AN: This is a replacement Chapter, posted on 9th May 2021. It is shorter than the original as I have changed some scenes around and tweaked them.

Dark Times: Chapter 7

For Darkness Restores

Part Three

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

It was as though the Rebellion had disappeared, as though they had given up and had slunk back into whatever dank hole they had originated from. They were silent when Rhyllis Prime fell to the Empire to be stripped of resources and assets. They were silent when troopers massacred protesters on Firro and continued through the capitol killing randomly, wiping out a third of the city's population. They were silent when the Emperor announced further rises in taxation and removed all rights of privacy from the holonet giving him the right of access to all information that was held by the state-owned media and of everyone who used it.

There was no right to a private life - all lives in the Empire belonged to the Emperor.

Rhovan sighed, placed down the datapad he had been trying to read. He rubbed at his temples, loosened his collar, yawned and leaned back in his chair, placing his feet on his desk.

It was quiet in the Emperor's private prison, too. All the prisoners now languishing behind closed doors with no contact with the guards. No-one, not even Rieekan, caught at Hoth, had been questioned for weeks.

There was no reason to ask any questions. In the wake of the events of Cusrean and Horaarn public support for the Rebellion had waned and Vader's relentless pursuit of them had devastated their numbers and sent them and their supporters scurrying into hiding. Any information Rieekan could have supplied would now be months old and utterly useless.

Everyone down here, including the guards and the officers, seemed to have been forgotten and abandoned. Rhovan's duties now consisted of organising duty rotas, food supplies for the prisoners, ensuring the security systems remained operational and checking remotely that the remaining prisoners were still alive, for no-one had permission to die without the express consent of the Emperor.

Even Palpatine had been silent since moving his court and his person to the Surgical Reconstruction Unit several months ago. The Palace, indeed, the Empire, continued with business as usual but Rhovan knew that people were unsettled by the Emperor's prolonged absence from the palace, privately asking and wondering and worrying about the despot's health. Rhovan sensed fear, but he had also sensed hope among those living and working in the vast Imperial stronghold. Hope that after two decades of rule that Palpatine was on his death bed, despite his sporadic appearances on the holonet.

Few knew the real reason for the Emperor's absence. Few suspected what had really drawn Palpatine away from the palace and the public eye and sequestered him in the Imperial medical centre.

Rhovan suspected that Palpatine was in good health.

Rhovan suspected that what had tempted the Emperor away from the daily running of his Empire was one man.

Rhovan suspected that man was Luke Skywalker.

No, that wasn't right. Rhovan knew it was Luke Skywalker.

He rubbed his hands over his face, felt stubble on his chin and briefly wondered how long it had been since he had last been in his apartment to wash, shave and change his clothes. The hours down here seemed to bleed from one to the other, slowly dripping monotonously until nothing differentiated them. They were the same, always the same.

Luke Skywalker.

He was sure only four people knew of the boy's survival. The Emperor of course, Lord Vader, the Emperor's agent, and himself.

"The patient is waking," Vader had told him and the woman weeks ago. "The Emperor believes his recovery would be assisted if he woke to a familiar face."

Again, he mulled over the Dark Lord's words. "Waking…" and "… woke to a familiar face."

Luke had been shot several weeks before the Dark Lord's visit to the Detention Centre when he had removed the woman, Thecla, and even more weeks had passed since then.

Months of dragging silence.

"Waking…"

This was not the first time that Rhovan's thoughts had wandered to Skywalker, to Vader's son. It was also not the first time that he had mused over the Dark Lord's words and only one conclusion had ever presented itself to him. Luke had been shot in the chest, that much he knew from the holonet footage, and the injury would have impacted on his heart, his lungs, or both. Luke would have been starved of oxygen. He must have suffered anoxia or severe hypoxia. The resulting brain injury could have – would have - been traumatic, so the question was; why all the effort and time spent with him? Why not just allow him to die? What good would a brain-injured boy be to the Empire?

Jedi.

The boy was Jedi…. but…

"Luke isn't a Jedi…"

Ehlen Ander's words, uttered following Skywalker's debriefing in the wake of the Cusrean disaster, echoed in his mind.

"…Luke isn't even a padawan. He is a boy with a raw power and a famous name, and no-one left to teach him what he needs."

He had tried to warn both Anders and Rieekan about the dangers Luke posed to the Alliance. Skywalker had been powerful, untrained, and barely restrained by the Alliance when physically well, but injured, damaged…

Rhovan believed that Vader's motives were clear and quite simple; Luke was his son. However, Palpatine's motives were not so transparent. What could the Emperor want with a wounded boy, a severely disabled enemy?

Jedi.

It had to be something to do with Luke's abilities, his talents and connections to the Jedi, but did Palpatine know Luke was Vader's son? Or had the Sith Lord hidden that truth from the Emperor?

Questions, so many unanswered questions.

Rhovan yawned again, stretching in his desk chair, hands high above his head, jaw cracking, eyes tearing up at the force of it, just as the door to his office swept open to reveal the red robes of the Emperor's personal guards.

Caught mid-stretch Rhovan froze, paused, as he watched the soldiers file into his office. Slowly, deliberately taking his time, he lowered his hands and lifted his boots from his desk. He placed his feet on the floor and sat straight in his chair not caring that his uniform was unfastened and dishevelled.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" he asked politely, wondering what poor soul Palpatine had remembered was still down here and what he had planned for the prisoner.

Rieekan?

There was a twist of anxiety for the General, for his old friend.

A friend no longer after what he had done…

His concern, his worry for Rieekan was immediately forgotten when he was told, with a hint and bite of humour in the soldier's voice, "You are to accompany us, Major. His Excellency requires your presence in the throne room."

Rhovan chilled. His entire body suddenly freezing and seizing, and one word immediately sprung to his mind.

Shit!

Palpatine had returned and he had missed it! Months spent down in this hole had dulled his senses, had blunted his edge, his skills! He had been a fool, had taken his finger off the pulse of the Palace and now Palpatine had made his move, had pressed Rhovan into a misstep and was moving into take advantage of the forced error.

Rhovan felt like a Dejarik piece; a Houjix, left too long out of the game play, that had become fed up and easily taken by a skilled player.

Was Palpatine that manipulative? Was the Emperor of the known Galaxy that concerned with a single individual, with one person, that he would waste his time manoeuvring him into position until he had him just where he wanted; bored and unaware and ready for reaping?

Rhovan thought so.

The Major dragged himself to his feet, fastened his jacket and pulled it sharply down, trying to drag out the wrinkles in the cloth. He swept his hair back and donned his cap, briefly wondering if Palpatine would notice that he hadn't shaved, then told himself it wouldn't matter what his corpse looked like as it was unceremoniously dragged away.

"I am the Emperor's willing servant," he told the soldiers with a brief bow of his head.

They fell in around him, two in front, two behind, and they escorted him to the landing platform several stories above, they sat beside him for the few minutes it took their shuttle to reach the Palace hangers. Then he was marched through the massive palace. Rhovan kept his head up and his walk precise, just has he had been taught in the Academy as though he were on parade or marching and drilling and not walking to his death. He ignored the curious glances that were thrown toward the small procession as it worked its way swiftly through the mundane lower levels of the monolith and up into the more ornate corridors and hallways of the main body of the building.

Rhovan had never been in this part of the Palace, the more public areas, the working hub of Palpatine's Empire, but he kept his eyes front dampening down his curiosity and desire to explore, after all he was not a tourist, he was not here to admire the opulence or the fast efficiency of the place. He was here to answer for his actions for the last few years, he was here to explain his treason to his Emperor.

The Red Guards surrounding him took a sharp turn and walked him out of the grandeur of a pillared and marbled hallway and through a double doorway into a plain corridor that could be found anywhere in the Empire, in the Academies around the Galaxy, on a Star Destroyer, from the bases and garrisons of the core worlds to the furthest outpost in the outer rim.

Grey durasteel walls, polished floor. It was stark contrast to the opulence he had just left behind and he felt he was entering yet another prison, another torture chamber…

Perhaps you are.

… because everyone had heard the rumours and stories of Palpatine taking delight in torturing and killing those who had failed him right in front of his courtiers. For the first time in the long walk Rhovan swallowed, finally allowing himself the luxury of reacting to the tight anxiety and nausea that balled in the pit of his stomach.

A set of blast doors separated, the sections pulling up and down diagonally into the corners and they stepped through into yet another corridor. This one was lined by single doorways and it looked very much like the corridors in his cell block. This hallway was set apart only by its wider size and by the various twisted carvings and statues that lined the walls like sentinels, silent watchmen over their Emperor's inner sanctum.

Rhovan's common sense told him that behind those doors lay offices and workstations, but the effect of the low lighting, the strange, contorted sculptures and effigies and the oppressive silence and emptiness of the corridor that should be filled with the hustle and bustle of office activity set his instincts screaming to turn and run.

Fear parched his mouth and chilled his body.

Like the maw of some strange behemoth the doors at the end of the corridor drew open. Approaching the quietly, widening, gap the Major could see that the chamber beyond was massive and empty. The Red guards around him drew to a halt and Rhovan followed suit, coming to a dead stop.

The lead soldier turned that red helmet, that blank visor, to him and again there was a hint of humour to his voice when he spoke.

"His Excellency wishes to confer with you alone, Major," he gestured toward the waiting, open doorway.

"Thank you…," Rhovan was relieved to find his voice did not break as he spoke, but he could find no rank on the guard's scarlet robes. "… soldier," he finished.

And a part of him had to wonder if it would be this man who would drag his still warm corpse from the throne room.

Taking a breath, keeping his head high, Erwin Rhovan stepped through the door to meet his Emperor and began his lone walk down the length of the throne room, his boot steps clipping on the polished floor, toward the stairs to the raised stage that held the Emperor's seat of power.

The throne was empty.

Rhovan kept his eyes front as he walked but the bleakness of the room surprised him. Vast high walls of black durasteel, lighted by the slits that graced the walls of all Imperial designed buildings be they palaces or prisons. Uniformed and cold, precise and methodical, like the Empire itself.

He drew to a stop at the first step to the dais and glanced up at the throne half expecting to find Palpatine now sitting there, but the large chair remained empty. His eyes flickered to the space under the throne, under the platform, but the light barely filtered beneath and heavy, dark shadows cloaked the area. He swallowed, waiting, wondering what was happening, not liking not knowing, not liking this feeling of helplessness, not liking the feeling of being watched and weighed.

Minutes slowly ticked away.

"You are a difficult man to read, Major Rhovan."

The dry whisper coming from so close behind had the hair on the back of his neck prickling. He turned on his heel and fell to one knee knowing who had spoken without seeing him.

"But I suspect that is why you were chosen for the programme," the Emperor finished.

Heart hammering, Rhovan forced out, "Excellency, I am honoured to..."

"Save the platitudes, Major," Palpatine spat out, "We both know you are not here for a social visit."

Rhovan stiffened, body chilled to the bone. He kept his eyes to the floor where all he could see from his peripheral vision was the skirts of the Emperor's robes and the tip of his walking stick.

"You consorted with Our enemies. You bore arms against Us. You lead and organised resistance and rebellion. Your actions on Hasthaal, Cusrean and Escaal are known to me as are the number of dead patriots, killed because of your actions, because of the information you fed to the Rebel Alliance," Palpatine's voice was still low, hissing like a viper about to strike.

Rhovan said nothing in his defence. He merely waited; waited for the list of his crimes against the Empire to end and for his fate to be decided.

"We have lost weapons, supplies, vehicles and ships that are destroyed or now aimed against us. We have lost intelligence information and hyperspace algorithms because of you, Major."

The Emperor moved around him, footsteps dull, walking stick tapping, robes rustling. "You deserve to die, Major, for inciting such insurgency against me!"

Palpatine completed his circle, was now standing directly before him once more. Rhovan waited for him to speak, waited for The Emperor to kill him.

"Aurek-Aurek-three-three-four-zero-Dorn," Palpatine announced.

Rhovan started, surprised and relieved, to hear his authorisation code spoken. He kept his hope dulled, he kept his eyes to the floor and suppressed the tiny smile that threatened to curl his lips.

"I had thought the programme abandoned, the operatives terminated and yet here you are with an order code that catches even my attention…"

The Emperor broke off, turned away from him, walked to the stairs and climbed to his throne while Rhovan remained kneeling. There was quiet as the despot settled and regarded him.

"In all your postings you have maintained your status as a loyal Imperial Officer, while finding and encouraging dissent and twice you have even been welcomed into the arms of the Rebellion and given rank and status in the heart of their Alliance…"

Rhovan kept his eyes cast down as though ashamed of his insurgency, still unsure of the Emperor's intentions.

"… You have followed your orders to the letter, Major and in over a decade you have never once asked to be relieved. You have taken to your mission with drive and ambition, climbing through the ranks while rooting out dissent and encouraging it, fuelling it… before utterly destroying it."

Rhovan closed his eyes; sights and scenes ripping through his mind. The Cusrean student demonstrations he had organised and fired up to clash with Imperial troops that had led directly to the massacre of thousands and the annex of the planet into the Empire at the Cusrean government's "request" due to the resulting unrest. The creation and the careful build-up of the resistance network on Hasthaal and the sudden sweep and arrests of hundreds of operatives; his own brother being the one who had been set up to be caught and arrested while relaying tracked weapons that lead the Empire to the resistance's door.

"Sam… This doesn't have to be you!" Rhovan tried to keep the desperation from his voice.

His young brother shook his head. "Yes, it does!" I know the flight paths, I know where the scanner's dark spots are. I know the scheduled traffic. I'm the only one who can do this!"

"No!" Rhovan roared, losing his composure. He slammed his glass down, the amber liquid sloshing over the sides to wet the table. He gestured to his second-in-command, "This is Dihind's job, it was always his call, his mission."

"He's a civilian! Working civilian traffic. That's different traffic paths, different priorities," Sam, sighed, slumped in his seat and reached for his own glass. "You're trying to protect me, Erwin. I know what I'm doing, I know what will happen if I get caught. Where I'd end up… you are my brother after all."

Rhovan said nothing, sadly watching his teenage brother take a sip of the bitter amber liquid and seeing the tremble in his brother's hand. Sam was scared, terrified and was going ahead with it anyway.

Rhovan couldn't tell him what was really going on.

It had led to his brother's arrest. It had led Sam into the detention centre and into the cells. It had led to Rhovan killing his brother to protect him, to save him from worse.

It wasn't supposed to have been Sam.

"…Your plan to discredit the Rebellion was inspired, Major," Palpatine was still talking and Rhovan forced his mind into the here and now. To lose focus while in the audience of the Emperor was ill advised. He pushed Sam away, pushed away his grief and regrets and concentrated on Palpatine's words. "… as was your suggestion of staging it at Cusrean and using the abandoned space station."

Rhovan couldn't help the brief stab of surprise at the praise he heard in the Emperor's voice.

"I only regret that I was not there to witness the Rebel's outrage when they learned of the Felucian Necrosis. You did well, Major, to bait and secure their attack on the station."

"Thank you, Your Excellency," Rhovan forced out, his heart still hammering, disbelief at this turn of events numbing his limbs. He may yet survive this encounter.

"And Skywalker's involvement in the attack, that was your doing also?"

Rhovan swallowed, before answering. "No, Sire. That was Leia Organa's suggestion."

"Really?" There was a chuckle of amusement, then, "you may rise, Major."

Rhovan pushed himself to his feet and stood at ease waiting as Palpatine regarded him from behind his hood. Palpatine leaned forward, placed his hands on the arms of the throne.

"Yes, you have served me well, Major. Except for Escaal."

Rhovan chilled, froze where he stood. He had been played, he had been praised and allowed to relax and now Palpatine had moved in for the kill.

"Explain," The Sith Lord demanded.

The words wouldn't come. His mind numbed and time stretched. He swallowed, and took a breath suddenly realising that what he said next would make the difference between his life or his death.

"My apologies, Excellency," he bowed his head briefly, mind scrabbling to find the words he needed. "I had taken leadership of the resistance but had yet to consolidate it. To do this, I suggested to the Network's section commanders that we make contact with the Alliance and plan a co-ordinated attack against the munitions plant. I had thought that the losses we would take would be minimal and necessary sacrifices for my mission. The Alliance agreed but demanded our support should any of their pilots be shot down. I gave it.

"Consequently, Skywalker was shot down and we took him in and…"

"Chaos, Major," Palpatine interjected. "Hundreds dead, including the General's son."

"Yes, Excellency," Rhovan acknowledged, fighting the urge to nervously lick his lips, "a regrettable turn of events and…"

"… and you assisted in Skywalker's escape while knowing he was a highly valued individual."

"Yes, Excellency," Rhovan agreed again, for he could not dispute the facts. His heart was hammering in his chest and he was sure that even Palpatine could hear the rapid beats. "Skywalker got me back into the Alliance ranks and gave me access to their Command; to Mothma herself."

"Hmmm," Palpatine acknowledged the explanation but ignored the mention of Mothma, as though she was insignificant. The Emperor sat back, regarding the officer below him. "Over the years Major you have caused significant damage to the Empire, twice you have become a member of the Rebellion itself, actively striking out against me under the auspices of your mission parameters. Parameters that you appear to have extended to suit your needs," he leaned forward again, gazing down at his officer, a deadly warning in his voice. "How am I to know there is not true rebellion in your heart."

Rhovan couldn't help himself, he swallowed, knowing Palpatine would have noticed the nervous bob of his Adam's apple. "You don't, Excellency," he said honestly, wondering where he had got the strength to speak from.

Palpatine silently regarded the man and Rhovan had to wonder what was going through the man's mind, wished for the first time in his life that he had the same power as the Jedi.

Suddenly the Emperor laughed, a chuckle, a cackle of glee. "I say again that you are a difficult man to read, Major, but I appreciate your candour. Not many men can stand in my presence as you have and speak with such frankness. You are either foolhardy or courageous, or perhaps you just don't care?"

It was a rhetorical question and Rhovan remained silent. Waiting for the Emperor to speak again, while stilling the small voice of panic in his mind.

"Hmmm…" Palpatine pursed his lips, quirked them in a smirk. "I should have you executed for treason and yet I find that I have a use for your unique set of skills."

Again, Rhovan said nothing, knowing that anything he said would come across as sycophantic and now was not the time to curry favour. Now was the time to remain silent and save his life.

"Lord Vader's action over the course of the last few months has solidified the Empire's rule and control over the Galaxy. He has demonstrated our resolve and determination to quash all insurgency. Fear is a great barrier to dissent; do you not agree?"

Rhoven nodded, "Yes, Excellency."

"And yet it still remains," The Emperor noted. "That quiet voice in the background whispering against us, whispering against me... even here on Imperial Centre, even here in the Palace."

Rhovan suddenly understood what his next mission would be. He was being asked to seek out those questioning voices and destroy them.

"Ha!" Palpatine laughed, delighted. "Perhaps not so hard to read after all!" He leaned forward again, pale, clawed hands clutching at the arms of his throne. "No… not destroy. I want you to seek them out Major, I want them found. I want you to organise the resistance as you did on Hasthaal and Escaal. I want you to add to the voices, I want you to encourage and fan the flames of Rebellion. Allow them whatever acts of aggression they wish to perpetrate, allow the terror to spread within the core worlds."

Rhovan's mind reeled, his body chilled to the core at what he was being asked to do. He was being asked to inflame decent against the Throne by the man who occupied it! Too many questions buzzed and circled in his mind…

Why? Why would Palpatine want Rebellion against himself? What could he possibly achieve by creating chaos?

…but he was the dutiful officer, he could not disobey his Emperor. "And the Alliance, sire?"

Palpatine, shrugged. "They are insignificant, hiding in rim worlds and afraid to strike."

Rhovan's mind raced at the opportunities this mission presented; he could use this. He could do this. "They could prove useful, Excellency. There are some among them who would be influential in garnering support."

"This is your mission, Rhovan. Use whomever you chose," his tone was dismissive and Rhovan knew his time was coming to an end.

Rhovan clenched his jaw, muscles bunching in his face and pressed on, "I will need equipment, codes, access to sensitive Imperial data and… autonomy."

Palpatine's face hardened, yellowed eyes glared and there was a warning in his voice. "You have it, autonomy from all… but not from me!" He sat forward, emphasising, and repeating the statement, "not from me… You will report your progress to me alone, you will alert me to any action the resistance is likely to make. Everything you do, Colonel, I will know."

Rhovan bowed, hiding his smile at his sudden promotion. "As you command, My Emperor."

ooOOoo

There is a smell in the darkness. It is the smell of rot, of decaying wet foliage. There is a sound. The noise of rain fall. It rushes, it runs and drips. The air feels hot and humid, and the sweat is clinging, cloying.

The dirt underfoot is soft, it sucks at footsteps, pulls against the leather of boots.

There is light in the darkness, an opening that broadens to reveal a clearing among the tall trees that snarl out from the ground and whose roots are entwined and interlinked. Tall, so tall that they almost block the heavy grey clouds that are gathered above.

There is a figure, small and huddled in the centre of the cleaning and a voice whispers above the surging rain.

"Dagobah."

Eyes snap open, pupils constricting in the light of the chamber.

"Dagobah…"

ooOOoo

To Be Continued