When Luke received the summons to breakfast with the Emperor the next morning, he really wished he could return to the time when he had just ignored every attempt at communication between them. It had made his life so much less complicated.
But his father was stubborn, and would not allow him to continue his rude—if sensible!—behaviour. So here he was, pushing some sort of mutilated egg around a delicate plate, desperately trying to ignore the yellow gaze boring a hole in his forehead.
"So tell me, Luke," Palpatine said warmly, dissecting his own mutilated eggs and placing them on his tongue. For a moment, it looked like he was frothing yellow at the mouth. "Have you decided anything about what you would like to do with your considerable talents? I know you were considering many futures"—he dabbed delicately at the corners of his lips with a serviette—"I don't suppose you'd indulge an old man's curiosity?"
Luke thought of every swear word he knew and tossed them out of his mind before the Emperor could read it. "Since the... event at the Academy here," he said slowly, picking at those eggs. Finally he squished them onto his fork and lifted it to his lips, trying to ignore the smell. "I confess I... have got distracted—"
"That's perfectly understandable, my boy—especially in the wake of such a vicious attack. I hope you know that I and your father are doing everything we can to root out and punish the true culprits."
"That... is reassuring." It really wasn't. Luke took a sip of water and half-wished it was alcoholic. "But as I was saying, Your Majesty—"
"Master, child." He smiled, showing off all his rotting teeth. "Remember?"
"Right. Master." Luke took another drink of water. "As I was saying, after the event at the Academy, I have my doubts about attending there and staying on Coruscant. I'd prefer to go to Skystrike instead. Learn to be a pilot."
"A mere pilot?" Palpatine clucked his tongue. "Such a waste of your potential."
"My potential won't be worth anything without experience."
"You can obtain experience, my boy, easily. Your father or I could easily pull some strings to place you in a command position immediately after—"
"Thank you, Your— master," Luke said, putting his utensils down on the plate. The clink had an air of finality. "But I have spoken to my father about this—I want to succeed on my own merits, and while I greatly appreciate what you both are willing to do for me, I don't want to cut corners and advance when I have not earned it."
Palpatine froze at that, blinking oddly. He stared at Luke—for once, utterly lost for words.
It didn't last long. Soon enough, he said, "Have you considered training your... other potential? Your Force abilities, as I told you, are..." He took a deep breath, as if he was inhaling some scent, and Luke did not like that glint in his eye. "...exquisite."
Luke didn't meet his gaze. "Thank you, master, but I'm sure my father told you that I am not yet ready to be trained."
"He told me that seven years ago."
"And he assures me that it holds true today." Luke smiled politely. "I am young, as you know—I can go to Skystrike, gain the experience I want, then when I return I can pursue the ways of the Force."
"The ways of the Sith," Palpatine said pointedly, narrowing his eyes.
"Yes, Master. I have my whole life ahead of me to dedicate to the Sith, and the Empire." He smiled sunnily. "I have a lot of time to learn."
"But I am old, and have little time to teach," Palpatine countered. His gaze drilled into Luke's. "And I would very much like to teach you, young Skywalker, before I die. You could be the greatest of my apprentices."
Luke's smile fell to something softer, more gracious. It was just as forced. "I could never outdo my father."
"You would be surprised, young one." Luke almost flinched at hearing his father's favoured term of affection come out of Palpatine's mouth. "And that is not an insult to Lord Vader—he would support it, I am sure. He has told me all about your talent and diligence."
Luke... doubted that.
"Surely, the best way you could utilise that talent is to stay here, on Coruscant, and learn to truly wield and respect the power you possess?"
Luke struggled with words for a few moments, but watching so many of his mother's speeches had helped him a lot. He finally managed to say: "That is very kind of you, master, and I am honoured by your flattery. But"—he saw Palpatine's eyes flash at that, with an anger that was well contained; he sensed barely an echo of it in the Force—"the longer I stay on Coruscant, the longer I feel that I have no purpose. There is no place for me here at the moment. Before I learn to wield my power, I would like to establish with myself what I would wield it for."
It... was true, he realised. Perhaps that was what convinced Palpatine.
Angel was a temporary measure. He did his best, but sometimes he really wondered what he was even doing, risking his life when nothing he seemed to do ever made a difference. It may have got Leia her holocron, and may have got Luke his sister, but it wasn't even paying off Han's debts—let alone helping the Rebellion in leaps and bounds.
Leia could talk at him about wars of erosion, about chipping away at Imperial morale and prestige and arrogance, all she wanted. She could talk about the 'true' stories of an angelic hero that Rebel propaganda wanted to circulate. But Luke was tired.
If he was as powerful as his father and Emperor seemed to think he was, he should be able to do more.
So maybe it was the truth ringing in his words as he spoke that made Palpatine... not sit up and take notice. He didn't sit up; he sat back, steepled his fingers, observed him over the structure of them.
"I'm sorry, Master," Luke said, bowing his head. "It— it may be difficult to understand, I'm not articulating this well—"
"Your eloquence and composure would make your mother proud, Luke," Palpatine said. Luke shivered. "I understand you completely."
Luke bowed his head even lower. "Thank you, Master," he said. He started to rise from his chair—Palpatine's raised eyebrow indicated that that wasn't at all proper, but Luke hadn't been raised at court, he thought wryly. He'd been raised at an academy for thugs.
"Now, this has been lovely"—they both knew it was a lie; neither acknowledged it—"but I wouldn't presume to take up more of your time—"
"Oh, but might I presume to take up some more of yours?" Palpatine rose to meet him, something pointed about the gesture, though it went right over Luke's head. "You are correct that I have an appointment immediately after this, but if you yourself are free, I would recommend having someone show you around the Palace!"
Luke and Leia had arranged to meet in the Senate gardens that morning, and he'd already had to change it to the Palace gardens after breakfast so he could heed the Emperor's summons. "I..."
"I know you've been here before, boy," Palpatine said fondly, if exasperatedly. The tone didn't suit him. "But you've been distant for so many months, and we've undergone some renovations in that time—fully wiping away the stain of the Jedi." He smiled toothily at him. Luke gave a nervous smile back. "It would do you good to see them in full."
Luke didn't dare ask why.
There was a presence and a commotion at the door; they both turned their heads at once to see a red guard enter, closely followed by Mara. She stopped there, bowing to Palpatine and giving Luke a look, as the guard exited again.
Luke looked from her to Palpatine and back again.
Palpatine approves, his father had said, all those days ago before he'd put it out of his mind.
His father, who'd gone on about Mara and Leia until Luke was sick of both their names.
...oh no.
Luke looked back at Palpatine—at the carefully controlled but unnervingly smug expression on his face.
He didn't know whether to laugh or vomit.
Cackle hysterically, maybe?
"Mara, dear, show Luke around the newest extensions, wouldn't you?" Palpatine said, though his tone made it clear it was nothing but an order. "The gardens especially—I've heard he's well-acquainted with the Senate gardens"—another pointed look and Luke wanted to scream—"but our more private gardens here in the Palace are far more splendid, I would say. The Senate gardens are bound to include samples of every flora from every civilised world—here, it is more about the plant than the politics. Only the best are allowed. You'd enjoy them."
Luke did everything he could to restrain his sigh. "Of course, Your—"
He cut himself off at Palpatine's look. Mara raised her eyebrows.
"Of course, master," Luke said, and Mara's eyebrows climbed even higher.
Vader stared at all the information they had on Angel and tried not to feel unmotivated.
The attack on the Academy had invigorated him somewhat—it had reminded him why he'd returned to Coruscant, and what he had to lose on Coruscant; it had reminded him why Angel was a threat—but Palpatine's confession had... well.
Knowing that it was part of a propaganda ploy irked him, not in the least because he was one of the people it had been successful on.
And once he removed any and all information gathered from fruitless interrogations of the instigators of that, all samples of weapons and analyses of their attacks... the dossier they had on this thief had returned to being especially depressing.
Angel had robbed the Palace. They had robbed IMH. They had robbed countless other places less well guarded, but it was those two that concerned him—those two showed skill.
And at all of these break ins, not one had held sufficient evidence to narrow down the culprit at all.
So once again he was left chasing shadows. Tookas. Accents. Overly dramatic names.
This was pathetic.
They had broken into the Palace. They had broken into IMH. They had broken into Tarkin's residences.
Would they target him, next?
It would be a foolish thing to do. He would destroy them easily.
But if he wasn't home?
And if Luke was?
He didn't realise that his gaze had drifted from the datapad in his hand to the holo at the table, Luke's beaming grin sending something sweet and painful through his chest, until there was a knock at the door.
He allowed himself two cycles of his respirator to compose himself, eyes not once leaving Luke's face, before he boomed, "Enter."
Piett did, standing sharply to attention and immediately saluting. "My lord, the reports on the Executor, correspondences from the other captains of Death Squadron and updates on the security of the surface."
He held out the datapads. He had the spine not to flinch or gawk when Vader floated them into a neat pile on the corner of his desk; he'd served with him for long enough.
"Tell me, Captain Piett," Vader said almost conversationally, still gazing at the holo. "You hunted pirates in the Axxilan fleet before joining the Empire, did you not?"
"I did, my lord."
"So you are accustomed to hunting shadows? Criminals who will hide in populated areas, in crime-ridden filth and poverty, and use the workings of honest men to disguise their evil?"
Piett blinked. "I suppose, sir." He glanced at the holo, then—as if he'd realised what this was about. "Are you... concerned about Luke, with this criminal on the loose?"
"I am always concerned about Luke," Vader said dryly.
Piett's lips curled upwards slightly at that. "Hm. Indeed."
"The Coruscanti Police Forces are a joke and my own investigative team have met with no more success," Vader said baldly. He could trust Piett. He knew there were spies on the Executor, but he knew Piett was not one of them. "What would you propose we do to hunt down a Rebel criminal who does not conduct war, like the bulk of the Rebellion, but scurries like a rat between the shadows and broad daylight?"
Piett barely hesitated. "As much as it smarts my pride to admit it, my lord, our most successful raids on pirate bases came when we collaborated with an ex-pirate or a mercenary ourselves," he said. "As officers, we cannot think in the same way a brutal, barbaric pirate or burglar might, but to hire a mercenary as a consultant could be extraordinarily useful to get a different point of view. They may know more about this Angel simply by dint the circles in which they operate, where Imperial censorship does not operate."
"You are suggesting," Vader asked incredulously, "that I ally the might of the Empire with a petty criminal?"
"Yes, my lord." Piett had always had a spine. Vader respected that about him. "Sometimes, one must fight fire with fire." He glanced at the holo again. "To prevent it from setting absolutely everything ablaze."
But fighting sparks with fire? something at the back of Vader's mind said. He tried to ignore it; Palpatine's little, overdramatic speech had been just that: overdramatic. That would just invite the inferno.
Vader reached out, and sensed Piett barely hold back a flinch, but it was not directed at him. Instead, he summoned the holo to hand, catching it gently, before deactivating it and placing it in one of the compartments on his belt.
"Thank you for your input, Captain," Vader said. "It has been most valuable. Dismissed."
Piett nodded. "Of course, my lord," he said, and left the room.
Vader stared at his datapads for a moment, frowning.
There were all sorts of criminals he'd worked with before, who he knew to be loyal to whoever paid them. Cad Bane had been skilled... but even after all these years and his former apprentice's reappearance and foolish rebellious loyalties, Vader still held a grudge for how he had threatened Ahsoka. Aurra Sing was dead—found at the bottom of a ravine. Boba Fett was skilled, he supposed, but Vader would be hard-pressed to get him away from Jabba...
He would think about it, he resolved. For now, he would train, and take his mind off things.
It wasn't until he'd destroyed three of his training droids that he remembered who, exactly, had supplied them to him.
"You don't need to look so grouchy about having to spend time with me," Mara teased pointedly, jabbing him in the side with her elbow. Luke tried to smile.
"I had to get up early to get here for that breakfast," he shot back. "I'm not grouchy, just a bit tired."
"Well then, I'll endeavour not to bore you." They turned left down an opulent corridor bedecked in Imperial red, black and grey, and Luke peered around, shifting awkwardly. He was used to Imperial minimalism, not all this grandeur, and he doubted that he'd ever be comfortable among it.
"You alright?" Mara asked.
"Perfect. Thank you."
Mara just pinched her lips sceptically and mentioned something about renovations to the windows, or to the structures outside. If he looked, he could definitely see that there was more... emptiness out there, fewer buildings with the traffic more distant than he remembered. The biggest luxury of all on Coruscant: space.
But that was just looking at things that had been destroyed, not anything that had been created. Mara led him away again, down a few more corridors in the south-west wing, and...
He smiled as they passed through the corridor with the portraits in it. He'd been here recently, at least, and as much as he was distantly aware of Mara talking beside him, something about expanding it to include more recent heroes of the Empire and increase the impression of the Empire's might, he found his feet wandering over to the same portrait as always.
"Luke?" Mara asked quietly when she realised he wasn't listening. Luke's eyes traced the deep purple dress she was wearing, the neat brushstrokes of her hair up to a silver hairpiece that reminded him oddly of the symbol of the Alliance. As much as her expression was stern, he felt a warmth every time he looked at her.
Luke blinked. "Yes—sorry, Mara, I—"
"What's with her?" she asked. "You always look at that painting, every time you come down this corridor. So does your father, though it's harder to tell."
"Have you been spying on us?"
She stiffened. "It is my job to observe," she argued.
He snorted. "I know. I was joking." He shrugged, gaze finding his mother's again. It was always difficult to find any resemblance between him and her, he thought. They looked so different—Luke looked so much like his father.
So it meant something whenever people drew comparisons between them. Even if it was Palpatine who did it...
"She was my mother," he admitted. He pointedly didn't look at Mara as she digested that information, and she was cut off in the Force; whatever expression she made, whatever reaction she had, he saw and sensed nothing.
"I can see the resemblance," she said.
He snorted. "Can you?"
"Yes," she said, irritated. "I'm not lying. Though she reminds me a lot of someone else, too, if I can remember..."
Leia.
Luke swallowed. Of course, he— he shouldn't have brought this up.
For one thing, he still needed to talk to Leia, make their appointment in the Palace gardens. For another thing...
His sister looked a lot more like their mother than he did.
He tried weakly, "Senator Naberrie of Naboo is her niece. They look very similar."
"You're cousins with a senator. I should've known." Luke laughed a bit at that, but he didn't like the way Mara was frowning.
"I used to always get Senator Naberrie mixed up with Senator Organa," she admitted. "They look very similar as well."
Kriff. Kriff, kriff, kriff...
Luke shrugged. "There are a lot of pale-skinned, brown-haired women in this galaxy."
Mara watched him for a moment. "Indeed."
Then she turned away from the portraits. "Well, since you've found these so fascinating, we can move onto the gallery His Majesty had put together, if you wish? I'm assured that it features the greatest artworks from all over the galaxy—"
Her comlink buzzed.
Luke jumped a little bit, but Mara didn't flinch; she just dug it out of her pocket and scowled at the message she'd received. "I have to go," she said abruptly. "It's a short issue I have to deal with, but I'd better deal with it anyway."
She glanced from him, to something down the corridor. "His Majesty wanted you to see the gardens—take the second corridor on the left, then turn at the third right, then left again and you'll see them. I'll meet you there after I'm done."
Well.
That was convenient.
It was convenient, and Luke didn't trust it, but that didn't mean he couldn't take advantage of it.
"I look forward to it," he said, smiling winningly, and she rolled her eyes.
He was caught halfway through a thought that the Palace gardens were far less impressive that the Senate ones, much blander, when he both sensed and saw Leia's presence just up ahead. She was sitting on a wrought iron bench under a trellis of hanging yellow flowers. He didn't notice any cameras in this part of the gardens, but this was the Imperial Palace; he had no doubt that there would be some here, hidden. He had to trust that Leia had done her research and chosen the best spot for them.
She heard him coming a moment later and turned to smile at him, her hair up in a crown of braids rather than her usual signature buns, and patted the bench next to her.
He sat. "What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"
"Right to the point," she drawled. "You're not exactly political with your words, are you?"
"Am I supposed to be?" he teased for a moment, but he couldn't hold that light-heartedness. It seeped away like rain into drains. "I was invited into the Emperor's company this morning. Now, my escort had to go and deal with something, but I know she'll be back any minute so I really need to make this quick."
"Of course. Sorry, Luke." She took a deep breath and laced her fingers together on her knee. "I had a vision a few days ago—or rather, I think you did, and I shared it. I don't suppose you want to talk about that?"
He grimaced. "You saw that?"
"I saw it, and it concerned me. It concerned my teacher as well. I would like to talk to you about it."
Luke sighed and said, "I don't know what it was either. Palpatine asked me to look into the future for him—yes, I was very concerned about that as well—and I saw... that. The way I described it meant that I think he was satisfied, he thought—"
"He thought you were going to be a Sith Emperor?" Leia got out through gritted teeth.
He winced. "Yes. That's what I let him believe."
"And what did you actually believe?"
"I don't know if I was Sith," Luke said. "I don't know if I was Emperor there because I believed in the Empire, or because some strange twist of destiny had put me there. My father..."
"Your father wants you to be Emperor, I presume? Wants you to helm his beloved Empire, wants to see you in charge and serve you?"
"Leia..."
She relaxed.
Sucked in a breath.
"I'm sorry, Luke. I know you don't want this. I trust you."
He's your father too, Luke almost said, but that wouldn't help his situation at all.
"Leia, I don't know what to tell you about that vision," he said. "I don't know what it meant. I don't like what it suggests. But no future is set in stone, and I don't believe that it's my destiny to join the Sith."
Leia sighed, and said, "I believe you."
Luke smiled tightly. "Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?"
"There's a few senators who I've heard have some sort of secret worth keeping," Leia said. "They're rich, too—stealing from them could certainly help Han out quite a bit. From what I've heard, he's still in trouble."
"He's always in trouble," Luke said. "Tell me about the senators."
"Erialus in particular, and a few others—I'll get you a list. From what we can tell, they're making money off something for the Empire, and whether it's slaves or weapons development or farmland, we want to know what it is. See if you can find out?"
"Nothing to do with the Tarkin initiative chip, I suppose?" Luke said wryly.
Leia grinned. "Tarkin has his fingers in all the pies in the Empire. How do you think we know who's involved in this project?"
"Are any of the other pies interesting?"
"All of them are interesting." She squeezed his shoulder. "You're making a difference."
He glanced down and smiled.
"It might be useful for you to target only some of the senators' homes, to keep them from realising what you're trying to find out," she added. "And mix in some other senators, to disguise it further."
"I can even hit your residence to cover it up thoroughly."
"Perfect. I'll put out something flashy and expensive for you to steal." She tilted her head, like she was making a mental note. "Do you think Han would prefer a silver necklace with a diamond the size of a convor egg on it, or a historical Alderaanian jester's hat encrusted with jewels?"
"The jester's hat," Luke said solemnly. "He couldn't possibly pull off a necklace."
She dissolved into peals of laughter, but suddenly Luke wasn't listening. There was a red head heading for him through the winding paths.
His time was up.
"One last thing," he whispered. "I give permission for you to use Angel's name for propaganda—I accept it."
"What changed your mind?" She matched his tone in a hushed voice.
He shrugged. "I want to make a difference."
Then he stood up and jogged away, to where Mara gave him a curious look but dutifully continued her tour.
When Luke got home, for once, his father was already there. In his study, sure enough, but that had never been off-limits to Luke so he had no qualms about leaning against the doorway quietly, waiting patiently for his father to look up from his datapad and acknowledge him.
"Good evening, Father," Luke said. He'd gone back to help out the mechanic he sometimes worked with after the tour of the Palace; he could feel the oil splattered on his face stretch when he smiled. "Odd of you to be back so early."
"But not odd of you to be back so late," Vader parried dryly.
Luke sighed, still smiling. "If this is about..."
"It's not, son. I am sorry if I gave you the impression that I do not think you can handle yourself, yesterday. I know you can." He put down the last of his datapads and gave him his full attention. "But fortunately, I've found another way to deal with this threat, so I need worry no longer anyway."
"You always worry and you always will," Luke shot back. "But what method have you found this time?"
"I was using the wrong resources before, and the wrong men. I am dealing with a criminal, not a Rebel."
"Are Rebels not criminals?"
"Luke." He could feel his father's eye roll. "Nevertheless, that issue ends now. I am sure we will meet with success soon."
"I'm sure you will, Father," Luke said automatically, retreating from the office door to leave him in peace, to walk away. He needed to make his plan of attack for those senators' residences he had to break into tonight...
Or tomorrow night, he decided. Tonight, he deserved some time off.
And he didn't even think he'd have been able to make himself go, anyway.
Not with the way the bad, bad feeling his father's words had given him was gnawing a hole in his chest.
Palpatine listened to Mara report then dismissed her, folding his hands in his lap.
Luke's behaviour was, as always, intriguing. And... baffling.
What he'd said earlier, about not wanting to use nepotism or connections to get ahead... he was a smart boy. Palpatine had genuinely not expected him to say something so stupid.
Of course he'd need connections to get ahead. Of course, in this Empire he'd so carefully cultivated, patronage and loyalty would be what reaped rewards, rather than pure, threatening skill.
But if Luke was naive enough to believe otherwise... to actively reject his offer... he would have to come up with another way of enticing him to stay on Coruscant and train with him.
Mara had found Luke striking up a conversation with Organa in the gardens; clearly the two were close, though whatever the nature of that relationship was mattered far less to Palpatine than it clearly did to Vader. All that mattered there was that it could perhaps be used, in so many ways—if Organa continued as senator, she would have to stay on Coruscant and Luke may well stay to be near her; if Palpatine trained Luke and gained his fealty, then he could teach the boy to use that friendship to investigate any of the Organas' potential Rebel ties; or quite simply, if Organa was threatened...
But no, he decided. He wanted something more concrete than that; he wanted a backup plan, and first and foremost, he needed a way to keep that boy on planet, to dedicate himself to the Sith. That vision had made it clear that it was certainly a possibility, a likely future; perhaps all that it needed was a nudge in the right direction.
But what should that nudge be?
With all this Angel business distracting Vader with one threat, he would be utterly blindsided if Palpatine moved in now. This was the ideal time to do something to consolidate young Skywalker as his.
But what should he do?
What did the boy need, to come to his senses and reach his full potential?
...what had he said, exactly on that?
I feel that I have no purpose. There is no place for me here at the moment.
Palpatine considered it. Slowly. In depth.
Before I learn to wield my power, I would like to establish with myself what I would wield it for.
Then he smiled.
Luke was his mother's son, very much. But he was also his father's son.
Both of those qualities would come in very useful. The acumen and the raw power. The charm and the forcefulness.
The naïveté, and how easy he was to manipulate.
Good. Good.
He knew exactly how he should proceed.
