AN: Thank you to everyone who has read, made this tale a favourite or put the story on alert. It means the world to me (and totally amazes me) to know that so many people enjoy this story. My apologies to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and who has not yet had a reply from me. My only excuse in not acknowledging your comments is that I have been very busy with work and home. I will answer all comments and reviews as soon as I can.
This part is a little shorter and is definitely a "filler" and a "scene setter" for Part 8.
Disclaimer: As always I have no copyright claim to Star Wars, it characters or situations. I just borrow the world to play in and the only profit I get is the fun I have!
Dark Times: Chapter 6
Absolute
Part 7
"Let them in, Threepio," Leia ordered, her dark eyes focusing solely on the door, her thoughts dragged away from Luke's plight by her own predicament.
"Princess, do you think that wise," Threepio fussed, and Leia knew that had he been capable of the action that the droid would be wringing his hands with anxiety. "I don…"
"Just…," she snapped and then she closed her eyes in resignation and softened her voice. "… let them in."
"Oh dear, oh dear," he muttered as he walked over to release the door lock.
Leia leaned against the desk, standing amongst the datapads still scattered on the floor at her feet and took a deep breath forcing herself calm, bringing down her façade of Royal politician to face First Minister Teraten.
The door to the suite slid open and the First Minister swept in followed by two armed Horaarn security personnel. Leia stiffened her back and pushed off the desk to stand tall, aware that she was still a good few feet shorter than the man approaching her with a face like a Dug that had chewed a fire-wasp.
"First Minister," she greeted sternly, coldly, "this is an unexpected…"
Teraten wasted no time. "I believe this is yours, Your Highness!" His voice was low, angry. He held out a small object and dropped it into her open palm.
Leia's fingers closed around the lock-breaker she had given Luke. "Did you really expect us just to accept what was happening, First Minister?" She was not going to apologise for this.
"I expected that the Alliance would respect our laws, our ways," Teraten barked, his eyes flashing. "I did not expect that the Princess of Alderaan would abuse her diplomatic status."
"And I did not expect that the Horaarns would throw in with the Empire!" Leia ground out, equally as angry. "I did not expect that my friend would be sitting injured in an Imperial cell after a sham of an enquiry, convicted of murder and waiting a death sentence or extradition into Imperial custody!"
"I can assure you, Princess that the Horaarns value our independence too much to throw in with anyone. As for Skywalker…"
"You brought us here under false pretences," Leia's broke in, voice low, almost a whisper, so determined that she would not lose herself to her rage. "This was orchestrated by Vader, wasn't it?"
She saw the man blanch, noticed the minute hesitation and knew she right.
Teraten shook his head in denial. "That is a ridiculous accusation! Lord Vader is here as a representative of the Cusrean Government and People with a valid application for Skywalker's extradition. If the evidence presented by his Lordship can show sufficient evidence to believe that Skywalker committed a crime in the Cusrean sector…"
Leia laughed, the sound dry and angry, incredulous. "A crime you have already convicted him off! An alleged offence that did not happen in Horaarn space and yet you have…"
"He confessed, your Highness!" Teraten reminded her. "The treaty between Horaarn and Cusrean systems allows for crimes committed in either sectors to be…"
"Vader orchestrated this!" Leia accused again. "You have allowed him to manipulate you. You have allowed him to use your treaties and judicial systems to suite his own ends."
"What ends, your Highness? It seems to me that Lord Vader merely wishes for Skywalker to be brought to justice just as the Emperor promised the peoples of Cusrean and the Empire."
"And the stormtroopers on your streets, Teraten?" Leia asked, wondering how the man could be so blind. "Do you really believe that they will leave when Vader does?"
"Lord Vader has given me assurances that his only interest is in Skywalker…"
Leia considered him, silently, coldly. "Then you are a fool, Teraten and you have condemned your planet to Imperial Rule."
Another flash of uncertainty crossed the First Minister's face, but it was quickly quashed and Leia knew her arguments were falling on deaf ears... or the ears of a frightened man.
"If that is all, First Minister," she tried to dismiss him, but she knew it wasn't. She knew the armed soldiers were not here as just an escort for Teraten. "I have to ask you to leave and allow me time to…"
"I'm sorry, your Highness," Teraten interrupted, seeing the scattered datapads of the floor for the first time, the clear desk behind the Princess and Leia knew he had understood the significance of the mess. He knew she was desperate and she hated that he had seen the evidence of her weak position, the evidence of her hopelessness.
He frowned, looked to Leia, hardened his expression and his voice. "I'm afraid your breach of protocol cannot go unanswered. I am here to instruct you that the People's Parliament of Horaarn withdraw their diplomatic invitation and hereby command you to leave our planet… immediately."
Leia had known this could be the result of her actions, but still her stomach churned with anxiety: not for herself, not for the Alliance, but for her friend who would now be left to face his fate alone. "First Minister, I…"
"You have one standard hour to pack, the soldiers here will ensure your safe passage to your ship."
"Teraten, please…" Leia took a step forward. Hand out to grab his sleeve, she stopped herself closed her fist in frustration, knowing she had lost. "Luke needs someone with him. I have evidence to support him. I have a valid argument for his defence and against the extradition request. Please… you must allow me to help him."
What evidence? She looked down at the data pads on the floor, recalled the chilling laugh from the flight recorder. What could she possibly use to call her friend's confession into doubt? Desperation gnawed at her, rushing consternation blocking her thoughts, making it hard to form ideas.
"I am sorry, your Highness, the decision stands. You will leave Horaarn." He turned on his heel.
"Teraten, wait! You say you were a friend of my father's!" Leia could hear the despair in her voice. "You must have once shared his beliefs, his values. You served in the Republic… leaving a man alone without representation, without the means to argue a defence is completely against what you once believed in."
The First Minister glanced back. "This is not the Republic, Princess." He sounded sad, resigned.
"No," Leia agreed coldly. "It is the Empire."
The First Minister stopped, turned around. He regarded her quietly, his tongue nervously licking his lips before he spoke. "We are not the Empire… not yet." He looked beaten, he looked like a man who knew he was going to lose everything. "You say you have evidence to support the Convicted?"
Leia felt a flicker of hope and her eyes glanced briefly to Artoo, in that instance it all fell into place; she knew what she had to do for Luke, whether he liked it or not. "Yes."
"Then I will arrange for you to present the evidence at the hearing…"
"Thank you, First…"
"… from your ship."
"My ship? Teraten, Luke needs…"
"Your ship is not considered Horaarn soil, your Highness," Teraten explained, sounding sad, sounding resigned. "I will ensure that a suitable holographic system is delivered and installed to enable you to present your evidence at the Hearing. It is the best I can do."
It wasn't what she wanted, it wasn't what Luke needed, but it would have to suffice. She was lucky to have this concession. "Thank you, First Minister."
The Horaarn Leader looked around the apartment before meeting Leia's eyes. "You still have one hour, your Highness.
ooOOoo
Luke sat crossed legged on the floor grating of the cell, back resting against the side of the sleeping platform, ignoring the discomfort of the sharp metal grill beneath him as it pressed into his flesh. On the floor in front of him was a plate of food and an empty plastic cup. The food and water had arrived just as the medic finished re-dressing his wrists, and shoulder.
The man had encouraged him to eat, to drink the water, reminding him he needed sustenance and that Lord Vader had ordered he be fed.
Luke didn't give a damn what the Dark Lord wanted and, although he had drank the water, he had pushed the plate of bread, cheese and fruits away and refused to touch it or look at it again.
He felt nauseated at the thought of eating and the last thing he wanted to do was vomit.
No, that wasn't true. The last thing he wanted to do was be here, facing whatever Vader and the Horaarns were planning for him…
"I'll do what you want."
… even if he had agreed to it.
He lifted his head, surveyed the rough grey walls, the steps up to the doorway and the ceiling high above him. The corners were hidden in shadow, too high for the dull amber light that bled up through the floor to reach.
He was sure there were surveillance cameras hidden in the darkness, probably one in each corner watching his every move and he failed to see what could possibly be so interesting about watching a prisoner sitting in a cell.
He coughed, rubbed at his throat, still trying to work out the feel of Vader's fingers from around the neck. He was sure he was bruised.
Not that it mattered.
Frowning he looked down at his bandaged wrists, he could feel the bacta infused into the dressings beneath beginning to heal his injuries. His wrists tingled, itched, as they healed. It was the same with his shoulder where the vibroblade had sliced through skin and muscle. None of his wounds were particularly painful and, although he couldn't remember, he was sure that at some point the medic treating him had injected him with a pain killer and, for that, he was grateful. However, he wondered why Vader had ordered he be given medical attention when he was facing so much worse than a pair of binders once his sentencing and extradition hearing was over.
No, that wasn't true. He didn't wonder, he knew. The hearing. Vader needed him cared for and healthy, needed him neatly presented to maintain the façade of a just Empire. That would change, that care would crumble and fall away once he was on Vader's ship, incarcerated in Vader's brig.
His head dropped into his hands, despair washing through him.
I can't do this… I can't do this again.
But he would. He had to. He had agreed. For Leia. For Han. For the Rebellion.
Vader was right. In one act he had damaged the Alliance, he had sullied their reputation by massacring thousands with one torpedo.
You massacred millions with one torpedo, too.
But this time it was civilians, refugees fleeing a dying world.
"And still they cling to their Jedi."
If Vader was to be believed, the Alliance was losing support, was losing personnel and equipment, supplies and backing, because of him, because of what he had done and yet they had not distanced themselves from him, they had not condemned him.
It warmed him that the Alliance still had his back. It humbled him that, although he was sitting alone in this cell, he was not really alone .
Yeah… just like on Escaal. You weren't alone then either and look what happened…
Dade was the Rebellion, Dade was the resistance…
Dade who was Rhovan and had been in the cell with him all the time, tormenting him, torturing him.
His hand wandered to the healing cut on his cheek, shaking fingers tracing the rough scab, the result of a datapad striking his face when Rhovan had backhanded him. The memory was hazy, like a vaguely remembered dream.
Unlike the memory of Rhovan standing at the door of his room on Adralii after he had returned his lightsaber. The Major's face was passive, uncaring.
"I would do it again…"
Cold, hard, brutal, truth.
Except it wasn't Rhovan who was doing it again… it was him. It was he alone who was facing the pain and the humiliation.
There would be no Rhovan this time… only Vader. The Alliance may have his back out there… but not in here.
Not in here…
In here he truly was alone.
Again he looked up at the corners, at the cameras, knowing that Vader was watching him. He could feel it. He could feel the man's seeping darkness, his sinister curiosity, his…
He smiled, recalling the time when he, Biggs, Windy and Deak had drank too much cheap beer and danced around in front of the new security cameras Fixer had fitted at Tosche Station after the last break-in. He choked back a laugh at the memory of the drunken dance the four of them had performed for Fixer's amusement before Windy took it too far and mooned at the camera shouting for Fixer to "take a look at my beggar's canyon!"
That had cracked them all up and they had lost it, falling to the sand and shrieking with laughter at the innuendo that had brought an enraged Fixer bursting out of the building and chasing Windy across the sands with a hydrospanner, screaming threats at the younger boy about shoving the spanner "straight up your beggar's canyon, you little echuta sleemo!"
Luke coughed again, fighting to control the bubble of hysterical laughter that he felt welling up inside: not because he was afraid of the laughter... it was what was lurking behind the laughter he was afraid off unleashing, and he refused to show it, refused to give the Dark Lord any more satisfaction. He needed to hold it together, he needed to be stronger than this.
For Leia. For the Alliance.
Heaving in a shuddering breath, wiping his face with his hands and knowing how close he had been to collapsing, he stared at the bland durasteel door, forcing his thoughts back to the present. He berated himself for allowing his mind to wander, for losing his concentration, he needed to focus on what was happening now, on how he was going to handle this….
You're not handling it…
… and not allow old habits to intrude and interrupt.
Isn't that why Uncle Owen despaired of him, because he could never keep his mind on what he was doing? He was always thinking of something else, always allowing his thoughts to wander. Thoughts of the Academy. Thoughts of racing through the stars instead of the Dune Sea or Beggar's canyon. Thoughts of the hot girl who had walked into Tosche Station when he had been sitting alone and pissed off because he'd arrived late and missed the group. Thoughts of the three days they had spent together making out, and more, in his landspeeder before she had to leave with her father. Thoughts of his own father, his dead father… except that he would imagine it had all been a mistake and that Anakin Skywalker would come for him, rescue him and save him from the boredom of the Farm.
His father…
A man he idolised despite knowing practically nothing about him, having only snippets of information from his Aunt and Uncle. Owen, a man of the sand and soil, usually said things by accident, or to chastise him for a minor infraction.
"… rushing off… just like your father…"
"… pig-headed… just like your father…"
"… No consideration or thoughts for the consequences… like your father."
His aunt was kinder, was more understanding of his need to know more about his sire.
"He was like you Luke, handsome and headstrong…"
"You're grandmother often spoke of his talents with machines… you're a lot like him that respect."
"He liked to fly, fast and wild, your grandmother said. Just like you…"
Like me!
His father had been like him, and he was like his father.
And Vader.
"Because you are the son of Anakin Skywalker."
Is that really why he was here? Is that why he had suffered these last few weeks and months? Because he was his father's son?
He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palms and took in another breath. Unfolding his legs he brought his knees up, clasped his arms around them and winced at the dig of the floor grating beneath him. He was doing it again, letting his mind wander away from the situation.
How long had he been here? How much time remained before the cell would open again and he would be taken out and paraded before the holonet cameras again?
How long did he have to plan what he was going to do, how he was going to conduct himself?
He had to be strong, he had to hold it together, do better than he had for the committee hearing. He couldn't let Vader take it all from him…
… not yet… maybe later… but not yet…
… he had to show the Dark Lord that, although he had capitulated, the battle wasn't done.
He was doing this for Leia, for the Alliance and for his friends.
He was…
He couldn't stop his smile as he realised what his course of action for the Hearing should be, as he realised that, although he would be leaving with Vader, although his own freedom was forfeit Leia's was not. If he could keep his emotions and mind under control he could take sole blame for Cusrean and leave the Alliance free to distance themselves from him and, if they wished, to condemn him.
ooOOoo
Darth Vader watched the feed from behind the seated Detention Centre personnel. He could feel his son's twisting and convoluted emotions; the utter despair, the disbelief that he had agreed to go with the Dark Lord, his resolution to see this… whatever this was, whatever this would bring to him, whatever was to be done with him… through. He could also feel the river of hysteria that ran through Luke's thoughts, a subterranean current of terror and madness that the boy barely held in check. It had almost bubbled to the top, had almost broken free from Luke's control, almost reached the surface, and he had smiled with pride when Luke's strength prevailed.
His son's strength came from the hatred of his father, his sheer will not to give in to the demands placed on him. Untrained and unknowing Luke had no way to see, or feel, the insidious crawl of the Dark Side as it shadowed his presence and began its slow consumption.
And yet, that smile now, was not of the dark. That smile was one of triumph and he could feel his son's elation, the firming of his resolve to sacrifice himself for his friends. That smile was of the light and it pushed back the penumbra that had been nearing him.
Luke would soon learn, as his father had before him, a deal with the Dark Side was not always fulfilled and he would fall further into its grasp when he learned his sacrifice had been for nought.
"…Is she safe… is she all right…"
Leia Organa, the smuggler, and the Wookiee were Luke's weakness, just as Padme had been his, and Vader had no intentions of allowing them to escape. They were Luke's link to the light, they would be used and disposed of and his son would be left alone and bereft and would to turn to the only person with whom he had link.
His father…
"Anakin, you're breaking my heart…"
He growled, angrily, startling the personnel around him. He could see backs stiffening; feel others take a step backward from him.
He dismissed the echo that begged to a dead man. He had not been swayed by her arguments on Mustafar and he would not be swayed by his memories of them now. She had betrayed him, she had turned against him. He should give her no consideration now.
… even if the boy is her son, too? Even if this is not what she would want for him?
Enraged with himself he railed against his aberrant thoughts, casting them aside, banishing Anakin's dead wife from his mind… she had no place here!
There was a grunt from the visual feed from the cell and the Dark Lord watched as Luke, in another act of rebellion stared straight at the security feed and kicked the plate of food further away from him. His toe caught the edge and the platter over turned spilling out the contents onto the floor.
Vader turned to the medic. The man visibly blanching at the anger that radiated from his superior. "If he will not eat, see that he sleeps."
"At once, My Lord," the medic bowed and picked up his kit, he nodded to the guards and two followed at his back as he made his way to Luke's cell.
Vader watched the monitors, his attention solely on Luke. The boy started as the door swept upward. He swallowed, watching warily when the men stepped down into the confined space. Vader could feel the initial surge of panic through the Force as adrenalin swept through Luke. He could see Luke tense, could see the shudders running through his son's body, could see the boys eyes darting back to the camera's as though he could see the Dark Lord through them.
The guards remained by the open door way and the medic crouched beside Luke on the floor.
"It's okay," the man soothed and Vader knew Luke would see through the man's false concern. "I'm just checking your dressings."
Still guarded, Luke allowed the man to check him over, stiffening again when the medic prepared a hypospray and Vader saw him glance at the door, at the guards, and could feel the false hope as Luke fleetingly considered his chances of pushing back the medic, rushing the guards and making it out of the cell. He smiled when Luke crushed the thoughts, realising that he would merely be risking his precious princess' safety and that he wouldn't get far anyway, that he would only run straight into the waiting Dark Lord.
The medic smiled, "I'm just topping up your painkiller."
Still tense, still suspicious, Luke flinched when the medic placed his hand on his head and turned it, bowed it and placed the hypospray against the skin just under his ear. The sensitive audio equipment barely picked up the soft hiss as the sedative was injected into Luke's body.
The effects were immediate, Luke blinked slowly, grimaced as he futilely fought the drug. "What… did… you…?"
He slumped sideways to the floor and, as the medic packed away his kit and stood, the guards moved in and lifted the limp figure, placing him on the hard sleeping platform. The boy's head rolled, his jaw fell open and loose, his eyes half open and unfocused and his presence in the Force became mute and quiet. Vader knew it wouldn't remain so, he knew that as his son's body metabolised the drug that dreams would come and the Force would burst with images and colour, with sights and sounds and perhaps, just perhaps, Luke would see his destiny and accept it.
ooOOoo
Han stood to the side of the passenger compartment. Leaning against bulkhead, he watched the Horaarn technicians work as they set up a holotransmitter beside the engineering station. He had been reluctant to allow any of them on board to fiddle with Falcon's systems but he also knew it was the only way that Luke was going to have any chance of representation at his hearing.
He glanced over at Leia sitting behind the dejarik board as she devoured datapad after datapad and conversed quietly with See Threepio and Artoo Detoo utilising whatever information the little droid held in his memory from his foray into the Horaarn's databanks.
The Horaarn workers would glance up every now and then when Leia questioned the little droid on specific points of law without giving any detail of what she was doing, of what her defence strategy for Luke was.
"I know, Artoo, I know he has no right to representation, but can someone volunteer to represent a convicted person?"
She smiled as Artoo tweeted and burbled and Threepio responded with. "Yes, your Highness, anyone with an education to Higher level and…"
"Artoo compare Alderaanian Educational levels to the Horaarn requirements, is my educational level adequate?"
A whistle.
"Yes, Your Highness!"
Leia grimly smiled and absently brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. Han thought she looked tired, worn and weary. Han thought she looked gorgeous.
She glanced up at him as though she had heard the thought and Solo found himself uncharacteristically flustered. He gave a lopsided smile and shrugged, rolling his eyes in the Horaarn's direction.
Leia had arrived with the Technicians and neither she nor Han had had the chance to talk bar a quick terse greeting. The Princess had spent her time since arriving, building up a defence for Luke, but had not yet shared any of it with him for fear of the Horaarn's overhearing and reporting back to the First Minister or to Vader himself.
Han glanced up when Chewbacca popped his head out of the overhead conduit and grunted.
"Okay, guys," Han pushed himself from the wall. "Chewie says it's wired in."
The Horaarns nodded, whispered among themselves and turned the equipment on. Light flickered on the hologame board and a small representative of the court room appeared on the chequered surface among the scattered datacards.
"Your Highness," one of the technician's invited. "If you sit here," he gestured to the seat beside the engineering station and Leia rose and crossed the room, seating herself as requested. On the hologram of the court a tiny figure appeared at the table for the defence; a hologram of a hologram.
"Thank you, Gentlemen," Leia acknowledged graciously, "This will suffice."
And Han could see the lie, hear the lie. This wasn't sufficient for Leia. She wanted to be there in person, she wanted to see Luke, be near Luke.
This situation was killing her, the guilt she felt for the kid's predicament was eating at her from inside. She had responded to Luke's desire to fly again after Escaal and had volunteered him for the Cusrean mission. Everyone Han had spoken with had said Luke had jumped at the chance, had gone into the battle with all the enthusiasm and zeal that he had always shown, eager to show the Empire they had not broken him on Escaal, only to return from Cusrean fractured and splintered.
And Leia blamed herself. She didn't see the fault lying with anyone else, couldn't see the part played by Alliance Command who had agreed with her and over-ruled Luke's Doctors. She couldn't see the fault lying with Luke himself for ignoring the advice of those doctors, for refusing to go with him and Chewie for a break. The kid had refused all offers he had made, all advice he had given to just get away and get a fresh look, a fresh perspective on everything that had happened. Luke had been too single minded… it was the Alliance or nothing.
Leia would see it later, she would see and understand it all, everyone's part in the run up to this situation; the Horaarns, Vader, The Empire, The Alliance, Luke's and her own decisions and she would be able to apportion blame appropriately, but for now there was just her… and Luke.
He stood to the side watching as the Horaarn workers packed up their gear, as Haslam came sauntering in from the cockpit and as Chewbacca dropped down and replaced the ceiling plate of the conduit.
Chewie saw the Horaarns off the ship and Haslam slipped away again. Han would need to keep an eye on him, he was unpredictable, agitated and worried about his sergeant whose whereabouts remained unknown. Haslam had been none too happy with the line under the Falcon being retracted from the drain leaving Thecla Da'amaalan with no escape route, but they could hardly have left it there with a Horaarn delegation coming on board.
Once alone Han turned toward the Princess, walked to her. "Leia?"
She looked up, dark eyes tired and scared. She rose abruptly and he folded his arms around her and drew her to him. She didn't resist, she pressed against him, held him tight and rested her head against his chest. She was trembling with fatigue, staying on her feet through sheer will power and stubbornness.
"I can't lose him," she whispered, and Han closed his eyes with a pain that Leia could never see, could never know.
"We won't," he assured her, fighting to keep the cut of pain that lanced at her words from his voice. She couldn't lose Luke. "But you need rest, Princess."
"I'm fine," she assured him, "I need to work out how I'm going to present the case for Luke. He's not going to like it and I'm worried that…"
There was a twitter of a comlink and the holographic equipment came alive, beaming a single figure onto the dejarik board. It was the First Minister.
"Your Highness…"
Han released her and she straightened her shoulders, held her head high, ever the Princess as she stepped over to the holotransmitter. "First Minister," she greeted, coolly.
"We have a time for the Convicted's hearing."
ooOOoo
Rhovan worried his wrists against the tight bands of cold durasteel that bound his hands together behind his back as he was lead down the shuttle's ramp into the vast hanger bay and towards the waiting grey-clad officers and white armoured stormtroopers. Ignoring the dull aches of his bruised body, ignoring the stiffness in his back and limbs caused by his muscles seizing every time the droid had sent a powerful charge through him. He walked with his head held high, refusing to give Velaptor the satisfaction of knowing how much he ached.
Sore and weary, disheartened by the knowledge that his mission to get Skywalker out, to get him away from his father, and back to the Rebellion…
…or eliminate him…
…had failed before it had even begun.
"Lord Vader is inbound with Skywalker!"
Vader already had his son and Rhovan's thoughts were dragged away from his own predicament, more worried about how the boy was faring, wondering what was happening back down on Horaarn, and if Mothma's dire predictions would come true if Luke were to discover his parentage.
The Major dragged in a breath, grimacing against the pain of his broken and bruised ribs. He almost faltered, almost fell forward and he forced Skywalker from his thoughts and concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other until his boots stepped onto polished deck plates.
Rhovan had been on enough Star Destroyers to know the one they were now on board was not a standard cruiser. This ship was massive, the sheer size of this immense hanger told him all he needed know. This was the Executor. This was Vader's command vessel.
This was the ship that Vader had ordered him transferred too so many weeks ago on Escaal when he had argued against Skywalker's interrogation being interrupted. His worry then had been the Network, the Escaal resistance and how he was supposed to fight the Empire from on-board the Executor.
Now that was the least of his worries.
His guards stopped him before the waiting officers and troopers as Velaptor stepped forward in greeting.
"I am Captain Jofric Velaptor," he saluted.
"Captain Firmus Piett," a thin faced man responded to Velaptor, although his eyes were firmly on Rhovan. "Welcome aboard the Executor."
So, this was Piett, the man who had informed Vader he was approaching Horaarn despite Rhovan giving him his authorisation code. The man who had not identified himself as the ship's captain and who had called Rhovan "sir," instead of the other way around.
Velaptor's eyes darkened at Piett's inattention, but he said nothing. "I look forward to serving with you, Captain."
Rhovan stood silent as Piett finished his assessment of him and drew his attention back to Velaptor. "Indeed, Captain," Piett offered. "The troopers here will escort you to your quarters. You are due on duty in the Brig at oh-seven-hundred ship time."
Velaptor nodded, stiffly. "I wish to escort Major Rhovan to the brig myself first and…"
Piett gave a thin smile. "I'm afraid Major Rhovan is now in my custody, Lord Vader's orders were quite specific."
Velaptor's mouth turned down in displeasure, but even he seemed to know when to call defeat. It wasn't wise to argue with orders given by the Dark Lord of the Sith. "Of course," he gave a little bow of acceptance, drew his eyes off Rhovan and followed two troopers from the hanger bay.
Piett waited, watching Rhovan, until the footsteps receded and the massive door at the end of the hanger slid closed.
Piett smiled. "Welcome aboard, Major Rhovan. I am pleased meet you."
Rhovan's eyes narrowed, not quite understanding what was happening. "I wish I could feel the same, sir..." he offered, his voice rough with pain.
If Piett had accepted his authorisation code when he had given it over the comm on his arrival in the Horaarn system he would never have been in this position. It would easy for him to blame Piett for all of his pain for the last few hours but Rhovan knew that, like him, Piett had his duty and had merely carried it out. He also knew that, like him, Piett would do it again in a heartbeat no matter the consequences.
"Hmm," Piett gestured to the guards who had escorted Rhovan up from the planet's surface. "Release the Major's bonds, take the shuttle back to Horaarn and prepare for Skywalker's transfer."
Rhovan stiffened at the mention of Vader's son. He kept his eyes on Piett as he was released from the metal cuffs. Wincing as he brought his hands forward, he gently rubbed at the bruised and broken skin asking, "Perhaps you'd like to tell me what's going on?"
Piett smiled, thin lips pulling back from white teeth. "Your authorisation code checked out. All warrants for your arrest and detention have been rescinded and your rank and status reinstated."
"Just like that that?" Rhovan asked, deeply suspicious of this turn of events.
The ship's captain chuckled. "We live in strange times, do we not, Major?"
"Indeed we do, sir," Rhovan agreed, gingerly touching his broken nose, still trying to gauge what was happening, feeling that Vader and his Captain were several steps ahead of him. It was a feeling he didn't like.
Piett looked him up and down, taking in his physical condition. "Can you walk?"
"Depends on how far I have to go," Rhovan confessed. His back ached, his muscles were stiff and sore, head pounding from repeated blows. It was a wonder he wasn't concussed.
"Just to the deck above, to the nearest medcentre. We'll take the turbolift," Piett offered with a sympathetic smile.
"I think I can make that," Rhovan agreed, gathering his strength, his courage for taking just the first step forward. He felt like he was about to drop.
"Good!" the ship's captain, smiled again. "I shall accompany you and see that you are settled. Lord Vader was most implicit with your transfer. He wishes to speak to you as soon as he boards."
Anxiety twisted in Rhovan's gut. Vader was the last the person he wished to be in a room with, but he knew it was inevitable after his arrest on Horaarn. "I look forward to meeting Lord Vader again," he lied as he stepped forward, relieved that he didn't just crumple to the deck, "although I will admit that I am in the dark as to my duties on board."
Piett threw him a sideways glance as they slowly made their way from the hanger. "I would have thought that would be obvious, Major. You will be assisting Lord Vader with Skywalker's questioning once he is secured in the brig." Another look at the Major, a query when Rhovan remained silent, thoughtful. "Did you not interrogate the Rebel on Escaal?"
"Yes," Rhovan confirmed, a little breathless, his voice carrying his physical pain. He understood Vader's reasoning, put Luke back in a cell with the man who had tormented him, put him back on that line with the droid at his back, and the boy would snap. Skywalker would be easier to manipulate, would do anything, would say anything to avoid more pain. He had seen it often enough, had done it himself often enough to others who had resisted the Empire.
But Vader was the boy's father! What kind of parent tortures and mutilates his own child?
What kind of man does the same to his own brother?
A desperate one. One who has more at stake than family and whose brother understood the consequences of Rebellion.
As did Luke Skywalker.
Piett laughed. "Then you will be the last person he wishes to see… especially after everything else that has happened."
Rhovan stopped, grabbed Piett by the arm, knowing he was breaking protocol and not caring. "What? What has happened?"
Piett looked down at the hand on his uniform, but said nothing. "Haven't you heard, Major?" he said watching as Rhovan lifted his hand away. "During the Committee Hearing, Skywalker admitted to knowing the Cusrean Station posed no danger and he confessed to destroying it anyway. He was arrested and convicted of murder only to be attacked and injured during his transfer to prison. He is currently under Lord Vader's protection while awaiting his sentencing and extradition trial."
Rhovan nodded, releasing Piett's arm. He was not surprised, had already realised this was Vader's move when he arrived in the system, nor was he surprised by the knowledge that Luke knew what the station was before he fired upon it; it was something he had already suspected from Skywalker's mission debriefing with Rieekan and Anders. However, it was Luke's confession that concerned him most. It sounded like Luke had already broken.
You broke him on Escaal, you saw him break during the mission debriefing back on Adralii, and he was broken again when he saw the holonet report.
Soon Skywalker would be in so many pieces that it may prove impossible to repair the damage and Rhovan had to wonder what would happen when Luke was told the truth about his parentage. Would the boy rail against it, would he fight it, would he deny his father? Or would he fall, would he accept it and thus bring Mothma's worries to fruition and become Sith like his father?
"I would like to view any recordings there are of the Committee Hearing."
Piett laughed again, his hand landing on Rhovan's shoulder. The Major winced, but allowed the Captain to turn him and they resumed their slow walk. "That won't be a problem, it was being broadcast live on the holonet at the time. You'll see the boy condemned himself."
Rhovan was almost afraid to ask. "Is Lord Vader questioning him?"
Piett smiled, gently laughed. "I believe the Horaarns are anxious that Skywalker appear at court unharmed, however I am sure Lord Vader will no doubt create an opportunity to speak with the Rebel."
Rhovan nodded silently. He had thought the same. Knew that Vader would waste no time in moving in on his child. What father wouldn't? If he had a child, if he had lost that child, would he not move the planets and stars to get that child back, just as Vader had?
Quite probably, but Vader's actions against Luke were brutal, were not those of a father concerned for his son. They were more the actions of a captor to captive, of Imperial Justice against a Rebel, of…
And yet you did the same to your brother until you silenced him.
He tried to throw the thought aside. Sam was different. Sam knew who his brother was, knew what his sibling had to do to protect the information he carried, to protect the brother he loved from worse treatment, for more intense questioning and…
The realisation made him slow down and he was aware of Piett glancing at him and asking if he required help to make it to the medical centre. He waved off the concern and picked up his pace, stepping into the elevator with the captain, his thoughts racing.
It made sense now.
Vader was protecting Luke. Vader was treating his son as he would treat any other Rebel to protect him from the factions within the Empire who could target Luke or use his son against him If the truth was known. He was not treating Luke as the son of Darth Vader. He was treating him as the son of Anakin Skywalker. He was, quite probably, trying to protect Luke from the Emperor himself.
No, that didn't add up. Vader had to know that Palpatine already knew, or at least suspected, who Luke was. He had to know that Palpatine had his own agents and spies spread throughout the Galaxy and within the Rebellion itself who were reporting back on the Rebel pilot's exploits and progress with his Jedi abilities.
And there it was. There was his understanding of Luke's position. The boy was a prize, a pawn to be played by the two most powerful men in the Galaxy. Luke would be caught between his father and the Emperor, he was the rope in a tug of war to be pulled one way and then the other, caught in an awful situation with awful decisions to make.
"Did you know?"
Luke's voice had been torn and ragged and terribly quiet when he had asked the question. When he had asked Rhovan if he had known what was on the Cusrean Station. The truth was he hadn't known, he'd had no idea what his intelligence was leading Skywalker and his squad towards.
However, if Luke were to ask him the same question in the future…
"Did you know?"
… he would have to say he did, he would have to say he knew and he would have to live with the consequences.
ooOOoo
"One minute to reversion. All pilots to your ships."
The voice on the overhead tannoy echoed around the hanger of the Victory's Flight and Wedge glanced up from his cockpit and looked around; all the pilots were with their fighters. All five of them: Narra, Janson, Klivian, Ylanec and himself. They had never left the hanger, preferring to stay with their X-Wings, preferring to tinker with the engines, work on the shielding, the stabilisers, the hyperdrive capacitors, anything to keep their minds off the coming fight.
Frightened, Antilles?
No, he wasn't frightened. He had been through too much to worry about ending up as particles of matter floating through cold space. He was anxious though, eager to get out there and help his friends escape Horaarn, escape whatever it was that Darth Vader had planned for them. The adrenalin was already pumping, already filtering through his system making him impatient for the fight to begin.
A mild shudder ran through the ship, indicating the drop from hyperspace and he turned his attention back to the readouts on his shield display. "A-Three," he spoke to the Artoo unit in the socket behind him. "I think we can crank up…"
The whistle of a comlink interrupted him and he glanced over at Narra, watching as his commander spoke with the bridge. He was nodding, looking grim and determined as he finished his conversation. "Okay, Red Flight get your asses over here!"
Wedge drew himself from the cockpit and glanced back at his droid, "A-Three, finish up here."
He jumped to the deck and joined his squad, Narra's severe look making him even more uneasy.
"We've arrived at Horaarn and are settling into a holding pattern. The Executor is out there as thought and the system is being patrolled by TIEs and Interceptors. This is what we expected, this is what we knew we were up against." He paused, looking around them, his eyes catching Wedge's.
"Remember as soon as the scanners pick up the Millennium Falcon we drop out to protect them – understood?"
There were nods, determined smiles.
"We don't know when that'll be but the bridge is monitoring the holonet. It looks like Luke is still in custody…"
There were murmured curses of concern.
"… but his sentencing and extradition hearing has been scheduled in less than two hours ships time."
A twist of anxiety for his friend tightened Wedge's stomach.
"They're cutting it tight in making their moves…" Narra admitted, seeing the pilots' expressions and Wedge knew he was thinking the same as they all were. Thinking, but not saying... what if there was no move, what if they were unable to move? The Rebellion could lose them all.
"… but we are here to back them up when they do. To give them time to make the jump and then jump out ourselves."
"Any word on Death Squadron?" Ylanic asked, referring to Vader's fleet. The kid was no longer a rookie and he was looking as dogged and resolute as the rest of them.
Narra shook his head. "Nothing yet... but, we still can't rule out that it's headed this way."
Ylanic just nodded, mutely.
"Any more questions?"
There were none and Narra dismissed them to finish up prepping their ships. Wedge trudged back to his X-Wing knowing he had done all he could to ready his ship. She was in top condition, was running straight and true and he knew that all he could do now was sit and wait. Wait for the hearing to begin, wait for the outcome, the fate of his friend, to be announced, wait to be launched into a ferocious battle.
Wait… the fate of the fighter pilot. A long wait and a quick death.
He climbed back into his cockpit, settled down and tapped out an access code into the on board computer. "Okay, A-three, let's see if we can crank the shields up by another point five…"
ooOOoo
To be Continued in Dark Times: Chapter 6 - Absolute Part 8...