Note: This part rated T.
"I trust the transfer went smoothly?" The Dark Lord focused on his Intelligence aide.
"Yes, My Lord. My men gave him the 'kid glove' treatment. He appeared quite pleased with his accommodations."
"As he should be." He paused. "And the tests?"
The officer handed him a small tablet. "As you can see, the blood tests confirmed your paternity, and his midichlorian count is close to two-thirds of yours, sir."
"Still exceptionally high." Indeed, the boy's count was higher than Yoda's. Vader gave a pleased sigh as he studied the data. "Continue to cultivate a friendship with him, but not too quickly or easily. Do not arouse his suspicions. You are dismissed."
"My Lord." Rayl Quester bowed and exited the Sith Lord's quarters.
Briefly, Vader considered Quester. The man had worked with him for nearly a decade, and Vader was confident of his loyalty. However, no one could be trusted totally; every man had his price, be it material or emotional. Quester's son had been killed in the Rebellion several years earlier, and he had never, to Vader's knowledge, been able to grieve. He would need to be watched closely to be sure that he did not develop any true attachment to Skywalker. It was a fine, yet dangerous, blend: the orphan and the bereaved father. If it worked well, Luke would long for a relationship with his true father and would willingly join him once the truth was revealed. Together, they would overthrow Palpatine and rule the Empire as father and son.
A chime sounded on his monitoring console, signaling a communication originating from Skywalker's quarters. Vader rose and crossed to the room, punching the control that allowed him to listen.
"I hardly expected to hear from you so soon, Commander," Quester's smooth voice said. "Is your hand troubling you?"
"No, but you said I could call if -- Well, my computer doesn't work, I can't access any of the databases Vader promised -- "
"Nor will you be able to do so for another day. You are to rest and not strain the hand...which you would do if I were to allow you computer access."
"You aren't allowing me access?" Luke's voice held a familiar tone of arrogance that caused a smile to crease his father's face. "Does Vader know? He said I'd have all the access I wanted."
"And so you shall, in another day." In contrast, Quester's voice was full of amused patience. "Have a good evening, Skywalker," he added before severing the connection.
Vader folded his arms, pleased with the additional information the short communication had revealed to him. Luke was stubborn, determined to act even though the result might be to his detriment. Even now, Vader would wager that his child was investigating ways to dismantle the block on the computer. Luke also had an arrogant streak, and his ire was quickly roused. These traits would make his Turning easier. The Dark Lord allowed himself a moment of pleasurable imaging...he, no longer Palpatine's thrall...ruling the known galaxy with his son and heir at his side. It was a new dream, one he had not known was possible until he learned of his son's existence. The knowledge had opened a deep well of hope inside him, and hope was a feeling that he had rarely had in his life. It was still a joy that he hardly dared acknowledge, yet now it was so gloriously overwhelming that he closed his eyes and reveled in it.
But he could not indulge for more than a moment. It was necessary that he continue to guard his true feelings, as he had learned to do over the passage of years. And he had his duties to perform. It was Duty that had gotten him through the last two decades, and he could not ignore it, no matter that freedom was finally within his grasp.
Cursing under his breath didn't help. Logically, he knew that; nevertheless the muttering brought Luke some comfort. It had taken forever, or so it seemed, to navigate around the deeply-buried barriers someone had entered in the computer, and now that he had, what did he find? The same old generic "Galactic Classic" database that he could have accessed anywhere. He'd searched here for his father many times and had found barely more than a passing reference. Vader had tricked him!
Fuming, he shut down the equipment, ready for a fight. A yawn took him by surprise, and he decided that the sensible thing would be to sleep now and confront Vader in the morning. Stripping, he hung the sickbay scrubs in the closet, noting with some surprise that his torn and ruined fatigues were draped over hangers, along with gray jumpsuits, trousers, and jackets. Prepared to be angry, he checked them for Imperial insignias, deflated when he found none. On the floor of the closet were black boots, leather shoes, even a pair of soft slippers that he slid his feet into. A thick robe was on a hook on the back of the door. "This is like a Hotel," he murmured reverently. Though he had never stayed in one, Leia had told him about Hotels that offered pampering services and personal attention. Luke had only slept at home, in ships, and in barracks, none of which could begin to compare with this Imperial destroyer.
Which was probably the point. Dazzle the country boy with peeks at the prosperity of the Empire and woo him to the Dark Side. Luke donned the robe and closed the door, turning to the nearby bureau. It, too, was furnished with necessities -- one entire drawer was devoted to socks! He shook his head and peered cautiously into the 'fresher. It was no surprise to find it stocked with all the personal comforts he could need. He was tempted to be stubborn and use nothing in the suite, but what would be the harm? These riches were a seduction, but since he was aware, he could use them without being seduced. There was no harm in having a leisurely bath in real water, then a healthy night's sleep in the huge airbed that was topped with a thick, downy comforter.
No harm at all, he decided later, as he luxuriated drowsily in the after-effects of the hot bath, snuggling deeply under the fluffy coverings. No harm...he would confront Vader later...after a good rest.
No harm at all...
It was a wonderful smell that woke him. A fragrance...one that made him stomach growl. Then he heard the low murmur of voices.
Luke rose and dressed quickly in a jumpsuit, since his uniform could not be worn again without a great deal of repairing. After a quick stop in the 'fresher and an equally fast assessment in the mirror to be sure he appeared neat and professional, he entered the main room of his quarters. Dr. Quester and a dark-haired, younger man were standing with relaxed postures, talking quietly.
Quester turned at his arrival. "Good morning, Commander. I trust you rested well?"
He nodded, his eyes on the other man. "Who are you?"
"I thought you met Captain Starflyer last night," the doctor returned. "Commander, this is Krish Starflyer."
"Hi," the young officer said cheerfully, thrusting out his hand. "I know, we all look alike in Stormtrooper armor. Don't be embarrassed that you didn't recognize me."
"I recognize your voice," Luke noted, reluctantly shaking the other's hand. Starflyer was only a few years older than him and dressed in the Imperial uniform of an officer, his sharp-brimmed cap tucked under one arm. "Starflyer...that's a Tatooine name. Are you from Tatooine?" Alarms were ringing in his brain. Did they really think he was so simple that he would just accept such a 'coincidence'?
"No," Starflyer replied surprisingly. "My grandfather was from there, but he left shortly after my father was born. I never got off Coruscant until I joined the Navy. I'm hoping to see Tatooine one day."
A smile quirked the corner of Luke's mouth. "There's not much to see." It was his automatic reply to those who asked about his homeworld, but lately his words seemed hollow. After Hoth, he had a new appreciation for warmth, and often he missed the clear skies and pure air of Tatooine. Except for occasional encounters with the Raiders, he had known a peaceful life there. Now he had learned, too late, that a life of adventure wasn't as grand as he thought it would be.
"Are you kidding?" Krish exclaimed. "I want to see the twin suns and the Sarlaac. There's nothing on Coruscant but buildings. I want to see all the empty land, the desert, the mountains-- I can hardly imagine what it must be like. How could you leave?"
Luke stared, his mouth hanging open, disconcerted by the other's enthusiasm. Dr. Quester clapped Krish's shoulder. "Forgive him," he said to Luke. "These city-bred youngsters appreciate the wilderness much more than those of us born there. I'm from Ord Mirit," he added, naming one of the relatively unpopulated planets at the edge of the Galactic Core. "But enough talk, Commander, or your breakfast will get cold while we continue visiting." He gestured to the domed platters on the dining table, the source of the delightful smells that were wafting through his suite.
"I have to be going anyway," Krish stated, checking his chron. "I'm on duty at 0800. I can stop by after I get off, if that's all right with you, Commander?"
"Give him a chance to acclimate," Quester scolded. "And kindly remember that the Commander is a prisoner." The physician softened the reminder with a smile. "Go about your duties, Captain."
"Yes, sir," Krish said with a mock salute to Quester and a grin to Luke. "Later!"
Luke removed the cover from one of the food platters, trying to gather his composure and sort through the conflicting feelings that were barraging him. He stared at the food: eggs, crisp bacon, and a triangular waffle with some sort of purple fruits on it.
"Sit down," Quester ordered, and acted on his own command. "Mind if I join you?" he asked rhetorically. He removed the lid from the second platter to reveal an identical assortment of food. "I took the liberty of selecting for you, but you may order anything we have available on board. You'll find a daily menu update online, just click on 'Services' on the main page--"
"Stop!" Luke said, raising his voice. "What in hells is going on? You said it yourself, I'm a prisoner. Don't try to tell me that all Imperial prisoners are treated this way, because I know differently!"
"I wouldn't tell you any such thing," Quester said calmly. "You're a very special prisoner. You're a dangerous enemy. You destroyed the Death Star. You're a fledgling Jedi. However, and more importantly, Lord Vader has instructed that you be well taken care of. Now sit down and eat your breakfast... unless your Rebel beliefs will not allow you to eat Imperial food."
Flushing, he yanked out a chair and sat. Truth be told, he was starving, and it was difficult to maintain anger when his stomach was empty. He sampled the eggs, a delicacy that was non-existent on Tatooine, and found they were delicious. He ate them quickly, then could resist the bacon no longer. In a short period of time, his plate was clean, and he sat back and watched as Quester poured two mugs of kafin from a silver pot.
"Thank you," he said, accepting a mug. He studied the older man, who caught his quizzical gaze and smiled slightly.
"What do you want to say, Commander?"
"I'm not sure," Luke replied honestly. "The experience of being a prisoner is not what I expected. I don't know whether to feel glad or wary that I'm being treated differently."
Chestnut eyes twinkled kindly. "If I were in your place, I believe I would feel both emotions, as well as several more. Simply the fact that Darth Vader was taking a personal interest in me would make me very nervous indeed."
It was meant to be amusing, but Luke could only muster a glum imitation of a smile. "What does he want with me? Do you know?"
"Don't you?" the physician countered. "You said something about your father. How is he involved?"
"I don't know," he snapped, frustration making him grip the mug tightly. "I was raised to believe he was dead, then I learned he had been a Jedi, and now Vader says he's still alive."
"Then where is he?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out." It was tempting to trust this man, but Luke reminded himself that Quester was an Imperial officer. "Vader and I are both looking for him. For some reason, Vader wants me to do the research and find him, but I don't know why Vader couldn't find my father himself if he really wanted to."
Quester was silent for a moment. "Perhaps," he finally ventured, "Vader believes that the journey you will take is more important than its eventual destination."
He stared, but the other man's gaze was fixed on his kafin. A demand trembled on the tip of his tongue, but he held it back, realizing that he had just received a huge amount of information from a man who might be more than he appeared. "I don't get it," he lied nonchalantly. "There's nothing I'll find in the databases that someone else couldn't."
The doctor shrugged, appearing to lose interest in the conversation. "I have to get back to sickbay soon. How's your hand been working?"
"Just fine."
"Good." Quester rose, giving him a professional smile. "I'll clear you for repetitive usage, so you can expect the databases to be unlocked shortly."
"Thank you." He followed Quester to the door, still puzzled. He considered himself a fairly good judge of character-- perhaps it was the Force that had always given him an advantage in that area-- but he couldn't read this man. "And thank you for breakfast. I hope you'll stop by and visit me again sometime."
The door release was pressed, and a guard appeared. Quester looked back over his shoulder at Luke, his face slightly sad. "If you like."
"I would." He watched the man depart and stared at the closed door for several minutes. Maybe Quester was more than a physician, but he was also an unhappy man, and the realization that these Imperials were not the one-dimensional villains he had assumed was troubling. War was difficult enough, with all the suffering and deaths on his side, without considering the implications to the beings who fought him.
Life on the farm had definitely been easier.
With a sigh, Luke pulled out the chair at the desk and waited, practicing patience, for the databases to appear.