorts of questions."

He nodded, and her mirage vanished. He was still in the throne room, even if it was liquid around him. Then he was in a cell. Then he was on his back, staring at the ceiling. And then he was nowhere at all.

Horne examined the information being fed to his monitor from Skywalker's arm band. His temperature, his heart rate, the analysis of his sweat components, the precise moment he stopped shaking, and the moment he fell off to sleep… It was fascinating. Despite Skywalker appearing to be as powerful a Force-sensitive as Organa, he could not resist the drug in the same way.

Why would that be? If only the Emperor would grant his request, he could soon find out. There would hardly be a need for Vader and his esoteric methods, on Force-sensitives and ordinary folk alike, once they had enough evidence.

Horne frowned, and reached for the drawer on his desk. Vader's lightsaber sat in it, heavy and foreboding. When he picked it up, it felt… angry… in his palm.

That was preposterous. How could he feel anger from a mere tool?

He turned it upside down, scanning it, trying to find how the pieces fit into each other. But although there were ridges and edges, they didn't seem to screw or slot together in any way he knew of. He wondered how it was constructed. Martin may be able to tell him, he supposed, but he hardly wanted to encourage that man's foolish fascination with the practices of the Force, rather than the team's interest in the science of it. His thinking already led to him reaching wildly different conclusions about their data than the rest of them.

Horne disliked someone who let his opinions get in the way of cold, hard facts. His team were perfect: all-human, from the most prestigious and brilliant Core world universities, and they all thought as one. Martin's Outer Rim perspective was not only useless; it was disruptive. Horne didn't tolerate dissent.

The lightsaber clearly couldn't be opened by human hands, as far as he could see. Worthless.

He threw it aside, and though he did not know it, he was fortunate that he missed the waste disposal chute in his throw. If the kyber crystal had been put under the stress of compression like that, disaster would have occurred.

Horne may be able to dismiss the iron grip the Force had kept on his throat when Vader was angry as a fiction of his own mind, based on rumours. But he could hardly ignore a fatal explosion.