AN: I continue to be amazed that so many people are reading this story and many many thanks to those of you who have been kind enough to leave a comment or two. Your support keeps me going.
My thanks stay with my beta, Kazlynh, for her unwavering support and her answers to frantic and mad text messages! : )
All Previous disclaimers apply.
Dark Times: Chapter Five
A Legitimate Target
Part Eight
"Bring him."
Strong fingers dug into the flesh of his upper arms as he was dragged forward by the soldiers and forced to walk behind the Dark Lord. He struggled, pulled on the cuffs that bound his hands behind his back, tried to wrench away from the trooper's grips. More soldiers fell in around him in response to his efforts as he was escorted from the hangar and hauled through the corridors of the ship until they reached a bank of elevators.
One of the doors slid open and he was pushed forward into the enclosed space with the Dark Lord.
As the turbo lift moved Luke tried to gather his thoughts, tried to calm himself and not give into his despair. His heart hammered, his mouth was dry, his breathing quick. He could feel his body trembling with fright, could feel solid fear roll in his belly.
He couldn't do this again; he couldn't sit in a tiny cell and wait for them to come for him. He couldn't be subjected to the questions and the drugs and the pain and be asked to betray his friends.
He hung his head, coughed; air barking through his sore throat. He started when the door slid to the side and, terrified of finding himself on the detention level, he tried to resist. He planted his boots on the floor, locked his muscles and fought as they pulled on his arms. His knees were kicked from under him and he was yanked forward.
Confusion shook him when he saw he was on the bridge. Silence fell over the watching crew in the pits as he was manhandled across to the observation window with Vader at his back.
Why had he been brought here?
"Have you ever seen the consequences of your actions?" Vader asked him, breaking the quiet.
Luke swallowed, said nothing, kept his eyes to the deck. He didn't understand this.
"What did the Force tell you of your target?" the Dark Lord wanted to know.
Luke started; the question shaking him even as his mind answered.
Innocence. I felt innocence.
"Look at what you have done, Rebel."
Luke resisted the temptation to lift his head, to shift his eyes to the space beyond. He didn't want to look, didn't want to see, didn't want to show any compliance to his captor.
The Dark Lord's hand clamped painfully on his upper arm and he was taken from his guards. Another gloved hand encircled the back of his neck and he was pushed forward to stand in front of the Dark Lord; his head forced up, his face forward.
"You will look, or you will be made to look," he was warned.
Reluctantly, Luke lifted his eyes to look at the view beyond the ship, knowing that he would need all his strength for later, knowing that any injury now would make it more difficult to withstand them later...
Wreckage floated in space; twisted pieces of metal were scattered through the area creating an artificial asteroid field that the huge cruiser slowly moved through. There were durasteel struts that were bent and buckled, storage crates, panels, bulkheads, a TIE wing, a chair, and something else drifting in the debris field; other shapes among the metal that his mind refused to identify, that made him turn away and close his eyes.
The hand on the back of his neck tightened, the Dark Lord's fingers dug into the base of his skull and he could not bite back the quiet cry of pain.
"You will look," Vader cautioned again.
No....
"You will see what you have done."
Please...
The pressure on his neck and arm increased; the pain stealing his breath and his resolve. He opened his eyes once more.
"Can you see her?" the Dark Lord asked, his voice chilling in its gentleness.
There was child highlighted by the lights of the Imperial ship. A girl. No more than seven or eight years old. She was passing close to the viewing port, her long dark hair fanned out and frozen solid, her eyes wide, her expression one of surprise. There was a small burn on one of her cheeks, charring on her clothes.
She gently bumped into the Executors shields and was sent tumbling away into open space.
Luke moaned, his knees giving out and he would have sank to the floor had Vader released his grip.
"Can you see them?"
He could.
He could see them all. Bodies, and parts of bodies, tumbling and turning in cold space. Hundreds of them. Men, woman and children.
So many children.
So many...
"When you fired upon the station what did you feel?"
Luke hung in the Dark Lord's grasp. Vader's question was heavy with knowing, with understanding. Luke couldn't answer, didn't want to acknowledge that he had felt...
...them. I felt them....
...when the flames arose I felt...
The pressure on his neck increased, an agony so tight he thought his neck would simply snap. He gasped, tried to struggle, to fight against his situation, against the truth that the Dark Lord was forcing upon him...
With a suppressed scream catching his breath Luke's eyes flew open. His heart pounded in his chest as his sight adjusted to the darkness of the bunk room. He could make out a ceiling far above him, shouts and banging from the cavernous hanger next door as the techs continued to work on the X-Wings. He was lying in one of the mechanic's bunks, as all the squad were; stuck here for yet another night as the ash fell outside.
He heaved in a breath of relief as he tried to slow his heart, tried to calm the tremors of fright that coursed through his muscles.
The dream had been so real. His neck and head throbbed where Vader's hand had clenched them. He could still see the detail of the bridge, the watching crew as he had been forced to look upon the remains of the Cusrean station. The remains of the people he had killed.
The little girl.
He closed his eyes against the echo of the dream but the image stayed with him; replaying on his eyelids.
A child falling through space.
A little girl he had killed.
You knew. You felt them. You felt her...
He turned onto his side and winced as his stiff neck protested. His head pounded with the beginnings of another hangover, the stale after taste of the beer he had consumed with the squad and techs the night before lingering in his dry mouth.
"Hey, Luke?" Antilles whispered from the bunk below. "'You okay?"
Luke cringed, wondering how much of his nightmare Antilles had heard. "I'm fine, Wedge. Just a dream. Go back to sleep..."
"You're the boss, Boss," Wedge concurred, sleepily. The bunk shook and the springs creaked as the other pilot moved, turning over and settling back into sleep
Luke lay awake staring into the darkness, seeing the girl twisting and turning in the debris field.
...when the flames arose...
ooOOoo
Darth Vader turned from Ozzel, waving him silent as he concentrated. He had felt something, a tremor in the Force; his son's elusive presence rose and fell for just a moment before ebbing and trickling away.
He eagerly followed the echo and...
...I felt...
A thrill ran through Vader as he latched onto the feelings; the anguish and horror. He stretched out, reached out, to grasp the fading embers of Luke's emotions.
Darkness.
There was darkness about his son and Vader smiled with pride, with satisfaction, as he pursued his son's thoughts to their just conclusion: a conclusion that Luke resisted and refused to acknowledge.
...when the flames arose I felt...
It was the same feelings he had struggled with himself after he had slaughtered the Tuskens who had murdered his mother. He had taken his revenge on them; he had revelled in their deaths. With each stroke of his lightsaber, with each mother's scream when he had wrenched their child from their arms, he had felt consumed by the very emotion that his son now shied away from and denied.
It was only later, only once he had calmed and had time to think about what he had done that the horror had hit him and he had found himself in the Lars' garage looking at his hands; trying to understand how he could have carried out the act, how he could have felt delight in such a gruesome act.
He had tried to justify the killings to Padme, had tried to convince himself that the Tuskens deserved to die for what they had done, but he had heard the boast in his voice...
"...not just the men, but the woman and the children..."
...and had fought to cover it with rage and grief.
He had been horrified not only by what he had done, but by the feelings that it evoked in him: just as Luke was horrified by his own actions.
It was only later that he came to terms with what had happened, only later that he realised that the incident had given him the strength to do what had come after.
"Master Skywalker, there are too many of them..."
Palpatine had shown him the true path, had shown him that these feelings were not to be ignored, not to be shunned, but to be nurtured and coveted for they were the passion of the Dark Side.
They were power.
It was time to flush his son out of hiding; it was time to show Luke the true nature of the power he was denying.
The Dark Lord turned to Ozzel. "Have a holonet crew and reporter brought to the bridge, allow them access to record the recovery operation. Release Skywalker's name to the news casts as the pilot who destroyed the station. Triple the bounty on his head and stress that he should be taken alive."
Although clearly puzzled, Ozzel bowed his assent. "It shall be done, my Lord."
ooOOoo
It was two days before the winds changed significantly enough for the skies above the Alliance outpost to clear. At the same time, the belching ash, steam and gases gradually subsided as the volcano's activity fell away to its previous rumbling and occasional plumes of smoke and ash. The base came to life as the personnel ventured out into the compound and the landing zone to start the task of clearing away the accumulated ash, dust and grit that had piled on buildings, vehicles and on the starships that had lain in the open on the landing pad.
It had taken two more days just to clear the airfield for flights to resume. The first flight out was a fighter patrol of the system.
Commander Narra, Wedge and the rest would be suiting up, trading banter and insults as they made their way from the briefing room to their ships. And he wasn't with them. He was stuck in this small room gazing out of a grimy window at the continuing operation to clean up the volcanic debris. His stomach twisted with anger and frustration at having to sit here while the Rebellion continued on all around him. He wanted to be with the squad, wanted to climb back into his ship and try and makes some amends for his actions above Cusrean.
"Luke! Wake up! We're gonna get pulverized!"
"We've lost Twelve, we've lost Triani."
"Refugees...."
He chilled, wanting to close his eyes against the memories, against the voices that echoed within; raw and scathing.
It was because of him that so many of the squad had lost their lives. It was because of him that so many innocent beings had been killed...
... massacred...
...when he took the shot.
And the fact that no one blamed him, no one was holding him accountable for his actions made him feel worse; he wanted, needed, someone to point and say, "You were wrong."
He chewed on a ragged nail, watching as yet another loader full of debris was hauled off to a nearby dump site outside of the compound. He studied his hands, his fingers dirty, his palms engrained with volcanic ash despite the scrubbing he had given them before he attended his appointment.
He had been helping Han clean the Falcon and after two days of hard labour they had made good progress; the hull of the Falcon was emerging from beneath the thick layer of ash. While they toiled outside, Chewbacca worked from within checking through the ships systems ensuring that no dust or grit had worked its way into the engines and other essential systems.
The Falcon was almost flight ready.
There was a murmur in the room, someone speaking softly, and Luke had to concentrate on the voice, had to pull himself from his thoughts to the here and now and focus on what Therriman was saying to him.
"... any more flashbacks and dreams?"
The Mirialan doctor leaned forward, his posture open, inviting his patient to respond. His dark eyes blinked slowly, as his hand scratched absently at the tattoo across the yellow-green of his cheek.
Luke closed his eyes, knowing his reaction to the question had answered it.
"The same ones?"
Luke shook his head, clearing his throat. Instead of the cell on Escaal, his dreams had been of Vader and the dead child. He rubbed the back of his neck, recalling Vader's hand clamped at the base of his skull. "The mission."
"Luke," Therriman sat forward, he always sat forward when he wanted to make a point, "you do understand that what happened at Cusrean was not your responsibility."
Luke swallowed, looked to the ceiling, tired of hearing the same thing from his commanders and his friends and now his doctor. The only ones who hadn't offered the platitudes were Han, Leia and Wedge; they seemed to understand, seemed to know what he needed and it wasn't to be continually told that what had happened wasn't his fault. However, even they refused to blame him, even they didn't tell him it was his fault.
"Luke?" Therriman prompted, seeing that he had lost the young human's attention.
Luke dragged his eyes back to the analyst. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" the doctor asked. "Sorry for what, Luke?"
Luke stared blankly at him. Sorry....
...Sorry to have fired the shot that killed those people, sorry that Leia suggested him for the mission, sorry that Ra'imar fell, sorry about Escaal and what had happened to him there. Sorry for the Death Star, sorry that Biggs was killed, that Ben was killed, that his aunt and uncle were murdered, that the Jawas brought the droids to them...
He didn't know where to begin with the word 'sorry.'
"I'm, uh... my mind was elsewhere," Luke avoided and explained, "I've been helping Han with the Falcon, I was thinking about that. The Falcon's filters need to be removed and cleared."
Therriman smiled, recognising Luke's avoidance but playing along. "It's good that you are keeping busy, Luke."
"I'd rather be with my squad, sir," Luke told him sharply.
"I'm aware of that, Luke," the therapist confirmed, gently, "but you went back too early. Your treatment programme was incomplete and the events over Cusrean have been a setback. You were making good progress before the mission and I am confident that we can recover from this."
Luke stared at Therriman with disbelief. "A setback?" he rasped, "I killed over twenty thousand innocent people. That's not a setback that's..." he trailed off, glancing away from the quiet analyst, knowing that Therriman has just worked around his avoidance and brought the mission back into the focus of the conversation.
"That's what, Luke?"
Luke swallowed, shifted his eyes to the window and the activity beyond. "Murder," he told the doctor quietly. "That's murder."
ooOOoo
"Report," Sidious rasped at the tiny figure kneeling on the holographic display pad.
"Master," his agent greeted. "Skywalker has been removed from active duty, pending a full psychiatric evaluation."
The Sith Master laughed, smiled. If the Jedi had done the same with the boy's father then Anakin might not have been so easy to turn. The young Jedi had been touched by darkness with the death of his mother, but the horrors of the Clone Wars had shaken him to the core, his trauma and fear of loss ignored by the Jedi and twisted by Palpatine.
"Then Lord Vader's assertion that Skywalker took the shot is correct."
It was a statement, not a question but still his agent answered. "Yes, master."
"Then we shall bide our time. Lord Vader has sanctioned that his name be released to the public as the guilty pilot. This will work to our advantage; he will not remain hidden in the ranks for long."
"There is more, Master. Skywalker has been trying to teach himself." the voice crackled as the hologram flickered.
The Dark Lord hesitated.
Interesting...
"Explain," he invited.
"He has been practising lightsaber skills with remotes. He... appears to be improving, master."
Sidious pursed his lips, considering his servant's words. So the boy had grown tired of having a power he barely used, or understood. He was attempting to instruct himself, trying to fulfil a potential left bereft of a teacher. His presence in the Force could only grow stronger, his light would become a beacon in the darkness, easy to find and extinguish; one way, or another.
The Dark Lord closed his eyes, seeking answers in the soothing shadows of the Force.
A lightsaber flashing in darkness.
Fury; a rage so dense, so strong that the waves of emotions battered even his senses with their intensity.
And another presence...
Vader...
A father seeking out his son.
A father seeking to guide his wayward child, to teach what the boy needed to know and recognise.
"When the flames arose I felt....
No!
The lightsaber extinguishing as the boy collapsed in anguish and the father withdrew, his job done.
Sidious grinned behind his cowl as the vision faded. He turned his attention back to his patient servant. "You continue to please me, my friend. Go now, and carry on with your mission."
The figure bowed as the connection ended.
The Emperor turned away to face the window of his private sanctuary and looked out across the skyline of Imperial Centre as night fell; the darkness now that little bit deeper.
ooOOoo
"Godsdammit," Solo cursed as the ash he had just swept into a heap blew and swirled around him in the wake of the landing X-Wings.
Luke, who was also sweeping a broom across the hull of Falcon, paused and laughed as the Corellian tried to re-sweep the pile of volcanic debris that had been redistributed by the returning fighters' wash.
"Nothing could be worse than this hell hole," Han muttered through the breathing apparatus he had retrieved from the Falcon, preferring it to the simple scarf that Luke had chosen to protect his airways. "I don't know what you're laughing at, kid, you've been day dreaming so much you've been brushing the same pile from one side of the ship to other. I oughta dock your wages."
"You're not paying me," Luke reminded him easily, he blinked sweat from his eyes, wiped a hand across his brow. He felt sticky and grimy and was looking forward to a shower.
"That's the best news I've had this week," Han told him sourly, his eyes fixed on the mountain as another plume of steam belched into the air.
His comlink chirped and he fished it out of his pocket, pulling the mask from his face before he answered. "Solo."
"Ah-huh," he nodded.
Luke stopped brushing and turned to listen in interest.
"Ah-huh," the Corellian said again, rolling his eyes at Luke and mouthing "Rieekan."
He shook his head in response to something the General had said. "I'm not sure if I can get the Falcon out from under all this shi... huh... well, that'd be great, but...." Han listened, his eyes narrowing and sliding toward his waiting friend.
Luke glanced away as understanding and disappointment cut through him; Han was being offered another job for the Alliance and was worried about leaving him behind. That one small look from the Corellian was more telling than all the therapy that he'd had from Therriman since Escaal.
It told him he hadn't been coping, that his friends were concerned, that his behaviour was affecting them, too.
"That much, huh? Well, I'll come down and discuss it and..."
Luke couldn't help but smile at the sudden change of pitch and tone in Solo's voice. Rieekan must have offered more than the usual.
"She is?"
Luke's stomach lurched, his eyes finding Han's, worried that they were talking about Leia; that the Princess would be leaving, too.
And, in that moment, he knew what Rieekan's offer was. The Alliance had been damaged by Cusrean, its reputation for fairness, justice and compassion damaged by the deaths of the refugees. Several systems were threatening to pull support, were clamouring for explanations and were dissatisfied by the silence from the Chief of State.
Leia was being sent on a diplomatic mission to mend what he had broken.
"Hey, kid?"
Han's voice drew him from his thoughts. He tried to smile, tried not to show how much this was bothering him, told himself not to be so selfish. "When do you leave?"
"Tomorrow, oh-four hundred," Han told him without preamble or apology. "Rieekan's sending some help to clean the Falcon."
Luke swept at the dust at his feet. "Leia, too?"
"You think her Highness would help sweep up?" Han grinned. "'Cos that's something I'd pay to see."
Luke gave him a withering look. "You know what I meant."
Solo nodded. "Leia, too."
Luke's jaw clenched in response. He forced himself to relaxed, to speak through his disappointment. "Where are you going?"
"Classified," Han told him. "I won't know until we're off planet and her Highness tells me." He paused, regarded Luke for a moment and opened his mouth to make a suggestion.
Luke smiled, held his hand up. "No," he told the spacer. "Before you ask again, I can't go with you."
ooOOoo
After walking down to the compound with Han, Luke had taken a long shower to rid his body of the sweat and grit of his hard labour. After dressing in fresh clothes and strapping on his weapons belt, he left his room and headed across the compound to the communal eating area. With the Flight back the ravenous pilots would be hitting the mess hall as soon as the patrol debrief was over - if they hadn't already beaten him to it. He planned to be among them. It was time to return to normality, time to put the events of the past behind him, to focus on the future and on convincing Therriman to pass him as fit.
He could no longer afford to wallow in the memories, the dreams and the flashbacks. He would deal with them when they occurred, but he would not allow them to affect his life, or his friends.
That one small look from Han had been all he needed to realise that.
He jogged across the grounds, weaving between the speeders, the droids and personnel, and bounded up the steps into the cafeteria. The noise hit him as soon as the door slid aside. There was a sudden burst of laughter from a group of ground troopers in the far corner and Luke hesitated, winced, hoping he was not the cause of it.
"Hey! Luke!" It was Janson, gesturing wildly at him to join him, Ylanec and Wedge. "Grab a plate while you can."
Luke grinned as he joined the line of Alliance personnel at the counter; he knew they'd be here first. He eyed the steaming foods that were on offer. Not the best of choices, but it beat the emergency rations they had had to make do with when trapped in the hangar by the ash fall. He lifted a plate of vegetables and stew – not daring to ask exactly what it was – some cutlery and headed for his friends' table.
"'Scuse me, sir!" A female soldier squeezed past him, smiled at him. Luke's eyes followed her. He smiled at Thecla's back watching as she seated herself at the ground troopers' table.
"Cute butt, huh, Luke?" Wedge asked, slyly, noticing the direction of Skywalker's gaze.
Luke tore his eyes away and grinned. "I don't think of sex every time I look at a girl," he admonished, placing his plate down and pulling over a vacant seat for himself.
"Sure you do," Wedged shrugged. "You just don't admit it."
Luke ignored him, picked up his fork, and tossed a few chunks of vegetables about his plate. He speared a lump of meat and popped it in his mouth. He grimaced, chewed and swallowed. "How was the patrol?"
"Boring," Janson told him.
"Routine," Wedge added.
Luke glanced up at them, smiling, knowing that something had occurred, but that they were wary of telling him in case they hurt his feelings, in case they aggravated his chagrin at being grounded. It just reinforced his earlier thoughts; it was time to stop thinking about himself, time to join the world again.
"So what happened?" he encouraged.
"You will notice a certain person is missing, by reason of his absence," Antilles said, indicating the table.
"Hobbie," Luke noted. "So?"
Janson smirked. "Idiot only rubbed his foil against Narra's."
"What?" Luke burst, laughing.
"Narra said 'form up on me', right?" Wedge leaned forward, Luke did likewise eager to hear the story, enjoying the banter and camaraderie. "So Hobbie does, a bit too close for comfort, and his S-foil touches Narra's. Pieces fall off." Antilles did a little waving gesture with his fingers.
"And?" Luke prompted.
"The airwaves turned blue – never knew Narra knew those kinda words," Janson continued with an air of surprise.
"And?" Luke asked again, relishing the moment.
"Hobbie's on the carpet as we speak. And once Narra's finished with him, Yizzi's vowed to rip him a new one."
"Ouch," Luke winced.
"Ouch," both Wedge and Janson echoed sombrely as Ylanec nodded in kind.
And, still smiling, at their fellow pilot's misfortune, they turned their attention briefly back to their meal.
Someone turned on the holonet and sound and pictures crackled to life on the large screen fixed to the far wall of the commissary.
"So, what have you been up to, Luke?"
Luke glanced up and saw concern in Wedge's eyes. It was the same concern he had seen in Han's earlier. He shrugged, shovelled food in his mouth and spoke as he chewed. "Cleaning up the Falcon, that ash gets everywhere. We tried using water, but that stuff can harden like duracrete when..."
He trailed off as he noticed neither Wedge nor Janson were paying attention to him. Both pilots were turned away, gazing at the holonet. Luke's eyes followed their direction.
"...vage operations continue today over Cusrean." A newscaster's voice-over. Pictures of a debris field in space, of a dark planet beyond, of ships moving slowly, of droids collecting twisted and blackened bodies. "The Emperor today repeated his condemnation of the attacks and vowed again that all of those involved will be apprehended and dealt with accordingly..."
Luke closed his eyes against the images. They were too close to his dreams.
In his nightmare Vader had shown him his own unconscious interpretation of the consequences of his actions, now the holonet was showing him the reality. Those bodies on the screen were real people, not faceless entities conjured by his mind. It seemed fitting somehow, seemed right, that for once he should really be made see what he had done.
"To aid in the search," the voice over continued, "His Imperial Majesty has today released the identity of the Rebel pilot who is believed to have fired the fatal shot."
Luke's eyes snapped open, his heart pounding. His own image was on the screen.
"Hell," he heard Wedge mutter. "Luke?"
"Luke Skywalker. The name is already notorious after the battle of Yavin, where he is known to have killed in excess of one million loyal Imperial soldiers. The bounty on his head has been..."
"It's propaganda, Luke, nothing more!" Wedge tried again as the holonet switched once more to the scenes of devastation, the pictures clearly recorded from the bridge of a ship. "It's designed to make us feel bad..."
"It works," Luke told him, thickly, a corner of his mouth curling, his fists clenching, unable to draw his eyes away from the holonet. "Works real well."
"Probably not even our target," Janson injected, not sounding too convincing. "Probably staged."
"You don't believe that, Wes. Neither do I!" Luke snapped in anger. He ran a shaking hand through his hair.
"It was a mistake, Luke," Wedge was saying. "We're feeling it, too, but you... You're feeling it worse because of Escaal, because of Ra'imar. Shit, Luke, it takes time to get over things like that."
"Post Traumatic Stress," Luke quoted, dully, "I've heard all of this before, Wedge. 'Doesn't make me feel any better, knowing there's a name for how I feel."
"Hi guys!" A subdued Hobbie interrupted, trying to inject some enthusiasm into his voice after his dressing down from Narra. He planted a plate onto the table and dropped, with a groan, into the empty seat next to Luke's. "Narra's got a tongue on him like a Vell'ian Lash Viper. Don't know how..." He broke off, glanced at his friends, only just noticing the atmosphere. He frowned, narrowing his eyes at Luke. "What's up?"
Wedge indicated the screen.
"Shit..." Klivian breathed, but still he ate.
Luke dropped his fork on the plate and pushed it away, his appetite destroyed by the pictures. He tried to drag his eyes away from the carnage but his gaze was caught as the camera's suddenly focused on one of the victims.
He hitched a little laugh of anguish, stood and stumbled backward, his chair scraping on the floor. On the screen the body of a child floated passed the ship's viewing port, her long hair fanned out, her young face frozen in surprise; the burn on her cheek, the charring of her clothes exactly as depicted in his dream. She struck the ship's shielding and she turned and tumbled into space as he knew she would.
She's real!
The child was real.
She had existed.
His legs trembled, his body shuddered in shock. He didn't know what to do, didn't know where to turn. He felt stifled, felt tears of helplessness pool in his eyes, felt utterly desperate and desolate.
She was real...
And he had killed her.
He looked around the room at the other Alliance personnel congregated there. Most eyes still on the screen, a few were sending glances the squad's way, some were beginning to turn away from the horror and starting up stilted conversations.
He locked eyes with another and they stared at each other until she glanced away.
The child was real.... How could she be real?
Luke?" Wedge was saying again, watching the blood drain from Luke's face.
Hobbie chewed his food, his eyes narrowing as he pointed his fork at the screen, too lost in thought to notice Luke's reaction. "You know what I heard? I heard the intel for Cusrean came through that guy... what's 'is name, Wedge? The guy that brought Luke back from Escaal..."
"Rhovan," Wedge supplied, automatically. He was still watching Luke.
"Yeah, that's it, Rhovan..."
Luke turned on his heel and walked calmly from the room.
Hobbie turned, watched him go, glanced back at Antilles and Janson with a frown. "What's up with him now?"
Wedge didn't answer. He was looking instead at the doorway as the portal closed after Luke. Something was wrong. There was something about Luke's composure as he turned away that unsettled Wedge: something more than just the newscast. He knew that, had Luke not gathered himself at Cusrean, had Luke not turned things around and fired on the target, then the guilt would have been on his own shoulders and Wedge didn't know how he would have coped with that. It was bad enough having to deal with being a part of the squad, a part of the attack; but to be the one who took the fatal shot...
Skywalker was also struggling with whatever had happened on Escaal, had not yet to come to terms with whatever he had experienced there, had not spoken of it to his squad mates. Wedge had seen him on his return, though, had seen the punishment he had taken during his captivity; he knew that his friend had been tortured and he knew that the man who had returned with him had something to do with it.
The Imperial officer had helped Luke escape, but the man had worn the uniform of an Interrogation specialist.
Rhovan.
Wedge abruptly stood, suddenly realising where Luke was going. "Hobbie, go get Solo."
"What? I'm just..."
"Go get Solo, now." Antillies' voice held no room for argument. He turned to the others. "Ylanic, Wes, you're with me."