I'm... not 100% happy with this chapter; I think it feels kinda rushed? I'm not sure, but it's an important plot point and while it changed a lot, it's definitely affected the overall story for the better, so I'm just gonna post it :)


Luke's father had said he'd be open to Luke deciding to attend the Coruscant Academy, but Luke hadn't expected that to entail getting woken far too early in the morning two days later by a metaphysical force ripping the duvet right off of his bed.

Well, sure he'd been woken even earlier by a semi-aggressive comm from Leia that demanded they meet up that evening, but still.

He blinked sleep out of his eyes. "Wha—"

"Get up. We are going to the Academy."

Luke shivered, glaring up at his father. To any other child, seeing the shadow of Darth Vader in their poorly lit bedroom would have been the very embodiment of the monster under the bed, the creatures that stalked their nightmares.

Luke just reached down to tug the duvet back onto the bed and whined, "You didn't have to do that."

"You were clearly very deeply asleep if my gentle probe did not wake you, and I have no patience for trying any other gentle methods. I have no doubt that you were staying out far too late, and that is why you have slept far later than any of your instructors would have accepted; you have only yourself to blame."

Luke resolutely did not look at the clock. "And why do I need to be awake this morning at all?"

Vader was already halfway out the door. He flicked the light on while he was there; Luke squinted against the sudden brightness. "You are the one who wanted to have a look at the Academy. The night before last I made some enquiries with the director and he was much obliging. They are holding an..." He said the word hesitantly, with not quite disgust, but not vigour either. "He informed me that they were intending to hold their annual open day for the children of decorated Imperials officers today. You will be attending."

Luke grimaced. At least Carida, or any of the other military academies scattered across the galaxy, had some measure of... Well, they'd take anyone who was good enough, in theory. And he knew that there were still blatant biases—he'd never seen a non-human present in all his years of academy education, unless they were cooking the food or cleaning the floors—but it wasn't exactly a secret that while elite, the Academy on Coruscant was so well-funded because it was on Coruscant. Rich, wealthy, Core families who wanted to brag about their children but didn't want them too far from home latched onto that place.

Leia was right: going there would crush his soul.

And Luke's father had never quite fit the Core family bill. "Do you count as a decorated Imperial officer?"

"No one will try to inform me that I don't," was the simple answer. "Get dressed and get ready." He paused. "And make sure you are wearing something in appropriate Imperial colours for once, and kindly do not walk around looking like a character out of a child's cartoon."

Luke rolled his eyes. When he got dressed, he shrugged on a dark red shirt over his usual black trousers and boots; his father couldn't easily tell colours through his red eye plates anyway. He eyed the capes briefly—he did like the flair they gave him when he was walking around in them, and they had lovely designs—but ultimately passed over it. If he saw any of his old academy friends there, they'd never let him live it down.

He heard his father huff the moment he stepped out, but he just smiled sweetly and said, "Shall we go?"


Luke's attire was acceptable and suited him, if nothing else, so Vader let it slide. That didn't mean that he was in a good enough mood that he didn't snap a little when Luke asked, "So, would it have killed you to let me know about this yesterday?"

Vader's hands tightened on the controls to the speeder but they lifted off smoothly and heading into the airlanes.

"You were busy," he drawled. "Visiting Jade again—I'm not commenting on it, just making an observation—then dashing off to some sketchy part of the planet—"

"That sketchy part of the planet is called the local mechanics shop, which I earn money by doing odd jobs for. I told you this."

Vader scoffed, swerving around a corner. "Why do you—"

"Independence. The thrill of accomplishment. Something to engage myself while I make decisions that will affect the rest of my life forever. The list goes on."

"Are you not also continuing your education?"

"Yeah?" Luke leaned back in his seat, his gaze catching on a particularly bright starscraper they passed. "I have language classes a few times a week. There's this kid in the south end of Imperial City who I'm coaching for the standardised tests. I am doing stuff with my life, you know."

"I have no doubt about it. My only worry is that most of it seems to be at night. Your reluctance to get up this morning only proves it."

Luke tensed slightly at that. Vader... regretted hitting whatever nerve he'd hit, but didn't apologise.

"I know you are responsible and intelligent enough to make your own decisions," he said humorously, "but honestly."

Luke rolled his eyes, but looked away.

The rest of the journey was made in silence. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence—much like Padmé had been, Luke was excellent at making silences excruciating whenever he was angry with him; this was not that—but nevertheless, Vader was glad when they finally set down on the Academy grounds.

An older student, wearing a smart, gleaming badge and holding a clipboard, approached them. Then he caught a glimpse of Vader in the pilot's seat and made to skedaddle.

Luke chucked his seat belt off and took off after him. "Wait—!"

Vader let him go. He had no interest in chasing down aspiring officers to his navy who didn't have the fortitude to deal with him himself, and besides...

His comlink was buzzing.

He would not care—would ignore it, in fact—but the only person who ever commed him like this was...

Well.

The Emperor's visage materialised there and then in the speeder, about the size of Vader's fist, hovering above the comlink. Vader was unable to kneel, but he bowed his head in what he hoped was a sufficiently subservient manner.

"Master."

"Lord Vader," Palpatine greeted. "I am aware that you are busy with your son at the Academy, and I approve of both of you beginning to actually take a vital, vested interest in his future." Vader wondered how Palpatine knew all of this, then gave up; his master always knew. "So I shall keep this brief.

"I want young Skywalker to report to me tomorrow morning. I have need of services only he may be able to provide. I trust you will pass on the message?" He paused, then added drolly, "Since I have no doubt he will ignore any attempts of mine to contact him directly."

His heart clenched. "I... will, master."

"Good. I wish you luck today, old friend." He smiled slightly. "Try not to murder any politically valuable officers' brats."

The image winked out.

Vader sat for a few moments, letting the respirator breathe for him. Then he got out of the speeder, glanced around, and made his way over to Luke.

The sheer, permacrete face of the Academy rose sharply in front of him, with the grounds to the left and right. It had taken up entire airlanes of space when it was built: bridges large enough to serve as parade grounds arched over civilian speeders far below; the spires were to the surrounding district what the Imperial Palace's spires were to Imperial City; it sat like a squat grey Hutt on a planet of tall grey bristles, and threw its weight around just as much.

Luke was standing off to the side of the entrance, something in his posture at ease but military-straight, in a way Vader hadn't seen him since before he'd graduated. His gaze moved briefly, disinterestedly, to the person he was speaking with. A tall, dark-haired boy with a similar posture.

Ah. An Academy friend, then.

He strode right at Luke, ignoring the many people who squawked in sudden fear when they realised who he was, and stopped perhaps a metre away from the two boys, thumbs hooked into his belt.

"Did you catch that cadet?" he asked.

Luke's friend had stiffened notably, though to his credit he did a good job of hiding it. Vader ignored him.

Luke huffed a laugh. "Yeah. He was a lot friendlier once you were out of the picture."

"Most people appear to be."

Luke met his eye steadily, the corner of his lip twitching. Stop intimidating my friend.

Stop making friends with people easily intimidated.

I do. You call them inappropriate and constantly make your irritation clear.

That's entirely—

"This is Zev Veers," Luke said. He gestured to his friend, whose eyes bulged and he swallowed tightly. "Zev, this is my father."

Veers grimaced. It was a valiant attempt at a nervous smile. "Pleased to meet you, sir. I'm—"

"General Veers's son, are you not?"

Veers paused, then nodded. "Yes." He was slowly finding his voice again, Vader observed, though not admirably quickly.

He nodded sharply. "Your father is one of the few officers in the Imperial Navy I can stand. I am sure that you will prove a credit to him."

He turned to Luke. "Have you—"

"Actually," Luke said. "Zev and I were just gonna walk around on our own. There's no need to have a large, intimidating shadow dogging our footsteps." He smiled sweetly.

Vader gave an audibly sigh and—he had to admit—enjoyed the astonishment radiating from Veers as he said, "If you insist, little one."

"You're just glad you don't have to deal with officers or politicians."

"I am glad my son has enough independence that I do not have to escort him everywhere he goes," he shot back. He jabbed his finger in his face. "Contact me when you are finished."

"Yes, Father." Luke grabbed his friend's arm and pulled him towards the door. "Let's go."


"He's terrifying."

Luke laughed at the thought—and Zev's milk-pale skin. "Nah, he's a lot of bluster."

"With the bite to back it up!"

"He complimented you, didn't he?" Luke pulled them into a line to join a tour and finally let go of Zev's arm. "That means he doesn't hate you. He was just messing with you."

Though, he had to admit Zev had a point. Something about his father's basilisk stare, when you didn't know what he was thinking, was enough to strip any organism down to the ingrained fight or flight instincts that had kept their species alive. It was a wonder Luke had ever got sick as a child.

"But hey, don't worry about him," Luke pointed out. "He's not coming with us. We're fine. We can look around this shining example of the Empire's might"—there was no audible sarcasm in his voice, but Zev knew him well enough to hear it anyway—"with all the enthusiasm of a fresh new recruit."

Zev tried to smile. Failed, and muttered, "I'm only here because of my father."

"Oh, trust me." Luke didn't smile; he twisted his lips bitterly. He couldn't possibly explain the entire complicated mess of Angel and Palpatine and Sith training and the undying urge to make Vader proud to Zev, but he could say: "Me too."

The tour led them through the grand hall of the Academy first. Luke shuddered as they passed under the mandatory portrait of the Emperor: he seemed to glare down at them all, and Luke couldn't help the feeling that the man himself was watching him, through the Force, at that moment.

The cadets leading them chanted and saluted to the portrait, before guiding the group to do the same. Luke did it automatically, his lips forming the words before he could even think them, barely understanding this oath that pledged his heart and his body and—if his father let the Emperor get his hands on him—his soul to a man he despised. Then they'd turned around, and were being marched down the centre of the great hall. The portraits of various alumni turned their noses up at them.

Luke didn't recognise any of the names from the stories his father had told him, so he figured they'd either been offed or left to stew angrily in obscurity.

The grand hall itself was... well, grand. As hideous and imposing as the outside of the building looked, no expense had been spared. Burgundy drapes, high windows, an ornate podium and a ridiculous amount of steps needed to reach the stage. There was even a throne at the back of the stage, lest His Austere Majesty one day deign to grace them with his precious.

Luke wrinkled his nose—then smoothed it, before he got reported to the ISB. Again.

That had not been fun.

After that obvious display of might, the cadets seemed smugger in their explanations of things, and moved into the next room quickly, without too much fuss. It was dark, and Luke couldn't tell what the room would have been used for under normal circumstances but in this case it was set up as a small cinema, with chairs lined up in the dark and a holoprojector ready to play.

Luke and Zev exchanged a look.

A short introductory film.

Great.

It opened on darkness. A shot of Coruscant sparkled into existence as it turned and the lights flickered on, before showing a view of the academy, of students working and training. The Imperial march started playing the moment they came onto the screen, and grew louder when—

When the shot changed to one of the grand hall they'd just walked through, but Luke turned his head when he thought he saw a flicker in the darkness, or felt...

...an intent, strong and focused,; something was coming, and he couldn't sense malevolence, not by a long shot, but there was warning in that feeling too...

...an elbow bury itself in his side.

"Luke," Zev hissed. "Pay attention."

He jerked himself out of his stupor. One of the cadets was glaring at him. The holovid was now showing an interview with the director of the academy, a grey man in a grey uniform with a grey, monotonous tone of voice.

"...of course all our cadets go onto illustrious careers and highly exciting posts, all instrumental in the continuing security of our great Empire; the statistics for the amount of Rebels killed by our most recent graduating class alone make all the effort and complications of running an establishment like this worth it..."

Luke thought this was as dull as it could get, but he glanced around to see people nodding in agreement. The adults in the room, who had had to frogmarch their offspring this far, were starting to relax their grips with smug smiles and satisfaction; the other potential cadets...

There was a girl transfixed by the video, a little to the right. The blue light played over her pale cheeks, her round eyes; the eagerness in her face as she watched the callous description of brutal mass slaughters—"our victories on Ryloth, Kashyyyk, Garel"—left something turning in Luke's stomach.

You know the sort of lies the Empire spreads about us at the academies, Leia had said. You've lived with them your whole life!

And now, here, Imperial propaganda would win another row of bodies as cannon fodder.

This was what the Imperial academies did. Luke didn't know why he was so surprised about it.

Do you know what the average person thinks the Rebellion is?

Murderers, he thought, watching the holovid as a TIE raked fire over what looked like a transport that wasn't firing back, and it buckled in a pocket of flame.

Scum. An image of a battle-hardened woman—general, by the looks of her rank plaque—bestowing a gleaming medal to a young pilot vibrating with joy.

Traitors.

The holovid ended with a shot of the portrait of Palpatine, staring down at them all. He seemed to catch Luke's eye; he seemed to laugh.

The lights flooded back on to allow them to leave; Luke unclenched his jaw and smiled adoringly before his adverse reaction could be noted.

Zev, he realised, head tilting slightly, was doing the same. His gaze met Luke's, then darted away.

Luke watched him for a moment longer.

Interesting.

They filed back out again. The cadets guiding them seemed freshly invigorated by the video and while they fielded the influx of eager questions, Luke hung back, just... observing.

He remembered the fervour he'd felt, that certainty, from when he was younger and... well, from before he'd realised that all the people in the Imperial Palace, the Academy, that he respected most were slaves.

Before he'd started daring to ask his father questions about the way things worked, and received the blunt, horrible answers of a tactless Sith Lord who cared about one thing and one thing only.

Before he'd met Leia.

It made him feel adrift, among this sea of certainty, but when he glanced at Zev it was pretty clear that he wasn't alone.

He'd need to talk to his friend about that later.

He'd need to—

"Do you have any questions?" a snide voice cut in.

Luke tried not to show his shock, though he thought he might have failed in that regard. One of the cadets was staring at him—nope, scratch that, everyone in the small, tight group was staring, and glaring, at him. Apparently he'd not been as subtle in his distaste as he thought.

Oops.

He drew himself up into military posture and, imagining he was placating an older student just like the ones he'd dealt with at his previous academies, said, "No, sir."

The obvious respect helped somewhat—the cadet preened slightly, his thin lips curling up in a smile—but not enough. He still bit out, "Are you uninterested in serving our glorious Empire, or are you just lazy?"

Our glorious Empire. Luke wanted to scoff; as if Palpatine would ever be interested in sharing.

Instead, Luke just said, futilely— "I am paying attention, sir."

"Really?" He took a step closer. He was tall and thin, like a pole; Luke had to tilt his head back to meet his gaze, but he didn't take a step back, which had been his obvious aim.

Scornful brown eyes tracked across his (criminally non-monochrome) shirt; his tiny stature; his hair, unruly from months out of education.

"Are you old enough to be here?" he jeered. Luke knew full well that alienating certain types of people so as to better tie its own together was an Imperial Academy's central mandate. He was also pretty sure that this cadet, as the undoubted heir of some great general or moff or Imperial politician, was just a flat out bully.

Luke had never liked bullies.

"I'm eighteen," he said calmly.

"You don't look it."

Laughter rippled through the small crowd. Zev hadn't made to sidle away from him, but he didn't make to move closer as well.

Not out of fear, though. He knew what Luke was doing.

The Force was pounding in anticipation of... something. Not this, though, something else, something—

Luke ignored it and, still calm, said, "I get that a lot."

A finger jabbed his shoulder. Luke didn't take a step back against it, but it did hurt. "Whose kid are you, anyway? Do they know their son is a softie? Or have they just sent you here because they want to beat the Rebel sympathiser out of you while they can?"

That was the moment.

For all that Luke preached at his father against nepotism...

He let himself smile. Let the Force tighten around the cadet's throat for the briefest of moments—a gapingly empty threat, but a threat nonetheless.

The Force was deafening

He said, "My father is Darth Vader."

The murmuring giggling froze.

Silence swept the corridor.

Luke smiled sunnily. "But I don't see how that's relevant. May we continue with the tour," he met his gaze steadily, "sir?"

The cadet swallowed, but nodded. His hand came up towards his throat before aborting the gesture halfway. The pungent... terror... that pulsed through the air was in equal parts intoxicating and revolting; Luke tried to ignore it, especially with how it pulled him in.

(There was something else in the air too... somewhere...)

This was why he hated bringing his father's name up. But in this case, it had been necessary.

(Triumph...)

He did not need reports going around that he was sympathetic to the Rebels.

The other cadet cleared her throat. "Now, the mess hall is just this way..."

The Force was drumming in his ears now, a cacophonous screeching, and nothing but tension thrumming with it—

They made their way along the corridor and turned when they reached a corner.

That was when the blast doors slid closed behind them.

A shout of surprise; one of the cadets tried to pull a blaster she didn't have on her, but Luke's head snapped back and forth. Staring.

Two sets had closed on them: one on either side.

They were trapped.

What—?

"Luke...?" Zev asked, staring around. "Are—"

"Quiet," one of the cadets ordered.

"Malfunction?" the female one asked.

"Hopefully," said her companion. He didn't look convinced, though.

Luke wasn't convinced either. The Force was screaming

"These doors have a manual override, right?" he asked.

"I said quiet."

But the woman was already at the control panel, testing it. "It's been tampered with." Before Luke or anyone else could ask, she jogged down the hall to the other. "So's this one."

"Coincidence?"

Zev snorted. "As if."

"I. Said. Quiet." But he looked worried.

"Can you hotwire it?" Luke asked.

"Did you not hear me—"

"No," the woman said. "I can't, and I know Max can't."

Max. Luke saw Zev flinch at the name.

Max scowled, but admitted, "No. I can't."

"Can you?" the woman asked.

Luke nodded. "Yes." He glanced at Zev. "You take the other door."

"You know, you're the only one who actually got how Kit managed to do this on Prefsbelt."

Luke laughed, already heading for and crouching by the panel. "I'm sure you'll do your best anyway."

"Prefsbelt?" someone in the group asked. Luke ignored them to focus on what he was doing, pulling a tool seemingly out of nowhere—even these too-nice clothes had parts for him to fiddle with in the pockets.

"What are you doing?" asked Max, but he was cut off by the hissing of the blast doors opening. He gaped; a moment later, Zev cursed and his pair slid open as well.

He strode back over to them. "Guess I remembered more than I thought," he commented.

Luke, rising to his feet, clapped him on the shoulder and smiled. "Evidently."

He glanced at the cadets. "Is there a protocol for this situation, or...?"

"A situation for when the blast doors get jammed?" Max scoffed. "Don't—"

His friend cut in: "Assuming it's a wilful sabotage and not a malfunction, we do."

"Julia, we have no way of knowing—"

"I tried to comm the administrator while they were fiddling with the doors," she said. "Comms are down in this area."

"On Coruscant?" someone in the group asked.

Julia smiled grimly. "Suspicious?"

Zev said, "So what's the protocol?"

Julia opened her mouth. "For guests, get them to the nearest shelter as soon as possible..."

Luke's awareness slid in and out of reality as she spoke, something... tugging, at the back of his mind. He turned to look back at where the blast doors had been, the corridor beyond. There was a right turn up ahead, and another set of blast doors if one wanted to go straight ahead, but...

"...I'm pretty sure the nearest shelter to here is the mess hall..."

...he blinked, glancing around. The Force wasn't screaming now; it was moving coldly, sluggishly, like the icy slush on the mountains after poor weather on Carida...

"...get there and sit tight protecting you lot until..."

The Force was moving, and it was moving darkly around Max.

The shot rang out while Julia was still speaking, but it didn't matter; Luke was moving himself. Before he knew it he'd shoved her out of the way and that tiny, tiny blaster Max had pulled from nowhere buried a bolt his shoulder—his upper arm, more like—and he grunted in pain.

Shouts from the group—of shock, of terror. Luke wasted precious moments letting his brain catch up with what his body had done, lifting fingers to his shoulder and watching them come away red.

His pain had sparked in the Force. Coldness reached for him. Luke...?

When he looked up, Max had manoeuvred himself so Luke was between him and the rest of the group, and there was a blaster to his head.

"Don't twitch, Sithspawn," he snapped. "Or I'll give you another hole somewhere more permanent."

Luke had got tired of having blasters pointed at him a long time ago.

But he had no lightsaber and if he fought back now, he risked causing collateral damage with the others. So instead he did what he'd done with the Twi'lek man a few nights ago: he felt along the blaster with the Force, and quietly set it to stun.

He said steadily, "Are you a Rebel?"

"Evidently," Max drawled. Then, to Julia: "Oh, wipe that expression off your face, you fanatic. You're too blinded by your own propaganda to see anything without the Empire telling you it's there.

"You. Sithspawn's friend." Zev, who'd been slowly but surely creeping closer, eyes fixed on Luke, froze. "Don't move either—none of you move, or I'll blow the head off Darth Vader's brat and you'll all be left to deal with that cultist's displeasure." He paused. "If you survive, that is."

Luke barely breathed. He remembered his father's voice, overlapping with Leia's voice now, a lesson both his teachers had seen fit to teach a boy who'd been shot at since he was born and would be shot at for the rest of his life:

The Tibanna gas in the blaster could be made to misfire.

If he kept a tight enough grip on it, if he was... delicate... enough, it just wouldn't light. Or— or something like that, but with the way the blaster was digging into his head, he figured this wasn't a time to get it wrong.

Luke!

Father, he replied.

What is happening?

The Academy was in turmoil around them. Luke could sense that, could feel the faintest of vibrations through the soles of his shoes when he paid attention; his father could probably feel that too.

But if he'd gone back home, or to the Executor, after Luke had told him to leave...

"Max," Julia said, "what are you doing?"

"What we came to the Academy to do." A hand closed around Luke's bloody shoulder; a faint cry wrenched from between his teeth. "This is the nest of the Empire's finest. Your future officers, admirals, murderers. And if we can destroy you all on the day when the current elite's children," his grip tightened and tears sparked in Luke's eyes, "are here... well. The more the merrier."

Rebel attack, Luke sent curtly.

"So why," he drawled aloud, "don't you just shoot me?"

Max hesitated. "What?"

"Why don't you just—"

"Yes," he snapped, annoyed, "I heard you the first—"

The blaster crumpled in his hand.

Luke took that moment of shock and pivoted on his foot, swung his fist at Max's face. It connected with a satisfying crunch but he recovered quickly, eyes narrowed—

Zev barrelled forwards and went for the throat.

When Max staggered back from that, Julia slammed him into the wall.

It gave an almighty crack but he wasn't quite knocked out; Luke snuffed out his consciousness with barely a thought, before—

Well. Before anyone else could get hurt.

He stood staring at him for a few moments, breathing heavily, blood soaking the whole front of one of his favourite shirts.

Max was a Rebel. Clearly. Perhaps even a Rebel spy. But what he'd been talking about... the sort of mass murder that would have been...

That didn't sound like the main Rebellion he was working for at all.

Was it really them? Was it a criminal organisation masquerading as them? Was it a splinter faction from the rest? (For a splinter faction to have the resources to successfully infiltrate Coruscant...)

Good thing he was already planning to meet with Leia that afternoon.

"Luke?" Zev approached, resting a hand on his uninjured shoulder. It was only then that Luke realised he was swaying. "You alright?"

Luke looked down at himself. That was a lot of blood. "Yeah."

Julia looked shaken, but pursed her lips. "Let's get to the mess hall. Max said we; it'll take a while for the rest of the Academy to clear his co-conspirators out. The shelter's got bacta patches," she added to Luke.

He smiled wanly and nodded, and they went.

Two of the party had slung Max's body between them to drag it with them. Zev walked next to Luke for most of the way, looking ready to catch him if he fell.

"So how many assassination attempts have been made on you now?" he tried to joke.

Luke followed along. "Can't say that one counts, to be honest."

"It doesn't count?"

"I have a list of criteria."

"You got shot!"

Luke laughed. It hurt. "I hadn't noticed."

They'd barely reached the shelter when he shuddered, going cold, but also smiling broadly. Zev frowned. "What...?"

"My father's here," Luke said.

Zev grimaced.

"Then I wish the bastards luck," he said, ignoring the look Julia shot him. "They'll need it."

Luke's smile fell at that; he fielded his father's outraged-concerned-panicked probe with, I'm fine and safe. It retracted promptly.

Luke couldn't help but flinch when he sensed the first few people being to die.

"Indeed," he said.