Dark Times Chapter 2:

Pale Shelter

Part 3

"Sensor sweep complete. Nothing out here but dead space, sir."

"I copy, Red Four," Wedge Antilles acknowledged evenly as he pulled his X-Wing into a wide U-turn. "Red Three, Red Six, we're outta here. Rendezvous with Red Leader at six point four."

"Copy that," came the replies.

Wedge felt himself being pressed farther into his acceleration chair as he increased the X-Wing's speed toward the squad's meeting point. He was looking forward to getting back to the base on Ra'imar and out of the cockpit he'd been cramped in for the last six hours of the patrol. He loved flying, but he hated this hiding and waiting game they seemed to be playing with Empire. The routine patrols were boring but he knew they played an important role in protecting the base, especially since Ra'imar was too small to warrant an expensive shield generator or long range sensors. It was the fighter patrols that gave the outpost its first line of defence against any potential threat.

He yawned, tried to stretch his aching muscles in the tight confines of the cockpit. Patrols had been increased since the Escaal raid, since command had become jittery about possible repercussions against the Alliance if the Empire somehow traced the guilty fighter squad to Ra'imar; since Luke Skywalker had been shot down and his fate remained unknown.

Wedge grimaced as his thoughts turned towards his lost friend once more. He should have followed Luke down, he should have disobeyed Skywalker's order and gone after him. No one knew if he was alive or dead, if he was captured or remained free, or if the Escaal Resistance Network had picked him up and had him hidden. It was over three weeks since the attack, over three weeks of silence and Wedge was beginning to succumb to the same thought as many of his comrades - Luke must dead, he must have been killed as his crippled fighter spiralled out of control in the planet's atmosphere.

Dammit! He should have followed him down.

A tone sounded in the cockpit and he checked his instruments as Red Three's voice broke over the com.

"Sir? A small ship has dropped out of hyperspace on the edge of the system."

"I see it," Wedge responded coolly as he pulled himself from his thoughts to more immediate matters. He keyed his com again. "Red Leader," he called, watching the craft on his sensors. "We have an unidentified ship in sector four, its current flight path will take it straight to the base."

"I have him," Commander Narra told him. "We're heading your way, Red Two. Intercept and query."

"Copy, Red Leader. Moving to intercept. Reds Four and Six with me." Wedge swung the fighter around and accelerated toward the invading vessel. He drew in a breath of recognition as he drew nearer. "We have an Imperial shuttle! Repeat, we have an Imperial shuttle!"

"Lock S-foils in attack position," Narra commanded with an edge to his voice. "Prepare to jam its transmissions. Red Two, find out what it's doing here."

Wedge drew along side the shuttle as Reds Four and Six fell in behind, drawing the Imperial craft into their crosshairs. Wedge opened his com on an Imperial channel. "State your business in this sector."

There was a burst of static and then "…etwork Commander Dade of the Escaal Resistance…"

Wedge felt a start of adrenaline spike through him. Escaal?

"…I need landing co-ordinates and a trauma team to meet us."

Narra came along the opposite side from Wedge. "What verification can you give us that you are who you say you are?"

All the X-Wing pilots winced as high-pitched droid noise babbled over the com. Wedge glanced that the translation and grinned. "That's Artoo Detoo! He says they have Luke, but…."

"Lieutenant Commander Skywalker is injured," the stranger's voice continued with some urgency. "He needs immediate medical assistance."

"We copy that," Narra answered. "Wedge, escort them down."

"Yes, sir!' He switched channels as he veered away, checking his rear scanners and making sure the shuttle was behind him. "Base, this is Red Two. Incoming shuttle is a friendly. They need the EMT on touch down."

"Acknowledge, Red Two. You both have clearance to land. Emergency medical team will meet you."

Wedge glanced starboard as the shuttle, matching his speed, drew alongside and together they approached Ra'imar. They entered the atmosphere of the planet, dropped below the cloud cover and followed the shore of a massive lake. Wedge cut back his speed as the Rebel outpost came into view. A collection of prefabricated buildings surrounded a large landing area. As he brought the fighter down he could see medical personnel running from the field hospital and ground infantry cordoning off the landing zone as the shuttle gently touched down.

Wedge released his straps as his canopy lifted and was climbing out of the X-Wing before his ground crew could get the ladder into place. He slid to the ground and ran toward the shuttle as its ramp lowered. As he ran he pulled his helmet from his head and let it drop to the ground.

"Hey, Antilles!" The chief tech called as she stooped to pick up the discarded helmet. "What's going on?"

"It's Luke!" Wedge shouted back over his shoulder as he broke through the line of troopers and sprinted up the ramp after the medics ignoring the soldiers' shouts to halt. It was the sight that greeted him within the vessel that stunned him and slowed his steps. There was a dead man lying crumpled near the rear of the passenger compartment, a sullen Imperial pilot was being escorted from the cockpit by two Alliance troopers and another Imperial was kneeling by a prone figure on the floor and speaking quickly to the medics.

Wedge swallowed, grimaced in disgust at the insignia that adorned the man's dark uniform; this man was an Imperial Interrogation Specialist, and expert in various forms of torture and coercion. Antilles glanced at the person on the floor as the medics carefully lifted two uniform jackets from the still body as they began assessing his physical condition. Wedge heard snatches of conversation from the medical team and from the Imperial who was feeding them information.

"Localised blaster burn…."

"Compression of the spine…."

"Fractures to the…."

"Concussion…."

"He's hypotensive…."

He watched them work, taking in the bruised and bloodied condition of the body, the swollen contusions that disfigured the face, the distended hands and deep lacerations of the wrists. And a deep simmering rage rose as he realised who the patient was and what had happened to him.

Luke had been tortured.

"What did you do?" He asked quietly, fixing his eyes on the Imperial officer. "What did you do to him?"

Major Erwin Rhovan glanced up at the pilot as the dark-haired young man took a step closer. He saw the anger in the dark eyes, heard the danger in the tight voice. He stood, leaving Skywalker in the capable hands of the Rebel medics and faced the pilot, spreading his arms out, palms up, showing surrender. "It isn't what you think," he said evenly, carefully watching the smaller man, knowing his own situation had become precarious and uncertain.

One of the medics suddenly stood up between the two men. He faced Wedge. "Lieutenant, you need to back off and let us work."

There was a groan from the floor, a mumbled protest as the other medics moved Luke onto a back-board and strapped his body firmly in place to prevent any movement that could exacerbate his spinal injury.

Wedge took a concerned step forward, but the medic placed a hand on his chest. "Let us work, Wedge."

Rhovan's eyes narrowed with interest; so this was Wedge, this is who Skywalker named when the pain became too much and then had to struggle to protect. This was, more than likely, Skywalker's wing-man.

"Back off, Wedge," the medic repeated, softly.

"Sir?" A female voice questioned and a small hand rested on his arm. Wedge turned to find an Infantry Non-com at his side. "This way, sir."

Wedge knew they were right, knew there was nothing he could do for Luke, nothing he could say to the Imperial that would make any difference to what had happened to Luke and it probably wouldn't have made him feel any better either. He smiled grimly as more soldiers surrounded the Major and fastened his hands in front him before leading him from the shuttle. As the man passed Wedge murmured, "You'd better hope they keep Solo away from you."

Rhovan paused at the quiet threat, his eyes meeting Wedge's. "We're on the same side, pilot," he stated quietly.

Wedge's lips curled with disgust, his anger bubbled over and he threw off the soldier's hand and grabbed the Imperial's jacket, ramming him into the bulkhead. "Try telling that to Luke," he snarled, dimly aware of the soldiers shouting at him to back down, of hands grabbing at his flight suit and harness. He was physically dragged away, his hands forced to release the Imperial as the troopers pulled them apart.

"This isn't over," Wedge warned, glaring at the other man, enjoying the brief look of uncertainty that had crossed the man's features.

"Yes, it is!" barked a stern voice from the open hatchway.

Wedge groaned inwardly as Commander Narra strode aboard the shuttle. "Sir, I…." he began lamely as the soldiers took hold of the Imperial and marched him from the shuttle.

"Save it, Antilles," Narra told Wedge as his eyes settled on the battered figure lying on the stretcher and his face darkened. As he spoke again his attention remained on Luke and the medics working around him, but his words were for Wedge. "Get yourself to de-briefing, Lieutenant. That's an order!"

"Yes, sir," Wedge responded, somewhat subdued. He took a last concerned glance at Luke as the medics finished preparing to move him to the medical facilities, before turning and trudging down the ramp. As he walked towards the buildings there was a blast of noise as Blue Flight took off for their patrol of the system.

ooOOoo

"Luke!"

He winced, tried to bury his head further into his pillow, as his aunt's voice cut sharply through the stillness of his sleep. He was warm, too comfortable and had no inclination to move at all.

"Time to get up!" Beru called again.

He groaned and reluctantly opened his eyes…

…light, glaring….

He winced, quickly closed his eyes against the brief burst of pain the light had caused.

"Luke!"

He sighed in resignation and opened his eyes once more. His room was only dimly lit, the dusky light barely illuminating the area. He stretched under his warm blankets enjoying the luxury of his bed, the quiet of his room after the…

…after what?

He frowned as strands of images fleetingly crossed his mind; a cold dark room, a bank of cold lights, a man in a dark uniform, a voice asking questions….

What was this? What did it mean? A nightmare only partly remembered, or knowledge of something else?

He reached out and switched on the lamp next to his bed. It glowed warmly, reflecting off the white-washed walls, off the pictures and holos of star maps and star ships, off the recruitment brochure for the Imperial Space Academy that lay under the model of a T-65 X-Wing fighter.

When had he got that?

Waking up in his own bed felt good. It felt right. It felt as though he had just come home after being away for too long….

"Told about home."

He swallowed the spark of panic that rolled in his stomach at the sudden thought, at the strange – yet familiar voice – he heard speaking.

"Luke? Can you hear me?"

He groaned, resting his head heavily on the pillow. He didn't want to get up, didn't want to move. His muscles were aching, his back felt splintered and his wrists were throbbing incessantly. His uncle must have worked him hard the previous day, he…

… couldn't remember what he had been doing. Couldn't remember much except gashing his wrist with the screwdriver and his aunt dressing it. But why were both wrists sore now?

"Come on, Luke…."

He tried to open his eyes, tried to fight through the confusion and the fatigue, tried to lift his heavy, gummy eyelids. His face felt strange; numb and swollen and there was something covering his nose and mouth.

"Luke?"

He couldn't focus, could only make out shifting shapes and bright lights. His head was thumping painfully, relentlessly, and he allowed his eyes to close against the disorientation.

"Stay with me, Luke."

Panic slammed into him with those words. He had heard them before and, as with now, they had been said gently, with kindness, and he knew the agony that would follow.

"No!" He tried to move, tried to move his head, but it was stuck and he could feel a strap tight across his brow. His body was likewise tied down and he could feel cool air brushing over his naked form, hands were touching him, pressing and prodding his injuries. The was a whine of droid servo-motors. "No… please… no…."

"It's okay, Luke," the voice soothed. "This'll be over soon."

His eyes snapped open as terror ripped through him and he thrashed against the restraints, tugged and pulled and writhed, ignoring the pain he was causing himself.

"Calm down, Luke. You're safe, now. It's okay."

"Dammit! Keep him still," a sterner voice growled. "Give him another 10ccs of Varllezium."

"Luke, you're home. It's okay you're home."

Home?

"…told about home…"

"'Can't do this…." he told the face floating above him.

"Just lay still, Luke. You don't need to do anything. You're safe now."

But the sting of needle in the back of his hand belied that. He bucked against what was happening, jerked and pulled his arm from its restraints and wildly threw it out as he cried, "Back off!"

There was a yell, the sound of a crash and a brief silence. Then:

"What the hell?"

"Pick him up from there," the gruffer voice commanded.

"Are you okay?"

"Shit… what happened?" The voice that had been speaking to him sounded dazed.

"I think it was Luke…."

"What?"

"Infuse his oxygen with Phousian."

There was a brief hiss of escaping gas, and a sweet smell flooded his nostrils and caught on the back of his throat. He gagged, choked and breathed it in. And his senses became slow, muted and blurred, and the voices now echoed hollowly as they following him down into darkness.

"I need his blood matched, prep the OR…"

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. He blinked hazily, berating himself for dozing off instead of getting up when his aunt had shouted him. He threw back the covers and clambered out of bed wincing at the sharp pain that shot through his lower back.

ooOOoo

Rhovan thanked the young soldier as she showed him into the small room, but she made no reply and merely closed and locked the door behind her with a grimace of distaste on her face. The Interrogation Specialist turned on his heels and looked around his new accommodation. It was drab and grey, a common feature to prefabricated buildings, and was furnished only by a table and two chairs; he glanced a little nervously at the ceiling beams and chided himself quietly for feeling relief at the lack of a durasteel cable hanging from above.

He loosened his collar and sat down by the table, resting his bound hands upon its smooth metallic top. It was then he noticed the tremors and he quickly clasped his palms together.

It was over. The Escaal fight was finished; his friend, Taln, dead, the resistance left leaderless. He knew the organisation would eventually rebuild, but it would take years to recover from the damage inflicted upon it during the last few weeks, especially if Darth Vader remained on the planet for any length of time; the Sith Lord's methods were synonymous with destruction and death.

They had lost so much for one boy.

He had lost so much; the double life he had lived for over a decade, the role he had carefully crafted, the trust he earned from the Empire that had enabled him to work and protect resistance networks from within the most insidious heart of the regime; its prisons and interrogation centres.

One boy…

He stood and paced the room. They shouldn't have made the agreement with the Rebel Alliance, they should have gone after the Escaal Weapon's Development Programme themselves. They should have refused to help downed pilots. They should have put a gun to the youth's head the minute they had picked him up. And then none of this would have happened.

One boy.

What was so special about Skywalker? Why had Taln become so protective of him and disobeyed a direct order to kill him? Why had he thrown away his career and life to save the youth from the Dark Lord's clutches? And why had Vader come in person to take possession of the pilot himself?

One boy.

What was it about the boy that intrigued the Dark Lord? That Luke had an effect on Vader was undeniable. Vader had never been one to show prisoners mercy and yet he had hesitated to punish Skywalker after the pilot had spat on him, and he had chosen to cut the youth down rather than torment and question him further – such acts were uncharacteristically kind for the Sith Lord.

And what of Skywalker himself? He had been on the verge of emotional collapse before Vader had arrived and yet he had appeared to find an added strength to resist where others would have capitulated at the mere mention of Vader's name. Both had had a unforeseen effect on the other and Rhovan's curiosity was piqued; something that involved Skywalker's father.

He sighed heavily and threw himself back into the chair. He should be more concerned with his own immediate future and what the Alliance would have in store for him now that his career with the Empire was over.

The door opened and admitted two Alliance soldiers who positioned themselves on either side of the doorway. The third figure who entered was a tall, dark-haired man whom he immediately recognised. He stood to greet his visitor with a smile.

"Carlist Rieekan!"

Surprise did not linger long on Rieekan's face. "Erwin Rhovan," he acknowledged his prisoner. "I never thought I'd see the day that Dade would deign to rejoin our ranks."

Rhovan shrugged. "The day had to come, I suppose. That's what happens when you ask the Alliance for help."

"That had to have hurt, asking us to take out the munitions plant."

"You have no idea how much," Rhovan conceded. "It's a decision I regret given the consequences."

There was pause from Rieekan and he considered the other man. Then a smile curled his lips and he turned to his men. "Remove the Major's binders, and please bring him some food and water." He gestured to Rhovan to sit and pulled out a chair for himself. He spent a moment just looking at the other man and considering his approach. He had to find out quickly what had happened on Escaal.

"I'd like to thank you for returning young Skywalker to us."

"Save the sentiments, Rieekan," Rhovan advised him dryly, as the guards released his wrists and he sat down. "You know me too well."

"So saving Luke was never on your agenda?"

Rhovan smiled, briefly chuckled. He was tired, grieved for what he had left behind. "We had an agreement to pick up downed pilots and that's what my Network did. But we under estimated the Empire's zeal in hunting him down. It became too dangerous and Skywalker's life was forfeit."

"So what changed?"

The Major shrugged. "He was caught and brought to me for questioning, his identity was discovered and…."

"You broke him?" Rieekan quickly asked, knowing Rhovan's skill at manipulation and applying pressure. If Skywalker had cracked under duress there would be serious repercussions for many in the Alliance, and from the brief glimpse he had of the youth's condition he was gravely concerned.

Rhovan smiled. "I have you worried now? Think maybe your Alliance has been compromised?"

"We may be your Alliance again, Erwin," Rieekan warned him darkly, "it would be prudent to remember that."

There was a pause as the two men assessed the other. Rhovan held his gaze on Rieekan, refusing to give away to the other that he was concerned about his position. "Your pilot didn't break… but he was very close to it. I already knew who he was, but, yes, he gave his identity during questioning. He also mentioned another pilot 'Wedge'… but nothing more. So your Alliance is safe."

The relief that flooded Rieekan was all too visible on his features; his jaw relaxed, his brow smoothed and his dark eyes lightened somewhat. "He's a courageous boy," he said with some admiration in his voice for his pilot.

"Fool hardy and stubborn, I'd say," Rhovan responded. "So what happens now?"

Rieekan glanced around the small room. "We'll have a cot brought in, make this place a little more comfortable for now and have your bag brought to you…."

"Once you've been through its contents?"

Rieekan nodded with a smile. "Indeed."

"Then what?"

"We formally debrief you and Luke, and give you an opportunity to join us should the council be satisfied that your talents will be of use to us."

"For what it's worth, Carlist, I have no where else to go." And he hated himself for saying so.

Rieekan nodded his understanding and stood to leave. "You'll be confined to quarters for the time being."

"I understand," he responded, watching the Rebel general turn to leave. "There's something else you should know just now."

Rieekan turned back to regard him. "What?"

"Vader came personally to take Skywalker."

"Vader was on Escaal?"

"Yes."

Rieekan felt uneasiness stirring in his belly. "He spoke to Luke?"

"Briefly, though it didn't make much sense to me." He frowned, recalling the short exchange between the two. It wasn't what was said that interested Rhovan; it was the reaction each had had to the other; Vader seemed unusually lenient, whereas Skywalker had appeared to gain more strength to resist. "Something about Skywalker's father."

Rieekan nodded. "We were aware of Vader's interest in Luke and had warned him. But we'll ask him about it." He paused by the open door. "If you need anything just alert your guards. We'll speak more later."

The door opened and a soldier entered carrying a tray of steaming food and a jug of water. Rhovan grimaced. He could use something a little stronger than water. But he thanked the Alliance soldier as the food was set on the table before him and when he glanced back up Rieekan had gone. Soon the door was closed and locked and he was alone again. He took a sip of water and, suddenly realising how hungry he was, he lifted the fork by the plate and began to eat.

tbc….