AN: My apologies for taking so long to get this next part posted and I can't make any promises to update regularly. This story is based on one I wrote years and years ago and was in the fanzine "I Have A Bad Feeling About This, too" edited by L. Turner who is a fabulous writer. Yizzi is her creation and I thank her for allowing me to use her. Ehlen Anders belongs to Kazlyhn my wonderful beta. She can borrow Rhovan any day! : ) Any errors and typos are mine alone.

As always, Star Wars and the characters therein belong to George Lucas. I just borrow them, beat them up, and return them. : )

Dark Times: Chapter 6

A Legitimate Target

Part One

The little droid stood, deactivated and silent, as the man worked. His fingers twisted wires and by-passed the central processing unit. He soldered a tiny, separate system into place, hiding it amongst the older, larger drives of the machine. Then he hooked up the optical relays and tested the new network before sitting back on his heels and smiling at his work. Even the droid wouldn't know the new system was there.

ooOOoo

Luke Skywalker tucked his shirt into his pants, fastened up his fly and reached for his boots. Sitting on the bench, he pulled them on. Then he stood up, glancing at himself in the mirror fixed to the wall above the sink. Bad idea…

The face that looked back from the medical exam room mirror was tired and strained. Nervous. The eyes were heavy-lidded, shadows colouring the skin under them. The cheeks were pale, the hair hanging limp, lifeless and lack-lustre.

Luke turned away before he could see more; before he had to admit that he knew what the result of the exam was going to be.

He wasn't flight ready. Dejectedly he drew on his weapons belt, adjusted his blaster holster and clipped his lightsaber back onto the loop.

He pulled himself to sit on the exam bench and waited for the medic to return. He didn't have to wait long.

"Well," the doctor started as she re-entered the room, eyes firmly fixed on the datapad she carried. "Blood works are all normal. Your spinal injury has healed nicely and any residual stiffness should clear up in the next few days. Your shoulder is fine, the scars from the blaster wound are also healing well. The fracture on your ankle has set as it should, although you may experience some weakness during physical exercise for a few more weeks."

She stopped, regard him with some concern. "Your blood pressure is a little elevated, but is still within normal parameters. You're still not sleeping well, are you?"

"It shows, huh?" Luke gave a self-deprecating smile.

"Doctor Therriman's report shows that you are making good progress, Luke. Post traumatic stress can take a while to work through and..."

"I don't have a while, doctor, I'm a pilot. Squad Second and my flight needs me. We're short of pilots and..."

She waved a hand at him, her eyes still on the datapad. "And your place on the squad will still be there for you, once you are fit."

"I feel fine," Luke protested. "Nothing hurts and..."

"Luke," she sighed, setting down the datapad and looking at him. "You know that until I have a psych report from Doctor Therriman confirming that you are mentally fit, I cannot pass you for flight duty…"

Luke jumped down from the bench. "Still grounded," he stated, defeated.

The medic smiled with empathy. "For now."

"Thanks, Doc," though his tone did not convey any gratitude. He was frustrated, angry, eager to get back in the X-Wing and into battle.

Pay back...

"I'll see you next duty cycle," she told him, kindly.

Luke merely nodded his agreement before walking out. He pushed his way through the milling personnel, making his way outside, heading towards the hangars: to the ship he was not allowed to fly. He paused outside the massive doors, listening as the banter and the laughter of the pilots and crews was drowned out by the revving of an engine being tested. He drew in a breath of fuel and engine oil: and sulphur from the belching volcano towering above the base.

Even the sight of the massive mountain could stir him no longer. He wanted more, needed more, than the tedious existence of desk duty and flimsy-pushing… He was a pilot, a fighter, a…

...Jedi Knight like my father...

He closed his eyes in growing bitterness, could feel his exasperation and anger building. He was no Jedi, had little chance of reaching that exalted goal with no-one to teach him.

"Hey, Yizzi, I need that hydro spanner!"

Luke grimaced at the shout from within and turned on his heel. This wasn't where he should be, this wasn't the right place. This place would only serve to make him feel worse.

But where else to go? His next shift at the desk wasn't until eighteen hundred hours; his bunk room was bare and empty and none too welcoming; the mess hall too full; the hangars only reminded him of what he was unable to do. He was tired of running through the simulations. Han was off world, Leia locked in conference.

He felt lost and alone, with no idea where to turn next. His stomach was churning for reasons he couldn't identify… but this time there was no insistent desire to flee: no urgent threat.

He looked up at the twisting volcano smoke and smiled. Well, there was no threat… yet…

No, neither the volcano nor the Empire were the cause of the churning in his belly. He had felt this once before, he remembered: on Tatooine. He had felt it that night when he had stood on the farm perimeter and stared at the dying suns…

The eve of his new life: the death of his old.

Is that what this feeling meant now? Was this day the eve of something else?

He shook himself from the thoughts, he was becoming morose, becoming lost in thought and if it continued in this vein he would start thinking more thoughts, ones that he wanted to avoid and...

"It's okay, it's okay. This'll be over soon..."

"Dammit," he cursed, forcing the whisper of Dade's voice to the back of his mind. This is what he wanted to avoid, this is what he wanted to forget and...

"And you will fail..." Vader's voice rumbled from within him.

"Shit," he whispered. He ran a shaking hand through his hair, the memory of Vader's mask just centimetres away strong in his mind. He took a step forward, not knowing where he was going, just knowing he had to move from this place at this moment before someone saw him loitering and started asking questions about how he was, how they missed him, when was he coming back to squad?

His footsteps quickened as he fought to keep his mind blank. A piercing whistle rose from behind him, startling him, and he turned.

"Hi, Artoo," he greeted, a little shakily. He gestured at the hangars. "We're still grounded."

The little droid tooted softly.

Luke didn't have a clue what Artoo had said, but it had sounded like a commiseration. "Thanks," he acknowledged.

He stared at the droid. He sometimes felt that the little machine was more a fri4end than a mechanical device. He sometimes felt that Artoo could read his feelings more accurately than any of his human friends. He certainly owed his life to Artoo, and his freedom from Escaal.

However, he couldn't talk to the droid. He couldn't explain how he really felt because he knew that Artoo wouldn't really understand.

If only Leia wasn't stuck in a council meeting. If only Wedge wasn't gearing up for another patrol. If only he'd said yes to Han's repeated offer to join him and Chewie on the Falcon…

"Come on, kid. This is killing you. Take some leave, Sith-knows you've earned it."

"I don't think they'd let me." He played with the beer bottle in his hand, raised it to his lips and took a long draught of the bitter liquid.

"They wouldn't have a choice if you resigned, Luke." Solo lounged back and placed his feet up on the hologame board. "I've been telling you, there's more than one way to fight the Empire. Come with me and Chewie, run the supply lines! It's good livin'."

Luke laughed. "Now it's a good living? That's not what you said after the last run when the Falcon's..."

Han grimaced. "Don't remind me... But at least I'm out there, up there and not stuck on this rock waiting for the damned thing to blow its top. All that rumblin' makes me nervous."

"I can't. They need me and..."

"That's your problem right there, kid!" Solo interrupted. "Only, sometimes you have to think about yourself and not other people! The Rebellion would go on just fine without their Poster Boy!"

Luke laughed at that, sounding just as bitter as the beer they were drinking."I'm hardly that, Han. Besides, I think it's the Empire that's been putting my poster up."

"Yeah," Han agreed with a half-smile, "with big red numbers underneath your pretty face."

"Just think what you could do with all those credits, Han." Luke joked, though his stomach rolled at the thought of being one of the most notorious men in the Galaxy, and the number of hired guns who would be watching for him. "You could give the Falcon a complete overhaul."

"Yeah...." Solo made a play of considering this, then winked at his young friend. "So... you gonna come with me?"

Luke up finished the beer, drained the bottle. "Nope, but I am gonna get drunk."

"Might just kidnap you then..."

Another hoot brought him back to the present.

"I've no idea," Luke shrugged, guessing Artoo's question. "I guess I could stop by the simulator – run through a few more attack patterns, or maybe we could work on my 'Wing with the techs..."

But hadn't he just turned away from there? Hadn't he just decided the hanger wasn't the place for him right now? But where else could he go? What else could he do? "What do you think?"

There was a screech of electronic chatter and the astrodroid lowered his middle tread and rolled around the ground. Luke frowned, smiled, wondering what Artoo was doing, what the little droid was trying to tell him.

"Artoo?"

The droid bumped into him, making him take a few stumbled steps. "What the hell?"

The droid burbled beside him, a panel sliding to the side and the gripping appendage reaching out to unhook Luke's lightsaber from his belt. He dropped it to the dirt.

"Artoo!" Luke exclaimed, bending down to retrieve the weapon. "What's got into you?"

Artoo chirped and ran a circle around him.

Luke frowned at the droid, not understanding. He pulled his shirt from his pants and rubbed at the dirt on the sabre hilt. He had thought it lost on Escaal, had thought it would remain hidden under a rock on empty moorland… until Dade had waved it in his face while he hung from a line in that cell and revealed his identity as the Network commander. The very man who should have been helping him was torturing him.

He closed his eyes against the memories, felt the weight of the weapon in his hand. It had been a while since he had truly given the sword some thought, its meaning sometimes forgotten to him as he lived the life of an Alliance fighter pilot. There was so little time to ponder its significance, so little time to practise the basic skills Obi-Wan had attempted to pass on.

Now he had been given time.

He opened his eyes. Maybe Artoo did understand him better than anyone else. "That's what I need, huh? You've still a couple of practice remotes, right?"

Artoo quietly blooped at him and fell in at his master's side as Luke set off for the base's perimeter.

ooOOoo

The Cusrean system lay mid-rim with only one habitable planet. The system was fanatically pro-Empire, its people ardent in their worship of Palpatine and thus it has almost been completely stripped of its natural resources in service, in sacrifice, to the greater good of the Empire. It had been mined for minerals and metals. Research facilities dotted the planets and the moons, exploring new weapons, new medicines and new technologies.

Above the polluted atmosphere of the one planet that could sustain life, orbiting platforms and a space station slowly circled. Cargo ships moved slowly between the structures. Further out huge Star Destroyers were refitted and refuelled. TIE fighters flew patrol routes, guarding this dying commodity.

One facility stood out beyond all others. The huge bio-weapons facility hung malignantly over the planet, sensor arrays and solar panels protruding like claws reaching out toward the scarred and damaged surface. It was like an insect sucking the life force from the planet below.

Vader turned from the view port of the Executor's bridge to face the officer before him. "You have done well, Captain, commend your men."

"Thank you, Mi'Lord," Piett gave a small nod in acknowledgement. It was rare to get praise from the Dark Lord.

"Have the refugee barges begin off-loading onto the station and assign them quarters. Explain that the relocation process may take several weeks and that the Executor will remain in orbit for their protection. Use runners, Captain. I want no transmissions that may be intercepted. The Rebels need to believe the station is still working to full capacity or it will not draw them out."

"It shall be done, My Lord."

Piett bowed and turned on his heels, and Vader returned to the view beyond. The planet was rust-coloured, dying: its death throes creating ripples in the Force itself as its crust was torn apart by seismic quakes and eruptions. Even from high orbit huge plumes of smoke could be seen rising into the atmosphere from erupting craters, poison gases steaming out from rents in the ground and...

...there was another tremor. He looked up, could see black smoke billowing across the blue of the sky and he waited, cautious of another quake. The ground stilled and he drew in a breath of sulphur-tainted air and closed his eyes as he brought the lightsaber back up before him trying to grasp onto the Force and...

...the vision lasted seconds, thrust into his mind and dragged away before he could grasp onto it and follow its trail.

His son!

He closed his eyes, tried to recapture the images, trying to re-engage with the fleeting feelings, but the Force only resonated with the dying of the planet. He suppressed a growl of frustration, hands closing into fist. The boy was elusive, his presence strong one moment and gone the next. It was difficult to get a firm grip.

Even when you had him in front of you, you let him go. He chose to ignore his inner chiding voice. The boy had help. A lucky escape...

Twice? His mind mocked.

And he suddenly saw Luke again on Ra'imar, standing alone on the road, in the rain, hunched over, one arm held close to his chest. Twice the injured boy had been torn from his grasp by others. There would not be a third time.

He turned abruptly from the view port and strode from the bridge, ignoring the cautious glances from his men, ignoring the relief that fell across the control room as the door closed at his back. He headed for his quarters, for his hyperbaric chamber and solitude. He needed to find peace, solace. He needed to give himself to the Force. He needed to find his son before anyone else did.

ooOOoo

Luke yelped at the sting of the remote's tiny laser burst as it hit his upper arm. He stumbled, twisted on his newly-healed ankle and collapsed in a heap, heaving in air with hungry need. His muscles spasmed with exertion, and his blood rushed, his heart hammered quickly to get oxygen around his body to meet his physical demands. The remote moved off to hover, humming quietly to the side of him. His lightsaber was deactivated, but still clutched firmly in his hand. A light breeze danced over his naked back, sweat trickled down over his side. He massaged his lower leg, cursing in Huttese.

When he had regained his breath he turned over and lay on his back, staring up at the dark outcrop of rocks that loomed above his chosen practise area. He was only a few hundred metres from the base, but lying here he could quite believe he was the only being on the planet.

The Alliance had chosen to situate its base high on the forested slopes of a massive, and active, volcano. It had taken the Ra'imar evacuees some time to acclimatise themselves to the thinner air and heavier gravity of the planet. Luke had been taken by the beauty of the place, the majesty of the smoking mountain. It seemed dark, foreboding but somehow it offered a sense of safety, of security. After the events on Escaal, the running from Ra'imar, this period of settlement was sorely needed by many.

When he had set out with Artoo from the base perimeters he had only known he was looking for a suitably empty place where he could work through the lightsaber drill without interruption. He had lucked upon a shallow dip in the ground. Out of curiosity he had scrambled down and found himself in a small but natural arena, hidden from the base by the jutting rocks and towering trees above. The sun, shining in from the east, had provided adequate light for a couple of hours, but now it had moved past midday and the light was being blocked by the very trees and the overhang that gave him his privacy.

Perhaps it was time to call it a day and seek out some lunch. Besides he didn't think he had achieved very much; apart from making himself exhausted, dirty and resentful of his inability to master the moves, not to mention sore from various seeker stings. The lightsaber had felt strange to wield, and had refused to feel like part of him as it had done in the past.

On the Millennium Falcon, under Ben's directions, it had, for a short time, been an extension of his being. He had been able to feel its power, its strength. The Force had seemed to extend out from him, had seemed to meld to his moves and wishes. Today he had felt very little of the Force and he wasn't sure that he could reach the core of his being that Ben had said was his potential, his source of energy. It was disheartening.

Stretch out with your feelings...

He scoffed, quietly, at the echo of Ben's voice. Easy to say, but what if you didn't know how to feel? What if you couldn't identify the feelings you had, couldn't separate one from another. What if you were afraid of those feelings, afraid what they would show you of yourself, afraid if you looked too closely you would understand...

...I almost broke.... I almost told them everything...

He closed his eyes, laid an arm across his face, heaved in a calming breath...

...but you didn't...

...and let it out slowly, took in another...

...he was standing there, waiting for you. All that armour for you... all those people dead because of you...

No. It was an Alliance outpost. It was ridiculous that Vader attacked Ra'imar just because of one person, one man. The Dark Lord had tracked them there, that was all...

...then why did he hang back when he saw you? Why did the walkers and the tanks all stop when you stood on that road? You were sure then, you were sure during the debrief, you didn't doubt.

Argue all you want, Skywalker. You knew. You know now.

"Dammit."

These memories were recurrent, the same thoughts, the same concerns and the same horrors.

...because of you...

"You think too much, Luke. Sometimes you just have to do the thing."

The whisper of Taln's voice cut through his thoughts. Taln covered in dust and debris from the explosion that took down an Imperial residential area on Escaal during their escape. Taln who was to die a few hours later in a failed attempt to save his life.

"...just do the thing."

Luke smiled, lifted his arm from his face and opened his eyes as another rumble echoed from the mountain. The ground shuddered under him, the trees above him rustled and Artoo twittered quietly catching Luke's attention. He glanced over as the little droid shifted nervously in the dirt. "It's okay," he reassured the droid. He paused, concentrated on his own feelings, on the forest above him. There was nothing of concern, nothing that worried him. "It's just another tremor, it's not going to blow just yet."

"...just do the thing."

As he sat up, Luke considered Taln's statement. He knew that there was no danger from the mountain, he had felt that through the Force… He had been quiet for a moment and listened to the Force. He had instinctively just done it without thinking about it.

He smiled and stood. Holding the lightsaber loosely and unlit, he closed his eyes.

Closed his eyes, emptied his mind and reached out.

Nothing.

He breathed deeply, filling his lungs, let the air out slowly. Took another breath, heard a bird sail overhead, listened to its keening cry and he touched...

...the wind carried him along, buffeted him, ripped through his hair, lifted heat from his sweat damp torso, chilled his naked skin, tugged the cloth of his pants. Then it was quiet... stilted and... there...

He ignited the saber. The remote immediately moved, darted to the side. He followed. It rose above him, fell behind him, and a shot pulsed toward him. He deflected it. Another shot, a different angle, another parry. He pivoted around, bringing the lightsaber into a defensive posture to ward off another blow.

He moved faster, the lightsaber blurring as it repelled shot after shot, as he moved deeper into the Force, allowing his reactions to be guided by instinct, by power.

A twig cracked loudly above the area.

Luke stumbled and ducked as another remote shot sang past his head. He rolled on the ground, the lightsaber extinguished, and came to rest on his stomach. He grinned into the dirt, panting from his exertion, laughed, exhilarated by his success.

Then something else, something foreign, a feeling… of...

...being seen...

He glanced up at the rocky over hang, expecting to see someone standing there. He pushed himself to his feet as he scanned the area sure that he had been watched, sure that someone had been there.

"Hello?" he gasped, his voice echoing quietly off the walls of the natural arena. He turned to Artoo. "Was there someone there?"

Artoo's dome twirled around, and he twittered and burped an answer that Luke could really only guess at.

"Well, okay. But let me know if they come back." He glanced down at himself a little self conscious of how he must look; half naked and caked in sweat and dirt. He shook his head, looked at the lightsaber in his hand and found his stance, found the force and the remote darted in again.

And Artoo watched in awe as his master practiced, all the time unaware of the recorder that had been spliced into his optical receptors.

ooOOoo

To be continued....