Note: This part rated M for psychological manipulation.

Loud clangs and very bright lights startled him awake, and he jerked up, heart pounding. He stumbled from the bed and into the living area. The computer was flickering to life, displaying the same screen he'd been reading the night before. Shaking his head, Luke yawned and headed for the shower. It was pretty amazing that he could sleep so soundly, considering he was a prisoner on an Imperial warship. Tonight he would be more prepared for lights-out and get his full allotment of sleep, no more thinking and brooding like last night.

Neither breakfast nor visitor awaited him this morning, so he made himself kafin and toast, stretching while he waited. Maybe the Imps would let him use the gymnasium, assuming that the "Queen of the Fleet" had one. If Quester refused, he'd ask Vader. Vader wanted him treated well.

He stopped in mid-stretch, then continued to place his palms flat on the floor. Was he being treated well because Vader felt guilty about killing Anakin? Assuming that Anakin was dead and not alive, hiding somewhere.

Oh, he so wanted his father to be alive, but it made no sense that Anakin would be hiding, too afraid of Vader and the Emperor to claim his son. What kind of man would abandon his child?

With a perplexed sigh, Luke began another day in front of the small monitor.

He was still there, hours later, Dr. Quester appeared with a now-familiar tray.

"Don't tell me that's dinner?" Luke commented with a half-smile, wondering if they were attempting to alter his sense of time for their own hidden purposes.

The physician chuckled. "Lunch. Have you been working so hard that it seems as though the entire day has passed?"

"No. I just thought--" He broke off. "Nothing."

Quester arranged the dishes while Luke watched silently. "How is your research going?"

"Slowly. Did you know that Darth Vader has no history?"

Pouring kafin, the older man studied him. "Aren't you supposed to be looking for your father?"

"I was getting bored, running into dead ends. Thank you." He accepted the mug, sipping cautiously at the hot brew, then took a bite out of a thick sandwich. "I found Vader's authorized biography, and it begins when he was in his twenties. You'd think there would be something earlier, even if it was lies, wouldn't you?"

Seemingly ignoring him, the doctor sliced his own sandwich into neat squares and ate one before replying. After a swallow of kafin, he said, "It is a bit of a mystery. Are you intending to solve this mystery as well?"

"Maybe. The bio is the only site that talks about his mid-twenties," he mumbled around the food in his mouth. "Other sites start by describing his official position in the Empire a few years later, when he was around thirty."

"Horrors," Quester murmured. "How ancient."

"I didn't mean it that way!" Luke grinned and added bluntly, "I'm tempted to like you, even though you're an Imp."

"Why, thank you, sir." The tone was mocking but gentle, then Quester sobered. "Tell me, Luke, do you not truly understand that you and everyone else are Imperials? The ruling government is the Empire; thus all inhabitants of ruled planets are Imperials."

"Semantics," he replied dismissively, though in truth he knew that. "Rebels aren't Imperials."

"Of course they are, Commander. Rebellious Imperials."

He couldn't stop himself from laughing, though the accuracy of that description made him uncomfortable. "I'll bet you're the type of person who has an answer for everything."

"Not everything." A shadow fell over the returned smile, and Quester studied the remains of his sandwich a moment before pushing it aside. "You remind me very much of... Ah." With a shake of his head, he wrapped his hand around the mug.

Curious, Luke persisted. "Who do I remind you of?"

The smile was nearly a grimace, bittersweet and wounded. The physician scrutinized him for several moments. "My son," he said reluctantly.

"Oh." He felt embarrassed, yet pleased. "Do you miss him? Where is he?"

Another cup of kafin was poured. This time sweetener was added and stirred vigorously. Luke was beginning to regret that he'd asked when Quester replied: "He's dead."

His eyes widened. So this was the source of the unhappiness he'd felt. "I'm sorry," he began, but Quester wasn't listening.

"He was only twenty, just beginning his career. He took a post as an assistant procurement officer at the garrison on Ord Mantell. He was at his desk when there was an attack by...your rebellious Imperials. They shot him before he could stand up."

Nausea roiled through him. Surely it wasn't possible-- He hadn't killed anyone during that raid, but maybe Han or-- ? "When did it happen?" he asked faintly.

"It's over five years now," the physician replied, missing Luke's sigh of relief. "There are times when I forget, expecting to hear from him or see him. Then I remember."

Unexpected tears sprang to his eyes, and he blinked them back. Thank the Force he hadn't been with the Rebellion then. But he had killed Imps, thousands on the Death Star, and how many of them had grieving fathers?

A hand rested on his forearm, and Luke stared at it. It was the hand of an older man, slightly creased, pale from years spent off-planet, but the nails were clean and cut straight across. It reminded him of Owen. "You're thinking of the men you've killed, aren't you?" Dr. Quester asked softly.

Luke nodded, unable to speak.

"Such knowledge is a heavy burden for anyone, but it must be more so for you. You carry the responsibility for over a million deaths."

The word registered, but he had difficulty understanding the concept. "A million?" he repeated numbly.

"On the Death Star, yes." The fingers slid down to cover the top of his own hand. They squeezed tightly. "You know that one day you will have to answer for that act, whether it be in this life...or the next, when a million souls cry out to your imprisoned spirit for justice. Such is the price of terrorism."

Shaken, he jerked free and leaped to his feet. "I'm not a terrorist! That was war! If I hadn't destroyed it, it would have killed all of us -- and destroyed the moon, just like it did Alderaan! That was a terrorist act, not what I did!"

Quester's dark eyes watched him, a humorless smile stretching his lips. "Semantics, if I may quote you." Then he shrugged. "Though I will not disagree about the destruction of Alderaan. It was the act of a madman.. A pity Tarkin did not live to pay for his crimes, for there are countless citizens who would have their revenge on him. As they wish to do with you."

"Are you one of them?" Luke demanded coldly.

The smile softened and became more natural. "I agree with your assessment that it was an action of war. I do not speak of this to frighten or upset you, but to warn you. No matter what happens in the future -- even if your rebellion somehow manages to defeat the Empire -- there will always be people who will wish to harm you, to avenge the loved ones you took from them. Millions of parents, wives-- children who will grow up knowing you were the one who left them fatherless. It's a terrible burden. How do you face it?"

He was colder than he'd been on Hoth, terribly cold, so cold that shivers were running through him. He hugged himself, tucking frozen fingers in his armpits, glaring at the physician who appeared quite comfortable. "It's freezing in here," he accused.

The other man stood. "No, it isn't." Quester sighed. "I'll leave. I've upset you, I know, but you need to face this reality. It will be with you for all your life. You will never again have a moment's peace until you learn to accept it."

"I thought you were my--" He shut his mouth on the plea he'd almost blurted.

At the door, the doctor stopped. "Your friend? I do not give my friendship so readily. But," Quester stretched out his arm and clasped Luke's shoulder, "neither am I your enemy. You need someone to talk to and confide in. As your physician, I can be that person. Friendship may come in time. Good evening."

"Good ev -- it's not evening," he complained to the closed door. Friendship may come in time. Luke stood still, drowning in the ice that surrounded him.

In time?

How much time?

He would be a captive forever.

In time.

Too soon, the lights went out for the night, but he stood there still, a captive of both the Empire and his own horrified realizations.

It was obvious, as a few more "days" elapsed, that the Imperials were attempting to manipulate his time-sense to confuse him. Days and nights were passing in quick succession, though sometimes the days were endless and the nights over shortly after they had begun. Even though he realized the trickery, Luke was becoming disoriented. He was so conditioned that he could not sleep when he had the chance, anticipating the sudden lights and bells that would wake him should he drowse. If there was some Jedi discipline to overcome this problem, he hadn't learned it and had been unable to find it on his own. Meditation was impossible; he just couldn't do it with so many distractions.

There is no try. Only do or do not.

"Yeah, I'd like to see you meditate here," he muttered resentfully.

Resolutely, he focused on the databanks, determined to find his father, though often the words blurred and his concentration slid away. It was on the tenth or twelfth day-- or maybe it was the third or the fiftieth, Luke had no idea -- that his blurry eyes found a list that caused him to force his mind to pay attention.

Padawans. A word from an ancient tongue meaning "learners". The title given to Jedi students.

Rubbing his eyes, Luke quickly scanned the tiny print, squinting in an attempt to make it clearer. There were at least a hundred names, and there he was -- Skywalker, Anakin. Dragging his finger across the screen, he found the other name: Master Kenobi.

So, his father had been Ben's student... but he already knew that, didn't he? Ben had said so. And Ben had said something else, too, something that Luke couldn't quite remember.

Stabbing the keys with near-blindness, he resorted the list by Master. There were several names under "Kenobi", but he recognized none of them except his father's. What was it Ben had said? It was something important, he was sure of that, but he couldn't quite remember... Something about... another student, was that it? "Just a minute," he mumbled, pressing the heels of his hands against his forehead, "just a minute. I know this. I know it I know it I know -- Noooo! Sith be damned!"

The room plunged into darkness, the monitor flickering and going black.

He hadn't closed his eyes, so when the lights came on with dazzling brightness, he was blinded.

"Good morning, Luke."

From the depths of the armchair, he hooded his eyes with one hand and struggled to glare at Quester. "Is it?"

"Time for breakfast. You look pale. When was the last time you ate?"

"How in hells would I know?" he snapped, lowering his hand but still blinking in the glare. "You son of a bitch, you've--you've changed time!"

The physician sent him a concerned look as he placed the tray on the table. "I don't understand what you mean. Come and eat, have some kafin. You'll feel better."

Unsteadily, he rose and managed the few steps to the table where he pulled out a chair and sat heavily. "I don't feel very well," he admitted. "Kinda dizzy."

"You'll feel better after you eat," Quester repeated. "Drink the kafin." He slathered orange jam on a slice of toast and held it out. "Take this. Good," he added as Luke obeyed. "How's your research going? May I look?"

"Be m'guest," he mumbled, gesturing vaguely, washing down the toast with kafin.

"Ah, a list of Kenobi's Jedi students. Fascinating. And here's your father."

"Father," Luke repeated dreamily. He gulped more kafin. It tasted sweet, so sweet, and he liked it very much. "He was a student of mine..."

"Of yours? You mean a student of Kenobi's?"

"Ben..."

"Stay with me, Luke."

"...student of mine..."

"He was a student of mine," the voice repeated.

"Yeah...'til... wanna sleep..."

"Not yet. Luke...he was a student of mine until...?"

"...until he turned...turned..." The world was thick with gray clouds that made it impossible to think. All he wanted to do was drift with them. All he wanted to do was just...let...go...