Note: This part is rated T.
His mouth was sticky and his tongue felt like it was covered with fur. Luke rubbed his tongue against his teeth and smacked his lips. Something touched his forehead, then pressed on it. A hand. He stiffened, relaxing as a straw pushed into his mouth and moisture trickled down his parched throat. His eyelids were apparently glued shut, and he struggled to open them, wanting to see who was helping him. Trying to raise his arms, he discovered they were bound, and he began to tug against the restraints.
"Settle down," a male voice said firmly. "No one is hurting you. You're quite a fighter, aren't you?"
"Who..." He coughed, cleared his throat, and attempted to speak again. "Who...where am I?" he asked hoarsely.
"I am Dr. Quester, and you are in my sickbay." A cool, damp cloth was laid across his eyes. "Relax. You had a reaction to the sedation and have been unconscious for a full cycle. That's why you're feeling the way you do."
Luke concentrated, grappling with what had been said. "Sedation?" he finally managed to croak. "S-sickbay?"
"I had to sedate you while I tended your wounds."
"W-wounds?" His arms were released from the bindings, and he felt the doctor raise and manipulate them, gently massaging his hands. "Don't remember. Where...'s sickbay?"
The cloth was removed. "I've dimmed the lights so your eyes can adjust gradually." There was a moment's silence, then: "You don't remember anything? You're aboard the Imperial Destroyer Executor."
Imperial?
A prisoner? But how--
In an instant, the vivid memories flashed across his mind like a violent holo show. "Vader!" he exclaimed, bolting upright, trying to ignore a wave of nausea that made him groan. He couldn't fight Vader in this condition. And Vader... Vader had his father! No...Vader knew where his father was -- no, Vader didn't know! Luke had to find him first. "My father," he whispered to himself.
"Vader is your father?" the doctor asked in an astonished tone.
"Stars, no!" Luke exclaimed, horrified. "My father was-- is a Jedi! I thought Vader killed him, but--" He snapped his mouth closed. "You're an Imperial," he accused. Rubbing his eyes to remove the last of the blurriness, he studied the man standing at his bedside.
He was tall, gray-haired and old, at least fifty, with warm brown eyes that were filled with perplexed amusement. He was wearing a white coat, but the gray collar of an Imperial officer's uniform peeked from above it. "Yes, I am. Rayl Quester, at your service, Commander Skywalker."
Imperials were supposed to be tougher and meaner, or at least coldly officious. Maybe medical personnel were different, since this man appeared to be none of those things. Luke nodded stiffly. "What wounds do I ha -- Oh." His hand. He raised his right arm and saw his hand. Or rather, saw a hand. This one looked smoother. His former hand had a small scar on its thumb where Binte had nipped him years ago after he'd petted her a little too hard. "Is it a clone?" he asked, shuddering.
"No, it's the latest Imperial technology and, as the bureaucrats feel compelled to say, it's 'better than the original'." The doctor snorted, but refrained from further commentary. "There's a panel here. When I push on it, thus...you see? This compartment holds the controls and provides accessibility for repairs."
"Repairs," he echoed.
"Yes, should it be damaged. If you maintain it properly, following the instructions I'll give you, there's no reason why it shouldn't last for several years before parts need to be replaced," Quester added in the same matter-of-fact tone Uncle Owen used when explaining why he wouldn't replace crumbling evaporators with new technology.
"Great," Luke snapped before remembering his manners and adding, "Thank you."
"Don't thank me, I'm only the grunt. It was Lord Vader's instruction that you be given the best replacement available."
"Oh." He couldn't consider Vader right now. "Do you have my old hand? The real one?"
The doctor turned away and searched through silver instruments on a tray. "I believe you lost it in Cloud City. Perhaps it went out the disposal vent."
With his father's lightsaber. He wondered if the hand was still wrapped around the hilt. "I hope it was destroyed. I wouldn't like it to be used for cloning an army of Luke Skywalkers."
"Gods forbid," Quester muttered fervently, returning to his bedside. "Now, pay attention while I demonstrate how to service the components."
Forcing himself to focus on this new and potentially interesting task, Luke resolutely pushed aside the other thing he really needed to know: why wasn't he in the brig? He was Vader's prisoner, wasn't he?
He yelped as a mini hydrospanner smacked on the back of his hand.
"I said, pay attention, Commander."
"Yessir!" he snapped involuntarily, nearly grinning despite the gravity of his predicament.
As he had suspected, the intricacies of the tiny parts were fascinating, and after a lengthy string of repeated requests, Dr. Quester finally allowed him to take the tools himself and experiment with adjusting the controls. At first, the constant entrances and exits by medical personnel were distracting, but he soon grew used to them, and when Quester left to tend another patient, Luke remained engrossed in his experimentation. With minute adjustments, he was able to make each finger bounce in endless repetitions, first one at a time, then eventually he had them all going in slightly different rhythms. Possibly this could be useful for playing a musical instrument or for... He blushed at the involuntary vision that came to his mind of him and the Princess and--
"While I am pleased that you are able to amuse yourself, I would prefer that you did so in a more constructive manner," a deep, measured voice said.
Luke froze, except for his fingers. Vader! Damnit to Sith-hell! Without looking up, he frantically readjusted the small screws, and the fingers stilled one by one, except for his thumb, which retained a persistent twitch. He curled his fingers around it before raising his eyes to the Dark Lord. "You're a fine one to talk about being constructive," he said bitterly. "Slicing off my hand wasn't constructive!"
"On the contrary, it ended your futile battle and prevented a fall to your death," Vader replied coolly. "Additionally, a hand is more easily replaced than a head."
His eyes widened for a split second before he realized that no technology existed to replace a brain. "Are you trying to be funny?"
Ignoring his question, Vader took the hydrospanner from him and grabbed his wrist.
"Let go of me!" He struggled, but succeeded only in making Vader tighten his grip. "Hey!"
"What's going-- Oh." Dr. Quester strode into the room and came to a fast halt. "My Lord. May I be of assistance?"
"For your future reference, Doctor," the Dark Lord said as he made an adjustment that stopped Luke's twitching thumb, "it is unwise to leave young Skywalker alone with tools that he might turn into weapons or instruments of escape. Count your equipment to be sure he will not abscond with anything."
"I don't abscond!" Luke protested, pulling his hand free. Suspiciously, he tested it and found all five digits to be functioning properly.
"What became of the stormtrooper armor you stole from the Death Star? The weapons? And there's the matter of a satchel full of credits stolen en route to the quartermaster's office on Ord Mantell."
"It's not stealing when it's war," he defended weakly.
"As I said, Doctor," Vader turned to address Quester, "check your instruments. When you have completed his treatments, transfer him to Detention."
Great. If it was anything like Leia's detention cell, there would be no hope that he could escape. He glared at Vader, but remained silent. They both knew that he wanted to ask more about his father, but he refused to be the first to surrender and speak.
"You are dismissed, Doctor," the Sith said sharply, waiting until Quester bowed and departed before adding, "Ask what you wish, Son of Skywalker, but I will answer only one question so choose it wisely."
He framed several questions in his mind, accepting that Vader meant what he said and would only reply to one. But there was really only one question he wanted answered. "How can I find my father?"
The short pause was punctuated by Vader's unnerving, uniform breaths. "Research," he said eventually. "I will allow you access to all known databanks. But," one finger was raised in a warning, "I will have your word of honor that you will use nothing you find to attack or harm the Empire or any of its citizens or interests."
"All right," Luke replied slowly. "You have my word." He hoped he wouldn't stumble across any information that would be vital to the Rebellion, for it would put him in a very awkward position. But if he focused on Anakin Skywalker, he would be focusing on the past, following a trail of clues. "I want a promise from you, too. That when I find my father, you won't steal the information and use it to hurt him."
He sensed that behind the ebon mask, Vader was studying him as he considered his words. "Very well, young one. I promise I will not harm your father."
Luke nodded, looking down at his hand. He closed the open compartment door, pushing it until it latched with a click, knowing the very second when Vader's attention was diverted from him to other business. Then he watched through half-lowered lashes as the Dark Lord swept from sickbay.
"No, no," Quester scolded the troopers, "not so tight. If you must use binders, clasp them loosely. I don't want my work damaged."
Luke drew down the corners of his mouth, scowling at the physician. "That's my hand you're talking about," he muttered under his breath, "not just your 'work'."
Evidently the doctor had sharp hearing, because he sent Luke a chastising look before addressing him. "If you have any problems with the hand-- or any problems at all-- ask the guards to send for me. Lord Vader has given orders that I may attend to your needs."
He nodded absently, eyeing the two troopers, wondering if he could escape and 'abscond' with a TIE.
"Are you listening to me?"
Facing Quester, he looked at the taller man. "Yes. If I'm ill, Vader will allow me to be treated. That's generous of him."
"That's not what I said. You must learn to listen." The brown gaze drilled into him. "If you ask for me, I will come. Remember that."
His eyes narrowed, and he inclined his head. Quester smiled slightly and gestured to the guards to take him. They were relatively gentle with him, not even touching him as they traveled to the Detention area. Nothing was as Luke expected. These Imperials, who fought so fiercely, appeared reasonable and so normal in person. He supposed it was his youthful naivete that had formed the idea that Imperials had no consciences and were somehow inferior to the Rebels. But, he reluctantly admitted to himself, the Alliance had propagated that illusion. Even Leia. The realization troubled him, but he had no time to ponder it longer as they arrived at his assigned cell.
"Watch your head. There are steps down."
"Down?" he asked curiously, glancing at the trooper who had spoken.
"You're in one of our executive cells," the second guard said lightly. "In fact, it's bigger than my quarters."
"Lord Vader said you're to have computer access, so there's a space for that, plus separate living and sleeping areas," the first trooper added. "And a private 'fresher, of course."
"No window, though," the second added, chuckling.
Luke was uncertain how to respond to this bantering. "I saw a detention cell in the Death Star and it was tiny." Carefully, he maneuvered the few steep stairs.
"The Executor is the queen of the fleet. Everything is bigger and better here."
"Oh." The stairs opened into a decent-sized room complete with comfortable-appearing furniture and a vid-set. He was anxious to see the computer area, but wanted the guards to leave. However, they were in no hurry. One stood by the stairs, and the other continued speaking as he unfastened the binders from Luke's wrists.
"There's a pantry here, stocked lightly, as you can see, and a refrigeration unit. They will be restocked on a weekly basis, and your daily meals will be delivered. If you need anything sooner, just use the com to request service. Same with towels and sheets. If you find anything to be uncomfortable or if you have any other needs, again just use the com. Pressing any button will connect you with someone who will assist you. I'll check in from time to time, in case you need anything...or just want some company."
Luke nodded, too confused to reply. If this was the way Imperial prisoners were treated, he wondered how well the stormtroopers lived.
"Unless you need something else right now, we'll leave and give you privacy."
He nodded again and managed to stammer, "No, th-thank you, I'm fine. Thank you."
The guards gave him friendly waves, and he listened until their footsteps reached the door and it closed behind them. Then he set about exploring his new quarters.