AN: Again I would like to thank everyone who has read and graciously commented on this tale. I'd also like to thank all of you who have favourited or followed the story and I hope that you continue to enjoy it.
Many thanks go to Kazlynh for beta reading and to thank her again for allowing me to use Ehlen Anders. I also urge you to check out her fiction, it's very good.
Disclaimer: As always Star Wars, it's characters and situations, belong to Lucasfilm and Disney... I'm still just playing in George Lucas's sand box for fun and not profit.
Dark Times: Chapter Six:
Absolute
Part 6
Major Ehlen Anders watched as the pilots silently trailed into the briefing room. Their faces were dark, grim, and she knew they already had an idea of what was about to be asked of them.
She watched them sit, watched them place their gear on the floor at their feet and studied each one in turn.
Wedge Antilles, dark haired, dark eyed and Skywalker's closest friend outside of those on the Millennium Falcon. Antilles had been the one who had been the most vocal about defending Skywalker's actions over Cusrean, the one who took the longest to admit that Luke had initially frozen during the mission.
Derek Klivian, morose and downbeat, he had taken the deaths of the refugees almost as badly as Skywalker. He had ranted about the incompetence of the Alliance Intelligence and was scathing about how Luke had been treated by command since his return from Cusrean. In retrospect Ehlen couldn't fault him on that.
Wes Jansen, fun loving and the joker of the pack. He'd been quieter of late, subdued, and he had been another reluctant to say anything that could have incriminated his squad second. Anytime she had seen him around the compound of the base he had seemed pre-occupied, his usual bright smile absent.
Torren Ylanec, the youngest at barely seventeen and already gaining a reputation of hotshot pilot with only three sorties under his belt. Some had likened his skills to Antilles and Skywalker and he was fast becoming a firm member of the squad. This child too, looked worn down by the events of the last few weeks.
All four of them had been reprimanded and sanctioned for being accessories after the fact for helping remove and conceal Skywalker after he had struck Major Rhovan…
Not that the man hadn't deserved it.
… and were now on restricted privileges. However, here they were about to lay their lives on the line once more for a cause that they still fervently believed in. Or, she mused, perhaps it was more to do with their wish to save their comrade from the four walls of yet another Imperial prison cell that drove them this time.
After all Luke would do no less for them.
She glanced at their Commander, Arhul Narra. Stalwart of the Rebellion, role model and hard task master for his young squad. He was their leader, their mentor. Where he went his squad followed and that was usually right to the forefront of the action. A clever tactician, a skilled pilot who often despaired at the youth of his men and who repeatedly stated that he had never seen such a talented collection of pilots assembled in one squad – even if they were a bunch of rogues, but he always said it with a smile.
There were only five of the squad left after the heavy losses at Cusrean. Reinforcements were yet to reach Ardralii and she was about to brief them on a mission that could potentially be the death of them all.
Just like every mission, every sortie, they flew on.
Ehlen pulled herself to her feet and activated the holo, the lights dimmed and a map of the Horaarn system appeared before them.
"Gentleman," she began, shooting a glance at Rieekan who nodded to her to continue, "the Horaarn system. I am sure that you are aware of the events that have taken place on Horaarn in the last few hours and our delegation have found themselves in grave danger.
Unfortunately, the system is in lockdown and no communications are making it on, or off, the planet. All inbound ships are either being held outside an exclusion zone encircling the planet or are being diverted. Most of the information we have is from the holonet."
She took a breath, noticing the facial expressions of the squad hadn't changed. She wasn't telling them anything they didn't already know. "What we have learned, however, is that the ships of Vader's Death Squadron have regrouped in the Garnib system. We are attempting to find out why and if the regrouping is related to the events on Horaarn."
She paused, looked at the spinning holo of Horaarn. "Although I believe that it most probably is. Which could make your mission that much more difficult."
"Pardon me, Major?" Wedge Antilles was sitting forward, elbows on his knees, looking at her intently. "We're here to get Luke and the Princess out. Just tell us how we're going to do that."
Rieekan stood, his face grim. "Major Rhovan…"
There were murmurs and curses from the pilots and it took Commander Narra to placate them by ordering them to "can it" so that Rieekan could continue.
"…has already been sent in. He is tasked with securing Lieutenant Commander Skywalker. Captain Solo, Chewbacca, Sergeant Da'amalan and Private Haslam were all in the Princess' delegation and every one of them has proven to be creative and resourceful." Rieekan took in a breath. "We are certain that they will have their own plans and contingencies for getting everyone out.
"Your part will be to defend and provide escort when they make their move."
There was silence as the pilots digested this.
Klivian scoffed. "So, no ground strike team?"
Anders stepped forward. "Any transport that tries to enter the exclusion zone will be shot down. Even if a team could make planet fall they would find themselves out-manned and out-gunned. Remember the Horaarns have a strong sense of justice. They will fight to ensure that justice is seen to be done and they have now been supplemented by troopers from Vader's Five-Oh-First.
"We do not know where Lieutenant Commander Skywalker is being held, we do not know where the Princess Leia is, or even where the Falcon landed. All we know is that they are in the capital city, Rhuin. There are too many unknowns and we cannot send a team in blind."
Rieekan stepped forward. "The freighter Victory's Flight is currently in orbit around Ardralii. You are to rendezvous with her and dock your fighters. She will take you to Horaarn under the guise of a merchant ship and take up a place just outside of the exclusion zone. It is your task to monitor the holonet coverage and then to intercept and defend the Millennium Falcon as it leaves the surface of Horaarn.
Then you bug out home."
"So, there are no guarantees that Luke will make it out." It wasn't a question, Antilles voice was grim, his eyes dark.
"There are no guarantees that anyone will make it out," Anders told him.
Jansen smiled grimly and picked up his helmet. "When do we leave?"
"Now," Rieekan told them. "We are cutting this tight as it is."
ooOOoo
Leia threw herself back in the chair staring in angry despair at the tiny hologram as it flickered and died on the desk before her. She gave a cry of frustration, fisting her hand and punching the desk top, ignoring the pain that shot up through her arm.
This was useless! These self-serving, self-preserving, arrogant, "…echuta Kung!" she spat in Huttese not remembering if it was Luke or Han she had learned the obscene curse from. She drew in a breath, trying to calm the heat of rage, of fear, of anguish.
They were going to lose Luke.
Not one of the advocates contacted would represent Luke. Not one was willing to hear her out, and her pleas for assistance and promises of remuneration had fallen on deaf ears, fallen against duracrete walls of refusal.
"I am sorry, Highness, I cannot take this case. If I were to represent Skywalker I would lose my other clients."
"This is not a case I feel that my office would care to handle."
The best one was the last one.
"Are you mad?"
Leia wiped her hands across her face, rubbed at her tired eyes. She was exhausted from arguing and pleading, from the emotional hammering of the day and from the late hour. She no longer knew what to do, or where to turn, to get legal assistance for her friend. She had asked Artoo to learn what he could of the set up and what rights Luke would have with regards to legal representation only to learn that he had no rights and that an advocate to handle an Appeal for Innocence was arranged by the convicted themselves or by their family.
There was no automatic right to a lawyer on Horaarn.
Luke was on his own.
"No," she said aloud. No, he wasn't on his own. He had her: he had Han and the others.
How many hours had passed? How many hours did they have left to build a case for an appeal for innocence?
"Yes, I knew."
Luke's voice, heavy with guilt.
How do you appeal for innocence when an admission of guilt had already been made?
Pushing her chair back, Leia picked up one of the data pads from the jumbled pile on the desk top and scrolled through the information it contained. It was her evidence from the committee hearing and she knew it practically word for word but still she read through it trying to find anything that she could use to build a case for Luke.
There was the information they had gathered from the spy net, the confirmation of the orbiting stations status as a biological warfare research facility, the warning of the weaponising of the Felucian Necrosis. The mission parameters, the testimony of the rest of the squad and their assertion that Luke warned them that the station wasn't the danger.
If only she could have brought the squad themselves: a witness rather than words on a datapad could have more sway.
"You Highness," See-Threepio approached her, "would you care for anything? It is very late and…"
"No, thank you, Threepio," Leia tried to keep the bite from her voice. It wasn't the droid's fault she was feeling strung out and he and Artoo had…
Artoo! She was an idiot not to think of it before! She had the best witness in the apartment with her.
"Artoo?" she called, standing up and striding across the living area to where the little droid was still plugged into the city's central computer. "Artoo, do you still retain the memory records of the Cusrean battle?"
The little droid twittered, it sounded positive to her but she still looked to Threepio for a translation.
"Yes, Your Highness," the protocol droid told her.
"Can you play the recording?"
A little bloop, and Leia sensed reluctance from Artoo.
Threepio shuffled his feet. "Artoo says that those memories are classified and that General Rieekan has ordered that…"
"I am a member of the Alliance War Cabinet and I have the highest clearance," Leia warned, crouching down beside, Artoo. She softened her voice as though addressing a child, understanding how protective of Luke Artoo could be. "Just the cockpit voice recording, please, Artoo. It could help Luke."
There was a muted beep, obedience and Leia drew herself to her feet.
There was a burst of static then…
"Artoo, three minutes to reversion." Luke's voice, sounding strong and confident. Then he cursed. "Shit."
Leia crossed to the nearest couch and sat down as she listened, ready to catch anything that could assist her with Luke's appeal of innocence and his defence against Vader's extradition request.
There was an enquiry from Artoo, to which Luke responded with. "I'll be fine, Artoo, Just some unwanted memories."
Already she had something. Unwanted memories.
Could this be Escaal he had been referring too? Was his mind on the mission, or on his trauma? Could she use this?
In the court room he had clearly told her he didn't want to go there, that he had no wish for the events on Escaal to be used. He had sounded angry, dismayed by her suggestion, but why? Because he felt embarrassed that he had not been handling the experience well, or because he felt he deserved the punishment?
Leia feared it was the latter.
Luke may not want her to do this, but Leia felt she had no other choice, no other alternative should Thecla be unsuccessful in securing her friend's rescue.
From the recording she could hear Luke drag in a heavy breath of air. She had seen him doing this in the past, recognised one of his habits when he was trying to remain calm.
"Artoo, bring the weapons on line and arm the torpedoes."
He sounded calmer, sounded more in control, more like the seasoned pilot. "One minute, buddy… Everything reads green. Thirty seconds. Okay, Artoo bring us out."
Leia listened as the squad ran through their call signs on reversion from lightspeed.
"Form up, lock S-foils in attack position!" Narra's voice. Strong and commanding. "We are going in hot Red flight and coming back out the same way. Accelerate to full attack speed and maintain comm silence until we reach the marker point. May the Force be with us."
For the next few moments there was silence on the recording apart from the cockpit noises, the muted whine of the engines and Luke's breathing; sounding faster, heavier and she could imagine his adrenalin beginning to flow, his heart beginning to race as he prepared for battle.
Then, suddenly Narra's voice again. "Break, break, break! Hit 'em hard and get out, Red Flight!"
Leia could feel her own heart rate increase as she listened and she was taken by surprise at how early in the mission it happened.
"A couple of shots and she's all yours, Luke." That sounded like Antilles.
There was silence in reply, just the sounds of Luke's quick breathing.
"Luke? You with us?" Antilles again, sounding concerned, sounding pumped.
"No!" Luke's cry sounded horrified, desperate. "Commander this is a mistake. There's something not right here!"
Leia sat upright, suddenly on edge, listening intently.
"What? What the hell, Skywalker?" That was Narra.
"The station's not the danger here!" He sounded so sure, but torn, frantic.
This was it, this was when Luke realised that their target was not legitimate, that there was only innocent beings on board – so why had he still fired?
It was then she heard the whoops and yells of the other pilots and she could imagine each one taking out their own targets.
"Pay back's a bitch!"
"This one's for Ra'iamar!"
There was a cry from Luke, as though he was in physical pain.
"Skywalker! What the frig..." Narra again, shouting, angry.
Leia stood, paced to the little droid. "What happened there, Artoo?"
Threepio translated the little astro mech's series of whistles. "Oh dear, Master Luke drew his fighter up and away… out of the attack run."
He didn't shoot on the station. On the initial attack run he had pulled up refused to shoot. Leia smiled, she could use this. She could play this as part of his appeal; use the droid's records to show the court that his intentions were not to attack.
"TIEs!" The warning shout brought her back to the battle.
"We've got bogies, coming in point five-oh, twelve of them. Looks like Interceptors." That sounded like Antilles, cool and collected in the heat an approaching fight.
"Shit! Shit!" A younger voice, female. Leia didn't recognise the pilot. "More coming in point two. A lot!"
"It's an attack wing! This was a trap!" Luke's voice had risen in pitch, driven by adrenalin.
"We've still got a job to do here. Red Five take another run at the station, Two and Four back him up." The Commander's orders were clear, then he must have taken a hit for the comm crackled and Narra cursed, his own voice now reflecting their situation. "Shit! Shields down by ten per cent!"
"Sir!" Luke burst, arguing. "The station's not a threat..."
"That a Gods-be-damned order, Skywalker!"
An order. Was that it? Was this the moment that Luke threw caution aside and ignored his feelings, his knowledge?
Sometimes they forgot how little of the Force Luke understood. How he had only had a few hours training from General Kenobi. He wore that lightsaber, could do some amusing tricks that he had taught himself: like floating a stylus through the air when bored at meetings, like parrying the tiny lasers fired from a remote, or knowing when something wasn't quite right and they would hear his well-used warning, "I have a bad feeling about this."
He used it for any and all situations from dropping into a planetary system and just knowing something wasn't right, to warning Han about his Sabacc hand. She smiled, Luke had been banned from playing Sabacc with the squad.
The recording was clear: Luke was under orders. He had little recourse but to follow them. She could explain to the court about his previous infraction, the reprimand on his record for not obeying a direct order. A case could be made that he had feared another hearing, a more severe reprimand.
"Luke! Wake up!" Wedge was screaming now, tearing her attention back to the recording. "We're gonna get pulverized!"
Leia closed her eyes, easily imagining the fight, images of her past experiences of being in the cockpit of a fighter flowing to mind. She listened as the battle intensified. There were screams, futile pleas for help, cries of dying pilots, shouted orders and announcements of those who died.
On the recording Artoo shrieked, there was a distinct sound, a rattling and bouncing, and Leia knew from Luke's fast breathing and whispered curses that he had just had a lucky escape. His guns opened fire.
There was a human shriek over the comm, more shouts, more pleas…
"They're all over me!"
Then Wedge warned. "Luke! Interceptor on your back!"
Despite knowing that Luke had returned to base unharmed, Leia listened with baited breath as he tried to shake off the Imperial Fighter. It was a one-sided staccato conversation, punctuated by moments of frenetic breathing.
"Shit! He's got a lock. Wedge, I... Artoo! Counter measures! Shit!... Hold on tight, Artoo!... I'm hit, I'm hit... What the hell?... Artoo, damage report?"
"Luke, are you all right?" Wedge wanted to know.
"I'm fine, I... must have been a dud." He sounded relieved, perplexed and troubled. "Where is he? Where'd he go? Wedge, Janson do you see Vader?"
Vader? Did he think Vader had been his pursuer? Why had he thought that? How had he known that?
The Force?
Could he sense when the Emperor's enforcer was near? And could Vader sense Luke? It was an unsettling thought… Vader no longer needed a tracker on a ship to find them. He had Luke.
He had Luke…
She shook herself from her sobering notion. It was grossly unfair to Luke to think this way.
"Vader?" the comm crackled as Antilles spoke, obviously as perplexed as Leia, questioning Luke. "How'd you know..?"
There was no time for an answer to Wedge's questioned as Nara warned of another wave of enemy fighters and, as Luke cursed, Leia rose to pace the floor as she listened.
"Antilles, take out the reactor!" Narra ordered, his voice tight. "Skywalker bug out and return to base."
There was a moment of quiet from Luke, the sounds of his guns firing and then, "Negative, Commander, I'm fine. I can do this."
Leia stopped pacing and stood at her desk. This was it, this was when Luke had made his decision, but why? Why had he gone from refusing to shoot, from warning Narra, to suddenly sticking to orders?
What was it that had made him change his mind? There was nothing on the recording that she could use to understand other than Narra's order to Antillies and for Luke to return to the base.
Was that it: the final stressor in a sequence of stressful events? Escaal, the Ra'imar evacuation, his hearing and reprimand, and now a battle in which his friends were being decimated around him because of his own hesitation, because he had felt something was wrong?
Or was it something else?
Was it the order to go home, the humiliation of a glaring failure as Antilles fulfilled the objective instead of him, of facing yet another reprimand for disobedience?
Or was it everything, all of it, coming together into a single minute, a crescendo of quiet in the centre of the storm that had become Luke Skywalker?
"Wedge, Hobbie, form up. Let's do this and go home."
Luke sounded cool and collected, sounded more in control than he had since she had been reunited with him on Ardrali. He sounded like a season pilot, sounded more like the Luke she had come to know in these last few years as he had gone from naïve farmboy to experienced veteran of war... and yet she felt uneasy, felt uncomfortable, felt as though something had been terribly wrong with Luke in that moment.
The sound of the torpedoes firing filled the room and Leia closed her eyes, bowed her head, knowing she was listening to twenty thousand people dying.
"Yeeeha!" Wedge shrieked. "Direct hit, Luke! Welcome back!"
And then Leia chilled, her body freezing at the sound that came from Luke.
He was laughing.
ooOOoo
He had waited a long time for this moment. He had waited over two years for this moment, waited since he had first realised that the boy who had screamed a denial on the Death Star when he had cut down Kenobi and the pilot who destroyed the Space Station were the same person. The few brief minutes he had spent in his son's company on Escaal did not count. Luke had been barely conscious, drugged, beaten and mercilessly tortured for days. There had been too many others in the room for him to truly get a measure of his son, to really gauge his child's strengths and weaknesses.
His son.
There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wished his son to know and understand. There was an entire galaxy waiting for Luke to take up his rightful place by this father's side and…
Vader reigned in his impatience, he had to tread carefully, could not allow his impulsiveness to overshadow sense. Skywalker was a Rebel officer, a traitor to the Empire: radicalised, fanatical and passionate about his cause. He was the pilot who destroyed the Death Star, had aided and abetted with the Alliance to cause chaos in the galaxy, he was the pilot who had destroyed the Cusrean Station and whom Palpatine had vowed, publically, to bring to justice.
Luke was also damaged. Emotionally and mentally brittle from his experiences of the last few weeks: that cell on Escaal, acknowledging that every life he took at Cusrean was an innocent. Vader had no wish to see Luke broken further, had no wish to shatter whatever was left of his son's psyche. However, despite that wish, he knew that might be Luke's fate. It might be the only way to break the hold the Jedi and the Alliance had over his son.
And so he'd had his son brought to this room and presented with the same scenario as Escaal. Luke had to understand what he faced should he not capitulate and renounce his Rebellion.
Vader forced himself to wait until Skywalker was quiet, until his harsh breathing subsided. The boy's body was trembling, shuddering with uncontrollable shivers caused by shock, fright and fear. His head remained down. His hair, lank and damp with sweat, hid his face. Blood was swelling from his shoulder, spreading deep crimson across the white dressing, beginning to seep out and trickle down his arm and chest, darkly staining the prison shirt he wore.
The Dark Lord walked around the prisoner, keeping silent, intensifying the tension in the room. He saw that Luke's wrists, bound behind his back and fastened to the chair, were badly bruised, abraded and bleeding, but still he worried the skin against the unyielding cuffs. Luke would have to learn not to struggle, not to fight against him.
Like his father eventually learned?
Vader threw off the errant thought, and motioned with his hand toward the durasteel line hanging from the ceiling as he came around to stand in front of his prisoner.
A familiar, soft, ratchet sound drew Luke's attention, dragging him from the buzzing drone of his head, the disarrayed jumble that were his thoughts and feelings. He stiffened, unable to halt the small moan from escaping his lips as he waited for Vader to fasten his wrists to the line, waited to be dragged off his feet and left dangling, open and vulnerable to torture. He closed his eyes, fought to control his feelings, fought to ignore the appalling situation he found himself in again, fought against the memories of the pain and agony of Imperial interrogation.
Can't do this…
"Then help me, Luke. Help the Network! Tell me about Wedge! Who is he?"
He wasn't sure if the voice was in his head, or if Dade…
… no, that was wrong, not Dade. Rhovan…
… was in the room with him. Hadn't he seen the man, hadn't he seen the uniform?
Where was he?
"You told us, Luke."
Eyes still shut, he squeezed them tighter, trying to force away his memories, trying to force away the presence of the man in the room with him, trying desperately not to think of the agonies to come.
"No… Didn't tell…" Was that in his head, or had he spoken aloud?
"You gave us home, Luke…"
Home… I gave them home… I..
He smiled, the movement creasing the healing scar on his cheek. "Tatooine…" he whispered. He had tricked them, withheld against them, given them nothing.
Frowning with concern at the smile and the whispers, afraid his son's grasp of reality was slipping once more, Vader reached out with the Force, tentatively brushing against Luke's thoughts. They were difficult to grasp, phrases and names, jumbled images jumping from one to another before each could form into a whole, but he understood the feelings Luke was broadcasting: terror of what this room, what the line and the waiting spherical droid, represented. However, Vader had no such plans for Luke… for now. Pain may be as necessary for Luke's journey into Darkness as it had been for his own but, for now, a different approach was required.
"Luke," he said with a little nudge of the Force behind his son's name. The timbre of his voice was deep, slicing into the boy's thoughts, opening his son's eyes and bringing them upward to meet the eye lenses of his mask. It was the first time he had called Luke by his given name, and his use of it, the familiarity of it, sent curls of confusion through the younger man.
The line in front of Luke rose and withdrew into the ceiling.
Luke felt no relief, no respite as the corded durasteel rope disappeared; he knew it could drop down again at any time. He also knew Vader didn't need such tools to interrogate captives.
Looking down Vader asked, "Are you in pain?"
Luke dropped his head at the unexpected question; he looked away from the Dark Lord, looked to the floor, saw dry blood drops caught on the grating. Why would Vader be concerned about his pain? Why would…
"You're in a lot of pain."
Rhovan… Dade… had said similar. Had feigned concern for his wellbeing, had offered him medication for his back pain. It was had been a ruse, designed to trick him into speaking, into talking. He wouldn't fall for it this time.
His son's initial confusion at the question was clear through the Force. Then he felt Luke's understanding, sensed the boy's comprehension of the situation and his resolve not to be tricked. It was the wrong conclusion Luke had drawn this time, but he could not fault his son his thoughts, his misunderstanding. However, it did, once again, highlight an area where Luke would need guidance. The boy was too open, too easy to read - in time he would have to teach his son how to shield his thoughts, how to hide and control his feelings.
Or else Palpatine would use them to control him.
"Are you in pain?" he repeated.
Skywalker's head moved to the side, fighting the compulsion to look up, not deigning to answer, falling into the role of captured Rebel, maintaining silence where silence was not required.
Vader stood before him, looking down on the hunched form on the chair. "It is a simple question," he explained, not hiding his anger at being ignored, allowing it to stress his words, warning the Rebel pilot with its tones, "with a simple answer."
Luke tried to swallowed, choked and coughed on a dry throat. He was in pain. The local anaesthetic was wearing off, his shoulder was searing with heat and he could feel warm blood trickle down his skin. His wrists throbbed, the skin chafing against the metal of the cuffs. His throat was tight, parched and sore, and he wasn't sure if this was because of his shouting, or a result of the pressure of Vader's hand when he had grasped his throat.
He stared at the drying blood drops on the floor beneath where the line had hung. His blood? Someone else's? Had someone else been in here before him, had someone else suffered what he had suffered? The thought saddened him, angered him; it was another stark reminder of the purpose of the room.
Luke closed his eyes again, shook his head, refusing to answer Vader. He took in another shuddering breath as he reached for the Force, desperate to get this over with, desperate to find some way to cope with being thrown into a black cell with his father's killer.
And his anger flashed at that thought.
He was at the mercy of his father's murderer once more. The man who had betrayed his father…
"It was not I who betrayed your father."
… and had then denied it. He would not give Vader the satisfaction of an answer.
Still silence, a small shake of the head. Vader could sense his son's defiance strengthen with each passing moment as he reached impulsively for the Force, as he fumbled to find an anchor on which to hold, a strength that would carry him through his ordeal. There was a quiet anger, a small flicker of a flame of hate. Vader smiled beneath the mask and stepped back putting some space between himself and Luke.
Luke would answer him. Vader said one word. "Droid..."
The hovering interrogation droid turned toward the prisoner, its servo motor whining, throbbing as it neared.
Luke gagged in revulsion at the sound, stomach involuntary heaving against the horror he was facing. He tugged impulsively, helplessly at the cuffs on his limbs. "No…" he whispered, raggedly, staring at the floor, the word slipping over his lips before he could stop it, hating himself, hating his weakness, but unable to silence the plea. "Please… don't."
"…stand down," Vader finished, with a smile.
The droid moved away and disappeared into a nook in the wall, a panel of durasteel sliding closed after it.
Again there was no relief. Luke could almost feel the Dark Lord's amusement, could sense the satisfaction that he had fallen for the ruse. He knew he had just been played, knew that Vader had used his past experiences against him. He knew he had to be stronger, knew that he could not allow Escaal to dictate what was happening with him at this moment, even if he did want to curl up, hide away and play dead like he used to do as a child when Fixer bullied him back on Tatooine.
"Are you in Pain?" Vader asked once more.
Luke chewed the inside of his cheek, bit down on his tongue, willing himself to remain silent. He swallowed again, tasted blood. He refused to look up at the man standing over him, recalling his words from a few hours earlier when he had boldly told the Dark Lord he had nothing to say to him. To speak now, to admit otherwise was humbling and Luke knew this was what Vader wanted. This was the conversation Vader had promised all those weeks ago on Escaal, this is where it would all begin again.
Knowing that he had little choice, and that if he wanted to conserve his energy and strength for later, he had to give his enemy a response now, he grudgingly forced out, "..yes...," His voice was hoarse, husky, dry. "My… my wrists… shoulder."
Vader nodded, pleased by the response. "I shall have a medic brought to you."
Luke refused to thank him, confused by the offer and too afraid of the questions that might follow. He knew the droid could be called out at any time.
Silence crawled within the cell. The cadence of Vader's regulated respiration slicing through the quiet and Luke found his own breathing falling in with the steady rhythm. He coughed, trying to break the tempo, the synchronisation.
It was Vader who broke the quiet. "It will be easier for you, if you co-operate."
"I'll never… co-operate with you," Luke stated, his answer a quick retort, fired by anger.
"The outcome of the hearing is inevitable; you will leave Horaarn with me."
"You won't win," Luke denied him, his words hopeful and sure. Han, Leia and the others were still out there and he knew they would be pulling out all the stops to drag him out of this mess. He knew Thecla was still out in the city somewhere. They wouldn't give up on him.
As if on cue, Vader added. "Your friends cannot help you. There is no-one who can help you, this time."
Luke recognised the dig. Rhovan had pulled him out on Escaal, Thecla and Haslam had come to his aid on Ra'imar and Artoo had pulled the tracker off his X-Wing at Cusrean just in time for him to escape.
Luke smiled, almost laughed, as he realised something. Each of the three times he had escaped Vader, Artoo Detoo had been with him in one capacity or another. That little droid was the best lucky charm anyone could have… and he was on Horaarn. Maybe there was some hope yet?
Vader frowned behind his mask, sensing humour from his son. It was… unexpected and with it he felt a little more of his son's strength and resistance return.
Again Vader felt the surge of pride that he had felt those many weeks ago as Luke held out against his torture and pain, as he had reached into the Force, into himself and had found the courage to fight on.
"There is no escape, Skywalker," he added dampening down his errant feelings for his son. Luke was a Rebel, a traitor and, for now, was to be treated as such. "It will be simpler if you accept your fate."
Luke shook his head. "I won't make this easy for you." He could appeal his conviction, he could fight the extradition. Leia would help him. They could drag it out for as long as possible. That would give Han and the others time to work on a plan to get him out. The Alliance wouldn't leave him here, wouldn't abandon him…
Would they?
Vader could feel Luke's desperation, could feel the direction of his thoughts. "Then you only make it harder for yourself," he told him coldly, his threat implicit. He reached out, took Luke's chin. The boy twisted his head, trying to pull away, but he clamped his fingers into the soft flesh of his cheeks and angled Luke's face upward.
Luke's eyes darted away, refusing to look at the mask of the Darth Lord. He didn't want to see his reflection in the dark lenses, didn't want to see what they had reduced him to. His head was turned and he knew the Dark Lord was studying the cut and the bruising from his altercation with Rhovan.
"I am told you are facing Court Martial for attacking a superior officer..." Vader brushed his thumb over the cut, the boy hissed his discomfort as a piece of scab came away on the leather glove, blood spots welled from the wound and lightly trickled down his face. "It would seem your Alliance isn't quite sure what to do with you."
Luke didn't reply, couldn't reply with Vader's hand locked on his chin, he swallowed thickly, breathing heavily through his nose. Vader had to have got that information from the Horaarns, they knew he had been under arrest by the Alliance, knew he had a security escort.
"Your actions at Cusrean have damaged the Alliance and yet the Lady Mothma seems reluctant to renounce you…"
He paused to allow his words to sink in, for Luke to grasp the meaning of them. He felt Luke's flare of relief at the news his friends were still behind him. "Nine systems have withdrawn their support; still more are waiting on the Alliance to make a statement on the battle and your conduct during it. Your friends have been quiet: neither condemning nor endorsing you. Personnel and supplies are being lost by the hour. The very future of the Rebellion is in doubt."
Luke was dismayed by Vader's words. Although he knew that Leia and Mon Mothma had been locked in talks with supporting systems in the days following the attack, he was horrified that the Alliance could be losing so much because of him, because of his actions. Somehow hearing it from Vader, from his enemy, made it all seem more real.
Could it be true? Could it be as bad as Vader said? Had he irrevocably harmed the Rebellion by what he had done, by his confession? He hadn't really thought of it before, hadn't given consideration to how the greater organisation could suffer because of the behaviour of one member. How could he have been so blind not to see?
He had been selfish, too wrapped up in his own suffering to think of anything else, too haunted to understand the full consequences of his actions.
What had he done?
It wasn't just the innocent lives lost at Cusrean. It was the Rebellion; it was the fight against the Empire itself that could be lost… because of him.
"And still they cling to their Jedi…"
Luke wrenched his neck violently, twisting his head away from Vader. The Dark Lord released him, stepped back.
"I am not a Jedi…" Luke ground out, angrily working his jaw, working out the after-feel of Vader's fingers on his skin.
"No, you are not," the Dark Lord agreed. "If you had been, you would not have fired upon the refugees; you would not have allowed your hatred of me to guide your hands, you would not have allowed your pride…"
"No!" Luke protested, loudly, sitting straight for the first time, grimacing at the pain from his shoulder. Vader was twisting what happened, it had nothing to do with pride. "It wasn't like that…"
Wasn't it?
"Then what was it like? Why did you destroy the Cusrean station?" Vader demanded.
Luke licked his lips, his mouth dry, heart hammering, head buzzing. He knew he shouldn't answer; he knew he should sit quiet and not give the Dark Lord what he wanted. He forced out the easiest answer. "It… was our target."
"That is not why you destroyed it," Vader countered, there was a warning in his tone, a hint that he would tolerate no avoidance.
"I was under orders," Luke tried again, his voice grating, his teeth clenched, hostile.
"Again, that is not why you destroyed it," Vader pushed, walking around his son once more, placing pressure on him by his words and movements, knowing that Luke was dodging the truth.
When the flames arose, I felt pleasure…
They had both felt it.
During the battle the Dark Side had edged close to Luke, had taken gleeful delight in his conflict and fanned his anger and despair. It had shrouded his thinking, had twisted rational thought until Luke's bitter resentment had simmered to a head.
Luke had been neglected by the Jedi. His training was pitiful; his understanding of the Force negligible and Vader knew that his son's knowledge of the Dark Side was woefully incomplete. The boy did not even know the danger he was in, couldn't see how insidious and guileful the Dark Side was and how it had guided his actions during the battle when he had given in to his anger and hatred.
When the flames arose, I felt pleasure…
Luke had been sickened by the realisation that he had felt good about the station's destruction and the deaths he had caused, but he had yet to acknowledge exactly why that was.
Vader knew, Vader understood: it was power, it was the Dark Side.
"Why did you destroy the refugee station?"
Letting out a breath, trying to calm his heaving emotions and listening as Vader stepped behind him once more, Luke lifted his head to stare at the blank, bland door of the cell, images and sounds from the battle replaying in his head. He could hear the screams of his squad mates as they died… as they died because of his hesitation.
Red Twelve, Triani. Petite, brunette, pretty, young. He could still hear her scream as she died.
"My squad," he tried again, the guilt of their deaths weighing heavily. "They were dying and I…"
"A factor," Vader interrupted with frustration, watching as his son's body tensed in the chair, his darkly-bruised wrists agitating against the restraining cuffs. "But not the reason you pulled the trigger. Why did you destroy the station?"
"Because of you," Luke threw at him, his anger rising at the persistent question, voice bitter with loathing. "Because you were there…"
"Again a factor," Vader barked, leaning down close, mask and helmet at the side of Luke's head. Luke flinched, body jolting as Vader hissed in his ear "Why did you destroy the station?"
Luke hung his head, looked away to the corner of the room away from the Dark Lord. This was intolerable, unbearable. He didn't want to relive this. He didn't want these images, these memories. He could feel the Dark Lord at his back, the man's presence overwhelming, demanding answers that he couldn't give him.
"Antilles, take out the reactor…"
Narra's order. His commander had been furious, disappointed in his squad second and had given away his target to Wedge.
"If I had hadn't taken the shot, Wedge would have…" Luke caught himself too late, again he had mentioned Antilles.
Vader rose up to his full height, once more towering over the shackled boy. "Why did you destroy the station?"
Why had he destroyed the station? Why had he gone against his instincts as they screamed that the orbiting space station was no threat, no danger and held only innocent beings?
"Why did you destroy the station?"
Flashes of images, of feelings. The squad being decimated around him. Narra ordering him home. Burning humiliation. The knowledge of Vader being out there, the need to humble the Dark Lord. The need to be back in the squad, the need to be whole again.
There had been only one thing he could do. Only one thing to prove he was ready. Just one thing stood between him and…
No! Luke desperately pushed the thought away. It hadn't been like that, it hadn't…
"Why did you destroy the station?" Vader demanded, loudly. Pushing, pressing, giving no respite or escape. "There were thousands of lives on board, families evacuated from a dying planet."
Head down, Luke pressed his eyes closed, tried to shift in the seat. "Please…"
"You felt them! Innocent beings, blown apart. Children scattered across cold space. Why did you destroy the station?"
…a little girl frozen in space bumping against a ship's shields and tumbling away…
"No…" he moaned, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Why, Luke?" Vader barked, hands landing on his son's shoulders. Luke cried out in pain, struggled, fought against his bonds to pull away but the Dark Lord roughly held him. He stooped down, his head level with Luke's, faces centimetres apart. "Why did you destroy the station?"
And Luke roared his rage, his pain, his raw anguish into Vader's mask. "It was in my way!"
ooOOoo
It could have been the heat of battle, Leia surmised. It could have been the cry of relief that he had done what they had come to do, that they could now break off and go home.
Leia knew Luke's laughter; she knew the different sounds and tones he made when he found something funny, when he was amused and pleased. The giggling when he was drunk, the chuckle of delight at a successful practical joke, the roars of laughter at Han's dirty jokes that would have him fighting for a breath as he threw back his head and held his belly in uncontrolled joyfulness.
This sound was something she had never heard before, this laugh didn't sound like Luke. It sounded harsh, it sounded malicious and the hair on the back of Leia's neck prickled with discomfort.
It sounded wrong.
Luke had known there was no danger from the space station. He had known there was no threat and that it held only innocent people and still he had fired upon it and destroyed them all and then he had… laughed.
He had taken joy from the explosion, he had…
No!
The Princess drew herself to her feet. She was over thinking this, she was wrong about this. Luke was distraught by what had happened, by what he had done. He had stood alone in that court room, devastated, cowed by his guilt. There wasn't a callous bone in his body. Luke was one of the most good-natured, caring men she had ever met. He simply wasn't capable of such a heartless act.
So what had she heard?
Leia glanced over at the little droid, the voices of the remaining squad members disappearing, leaving Luke alone to shake off the tracker and the chasing Imperials. "Artoo… stop the recording."
Silence fell over the room.
She couldn't use this; she couldn't allow this to be heard by the Horaarns or by the Empire. Luke was already in trouble and this would only seal his fate. If she could misinterpret what had happened, if she was chilled by the sound that had come from Luke then for the court to hear it, for strangers who didn't know Luke to hear it, would surely condemn him
They were going to lose Luke.
"Dammit!" She whirled around, sweeping the data-pads from the desk top scattering them to the floor with a clatter as Artoo twittered in the background.
"Oh my, Your Highness?" Threepio exclaimed.
Swallowing her temper the Princess reassured the protocol droid. "I'm all right, Threepio."
Although Luke wasn't…
Luke might never be all right ever again. In a few hours Luke could be awaiting execution by the Horaarns or, if Vader's extradition was successful, he could be sitting in yet another cell, this time one on Vader's ship. She couldn't help but feel responsible: it was she who had listened to her friend tell of his unhappiness at his grounding after Escaal and she who acted on it by volunteering him for the Cusrean mission.
He had seemed so happy before he left for Cusrean, he had seemed like Luke again when he had beamed that smile of his in her direction and told her that Solo would be returning soon.
And after… after when she had held him and walk with him to his room he had been empty, bereft of what made him Luke. He had been quiet, subdued, sullen and angry. She hadn't seen much of him after that, they had been kept apart by the volcanic ash fall, by her negotiations with Alliance systems, but she had heard worrying snippets from around the base about his drinking with Han and with his squad, about his nightmares, how withdrawn he had become and ultimately about his attack on Major Rhovan.
Seeing him back on Adralii, lying sleeping in the holding cell with Han, his face cut and bruised, but at peace had warmed her somehow, calmed her. His demeanour during the journey to Horaarn was surprisingly good; he had appeared calm, joining in the banter with Han and the soldiers. He was rational and good humoured as though he had made a start at dealing with his demons.
And now this… now those demons were being dragged back before him and presented to him by the devil himself.
"No, Your Highness," Threepio told her anxiously. "Artoo has picked up a transmission. The First Minister is on his way here with a security detail."
Leia hadn't thought her heart could sink any lower, but it did. A security detail could only mean one thing. She was to be expelled from Horaarn, which would leave Luke alone to face his fate.
"How long before he gets here?"
After another twittered for Artoo, Threepio told her. "He's in the turbo lift now, Your Highness."
Leia swore under her breath, lifted her comlink. "Get Han, now!"
Artoo connected her immediately. She didn't waste time, didn't wait for him to reply. She spoke quickly, "We're going silent," and cut the connection, before doing the same with the Sergeant who was still hiding out in the city.
"Artoo, unplug… get away from the terminal," Leia ordered.
The little droid gave a burst of chatter, he sounded frantic.
"Oh my! Your Highness, he says that it will take a few minutes to close down all the links into the city he has made so that he leaves no trail and…"
Another explosion of electronic noise and the little droid began to shake.
"What?" Leia exclaimed, knowing that time was running short and that First Minister Teratan would be at her door anytime now.
"Oh no!" For a droid Threepio was cannily talented at conveying emotion. This was horror. "Princess, he says that as he has been shutting down the links he has discovered a trail in his own data banks and that information has been copied and downloaded…"
And now horror rattled through Leia. Artoo had never had memory wipe, at least none that she knew of, since she had placed the Death Star plans into his keeping. The little droid knew many Alliance secrets and held intelligence on many aspects of the rebellion, including all of Luke's missions. "What data?" But she knew, she knew exactly what had been taken from Artoo, after all it was the one thing that she had sought.
"Master Luke's cockpit recording," Threepio confirmed her fears. "Artoo says that he didn't notice it at first as an authorisation code was hidden within the data links."
"Authorisation code?" Leia echoed, who could have access to Artoo's codes?
"Yes, Your Highness, an older code, one belonging to an previous master of his and…"
Previous master?
"What? Who…?"
There was a chime from the doorway and the panelling vibrated as a fist hammered against it from outside. This mysterious previous owner of Artoo's and what he wanted from Luke's cockpit recording would have to wait; she had more urgent matters to contend with.
"Artoo sever all the links now, and move away from the terminal." It didn't matter now, Artoo didn't need to hide his tracks. It seems that they had known for a while what they were doing and had taken advantage of it.
ooOOoo
"We're going silent!"
The comm cut out into static and Han reached across the console and switched it off. He leaned back into his chair, stared out at the snow covered landing platform, at the thick flakes that continued to fall silently to the ground.
He was helpless, impotent, good as useless stuck out here on the Falcon waiting for Leia, Thecla and Luke to make a move and now they had lost their only source of contact.
It was as frustrating as hell.
"Now what?"
Han jerked his head, looked up and back at the soldier standing behind him. Haslam's face was set, jaw solid. Grief and worry were etched into the large man's features, and Han suddenly realised the depth of feeling the man had for his non-com. It appeared that Luke had some competition for Sergeant Da'amalan's affections and he now understood Haslam's antipathy toward the kid, for it was Luke who was winning hands down without even realising it.
However, the infantry man had asked a very good question.
What was their next move? They had been pinned pretty well by the Horaarns and the Empire. Out manoeuvred and held at different locations as Vader moved his own pieces in around Luke.
What was so important about the kid?
Sure there was the Death Star, but Luke hadn't acted alone, he'd had help. There was that hokey Force shit that the old man had filled the kid's head with and Vader was known to believe in it, too.
Han grimaced, that couldn't be it, could it?
Leia's quick warning told him that they had been discovered. It had been inevitable the minute they found the lock-breaker on Luke that the Horaarns would make a move on Leia and expel her.
Which would be the best scenario they could hope for. If luck didn't hold, and Han had to admit that luck didn't appear to favour them on Horaaran, then Leia could end up in the cell next to Luke.
No… he dismissed the idea immediately. If there was something he had learned from this debacle it was that the Horaaran's had respect for the law, no matter how warped its concepts seemed on this planet. They would respect Leia's diplomatic status, he had no doubt about that, however that would probably mean her expulsion and Luke being left alone to face the full weight of the Horaarn's criminal proceedings.
In a matter of hours the kid could be facing a painful death, or back in Imperial hands.
"Has Chewie run the diagnostics on the guns?" he asked Haslam, really just to have something to say, something to take his mind off the kid's fate and his own inability, his helplessness, to do anything at all but wait for something to happen, wait for an opportunity to present itself.
"Yes, Sir," the soldier responded. "They are all in working order and fully charged."
"Good, I have a feeling we'll need them!" Han reclined back, put his feet up on the console. "Wake me when the Princess gets here."
Haslam waited, but the Corellian put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.
"That's it?" Haslam rasped. "We wait for the Princess and what….. leave? What about the Sarge? What about Skywalker?"
"They're on their own, Private," Han told him, opening one eye. "There's nothing we can do for them. When Leia gets back…"
"I ain't leavin the Sarge to…"
Han could hear the bluster in the man's voice, heard the same impotent anger that he also felt. "You can do whatever you like, Soldier, I ain't stopping you…"
There was a soft growl from behind them.
"…. But Chewie might."
Han sat back up, glanced up at his co-pilot as Chewbacca pushed past the younger man to take up his chair in the cockpit.
"Listen, Haslam, we don't like this anymore than you. That's my friend out there, too, but you need to be real about this. Luke's sitting in a cell in some prison with Vader babysitting him. Thecla's sitting it out somewhere in that snow storm surrounded by Horaaran security and troopers. We've lost contact with them all and Leia's about to be kicked off planet along with rest of us.
"We're fenced in by cannons, troopers and surveillance systems that are probably back on line and if we make one move to get off this platform either on the Falcon or on foot they'll shoot us down. Then we're no good to Luke, the Princess or Thecla. Now, what is it exactly that you think we should be doing?"
"Anything other than just sitting around," Haslam protested, sullenly.
That struck a chord. It was what he had said to Luke on the Death Star after the Old Man had left them in the hanger bay control room. Could it only have been two years ago? He felt like a different man.
"Trust me," Han told him, having sympathy for the Alliance solder, knowing in his heart it was how he felt, too. "Luke's a smart kid, Thecla seems to know what she's doing, if anyone is going to find a solution to this, it's them."
Haslam glanced at the waiting Wookiee and was smart enough not to reply, but Han could see the derision and disbelief in his eyes. The Rebel soldier turned and left the cockpit.
As the door closed Han glanced at his friend. "Got any bright ideas?"
Chewbacca leaned across, laid a massive paw on Han's shoulder and grunted softly. The simple gesture telling so much.
"Yeah, I know… me, too, Chewie."
ooOOoo
The silence in the cell was broken only by Vader's cycling respirator and Luke's softly whispered denials against his own admission. As soon as he had shouted the confession, as soon as it had passed his lips, Luke's eyes had flared with horror, understanding at once what he had said, what he had disclosed and what it meant for him: what it meant in terms of his pending court appearance, what it meant in terms of the type of person he was becoming.
The Cusrean station had been an obstacle in his way and he had felt joy when it was gone, had felt the resonance of the Dark Side of the Force as he felt it now.
The boy's horror and devastation was like a wash of power through the Force, dark waves breaking and battering against the crumbling shields the youth was instinctively trying to erect around him. Luke's head had dropped; he seemed to shrink into the chair he was fastened to, heavy tears dripped onto his thighs staining the cloth of his pants. Thin mucus ran from his nose.
Vader drew himself to his full height and stood mutely for several minutes, watching his son cry, watching as Luke was wracked with guilt and grief, body shivering. He had had a similar moment of clarity. He had marched with the clones into the Jedi temple and cut down all he found, regardless of age, gender or species. He had travelled to Mustafar and ended the war when he slaughtered the Separatists leadership. Then he had stood on the walkway of the installation looking out across the volcanic landscape as the enormity of what he had done had crashed upon him.
He had cried, too, he had grieved for those he had murdered, had grieved for himself for he knew that there was no going back and that he was becoming something other than Anakin Skywalker.
Sympathy, My Lord?
Vader chilled at the inner voice that sound so much like his master. He hesitated, reached out, and found Sidious's attention turned elsewhere. He lingered on his master's presence, confused by the Emperor's silence and yet wary of the Emperor's designs.
He drew away, focused on his son. He was not finished with Luke yet.
"Obi-Wan was a fool not to train you," the Dark Lord finally stated, his derision and hatred of the Jedi Master scoring his words. He knew he would get a reaction from Luke.
He wasn't disappointed.
Vader's words tore through the heavy veil of self-pity and shame and a rough anger flashed through Luke, images of from the Death Star docking bay flooding through him. The smells of fighter fuel, of body odour, of the rancid stench that still clenched to his clothes from his dip in the trash compactor. The sight of Obi-Wan standing tall, glancing his way and lifting his lightsaber in capitulation and of Vader brutally cutting him down.
"He… didn't get the opportunity to train me…" his was voice was hoarse, roughened by emotion. He jerked forward, was caught by the cuffs and the shackles, "…you killed him!" The last was a snarl, tears still marked his face, still ran.
"His death was long overdue," Vader told him, ruthlessly, not giving Luke an inch, not allowing him rest or succour. "Kenobi should have died when he betrayed your father."
Luke shook his head, sweat dripping from the loose strands of his hair. "You're lying… You betrayed my father, you killed him!"
There was a creak of leather as Vader closed his fists and Luke tensed waiting for the blow to land across his face as it had on Escaal.
Vader took a step forward, seeing his son stiffen in anticipation of a reprisal. He was so close. This was an opportunity to say it now, just to say the words to Luke and reveal their relationship. It would be so easy just say it now…
I am your father….
… he glanced up at the surveillance cameras, looked down at his child and knew that it was the wrong moment. Luke would never accept it; the boy's mental and emotional state was too vulnerable, too unstable. He still had a court hearing to attend, still had a journey to Imperial Centre to endure and others may be watching.
To call Luke 'son' now might destroy him. To reveal their relationship may make Luke more of a target than he was now. It could undermine everything he was attempting here, make his extradition request into what is really was; a father claiming his son and the Horaarns sense of justice would not allow that.
You could still take him; you could decimate this place and just take him.
No… That was not an option. That would be against his master's plans to damage and undermine the Rebellion. To remove Luke by force, to invade Horaarn would only strengthen the Alliance and the support they had lost would scurry back to them.
"Obi-Wan always did like his points of view," Vader stated, pushing away temptation. For the first time since Luke's torn admission the boy raised his head and looked him in the eye, not understanding, not grasping the undertones of regret in Vader's voice.
Vader himself didn't understand; he regretted nothing.
…Liar…
He threw off the errant thought.
"I was not I who left your father to burn," Vader informed him, his rage, his hatred of Obi-Wan re-surfacing to drive his bitter words.
"Burn…" Luke echoed, horror roiling through him. His father had burned and again Vader was implying that it had been Ben who was at fault.
"He betrayed and murdered your father."
"You're lying…" Luke rasped again, not believing, denying the insinuation. "Ben said… Obi-Wan said…"
"Enough about Obi-Wan!" Vader roared, temper surging, frustrated by Luke's constant rejection of the truth, by his son's loyalty to his dead Jedi Master. His arm automatically pulled back to deliver a brutal blow.
Luke ducked his head, tucked his chin in, and tensed.
It never came. Instead the Dark Lord took a step backward, his arm falling to his side, his fist unclenching with a creak of leather.
Again there was silence in the cell; again it was Vader who broke it.
"Do you play Dejarik?"
The question, so incongruous to the setting, completely threw Luke. He couldn't help but glance up at the towering Dark Lord, couldn't stop the incredulousness from pitching his voice. "What?"
Had he heard right? Had the Emperor's enforcer just asked him about a board game? What was happening here?
"Dejarik, or chess," Vader replied with, Luke thought, with a hint of humour in his voice. "Are you familiar with the games?"
Confused, Luke could only answer with, "Yes, I've played them."
"Then you are familiar with the concept of an Absolute Pin?"
Luke's mind raced, baffled by the quick change of mood in the Dark Lord. Only moments ago the man had been enraged and now… this? It was hard to keep up; it was hard to know what happening.
He shook his head, a shiver running through his body. He sniffed, wanting to be able to wipe his face, wanting to wipe away his drying tears and snot, wanting to wash away all visible signs of his weakness.
What did Dejarik have to do with this situation?
An Absolute Pin?
An Absolute Pin was where a key piece, usually a Royal piece, was shielded from a check by a pinned piece. The pinned piece couldn't move as it would leave the Royal piece in check and…
Royal…
A freezing chill swept through him.
Leia!
This wasn't about him after all! How could he have been so arrogant for all these weeks? He had thought Vader wanted him, solely him.
He had thought Vader had come to Escaal just for him, had razed the base on Ra'imar for him, but Vader had only been chasing him to get to Leia! How could he not have seen it before?
This was about Leia, a leader of the Rebellion, a key figure in the command structure, one who had escaped the Dark Lord's grasp before. He had already felt the Dark Lord's intentions towards her, towards Han and the others. He had tried to warn her in the court room.
Vader had orchestrated all of this, had him removed to this cell, had Han left on the landing platform with Thecla and Haslam leaving Leia alone and vulnerable.
They were to be picked off one by one.
Panic stirred within: not for himself, but for Leia.
"Leia," he said, her name voicing all of his fears. It didn't matter what happened to him now, if only Leia could be spared. "This is about Leia?"
Vader had watched as Luke considered his question. He could see the boy's puzzlement at the change of topic, could see and feel the confusion give way to cold realisation and shame as the focus shifted from his fear for himself, to fear for his Princess – just as Vader had thought it would.
His son was too predictable.
"No," Vader told him, callously, "it is about you. Your friends are important to the Empire, but next to you they mean nothing."
Luke gagged, nausea rising as he understood. Vader intended on using his friends against him – even though he could not fathom why.
You are the pilot who destroyed the Death Star, that's why…
"Why?" he asked. He had to hear it from Vader. He had to know once and for all what was so important about him, why Vader had made such efforts to capture him. "Because of the Death Star?"
"No," he was told. "Because you are Anakin Skywalker's son."
And Luke was thrown back to his debriefing, sitting in that chair when he was questioned by the Alliance about Escaal and Ra'imar while Rhovan was at his back.
"I'm the pilot who destroyed the Death Star. I'm the son of Anakin Skywalker. Vader was there for me."
He had been right!
His friends were in danger, were being threatened because of him, because of who his father had been. He couldn't let this happen, he couldn't allow Leia to suffer again, couldn't put her back into an Imperial cell, couldn't condemn Han or Chewie, couldn't see anyone suffer because of him.
It was better if it was only him…
Vader turned away toward the cell door before he said anymore. It slashed opened and he stepped up into the corridor to be met by two detention centre guards. "Have the prisoner taken to a holding cell, treat his injuries again and ensure he has some nourishment." He glanced back into the fetid room as Luke jerked and pulled against his bonds once more.
"Wait!" Luke called desperately, as the guards stepped down into the room with him.
Vader took a step forward, away from the open portal.
Luke pulled against the metal around his wrists ignoring the pain he caused himself, "Ah… wait! I'll do what you want! I won't fight… I'll…"
Vader stopped, turned back around to look down at his desperate son.
"…I'll not fight the extradition. You can have me! Just… leave Leia…"
"You would willing surrender yourself to me to save your friends?" Vader demanded to know, dampening down on the stirring elation that twisted within.
Not willingly, never willingly… but for Leia… anything.
Warm blood, fresh blood, from the knife wound trickled down his arm. Luke stared at the Dark Lord as he answered. He was committed; he was prepared to face whatever the future held.
For Leia, for Han. "Yes."
Vader nodded as victory crowed within.
The cell door slammed down between them.
He had his son.
ooOOoo
Thecla had closed the comlink down, and had sat for the last while staring blankly at the small device in her hand. Despite the warmth in the basement, despite the various bar snacks she had filled her belly with, she felt cold and empty. The communication between herself, the Princess and Solo had been her only link, her company, her support.
She was still sitting on the floor, wrapped in the tarpaulin, waiting for her clothes to finish drying. The sweet stench of the sewer still clung to the fabric and she wasn't looking forward to putting them back on. She closed her fists around the comlink, rested her chin upon her hands.
Only one option left.
Just one.
"I'm sorry, Luke," she whispered softly to the silence of the room. "We could have been good."
Decision made, she quickly dialled in different frequency to the comlink and waited for it to be answered.
"Yes," a voice barked.
Thecla hesitated, licked her lips and then committed herself. "I need to come in."
ooOOoo
To be continued...